Being Jack Abbots younger gf and you’re wine drunk and naked in the kitchen, teasing him.
MDNI 18+
warnings: afab, a little bit of mean jack :p, unprotected p in v, name calling, readers a tease as always <3, use of daddy-i knowwww i knowww im sorry (not rlly)
Jack hates when you get wine drunk with your friends.
Not because he hates you going out and having a fun brunch with your girlfriends, but because because he tries his best not to touch you unless you’re 100% sober and right now you’re teasing him.
Prancing around the house naked, plucking a popsicle out of the freezer and making a show of sucking on it. He’s watching from the couch arm rest, arms crossed over his chest, face straight, cock hard.
“Why’re you doing this to me baby?” He asks roughly, eyes scanning down your body. “What’d you mean Jackie?” You giggle, twirling the popsicle in your mouth, “I told you I’m hot.” you say leaning over the counter, tits pressing against your arms. You’ll get him one way or another.
Jack grunts softly from his place on the couch and lets out a huff before he’s shaking his head and pushing himself up, walking over to you slowly. You watch him with big eyes, trying to hide your smirk.
He grabs the stick of the popsicle and pushes it deeper into your throat slowly a couple o’ times, watching you before pulling it out and throwing it into the sink, then he replaces it with his thumb. The colors from it mixed with your spit on his finger gets his cock even more strained against his jeans. He uses his other hand to tug down the zipper before he moves behind you.
You can’t help the sly smile that decorates your lips as he pushes your upper back, making your chest hit the counter. You feel his cock push between your thighs, rubbing along your sopping wet folds. He leans into you after pulling his shirt off, you can feel his broadness completely covering your back. His warm breath settles right against your ear.
“This what you wanted? Hm?” He asks lowly, nipping at your ear, the head of his cock catching on your clit. You gasp at the feeling and nod “p-please jackie” you whimper, he’s pushing your face against the cool tile of the island counter.
He slams his hips into yours without warning making you cry out at the stretch. From how wet you were there wasn’t really any resistance. He paws at your hips, grabbing them rough enough to leave bruises in the absence of his fingertips. He pulls out before pulling your body back onto him. “Been fucking parading around here all day like a slut.” He’s grunting, skin slapping against yours.
When he feels you clench around him at the word he chuckles deeply from behind you, “yeah? like behind daddy’s little slut?” To blissed out on his cock to answer, just moans floating from your pretty lips he’s lifts you by your face, grabbing your chin in his fingers with a rough “answer me.” you nod, stuttering out “y-yes”
“Yeeaah, I know baby” he whispers, pushing you back over and pounding into you again.
minors, do not interact-- please! -- explicit content!
a lil drabble about jack abbot... thinking about how he'd apologize after a fight... in his own way ofc. this is all a lil sad and angsty whoops. somnophilia w/ established consent
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finally. finally, you and jack had a night lined up. a night in. no hospital, no emergencies. just the two of you.
you'd dressed up nice in that purple satin dress he bought you last month. the one that clings to your curves in all the right ways. you looked beautiful. you felt beautiful.
and you'd spent the last hour in the kitchen making his favorite: the perfect seared ribeye with garlic and rosemary, mashed potatoes, mac and cheese on the side.
the kind of meal that says i love you without needing words.
he was supposed to be here twenty minutes ago.
when the door finally opens, your heart lifts, but it sinks just as fast when you see him. he's exhausted. dark circles under his eyes, shoulders slumped, jaw tight. he grunts a greeting as he kicks off his boots, barely looking at you.
"hey," you say softly, trying to keep the disappointment out of your voice.
"hey," he mutters back, running a hand through his silver hair.
you finish plating the food, hands trembling slightly as you set everything on the table. he sits down heavily, staring at his plate like he's not entirely sure what it is.
"jack?" you try again.
"hmm?"
"how was your shift?"
"long."
that's it. that's all you get. you swallow hard, blinking back the sting in your eyes as you sit across from him. this was supposed to be your night. your time together. and he can barely look at you.
but then his eyes lift. and he sees it- the way your face has fallen, the way you're trying so hard to hold it together. something in him shifts.
"i'm sorry, baby," he says quietly, his voice rough with exhaustion. "long shift. little sleep..." his eyes find yours, and there's so much guilt there it makes your chest ache.
he stands, moving around the table to cup your face in his hands. "you look beautiful," he murmurs, his thumb brushing your cheek. "i don't deserve you, sweetheart."
he leans in, kissing you softly. so sweet and tender. he holds you like you're a sacred treasure he found, like you're the only good thing in his life.
he deepens the kiss. you feel his tongue press to your bottom lip—
then his phone rings.
the sound echoes through the room, loud and jarring. he groans, pulling back reluctantly.
"don't," you plead, your voice breaking. "please, jack. don't answer it."
"i have to," he says, already pulling the phone out of his pocket. "i have to answer."
he walks into the hallway, and you hear the muffled sound of his voice answering. "abbot here."
there's a pause. a woman's voice crackles through—urgent, clipped. "dr. abbott, pile-up on the 376. multiple traumas. you're the only doctor on call tonight."
you hear his voice murmur a response. the line goes dead.
you sit there staring at the meal you made. the dress you wore. the effort you put in. and you know. you know what's coming.
when he walks back in, the guilty look on his face confirms it.
"no," you say immediately.
"sweetheart—"
"no."
tears prick at your eyes, hot and angry. "i gotta go," he says quietly. "they got multiple MVCs. they need me."
you look down at your dress again. the meal, the dishes now piled up in the kitchen sink.
"go," you say flatly, refusing to look at him.
"honey—"
"go." your voice is louder now, sharper.
"you can't expect me to stay. that's not fair. you know it—"
"oh, i know it alright," you snap, standing abruptly. "go. leave like you always do. it's what you do best."
the words escape you before you can stop them.
jack's eyes widen. for the first time since you'd met him, he looks genuinely caught off guard. "you're being cruel," he says, his voice low and dangerous. "stop it."
"yeah, i'm the one in the wrong here— while you go and leave me again."
"you're being fucking selfish," he bites back, his voice stern now. "acting like a goddamn child."
"i'm selfish?" you laugh bitterly. "because i want you to stay here with your girlfriend? got it. glad to know."
"fucking stop it," his voice roars through the room.
silence.
you can't fight the tears falling now. they spill down your cheeks in hot, angry streams as you stand there in the purple satin dress. the one he bought you, the one that was supposed to make tonight special. it feels like a costume now. a cruel joke.
you move to the kitchen on shaking legs, your vision blurred. the ribeye sits perfect on the plate, the garlic and rosemary still fragrant, the mashed potatoes smooth and buttery. the mac and cheese golden. all of it, a monument to your stupidity for believing tonight would be different.
with trembling hands, you scrape the food into the trash, watching the meal you spent an hour preparing disappear into garbage. something inside you breaks completely.
he watches from across the room, stunned into silence. neither of you willing to speak. neither willing to concede. the air between you thick with all the things left unsaid. all the nights he's left. all the promises that meant nothing.
"i'm leaving," he says, surprisingly soft. like he's already gone.
you don't reply. can't. your throat is too tight.
you watch as he walks toward the door, his boots now thrown on, heavy on the hardwood. he doesn't look back. he doesn't hesitate. he just opens the door and leaves. again.
the sound of it closing behind him is the loudest thing you've ever heard.
you stand there for a moment, still in the purple dress, surrounded by the wreckage of the evening. then you move, pulling the fabric over your head with shaking hands, letting it fall to the floor like it's poisoned- leaving it there.
you run to bed and curl up under the covers, your whole body shaking. the tears come harder now, the kind that make it impossible to breathe. your face burning hot and wet.
you cry yourself to sleep. exhausted and devastated, your heart still hammering against your ribs even as unconsciousness finally pulls you under.
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———
you sleep through the sounds of jack coming home.
the keys rattling in the lock. the boots on the hardwood floors. the rustle of fabric as he undresses quietly in the dark.
you only feel the dip in the bed from his weight, the heat of him now behind you, curled around you.
"hey, honey," he coos softly in your ear.
you're still out of it. still asleep.
"i'm home now... i'm here."
his hands run up and down your side, your arms. he softly turns you toward him. when he sees your face- the puffy eyes, the pink of your cheeks, his chest tightens.
he's devastated. guilty. wrong.
the dried tear stains streak down your cheeks like war paint, some still wet at the hairline where they've soaked into your hair. mascara smudged and running in dark rivulets down to your jaw. the makeup he loved seeing you in now ruined, destroyed by hours of crying.
your breathing is still shaky, still catching every few seconds like your body hasn't quite recovered from the breakdown.
this is what he did. the physical toll of his selfishness written all over your face.
"baby..." his voice cracks. "i'm so sorry."
his hands find your hair, pushing the strands away from your face. you stir, starting to wake.
"i'm so, so sorry, baby... so sorry."
he places a gentle kiss on your cheek, then your forehead.
"jack?..." your voice is wobbly from tears and sleep.
"hey, sweetheart... i'm home. i'm home now..."
his kisses move to your neck, soft and reverent. you're still too out of it to really reply, your body heavy with the emotion and exhaustion.
he pushes you softly onto your back, his hands gentle but purposeful.
"don't worry, baby," he whispers against your skin. "i'll make it all better. i'll fix this."
his mouth trails down to your collarbone, your stomach, between your thighs.
you cry softly as he settles between your legs, his breath warm against your skin. "i know, baby," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. "i'm sorry. let the bad man take care of it. i'll fix it all up."
his tongue finds you slowly, making deliberate strokes. you gasp—sad, relieved, confused. the pleasure mixes with the ache in your chest, and you don't know if you want to push away or pull him closer.
"jack—" you whimper, your hands finding his hair.
"shh," he soothes, his hands gripping your thighs to hold you steady. "let me make it right, sweetheart. let me show you how sorry i am."
he works you with his mouth, slow and worshipful, like he's trying to apologize with every roll of his tongue. your body responds despite everything, your hips winding against his face as the tension builds.
"that's it," he murmurs against you. "let go, baby. i got you."
you come with a broken cry, your whole body shaking as the pleasure crashes over you. he doesn't stop, working you through it until you're trembling and oversensitive.
when he finally pulls back, his lips are wet. eyes dark with need and guilt.
"i'm sorry," he whispers again, crawling up your body. "i'm so fucking sorry."
he kisses your forehead first, lingering there for a long moment. then he pulls back just enough to look at you, really look at you. his hand coming up to cup your face with surprising tenderness.
"you're everything to me," he says, his voice low and raw. "everything. and i've been treating you like you're nothing. like you don't matter. but you do. you matter more than anything— more than the hospital, more than my job, more than my own goddamn life."
he kisses you then, slow and deep, pouring every ounce of devotion into it. "i'm never doing this to you again. never. i promise you."
it's a lie. a promise that will inevitably be broken again.
but you let yourself listen to it for now.
he lines himself up, sliding into you slowly. you're still waking, still caught between sleep and overwhelming sensation, and the stretch of him makes you gasp.
"fuck," he groans, his forehead pressing against yours. "you feel so good, baby. so perfect."
he starts moving, deep, tender thrusts that make your toes curl. his hands frame your face, his thumbs brushing away the fresh tears spilling down your cheeks.
"you feel how sorry i am, baby?" he whispers. he takes your hand and guides it down to your lower belly, pressing your palm flat against your skin. "you feel it?"
you can feel it—the subtle bulge of him inside you, the way he's so deep that you can feel the shape of him through your own body.
"that's me," he groans, his hips rolling forward to make you feel it even more. "all of me inside you, baby. feel how deep i am? how much i need you?" his hand stays over yours, pressing down gently as he moves. "this is how sorry i am. this is me showing you that im righttt here. that i'm never letting you go."
"yes," you whimper, your hands clutching his shoulders.
"let me make it right," he murmurs, kissing you softly. "let me show you."
his hips roll forward, pressing himself hilt, and you can feel every inch of him. it's overwhelming. the pleasure, the emotion, the way he's looking at you like you're the only thing that matters.
"jack—" you gasp, your nails digging into his back.
"i know," he soothes, his lips brushing your temple. "i know, sweetheart. i'm here. i'm not going anywhere."
he picks up the pace slightly, his thrusts deeper now, more purposeful. you're whimpering his name, your body arching into his as the pleasure builds again.
"that's my girl," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. "so beautiful. so perfect. i don't deserve you."
"jack—" you cry out, your body trembling.
"come for me, baby," he whispers, his hand sliding between your bodies to find that sensitive spot. "let me feel you."
you shatter around him, your whole body convulsing as the orgasm rips through you. he follows with a broken groan, spilling deep inside you as he buries his face in your neck.
for a long moment, neither of you move. you're both breathing hard, tangled together in the dark.
finally, he pulls back just enough to look at you, his hand cupping your cheek.
"i'm sorry," he whispers one more time. "i love you. i'm so sorry."
you close your eyes, fresh tears spilling over. "i love you too," you whisper back.
and in that moment, wrapped up in his arms, you believe him for now.
until tomorrow. until the next call.
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----
just a lil note: i really do think canonically- jack would have this problem...
if he loved again. if he found himself in a relationship.
he would be fighting against drowning himself in work, or spending time with his partner. maybe guilt, maybe something else to it.
his work kept him afloat all these years after his wife died- so im sure he'd be fighting the instinct to work nonstop- to slow down and actually spend time with his partner. idk. just food for thought.
summary: you hated jack, and you were positive he hated you too. two broken down cars and one blizzard bring the truth to the surface.
warnings: no age gap :(, med student!jack and med student!reader, I'm imagining they're both 26 and in the last year of med school, forced proximity, one sided e2l, there's only one bed! oh no!, cuddle or die, jack is kind of a dick , reader thinks jack is gonna kill her, don't worry he's just hopelessly in love, jack calls reader a bitch, love confessions, getting together, wearing jack's clothes, spooning, grinding, fingering, kissing, hickies, accidental somnophilia, dry humping, unprotected sex, big dick jack, belly bulge, creampie, mating press, sex in a strangers home
author's note: idfk what time period this is set in, im just here to sexualize this man
we're playing fast and loose with how both med school works and jack lore. I'm back to spreading my 'jacks legal first name is John' agenda. also, I barely know how undergrad works, since I am a drop out! suspend your disbelief, my more educated mutuals
There’s no way the universe should be this insistent on fucking you over.
Your shitbox of a car died a day before you were set to present your research at a conference in upstate New York in the middle of January. It was the biggest opportunity of your medical school career so far, and was going to secure your residency. But you couldn’t afford to fix it or buy plane tickets and there was no bus that could get you from Pittsburgh to Syracuse in time.
So when your program advisor called you into his office to say he found another student driving to the conference that would be willing to carpool, you nearly jumped for joy. Until the next words out of his mouth put a bullet in the brain of your newfound hope.
“-Jack Abbot! You’ve met him, right? You’re in the same year.”
Yes, you had met Jack Abbot. Several, miserable times.
Every interaction you’d had with Jack ended with you seething and him smirking. He seemed to be addicted to pushing your buttons every chance he could.
But you didn’t have a choice. And you’d definitely made sure to verify that Jack was your only option. You must have asked every other student you had classes with, but they were either flying or not going at all. So you were stuck with him.
Stuck in the confined space of the cab of his small truck, side by side on the bench seat, for five and a half hours.
Everything about him pissed you off. His perfect curls were irritating, especially since you were sure he used 15-in-1 soap to wash it, the woodsy scent of his aftershave made every breath feel agonizing, and the way his legs were spread wide was obscene. It was his car, you had no right to complain that he was taking up so much space. But god did you wish he was cowering against the door like you were. You wished he put more space between the two of you, but the small cab left about a foot between you, even with you folding your body into the farthest corner your seatbelt allowed. It was entirely too close for comfort.
You’d made it a point to avoid looking at him as much as possible since this disastrous ride had begun 2 hours ago. So far, you’ve managed to mostly succeed, focusing on the falling snow and the freezing scenery outside. But you felt his eyes on you every few miles. His gaze was hot whenever it landed on you. You could feel it, even through your thick sweatshirt and jeans.
But Jack didn’t say anything. He hadn’t said a single word since you’d met him in front of your apartment building at 1 pm and loaded up your bags into the covered bed. It was unusual for him. Normally, he liked to goad you into a reaction, sending barbs your way constantly. So the silence unnerved you. You didn’t know how to exist in a space with Jack Abbot when you weren’t on the defensive.
And then the universe decided to fuck you even harder.
The snow was falling even harder as Jack pulled off the freeway and onto a smaller back road. You wanted to question him, but you didn’t want to be the one to break the silence. Plus, you didn’t know where you were. For all you knew, Jack had driven through this area a thousand times before.
But the farther you got down the road, the heavier the snow was getting and the slower Jack was driving. You hadn’t seen another car or building for the past 30 minutes and the plows clearly weren’t running out here.
And then - truly the cherry on top- the engine started sputtering.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Jack braked hard, the tires slipping slightly as he pulled off the road onto the shoulder.
“What the fuck?” You looked over at him for the first time in an hour.
Jack threw the truck in park before he was grabbing his coat. “Stay here.”
Where the fuck did he think you were going to go? You were in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of a snowstorm. The cab of the truck was pleasantly warm, and the burst of cold air when Jack opened his door convinced you even more that you were not going to get out.
You watched him round the front. He popped the hood of the truck, hiding him from view. What the hood didn’t hide, though, was the cloud of smoke that billowed out.
“Oh fuck me,” there was no way you were making it to the convention. You checked your phone. No service. Of course.
The hood slammed shut and you jumped, looking up to watch Jack walk back around to the drivers side. He slid back in, shutting the door hard behind him and scrubbing a hand over his face.
“We’re fucked.”
“What are we going to do?” You chewed on your bottom lip as you looked at the land around you. “I do not want to die of hypothermia in your shitty truck.”
“My truck isn’t shitty,” he sounded like a petulant child.
“It just fucking died on us,” you leveled a glare at him. “I’d say that makes it shitty.”
He grumbled something under his breath.
Both of you sat in silence for a moment.
“We need to find somewhere to shelter,” Jack was looking out the windows.
“There is nothing out - ”
“There,” he was pointing into the trees at something that you could not see. Everything blended together in the dim lighting and haze of falling snow.
“What?”
“There,” Jack started gathering a few things scattered around. His phone, his water bottle, and the keys made the cut, all being stuffed into the pocket of his heavy duty coat. “There’s a cabin.”
“Bullshit there's a cabin. I don’t see anything,” you really didn’t. All you could see was a mass of black and gray and green.
“There is,” he opened his door again. “Are you coming or are you going to freeze to death here?”
There wasn’t much of a choice. You could already feel the chill creeping in through the thin glass of the windows now that the engine was dead. You could follow Jack into the woods and either find shelter or freeze to death in the snow, or stay in the truck and freeze to death in the carcass of his shitbox.
No matter what, the threat of hypothermia was real and, even though you weren’t officially a doctor yet, you knew the risks. So you gave one last long suffering sigh, and opened your door.
You were immediately thankful you’d put leggings on beneath your jeans that morning. The temperature change slapped you in the face as soon as you stepped out into the ankle deep snow.
Jack was rifling through the bed of the truck, pulling out his duffel bag. You watched him hesitate for a minute, before abandoning the garment bag containing the suit he’d packed. You tried not to think about just how good he’d look in a formal get up.
“Grab your shit,” Jack was pulling on a pair of gloves. His cheeks were already rosy from the freezing wind. “We’ve gotta get there fast.”
You gathered your things, yanking your own gloves and coat out of your bag. You left your own garment bag containing the gown you’d thrifted for the final banquet in the bed alongside the covered poster board for your research. It was going to be ruined if you and Jack ever made it back to the truck alive, given that there was not a chance you’d be making it to the conference, you didn’t bother trying to save it.
“Lead the way,” you slung your bag over your shoulder, pulling the hood up over your head to try and shield you as much as possible from the chill.
Jack led you across the frozen road and down into the treeline. The snow came up to mid calf, soaking your feet through your boots. Very quickly, you started to shiver, trying to curl into yourself as you walked.
You were both grateful and pissed to see the shape of the cabin come into view. You needed to get warm, but you did not want to admit Jack was right.
It took about 20 minutes for you to reach the front porch. By now, the snow was falling so hard that you couldn’t see the road or the truck through the haze.
“C’mon, c’mon,” Jack tried the door handle, sighing with relief when it swung open.
The inside of the cabin was simple. About the same size as your studio apartment back in Pittsburgh. It was dark, but you could see a fireplace against one wall, across from a full sized bed. There was a small kitchenette and a small bathroom you could see through a half open door. The whole place was dusty and looked like it hadn’t been used since last summer, but it would have to do.
Both you and Jack tumbled in. It was cold, but at least the sturdy wooden walls kept the wind chill out.
“You got a lighter?” Jack was already moving towards the fireplace, inspecting a few of the logs piled next to it. He seemed to approve of a few of them, piling them up.
“Yeah, here,” you fished a lighter out of your jacket pocket, tossing it to him as you set your bag down on the bed.
You watched him for a moment. He shed his coat, pushing the sleeves of his sweatshirt up as he set a few scraps of newspaper alight. With a gentle few breaths, he grew the flame before placing it under the pile of logs he’d formed in the fireplace. It took a moment, but gradually the flames grew until there was a bright, flickering fire lighting up the small room.
You could feel the warmth it was putting off starting to seep into you, but it wasn’t enough. Your coat was still on, but you were shivering beneath it.
Jack noticed, doing a double take over his shoulder when he saw you still standing by the bed.
“Come over here.”
“I’m fine,” your voice was unsteady.
“You need to get warm,” Jack was untying his boots, digging through his bag for a new pair of socks as he discarded the damp pair he’d been wearing. “You’re gonna get frostbite.”
“No, I’m not,” but you were moving towards him, crossing the small room to stand beside him in front of the fireplace.
“Take off your clothes.”
You looked over at Jack like he’d grown a second head, ready to tell him off. But the words died in your throat when you saw he was stripping his shirt and hoodie off, leaving him bare from the waist up. You froze for a moment, eyes wide and brain buffering, until his hands grabbed for the zipper of his jeans.
“What the fuck?!” You spun around, trying to will your blush away.
“We need to get into dry clothes and get warm,” the shuffling sounds of his clothes hitting the floor was tempting you to turn around. You wanted just a little peak.
“I’ll be fine.”
“No, you won’t.”
And then Jack’s hands were at your waist, pulling up your sweatshirt.
“Woah!” You spun away from him, putting distance between you and begging your heart to slow down its rapid beating.
“I’m not letting you blame me when your toes fall off,” Jack crossed his arms over his chest. He’d changed into a plain black t-shirt, gray sweatpants, and thick wool socks. God damn it, he looked good. “I won’t look, but you need to change.”
“Fine,” you walked back towards your bag. “Don’t look.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jack’s eyes raked over you once before he was turning back to face the fire.
You moved quickly, stripping out of your layers. You’d been planning on being in a nice, cosy hotel and convention center, tucked safely away from the cold, so you’d only brought jeans, slacks, and your comfortable sleep shorts. Tight, spandex shorts that left very little to the imagination. The leggings you wore under your jeans were soaked up to the thighs with melted snow and unwearable.
So you grabbed your most modest shorts, although ‘modest’ was a stretch. They were tight and short, covered completely by the oversized crewneck you pulled on after. You didn’t have too many options for socks, stuck with a relatively thin pair of white ankle length ones. Your nice, insulating ones were soaked from your trek through the snow.
“Is it safe yet?”
You glanced over at Jack, silhouetted against the fire. His shoulders looked a hell of a lot broader than you’d realized, the muscles of his arms standing out. God fucking damnit.
“Yeah, it’s safe,” you cleared your throat, looking away from him as you moved your bag away from the bed, setting it on the floor by the nightstand.
“That’s what you’re wearing to not freeze?”
His judgmental tone made you bristle, reminding your traitorous mind that you did, in fact, hate this man.
“I didn’t have a lot of options,” you unnecessarily straightened your duffel, looking anywhere but at him. “I didn’t plan for you to get us stranded in the fucking woods. I packed for a fancy hotel and a conference, which is where we would be if you didn’t try to kill us.”
“I didn’t try to kill us,” he scoffed. You risked a glance at him. He was digging through his own bag. “I took a shortcut to go around the traffic on the interstate. Here.”
He wadded up a pair of flannel pants and threw them at you. You caught them, trying not to take a deep breath. They smelled like detergent and that addicting smell of his cologne.
“These are fucking ugly,” the idea of wearing his clothes and being stuck in such a small space with him triggered your fight or flight instinct. Seeing as flight wasn’t a reasonable option with a blizzard outside, you decided to fight.
“By all means,” Jack rolled his eyes. “Freeze to death because my pants are ugly. I’d finally get some peace and quiet.”
“The fuck do you mean ‘peace and quiet’? I didn’t say a fucking thing the whole car ride!”
“Yeah, and it was fantastic.”
Grumbling to yourself about what a dick he was, you gave in. You were fully aware he was trying to get you to wear the stupid pants. You could sacrifice your pride to put them on and deny him the satisfaction of you going silent.
“Maybe if I’d said something, we wouldn’t be stuck here,” you tugged the god awful pants up over your shorts, having to double know the waistband to keep them up around your hips.
“Oh so you agree, this is your fault,” Jack looked smug. He sat down on the rug in front of the fireplace, his legs spread out before him. His feet were blisteringly close to the flames. You hoped his stupid socks caught on fire.
“How is this my fault? I didn’t tell you to drive off the main road in the middle of a snowstorm. This is your fault,” begrudgingly, you made your way towards him. You sat down 3 feet away from him, relishing the wave of heat that greeted you once you were close to the fire. The rest of the space was slowly warming up, but the cold still seeped in through the fogged over windows and wooden walls.
“Well I wouldn’t be stuck out here if I didn’t have to drive you to this stupid convention,” Jack leaned back on his palms. He looked calm and relaxed, and that made you even more irritated.
“Oh, so you only took this backroad because of me,” you stretched out your hands to warm your frigid fingers. “Glad you admitted this was attempted murder.”
“‘Attempted murder’ my ass,” he shook his head, narrowing his eyes. His gaze scanned you from head to toe. You told yourself the shiver that ran through your body was from the cold. “I would be nice and cosy in my apartment if it wasn’t for you.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“I only agreed to go to the conference because you needed a ride.”
“Bullshit,” you scoffed. That didn’t make any sense. Why the hell would Jack do that? He’d been a massive dick since you met him. Every group project or hospital rotation you ended up on with him was hell. He pushed your buttons, poking and prodding at you with sharp little quips until you snapped.
Jack didn’t say anything. He turned his face back towards the fire, focusing on the flickering flames.
“Jack…?”
He stayed silent.
You didn’t know what to say. You were confused. He hates you, so why would he agree to be locked in a car with you for an extended amount of time. Maybe he truly did want to lure you out into the woods and kill you.
But why? Sure, you were classmates, both competing for residency spots in a technical sense, but that wasn’t strictly true. It pained you to admit it, but Jack was in a league of his own. He was smart. Annoyingly so. He was constantly at the top of your class, leading test scores by a mile. You weren’t stupid, not at all, but Jack was something else. You weren’t competition for him.
“Did you…” How do you ask a classmate if he planned to kill you? You swallowed hard, suddenly very nervous. “Did you bring me out here to - to get rid - ”
“Jesus Christ, [name],” he finally looked at you again, sitting up and resting his elbows on his outstretched legs. He looked horrified. “You think I agreed to drive you, took a shortcut, and sabotaged my truck to - to what? Kill you?”
“Then why did you agree to drive me?” You couldn’t wrap your head around it.
“Just drop it, ok?” He scrubbed a hand down his face, rubbing at his jaw and looking away.
“Just doesn’t make sense,” you were mumbling. You scanned him, reading the tension in his shoulders.
“Drop. It.” This was the most emotion you’d seen him exhibit in all four years you’d been in school together. His jaw was clenched.
In the flickering light, it was hard to tell if his cheeks were flushed from the rising heat of the fire or if he was actually blushing.
“No, I’m not going to drop it,” you finally had a chance to push his buttons, but you also wanted to know why he’d go out of his way to drive 12+ hours round trip if he wasn’t presenting or trying to network at the conference. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“I like you, alright?” He buried his face in his hands. “I’ve liked you for years. I wanted to do something nice for you. I wanted to spend time with you. I like being near you, I like talking to you when you’re not being a bitch - ”
“Don’t you fucking dare call me a bitch, Jack Abbot,” you were still trying to process his confession, the wheels in your brain turning at a snails pace.
“Fuck, fuck, you’re right. I’m so sorry, I’m fucking this up,” Jack took a deep breath, lifting his head to look at you. His expression was pained. “I like talking to you when you’re not trying to piss me off, and even when you are, I still enjoy it. You’re smart, you’re gorgeous - incredibly gorgeous. And we’re about to graduate soon, we’re both leaving for residency in a few months and I couldn’t - I couldn’t not say anything.”
You didn’t know how to respond. Jack paused for a moment at your silence, but then he carried on like he couldn’t stop.
“I practiced this whole little speech for the gala at the end of the weekend,” he laughed sardonically, running a hand through his curls. “I was gonna pull you to the side, somewhere pretty and romantic and tell you how amazing I thought you were, how beautiful you looked in whatever dress you brought. I was gonna ask you out on a date when we got back to Pittsburgh. And then I fucked it up. I swear, I didn’t know my truck was going to die.”
He was definitely blushing now. “And I didn’t take a shortcut. I went the long way around to get more time with you since I knew you’d ignore me as soon as we got to the hotel. But I really was trying to avoid traffic on the interstate! I just didn’t expect it to start snowing so hard.”
For a second, you were quiet. You still didn’t know how to respond, but words fell from your lips before you could stop them.
“The car ride back would have been awkward as fuck if I said no.”
Jack laughed, eyes crinkling as he shook his head.
“Yeah, it would have been,” he sobered up, hope sparking in his eyes. “But I was willing to risk the humiliation if there was a chance you’d give me a shot.”
Would you have given him a shot? You didn’t know. For years you’d been so insistent that you hated him, but you couldn’t deny that you’d been attracted to him since day 1. You’d noticed him immediately at orientation, but you hadn’t gotten a chance to speak to him until the first randomly assigned group project in your cadaver lab. He’d been a know-it-all, correcting your technique with a scalpel, raising one of those condescending eyebrows and judging every move you’d made. It rubbed you the wrong way, and clouded your perception of him.
You’d written him off after that, but the two of you kept being forced together. Same professor assigned group projects, similar friend circles, same hospital rotations. Every interaction just reinforced your view of him. It pissed you off every time you caught him staring at you, every time he sat next to you in lectures, asked to share your notes, when he poked and prodded and teased you.
But everything looked very different with the knowledge that he’d been into you since the beginning. Now, he looked less like a piece of shit that wanted to torment you and more like a lovesick puppy that wanted your attention. Either way, it wasn’t a flattering look for him, but the latter option was much more forgivable than the former.
“So?”
You jumped, ripped out of your thoughts to find Jack staring at you again.
“So…?”
“Do I get a chance?” He looked terrified of what your response would be.
“I - ” you didn’t know. Your mind was spinning, trying to parse out your feelings and figure out exactly how you were feeling about the situation.
“It’s ok if you don’t feel the same way,” his hand ran through his hair again, tugging at his curls as he went. “I get it, I’ve been a dick - ”
“No - I mean, yes you have been, but,” you took a deep breath. “I - I don’t know. I had no clue you felt this way. I’m just… trying to process this.”
“Ok, yeah, yeah that’s ok,” Jack was nodding, his eyes fixed on the floor. “Yeah, I mean, you don’t owe me an answer. And you can say no.”
He laughed again, but it was gruff and self deprecating.
“I swear I’m not going to kill you if you say no.”
“Gee, that makes me feel so much better.”
Both of you were quiet for a moment, and then you burst out laughing. A real laugh, not the sad imitation Jack had let out previously. You felt hysterical, the situation did not call for the intensity of the laughter spilling from you, but it did help to diffuse the tension that had been rising in the confined space.
When you were able to calm yourself, both of you gasping for breath and staring into the flames, your thoughts turned back to everything. You were hesitant to just accept, still struggling to reframe the last 3 ½ years now that you had more context. But you were curious.
“If we live,” you broke the silence that had fallen over the room. “If we make it out of this fucking murder cabin, I’ll give you a chance.”
Jack snorted, a smile tugging at his lips.
“Then we better survive.”
The two of you sat there in front of the fire for a few more hours, passing bags of chips and candies back and forth, trying to make the time go by and conserve the batteries of your phones. You drifted in and out of conversation and silence. Surprisingly, you found yourself enjoying talking to him. For the first time since you’d been introduced, you had a pleasant conversation. Neither of you brought up his confession or your tentative acceptance.
Instead, you asked about him. And you learned a lot, shockingly. You knew the basics; he was a few months older than you, he was too smart for his own good, and he’d sold his soul to the Army and would be doing his residency at a military hospital. You almost envied the fact that he got to skip the stress of match day. Almost. You would absolutely not trade that stress in exchange for the next 10 years of your life.
Jack was from Maryland, and he was getting to go back to do his residency at Walter Reed. You saw his eyes light up with hope when you told him your first choice for residency was John Hopkins, but he didn’t say anything. You’d be pretty damn close to each other if you got lucky, but you didn’t dwell on that.
His first name was actually John, and he looked disgusted by it, but his expression softened when you laughed after he revealed he was actually John Andrew Abbot III. You pretended not to notice that, too.
You shared information of your own, also. Jack smiled when you told him about your childhood pets. He laughed when you told him silly stories from undergrad. He stayed quiet, letting you speak when you shared about struggling to make ends meet while still in school.
It endeared you but also pissed you off that he knew just how to react. He was empathetic and sweet when he wasn’t pushing your buttons.
You liked talking to Jack, you realized. You liked getting to know him.
The two of you had started yawning about an hour ago, but neither of you were ready to stop talking. It was only when the conversation finally lulled and you found yourself fighting against your increasingly heavy eyelids.
“We should get some sleep,” Jack was pushing himself up from the floor, dusting off his hands and sweats as he went. He extended a hand to you, and you found yourself not hesitating to take it, allowing him to pull you to your feet. His hand was warm and steady, and you found yourself fighting off a twinge of disappointment when he let go. “You can take the bed.”
“What? No,” there was only one bed in the one room cabin. It was so small, there wasn’t even room for a couch. The only other furniture in the space was a small kitchen table and two chairs, and a beaten up armchair covered by a thin white sheet. “Where are you going to sleep?”
He shrugged, shifting his duffel closer and moving the clothes in it around until he seemed satisfied with the shape. “Here, in front of the fire. I can make sure it keeps going all night.”
“No,” you grabbed his arm, stopping him from moving towards a small linen closet neither of you had bothered to peek into so far. “No, you’re not sleeping on the floor. We…”
He raised an eyebrow, gaze flicking between your face and your hand still holding onto his bicep. You let go, taking a step back.
“We can share the bed,” you glanced over your shoulder. The bed was small, probably full sized. Just barely big enough to fit the two of you, although you’d have to scoot pretty close to the edge to avoid touching.
“I’m not complaining about sharing a bed with you,” Jack looked at the bed too. “I think I’ve made myself clear about that - ”
You swallowed hard. You hadn’t let yourself think about that aspect of his confession. In fact, you’d beaten it back into the shadowy corners of your mind as aggressively as you could. You wouldn’t survive however long your confinement was going to be if you let yourself think about the more physical implications of Jack being into you.
He looked down at you. The light from the fire was dancing across the planes of his face, knocking the breath out of your lungs with how ethereal he looked. He was handsome everyday, but he looked unreal in this lighting.
“ - but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. You haven’t told me how you feel, and you haven’t agreed to go out with me - not that that means you have to… y’know…” he seemed to be struggling to find the words. He was blushing again. “Be… be that close to me.”
“I - ” you paused, searching for the right words. You really were starting to be willing to give him a chance, especially with how well your conversations had gone. And yes, fine, maybe you’d been physically attracted to him from the beginning, but when you’d found yourself in moments of weakness before, you’d imagined any sort of physical or intimate encounter being… well, not nearly so emotionally charged. In those late night fantasies, it was rough, aggressive, something born out of hate and frustration. But now, he looked nervous, his eyes soft and apprehensive. You once again didn’t know how to handle this type of interaction with him.
So, you decided to be an adult about it. For fucks sake, you were 26. You could share a bed with a man who just confessed he’d been in love with you for years and who you’d been fantasizing about for just as long.
You cleared your throat, taking your hand off his arm. “We can share a bed without… without it being anything more.”
“Right, right, of course,” Jack let out a breath. “As long as you’re ok, then yeah.”
“Yeah,” you were a big fat liar. “It’ll be fine.”
So the two of you got ready for your doom. You gathered your toiletries as Jack threw a few more logs on the fire to hopefully keep it going all night.
The bathroom thankfully had running water, even if the rest of the cabin had no electricity, so you were able to take turns brushing your teeth. You went first, taking many deep breaths and giving yourself a silent pep talk in the small, dark room.
“All yours!” Your smile and chipper attitude felt forced when you let him have his turn. You sat on the side of the bed with your bag, digging through it, searching for nothing to give your anxious hands something to do.
“You ready for bed?”
Jack came out of the bathroom, crossing to the other side of the bed and starting to pull back the covers. You stook, giving him a nod and pulling back the ones on your side. Both of you slipped in silently.
“Good night,” Jack rolled over, his back to you, facing the front door.
You followed his lead, turning your back to him and trying to snuggle in underneath the thin blankets. “Good night.”
Jack’s pants and the residual warmth in your clothes from sitting in front of the fire for so long helped lull you to sleep, and quickly, you found yourself falling under.
When you woke, it was to a warm presence at your back and freezing air nipping at the exposed skin of your face. It was completely dark in the room, no light coming in through the windows or from the now extinguished fireplace.
You pushed back, chasing the heat behind you. That’s when you became aware of several things at once.
That warmth behind you was Jack. The entire length of his body was pressed against yours and his arms were wrapped tightly around your waist, one above and one below, keeping you firmly in place. Those arms were underneath your sweatshirt, one palm resting just below your breasts and the other right above the waistband of your borrowed pants. His face was nuzzled in the crook of your neck, breath hot against the sensitive skin.
You tried to shift, to move out of his hold and restart the fire so that you didn’t have to confront exactly how hot the skin on skin contact was making you deep inside.
Jack didn’t let you move, though. His arm tightened around you, tugging you back against him even more firmly. That was when you really felt him. The hard length of his cock was pressed against your ass.
He was still asleep, but that didn’t stop his hips from grinding forward. You gasped, clenching your thighs together. Involuntarily, you pressed back against him again. His hand shifted up, sliding over your breast and loosely squeezing the flesh.
“Jack,” your voice was quiet and broken around another gasp as he pushed his length against your ass again.
He mumbled something incoherent, before squeezing your breast again. The hand on your stomach dipped lower, his fingers just beginning to slide underneath your bottoms.
You were existing between sleep and waking, half convinced this was some sort of extremely vivid dream.Your pulse was racing, hips pushing back to meet his at every sleepy movement. Both of you were breathing harder, the cold seemingly beaten back by the rising heat between you.
“[Name],” you could just barely make out the slurred groan of your name breathed against your neck. It sparked even more heat in your core to hear him say your name.
“Jack?”
God, you sounded fucked out already. Jack’s hand was pushing even farther into your pants and under the shorts you wore beneath.
The first brush of his fingers over your folds had you whining, and that was when Jack finally woke up.
You felt him freeze behind you, his hands tightening on reflex, dragging his fingers through your folds and against your clit. It ripped an embarrassing moan out of you, your hips pushing back against his cock in response to the jolt of pleasure.
“[Name]?” Jack’s voice was sleepy and confused.
“Jack,” you whined in response.
“Oh fuck,” he pulled back, hands leaving you. “Fuck, I’m so sorry.”
“Wait - ” but Jack wasn’t listening
“Fuck, I told you I wouldn’t try anything, I’m so fucking sorry. That - I can’t believe I did that. Fuck.”
“Jack, stop,” he was sitting up, elbows on his knees and hands in his hair. The heat in you died when you saw him so upset. “Jack, look at me.”
“I’m sorry - ”
“Stop apologizing,” you pushed him flat onto his back, swinging a leg over his hips and leaning over him. Your hair created a curtain, closing the two of you into a little bubble.
“But I - ”
“Shut up!”
And then you kissed him. He froze for a moment, but he quickly melted into you, his hands coming up to grab your waist. He let you lead for a moment, his lips following the slow, languid rhythm you set.
Until your tongue swiped over the seam of his lips. Then, his hold on you tightened and with a firm buck of his hips, he was rolling you onto your back. He settled between your legs, grinding his length against you as his tongue stroked against yours, licking into your mouth and swallowing the noises that leaked out of you. Your hands tangled in his hair, holding him to you.
“Fuck,” Jack pulled back, gasping for air. His forehead rested against yours. “Are you sure - ”
“Yes, I’m fucking sure,” you bucked your hips up against his, tugging on his hair as you did. He groaned, meeting your thrust. “Wanted this for a long time.”
“I thought you hated me,” Jack’s hand was slipping back underneath your sweatshirt to push it up. His thumb dragged over your newly exposed pebbled nipple.
“Yeah, I did,” your back arched, pushing your chest even further into his hand. “Doesn’t mean you’re not hot, though.”
“Yeah?” He was smirking, his lips ghosting over yours. “I’m just that irresistible?”
“Shut the fuck up,” you pressed your lips against his, drawing him into a filthy kiss. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him back down so you could chase your own pleasure with his body. One of your hands slipped under his shirt, dragging your nails down over his chest and abs.
He moaned, grabbing your hand on his chest and pinning it to the mattress beside your head. He broke the kiss, nipping at your lower lip as he went.
“Unless you want this to end way too soon, you better fucking stop that,” his voice was low and ragged, fingers flexing against your wrist.
“Stop what?” You wanted to both know exactly what was driving him crazy, and to play dumb and rile him up.
“Touching me,” he ducked his head, nipping and sucking at the skin of your neck. “Looking so fucking good underneath me, all of it.”
“See,” you bit back a whimper. “I don’t think you really want me to stop.”
Your back arched and your hips bucked up again as he sucked a dark mark into the skin below your jaw.
“I don’t, but I don’t want to cum in my pants, either,” he moved lower, to a new, unblemished patch of skin. “So either take your pants off or tell me to go take a cold shower.”
“Gotta let go of my hand first,” your teeth dug into your lower lip as he licked a stripe up your neck.
“Are you gonna keep it to yourself?” Jack pulled back to look down at you. You grinned back up at him and he rolled his eyes.
“No.”
He laughed, releasing you and sitting back on his knees between your spread thighs. His hands came down to the drawstring, undoing the bow at lightning speed, pushing the pants down your hips. Jack groaned as your shorts came back into view.
“These little fucking shorts,” he stripped the pants off you, lifting your legs into the air as he did. “Made me hard earlier.”
His hand trailed over your hip, brushing across the fabric until he was stroking a finger over your covered slit. Your teeth bit into your lip even harder to smother the whine that he was drawing out of you.
“You’re fucking soaked,” that little smile tugging at his lips was smug and self satisfied. He pressed into you a little harder, circling your covered clit through the spandex. “Is this all for me?”
“You’re an ass,” your teeth were gritted. Every circle he made had your hips twitching up, little sparks shooting from the light touch.
“I think you like that about me,” Jack’s hand left you for just a minute, long enough for it to slip beneath the waistband of your shorts. For the second time tonight, the first with both of you fully aware, his fingers dipped below your soaking folds.
Jack leaned forward, his unoccupied hand braced against the bed by your head. His eyes fixed on yours, chest heaving as he watched every shift of your face while his hand moved. He was exploring, teasing, fingers wandering through every soaked inch of you, the tips just barely dipping into your entrance and then moving back up to circle your clit.
“Fuck,” you were panting, trying to move your hips against his hand, guiding him to the right spot. But every time his fingers found where you needed him, he’d move them away, smiling as he worked you up.
“Jack, I swear to god, I’ll - ”
“You’ll what? Hmm?” He slowed to a stop, his index and middle finger sandwiching your clit between them, pressing down to keep you from rocking into them and chasing your pleasure. “C’mon, tell me what you’ll do.”
“If you don’t make me cum in the next 2 minutes,” his cocky demeanor made you want to simultaneously punch him and kiss him. You hated it, but it fueled the heat and desire curling low in your stomach. Judging from the hard length of him you can just barely make out through his sweats, he was enjoying it, too. “I’ll never let you touch me again.”
His face fell, hardening into determination. “Is that so?”
“Yes - ”
Jack’s fingers pressed directly against your clit, rapidly drawing tight circles around your clit. It was like an electric shock to your body after so much of his teasing. Your back arched, eyes falling shut as your moans filled the air.
“How’s that? Is that what you wanted?”
“Shut - fuck - shut up!”
You were impossibly close, already wound so tightly that you were dangerously close to snapping beneath him.
“I thought you liked it when I was a dick?” Jack leaned even farther over you, his lips closing around your nipple, flicking the bud with his tongue and scraping over it with his teeth.
“Stop fucking talking, Jack!” You felt him laugh against your skin, sending vibrations through your breast.
Your hand tangled in his hair, yanking at the strands. He groaned, switching to your other breast and sucking hard.
You cracked, thighs trying to snap closed around his hand and hips. He didn’t let you, pushing his body even farther into yours to keep them open as he worked you through it. Your legs shook and your hips jerked against his fingers that were still going, drawing even more tremors and cries out of your lips.
You writhed beneath him, forced to let each wave crash over you as Jack held you through it.
“Fuck - no more,” it was nearly impossible to get air into your lungs, but as the sensations died down and overstimulation, Jack backed off.
He pushed back up, easing his hand out of your shorts. He let you breath for a moment, his hands rubbing over your thighs until their trembling slowed to a stop.
“You good?”
“Yeah,” your voice was breathy.
“Can I fuck you now?”
You cracked your eyes open to look at Jack. There was a small wet patch on his sweats, right over the head of his cock. Fuck, he looked long and thick.
“Yes, please,” your hands found the waistband of your shorts, pushing them down.
Jack laughed, his hands joining yours to help remove the shorts from your legs.
“I should have made you cum 3 years ago,” he threw the shorts over his shoulder once he got them free from your ankles. “So nice and polite.”
“Shut up and get naked, asshole,” you sat up, reaching for his sweats, tugging them down his hips.
Suddenly, you were face to face with his cock. He was bigger than you though. The flushed length of his cock slapped against his stomach when it was freed, the leaking head smearing clear fluid against his abs.
You couldn’t help yourself. You leaned forward, licking a stripe up the length from base to tip. The skin was smooth and soft, his cock twitching beneath your touch.
“Fuck!” Jack’s hand grabbed your hair, pulled your head back and away from him as he hissed. “Don’t do that. You’re gonna make me cum.”
“Isn’t that the goal of sex?” You smiled up at him, straining against the hold he had on you to try and get your tongue back on him.
“Yeah, but I’m trying not to embarrass myself and end this way too soon,” Jack guided you by your hair, easing you down onto your back again. “You can blow me later, right now, I think I might die if I don’t get inside you.”
“Then hurry up,” you lifted your legs, hooking them around his waist and pulling him down onto you.
“Alright, alright,” Jack slipped a hand between your bodies, grabbing himself by the base. You forced yourself to breathe as his tip swiped through your folds, coating his cock in your fluids before he was lining himself up. He pressed in slowly. You felt yourself part around him, your walls stretching around the crown of his head. You were impossibly full, and he was barely in you.
He kept pushing in, both of you panting and looking down, eyes locked on where you were joined. You didn’t think you could take anymore, but he kept going, your walls sucking him in and pulling him into your depths.
“Fuck,” your head dropped back when he bottomed out. He ground forward, staying fully seated inside you and letting you adjust.
“Oh shit,” Jack sat up between your legs, hands gripping your hips, keeping them pressed fully against his. The shift in angle had you keening. “Look at that.”
Your eyes cracked open, trying to figure out what he was talking about.
“Can fucking see myself, holy shit,” one of his hands left your hips, tracing around the very visible sight of his cock outlined in your lower stomach. You were transfixed, watching with bated breath as his fingertips brushed against your skin. Goosebumps broke out across your body at the sensation.
“I wonder…” Jack trailed off, eyes still focused on your stomach. His hand moved, gently laying over the outline of his cock. He let it sit there for just a moment, palming his length through your skin.
And then he pushed down.
Both of you cried out at once. You’d already felt full, but the added pressure of his hand made his length feel even bigger. He was everywhere, completely consuming you from the inside out.
“Holy fuck!” His hips jerked into you, snapping against a spot deep inside you that had you arching in his hold.
“Oh fuck, Jack!”
“Yeah? You feel that?” Jack started moving, his hips withdrawing and punching back into you, rapidly working his way up to a punishing pace. You couldn’t answer with words. He was pushing the breath out of your lungs with every thrust. “God, you’re so full of me, baby.”
And then Jack hiked your legs up over his shoulders, releasing the pressure on your stomach in exchange for keeping your thighs pressed tight to his chest. It opened you up even more to him.
“Oh my god,” Jack bent forward, burying his face back in your neck, pushing your legs into your chest, folding you in half. He was rutting into you, groaning as he chased his pleasure.
You were getting close again, too. Every thrust had the neatly trimmed hairs at the base of his cock grinding over your clit as his tip slammed home against your g-spot. Your eyes were closed, lost in the pleasure. You couldn’t move, completely pinned beneath him and forced to take the overwhelming pleasure.
“Jack! Please!” Your hand tangled in his hair again, holding the strands tightly. It was your only lifeline and you used it to tether yourself to reality.
“Oh fuck,” Jack was panting into the skin of your shoulder. “Fuck, I’m close. C’mon, cum for me. Please, need to feel you.”
You were so close, only a hair's breadth from your peak.
When Jack bit down on your shoulder and his hips stuttered, you came again. You clamped around him, walls spasming and squeezing while he rutted even deeper into you. Jack was groaning your name while he spilled deep inside of you. The hot pusles of his release propelled your own, the two of you pushing each other even higher.
He finally let go of your legs, helping to ease them down until they were resting on the mattress on either side of his hips. He didn’t move to pull out, though. The two of you stayed wrapped around each other, his softening length buried inside you, until the cold was too much to bear.
“So,” Jack gingerly climbed off of you, the cold air rushing in. “Can I take you on a real date now?”
“If you get me a washcloth to clean up with and get the fire started, I’ll marry you as soon as we get out of here,” you were shivering now.
Jack grinned, leaning back down to press a quick kiss to your lips. “Promise?”
another little note: I'm trying out a new reader insert format. usually, I just keep it vague and don't use any form of y/n, but we're gonna do something a little different. my dear friend @fangirl-dot-com asked her followers how they felt about y/n and y/l/n, and someone in the comments said they prefer [name] and [surname] and I like that. its not really used here very much, but I wanted to give it a try. lmk if you hate it but, like, I like it so ill probably keep using it. unless all of you hate it
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 ☆
Jack Abbot wants to find love again - he's just not quite ready to start dating yet
cw - portal pussy, dub con, reader is a sex worker
Jack never thought he'd be one of those guys.
One of those creepy old guys that have a favourite porn star, or pays for prostitutes. He's only been to a strip club once in his life when he was in the army. He'd been dragged by one of the older guys and Jack had tried to say that he had a fiance. That only made him try harder, spouting some bullshit about not being able to get married until Jack experienced the "full range of the female species" whatever the fuck that meant. Jack stopped fighting, and slipped back to the barracks as soon as his very awkward lap dance was over and called his future wife in tears.
All this to say, Jack is not a pervert.
But it's hard to be sure of this fact when he's scrolling through the options on the portal pussy website.
He's been in kind of a weird head space lately. He's felt more secure recently, almost like he's ready to start dating again but every time he thinks about going out to a bar with the explicit purpose of talking to women, or one of those godforsaken apps, his hands get clammy and he feels the begging of a panic attack starting to set in.
So maybe he's not quite ready for that step, but he's getting tired of his hand.
He doesn't even look at the thing for the first two weeks he has it, disgusted with himself for actually going through with it. The small round container with a twist off lid sits next to his bed, mocking him, reminding him of how low he's stooped.
But then his wedding anniversary rolls around. And his wife's side of the bed is still so empty.
He caves. He reaches over and twists the lid open. He's half hoping it'll be empty, that he got scammed and his credit card numbers are now on the dark web somewhere.
Instead, plump folds and pretty skin stare back at him. Guilt radiates from him in waves as he brings the container up to his nose and take a deep breathe.
Fuck, it's been too long.
His hand twitches at his side and he gives in. It's a bit strange at first, not knowing what someone's face looks like when you're pulling apart their outer folds with your fingers, looking at what you're working with. He has none of his usual tells to figure out if he's doing good or not - no changes in expression, no whispers in his ear, no full body shudders as they fall apart on his fingers.
But he's never backed down from a challenge before. He eases into it. His fingers slip through with no resistance. From the outside he doesn't have much indication about what you feel, but his mother raised a gentleman so he rubs slow circles on your clit first.
He laughs as your cunt clenches around nothing. He teases you more, two fingers sliding along your lips just ghosting over your entrance, his thumb keeping light pressure on your clit. He wishes he could see her face.
After he thinks she's had enough he slips one finger side, moaning at wet it makes when he flexes his fingers. Fuck, he missed this. He massages her walls, finding that spot that makes her squeeze his fingers.
His cock is straining against his pants. He ignores it for now, too entranced on working on the task at him. He hesitates, bringing it up to his lips. But curiosity gets the better of him. He leans forward, sucking her clit into his mouth, smiling to himself has she cums undone for him
*****
Of course, of course this new guy would chose now to use your pussy for the first time.
You slump against the bathroom door, reaching behind you with shaky hands until the lock clicks into place.
You got the notification that you had a new buyer two weeks ago. And since then nothing, you don't even think that that he's opened the damn thing in that time. And you've been wearing your special panties for your contractually obligated time, but your alarm didn't go off and you rushed to make it to your shift on time, completely forgetting about your side hustle.
You slump against the sink, biting down on your fist to keep from moaning out.
You're a little pissed off, the first time your client is actually good at sex and you're at work. You're still new to this, your past two clients never gave a shit about your body. They'd use your pussy without so much as touching your clit. Which didn't surprise you, you'd only signed up to make some extra cash during residency.
But this new client was playing your body like a damn fiddle.
It was difficult enough to ignore when he was teasing your folds while you were trying to explain the disimpaction procedure to your elderly patient. But then his stupidly thick fingers had stretched you open and you were scrambling to the bathroom before you orgasmed in front of poor 80 year old Mrs. Bennet and her concerned teenage grandchild who brought her in.
The room suddenly gets very hot as his fingers start to curl inside you. You're panting, hunched over the sink as you struggle to breathe. That fucking asshole, keeping you on edge - letting you get so close to what you want but not letting you finish.
You take a peak at your watch, someone's definitely going to start wondering where you are soon.
But it's really hard to care when the prick of stubble scratches at your lips before he sucks on your clit. Your eyes shoot open, chest heaving as you bite down on your fist so hard you taste metal on your tongue.
You squeeze your thighs together, trying to quell the throb between your legs to no avail. As soon as you straighten yourself out and walk out the door, that tongue returns, this time lapping at your clit.
SUMMARY ➩ Jack Abbot is a married professor who is trying his best to suppress his perverted desires, until you walk into his classroom.
WARNINGS ➩ Jack is not a very good guy and isn’t very nice to reader most of the time but she’s a willing participate. Age gap (reader is in her first year of college and jacks 50). mild dubcon but again she likes it, manipulation, infidelity… he’s a pervert!
AUTHORS NOTE ➩ Not pretending to know anything abt how college works… it’s pwp just use your imagination ok.. not proofread as always and slightly rushed ending so forgive me lol I wanted to finish this already
There was an air of mystery around the fact you’d gotten into college.
Sure, it wasn’t necessarily a prestigious one and the acceptance rate was nearing a full hundred but nobody who had encountered you during your high school career would have planned on seeing you continue your education.
You didn’t like the word stupid but in the nicest way possible, you certainly weren’t the brightest bulb around by any means.
You had a hard time grasping general concepts and studying felt pretty close to what you imagined torture would be like, not to mention your almost complete lack of social skills.
They weren’t inferior in a way that actually mattered or at least mattered in your opinion. You could show up at a house party and know every single name in the building, you were charming and magnetic with your personality and you liked to consider yourself a nice girl.
But you were a bit slow to understand sarcasm and terrible at vague statements.
You’d get a little dazed out look on your face, head slowly tilting like a confused puppy as you blinked your long eyelashes.
Most people were used to you and it was only mildly frustrating to watch as they laughed softly with light pity but mostly amusement, almost like they wanted to pat your hair and comment on how cute you were. You didn’t really recognize the cruel intentions behind the way they’d repeat themselves slower like you needed to be baby talked to even begin to understand, so you’d smile unknowingly and give your best answer.
So you weren’t stupid, it would be mean to call you stupid, but you certainly were not the college type.
It seemed like a majority of your professors agreed with that sentiment, noticeably enough that you’d call your mom three times a week to tearfully ask her to come home. She’d wait patiently through your whining and then tell you that you had to stick it out, college was good for you and she had complete faith that you’d be able to graduate.
You figured she was just saying that to make you both feel better but you didn’t like to argue with her when she used that tone of voice.
Your female professors would turn their noses up at you as soon as you entered in the morning, a few minutes late and still applying your glittery lip gloss. You’d sit down with a bang curler still in your hair, trying to get the perfect bump by noon, and click your bedazzled pink pen above an empty notebook page.
They didn’t seem to hold any kindness towards your choices in attire but that was one thing you weren’t willing to give up. You’d spend the best years of your young adult life rotting away in a dorm that was a quarter of the size of your bedroom back home but you weren’t going to suddenly change your fashion sense.
The male teachers weren’t any better although they had their own form of judgement.
It was in the soft way they spoke to you, eyes lingering a little too long on the smooth skin of your thighs that your skirt didn’t cover, and how they over explained simple topics like they were getting a sense of achievement from being the one to teach you something.
Your mom used to tell you that being pretty could be a weapon but you’d only ever felt like a target since moving away from home.
There was only one class that you got a bit of comfortability in.
Professor Abbot was not at all like the judgmental and patronizing peers around him, he was your favorite part of coming to campus everyday. There was plenty of mornings you’d wake up with the urge to ditch your classes and go get your nails done or have a nice lunch with your friends but you hated missing Abbots class.
His voice was always so low and smooth, never changing pitch with the students he might consider more academically challenged or seeming frustrated with the overachievers. He remained as calm and collected as always, never cracking a smile through his lectures or attempting to joke around while you were taking notes.
He was a professional at its finest and you couldn’t help but appreciate how much he didn’t seem to have an opinion on you.
His eyes would go right past you when he was checking attendance in the morning, never lingering or scanning down your figure lustfully. He didn’t try and gently touch your fingertips when he passed back papers and there was no awkward tutoring offer that felt like an innuendo.
You liked Jack Abbot because he was a good professor who seemed to let you and your bright outfits bleed easily into the rest of the class.
It was a fun change to get to be invisible.
-
Jack felt like you were suffocating him.
He’d always known something was deeply wrong inside of his mind but he’d spend the first five decades of his life suppressing it.
It was a little bit concerning when he kept getting older but his taste in women did not, porn tabs with raunchy titles hidden deep in his private browsers and his gaze wandering in the wrong direction at the grocery store.
Jack did what he was supposed to do and married a woman his age, somebody calm and pretty enough for him to enjoy spending time with.
His wife was a beautiful woman in all definition of the word, independent and funny when she needed to be. But Jack always wanted something different.
He would listen to his colleagues or friends speak about their families, praising the never ending beauty of their wives and their admiration for the way life was changing the features they’d fallen in love with, and feel nothing but annoyance.
There was a large part of him that figured they were all just bullshitting eachother, too afraid to say what they really thought and desired in fear of judgement, but he certainly wasn’t going to be the one who tested that theory.
Years passed after he’d gotten married and he figured he was doing better with his peculiar interest. He’d stopped watching porn of young college girls after his wife fell asleep and he didn’t picture her as somebody smaller, tighter or even prettier when they had detached vanilla sex.
He’d shut his mind off and go through the motions but he wasn’t letting his fantasies keep bleeding over into his real life commitments.
And then you walked in.
Jack had, shockingly, never found himself actually attracted to a student before. It was a lot different than in his mind, actually being at work and putting names and faces to the taboo concept of wanting to fuck a younger woman.
He wasn’t a porn addict by any means and he knew he wasn’t a pervert, or atleast he had really hoped he wasn’t.
You were almost the exact image he had been picturing in his head for the last twenty years whenever he needed to get himself worked up. The type of style and bubbly nature he would secretly wish upon his wife, the smile and dazed expression that haunted him late at night when he was trying his best not to circle back to those videos he still had bookmarked.
Jack figured the universe had sent you to truly test him once and for all.
He had never cheated on his wife and barely even gazed in another’s direction but now you were almost all he could think about.
You always sat in the front row, eyes a little too eager for somebody the other professors constantly criticized in the lounge. He knew what they thought about you and his own opinions weren’t too far off.
Scandalous. Whiny. Dumb.
Jack actually agreed with all these labels but he would place them in a much different way. He had no negative connotations to associate with you and your tendency to be a bit… slower.
He liked it when he could tell you weren’t quite understanding what he was saying to the class, eyebrows furrowing and hands clenching around your pen like you were contemplating asking him to repeat himself but didn’t want to face the embarrassment.
There was a genuine effort that went into pretending he didn’t notice you in any special way, avoiding looking at you unless you were too focused on a conversation with your friends or fixing your hair to notice his sharp gaze locked on your frame.
He’d take the thought of you home with him and he fell right back into those bad habits he’d worked so hard to suppress in recent years, meaningless sex with his wife followed by him watching deplorable videos in the bathroom with his fist wrapped tight around his aching length.
He let himself think about you the most then, wondering if you’d even know what to do with a cock like his or if you’d be just as stupid in that area too.
Jack figured a girl like you was used to attention, especially from perverts like he apparently was, so he offered you none of it.
-
You were going a bit crazy lately in that overly bratty way your mom hated so much, and she loved to remind you just how much it bothered her.
At first you had really enjoyed how normal you felt in Professor Abbots class but the appeal quickly wore off. You figured it probably wasn’t normal to get so attached to a college teacher but you just really liked his teaching style and for the first time in your entire life you were putting actual effort into your studies.
You didn’t care if you failed every single class but you wanted to do well in his.
And you weren’t doing terribly but he was completely void of any feedback when you messed up or praise when you got a good grade. You just wanted something from him, anything at all.
Even a smiley face in the corner of your papers or an email about how consistent your attendance was. Maybe you’d even be content with him telling you where you needed to improve, giving you some pointers or a simple thumbs up.
You didn’t understand and it wasn’t something you were accustomed to.
People looked at you, men especially.
But apparently not Jack Abbot.
You started to find him in between classes so you could catch his attention easier, asking him softly to remind you when your essay was due or getting a light correction on which pages you were meant to be reading that weekend.
He’d give you a glance then, sitting behind his desk with a flat expression and empty eyes as he briefly gave you whatever answer you were seeking. Then he’d look back down at the papers scattered in front of him and completely miss the way your lips downturned into a disappointed frown.
Once you’d asked him for an extension, hoping he’d ask you why you needed it and give you a chance to have a real conversation with him.
He had simply nodded and told you that you could have another week.
You’d been terribly upset about it, teary eyed as you stomped back to your dorm and called your mother to complain. She told you to stop thinking about it, scolded you for even caring about one specific professor when your grades were so poor and then sighed apologetically when you started to cry.
The next morning, you’d gone straight to his room despite the fact your schedule didn’t put you in one of his lectures until the afternoon. You’d braced yourself at the door to prepare the light speech you had rehearsed the night before, wanting to demand he give you some type of feedback that would help your academic performance (mature phrasing courtesy of your mother’s revisions).
You were stopped by the voice of another student, one of the pretty girls who often complimented your outfit choices with a bit of a judging sneer.
“Please professor, you don’t understand how hard I’ve been working on this project.” Her voice was beyond desperate and your eyebrows furrowed as you shifted so you were standing back in the hallway, back pressed against the wall as you listened. “I really only need one more night to finish it. My mother’s been ill and I’m the only one who can take care of her.”
You thought she was being a little ridiculous in her begging considering how nice Abbot was whenever you had asked him for an extension, barely blinking an eye before accepting and not even demanding an explanation.
“I told you no exceptions.” His voice came out harsher than it was during lectures and you stiffened a little at the small rejected noise she had made in response. “If you desire special treatment then I suggest you transfer classes sooner than later.”
Her footsteps got closer, speeding up as she rounded the corner you were pressed against and wiped at her teary cheeks.
You waited a few extra seconds before you were going inside, any plans you had to confront him thrown out the door. He sent you a slightly irritated look when you came in, no doubt bothered by the second interruption in such a short span of time.
“You didn’t give her the extension?” You asked curiously before you could stop yourself, stopping a few feet short of his desk and blinking at him in confusion.
“She doesn’t need it.” He sighed and shook his head, still staring down at his papers as he took off his glasses and set them down on the dark wood.
He finally brought his gaze back to you and you felt a little embarrassed by the frown on your face, far too childish for the setting you were both in but you were bothered by his answer and the implications.
“I don’t need it either.” You said in a less confident voice than you meant to, making it even more clear that you were upset.
There were a few tense seconds of silence before he was scoffing and rubbing his temples, actually managing a slightly amused look unlike anything you’d ever seen on his typically stoic face.
“You do.”
It was obvious what he meant, even to somebody as slow to catch on as you were, because you’d heard it for your entire life. You needed the extension because you simply weren’t as smart as she was, the special treatment wasn’t because he liked you or thought you were a good student but rather the fact he assumed you needed extra help.
You stood there stiffly for a few seconds before you were following the footsteps of your peer and stomping out of the classroom, although for much different reasons.
You turned in your essay that night at two in the morning, ignoring the extra week he had given you to finish.
-
Jack didn’t know it was possible to get this hard over an essay.
He was lying in bed when the email came in, blankly staring at his ceiling and listening to the sound of his wife snoring that felt closer to nails in a blender. His phone screen had illuminated his face for only a few seconds, just long enough to read your name in the submission tab, before he was getting up and leaving the room.
There was no need for the usual porn videos of young girls with your hair color being taken from behind, absolutely no effort being put into making up a fantasy or trying to picture what you’d look like with his cum all over your pretty pouty lips.
All Jack needed was the words in front of him, awkwardly spaced paragraphs and typos between sentences that didn’t flow in the way a college students should.
His perfect stupid girl had wanted his attention so bad that you stayed up late into the night just to send him a below average essay.
There was a deep satisfaction that came along with the picture of you sitting behind your desk with tired eyes and the hope that you could impress him somehow. Jack almost felt bad for you and then immediately came to the thought.
He let his fond pity bleed through a little after he got himself together enough to pull out his laptop, sitting in his home office with his reading glasses perched on his nose as he typed up a response.
Your grade wasn’t the best, he knew you’d get that cute disappointed look you always did when you were below passing, but he’d left something in the feedback section for the first time since you had joined his class.
Jack closed his laptop screen halfway, just enough for the light to fade to black and give his eyes a rest. He rubbed a hand over his stubble and sighed deeply, trying not to think about what he’d gotten himself into.
-
Clearly you didn’t need the extra time.
You were positive you’d read it probably three dozen times as you walked across campus to get to your first lecture, still thinking about it while you sat through the earlier classes you couldn’t care less about if you tried.
It wasn’t much, it wasn’t even necessarily positive, but he had actually said something about your work.
He even almost seemed to possibly be joking around with you, maybe lightly teasing about how upset you had gotten the day before.
You didn’t really care what the context was or how poor your actual grade had been because all that mattered was that he had seen your effort and directly acknowledged it with more than a percentage logged onto a computer system.
You had felt a surge of confidence after you saw it, utilizing it in the best way you knew how by applying a little extra perfume in the morning and clicking your way to class in your favorite pair of kitten heels.
Jack wasn’t behind his desk when you got into the room, a handful of minutes early but not enough that it should be as empty as it was.
Your eyebrows furrowed in soft confusion, faltering in the entrance as you glanced at the clock on the wall to double check you hadn’t somehow mixed up the times.
Slower footsteps behind you made you shift out of the way, shoulders sagging in slight relief when Jack passed by you casually. He didn’t even send a look your way but you followed him deeper into the classroom, stopping in front of his desk and clearing your throat.
“Is class cancelled professor?” Your sweet voice caught his attention finally, stopping his movements to look at you.
You wondered if you imagined the way his eyes lingered around your mouth for a second or two.
“For those who got an eighty percent or higher on the most recent exam.” He answered back easily, watching as you started to form that familiar pout.
You both knew exactly why you were upset, the seventy nine you’d received being burned into your mind. You didn’t mind when you saw it, both because you had been so excited about his comment and because it was actually a very good grade by your standards, but now you felt embarrassed.
Nobody else had gotten below an eighty. Nobody else was supposed to come to class today.
“You’ll only teach me sir?” You shifted in place and watched as his jaw tensed a little, thinking he was just growing irritated you were still standing there interrupting his preparation.
There was a moment where he didn’t say anything at all and you felt the ridiculous urge to call your mother and cry but you tried your best to swallow the tightness in your throat.
“That’s pointless I suppose.” He eventually sighed like you were overly inconveniencing him by showing up to a class you had no idea wasn’t going to be happening. “You can have it off as well.”
You wanted to argue with him just for the sake of it, tell him that you were still willing to learn from him even if you were the only one but you knew it wasn’t realistic for him to only teach one student. The silent acknowledgment that it was especially ridiculous if that student was you only making it sting that much more.
Any confidence you had gained from his comment on your essay was eviscerated now and you could do nothing but take a deep breath and leave the room.
-
He figured he must be getting sicker by the day because you never looked more beautiful than when you were about to cry.
It was a new addiction of his and he made sure to utilize it whenever he could.
Which was often considering just how easy you were to get to that state, always so vulnerable with your emotions and unable to hide the tears that would build up whenever he would scold you or dismiss you entirely.
Jack would do it almost daily now that he knew how gorgeous of a sight it was, the slight wobble of your lower lip and the way your chest heaved when you tried to take an unsuccessful calming breath.
He was almost desperate to see you really breakdown, longing to watch you fully cry now that he’d gotten a taste of it.
You got the closest to that exact scenario a few weeks after the issue with the essay, coming in twenty minutes late with a flush to your skin and your eyes slightly panicked. You were never late to his classes despite your tardiness in all other aspects of life so it was completely out of the ordinary for you.
You’d begun to explain yourself when you saw the frustrated look on his face but he’d sharply held up a hand to stop you from speaking, pointing at an empty chair in the third row silently that you immediately scrambled for.
Jack then launched into a rant about how one late student can shift the dedication and focus of an entire class, not saying your name or looking in your direction but letting it be very obvious that you were exactly who he was referring to.
It was erotic to watch you grow more and more embarrassed as he spoke, attempting to shrink down deep in your chair to avoid the looks your classmates were sending you. He had to stop himself when your eyes started to water because he could feel his pants tightening around the zipper, moving to stand behind his desk as casually as he could manage.
He was a very sick man and he didn’t necessarily see the point of denying it much longer.
The process of breaking you down didn’t take very long considering you were clinging on to his every word and endlessly seeking his approval despite the fact he never once offered it. You’d take all of his criticisms like negative attention was better than none at all and he’d touch himself under his desk after you scurried out of the room with your head hanging low.
There was a part of him that had hoped he’d be able to hold out longer than just a few weeks but apparently he was also a weak man because he didn’t last very long at all.
You had come into class a few minutes early as always but with a few noticeable differences.
Your skirts were already bordering on a dangerous length but they were still relatively appropriate for a school setting. Nothing like the one you were currently wearing, flashes of the lacy fabric you were sporting underneath showing when you bent down to grab a dropped lipgloss tube.
Jack had frozen at the sight of it, too irritated to even be aroused by the brief glimpse of your panties he was a first row viewer to.
He didn’t think you were doing it intentionally judging by the way you were continuously tugging it down by the hem as you adjusted in your seat, face a little embarrassed when you caught a classmate looking for too long.
Maybe you’d gotten the wrong size or accidentally put on your roommates clothes instead. Or maybe you were just too stupid to realize half your ass was hanging out from the bottom of it.
Whatever the reasoning behind it was, he felt a low simmer of anger sitting in his stomach as he pushed through the lesson.
You’d gotten up to leave after the lesson but he had stopped you with a call of your name, voice rough and firm. You froze up immediately and turned to look at him with those big nervous eyes of yours.
“See me before you go.” He said it simply, only watching you long enough to see the way your shoulders deflated.
You lingered around your spot until the rest of the class cleared out before hesitating and slowly approaching his desk, fiddling with your fingers and constantly shifting in place while you waited for him to say something.
“Do you think it’s fair that your classmates pay to attend a class full of distractions?” He started slowly, not letting his tone change at all to avoid tipping you off on how furious he was.
You looked like a kicked puppy as you took a few steps closer and started to shake your head in denial, still tugging at your skirt to try and cover yourself more.
“I-I’m so sorry sir. I accidentally shrunk it in the wash and didn’t realize until I left my dorm.” You were already looking like you might start to cry if he went any heavier with the scolding.
Jack felt the anger turn into a different type of heat at the desperation in your voice, the look on your face as you rubbed your legs together uncomfortably. He felt fond of your reasoning despite how clueless it was to make such a mistake at your grown age, but it was okay because you were his stupid girl after all.
“You shouldn’t be apologizing to me.” He interrupted you flatly and your lips pursed in upset. “You should apologize to every boy in this class today who had to suffer through your choice of attire.”
-
You couldn’t speak, unable to get any words out that could possibly make this situation better.
You were a spoiled girl, well behaved even when you were a little bratty, and you had never once been scolded like this in your entire life. You felt beyond embarrassed and you knew it was showing throughout your entire body, throat tight and lumpy like you were choking back on a sob.
The classroom hung in a painful silence as you genuinely considered running out of the room and dropping his class all together.
Your mom would just have to understand your reasoning, the devastation that came along with disappointing Professor Abbot.
“Get on your knees.”
His voice was low and smooth like he was simply telling you to close the door on your way out. Your body stiffened in confusion as you stared at him, trying to understand what he wanted and why he was making a request like that.
“My knees?” You sounded a little choked and he raised an eyebrow at the question. “Sir I don’t… I don’t understand.”
“You wanted to apologize didn’t you?” His eyes sharpened into a light glare and you felt another wave of anxiety, not wanting him to be any more upset with you than he already was. You nodded your head eagerly after a moment and he sighed, taking off his glasses and pushing his chair away from his desk just enough to leave a space below him. “Then get on your knees.”
You frowned softly, still not really understanding why this would make the situation better for either of you, before slowly walking to the other side of his desk. Your heels clicked softly and then stopped once you were close to him, the closest you’d ever been.
You gave him one more expectant look that he met with one of boredom and low patience before pointing down at the floor.
Your knees hit the cold marble a little too harshly and you bit your lip to stop from wincing in pain, not wanting to mess this up and give him anymore reasons to scold you.
There was that need building again, the overwhelming want to impress him and show him you could follow instructions. You wanted to be a good student, you wanted to be his favorite, and if that meant kneeling before him and apologizing then you’d do it.
Jack watched you for a long few seconds once you were on the floor, scanning over your hesitant face and the way you shifted in place like the embarrassment was making you physically itch.
“Come here sweetheart.” His voice was softer now and you really wanted to cry at the sound of it, so unlike the usual tone he took with you and the other students.
It was enough to make you entirely forget any hesitance, shuffling closer as you dragged your knees across the floor and ended up directly between his legs. You had to crane your head back to even look at him, eyes lashes fluttering as you waited for him to tell you what to do next.
“Now tell me how sorry you are.” He instructed and your face got warm, worsening when his hand was shifting off his arm rest to brush some of your hair out of your face.
“I’m so sorry sir.” You whispered, so thrown off by the entire exchange that you couldn’t even think of anything else to say.
“For what?”
You fell silent again, almost unable to remember what had led to you being on your knees in front of him. His face was starting to harden again the longer it took you to answer and a shaky breath left you in a small panic that he would go back to being upset.
“You’re sorry for being a whore.” He finally said simply and now you felt like the air had been smacked out of your lungs, head tilting in confusion before you were starting to shake it as a denial. The word felt extra harsh falling from his mouth, typically so professional and dignified. “Say it.”
His tone was back to being sharp and there was no room for argument now unless you wanted to severely disappoint him all over again. You couldn’t stomach the thought so you wiped at your watery eyes and looked down between his thighs to avoid seeing his face as you echoed his words back to him.
“I’m so sorry for being a whore sir.” You said quietly, voice weak and unstable.
It was silent again and you hoped you had done enough to even slightly placate him, not daring to look up and check his reaction. You didn’t necessarily need to considering his hand was touching you again although a lot less kindly, gripping your chin and forcing you to stare up at him.
His touch was harsher than anything you were used to, shifting forward to wrap around your neck with a light amount of pressure as your eyes widened.
“Again. And look at me this time.” He was practically hissing through his teeth and you felt the tears falling before you could stop them, so wrecked that you had made him this frustrated with your stupid mistake.
“I’m sorry for being a whore sir, I’m so sorry.” You were fully crying now and his eyes darkened in response, staring down at you and parting his lips like he needed the extra assistance to take deep breaths.
You waited for further instructions eagerly, feeling a little lost when he was letting you go and pushing his chair back away from you so you could comfortably stand up without bumping him.
“You’re dismissed.”
You wanted to argue, staying on your knees for nearly a full minute after it was no longer necessary. You didn’t feel like you had made it up to him yet and that was settling in your stomach like a disease but he had already gone back to shifting through his papers and you knew he had no more time left to offer you and your ridiculous situation.
You made a small pained noise as you got off the floor, knees sore and stiff. You spared him one last longing glance before you were speed walking out of the room.
-
Jack had, for some reason, figured it would be harder to break you despite how obvious it was that you were the perfect candidate for his sick desires.
You were desperate to satisfy and clearly lacking any attention other than lustful, dumb enough to blindly listen to him without asking too many questions and a big enough whore by nature to want to please him.
It started out small, he needed to make sure you weren’t going to run crying to your mommy the first time he stuck his dick inside of you.
But you were more perfect than he could ever imagine.
He found out it was easier to take advantage of you when you were already in hysterics which was okay with him considering how beautiful you were when you cried. It made him harden almost instantly to watch as you gasped for air and tried your best to apologize to him for whatever imaginary issue he had made up just to scold you.
He would spend a few minutes degrading you, getting you so upset you were willing to do absolutely anything to stop the bad feelings, and then abruptly switch over to comfort.
The shift was so jarring the first few times that you would get this cute dazed out look on your face, blinking at him behind those wet eyelashes like you thought he had become an entirely different person.
A few extra petnames and a soft touch to your arm would snap you out of it and you’d practically press yourself against him to try and soothe the damage he’d done a few seconds prior.
It was addicting, especially when he actually began to train you the way he wanted.
He hadn’t fucked you yet, you understood enough to know you weren’t supposed to be doing that with somebody his age and especially not your teacher. He could still see the fear in your eyes whenever you thought about it and he couldn’t risk you telling anybody about your after hours feedback sessions.
Jack did other things though to hold himself over until he could actually have you.
The first time was still one of his favorites to get himself off to late at night, reminiscing on the way he had bent you over his desk and pulled your soaked panties down to your ankles.
You’d been crying even when he pressed against you, wiggling your hips on the aching tent in his pants and sobbing into your forearm when he thrust against you. You liked it, he knew you did considering you were so wet it was starting to coat your thighs, but you were so confused by how good it felt and could only whine and sob while he humped you roughly.
Jack also liked to fill your throat, a guilty pleasure he almost couldn’t go a day without anymore.
You seemed a lot more relaxed when it came to that, almost eagerly getting on your knees whenever he got that look in his eyes.
“Fuck bunny there we go.” He’d tangle his hands in your hair, wedding ring catching some of the strands, and fuck himself deep into your throat while you gagged and squirmed below him. You’d look up at him with watery eyes and spit running down your neck, the praise that came along with this specific act making it your favorite. “You’re taking me so deep baby. You like being a cock slut sweetheart? Does this make you feel good?”
You would try to nod the best you could, choking on his length and the way he’d speed up whenever you tried to slow down and take a breath. He could almost close his eyes and let himself pretend he was actually getting to fuck you.
The first time, he had came all over your face and then listened to you sob afterwards.
His sweet sensitive girl was always such a crybaby.
You’d told him that you wanted to taste him in your throat so he forced you back down onto your knees and fucked your sore throat all over again so he could give you what you had asked so nicely for.
He was obsessed with you.
He’d lay in bed at home and think about the taste of your sweet untouched cunt, the way you squirmed and whimpered when he took you out to his car and sucked your clit into his mouth until you were soaking his stubble. You got more shy with that, clenching your thighs and trying to get him to something else but eventually letting him get between your legs and lick into your hole until you were humping his face.
Jack barely even spoke to his wife and he didn’t need to use his old porn websites because he had dozens of videos of you in various positions.
You were his favorite hobby and the only thing that scratched that deep perverted itch he was finally beginning to explore.
-
You hadn’t meant for your other classes to become so irrelevant but you felt like you barely had time to focus on anything other than your lessons with Jack.
He’d told you to stop calling him professor, sticking to his name or the title of sir when you were alone together, but you had a hard time breaking the habit.
You respected him so much and you knew his ways of teaching weren’t conventional, he knew it too clearly considering how often he reminded you that you couldn’t tell anymore, but you felt like you were really prospering after your time with him.
He would go on and on about what a smart girl you were becoming, help you with your studies even if it meant that you had to sit in his lap and try to focus through his fingers being deep in your cunt.
You’d started to thrive with his praise and guidance and when he started to tell you that you should drop your other classes so you could focus more on his, you were quick to listen.
Your body started to crave him just as much as your mind did, both his approval and the feeling of him touching you. You’d never been a very sexual girl growing up despite knowing how you looked and having a general idea of what boys wanted to do to you.
Your mom had told you before that the best way to handle sexuality was to ignore it so you did. You didn’t kiss any boys under the bleachers or touch yourself late at night when you got that unfamiliar heat between your legs.
Jack was the first person to ever touch you and now it was almost your bodies natural instinct. You’d start to get wet and uncomfortable under your skirt the second you heard his voice and you would almost crave the taste of him in your throat when you had to go a few days without it.
It started to bleed into your life outside of school and now you had a lot more free time considering your neglect of any other responsibilities.
You’d miss him when you laid in your dorm, a pout on your face and tears filling your eyes as you thought about the occasionally gentle way he’d touch you.
Jack didn’t talk to you about his life at home but you saw his ring, felt it against your warm skin, and you occasionally would get a glance of the wedding photo he kept on his desk before he’d slam it face down to keep you focused.
He’d tense up whenever you asked about his wife, kissing his jaw softly and requesting he tells you that you’re atleast prettier than her if nothing else. There was a handful of times he had directly punished you for your prying, a sharp hand across your thighs or your mouth when you got particularly pushy.
It had been months of him touching you in his classroom, kissing you in the back of his car while you panted for more contact and praising you in a way that felt hypnotic.
You couldn’t stomach it one night for some reason and you ended up making the mistake of calling him. He’d given you his number for emergencies only alongside strict rules about when and how you were allowed to contact him but you didn’t think it was fair. You were always accessible to him whenever he needed you and you just wanted him so bad you could barely think.
You didn’t mean anything by it despite knowing it was wrong, you just wanted to hear his voice before you went to sleep.
It rang a handful of times and you could almost picture him at home, excusing himself out of the room and already disappointed that you had even broken one of the conditions but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.
You automatically smiled when you heard the ringing stop, happy he had answered you at all even though it slightly faded when you heard the sharp breath he sucked in.
“I knew you were fucking stupid but this is a new level.” His voice was so harsh that your chest tightened, grip tight on your phone at the insult. “What are you thinking calling me while I’m at home?”
You didn’t have the ability to say anything, completely stuck on the word he’d spat out like you disgusted him.
You’d been called stupid enough times in your life for it lose its effect but it still stung. Jack himself often said it, gently whispering how he’d help you get smarter and learn how to properly navigate things. It didn’t feel as bad as a label if it meant you got to spend more time with him trying to teach you.
“I’m sorry Jackie.” Your sadness was obvious in your tone, rolling onto your side and curling into a ball as you stared at your dorm wall. “I just missed you.”
-
Jack couldn’t tell if he was more irritated or turned on.
He’d been in the worst possible situation for you to call, his wife under him for the first time in a handful of years. It wasn’t at all good and he was practically counting down the seconds until it was over but he didn’t need her growing suspicious about where he was getting his real pleasure from.
It seemed like it had been pointless considering the speed he’d gotten out of bed when he saw your name on his phone screen. He should’ve changed the contact to something less obvious but he hadn’t expected you to break the rules, you were normally such a good girl for him.
She’d stiffened and called after him as she covered her chest, asking him what was wrong and where he was going.
Jack knew right away that it wasn’t an emergency, had come to know you like the back of his hand and figured out that you were simply being disobedient before he even picked up the call.
Your soft sad voice had slightly disarmed the rush of anger he felt.
He liked the way you looked when you cried but only when he was the one who got to fix it afterwards, not while knowing you were most likely alone in your dorm and already feeling needy for his attention.
Despite the twisted way he was going about breaking you down and getting you attached to him, Jack did care about you. It was more for him than a pretty young girl he was trying to fuck, he was sure he could find somebody a lot less controversial if he just wanted to explore that urge.
He had to really collect himself and his annoyance so he didn’t upset you, sighing and rubbing the bridge of his nose as he sat down on the edge of the bath tub.
“I know you miss me bunny but you can’t call here.” His voice had softened and he could hear you audibly whimper at the sound of it, his cock stirring slightly in his sweatpants. “I thought you were being a good girl for me lately.”
“I am a good girl.” You sounded a little out of breath and he closed his eyes and tried to picture you saying that in a different scenario that was less annoying, on your knees preferably. “Can’t I just see you?”
It was quiet for a few seconds and he slightly shocked himself as he actually considered your request. Jack knew it was beyond stupid to try and leave his house and his wife in bed, already confused and suspicious about his late night phone call, just to go sneak off and see you on campus.
But he longed for it just as much as you did.
“Jackie?” You whispered when he didn’t reply and he could hear you moving around on your bed. “Will you come see me Jackie? I want to feel you.”
“Bunny.” His voice was harsher now, losing patience and needing to take a few deep breaths.
“I’ll let you fuck me.” You ignored his warning and kept going, tone getting needier and now he was hit with the realization that you were starting to sound a little fucked out. “You can finally put your cock in me.”
“If you’re touching yourself then you’ll never get my cock again.” He spits the words out, hissing them as quiet as he can possibly be while also making sure you understand just how serious he is.
He hears you whimper and then all the rustling of your blankets stop, confirming that he was right in his assumption. Now any hesitance is gone from his body, morals being set on the back burner as he walks past his bedroom doorway in favor of heading downstairs and grabbing his truck keys off the hook.
He hangs up on you as soon as the ignition starts, listening to the soft relieved giggle you send through the speaker for a few brief seconds before he’s needing silence to focus on getting to you as quick as possible.
-
You’re giddy when you open your door for him.
Your roommates thankfully at her boyfriend’s place for the weekend which is part of the reason you had been missing Jack so bad. Half because you were lonely there by yourself but also because you were achingly jealous that she got to go over to her partners place so simply while you weren’t even allowed to call Jack.
He looks the most casual you’d ever seen him, button up shirt and slacks replaced with sweatpants and a hoodie that he has pulled up to attempt to cover his identity even a little bit.
There’s really no point considering it’s a weekend and it’s far too late for anybody to be wandering around and accidentally running into their professor standing in the hallways.
Still, you’re quick to softly grab his arm and pull him inside.
He kisses you deeply as soon as the door closes which slightly surprises you but you try not to let it show, not wanting him to suddenly remember what you are to each other and stop.
It’s the sweetest act he’d ever done with you, a sensual greeting kiss with his big hands rubbing the small of your back under your tank top.
You kissed often, especially once he realized how much you liked it, but it was always over the line of filthy. It was a lot of spit and tongue, licking into his mouth more than you were actually kissing and whining desperately as he touched you throughout it.
This wasn’t at all like that and you felt a little dizzy at the realization it almost seemed romantic.
You pushed the hood off so you could run your fingers through his hair and you were grateful he was letting you touch him, another rare feature of your times together.
Jack liked to be in control when you were having your lessons, he liked you on your knees or sitting on your hands so you couldn’t touch him even if you wanted to. He would smack your mouth or press his thumb into the side of your throat when you’d get too greedy and try to grab onto him anyways.
Now he was letting you rub through his hair and then down over his shoulders, clinging to him as you kissed each other desperately.
“You needed me baby?” He said against your mouth when you finally calmed down and you nodded eagerly. “Wanted some cock so bad you were willing to break my rules?”
“I’m sorry Jackie.” You frowned softly and leaned back so you could properly see his face, searching it for any obvious signs of disappointment or anger. He was simply looking at you fondly which made you feel a little bit better, especially considering the heat in his eyes. “I got so needy by myself.”
He kissed his teeth in light disapproval but pressed his lips to yours again as he lifted you up enough to bring you towards your bed. You made a small surprised sound but easily rested against his firm chest as he moved you effortlessly.
“My sweet slutty girl. You just saw me a few hours ago bunny, you’re that insatiable?” His voice was that low rasp you liked so much and you could only stare up at him with wide eyes as he laid you down gently on your back, head propped up on one of your fluffy pink pillows. “My tongue in that pretty cunt wasn’t enough for you?”
You frowned at the question, knowing both answers were technically wrong. You could agree and get scolded for implying the way he ate you out in his truck a few hours ago was unsatisfactory or you could confirm just how needy and slutty you were when it came to him.
Luckily you didn’t need to answer considering he was kissing you again, deep and sloppy in that way you liked so much. You were eager to return it even when he was pulling your sleep shorts down your legs and rubbing you over your panties.
“Gonna let me fuck you?” He said lowly against your mouth as he felt the wetness coating your underwear, eyes darker when you whined and nodded your head quickly.
“Yes sir yes, you can fuck me.” You whimpered when his thumb was circling your clit a bit too harshly, that rare gentleness he had came in with already fading. “Please fuck me.”
-
Jack wasn’t soft with you and he didn’t take his time.
Simply because he didn’t need to be.
He’d spent the entire school year working on molding you into this exact being, his desperate bunny girl that would do anything he needed. He probably didn’t have to go as hard as he did with breaking you down but he was risking his career, his marriage and his entire life.
So it was only fair that you gave up yours in exchange.
He was sure you’d agree if he presented it to you like that. You would probably drop to your knees and choke on him just as a thank you, blinking up at him from the floor with those teary eyes of yours.
He needed to be positive that when he finally had you, he’d never lose you. Jack couldn’t let you have the option of leaving and especially not if there was any small likelihood that you’d tell somebody about your relationship
Now he was certain that you weren’t going anywhere and it only was partially due to the way he was currently forcing himself inside of you, listening to you cry and beg him to slow down like you weren’t so wet around him you were coating the cute pink blankets beneath you.
You didn’t want him to stop, you just wanted it softer. You wanted him to kiss you and tell you what a pretty girl you were being for him but Jack figured you had the rest of your lives for him to take care of you.
For now he just wanted to pin you down and fuck your virginity out of existence.
He had fantasies, of course he did he was only human, and most of them were dark and perverted but he had never actually fucked anything the way he was fucking you. He was a married vanilla man who had an odd fixation on some strange porn but this was a whole new side of himself that he didn’t recognize.
“Jackie.” You were calling his name repeatedly, soft and pained little whimpers that only made him get impossibly harder inside of you.
He had you on your stomach, his thumbs pressing down into the small of your back and surely leaving bruises.
“Be quiet and take it baby.” He could only grunt in response, not able to stand the sound of your whiny voice paired with how tight you were around him. He should have known fucking a virgin would wreck him, enlighten him to a new world he wouldn’t want to ever leave. “Fuck I could be inside you forever.”
That made you whine even louder, arching your back and attempting to either squirm away from him or rub yourself against the bedding.
“You like the thought of that bunny? You just want my cock inside you all the time?”
“Y-yes Jackie yes.” You were fully sobbing by now and barely able to speak, he wasn’t sure you were even processing what he was asking you and figured instead that you just kept mindlessly agreeing to try and appease him.
Jack realized pretty quickly after finishing deep inside you, cleaning you up with his tongue and listening to you whimper and ask him for more only half an hour after, that this was what the rest of his life was going to look like.
And he couldn’t help but think the risk was worth it.
summary: All it takes is one glance at the pretty girl who lives in the apartment across from his for Andrew Cody to become obsessed. But what begins as innocent observation from his window turns into something far more intense.
warnings: +18 MDNI. obsessive behavior, stalking, multiple scenes of male masturbation, themes of shame, reader has type b youngho vibes and andrew is stupidly into it, feminine reader who has hair and wears press on nails, unspecified but implied age gap, reader shares one kiss with a female friend (not super detailed), J pulls your cell phone records as a favor, andrew breaks into your apartment and raids your panty drawer, male masturbation with a vibrator, nipple play, alcohol consumption and mentioned drunkenness, lingerie, exhibitionism on readers part, mutual masturbation, jealousy, bratting/a touch of brat taming, reader tries to make pope jealous with another man, death threats (not to reader or pope), dirty talk, sloppy makeouts, spit swapping, over the clothes nipple sucking, finger sucking, f!use of a vibrator, clit play, rough fingering, unprotected piv, dacryphilia, light angst, insecure pope, reader matches his freak, stalker!reader, forced love confessions, begging, creampie
note: wow ok i think that might be the longest warning i've ever written whoops!! thank u sm to my angel @thykingdoncome for reassuring me through this whole process and taking a lil looksie at this for me love u 4ever
wc: 10.4k
[masterlist] [AO3]
Andrew knows it's weird.
He knows that.
But as long as you don't know he's doing it, what does it hurt?
It's not like he's doing anything weird. He's just…watching you. It almost feels like fate, the way your apartment is positioned directly across from his. There's the courtyard and a pool lying between you, but the windows of his apartment mirror yours so perfectly.
And…you don't have blinds.
No curtains, no shades. There's not even a half-effort of an old sheet hung up over the glass pane. And at night? When he can't sleep, and the moths circle the flickering porch lights, and you've got those blue or red or purple LED lights on…well.
Pope can see right into your apartment.
Can see you, watching TV on the couch or cooking boxed macaroni in nothing but a loose tank top and a pair of lace underwear.
He thinks you might be the only good thing about the apartment that Smurf forced him into only three days after he was released from prison.
It's been a long time since he's looked at a woman, you know. Longer since he's seen one as pretty as you.
He's not lacking self awareness or anything. Pope knows your open windows and ever changing LEDs aren't an invitation to stare, but…sometimes it feels like one.
You fall asleep on the couch most nights. Which is good for him, because Pope can't see into your bedroom.
Some things, he begins to realize, are a sort of chaotic routine.
You tend to fall asleep with your phone in your hand and scramble to find it each morning (it's always under the couch, beneath the hot pink throw pillow you kick off in your sleep).
You don't eat breakfast because you don't wake up early enough to (don't you know it's the most important meal of the day?). Most mornings, you wake up with just enough time to doll yourself up in the bathroom, prioritizing glittery eyeshadow and shimmering lip gloss rather than the sustenance of a bowl of cereal.
He doesn't know what you do for work, but it's something with an inconsistent schedule. You sleep until noon on your days off, which could be any day of the week, Pope learns.
Work doesn't stop you from going out, though. Saturday nights are reserved for those miniskirts and stiletto heels and all your giggling girlfriends who get ready on your living room floor with a hand mirror. You share perfume and makeup and clothes with them before you all climb into a shared uber.
A few times, Andrew finds himself tempted to follow you. He tells himself it's not like he'd be doing it for his own satisfaction. He'd just be doing it to keep an eye on you, that's all. You're a young girl (too young for someone his age). Don't you know there are predators out there?
But he never does. Because that would be weird, right? You don't even know him. But…he certainly starts to feel like he knows you.
You and your friends always stumble back to your apartment, sometimes falling up the concrete steps to the second floor. One of them will make pizza rolls or messy peanut butter sandwiches and you'll pass around cold bottles of water and spill electrolyte drink mixes on the kitchen counter.
You'll share your things with them even after the club, selfless girl. Passing out hair ties and makeup removing wipes and big t-shirts for them to sleep in. On one particular night, when most of them are passed out on the couch, legs and arms tangled together, Pope even watches you you share a kiss with one of them under pink LEDs.
That night, Andrew has to force his attention away. It feels way too close to the beginning of that porno Craig left open on the family computer years ago.
But this doesn't feel erotic. Watching your mouth move against someone else's doesn't elicit any warmth beneath the fabric of his jeans.
No, it makes Andrew...upset. Angry, even.
It makes him jealous.
He tries not to think about it again. Tries even harder (and fails, repeatedly) to give you some privacy on Saturday nights.
But Sundays…Sundays are sacred.
Both for you and for him.
So much so that he pulls out on a job when his brothers plan it for a Sunday. Tells them he has to check in with his parole officer that day. Lies to their faces, because he doesn't want to miss out on you.
Because every Sunday, without fail, Andrew gets to see you naked.
You start by cleaning your apartment. Wiping down the counters and vacuuming the carpet and dusting the top of the cabinets. Then you light the candle on the coffee table (pink champagne, he's pretty sure, after looking endlessly online to match up the glass container. Twenty six dollars. Four day shipping. Currently sitting unlit on his nightstand).
And when you're ready, you strip off all your clothes and discard them in the bathroom.
You put oil in your hair and nineties R&B on your bluetooth speaker. You paint your toes (usually white or black, occasionally an electric blue) and glue artificial nails with sparkling gems onto your fingers.
Sunday showers are the longest, Pope knows. Sometimes thirty minutes. And when you emerge from the bathroom, steam rolls out from the open door and you've got your hair wrapped up in a towel. You balance yourself with a foot on the edge of the couch and massage lotion into your skin first.
From top to bottom, moisturizing your entire body. And then you repeat the motion with an oil, and it's during this particular step that Andrew starts feeling a little lightheaded.
He'd bet you feel all smooth and soft and smell so fucking good. Maybe like vanilla or cherry or coconut. And, god. He wants to touch you. He wants to touch himself.
But he resists.
The first three times, anyway.
By the fourth Sunday, though…well. His cock gets so fucking hard in his jeans that it's leaking. Making a big fucking mess in his boxers. It hurts, you know?
And it's not like you'll know he's doing it. He's had a little over a month to perfect his setup—lights off, chair angled perfectly so if anyone glanced into his apartment they'd have to really look in order to see him.
So, he takes his cock in his hand and imagines it's your delicate fingers wrapped around him instead. Imagines it's his hands rubbing oil into your shoulders, over the swell of your breasts, pressing into your hips, squeezing at the supple flesh of your thighs.
He'd make sure to do it just how you like. And Pope wouldn't need to be told how to, either. Because he's spent so much time watching you now that he would just know.
He wonders if your head would fall back, wet hair clinging to your slick skin. He wonders if he pressed just right into that tender spot at the small of your back that you're always so gentle with if you'd moan or whine or whimper. Maybe even say his name.
Andrew cums at the thought alone, grunting low, lips parted, his release spilling over his hand and down the hard length of his cock.
The shame doesn't take hold of him for a while.
Not until later that night, when your hair is blow dried and you're dressed in a pretty silk pajama set. You've got some trashy reality show on the TV, and you're eating the pizza you had delivered right out of the box.
Andrew takes the moment to clean himself up. To change out of his clothes and into something more comfortable. He brushes his teeth and climbs in bed, but lays with his head propped up by an extra pillow so he can still see clearly out of his window.
He knows it's weird. He knows he shouldn't be staring at a naked girl who's probably half his age and doesn't know there's some fucking creep across the courtyard who watches her every fucking day. He knows he shouldn't be fucking his fist watching you put lotion on your skin. He knows he shouldn't be changing his plans with family or friends around your schedule, just so he can watch you a little longer.
He knows he should stop.
The problem, however, lies in the wanting.
Andrew's never had much. Not when it comes to women. But you…god. You're so beautiful, and so pure and so different from anything he's ever seen. You don't belong to anyone but yourself, and once he sees you, he finds it impossible to look away.
Things change late one Friday night.
Andrew gets sloppy. He gets comfortable, here in this routine he's created around you.
There's music coming from your apartment, some electronic pop ballad that's at a volume so loud he can hear it from across the courtyard (there will be complaints to the office manager tomorrow morning, he knows. But you don't have to worry. Pope will take care of it for you, baby. He'll make sure you can keep having your fun).
You're wearing just a lacy bra and a pair of linen sleep shorts. There's a seltzer in your hand, and you're singing and dancing like you've somehow summoned all the energy from the club right there in your apartment.
It's a beautiful sight, truly. You're so happy and carefree. The warmest ray of sunshine that he wants to find himself basking under.
Andrew gets comfortable, posture relaxing in the chair that now lives permanently in front of his window. He watches you dance around your apartment, the easy smile on your face reflected back on his own.
He thinks he could really take care of you. Keep you safe. Protect all that girlish whimsy that lives in your heart. He'd make you real happy, Andrew thinks. Would watch you dance with your friends at the club, leaning against the bar. He'd take you shopping and add more of those short dresses into your closet. He'd make you breakfast in the mornings before work and Christ—he'd buy you a set of fucking curtains.
Pope is so lost in the fantasy of it that he doesn't register in time that your dancing has slowed. And you've put your seltzer down on the coffee table.
And you're staring right back at him.
His heart kicks up, pounding against his chest. He knows he should move out of sight, shut his blinds, pass this off as a mistake, maybe even pretend he hadn't seen you.
But he doesn't do any of that.
He's frozen in time, terrified and exhilarated all at once by simply being perceived by you.
Pope just…stares.
It seems to be the only fucking thing he's capable of these days.
He expects you to flip him off or maybe come barreling out of the door and across the courtyard to confront him. Or maybe you'll scurry away into your room. Maybe you'll order a set of curtains online.
But you don't do any of that.
You just stare right back.
Andrew tilts his head curiously. It's an involuntary movement.
In the end, you're the first to look away. You pick up your seltzer, dump it down the drain in the kitchen, and then disappear into the bathroom to brush your teeth.
Your routine remains the exact same. You find your phone beneath the throw blanket on the couch and turn off the TV. You turn the kitchen light off and turn on the light above the stove instead. You grab a water bottle from the fridge, and then go to bed in your room.
It's not rushed, and you don't seem nervous or fearful that there's someone watching you.
And Andrew thinks to himself, see. This is why you need him. This is why you need someone looking out for you. Don't you know how dangerous he could be?
He would never hurt you, Andrew knows. But you don't know that.
He doesn't sleep that night. He doesn't sleep often as it is, but his mind is running too fast. Cataloguing all the potential scenarios in which you cut off all access he has to you, severing the comfort he finds in his new favorite, voyeuristic hobby.
And Andrew wouldn't—couldn't—blame you for it. He thinks that's what you should do.
You don't.
The following morning, your routine changes.
On the nights you fall asleep in your bed, you're usually dressed in a pair of jeans with gems decorating the pockets and a low-cut top by the time you emerge from your room.
But not this time.
No, this time you're still wearing the same clothes you'd fallen asleep in. A lacy bra and cotton shorts.
Andrew watches, freshly emerged from the quickest shower of his life, hair still wet, as you stand in front of the fridge to find the fizzy energy drink you'd brought home with you last night.
He watches you struggle for a moment to crack the seal open (Those pretty nails of yours. He could help you with that, you know). You take a slow sip, put the aluminum can down on the counter, and turn your head just enough to let Pope know you see him.
You know he's there, in the window. You know he's watching.
And then, painfully slow, you drag your shorts down your thighs. The fabric pools at your feet, and Pope loses all train of thought.
Because this is no accident. You want this. You want him to watch you.
Your bra is next. You reach around to unclasp it and soon after the lace joins the linen fabric on the linoleum floor.
Warmth blooms beneath his skin as he watches you press your hands to your abdomen, feeling your skin, running your hands up your chest and over the swell of your breasts.
You try and play it off like a stretch, lifting your arms above your head and arching your back.
Andrew knows it's not.
You get ready the rest of the morning like normal. And Andrew…God. He doesn't know what to think.
He knows he should stop this before it goes too far. He thinks it already has.
It's…it's weird, right?
Everything about it is wrong.
He doesn't want to stop, but he knows he should.
He tries, though. For what little it's worth.
Tries to busy himself building a fountain at Smurf's. Tries to find small jobs he can do himself to pass the time. He still thinks about you all hours of the day, though. Like a thorn stuck beneath his skin, aching when he moves just the wrong way.
He overhears Nicky explaining to Deran what an 'everything shower' is and thinks about your Sunday ritual. He walks into a hungover Craig making boxed macaroni in his boxers and thinks of you. Smurf lights a candle called pink cashmere and even though it's not pink champagne, it still makes him think of you.
The pretty little girl in the apartment across from his, who he finds himself certifiably, insanely, obsessed with.
One Thursday afternoon, Andrew returns home earlier than he'd planned. He tells himself he just wants to get a little glance.
Just one look. You know, to soothe the ache the thought of you brings. To see if maybe he imagined the weight of your stare.
What he finds, though, is somehow more concerning.
You're pacing your living room, cell phone pressed to your ear, still wearing jeans and your sneakers. There's tension in your shoulders and even though he can't hear the conversation you're having with the person on the other end of the phone, he can see that you're shouting.
It drags on for the better half of an hour. The pacing, the frustrated hand waving, the pinching of the bridge of your nose. Whatever it is, Andrew bets he could help with it.
He hates seeing you stressed. Thinks you should be living your fun, carefree life like normal. You shouldn't be burdened with…whatever it is that's got you so upset.
But it's not like he can go over and just ask.
So, he chooses a different path instead.
Gets the key to the office of the apartment complex from Smurf. Rummages through the paper files until he finds the lease contract linked to your apartment number.
Andrew thinks he should've done this weeks ago. He learns an awful lot about you this way. Like your name, which he begins to recite like a mantra in his head. He learns your birthday and, regretfully, your age.
But, most importantly, he discovers (and memorizes) your phone number.
And that same day, he returns to Smurf's with a torn piece of paper with the digits scribbled on it. He hands it to his nephew and says, "Need you to get a few phone call records. Can you do that for me?"
J furrows his brows in confusion. "Who's number?"
Pope shrugs. "No one," he lies. "Can you get the records or not?"
"Uh, yeah. Yeah, probably. Anything specific you're looking for?"
"I wanna know about a call that happened today. Around two or so. Lasted almost an hour. Just get me the number of whoever was on the other line."
J hesitates for a single moment, and then nods slowly. "Alright. I'll get back to you on it."
In the meantime, Andrew spirals.
The thought of you having a boyfriend never really crossed his mind until now. You don't really have men over. Just your girl friends.
But there are some Saturday nights you don't come home, stumbling in early Sunday morning instead with sunglasses on and your hair a mess. So, Pope thinks you very well could have a boyfriend and he never would've known it.
Pope tells himself if it is a boyfriend, he won't…he won't do anything. It's not his place to make decisions for you, right?
Still. You shouldn't let a man stress you out so much. Whoever it is, they're not worth it. You deserve better. You deserve more.
You deserve someone who knows you.
Less than two hours later, Pope gets a phone call from J, who explains that the person on the other end of that phone call wasn't a person at all.
It was your phone company.
Your stupid fucking service provider who just so happened to put an extra two hundred dollar fee on your bill this month, claiming data overages.
All that stress wasn't over a boyfriend. It was over money.
And money is something Andrew can provide.
He waits until you leave for work, locking up tight behind you. But that doesn't matter, not now. Andrew has a key to the office, which means he has access to the spare key to your apartment.
He is fully aware that he shouldn't be doing this, but ten minutes after you leave he unlocks the door and steps inside anyway.
Your apartment smells sweet. Like sugar and citrus. He wonders if you smell the same way, and the thought alone makes Andrew's mouth water.
He moves slowly into your space, fingers tracing over the TV stand, feeling the wood beneath his calloused fingertips. He straightens the crooked throw pillow on the couch and puts the lighter for your candle back into the tray on the coffee table.
Andrew knows he should just…leave the cash and go. He shouldn't be snooping around, invading your privacy.
But you left a knife point-side up in the strainer in the sink. And you could get hurt doing something like that.
And once he's already in the kitchen, turning the knife over so the sharp edge is down, well…what will it hurt if he opens a couple of drawers?
None of your silverware matches. Andrew finds this little fact sort of endearing. Messy and chaotic in the same way you are, but that's okay. Maybe he can fix that for you one day, too.
Your bathroom is cluttered. There's makeup products littering the porcelain sink and the cabinet mirror is left wide open. Andrew picks up a few different products to read the labels and finds lip liners and leave-in conditioners and powdered blush with pilled pigment on the counter.
He finds that lotion you're always using on Sundays and opens the lid. Andrew brings the container to his nose, inhales deeply, and feels suddenly too hot.
The scent of it is sweet, like you. There's notes of syrupy amber and warm florals and it has the muscles in his abdomen squeezing tight as he thinks about how potent the scent would be if he were between your legs, freshly oiled, calves resting on his shoulders as he licks and sucks at your clit.
His cock has been half hard since the moment he stepped foot in your apartment, but by the time he makes it to your bedroom?
Pope is aching.
Your clothes are strewn all over. There's t-shirts on the floor and jeans inside out near the hamper and a dress you'd worn two weekends ago lying on the edge of your unmade bed.
It smells like you in here, too. Even more so. There's less perfume, but Andrew swears he can smell the scent of your skin. Sweet and intoxicating, sending sparks of arousal straight to his groin.
Your bedside table has a lamp on it and three half-empty bottles of water. There's one drawer, and he pries it open and gives a slow exhale to see all the silk and lace inside.
Going through your underwear drawer is, quite literally, the very last thing someone like Andrew Cody should be doing.
He does it anyway.
Rummages around until he finds that little black pair you like to sleep in. He runs his fingers over the lace band, feeling the softness beneath the rough pad of his thumb. His cock is throbbing, even before he brings the fabric to his nose and inhales the scent of laundry detergent and faint mahogany from the nightstand and—there. The scent of you.
As close as he can get.
As close as he'll probably ever get.
He needs to leave. Andrew is painfully aware that this is crossing a line of a whole new degree. Levels above simply watching.
This is obsession. This is addiction. Sick and twisted and perverted.
Andrew does not leave.
He climbs into your bed instead. Kicks off his boots and discards his hoodie until he's in nothing but his jeans. He slips beneath your sheets—satin, and pink, and filled with the scent of your shampoo and your skin and—fuck.
His cock is leaking by the time he undoes his belt. Andrew reaches beneath your blankets and shoves his jeans down just enough to free himself.
And it's almost enough to blow his load right fucking there, when the underside of his heavy length brushes against the fabric of your sheets. It's almost too much, being in your room, in your bed, breathing in your scent.
But he resists. Grits his teeth and takes his cock in one hand and uses the other to wrap the soft fabric of your underwear around his aching length.
This time, there's nothing slow about the way he strokes himself to the thought of you. He's desperate for it. Release already clouds the edges of his mind and he needs the relief it'll provide.
His brain feels hazy and his vision blurs, just thinking about you, lying here, hand between your legs. He wonders how you touch yourself, if you just play with your clit or if you fuck yourself on your fingers.
The thought crosses his mind that you might be using more than just your hand, and Pope finds himself sitting up. He leans over the edge of your bed and sticks his hand back into your panty drawer, reaching to the very bottom, feeling around until the tips of his fingers brush over silicone.
His heart is beating fast.
It's a small thing. Pink, of course. With only a small, almost hidden power button.
Pope leans back in your pillows and turns the little vibrator on. It buzzes to life in his hand, and when he pushes the button again, the intensity ratchets even higher.
There's only three settings. He turns it to the highest one and imagines holding it against your swollen clit. He imagines you lying under him, thighs around his waist, hips bucking wildly, chasing the vibration that he gives and gives and then takes away.
He turns so he's lying face down in your sheets now, nose pressed into your pillow. Pope puts the vibrator between his cock and the soft expanse of his abdomen, and he feels the sensation everywhere.
He's still got your underwear wrapped around his cock, and he gives a tentative roll of his hips against the mattress.
The groan he lets out is guttural. With his eyes closed, he can imagine its not your panties he's fucking but you. The tight, wet cunt between your legs. He can imagine it's the curve of your throat he's got his nose buried in and not your pillow. He can imagine that sweet, intense vibration is reverberating through your pelvic bone, little toy pressed hard against your clit.
Pope tells himself he'd make it so fucking good for you. He'd bury his cock so deep you'd never forget the weight of it inside you. He'd whisper how beautiful you are in your ear and make you look him in the eyes while he watches you cum over and over and over.
His release is…embarrassingly fast.
A few rolls of his hips against your mattress and he's cumming into the lace fabric of your panties, the vibration of the toy milking him until he's so overstimulated it almost hurts.
Pope rolls over, turns the toy off, and buries it back in the bottom of your drawer. He gives himself a few more moments to gather himself. To catch his breath, to wipe himself clean (never mind the couple of drops that now stain your satin sheets. That could be from anything, right?).
He tucks himself back into his jeans, pulls on his boots and his hoodie, and tosses your underwear in the pile of clothes next to the laundry bin.
There's a pair of your jeans in the middle of the floor, away from the rest. One leg of the denim is inside out. Pope takes the cash from his wallet and tucks it into the pocket, leaving out just enough that he knows you'll notice it.
He leaves.
Locks the door behind him with the spare key.
Makes it halfway across the courtyard before he doubles back, lets himself back into your apartment and into the bathroom where he pockets one of the many different chapsticks on the sink.
It isn't until he's home, tucked safe back in his own apartment, that he realizes it's strawberries and cream flavored.
Andrew puts it on, swiping the transparent petroleum over his lips. He tells himself it's almost like kissing.
Later that day, Craig calls a family meeting. But you've just gotten home, and he knows you'll find the cash within a few minutes when you go to change out of your clothes.
So Andrew waits at the bottom of the stairs on his side of the courtyard. He can't see into your apartment from here, though. And he decides he'll only wait for thirty minutes.
He responds to text messages and opens his blank, photo-less Instagram (that he definitely didn't make only to look at your profile. The one filled with selfies under neon lights and bikini photos on the beach and mirror pictures in the dressing room at that one boutique in the mall).
Twenty nine minutes later, he hears an apartment door slam shut and looks up to see you.
You've got your bag over one shoulder and a grin on your face and the cash in your hand. Enough to cover the additional charges and a little extra, too.
You notice him at the bottom of the cement stairs and freeze, but you don't look…scared, like he expects. Maybe a little startled at first, but the tension bleeds from your face the moment you recognize him.
He should say something. Talk to you. Apologize, maybe, for staring at you.
But Andrew isn't sorry.
And he's never really been good at talking, anyway.
You tilt your head and give him the sweetest fucking smile he's ever seen. It's somehow innocent and knowing at the same time, and Andrew feels the corners of his mouth lifting in response.
Something passes silently between you. An understanding, maybe. You know he watches you, and he knows you know, but…you don't stop him. You just let it happen.
You smile at him from fifteen feet away.
And then you turn to leave, no doubt making your way to pay off that stupid bill that caused you so much unrest.
Pope watches you go, like always.
But this time, you glance back at him over your shoulder with…something lingering in your pretty eyes. Excitement, maybe. He can't be sure.
He needs to get closer.
During the family meeting, he isn't very present. His mind is so far away, stuck on you, that he just blindly agrees to whatever job they're doing next and trusts that it'll all work out.
When he returns to his apartment, there's a note stuck to his door.
A pink sticky note with nothing but a phone number and a heart with an arrow through it scribbled on the paper.
Your phone number, Pope knows.
He knows he shouldn't text you.
It's stupid and dangerous and god, you really shouldn't be giving your number to random men. He could be a creep. He could be a stalker or something.
His message just says,
Hello.
Your response is immediate, with no capitalization which seems quite…fitting for you. He finds it strangely endearing.
hey
are u the guy from apt 212 ???
Pope can feel that this is a bad idea already. But he's already here, and there's no going back now, is there? He doesn't want to hurt your feelings. He doesn't want to leave you on read and make you think he's not interested when the problem is the exact opposite.
Yes.
The typing bubble pops up, disappears, and appears again three different times before you send another message.
im gonna be home in like an hr
will u be watching ???
Always, he wants to say. Fucking always. He can't take his eyes off you, no matter how hard he tries. No matter how shameful it feels.
Andrew's hands shake as he types out a response.
Do you want me to be?
No hesitation this time. Your message comes through a second later.
uhmmm tbh yeah <3
He exhales a long breath. It doesn't feel real. Like he's imagining the entire thing. How could he not be? Why on earth would the sweetest, prettiest little thing want someone to watch her?
But the weight of his cell phone in his hand is real.
And the text message is real.
And this…this is real.
Then yes. I will be.
You don't reply, and Andrew's heart flutters in his chest as he takes his practiced position in the chair in front of his window and waits.
True to your word, you're skipping up the steps fifty three minutes after the last message is sent. You turn on those LEDs and and move about your apartment like normal, kicking off your sneakers and dropping your bag by the door. You change out of your clothes and put on a worn in t-shirt that's two sizes too big for you, but underneath…
Pope can see the sheer thigh highs you wear and the black, lace edge of them. He can see those strappy garters attached to them, but nothing else. The straps disappear beneath your shirt, leaving him wanting for more.
You're teasing him, Pope realizes.
He watches with bated breath as you lay on the couch, getting comfortable with the throw pillow against the arm.
And then, for the first time, Andrew watches you touch yourself.
You start slowly, hands roaming over your body, on top of the fabric, massaging gently at the inside of your thighs.
His cock's always hard watching you, truth be told. But this…
His skin feels hot. His lungs feel tight.
Your fingers curl around the edge of your t-shirt, and you pull it over your head to discard it on the floor.
Andrew hasn't seen you wear this set before, not even on those sacred Sundays.
It's pretty. Matching black lace. The bra is low cut and pushes your breasts up your chest, the soft flesh swelling over the top. The waistband of the matching panties is decorated in shining silver gems, laying so perfectly against your hips that he feels dizzy just looking at it.
The prettiest package, just begging to be unraveled by his big, mean hands.
You dressed up for him.
You dressed up for him.
Your hands start to move again, palming your breasts, pulling the lace down until they spill out of the top. Your nipples are so pretty that his mouth waters. He wants to kiss them, to feel the shape of them under his tongue. He wants to kneel over top of you and jerk himself off until they're covered in his sticky white release.
You squeeze your breasts until your nipples form pretty little peaks, and then your hands slide lower. Over your abdomen, and your hips, and then your thighs. You bring them slowly back up, only to slide them over the lace fabric of your panties, right down the center of your cunt.
Andrew thinks he could die.
He could fucking die, just looking at you.
Carefully, you unbuckle the chrome latch of your garter. The left side first, and then the right quickly follows. You leave the lace belt on, but hook your thumbs around the bedazzled lace of your panties and pull them down your thighs painfully slowly.
Your knees fall apart.
Pope swallows hard.
He can see everything from here. The seam of your thighs that he's dreamt about. The pretty shape of your pussy. The wetness that's gathered between your folds, slick and shiny with arousal. With want.
For him. It's for him.
His cock throbs so hard it hurts.
Pope doesn't touch himself. He can't. Can he? All you asked of him was that he watched.
That's what you wanted.
But wouldn't it be better if he was there? Wouldn't it be better if he could touch you, if he could taste you, if he could fuck you?
All you'd have to do is let him in.
Your fingers stroke gently over your clit in small circles, and he watches in awe as your lips part and your spine bends.
He can't hear your moans but god does he wish he could. Thinks about putting a little microphone in your lampshade the next time he sneaks into your apartment.
Your fingers drift lower, over your center, and slowly press inside.
Pope wants it to be him so fucking bad.
If not his cock inside you then his fingers. They're bigger. Longer. Thicker. They'd please you more. Reach places your fingers can't.
Maybe his tongue. He'd drink you right from the fucking source and cum in his jeans, probably. But he'd make sure to find that sweet, velvety spot inside you first and he'd spell his full fucking name over it with a pointed tongue.
Silly girl. Don't you know what he could do for you? Don't you know what he could do to you?
Pope squeezes the bulge in his jeans to try and alleviate the pain of his lust.
You fuck yourself with your fingers, stuffing in one and then two and then three, stretching yourself on them, slick dripping down the seam of your cunt. Your back arches when your free hand finds your clit, and he knows you're close.
He knows he shouldn't, but he searches frantically for his phone anyway and sends another text message.
I want to hear you.
You pause only long enough to grab your phone off the coffee table, read the text, and lay your phone on the arm of the couch behind you.
Pope's phone buzzes in his hand.
You're calling him.
He answers on the first ring, and the sounds that greet him are so erotic it steals the breath from his lungs.
You sound so pretty. So sweet and feminine, everything he's imagined yet somehow so, so much more. He's sure you can hear his heavy breaths on the other end of the phone, but Pope can't find it in himself to care. Can't think of much else besides the way you whimper and the sight of your fingers stuffed inside you.
"Oh, god—"
His inhale is shaky.
"I'm gonna cum," you choke out, words hazy with your moans. "I'm so close, I'm so fucking—hmm. Yes. What's your name?"
He almost doesn't hear you, so lost in the sight before him. Immersed in the euphoria of it. But then he says, voice a low, uncertain whisper, "Andrew."
Your spine bends and the fingers on your clit slow. "Oh my god. Fuck, Andrew—I'm cumming, I'm—yes, yes—god."
His cock twitches and when he tries to soothe it with another tight squeeze, he sends himself careening off the precipice of release instead. His head falls back and his once heavy breaths get stuck in his lungs. Pope rubs himself over his jeans, making a sticky, hot mess in his boxers, generating what little friction he can.
He watches you come down in real time. Not his dreams, not his imagination. He watches it happen. Watches that fucked-out, hazy look cross your face. Watches the tension in your muscles melt away, wishing he could kiss the junction of your throat.
Pope wishes he could worship you. Wishes he could clean you up and put on that trashy reality show you like and hold you against his chest, comforting you while your brain comes back to earth.
Instead, you lean up. Grab your phone and press it to your ear, staring right at him through his wide open window.
He doesn't know what he expects you to say, but it's certainly not, "Have you been inside my apartment, Andrew?"
For a second, he thinks about lying. Because there's no way you know, right? Not for sure. It's not like you have cameras or anything (he knows, because he checked).
But he doesn't want to lie. Not to you.
"I…might have been. Once, yes."
"Did you steal my chapstick?"
"You have ten of them."
He hears your laugh for the first time, and the sound is like sunlight in his chest. "You took the best flavor."
"I'm…I'm sorry. I'll return it."
"Keep it. I already got a new one," you say. "Cost me five hundred dollars, though."
So, you know it was him who left the cash, too.
Smart, pretty girl.
He doesn't say anything, too afraid he'll say something stupid or awkward the way he usually does. He doesn't want to ruin this moment. This absolutely perfect moment.
You smile at him, kiss your palm, and blow it towards your window. "Goodnight, Andrew."
He feels his face heat. "Goodnight."
Pope rides the high of it for days.
Can't shake the sight of you open and bare for him. Can't stop thinking about the sound of your moans or the way you'd said his name in the peak of euphoria. He fucks his first to the thought of it more times than he can count.
And Andrew's never been a really sexual person. Not unless it's with someone he loves.
But is that what this is? Love?
You've never met. Not really, not properly. How could it be something so intense? You don't know him. You don't know who he is or what he does. You don't know how he's hurt and maimed and killed.
Would you be afraid, finding out? Would you run to the police if you knew? Would you recoil away from him with terror in your eyes?
All things left unsaid. All things that may, very well, never be said.
Pope feels so uncertain with all of this that he finds himself resorting to fucking google, even. Search history littered with questions and Reddit threads that never provide any real clarity.
Define love.
Define obsession.
How to know if you're in love?
How to ask a girl out?
How to get over a girl.
Define voyeur.
Define fetish.
How big of an age gap is too big?
Apartments for sale on the east coast.
Pink champagne candle.
Strawberries and cream chapstick bulk pack.
You text him again a week after your exhibitionistic display.
do u wanna like go out sometime?? been thinking about u a lot
He's at Smurf's when he reads the message.
Pope doesn't even realize he's smiling until Deran slides a beer across the counter at him and asks, "What's got you all happy today?"
And Pope just shakes his head. Schools his features back into neutrality and says, "Nothing. Just won a bet."
He can tell his brother doesn't believe him, not even for a second. But thankfully, Deran doesn't push any further. He lets the subject go, but the question stays stuck in Andrew's head for hours.
It takes him a while to decide on a response. It's honest, and…mostly true.
We shouldn't. I'm a lot older than you.
Your response is a single, painful letter.
k
He doesn't respond to try his hand at damage control, even though he wants to. It's probably better this way, he thinks. Better that there's some distance between you. Better that you hate him and see him as the creepy neighbor he is.
But that Saturday night, when you return home, it's not with your friends.
Pope watches from his window as you guide a man up the stairs and into your apartment.
He's tall. Dark haired, with bright eyes and white teeth and a good smile. Closer to your age. Handsome like a man allowed into your space should be.
You're fumbling a little with your apartment key and Pope watches as the man stands behind you and slides his hands down the back of your thighs.
Thighs he should be touching. Thighs he's watched for months. Thighs that spread for him, long before this fucking loser ever laid his eyes on you.
He tells himself he won't interfere.
You're your own woman. You deserve to feel good, even if it's with…someone else.
And Pope knows he's just going to have to get the fuck over it.
He did it to himself, really.
He should look away.
But he watches instead.
Watches the two of you fall onto the couch. Watches another man kiss down the column of your throat and squeeze the supple curve of your ass over your sequined dress.
Your eyes find his from across the courtyard, and Pope's jaw clenches.
Putting on another show for him. Filthy, filthy girl.
And you're just going to give it to some random man? Someone who doesn't know you like Pope does? Someone who doesn't know how you like to be touched?
He needs to look away. Close his own fucking blinds for once.
But he feels frozen. Knowing this time, you're watching him. Looking for him. Goading for a reaction.
Pope watches the slow ascent of the man's hand. Promises himself he won't interfere. He'll just watch to make sure you're safe, that's all.
But the moment that greedy hand disappears beneath your dress, Andrew's moving. Throwing open his door and slamming it closed behind him. He crosses the courtyard and takes the steps two at a time.
His fist against your apartment door is incessant. He doesn't stop, even when he hears the uttered, male voice ask, "Who is that?"
When the door opens, it's you who stands in front of him, chin tilted up as you stare at him, pupils flared wide.
The man you'd brought home with you hovers over your shoulder.
Pope doesn't even look at him. He stares only at you as he says, a little snarl in his voice, "Tell him to leave."
"Dude, what the fuck? Who is this guy?"
Your lips curl at the corners. A devilish little smile. "Okay," you say, nodding, your voice soft and pliant. You turn your head to look at the man who stands behind you. "Sorry, but you've gotta go."
"You're joking," he responds flatly. "You said I could—!"
Andrew reaches past you and takes him by the collar, pulling him out of your apartment and slamming him up against the paneled siding. "I ever see you in this apartment again, I'll fucking kill you. You understand me?"
"Jesus fucking—yeah, okay. Alright. Sorry."
Pope isn't joking. Doesn't say it to scare him off but rather as a warning.
He lets him go and watches him scramble down the stairs. He doesn't turn back to face you until the little tool you used for attention gets in his car and drives away.
And when he does finally turn back to you…Christ. Your eyes are half lidded and full of lust. Pope's close enough this time that there's no mistaking it.
He should be a gentleman. Should take you out first. Bring you home and kiss you on your doorstep and leave you untouched.
He knows he should.
What he does instead is curl his hand around the back of your neck and pull you to him. He leans down, mouth hovering over yours, breathing in your panicky exhales. "This what you want?"
Your grin is immediate and undeniable. You nod and breathe out the word, "Please."
Andrew kisses you hard, crowding you back into your apartment. He kicks the door closed behind him and slides his tongue into your mouth, tasting you and groaning at the sweetness. There's mint and strawberry and you, his favorite flavor.
He feels drunk on it. On the taste of your tongue, the glide of your wet lips over his, the way your hands scramble and tug desperately at his belt.
"Fuck," he sighs, pulling back just enough to see you. "Open your mouth, baby. Wide. And stick out your tongue."
The way you immediately obey has his cock twitching. Good girl. So fucking good for him when he gives you exactly what you need.
Andrew licks the flat of your tongue once, delighting in the way you whimper in response, before bringing his hand to your mouth. He slides two fingers behind your teeth and orders, "Suck."
You do, lips closing tight around the digits, wet tongue swirling over his thick knuckles. He pushes them further down your throat, your eyes locked on his as he makes you choke on them.
"So fucking pretty," he tells you. "You always look so pretty."
Andrew pulls the straps of your mini dress over your shoulders, roughly tugging the fabric over your chest down to expose your breasts.
You're wearing the same lace bra you'd worn when you dressed up for him, he realizes. He can see the peaks of your nipples through the semi-sheer fabric, and leans down to lock his lips around the left one over the lace.
The fabric is rough beneath his tongue, a stark contrast to the softness of your skin. He sucks hard, spreading the wetness of his saliva over the lace. You push your dress further down your waist and over your hips.
Andrew slides his fingers out of your mouth, sticky and dripping with your spit. He brings them to his own lips instead and sucks them clean, watching your breath hitch and your eyes grow impossibly more hazy.
He lowers himself to his knees before you and his slick fingers work quickly at the straps of your heels, unbuckling them to free your pretty, white-painted toes.
Your hands find his shoulders for balance. "I like that you watch me," you tell him. "I think about it sometimes and it makes me so…god, Andrew. It gets me so wet."
He looks up at you from his knees, big brown eyes glassy and full of adoration. "Good," he says. "'Cause I'm gonna watch you a little closer tonight."
That pretty smile finds its way to your face again.
Andrew presses a sweet, chaste kiss to the apex of your thighs. Over your panties, right where he knows your clit lies beneath. He then stands to his feet, towering over you now without the added height of your heels, and presses you forward.
You take a careful step back, nearly losing your balance.
Andrew grins, taking another step, crowding you back towards your bedroom. He doesn't stop until the back of your knees hit the edge of your mattress.
You stumble backwards, falling into the plush sheets that he's all too familiar with. Lying on your back, propped up by your elbows, you stare up at him with wide eyes and he's reminded of a timid little animal caught in the trap of a predator.
Don't you know how dangerous he could be?
You don't look afraid. You actually look…eager.
Pope stands tall at the edge of your mattress. "Take off your clothes."
You do. Unclasping your bra first, tossing the fabric into the already existing mess on the floor. And then your panties follow, thumbs hooking around the fabric to drag it down your legs.
Andrew reaches around and fists the collar of his shirt, tugging it over his head. He feels warm all over, watching you greedily drink up the sight of him. He thinks he'd feel a little nervous, in any other setting. If it were anyone but you.
His sweet, filthy girl.
Andrew reaches into the half-open drawer of your nightstand, searching until he finds your vibrator again.
Your brows furrow as you watch him find it with practiced ease. "You went through my underwear drawer, too?"
"Did more than that," he admits.
You inhale like you're going to speak again, but the words melt to nothing when he tosses the small toy onto the bed beside you.
"Use it," Pope orders.
"What?"
He crawls onto the mattress between your legs, spreading them wide, laying your calves on either side of his hips. "Let me watch you."
There's a moment of hesitation, but you don't look nervous. Only…curious.
You pick up the vibrator and slide the pink silicone through your folds, spreading your arousal before you press the power button. You circle your clit with the tip of it a few times, teasing yourself.
When you turn the toy on, he can feel the vibration against his hands that grip your thighs. You let out a syrupy moan and turn the intensity higher, drawing tight circles around your pretty clit.
He watches you, eyes locked on the pink silicone between your legs. He watches your entrance flutter, tightening around nothing, begging to be filled. "Your pussy is so pretty," he mutters. "Do you know that?"
Your only response is a breathy whimper. You click the intensity up again, putting it on the highest setting, and Pope sighs when your legs begin to shake around him.
He wants to watch you make yourself cum. Wants another scene to fuck his fist to in the shower or in his bed or in his truck.
But he's here. Finally, finally here, in your bed, with you, and he can't help himself.
Pope grips your hips hard and pulls you closer, tilting your hips up into his lap. The vibrator falls from your hand at the sudden movement, but he's quick to return it to you. "Keep going."
You press the silicone back to your clit, and Andrew spreads you open with gentle thumbs. He gathers the spit in his mouth and lets it drip from his lips and onto the seam of your cunt.
And then he's sliding his middle finger inside of your entrance, curling it upwards, searching for that sweet spot that makes you writhe.
It doesn't take long. He's watched you. He knows just what you like and what angle to hit. And the second the tip of his finger presses hard against it, you fist your free hand in the sheets and curses fall from your sweet mouth.
Pope slides another thick finger inside, watching the way you squirm, feeling the walls of your cunt flutter around the swell of his knuckles.
"I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna—oh, fuck. Feels so good, feels so fucking—"
A long, throaty moan leaves your mouth, and he feels the warmth of your release pool in his palm. You're so slick that each wet thrust of his fingers echoes against the walls of your room.
He doesn't stop until you're twitching. Until you click the vibrator off and shove it away from you. And even then, he still gives a few, slow curls of his fingers inside of you. Not touching with intent, just…feeling. Memorizing.
Once you catch your breath, you lean up enough to find his eyes again. You say timidly, shyly, "I want…I want to feel you, Andrew. I want you inside me. Do you…do you want to fuck me?"
It's the most asinine question he's ever been asked in his fucking life. Does he want to fuck you?
He's thought of nothing else for months. Every night when he fights for sleep, it's the thought of you under him that puts him to bed.
It's such an impractical concern from his point of view that he laughs. Actually laughs, for the first time in years. "Oh, baby."
Pope takes your hands in his. He presses one to his chest, right over his heart, and the other against the hardness in his jeans.
"I have never wanted another woman as bad as I want you," he says truthfully. "But I…you…you deserve better than this. Better than me. You understand that, don't you?"
You shake your head. "You don't know me, Andrew. Not really. You don't know if—"
"No, no. I do. I know you're the kind of friend who would give the shirt off their back. The kind of girl who'd let her phone get cut off before asking for help. The kind of girl who gets up every morning and just…tries. Every day. And you fucking…you smile about it. You're good. You're so fucking good and I…"
He stops.
Remembers the last time he loved someone like this and how he'd made a stupid confession he should've taken to his grave and how it'd fucked him completely.
"You're what, Andrew?"
Pope swallows. "I'm...I'm a bad man. I've hurt people. I will…hurt people, I—" His voice cracks. He lowers his eyes, trying to turn away, unable to find the strength to face you.
But you take his jaw in your gentle hands and force him to look at you. Sweet, angel of a girl that you are. And then you say without a waver to be found in your voice, "I like who you are. Do you think I gave the man who watches me through my window my phone number because I want some guy I could match with on Tinder?"
He tries to slow the rapid pounding of his heart. He wonders if love is supposed to be like this. To feel like this. All consuming and terrifying and devastatingly hopeful above all.
You shake your head and tuck your legs beneath you, sitting up on your knees. He sits stone still as you lean forward and kiss his cheek, whispering against his ear, "I've been watching you, too, Andrew Cody."
Something shifts inside of him as you say it. Uttering his last name that he'd never given you, that isn't even on his lease because this is a fake apartment under a fake name to launder the money they steal.
Oh—sweet, smart girl. Smarter than he thought.
How silly of him to ever doubt you.
There's a newfound wildness in your eyes when they meet his again. An unveiling. Like he's seeing you for who you truly are for the first time.
And you're…god. So fucking beautiful.
And, yeah. Pope thinks he's been right this whole fucking time.
He's weird and wrong and sickly obsessed.
But you are, too.
Andrew takes you by the back of the neck and kisses you hard, desperate to taste you, to close what little physical space remains between your body and his. He pushes you back against the mattress and follows you down.
Your hands find his belt buckle before he does, and he stares down at you as your deft fingers pry the leather open and unbutton his jeans. He helps you push the denim down his legs until his cock springs free, heavy and leaking. Wanting for you, twitching as you take it carefully in your hand.
A groan reverberates at the back of his mouth. Your hands are so soft. Perfect and pliant. One day, he swears he'll show you how he likes to be touched. He'll let you sit in his lap and watch him stroke his cock for you.
But for now, he lets you touch him slowly. Experimental. Feeling the heavy weight of him in your palm. You spit on your fingertips and spread your saliva over his sensitive tip, flushed red and pulsing beneath your touch.
You lean back and guide him between your thighs, sliding the head of his cock through your syrupy folds and over your clit.
The moment you line him up at your entrance, Pope eases inside and you let out the sweetest fucking sigh he's ever heard in his entire life. Sweet and soft and so, so satisfied.
It's so beautiful. You're so beautiful. And you feel warm and heavenly and wet around him. He pulls out slowly, almost all the way, and then drives his cock back into your cunt.
You squeal and those sharp, acrylic nails dig into his spine. But your legs circle his hips, and so Pope does it again.
He fucks you hard. Claiming that spot at the back of your cunt, pressed right up against your cervix. He rolls his hips and presses his mouth to yours, swallowing up those desperate, carnal sounds he pulls out of our chest.
Sweet girl. Sweet fucking girl. He reaches between you and circles your clit. "My girl now," he says, words spoken against your lips. "You'll never need anyone else, baby. No one but me."
You nod, the velvety walls of your pussy squeezing around the hard length of his cock.
Andrew puts his whole weight on top of you, grinding himself between your thighs, giving you everything he has. Everything he is.
"I'm yours," you choke out. "I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm—"
It becomes a mantra. One that feeds his desire, in perfect sync with the rhythm of his thrusts. He watches your arousal begin to crest, nearing the summit, the muscles in your thighs twitching. "Look at me, baby," he says. "Tell me you love me when I make you cum."
You're so lost in it, head all spacey, that your eyes remain closed until he takes your jaw in a firm grip.
There are pretty tears in your eyes when you open them, but that smile on your face is present, too. He feels you pulse around him and your breath gets all shallow and then—
"I love you, Andrew, I fucking—oh my god please, please—I love you."
The words are music to his ears, tingling down his spine, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He thought the sound of his name in your mouth was beautiful but this…fuck. He could die.
Pope thinks he would. For you, he would.
He fucks you through it. Tastes your moans and says, "Yeah, that's it. Give it to me. Look so pretty when you cum for me."
He doesn't let his pace falter until your muscles loosen, until your nails stroke gently over his spin instead of leaving marks.
You pepper sweet kisses over his jaw, tongue sliding up the shell of his ear. "I want you to cum inside me," you tell him.
He's been fighting it the whole time, trying desperately not to blow his load before he'd at least gotten you there first.
But when you say that?
When you say, "Please, Andrew. Want you to give it to me. Want you to fill me up with your cum. Please. I need it."
He thinks about telling you that you don't have to beg. Not him, not for anything (especially this). But you just sound so pretty, begging for his cum, that he can't bring himself to do it.
So, he gives you what you want instead. Fucks his cum into you, groaning low in your ear, cock pulsing inside you. You feel so good wrapped around him it's euphoric. Otherworldly.
Your pussy grips tight, milking him dry, taking every last drop (he knows you're on birth control. Don't you know the women's clinic downtown keeps a spare key beneath the plant in front of their door?).
Andrew is careful when he slides out of you. And he wastes no time before kicking his jeans the rest of the way off and pulling you against his chest.
He pulls the blanket up around your shoulders and presses a kiss to your hairline. His voice wavers a little as he says, "Sorry if I…if I was a little rough."
You shake your head, pressing your nose to the divot between his pectorals. "It was perfect," you murmur against his skin.
Silence settles between you. Comfortable and easy, the sound of your breathing in perfect synchronization.
After some time you say, "I meant it, you know. Wouldn't have said it if I didn't. I really think I might be in love with you, Andrew. Is that…crazy?"
Yes, he wants to say.
But he feels it, too.
So instead he says, "You know, I don't…I don't have much experience with that sorta thing. Don't really know how to…to navigate it, I guess. But, uhm…yeah. Me, too."
He feels that smile of yours against his chest.
Andrew knows that this dynamic the two of you have created is weird.
jack forcing you to hold the vibrator that you’ve gotten quite attached to against your clit while you’re bouncing on his lap and mewling—
it’s not your fault that he got it for you to play with on your extra lonely nights and that’s exactly what you use it for … kind of. the agreement is that you ask for permission each and every time, and jack didn’t anticipate that his sweet girl would be sneaky and use it night after night without bothering to ask. didn’t imagine that you’d overstim yourself on the toy until you’re borderline stupid with cotton between your ears and you’re ready to completely pass out.
that’s why you haven’t taken your melatonin in weeks, he realizes.
he only catches on because you were admittedly dumb and clumsy one night. you forgot to hide the pink wand before you allowed yourself to float off into dreamland like usual. you left it out and inevitably kicked it off of the bed in your slumber, only for jack to find it on the floor the next morning after work with furrowed brows. that’s all it took, and your punishment was decided right then and there.
it’s clear that you won’t have his permission to cum anytime soon. he’s already denied you three times with no intentions of relenting.
your hips and thighs burn as you move, rocking yourself on his cock whilst you’re panting and drooling against his beefy shoulder. soon enough he has to bat your trembling hand away and hold onto the toy himself with a groan falling from his lips as you babble uncontrollably. your big teary eyes find his and he raises his free hand to caress your dewy face, swiping a rough thumb over your spit slick lips. you kiss the pad of the digit, letting it muffle and slur your words as he feigns a frown and stares at you with faux pity, “daddy, please! please lemme cum, won’t ever use it again without asking!”
“oh, sweetheart.” he begins, swallowing down a grunt as your syrupy cunt hugs around him like velvet and threatens to milk him dry. he’s grabbing your throat in the next second. he forces you to listen real good, he leans in and his lips brush against your wet cheek as he speaks, “y’can cum when daddy says so, like a good girl. but— hey, listen t’me— this is your last time using your vibrator for awhile. you need to learn some serious self control before you get toy privileges.”
summary: in the motel room off the interstate, jack abbot shows you his home videos. or; watching porn with jack abbot. masterlist
tags/warnings: mdni!!!, age play if you squint, age gap, naked woman clothed man, porn without plot, spit as lube, spit kink, watching porn, no use of y/n, no physical description of reader, use of “kiddo" and “jackie”, perv!jack abbot, can be read as dbf!jack abbot, cunnilingus/pussy eating, fingering, inexperienced reader, aftercare, foreplay, girl i don't know what else to tag
w/c: 2.4k
a/n: want to say a special thank you to sydney and cate (you know who you are) for supporting me and giving me ideas i love love you guys so so so much <3
the evening light seeped between the cracks of the blackout curtains, spilling onto the floor. the room was painted in the familiar shades of lilac and oranges; the entire space was cast in a heavenly glow.
room 707 had become your and jack's regular hideout.
neither of you two came in together; you always entered separately. jack would drive off the interstate, taking the less-travelled route to the seedy motel room, always paid in full in cash, never by credit. after he was settled in, you’d wander in after approximately 20 minutes, discarding the overnight bag somewhere between the empty minibar and the queen bed.
and jack was always there on time.
sat on the bed with a glass of something amber and cold in a plastic cup. you would always be greeted with a familiar sight – blinds closed tight over the window, the only light threatening to come in being the flickering neon light advertising the strip club across the way – a place that killed hopes before they killed dreams.
he’d pat the bed in a silent invitation, and you would climb into his arms, the world folding on itself for a few blissful nights. the room a constant witness to stolen kisses and fantasies.
but today was different.
today, you’re pinned flush to jack’s front; the solid weight of his chest pressing into your back with every breath he takes.
the room flickers with the glow of the television – static noise filling the room as a filthy loop plays in front of you. jack had brought a duffel bag full of vhs tapes – the reels marked in illegible permanent marker scrawl. last time both of you were there, he noticed the vcr hooked up to the television, which was when he brought up the idea of him showing you ‘home videos’ he watched religiously as a teenager.
and there he was, chest heaving beneath you as the sounds of moans and grunts filled the motel room. the woman on the screen sinks to her knees, baring her throat to the masked intruder in front of her. a smile twitches at the corner of jack's mouth, as he buries his face in your hair when you squirm beneath him.
“you know,” jack starts, clearing his throat slightly against your neck. “i used to touch myself to these when i was your age. whenever i felt so lonely.”
“you used to–”
“yep.” jack rasps. his hand creeps up from your shin to your inner thigh as he shifts beneath you, the denim of his pants brushing your bare ass. “you want jackie to do that to you? you want jackie to touch you, kiddo?”
you could only whine at the question in response, your head falling back to meet his shoulder, eyes transfixed on the video playing in front of you.
when you don’t relent to meet his gaze, he hooks two fingers underneath your chin, calloused knuckles skimming your jaw. “tell jackie what you want,” he murmurs. you tear your stare away at the sound of his voice, breath quickening as he slides his other hand between your thighs.
“i…” you swallow hard, the bitter taste of fear staining your tongue. you couldn’t meet his eyes. there was something unusual about saying what you wanted. as if wanting was a selfish act you couldn’t bring yourself to do.
your mouth feels dry, the sudden feeling of bile creeping up the back of your throat. heat creeping up from the column of your neck as you try to meet his stare – the stuffy motel air sucking out any defiance you had building inside of you.
“you what?” jack coaxes, hand stroking your chin – slow, reverent. his thumb swipes across your lower lip, then dips inside your mouth. “use your big girl words.”
you look up at him – eyes flushed, lips parted around his thumb; jack’s stare focused on your mouth.
“so tight for me…” he mutters, the pad of his thumb skimming the front of your teeth. jack lets out a big exhale from his mouth when you bite down slightly, feeling your tongue swirling around the ridges on his finger. “answer me.”
your eyes flicker down to his lips momentarily before going back to his face. “i …” you muffle around his thumb, looking at him through half-lidded eyes. “i want you to do that to me.”
“want what? i can’t know what you want if you don’t tell me, baby girl.”
the sound of the ipad blares between your legs – feminine cries mixing with the sound of leather hitting flesh hard and rough; the buzz of cicadas outside interweaving with the sounds of pleasure emitting from the device, drowning the room with monotonous racket.
you hesitate for a moment, eyes searching his. faintly under your breath, you respond.
“i want jackie to play with me.”
“play with what?”
you whine, head falling into the crook of his neck to hide.
“no, no look at me,” jack chuckles, tilting your face upward. “what do you want jackie to play with?”
“want you to play with my princess parts,” you whisper, fingers playing with the hem of his shirt.
“attagirl,” he rumbles, letting go of your chin. he pulls his thumb out of your mouth with a wet pop before smearing the spit across your cheek.
jack cups your jaw, tilting your face slightly upward. “see? was it that hard?”
he smiles at your insistent nod, eyes crinkling at the corners as he shuffles you so that you are lying back properly against his chest.
your eyes go back to the tv, still playing the video, and the scene changes. this time, the woman is lying on the bed – mirroring the exact position you are in – playing with herself whilst the man sits in a corner, watching her.
“do you think she’s beautiful?” his chin falls to the top of your head. “kinda looks like you in a way, doesn’t she? my beautiful, pretty girl.”
jack kisses your temple, lips lingering. “she’s got your tits, you know?” his hand makes a slow descent from your abdomen. “maybe we can make a video like that someday. just you and me.”
“a video?” you gulp.
“just for jackie. you trust me, don’t you?”
groaning, his hand settle on top of your pussy, fingers ghosting your folds – a sharp gasp leaving his lips when he realises just how wet you are.
“this all for me, baby? did jackie do this to you?”
you whimper, hands reaching blindly for his as you writhe underneath his grip. his free hand shoots for your wrist, pinning it down to the mattress beside you. he tsks softly before languidly moving his finger up and down, his breath hot on your ear.
“it’s okay, kiddo,” he coos, biting the lobe of your ear. “jackie’s here.”
jack pulls out his body from under you, setting your body aside with a pat of your thigh. you whimper at the loss of contact – eyes tracking as he makes his way to the foot of the bed.
“what are you doing?” you frown, sitting up on your elbows, head straining upwards to meet him. you watch with a bated breath as he looks down on you, a small smirk forming on his lips as you stare up at him, brows furrowed in confusion.
jack ignores your sounds of protest and pushes down on your shoulder, laying you flat against the mattress, arms straining under the weight of dragging you down to the edge of the bed by your thighs.
chaste kisses are planted on your ankle, forcing a giggle out of you. jack smiles softly at the sound, lips trailing their way from the inside all the way up to your inner thigh – mouth memorising the taste of salt sweat on your skin and the smell of something strawberry mixed with a flower too far back in his mind to name.
he exhales, hot air on your warm cunt.
“is this okay, sweetheart?” he asks, his hand parting your thighs a fraction.
“jac–”
he tsks, cutting you off softly. he nudges your chin, forcing your eyes back on the woman on the screen. “you trust me, don’t you, kiddo?”
“yeah,” you whisper, words scratching your throat as you look back to the screen. “i trust you, jackie.”
on the screen, the intruder approaches the woman – the man slicing her zip-tied bound hands free. your breath hitches for a moment. a moment passes when she takes the mask off to reveal that the man who hunted her down – stalked her like prey in a sea of targets – was the man she trusted and loved.
just how jack picked you.
he feels you arch your back slightly at the revelation. he instantly pins a forearm over your lower abdomen, pinning you in place. leaning his head back slightly, he gathers saliva in his mouth before flooding your pussy with the wet slick. you jolt, hips bucking towards his face.
“you said you trusted me, didn’t you?”
you nod.
“then let me do my job, okay?” he pats your thigh with a smile, exhaling when your eyes return to the television in the corner.
you gasp as he drags the flat of his tongue from your entrance to your clit in one soft, sweep motion – hands flying to card your fingers through jack’s curls.
he groans as you tug on the grey ends, his nails digging crescent shapes into your inner thigh. “baby,” jack warns, his voice muffled in between your legs.
you hum in response, breath shaking as you bite back a moan. your eyes are squeezed shut – the porn on the television is fading into background noise.
“let me hear those moans for me,” he groans into your thigh, his tongue poking at your entrance.
“tell jackie just how much you love it. want to hear all of those beautiful sounds you make, kiddo.”
“yo–fuck–” you let out a broken moan, legs closing in on his head as he continues his relentless licks. “fuck, jackie, you are! you’re making me feel too good.”
jack forcefully separates your thighs without looking up – mouth licking lazily over your clit; hand disappearing briefly to his pants before grazing the back of your knees.
“she tastes so good, sweetheart,” he mumbles against you, planting a wet kiss on your clit.
grinding your hips unconsciously against his face, jack lets out a low moan at the desperate attempt for friction, his nails digging in deeper into the side of your thighs.
tears prick at the corner of your eyes. “‘s too much ja–”
“no, it’s not,” jack purrs against your pussy, the vibration causing your toes to curl inwards. “you’re my big girl, remember?”
“i’m your big girl,” you sniffle.
“‘m going to have to keep her all to myself,” he rasps, his tongue dragging lazily over you. “scare away all the boys for her. would you like that, baby? me having this pussy all by myself?”
you whimper and writhe weakly at his words, hands straining to card through his hair, as he moves his head deeper, his tongue relentlessly lapping your juices at your entrance. then, jack pulls back, a whine escaping your throat at the sudden loss of stimulation – the coil in your stomach that was steadily building dissipating in seconds.
you look down, a grunt escaping your lips as you shift for a better look at him. in the glow of the bedside lamp, you can make out his heaving; the light highlighting the sheen on his stubble, biting his slowing lips as his eyes rake over yours.
he runs two fingers slowly through your juices. smiling into your thigh as he feels you shudder under his touch.
“kiddo,” jack starts, his voice hoarse. “two fingers, okay, that’s it.” he kisses the inner of your thigh before clearing his throat. “you remember the safe word?”
jack smiles at your frantic nod, pressing another kiss to your thigh. “knew you’d be a good girl for me.”
he gently slips the fingers into your entrance, wet enough to accept it without any resistance. his eyes flicker over your face for any hints of discomfort.
you let out a moan as jack’s mouth latches to your clit again, his finger curling to find the sweet spot.
“right there, baby?” jack muffles against you, moaning with reckless abandon.
“yes! fuck jack-” you wail, hands scrambling to find purchase on the stained sheets beneath you. “yeah, jesus, right there.”
your legs shake, quivering violently as jack continues his rhythmic thrusts – hips grinding against his face as jack’s tongue keeps flicking over your clit. “that’s it, kiddo. cum for jackie.”
shattering, chest heaving, your hips buck against jack’s face; his fingers ruthlessly maintaining the pace as he keeps eating you straight through – forcing your body to ride every single wave of release.
leaving you on the bed, still high on adrenaline, jack taps your knee before disappearing into the bathroom, leaving you alone with your thoughts; the ticking of the clock matches the beat of the sound of the blood rushing to your ears.
heavy breaths from the television pulls you out of your reverie.
without looking, your hands glide over the mattress, hands wandering blind in the dark as you try to find the remote. when they stumble onto something hard and rough, shaking fingers plunge the room into darkness and silence.
your eyes flutter shut as you hear the tap turning on. smiling into the pillow as you hear jack string a curse, the water drowning out the rest of his voice.
jack returns a few moments later, a soaked towel in his hands. your eyes open to a tender smile playing on his lips as he sits his body right next to you, lying down – the bed creaking softly under his familiar weight. he passes the towel slowly, reverently, over your sweat-slicked thighs before leaning down to press featherlight kisses to the fat of your stomach.
“go to sleep, kiddo,” he whispers in the dark. “i got you.”
you curl against his body as he strokes the length of your spine – your ear pressed to his chest, your own heartbeat matching the rhythm of his.
in room 707 of the motel that sat off the interstate, shades of blue and white scattered light throughout the room – jack's frame enveloping yours as the night pulled you both under a dreamless sleep.
word count: 5.1k
warnings: dead dove: do not eat, rape/non-con, sex work, fem!reader, he calls you “princess” and you call him “daddy” (bc i said so!), stalking, kidnapping, captivity, unprotected sex, forced orgasms, fingerfucking, outdoor sex, breeding kink, squirting, hairpulling, fear play, possessive behavior, age gap, size difference, they fuck in a pool (yep that’s the fic!)
summary: when you stop returning his calls and texts after an argument, titus has no choice but to use everything in his power to get you back…because he needs to remind you who you belong to.
a/n: I wrote this on a whim on no sleep, after back to back shifts at work because I wanted to get railed by a very mad man so uh don't expect art LMAO lowkey just wanted to write a fight...I aint gonna lie, I was in the mood to write out an argument and then self-indulgent sex after. oop!
hope it's a sick read ♡
It's been three days since you blew up in Titus's face.
Three days and you still haven't answered any of his texts.
He's starting to get fucking angry.
Titus: I pay you to answer me. Pick up your fucking phone.
Titus: I pay for your fucking phone plan. Answer your damn phone.
Titus: Do not make me come over there.
Little does he know, you tossed that phone the day of your argument. So when he tracks it and finds it in a bush a few blocks away from the hotel you stormed out of, he knows you're gone.
You've left him completely.
Because you aren't in the house he bought you.
The car he got you is left on the street with parking tickets piling up.
You haven't bought a thing on any of the credit cards he has given you.
To make matters worse, nothing of yours remains.
It's like you wiped the earth of your existence.
The bed doesn't smell like you. None of your soaps are in the bathroom. You took every ugly mug that you brought from your shitty little studio from when you first met Titus.
All that is left is a hollow shell of what was once a lived in, vibrant home…
A place Titus loved to go to, to be with you in your element.
The warmth he can never get back.
Because he has no fucking idea where you went.
And it's all his fault.
He knows that.
But he can't possibly live without you.
Not when he has grown so used to the comfort you provide him.
Why else would he spend copious amounts of money to keep you by his side?
But you don't want his money anymore.
You want nothing to do with him.
And so, you're gone.
After a certain while, you didn't need his money anymore. You had plenty of it. That's just what happens when you never have to pay a bill while still getting paid. You were sitting on a giant pile of money that you never needed to use.
That you plan on living the rest of your life with.
Titus probably never thought that you had a plan in place for the day you were done with him. Maybe that was his ego or his trust that you and him had something more than just a transactional relationship.
You believed, for a moment, that it could be possible. That you could be more than just the person he pays to be available to him whenever he wants you to be. That you could mean something deeper.
But then he said the stupidest fucking thing you've ever heard in your life.
“I'm getting married.” He tells you as you're stepping into the hotel room with him.
“Alright.” You respond with a curt nod, not phased by his words at all. “I'll pack my things and go then.”
“What? Why?” Titus is confused.
You look at him, just as confused. “What do you mean “why”? You're getting married. You don't need me anymore.”
“Of course I need you.” He steps up to you, his hands going up to cup your face. “She's just my wife. You'll always be my princess.”
You scoff, pulling his hands off of you. “In case you forgot our agreement, I told you that the moment you got in any kind of serious relationship, this would end. I'm not looking to be tangled in a mess.”
“You can't be serious.” He knows that's what he agreed to, but that was years ago.
Surely you aren't holding him to that when the two of you have done so much together…right?
But you do. “I am serious. Your wife deserves your undivided attention.”
Though, you really only said that because it's what you deserve. And the thought of him going home to someone else sinks your heart into your stomach.
You'd rather not play that game. You'd rather just remove yourself entirely.
Even if it means giving him up.
“She's barely my wife. It's an arranged marriage.”
“That doesn't change our agreement.”
“Fuck the agreement.” Titus pulls out his phone, logging into his bank app. “Name a number and I'll pay it.”
You stare at him, baffled. “There's no number you can pay that'll make me change the one boundary I established, Titus. I told you from the very beginning that the moment you had anyone else, I would be done.”
“But I don't care about her.”
“You don't care about me either.” You say back to him, clear as day. “Because if you did, you wouldn't throw money at me in a poor attempt to sway me. You would understand where I'm coming from, if you really cared.”
But you know he doesn't care about anyone except himself.
That is made very apparent when he goes, “you aren't allowed to just leave me because I'm getting married.”
“I'm not allowed?” You let out a laugh at that. “Okay, watch me.”
So, you do. You walk right out of that hotel room. You toss the phone he gave you into a bush a few blocks away. You pay for a cab back to the house he bought for you to stay in. Then, you packed all your shit into a storage locker, paid it off for the next five years and then left.
“She didn't leave a phone number? A forwarding address? Anything?” Titus asks the private investigator who found your storage locker.
“Nope. Got it all on tape. Just said she'd come back for her stuff in five years and paid extra to not have any questions asked.”
Because five years was the amount of time you believed it would take for Titus to forget all about you.
You could live without your stuff for five years. You don't mind waiting. It was better than to be tied down to a married man.
You weren't inexperienced when it came to the world of being a sugar baby. Titus is not your first sugar daddy. But he was the first you made your strict agreement with. Because you had dealt with it enough times before.
It gets way too messy when there's a significant other or a family involved. And you knew Titus wanted to have children eventually.
You were not going to be the other woman that would inevitably haunt those children and their mother. You refuse to be the boogeyman that instills distrust in his family unit.
Even if Titus has never been a very honest man to begin with. But still, you had your moral boundaries. This was one of them, established through enough experience of how poorly it ends.
You've barely made it out unscathed those first few times.
You surely wouldn't make it out of this one without breaking your own heart.
Because, as much as you hate admitting it to yourself, you felt something for Titus. It may have just been a strange sense of companionship but…you liked spending time with him. It wasn't like the others before him.
Though, it helps a lot that he's incredibly handsome for an older man and takes very good care of himself. You can thank money for that but also his drive to make sure he could keep up with you in many different ways.
It's strange to think you'll miss having sex with him. It's supposed to be work, technically. It has always been work for you, since you were eighteen and struggling to take care of yourself.
But with him, it felt…different.
You didn't like that it felt different. But you were paid not to think too deeply about it.
It was hard not to when Titus confided in you that he was a virgin when he first hired you. And that since that moment, he has grown to get to know your body better than you do. He reveled in making you cum because it was something he never thought he'd ever get good at. The moment he did, he made sure never to stop.
You figured it was mostly to stroke his ego. You thought it was because he got off on knowing he could make you unravel so easily now.
Because it would be foolish for you to think otherwise.
So, the thought of him having real feelings for you never crossed your mind.
You assumed now that he had ample skill in his repertoire, he could easily find someone else to spoil if that's what he wanted. He didn't need you anymore. He never did.
That's what you think, at least.
That isn't the truth, though.
The truth is that every day since you left him, he has been obsessively searching for you.
Titus calls off his own wedding, telling his father to fuck off and threatens to kill anyone who attempts to marry him. That rumor spreads and it's enough to obliterate any prospects in that regard.
He will not lose you again. He will not give you a reason to say no to him, to leave him again.
But first, he has to find you.
And that proves to be impossible.
You leave no trace, besides a one-way ticket to Europe. You could be anywhere on the continent, on several different continents. That's something you did on purpose.
You figured Titus would try looking for you for a while. You thought maybe for a year or two, though you tried not to let your ego get in the way. You doubted you were all that special to him but you still remained as hidden as you could be, moving countries every few months, paying only in cash, stashing money all over the place to come back to.
You were a ghost. And Titus hated how no matter how much money he spent, no one he hired could find you.
You never spent time in big cities. You always stayed in underdeveloped areas, places you knew had no surveillance that could ping you on facial recognition. You kept yourself busy by volunteering with local communities, which in turn fed you and housed you in most cases.
You always left them a bit of the large lump sum you had earned from your years with Titus.
That is what inevitably gives you away.
“A woman matching her description has been traveling around to small towns, spending a month or two helping them with small community projects before leaving behind a large donation for anything else they might need. She's done this in several different places, all over Europe, Asia and Africa. Always moving.” One of the private investigators Titus hired explains over the phone. “It could be her.”
It is you.
He knows it is.
Because that's what you told him you'd do with his money if you ever were on your own. But he always said that he'd never let you go and you'd laugh, thinking it was just a joke. He was never joking.
You were his, whether you realized it or not. You were his the moment you held him so gently when he would complain about his family, his father's abuse, his sister's intolerance, his stuck up life as someone with wealth and power.
He was not going to risk losing his only outlet. The only person who could make him feel human.
So, when he finds you in one of those small towns on the edge of nowhere, he pays a local to spy on you and report back to him. And he does this in each town you go to from then on.
For five years.
You return to the states then, having had your fun traveling around, meeting new people, enjoying the sights and sounds of different cultures and the delicious variety of cuisines. But you miss home.
You've been away long enough.
You no longer avoid surveillance because you assume Titus hasn't thought about you in years. You have no idea he has been watching your every movement up until now.
That's why you're startled the moment you open your storage locker and he's inside of it.
You blink a few times, wondering if it's just your imagination.
But it isn't.
It is Titus.
“What are you—” You don't see the needle in his hand.
You just feel it when Titus stabs it into the side of your neck and you go limp immediately, falling into his arms. He holds you for a moment, breathing deep, missing the smell that only you can radiate.
The smell of home…
You wake up so groggy. You try to remember the events that led up to this.
Then, you remember seeing Titus.
And then you see him, standing in the doorway, arms crossed.
“The doctor said it would take you a few hours to wake up. You must be hungry.” He says to you like he didn't just inject you with a sedative.
“What are you doing here?” You look around. You've never been here before. “Where am I?”
“Let's talk over some food.” He gestures for you to follow him.
You get up from the bed, which you notice is incredibly plush compared to the ones you've been sleeping on during your travels. You also notice that you're wearing a nightgown that sits just above your ankles. And on your ankle, there is the tiniest incision mark.
You walk out to meet up with Titus and ask, “what did you do to my ankle?”
“I put a tracking chip in it.”
“A what.”
“A tracking chip.” He pulls out his phone, showing the way it's pinging your location. “That way you can't go anywhere without me knowing again.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You run up to him, shoving at him. “Take it out!”
“No.” He states sternly back at you. “I am not losing you ever again.”
“Losing me…” You can't believe what you're hearing. “Titus, you never had me to begin with. You bought my services. That's it. That's all we—”
“I don't believe you.” He cuts you off, his glare more menacing now. “I don't believe for a second that you didn't feel anything for me.”
“What would I have felt for you?” You ask him, furrowing your brow. “You were my employer. You weren't—”
Titus doesn't let you get another word out. He just grabs your face and kisses you, pressing you right up against the wall of the hallway, his body flush against yours. You bite down on your own tongue to stop yourself from making a sound when his hard cock grinds right up against your bare pussy through his pants, making you very aware that you don't have any underwear on right now. Just a flimsy nightgown he could easily shred off.
You push at his chest, trying to get him off of you, but he won't budge. He feels stronger than a few years ago. Bigger too…
“Stop!” You tug him off of you by his hair and he hisses at you in response, snatching your wrists before pinning them above your head. “Let me go!”
“No.” He says directly into your face. “I'm not ever letting you go.”
You go to kick at him but he presses his thighs against your own, locking them in place, smothering you against the wall.
You can't wriggle out of his grip!
“Titus—” Your attempt to speak to him is silenced once again by his lips, his tongue slipping into your mouth, his hips grinding against yours.
You feel his free hand slide down the side of your body and with a single rough tug, your nightgown tears off completely, leaving you bare. You squirm when his hand dips between your spread legs, touching your pussy directly.
He chuckles that eerie laugh of his against your lips, “you haven't fucked anyone in years but you can still get this wet for me?”
How does he know… “Have you been following me? This whole time?”
“I let you have your fun.” He grazes your clit with his fingertips, watching how you shiver in response. “Now I'm having mine.”
You shake your head. “Stop, Titus—”
“That's not what you're supposed to call me, princess.” He leans forward, whispering against your ear, “you know what to call me.”
“I'm not going to—” You bite down on your lip when Titus dips two fingers deep inside of you without warning.
You're fucked now. Because he knows that if he curls his fingers just right…
You cum immediately, unable to control the release. Your orgasm hits you hard and fast and it doesn't stop, his fingers pounding into you without mercy, pressing over and over again in the exact place they need to in order to make you squirt all over his hand.
You're gasping for air, the pleasure overwhelming after years of not feeling anything of the sort.
It's too much—
“Stop, daddy, please stop, please.” You cry out before he can torture you anymore.
He stops, thankfully, and you breathe out strained huffs of relief, your mind feeling fuzzy from the sudden rush of pleasure.
“Ah, so you do remember. That's my princess.” He gives you a kiss on the cheek that provides you no sense of comfort.
Your lip quivers from fear but you swallow back your nerves to ask, “why are you doing this?”
“Because you left me.” Titus pulls his fingers out of you, freeing you from the torment of being filled for a moment, bringing them up to his lips so he can lick them clean while you watch. “And you made me crave you for years. Now, I'm going to have my fill of what I've missed out on.”
You turn away from him when he tries to kiss you, drawing an annoyed grunt out of him.
“You can resist me all you want. I know you'll cum either way.” He presses his lips against your neck since you won't let him kiss your lips and he nibbles at your flesh exactly the way you like it, shooting tingles all over your body.
Another feeling you haven't felt in years…one you've been trying to forget.
“So you fuck me.” Your eyes shift back to his and all Titus sees is a blank stare. “And then what? What is your endgame, Titus? For us to go back to the way things were?”
“Yes.” That's all he wants.
“That isn't going to happen and you know that.” You aren't going to pretend like everything will be okay. “It's been five years. You're married. You probably have a—”
“I'm not married. And I definitely don't have a kid.” His eyes shift down to your belly then he says, “maybe I could, though. With you.”
“What are you talking about?” He didn't get married?
“I called off the wedding. I made sure that no one would ever want me. So trust me when I say, I am never letting you go again.” Titus doesn't want anyone but you. “You got what you wanted. My undivided attention.”
“That isn't…” You let out a sigh. “That isn't what I want.”
“Then what do you want? Tell me and I'll give it to you. As long as you're mine.”
“I'm not property to be owned, Titus.” You're a human being. You discovered so much about yourself over the last few years. You don't want this life anymore.
You want to be free.
“You can't buy me.” You tell him, remembering how he tried to all those years ago.
“You're right.” Titus's words shock you. “I can't buy you. But I can make sure I've ruined you just as much as you have ruined me.”
He lets go of your wrists then. And points down the hallway.
“Run, princess.” He shrugs off his jacket and then unbuttons his white collared shirt, draping it over you. “Because the moment I catch you, I'm going to make sure your body belongs to me.”
You blink at him, not believing his threat. But then he goes, “ten…nine…eight—”
You run right then, pulling your arms through the sleeves of his shirt so it doesn't fall off your body. You can't let him catch you but you also know you can't run far from him. He has that tracker embedded in you.
This is just a game for him.
Because he knows he will win.
But he loves the chase, the thrill of catching you.
Of trapping you completely.
You sprint outside, picking a direction to go, spotting the giant pool. You must've paused a second too long because Titus tackles you right into the water.
You shove and kick at him but he grabs you by the waist, tugging you towards him, swimming the two of you back up. You take in a big breath of air before you continue to fight him but he shrugs off your meager attempts, completely unphased by your hands smacking him all over the place.
“I will tie you up if you keep this up.” He snatches your wrists again but you manage to slip out of his grip because of how slippery you are while drenched in water.
You quickly swim as fast as you can to the staircase that leads out of the pool, climbing your way up to the surface, only for Titus to tug you right back towards him by your hips.
You claw at the rim of the pool, unable to get a grip on the smooth stone, your knees scraping on the step below you with every failed attempt to worm out of his grasp.
You think you have an opportunity when his hands let go of your hips but then your body stills at the sound of his belt unbuckling and his pants unzipping.
And you lose the chance to escape.
Titus has you by the hips, lining his cock up, pressing the tip into you as his body weight holds you in place. You splash water at him as a poor attempt to dissuade him from pushing any further but it only eggs him on. He thrusts more of his cock inside of you, splitting you open like he always has given his size.
You’re too familiar with the shape of him. It's like your pussy has molded to it because every time he pounds in deeper and deeper, your legs want to give out. Your body remembers how his cock feels inside of you. His body remembers the right pace and the right angle to get your knees to wobble.
“Titus, please, stop before I—”
“You can cum, princess.” He slides his hands up your sides before drifting inwards, cupping your breasts, tugging at your hardened nipples. “Cum for your daddy.”
You shake your head, not wanting to. But the tension building in your core is desperate to burst free. Especially when he's playing with your breasts as he pounds his cock inside of you. He knows you love this. You love the feeling of his body holding you down.
It doesn't help that the sound of the water rippling around you is insanely erotic. Or when you look back at Titus for a brief second and see the way his thin wet undershirt clings to his upper body, showing off just how much he has worked out since you've been gone. He wanted to make sure he was fit when you came back into his life.
He prepared himself for your return.
This is his sick, twisted way of showing devotion.
You chew on your lip, trying your hardest not to let a sound out, but he grabs a hold of your hair and tugs, forcing your lips to release the moans you've been keeping at bay.
Your voice echoes through the quiet estate.
If there was anyone nearby, they'd hear the crazed sounds you're making as Titus fucks you right through your orgasm, your eyes rolling back into your head, the pleasure searing your skin with heat.
“See what your daddy can give you?” He pulls you back by your hair so he can hover above your face, his lips brushing against yours. “I can make you feel even better than that. You know I can, princess.”
He presses a gentle kiss against your lips and you nearly cave, your body shaking at the simple touch of his lips.
So you have to figure out how to push him away.
That's why you say without skipping a beat, “I'm not on birth control. If you cum inside me, you have to marry me. I'm not having a baby with a man who isn't my husband.”
Titus slows to a stop then, as you thought he would. You bite back the disappointment you feel when he pulls out of you completely, leaving you feeling so empty. You hate that you feel empty. Because you shouldn't miss him.
You shouldn't feel anything for him.
So why does your heart stop in your chest when he goes, "is that it?”
You turn around, sitting on the step of the pool, staring up at him. Titus looks down at your puzzled expression, smirking.
“I said, is that it?” He repeats himself, bending forward, putting his hands on either side of you.
“I-I…” You can't find the words.
You're not sure if you believe him.
Why would Titus marry you?
You're…someone he paid to teach him how to have sex. You're a body he used to warm his bed.
You're just his sugar baby, aren't you?
“Earth to princess.” He snaps in front of your face. “Are you going to ask for anything else or can I fuck my fiancé now?”
“Your…” You're in so much shock that when you feel his lips on yours, you don't know how to react.
Except for lace your fingers into his hair and pull him towards you, kissing him back.
Titus smiles against your lips, deepening the kiss, loving how eager you are now that you're all his.
“Are you being serious?” You breathe out, nervous that this is all some ploy.
“Give me your left hand.” He demands and you listen to him without hesitation.
You watch as he pulls your ring finger into his mouth then bites down on the base, his teeth leaving an indent like a ring would.
“I'll get you a real ring when we leave.” His eyes roam your body, basking in the way you look with just his unbuttoned shirt on, your bare body peeking out so beautifully in the center.
“Give me your hand.” You want to do the same to him.
Titus slips his ring finger between your lips and you bite down on the base hard before you lightly suck on his finger, swirling your tongue around the tip of it. He groans at the sight of you teasing him like you used to.
“I'm going to fuck that mouth later.” He warns and you respond by sinking his finger further into your mouth, faking a little gag that has him pulling his hand away. “Don't fucking tempt me, princess.”
“You're really going to say no to me sucking your cock, daddy?” Your words make him clench his jaw, much to your amusement.
“I'm not saying no. I'm saying wait. Because I want a taste first.”
Titus hauls your body up until you're seated on the rim of the pool, your legs dangling off the ledge. He spreads your thighs wide open, staring at your pussy, licking his lips. He hasn't done this in a long time.
He has missed this.
More than you will ever know.
There's just something wonderful about your hand in his hair, your hips grinding against his face, his tongue flicking your clit until you cum. He can't get enough of it. He could spend hours right here.
Maybe he will.
But you start to whine for more. “Titus, can we go to a bed at least?”
“You don't like fucking outside? There's no one here. No need to be embarrassed, princess.” He swipes his tongue over your clit again, marveling at how swollen it's gotten from his mouth playing with it.
“I want to fuck my fiancé in bed.” You look at him with those soft eyes you put on when you want something. He always caves when you act this cute. “Please?”
“Please what?” He wants you to address him correctly.
“Please daddy, can we go to bed?” You purposefully dip your hand between your legs, spreading your pussy for him. “Your princess wants you to fuck a baby inside of her.”
His jaw clicks. Then, he lets out an insane laugh. Before he pushes you onto your back on the stone ground behind you and drives his cock right into you.
“Titus!” You shout his name as he thrusts deep inside of you, teasing that spot right up by your womb.
“You asked for this.” He smirks, leaning down to kiss you once. “We fuck like this then we can fuck in bed.”
You grab him by his shirt and then in one sudden, swift motion, you push him onto his back and straddle him, riding his cock. He groans under you, cursing, “fuck, I've missed this.”
Titus always loved it when you were on top. It's a great view. Especially when you're enthusiastic about it, grinding against him, pulling him up to kiss you, your hands roaming his chest and arms.
“Hold on.” He whispers against your lips before he hauls you up from the ground, driving his cock deeper inside of you.
“Oh fuck.” You grab onto his back, clinging to the wet fabric of his shirt, your legs wrapped around his middle as he carries you back into the house. “Titus, this is—when did you get so strong?”
“Do you like how strong your daddy got just so he can toss you around?” Titus gives you a cunning smile. “Remember how much you loved it when I'd throw you down and fuck you, princess?”
He chuckles into your shoulder when he feels your pussy clenching around him. That's enough of an answer for him.
You cum so hard when he slams you down onto the bed, ramming his cock as deep as it can go inside of you. Stars dance in your vision, your mind going hazy from how quickly your orgasms build. It only amplifies when his lips are back on yours, kissing you with so much desire in every movement.
By the time he finally cums inside of you, you're spent, wrung out beneath him, your body shivering all over. He has always loved the look of you like this. He'd pay to see you like this everyday from now on.
But he doesn't have to.
Because Titus knows you want him as much as he wants you.
And if you ever forget again, he's happy to remind you who you belong to.
a/n: you know that scene in bridgerton where anthony gets out of the lake? yeah imagine that but titus. that's literally the only reason I wrote this, so I could fantasize about what that would look like. also pool sex. very fun!
part I: jack abbot x f!reader, jack abbot x late wife
cw: angst, fluff, eventual smut (?), mentions of untimely death, drinking, cancer
synopsis: there is life and then there is... eternity. jack thought the hardest thing in the world had already happened to him once... then, twice? and now one more time for good. here in the after life, he can only chose to spend eternity with one: his first or his last love.
a/n: this is all very inspired and based on the movie eternity with just small twists and adjustments!
part ii coming soon...
Every morning was the same. Jack would wake first, and after some struggle, he'd get to the kitchen. The two of you had stopped drinking caffeinated coffee some time ago, but you still enjoyed the taste; that's where decaf came in. Too many mornings, Jack would accidentally drop the mug on the way back to the room, struggle to find balance between his crutches and the cups in his hand. After reassuring Jack with sweet kisses to his cheek that he didn't have to do that, he'd instead get the machine brewing before making his way back to the bedroom to wake you up.
The bed dipped beneath him as he leaned over your sleeping form. There was a peaceful look on your face, but this morning it felt off. Too still. He leaned over, kissing your cheek and murmuring softly,
"Wake up, honey. Got the coffee brewing..."
When his lips pressed to your cheek, he should've known. All those years of being an ER attendant were ingrained in his brain, his bones. Yet he couldn't rationalize why you were so still, so cold. Panic seeped in as he began to jostle your shoulder, crying out your name in fear. He couldn't believe it. You were just here. In his arms last night, a warm body pressed against his. Footsteps bounded the stairs as his yelling grew louder, your son and daughter-in-law rushing to check what was wrong.
It wasn't until Jack, your son & daughter, their spouses, and grandkids surrounded your bedside at the hospital that reality had sunk in. It sat in his chest, heavy and aching. Cardiac arrest, the silent killer. It had taken you away from him in one swift blow. His hand gripped your hand so gently now as he pressed his lips to the wrinkled skin atop it, your ring still glinting and shimmering the way it did the day he proposed. This wasn't supposed to happen like this. Jack was the one with the terminal illness, not you. No, you were supposed to be the one who held him in the night and let him pass peacefully. It was supposed to be him who went first.
Head hurts. The jolt of what felt like a train coming to a stop made your eyes fly open. You gasped for air as you sat up, hand pressed of your heart.
Where the fuck-
"Let me guess, you weren't expecting it?"
The kid sat in front of you, swimming in a suit made for an adult.
"Who- Who are you?" You searched around in a panic. "Where's Jack?"
The kid was gone, and the aisle of the train car you were in was filled with people finding their way to an exit, many of them in nurse gowns. You contemplated staying on the train, but there was a gnawing feeling telling you to get off now. Outside the train was a platform station, with only one set of escalators that ascended to who knows where. Following the mob of people, all equally as confused and disoriented as you were.
You entered a lobby filled with people; a few were hounding you with brochures and promises of parties. A help desk was in front of a flipping marquee with times and destinations for places that made no sense to you. A young girl was working behind the desk, headphones over her ears, a white blouse, a brown skirt, her hair pulled back with a red ribbon.
"Hi.. Do you.. work here?" You approached the desk hesitantly, the young girl rolled her eyes at you.
"No, honey, I just like to sit back here and pretend I do." Great, sarcasm.
"Look I don't what I'm doing here I was just-"
"This is the junction. Now, take a seat, and your AC will be with you shortly." She cut you off with a wave of her hand.
You walked away from the desk with your tail tucked between your legs, finding the first seat. You sat there watching the room slowly dwindle in numbers. You were still in your pajamas from the night before, the soft baby blue cotton pajama, the sight of your hands caught you off guard. They were soft, smooth, with no signs of age or wrinkles as you turned them over. Your nails were even perfectly manicured with a baby pink polish, before you could even question it, when a woman in a similar suit to the young girl at the help desk called your name as she looked around the waiting room.
"T-That's me.." You shot up out of your seat. She approached with a soft smile.
She was beautiful, with deep skin, complemented by blonde hair pulled half up with a red ribbon. She held out her hand, long almond nails with a French tip. She shook your hand.
"Sorry about the wait. I'm Anna, your AC."
"AC? What does that stand for?"
"Your afterlife coordinator," Her voice soft, all too familiar with the typical reactions with souls who've crossed over.
"That's not.. I'm not dead! I-I can't be I was just sleeping-" Panic started to settle in. Anna flipped open the folder in her arms.
"Cardiac Arrest, in your sleep, it was peaceful. You should be lucky; most people don't get that. Follow me." She was picking up pace with her back turned now.
"Look I was at home in bed, with my husband- Oh my god, Jack--"
"And you died, hun. Look, here," She pulled out a handheld mirror, holding it up to you.
There you were but... you were 25 again. How was this possible?
"When people get here, your form reverts to the version of yourself that was happiest. That's why we get a lot of kids around here, though not many teenagers," She walks off again with the mirror
"My husband Jack, he's still on the other side I have to get back to him."
Anna keeps walking until she's lead you to a balcony overlooking what was essentially a convention center, endless booths offering various things.
"This is the junction, the trans between life and eternity. Your husband is still alive, so he is still in the life part; you, on the other hand, are here. You can't go back. I'm sorry." She's somewhat sincere, but there's a hint of exhaustion. You're sure she's had this talk numerous times. "Let's get you to your room."
She leads you to an elevator with a gentle hand on your shoulders. Your mind was reeling. In the blink of an eye, you had died in your sleep beside your terminally ill husband. You had promised to stay by his side through it all, and now here you were, in the afterlife. Your heart ached for him, hoping he was okay.
"This is where you'll be staying until you choose the right, eternity for you. We'll get into that later." The room had a queen-size bed, an upscale kind of hotel set up with a sky view.
"I'm already dead, what kind of later is there really?" You muttered looking out the window.
"Acceptance is a good step," Anna said cheerfully. "We have some of your favorite clothes in the closet for you to check out. Maybe it'll do you some good to change."
Anna had disappeared after that. You approached the closet, which was filled with your favorite clothes throughout your life. You reached for the long burgundy dress, memories flooding back of the night you wore it out for Jack on a date night. It was fitted and flattering in all the right places. You slipped it on with the black kitten heels.
You wandered out to explore the Junction. You quickly found your way to a bar; at least there was alcohol in the afterlife. The bar only had two other people sitting in the booths, and the bartender was a young woman. She was pretty, with mousy blonde hair clipped back; her bangs were perfectly imperfect.
"What can I get you, hun?" She spoke without glancing up from the glass she was cleaning.
"Vodka-anything.." You leaned over the bar top.
"First day?" She finally looks up at you. Her hazel eyes looking over you with a soft smirk.
"Yeah... So are you an angel or something?" You asked quietly, a bit skeptical of everything.
"Oh no. Just a bartender,"
"You gotta have a job in the afterlife then?"
"Only if you want to stay here," She slides the drink over. "So what are you thinking about? Where do you want to go from here?"
"I'm not sure. Somewhere sunny, maybe, then again, my husband never really liked the hotter climates. We couldn't stay there long." The bartender looks up at you with curiosity.
"Did your AC tell you the rules?"
You shook your head as you threw back the whole drink in one go; you hadn't done that in quite some time. She smiled softly watching you face twinge in disgust a bit before pouring another drink.
"There are only a few. You can only pick one eternity, no switches or visiting other eternities. Eternity is eternity. Go against the rules, you end up in the void."
"Is that hell?"
"Close, just an empty black hole of space."
You sighed, throwing back the 2nd drink, a slight but beginning.
"It wasn't supposed to be like this. I died in my sleep. My husband is terminally ill with cancer. I was supposed to take care of him through it till the end..."
"Sorry to hear that. The worst part of death is the guilt you have for the ones you left behind." She gives you a soft smile.
"You been here long?" You ask her. The smile never reaches her eyes, something in it.
"38 years, I think, time works kinda funny in here. Once you've been here as long as I have, you get used to it."
"You waiting on someone?" You asked, the alcohol was hitting harder now.
"Yeah... my husband." She turned back to cleaning glasses.
It had only a few weeks since you had passed, Jack's health had deteriorated rapidly. His diagnosis had predicted he had at least another year. He never left that hospital the day you passed; the stress of your death weighed too heavily on him. Your daughter held onto his hand as the stayed by his bedside,
"You can let go, Dad. Go be with, Mom. I know she's waiting there for you." Those were the last words he heard before the darkness settled over him.
Jack Abbot died approximately 3 weeks after you.
"There's no way to know, right? You're not hiding some magical time keeping clock that will tell me when my husband is gonna die just so you can get rid of me sooner?" Anna laughed shaking her head.
"No, believe me, I think something like that would make these things easier. You just gotta do you. I have no doubt he'll come find you when the time is here." Anna says sincerely with a gentle hand on your shoulder. "I think you're really gonna like this eternity, I think you'll love it even more once Jack is there to join you."
"Anna, can I ask you something?" You had grown quite fond of her company; you're not sure if this was her life's calling, but it certainly felt like it. "Is it possible to just stay one more day? I just have this gut feeling telling me he's gonna..."
She gives you that look, the same look when you initially got here, in denial about death.
"Honey, you don't want to spend your afterlife waiting for him. He will get here when it's time... Trust me when I say he will. Now, your train leaves in-"
You began to tune out her voice when you saw him. It had to be him. It looked exactly like him, 40 years younger, but it was Jack. It was him.
"Jack... Jack! Anna that's Jack, Jack!" You rushed past her.
Jack was looking around, confused, his head whipped around in your direction. He was here, really here. You pushed past the numerous people who grunted in annoyance.
"Oh my god, you're here, Jack, god I missed you so much-" You smothered him in a hug, he held you back just as tightly holding back tears as he pet your hair.
"Is this real? Is this heaven?" He mutter hoarsely into your hair, tears dripped onto your bare shoulder.
"Not exactly, but right now, close enough," You laughed into his neck, peppering his face in kisses. Anna watched, her own heart was overjoyed to see this couple reunited.
You pulled back to really take in Jack. He looked so young again, he didn't even look this young when you met him. His salt and pepper curls had been traded in for a deep auburn you only ever saw in photos. So this is what he looked like at his happiest...
"So you must be the famous Jack Abbot? Your wife here has spent every moment wondering and waiting for you to get here."
"I have, every moment apart from you felt like an eternity waiting for you to get here. I missed you... Did you miss me?"
He was taking in your appearance now. You were a spitting image of the version he met on your first day at PTMC. His hands were warm as they gripped your waist and face.
"You can't even begin to imagine. So, what is this place?"
"It's-"
"Anna, back away from my client"
"I'm not near your client." Anna bit back at the preppy man approaching.
"Back away, I've been waiting 33 god damn years for this one to show up," The man pulled Jack away by the shoulders.
"Excuse me- What are you doing?" You asked as the man led Jack a few feet away.
"That's my-" Jack was cut off.
"I'm Ryan, I'm your afterlife coordinator. I know this can be overwhelming, so just take a deep breath, and just breathe in and... out." Jack was put off by the man in front of him, who was gently nudging his head in the direction of the crowd.
That's when Jack saw her... There she was, walking steadily towards him, in a cotton sundress. Her blonde hair was perfectly tousled, and their eyes locked. The idea of ever seeing her again had never crossed his mind until now. You watched with a scowl, anxiety and confusion pumped through you. Why was the woman from the bar walking towards your husband with such determination?
And why was Jack so stunned to see her....?
She stopped in front of him, hands reaching up to his face with tears in her eyes. You approached from behind Jack.
"Isabel..." His hand cupped her face, stomach doing back-flips as he looked at her.
Your stomach dropped; it was her. The wife he lost. Here she was, more beautiful than you could have ever pictured, perfect. Her eyes shone so brightly as she looked up at Jack, like her missing piece had finally come.
"Jack?" Your voice wobbled as you spoke. He broke his grip on her face, remembering you were here too. His hands trembled as he backed away, looking at both of you. His first love and his last love.
"Jack, I've waited 33 years for you..." Your head whipped in the direction of her voice.
"Is this-"
"First wife and second wife, rough." Ryan muttered to Anna
"I prefer 'current wife', thanks." You turned to the two gossips behind you.
Jack was frozen in place, trembling, eyes flitting between the two of you. Ryan and Anna looked between the two of each other.
"I think Jack needs a breather and a change of clothes, uh, Ryan can you-" Anna spoke up as Ryan ushered Jack towards the elevator.
You turned to Isabel, the woman whose ghost you spent a chunk of your relationship with comparing yourself to, living in her shadow. She turned to you, seeing her replacement, the woman who had filled the space she had left behind when she passed.
"So... your Jack's ex wife?" You asked, unable to help size her up. She did the same to you.
"No, I'm his wife."
"I'm his wife," You said, shaking your head, laughing like a psycho. This was probably the closest to a psychotic break you'd experience.
Isabel huffed as she made her way to the elevator. You turned to Anna, a pleading look for help on your face.
"Okay... so I think we could probably work something out so you can get that extra day of stay..." She says giving you a nervous smile and nod.
The reality had hit you like a truck, knocking the wind out of you; Jack would have to choose between you and her. Who would he want to spend eternity with?
summary: jack won’t let you ruin your health with something as stupid as vaping.
cw: intoxication (reader), vaping, argument with jack :( but it’s just cause he caressss
wc: 1.1k
a/n: guess who quit vaping 30 days ago?? me!!!!! it feels really fucking great—I still miss it, but I’ve saved so much fucking money, and I feel so much better already. the first few days, I cried every single day and annoyed all my friends, I think, but now it’s better. I still have the occasional cigarette, but that’s something I’m working on.
Jack looks upset when he comes to pick you up from your night out with your friends. You’re drunk, but not so drunk that you don’t see the furrow between his brows and the way his jaw clicks.
To his credit, he is right to be unhappy.
His car pulls up to the curb you and your friends are sitting on, glittery skirts reflecting his headlights. You’re the one who’s currently holding the vape.
Scratch that—you’re not just holding it.
The taste of strawberry ice fills your mouth and lungs, settling there like a heart attack waiting to happen. Jack frowns at you as he shuts the car door with more vigor than necessary.
“Hey, baby,” he greets you, then nods at your friends.
Your sheepish smile tells him everything he needs to know.
Despite his anger, his hand finds yours with the gentleness you’re used to as he helps you up from the floor.
“You ladies got rides home?” he asks your friends. All of them nod, a mix of shy and giddy expressions all around. Your girls are almost as infatuated with Jack as you are, your handsome older boyfriend, who always shows them—and you, of course—the utmost respect, despite the gap in age, experience, and, well, everything.
He looks at you, then at the vape in your hand.
“You wanna give that back to whomever it belongs to?” he questions sternly.
“It’s mine. I bought it,” you reply.
His face shifts for a second. It’s not exactly disappointment that flickers across his face, but something eerily similar.
Shit. Maybe you should’ve lied. Drunk-you tends to get you in trouble.
Jack wrinkles his nose, then takes a deep breath.
“Time to go home, sweetheart,” he mutters.
His hand tugs on your own, leading you to the passenger side of the car. He opens your door and shuts it for you the moment you sit down.
As he rounds the car and drops into the seat behind the wheel, his jaw ticks again.
“Put your seatbelt on,” he grumbles.
The drive back is tense—you feel sick to your stomach, and it has nothing to do with the amount of alcohol in your system.
Jack keeps his eyes on the road at all times, not sparing you a single one of the tender glances he usually bestows upon you. He adores you drunk, when you get all cuddly and sweet, but right now, you feel like he’d prefer it if you had gone to your own place.
“I’m sorry,” you blurt out.
He simply holds up his hand.
“Not now, sweetheart,” he mumbles. “Just… let’s just get home first, okay?”
You know it’s not punishment that he withholds communication, but rather him sorting through his thoughts, but, intoxicated, you feel like you’re being reprimanded for something almost everyone does at some point in their life.
“It’s just a vape,” you mutter, a little sharper than you intended.
Jack’s head snaps to you.
“Baby, I mean it, not now. Okay? We’ll talk about this at home.”
When the car pulls up into his driveway, you undo your seatbelt and open the door. As you storm inside, a little wobbly on your feet, Jack follows you quickly.
You do something you haven’t done since you were a teenager: you slam the front door loud enough that Jack’s neighbors probably heard it, and disappear into the kitchen.
Outside, Jack stands on the welcome mat and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“God-fucking-dammit,” he whispers to himself, then pushes the door open.
When he steps inside, he finds you leaning on the kitchen counter, balancing on one foot and trying to get the strappy heel off of your other one. You give him a sour glance before you pull at the clasp below your ankle again.
“Hey,” he calls out. “You have no reason to be mad at me. I’m the one who’s fucking pissed.”
He walks towards you, then grabs your hips to stabilize you.
“Stop that,” he adds. “I’ll do it.”
Jack hoists you onto the counter with practiced ease. For a moment, being lifted so suddenly steals your breath, and your fingers dig into his shoulders. You're a little too drunk for such acrobatics. He doesn’t mention it.
Instead, he just drops to his knee and starts unhooking the clip of your shoe, first the left, then the right.
The moment you’re freed, you exhale deeply.
Jack stands back up and walks to the sink, where he fills two glasses with water. He silently passes you one, then puts the other one down next to you.
“You know how I feel about smoking,” he says grimly. “I see what it does to people every fucking day.”
You nod quietly.
“I don’t care if it’s a cigarette or a vape or- or that snus stuff. It’s really fucking bad for you. And I don’t want you showing up in my ER any time in the future, or ever, because of something as avoidable as this shit.”
His voice quivers slightly, and your eyes snap up to meet his. The anger has left and instead bled into pure concern.
“I know,” you reply timidly.
“Do you?” he asks.
“Yes.”
The word comes out firmer than you meant, and you quickly cover his hand with yours.
“Yes,” you repeat, softer. “I was just… being an idiot. I didn't think it mattered that much, but... I know it’s bad for me. I won’t do it again.”
“No, you won’t,” he agrees, then nods to the untouched glass next to you.
You breathe in deeply, then feel for the vape in your purse. Jack watches, his eyes not leaving you for even one second, as you hold it in your hand.
“You know what to do,” he encourages gently.
For a second, dread fills your chest like a vice around your lungs. Then you drop the vape into the water, watching as the bubbles rise to the top. A tiny cloud of grey smoke swirls around before the vape dies.
“Good girl,” Jack mumbles.
He squeezes your hand and leans in to kiss your forehead.
“Didn’t mean to ruin your night,” he says quietly, his breath ghosting over your brow bone. “But I won’t let you do shit like that, you hear me?”
You nod again.
“You didn’t ruin my night,” you reply. “And I know you’re right. It just sucks that all the fun things are bad for you.”
“That’s hardly true,” Jack answers.
A small smirk plays around his lips.
“I can think of a million fun things that aren’t bad for you. Some of them might even satisfy that desire of yours to have something in your mouth.”
❤︎ just a quick reminder that the best way to support authors on here is to comment and reblog ❤︎ ☆ find my masterlist here ☆
Pairing: Jack Abbot, Andrew “Pope” Cody, Titus Danforth x Reader (bc why the hell not!)
Summary: Your soon-to-be husband Jack has a secret. His family is…not normal. You had no idea how abnormal it really was, until you met his siblings. He never told you he was one of three triplets. Maybe because he didn't learn about his brothers until recently. Had he known the deal with the devil his bloodline had made, he would've never asked you to marry him.
Because now, you have to play a game. And if you don't win, he and his brothers will die too…
Word Count: 22.6k
A/N: The one where everyone tries to kill you. How fun!
I just finished Ready or Not 2 and you couldn't have expected me not to do something with that learned knowledge! So, welcome to quite the hefty crossover!
You don't have to have watched any of the canon content to read this. I explain everything that is relevant pretty well (hopefully lol) so you should be able to go into this just enjoying the ride. There will be characters from Animal Kingdom and Ready or Not 2 participating in the game but no one from The Pitt since Jack currently has no canonical family members.
This satisfies such an itch for me because I have been wanting to write a dark smutty thriller so apologies in advance for the fun I'm going to have writing this.
I will warn, there is a rape/non-con warning. So please be mindful if that triggers you!
For a full list of warnings, please check the fic on my AO3. I do not recommend going into this one blind (but you're an adult so that's on you bestie!)
Oh, and as much as this has plot, there is, of course, tons of porn! Hope you all find it an absolutely sick read! ♡
Jack Abbot has been dreading the drive to Danforth Resort and Casino since the moment his brother, Titus Danforth, offered to host his wedding there. All expenses paid for by the Danforth family, of course.
One of the wealthiest families on the planet…that Jack happens to be a part of.
He knew he shouldn't have agreed but after he had confided in you that an ancestry test he did revealed he has two brothers, who look identical to him, you urged him to reach out. He did and they have all been talking ever since.
“Cheer up, babe.” You nudge Jack playfully as you two pull up to where you'll be staying at the Danforth residence. “It'll be nice to be surrounded by family. I know I wish mine could've been here to see us get married.”
All of your family members live overseas, since your father is deployed. That's how you and Jack met. His father knew him from his time in the military and one thing led to another and you two hit it off.
Thankfully, Jack is an incredible man with a successful career in medicine or your father would've been a bit more iffy about letting you marry someone twice your age.
“I'm unsure if I can consider them family just yet.” The only family Jack has ever known is his foster parents, Mr and Mrs. Abbot, who ended up adopting him when he was a baby. He's sad they passed a few years ago. He would've loved for them to have met you.
“Well, they'll be our family soon.” You take his hand, squeezing it. “I can't wait to be part of your family. I love you.”
Jack looks at you with so much affection. “I love you too.”
He leans in for a kiss. You smile against his lips, pulling him towards you to kiss him back.
Then, there's a knock on your window, which makes you pull away. You nearly jump when you see Jack outside. But…it isn't Jack.
It's one of his brothers.
You have no clue which one, though. They look exactly the same. It would be creepy if Jack wasn't so handsome.
You assume this must be Titus since he's dressed in designer clothes from head to toe. He opens the door for you.
“Come on, lovebirds. You two can kiss at the altar.” Titus puts his hand out and you take it, letting him help you up. You pretend not to notice how his hand holds onto yours rather tightly before you have to pull away.
Jack hands his car keys to the valet and someone comes out to help take your bags into the estate. You have never stayed at such an extravagant place with staff all around.
Apparently the whole resort is booked out for your wedding. You find that so sweet.
The Danforths didn't want anyone else but immediate family on the premises, which is why you couldn't invite any friends to your wedding. You didn't mind. It makes you feel like part of the family already.
Jack takes a hold of your hand as the two of you follow behind Titus into the mansion. You can't take your eyes off all the eclectic artworks. They all…seem kind of eerie.
The color palette is dull and lifeless but with pops of harsh reds, which seems to be on purpose. Purposefully bloody. You wonder why.
“This is where you'll be staying.” Titus takes the two of you up the grand staircase and into a private suite. “I hope you feel right at home.”
He gives you a smile that you can only really describe as a half smirk. His eyes linger on you and you feel your cheeks warm up from the way he's looking at you so directly.
You breathe out a sigh of relief when he shuts the door behind him. Jack catches that. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” You touch your cheek with the back of your hand, feeling how hot your skin is all of a sudden. “Just a little surprised how much he looks like you.”
“That's how I felt when we first met.” Jack remembers how his brother flew out the next day to meet him when they first got in contact. Private jet then a helicopter directly on the landing pad at his work to pick up Jack after his night shift.
Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center got a huge anonymous donation that very same day. Jack told Titus to keep it anonymous. He didn't want people at work to associate him with the Danforths.
It's going to be impossible not to once people at work see the photos of the wedding but Jack will wait until then to tell people he suddenly came into a lot of wealth.
His biological father, Chester Danforth, welcomed Jack with open arms, given how good of a background he has as both a doctor and a decorated war veteran. He believes Jack will make a great Danforth.
The same could not be said for his other brother, Andrew Cody, who his mother Smurf and his half-brothers call Pope. Pope was raised to hate his biological father from all the stories Smurf told him about him growing up. About how his father made her give up his brothers because he didn't want so many children. He already had Julia and Ursula, twin girls who were a year older than the triplets. He could not handle a house with five children, so he picked Titus to keep as his male heir and had Smurf get rid of the other two. She gave up Jack for adoption but she kept Pope and took him away to the west coast, leaving Chester to raise three children on his own. It was punishment for what he made her do.
They've been separated since, only seeing each other occasionally for holidays with the children until Smurf got sick of it.
Chester couldn't risk divorce or he'd lose half his assets. Smurf couldn't risk divorce or she would lose access to her kids.
This is the first time they'll be in the same place in years.
“Janine.” Chester says when she steps into the parlor with Pope and his half brothers, Deran and Craig, in tow. “How are you?”
She gives him a curt smile then says, “where's my grandson?”
She shifts her eyes over and spots Josh, who everyone calls J. He comes up to her and gives her a hug. She hasn't seen J since he was a little kid. That was the last time she saw her girls too.
Julia and Ursula come up to their mother and give her a hug. From your perspective, it seems a bit strained. You try not to judge. Every family is complicated in its own way.
“And who might you be?” Smurf comes up to you and Jack, giving you a once over with her striking eyes. “You must my baby Jack's soon to be wife.”
Jack introduces you to her and then says, “it's nice to finally meet you, Smurf.”
“You have to say hello to your brothers.” She gestures for them to come over to you two. “I heard you've only met your father's side of the family. Now you get to meet the Codys.”
Jack shakes each of their hands, which makes Deran and Craig give each other a look that screams who the hell is this guy. They look completely out of place here, that casual California surfer look contrasting so much with the high class wealth vibe of the Danforths.
Pope has his eyes on you the whole time they're introducing themselves. He only knew you existed. He never knew how beautiful you'd be, standing next to a man who looks just like him. It's like he's inserting himself in Jack's position, imagining what it would be like to have you by his side like that.
“Andrew.” He puts his hand out in front of you. You shake it and he loves how warm your hand feels in his.
“It's nice to meet you, Andrew.” You notice, again, like Titus, Pope doesn't let go of your hand.
Actually, he slides his hand a little further up, grazing your wrist, noticing your quickening pulse. You have to tug it away, startled at how he touched you so casually.
“You can call him Pope.” Another man enters the room with a woman and a small child.
“Baz! I didn't think you were going to make it.” Smurf opens her arms for a big hug.
There must be tension between her and presumably Baz's wife because she doesn't hug Smurf. She goes right up to you and says, “I'm Catherine. This is my daughter, Lena.”
“Nice to meet you.” You say to her and Lena, introducing yourself. “I like that name, Lena.”
Lena smiles at you and tells you, “you're very pretty. You're my Uncle Jack's wife, right?”
“Soon to be wife, if everything goes well.” Pope answers for you, his words giving you goosebumps for some reason.
Jack doesn't like that Pope said that but he can't say anything when he's wrapped up in meeting Baz, who Smurf adopted when he was a teenager, effectively making him also his brother. Just not by blood.
“You didn't have to be here.” Smurf whispers to Baz. You can barely hear them, since you don't have the best hearing. “It's not your bloodline.”
“You are my family. I'll make the pact.” Baz whispers back, rubbing her shoulder affectionately. “Catherine and Lena will too.”
You're unsure if you heard him right. The pact. You don't know what he could be referring to. You ignore the sense of foreboding and focus back on Jack, who has slipped his hand into yours, squeezing it for comfort.
“Your fathers will be here soon.” Smurf tells Deran and Craig. “Then we can really have a reunion.”
They arrive almost immediately after she says that. Billy goes to hug his son, Deran, and Jake nods at his son, Craig.
Now, there's a full household.
You all have dinner at a ridiculously long table. You've never eaten so many courses before. You're stuffed by the end of it.
You joke to the table that his family must be fattening you up to slaughter you. Smurf laughs at that. Catherine gives Baz a concerned look. Everyone else stays quiet.
Jack doesn't like the energy in the room so he excuses the two of you from dessert. You go back to the room to rest up, since the wedding tomorrow will likely drain you of all your energy. You'll need your sleep.
But first, you want to touch your future husband.
You pull Jack against you, kissing him, moving him with you into the large bathroom. There's a tub. You love a good tub.
“Will you fuck me one more time before you become my husband?” You ask him, nipping at his bottom lip. “Please.”
“Just once?” He smirks, grabbing onto the hem of your shirt.
“Don't tease me with a good time.” You let him lift off your shirt and he lets you do the same to him. You love seeing his bare chest, with all his lovely freckles. “You are the most handsome man I've ever laid eyes on.”
“Does that mean you think the same of my brothers?” He teases and you scoff.
“You are the best looking of them.” Even though they do all look very similar. “And I bet you have the biggest cock too.”
Jack groans, rolling his eyes at you. “You're really thinking about what size their cocks are?”
“Can you blame a girl for being curious? I've never met triplets before.” You chuckle.
“Well stop thinking about theirs and start focusing on mine.” He unbuckles his belt and you lick your lips, already dropping to your knees in anticipation. “Someone's eager.”
“You know how much I love putting you in my mouth.” You pull his pants completely off and Jack steps out of them, letting you bask in how great he looks naked. “I can't believe I get to marry you.”
“I can't believe I get to marry you.” He says before you drag your tongue along the length of his shaft. “You're fucking incredible.”
You hum happily when your mouth closes around him, his hand slipping into your hair in response, pushing himself deeper down your throat. You can't help yourself so you slip off your pants so you're completely bare too and start touching yourself as you suck on his cock, wanting to be ready to take him once he's close.
Jack loves the sounds that fill the bathroom, echoing off the walls. You enjoy the noises he makes when you swirl your tongue around the tip of his cock just the way he likes it.
“Get over here.” He pulls you off of him by your hair, gesturing to the tub. “Hold on tight and wait here for me. I'll get a condom.”
“You don't have to.” You grab onto the edge of the porcelain tub with one hand, spreading yourself wide open with your other. “You can fuck me raw. I'm going to be your wife soon, after all.”
You saying that has Jack on his knees in an instant. He grips your thighs so he has the leverage to drag his tongue up and down your folds, tasting how wet you are for him.
“You're going to let me fuck your perfect pussy raw? Are you sure?” He makes it hard not to be sure when his lips close around your clit and he starts playing with it in his mouth, sucking and licking it until you're desperate for something inside of you.
“Yes.” You want him so badly. You and Jack have talked about having children but you both wanted to wait until after you were married to start trying.
There's no reason to wait now. He'll be your husband very soon.
His tongue dips inside of you, flicking against that spot that has you shivering, before he says, “I need you to say it, babe. Tell me what you want.”
“I want you to fuck me, Jack.” You're gripping the tub so hard in anticipation, your knuckles showing through your skin. “I want to have a baby with you. I love you.”
Jack gets up from the floor, running his hands up along your back before placing kisses up your spine. You giggle at how ticklish it feels then you gasp when his cock rubs up between your thighs.
“I love you so much.” He says and you can hear the smile in his voice. “I can't wait for you to be my wife.”
You let out a lovely sigh when he finally sinks his cock inside of you. You've never felt him raw like this before. It's incredibly hot, how vividly you can feel him. It feels even better when he wraps his arm around your middle, holding you steady as he starts rolling his hips.
“Can we fuck on the floor?” You ask him, touching his arm, liking the feel of his tensed muscles. “I want to look at you.”
Jack pulls out of you and then helps you lay down on the plush bath rug in front of the tub. You wrap your arms around his neck, smiling up at him.
“I can't wait to marry you and do this everyday.” You tell him, sliding your hand between the two of you so you can line him up, making it easy for him to slip right back into you.
“We already do this everyday.” He chuckles, leaning down to kiss you. You love the sound of his laugh.
“Yeah, but I'll be fucking my husband everyday.”
Calling him that makes his cock twitch inside of you. You laugh. Jack can be so cute.
“I'm not going to last much longer if you're going to keep calling me your husband.” Jack likes it a little too much.
“Gives us more time for round two if you finish now.” You pull him towards you with your arms and legs, burying him deeper inside of you at the same time as your lips take over his.
You moan his name when his thrusts get quicker and you cum when he slides his hand between your legs and rubs your clit as he cums. It'll be hard to resist this now that you know how good it feels for him to cum inside of you.
Jack rests his forehead against yours, grinning at you. “I'm going to need to do that again.”
“You like cumming in your wife that much?” You brush your nose against his, grinning back.
“I like it very much.” He plasters your face in kisses, making you giggle, before he pulls you upright. “But I'd like to take a nice bath with my wife first.”
“Let me get cleaned up first.” You have to or Jack would scold you. He always makes sure you won't risk getting a UTI.
Jack fills the bath while you get situated and then you help him get in after he sets aside his prosthetic. You straddle his lap when you're in the bath, leaning your head against his shoulder, breathing in deeply.
“This is my favorite.” Bathing with Jack is always a treat.
He cups the soapy warm water with his hands, pouring it onto your back gently before pressing his fingers into your skin, massaging you. You feel utterly spoiled.
“Maybe you should quit being a doctor and become a masseuse.” You tease, kissing up the column of his throat before pecking his lips.
“These hands are for you and you only.” He trails his hands lower until he's grabbing onto your hips, dragging you forward onto his lap, right above his already hard cock, and you gasp, shoving at him. “What?”
“How are you hard again already? I thought old men were supposed to have troubles.” You will always be impressed by Jack's stamina. Though, you shouldn't be surprised.
This is the same man that works out after a twelve hour shift and then still finds the energy to come home and fuck you.
“It's easy when you're this beautiful.” He lines his cock back up with your entrance and then slowly pushes you down onto him, loving the face you make when he fills you back up. “You take my cock so well, babe.”
“Do you remember how long it took me to get used to you?” You and Jack have been dating for years now and the first year, you couldn't have sex because he was simply too big. You were worried he was going to get tired of having to wait for you to take him but he was so patient with you. You knew then that he was the man for you.
“I remember how much fun I had figuring out how to make you cum in the meantime.” He places his hand between your legs again, pinching your clit between his rough fingers until your orgasm hits. You tighten up around him when he does that and he groans with satisfaction when you start riding him. “Just like that.”
“Now I can't get enough of you.” You're splashing water everywhere with your movements, the water rippling every time you lift yourself up and sink back down onto him.
“I'll never get enough of you.” Jack loves you with all of his heart. You know that.
Pope knows it too, since he's been watching the two of you this entire time from the Danforth's hidden security room. He came here because he figured Titus had installed cameras in your suite to spy on you. He was going to disable them but then the two of you started fucking and…he couldn't stop himself from watching. From seeing how happy the two of you are as a couple.
It's real, the love you two have for each other. That makes Pope nervous because…love doesn't last in this fucked up family.
He sits down at the control panel, staring intensely at the screen, watching you ride a man who looks exactly like him, hearing you tell Jack how much you love him. You must love him a lot to be so enthusiastic while fucking him.
Pope has never experienced anything like that. You're so in love with his brother. He wishes that was him. He wishes you were riding his cock instead of Jack's.
He cums when you and Jack do, covering his hand with his release. He grabs a tissue and cleans himself up, tossing it into a nearby trash can and zips himself back up. Then, he disables the cameras in your suite and deletes the footage so no one else can watch the two of you. That's a memory for him and him alone.
He leaves the room then, only to run into Titus. Titus raises an eyebrow at Pope, noticing the tint of red in his ears. He must've watched something good in there.
“Enjoy the show?” Titus smiles in that creepy way of his to Pope.
“You should've given them privacy. It's their wedding.” Pope states coldly.
“You mean their funeral.” Titus says back with a dark chuckle.
“You don't know that.”
“I know she's not making it.” Titus pats his brother on the shoulder. “A pretty girl like her never lasts in a family like this. We're going to corrupt that sweet innocence of hers. Wouldn't death be better than that?"
He enters the security room, shutting the door behind him, leaving Pope with those words. Pope clenches his fists, rage boiling inside of him.
He has always hated Titus but it wasn't until this moment that he realized how evil he really is.
Why else would he tell Jack to have the wedding here without telling him what that would mean?
Pope needs to say something. He won't be able to live with himself if he doesn't.
Not after witnessing how much you and Jack love each other.
He would want someone to warn him if he was in love with that. Though, he knows that could never happen for him. He would never subject anyone to what his family has in store for you…
When you're all tucked into bed after a very nice bath time, Jack tells you he's going to step out for some water and you nod, falling right to sleep.
The moment Jack leaves, he's immediately ambushed by Pope, who pulls him into a nearby corridor.
It's some kind of servants’ corridor, so the staff can get through the house without being seen. Pope holds his hand over Jack's mouth so Jack can't make a sound.
“Listen to me and don't be fucking stupid.” Pope glares at Jack with so much intensity as he says, “call off the wedding.”
Jack shoves him off, cursing, “what the fuck is your problem?”
“You are.” Pope can't believe how much of an idiot Jack is to have agreed to bring you here. “If you love her, call off the wedding.”
“I love her and that's why I want to marry her.” Jack is getting irritated. “Do you like my wife or something? Is that what this is about?”
Pope scoffs, to hide how he feels about you. “If you don't want to take my warning, then it's your grave. Or, well, hers. I don't care for dead people.”
He walks back through the hidden door then, leaving Jack with a headache.
What the hell was that about?
Titus had told Jack that Pope was a violent person. He could definitely feel that aura just now. But he also felt…a genuine kind of fear.
But why would calling off the wedding solve anything? It would only make you confused. Jack isn't going to do that. He loves you. He wants to marry you. He wants you to be his wife.
If only he had known what it means to marry into this family…
The wedding goes beautifully. You are in a breathtaking white dress that hugs your body perfectly in every way. You love how you look in the photos you took with everyone. You especially love how Jack looks in his tux. You can't wait to rip it off of him later.
But your wedding night is getting put on hold.
“It's a family tradition to play a game to initiate a new family member.” Chester tells you as he walks with you and everyone else to the parlor. “We do it to honor the one who made everything we have possible, Mister Le Bail. He loves a good game.”
“What game are we playing?” You love games too so seeing a room full of them is incredible. The things money can buy will never cease to amaze you.
“We don't know.” Titus pops up behind you, his voice low. “But I know it will be very fun.”
He pats you on the top of the head before heading over to sit by the fireplace. He is joined by his sisters, who stand on either side of him. Everyone else files in, taking seats or standing. You and Jack stand beneath the bust of a tiger with its mouth wide open, fangs sharp. It creeps you out because you're certain it was alive once…
Chester pulls down a black box with the Danforth sigil on it that was set on a shrine of some kind. There's a painting of a man, who you figure must be Mister Le Bail, hanging there. You notice the way the black candles beneath the portrait are weeping wax. They've been lit for a while now.
He walks over to you, handing you the box after he slides open a slot on the side, revealing a playing card. On one side is the Danforth sigil, the other side is completely blank other than the intricate bordering.
“Now, we will see what game you get, my dear.” He gestures for you to slide the card back into the box and see what you pull.
You look at Jack, giggling at the theatrics of all this. Jack doesn't laugh with you.
For some reason, he feels anxious. He doesn't have any reason to be.
It's just a game, right?
You push the slot back into the box and then pull it back out. The card is face down so you pick it up and look at it.
In beautiful calligraphy, it reads…
“Capture the Flag?” You haven't played that game since you were a little kid in school.
Titus doesn't hold back his dark chuckle when you reveal the game to everyone. Pope meets Jack's gaze and then mouths the words you should've listened to me. Jack doesn't know what to think of how everyone's face in the room seems to drop. You don't notice it because you're thinking about how you're all supposed to play Capture the Flag.
“Now that is a game we haven't played in a long time.” Smurf glances over at Chester. “Do you still remember the rules?”
“How can I forget?” He says back to her. “It's the game you played to marry me.”
“Then, same rules?” She turns her attention to you once Chester nods. “Follow me, baby. Let me tell you how we play Capture the Flag in this family.”
You move to go to her but Jack grabs your hand before you can, keeping you in place.
“You can explain it to us all at once.” Jack doesn't want you to leave his sight.
Smurf shrugs then goes, "alright then. The rules are simple. Our lovely bride is the flag. She gets to pick a few people to “protect” her. Everyone else tries to get her. If she is captured before dawn, she loses.”
“That seems simple enough.” It's like a more complicated hide and seek so you ask, “are we really playing until dawn? That's a long game.”
“That's the fun of it.” Titus seems eager to get this rolling.
That is, until Smurf tells you, “since there will be twelve of us participating, I think it's fair for you to pick three people to protect you.”
Smurf did exactly that during her game. She picked Chester, Billy and Jake. And since they're all still alive right now, it proves she won her game. She doubts you will win yours, though, since she's on the playing field this time.
The twelve in the game are: Pope, Baz, Deran, Craig, Billy, Jake, Smurf, Chester, Ursula, Titus, Julia and Jack. You technically don't count as a player because you're the flag.
Lena and J are left out, since they're children, and Baz represents Catherine, since she's his wife, so she only has to participate if Baz is out of the game.
Now, you need to pick who is going to protect you.
And Titus clenches his jaw when you choose, “well, wouldn't it be fun if the triplets were my pick? That way, I don't get confused having someone who looks like my Jack chasing after me.”
Chester gives Titus a look. He knows what the look means. It's not pity. It's more like acknowledging a death sentence.
Because you've just picked who gets to die with you if you lose. But you don't know that yet.
Not until Chester states to everyone, “you four have fifteen minutes to set up and then we will be coming for the flag.”
He heads over to an old fashioned record player and plays a record titled “Capture the Flag”. It sings a tune about the game. The record is exactly fifteen minutes long. The moment the music ends, that's when the game begins.
When the needle hits the record and music starts to play, you are immediately dragged out of the room by Pope and you are not prepared for him to throw you over his shoulder and start sprinting.
Jack can barely keep up, given his prosthetic leg, when Pope is running at top speed. Titus is right in front of Pope, gesturing for him to follow. He may have gotten stuck on the losing team but that doesn't mean he's willing to make it easy on his family.
You are taken to the family graveyard, into a tomb. Titus shuts the stone door behind the four of you and hits a button on the wall, opening the adjacent wall.
“My sisters know about this place so we won't have long here until they think to check it.” He leads you all into a room with a bunch of stone coffins. “Now help me find her some real shoes.”
Titus starts pushing off the covers of the coffins, sifting through the dead bodies for shoes that could fit you. Pope drops you to your feet and goes to help Titus.
“Why are you guys acting like this?” Jack can't wrap his head around what compelled them to sprint all the way here. He's still catching his breath from the sudden work out.
“Maybe they just take this game really seriously.” You don't mind the enthusiasm. It's kind of cute.
That feeling doesn't last when Pope says, “you better take this game seriously because if you don't, you will die.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Jack practically yells at him. “What the fuck is going on here!”
Titus laughs under his breath before he answers, “you brought her here to die.”
“What do you mean?” You don't get the joke if they're making one.
But they aren't joking.
Pope sighs, then explains, “our families are fucked up. They believe that if they don't capture you by dawn, they're all going to die. But if we don't keep you safe until dawn, we all will die.”
“That makes no sense.” Jack doesn't see any reasonable explanation here. He has always been a very logical person. “Why would they die? Why would we die?”
“Because our family sold their souls to the devil. And we will die because they're out there, with weapons, ready to kill us to get to her.” Titus finally finds a pair of sneakers in one of the coffins and tosses them to you. “Put those on.”
“You can't be serious.” You're talking about both the killer family members and putting on some dead person's shoes.
“Look, I don't know you. You're just my brother's wife. I shouldn't be risking my life to protect you. But you chose me. You chose us. So, if you do not fucking listen, I will make you.” Titus is scaring you with how harsh his tone is.
You obey, taking off your heels and putting on the sneakers. They feel super dusty and gross because you don't have any socks on, just your skin colored tights. You grimace as you tie the laces securely, since you probably will be running a lot.
“Don't talk to my wife like that.” Jack could beat the shit out of Titus right now.
“I will talk to her however I want.” Titus glares at Jack. “I shouldn't even be here. I should've been the one hunting her. That was the whole point of me telling you to have the wedding here. My fun got fucking ruined.”
Jack should kill Titus right here. Because if he's being serious about leading you to your death, he has every reason to murder his brother.
“Well, now you have to protect her.” Pope gets between his brothers, trying to stop the conflict before it begins. “And I don't want to die because you two are going to fight over bullshit. We need weapons and we need a place to hide her. Any ideas?”
“I don't fucking know this place.” Jack knew he should've never agreed to having the wedding here.
“Titus?” Pope defers to him.
But then none of them can start planning because you start panicking. “Wait, am I really going to die? Is your family seriously going to try to kill all of us? Why would they do that?”
“Because we sold our souls to the devil. Did you not fucking hear me the first time?” Titus groans in annoyance. “You need to get your ears checked, you little—”
Jack throws a punch across Titus's face in an instant, knocking him down to the ground. You cover your mouth to stop yourself from screaming too loudly. Pope has to stop Titus from trying to fight Jack back.
“This motherfucker just hit me!” Titus pulls out a gun from his jacket, pointing it at Jack. “I should just kill you and make this shit easier on myself.”
“Don't!” You rush over to stand in front of Jack, shielding him. “Don't fight, please. Andrew is right. We need a plan. Let's focus on making a plan. I don't want to die here.”
You blink away the tears that threaten to drip out of your eyes. Titus clicks his tongue then puts his gun away. He doesn't know why but the sight of you about to cry disturbs him. He thought he'd like seeing your face all scrunched up but he doesn't.
Jack pulls you into his arms, cradling you, “everything will be okay. We're going to get the fuck out of here.”
“Impossible.” Titus illustrates the reality of your situation. “The whole resort is on lockdown. My father owns the police. They aren't going to help us. We have to make it until dawn. That's the only way this game ends.”
“Where can we find weapons? At least we have one gun between us.” Pope should've carried his with him. He usually does but he figured that there was only a slim chance you'd pull one of the few cards that had any kind of hunting involved.
You could've pulled Hide and Seek, in which case Jack would have to participate in hunting you. He remembers what happened when Julia's husband had pulled that card. She shot him herself, even though she was pregnant with J at the time. She did it without hesitation.
Pope is unsure if he could've done that to you. Though, you're not his wife. You are gorgeous, however. So, a part of him is grateful he doesn't have to kill you. But a part of him hates that he has to kill everyone else to protect you.
Luck of the draw…
“There's a few different security caches around the resort.” Titus maps them out in his head in relation to where you all are currently. “We could make it to the one at the south gate. That should put enough distance between us and them, at least for a bit. Thankfully, staff can't participate in the game so they're all away, including security. From there, we can hide in the private underground spa.”
“The what.” Jack grew up in a modest household, unlike Pope and Titus.
Who the hell needs a private spa, much less one underground?
“Hopefully there will be a change of clothes for her.” Titus stares at your wedding dress. “We have to get you out of that.”
Your skin heats at his words. He catches the face you make, smirking. He has been wondering what you look like under that dress. Delicious, probably. It's not difficult for him to see why Jack adores you so much.
“Alright.” Pope grabs Jack's wrist, looking at his watch. It's about to be ten past midnight. “We have a few minutes left. We should head over there now.”
Titus leads you all out of the crypt and purposefully leaves the door slightly ajar, in hopes that their family will go and investigate, wasting their time there. You have to hold up your dress to run with them to the south gate. At a certain point, Pope just picks you up and carries you the rest of the way. He doesn't want you slowing them all down and Jack can't risk taking on too much if he's going to be moving around this much on his leg.
Plus, Pope likes holding you. He won't say a word about that but he likes your shallow breaths against his neck and the way you cling onto him.
He sets you down when you all are at the south gate and Titus breaks the glass window, opening the security office. He finds a crowbar and pries open the weapons cache, pulling out two pistols and a shotgun.
“Can you shoot?” He wants to hand you a pistol but he doesn't want to risk you shooting one of them.
Jack scoffs, taking the gun from him and handing it to you. “You didn't look up my wife?”
Pope raises an eyebrow. “Why would we have? Is she like famous or something?”
It would be better to show them, so you step outside with the gun, pointing to a pinecone dangling off a tree in the distance. Jack steps up behind you, cupping your ears with his hands to soften the noise impact. You take in a deep breath then pull the trigger, hitting it perfectly. The pinecone explodes into a million bits.
You hit it dead center and Jack gives you the proudest little kiss on the head. “That's my girl.”
“What the fuck?” Titus can't hold in how shocked he is. “You hit that?”
“She's an Olympic gold medalist, you dumb fuck.” Jack takes the shotgun from Titus forcefully and Pope takes the other pistol. “Never underestimate my wife again.”
You feel shy whenever Jack compliments you so boldly. But it's because he knows how hard you worked for it. You sacrificed a lot of your hearing to get to where you are. A side effect of being around loud guns all your life. That's why he wouldn't stand for Titus making a comment about it.
Titus was not expecting such talent in such a small package. Maybe he did underestimate you. You're growing to be more intriguing by the second. He kind of wishes he had met you before Jack did.
Though, would it be that hard to steal you away from him? Titus does look just like Jack. Perhaps that will play into his advantage in the future.
Pope doesn't like the way Titus looks at you. Because he knows that must be the look he has on his face when he thinks about stealing you from Jack. Especially after seeing you hit that shot so cleanly.
He liked the way you smiled so humbly after. You knew you'd hit that shot but you aren't a show off about it.
You have no place to put the gun so you opt to hold it. Pope walks up to you and you nod at him, letting him pick you up again.
He whispers to you, his voice strangely soft, “just until you're out of this dress.”
Again, his words, like Titus's, make you warm all over. Pope can feel the heat radiating off of you. He made you feel that way. It makes him think things he shouldn't. Like how good your bare skin would feel against his.
He has a bad habit of lusting after his brothers’ lovers. He had to hide how thankful he was that Catherine doesn't have to participate in this. He wouldn't want her to die here and he definitely wouldn't want to have to kill her.
But he would, if it meant protecting you.
Like when a shot is fired and he shields you with his body, tanking the shot into his shoulder as he sprints forward.
“Oh my god, Andrew!” You look at the hole in his shoulder that's gushing blood. “You have to put me down!”
“Give her to me.” Titus shouts and Pope tosses you over to him. He catches you securely in his arms and you clutch onto him tightly. He looks at you, seeing the tears welling up in your eyes, and says, “you need to shoot them back.”
“What…” You've never shot a person before. Only targets.
“Fucking shoot them—” A bullet flies by, slicing a thin line across Titus's neck that he barely dodges. “Before they kill one of us!”
You look over his shoulder, aiming your gun. It's Deran and Craig, on a golf cart, heading your way. Craig is the one driving.
“I need you to stop moving for just a second.” You aren't good at running and shooting.
Titus slows to a stop enough for you to aim the gun. Thankfully, they're gunning straight towards you, so it won't be a hard shot. You take a deep breath and then pull the trigger.
The bullet hits Craig right between the eyes and his body slumps forward, the golf cart speeding up and swerving away. It crashes into a nearby tree and blows up, fire engulfing the bark in seconds.
Deran barely makes it out in one piece, clutching his rifle. He's going to make you pay for killing his brother.
You whimper against Titus's chest, trembling at what you just did. Again, he thought seeing you like this would make him feel happy. He usually likes seeing people in pain. But for some reason, he holds onto you a bit tighter, rubbing your back.
“The first one is always the hardest.” He says quietly to you, his voice sounding so strange to him with how kind it is. “Everything will be okay.”
You look up from his chest and you quickly place your hand on his neck, applying pressure to the cut. He shakes you off. It's barely a scratch. But you keep your hand there anyway, not wanting to risk it. He ignores how much he likes your touch.
“These motherfuckers are actually trying to kill us.” Jack has managed to dodge all of Deran's incoming bullets despite lagging behind a bit. The shots are getting more sparse since the four of you are running further and further away from him.
“We weren't fucking around.” Pope spits out, clinging to his shoulder. “I told you to call off the wedding!”
When did Pope tell Jack that? Titus catches the confused look on your face. Obviously, you had no idea that Pope pulled Jack aside the night before to warn him. But Titus puts two and two together. His criminal brother has empathy, something he does not. Because he wouldn't have warned Jack. Titus wanted this to happen.
Maybe a part of that was jealousy at how in love the two of you are. He wishes someone would love him the way you love Jack. He wishes you would love him.
He knows you're capable of it because you're tending to his wound so closely. You don't find him repulsive like other people do. You don't apply too much pressure on his cut because you're scared to hurt him. You might be the only one in the world who has ever taken care of him like this.
He'd let you hurt him. He's never had thoughts like this before, for anyone.
There's something about you that makes him think things he never has before. Like how much he wants to kiss you whenever you glance up to look at him. He's fucked people before, but he has never kissed them. He wants to kiss you.
Titus leads his brothers into the entrance to the underground spa. They can't stay here long, since Deran definitely saw what direction they went in, but they should be in the clear long enough to get situated a bit.
Jack quickly finds a first aid kit and helps cut Pope out of his shirt. Titus sets you down.
“We have to go find some clothes. Stick by me.”
“But your neck.” You worry because it's still bleeding. Jack should take a look at it first.
“He's going to sew up Pope. I'll be fine.” Titus likes that you're concerned about him. That might also be a first. Someone actually caring about him, without any ulterior motive.
He grabs your hand, dragging you down the corridor to where the employee lockers are. You don't know why you let him hold onto your hand like this. It must be because it's so similar to Jack's, with a more aggressive grip.
When you both are in the staff room, he lets go of your hand to start sifting through the lockers. None of them are locked since these aren't meant for long term storage.
You find another first aid kit so you call Titus over to sit down at the bench between the lockers. “Let me at least put a bandage on it.”
“You're making too much of a fuss.” It's just a little nick on his neck.
“It's still bleeding.” You sit down next to him, opening a small packet containing a disinfectant wipe. “This might sting.”
You notice how Titus doesn't react to the pain. Maybe he has felt worse than this. You try not to dwell on that, cleaning his wound and then placing a bandage on his neck, padding down the edges gently so you don't accidentally hurt him.
His face is so close to yours when you look up from tending to his cut. You stand up the moment he leans in, because you were so close to almost kissing him that your heart nearly stopped in your chest.
“I'm going to put this back and look for some clothes.” You go to do just that.
Titus should've just grabbed you by your dress and kissed you. He missed his chance. He won't miss again.
You find some staff clothes that should fit you and a shirt for Pope. You put your hands behind your back, attempting to unzip yourself from your dress but failing miserably. You can't seem to get a good grip on the tiny zipper.
“Can you help me?” You ask Titus, turning around, gesturing to the zipper of your wedding dress.
He is grateful you can't see him right now. You don't see the way he licks his lips, wanting to nip at your bare skin as he slowly unveils it when he pulls down the zipper.
You feel a jolt in your stomach when Titus brushes his fingertips along your spine. His hands are so soft, which makes sense since he hasn't had to lift a finger his entire life. You hold your breath when his hands slip into your dress, helping you pull it off your shoulders, his hands lingering on your skin longer than they should.
“You're so beautiful.” He whispers into your ear, his body pressed up against your back. “You make such a lovely bride.”
“I-I got it from here.” You clutch your chest, not wanting your dress to fall off any further.
“I should stay close, in case someone comes in.” Titus doesn't move.
How can he? He wants to see what you look like underneath that dress.
The flustered look you have on your face right now, he likes a lot. This is a face he wants to see more of.
“Titus…” You don't know what to say to get him to give you a little privacy.
“I like the way you say my name.” His voice is so low, rumbling in your ear.
You hate that he sounds just like Jack when he's touching you. Your body reacts even though it shouldn't, your core coiling up.
“Please look away.” You swallow the lump in your throat. You just need to change then you can get out of here and back to Jack.
“Kiss me and I won't look.” You turn around when he says that and he smirks at your startled expression.
“I-I can't do that.” Your breath catches in your throat when he steps forward, backing you up against the lockers, his body flush against yours. “Please, Titus. I just need to change out of this dress.”
“Either you let me watch or you kiss me. Those are your choices.” He glances down at your lips then back into your eyes.
He has you cornered. You should scream so Jack comes rushing this way. But if you scream, someone else might hear and you're all supposed to be hiding right now, especially since Jack is treating Pope. They need the time.
But both of those choices are horrible for you. You can't possibly kiss Titus when you're literally married to his brother. But you also can't let him see your naked body. You aren't wearing anything under this dress besides tights…
“Why do you want to…” You don't understand why he's doing this to you.
“I've never kissed anyone before.” His hand reaches up, cupping your face. “And I've never watched someone undress in front of me before either. If I die today, I'd like to have experienced at least one of those things."
“You've never…” You're surprised to hear that. He's as old as Jack, after all. No one has ever wanted to kiss him?
“I've never wanted to kiss someone before you.” He admits the truth. He's never wanted anyone before.
Not like this. Not like you.
You bite your lip. You need to just get this over with so you can change out of your dress and get a move on.
So, you lean up and kiss him. You reason in your mind that this is the quicker of the two options.
At least, it should've been.
But Titus doesn't let you move away. His lips stay plastered against yours as his body presses you further up against the lockers. You try to push him off but then you quickly have to cling onto his shoulders because he grabs your thighs and lifts you up, forcing you to wrap your legs around him or you'd slip. You try not to react when he grinds his hips against yours, letting you become very aware of how hard his cock is. It feels as big as Jack's.
You're squirming as he deepens the kiss, his tongue fighting yours in your mouth. You can't breathe. You can't escape how good it feels when his cock rubs up against your clit over and over with every grind of his hips. He feels too much like Jack, your body too familiar with your husband's touch that his brother's movements trick it into thinking they're one in the same.
You're scared at how wet you've grown already just from him kissing and grinding on you. Your heart is hammering in your chest and your head is so dizzy. You have to push him away!
“Please, Titus. You need to st—” You try to get words out but he simply just growls against your lips and shuts you up with a more forceful kiss.
You think it's over when he lets your feet touch the ground but then you hear a loud rip and you realize he only did that so he could rip your tights off your body. You're now bare from the waist down, the skirt of your wedding dress hiking up as he hooks one arm under your ass, lifting you back up, his lips never leaving yours.
His free hand slips between your legs and your breath catches in your throat when he touches your pussy directly, dragging his fingers through how slick you are.
“You're so wet.” His warm breath against your lips sends shivers through you. “All because of me?”
You shake your head, squirming from the sparks that shoot through you when his fingers graze your clit. “Please stop, Titus.”
“I'll stop if you don't cum.” He slips a finger inside of you, swirling it around, making you bite back a sound. “You're so tight. Jack must love fucking you.”
“Don't do this.” You pinch your eyes shut, hating how similar in girth his finger feels to Jack's. “Please don't do this.”
“You're going to cum, aren't you?” He can tell because you're milking his finger every time he curls it inside of you. “You're afraid that I'm going to make you cum. Because how are you going to explain to your husband that you just came on his brother's fingers?”
Titus thrusts two more fingers inside of you and to stop you from making noise, his lips crash back onto yours, his tongue slipping back inside your mouth. You claw at him, digging your nails into his shoulders, trying everything in your power to get him to move away.
Because he's right. You're going to cum. You're getting too close. Just holding in your orgasm like this is going to make it even more intense when it happens.
You hate that it feels so good, the tension winding up inside of you, threatening to burst.
You hate how much you like how rough his touch is. His fingers are relentless, spreading you open wide, moving side to side furiously, putting sloppy wet sounds into the air.
Jack would never do anything like this to you, out of fear of hurting you. It gives you a sick thrill, especially when Titus looks just like him.
A darker version of your Jack.
You cum harder than you should on his fingers, squirting all over his hand. He doesn't let you stop, not until you're shaking all over from how much you've drenched his hand. He revels in it, pulling his fingers out of you and making you watch as he licks his hand clean.
“Please put me down now.” You're on the verge of tears. You can't believe how amazing that felt. Your body is twitching all over from the intensity of cumming like that.
It only gets worse when you feel his bare cock rubbing up against your pussy. Your eyes widen. When did he unzip his pants?
“No, no, no, Titus, please—” You place your hand over your mouth and bite your palm when his cock slides inside of you all too easily.
Usually, you need to cum a few times to take Jack because he fills you up way too much. Titus must be a similar size because he feels too big inside of you. You nearly cum just from the stretch, his cock pushing into you until he hilts completely.
At this angle, the tip of his cock rubs right up against the sensitive spot by your womb with every slight twitch. You cling onto him, scared if you slip, his cock will keep grinding against it and you'll cum again too easily.
He closes his eyes, needing to memorize how warm and wet your tight pussy is. He loves how you clench around him more when he peppers kisses along your neck before he drags his tongue up along the side of your neck to your ear.
“Don't cum on my cock and I'll pull out before I cum.” He says right before he nips at your earlobe. “But if you cum, I'm filling you up with mine.”
You shake your head, begging, "please don't. Jack—”
“Just pretend I'm him. We look the same. I'm just your husband fucking you on your wedding night. My beautiful wife.” He grabs your hips, holding you steady against the lockers.
Then, he starts to pound into your pussy.
You bury your head into his shoulder, trying to muffle the moans that threaten to escape your lips because every stroke of his cock inside of you hits all the spots you love so much, especially when he's ramming his cock into you without mercy. It's like he doesn't care to be gentle. He knows you're tightening up from how rough he's fucking you.
If you cum, you're done for.
But you can barely hold it in.
Then, you clamp your hand over your mouth the moment you hear Jack knock on the employee locker room door. “Babe, are you in there?”
Jack tries the door but it's locked. Titus had locked it when you both came in earlier.
You should scream. You should tell Jack to come and save you. You should.
But you cum way too hard instead, at the thought of Jack catching you fucking Titus. You imagine how angry he'd be with you that you're cumming on his brother's cock. That's a sight you've never seen before but one you secretly crave. A meaner Jack.
Maybe that's why you're letting Titus make you cum.
You cum so much that Titus groans against your neck, needing to keep himself quiet or he won't be able to enjoy this. He will not let Jack interrupt him now that he has made you cum on his cock. He wants to do it again.
“I don't know where they went. Maybe further down.” Jack says and you hear two sets of footsteps walk away.
The moment Titus can't hear their footsteps anymore, he pulls out of you. You're shocked that you feel disappointed then you're shocked when he turns you around and thrusts his cock into you from behind. You cling onto the lockers as he grips your hips and starts fucking you so roughly, your legs nearly give out.
“Titus, please, oh god—” You can't handle how his cock is slamming against that spot deep inside of you over and over again, teasing your womb.
You need him to keep going. You need to cum. You have to cum. He has to cum. You need him to flood you with that warmth you're growing addicted to.
Stars flood your vision at the same moment you drench your legs from how hard you squirt on his cock from the merciless fucking. He pulls you back, sitting down on the benches between the lockers, driving his cock up into you. Then, he reaches down, rubbing your clit. You grip onto his thighs with your hands, needing some kind of leverage to handle how he's touching you without a care that you're overstimulated and on the verge of cumming again already.
Titus takes his other hand and wraps it around your throat, tugging you towards him so he can whisper in your ear, “you better cum hard on my cock when I cum.”
He chokes you at the same time as his cum fills your pussy and your orgasm hits you when you can't take in a breath. Your head is so fuzzy from being choked and how hard you came. You don't even fight Titus when he kisses you in your daze. He lays you down onto the bench, climbing on top of you, kissing you, his cock still rubbing up against you. You cum again from how sensitive you are down there and he smiles against your lips, completely satisfied.
“I won't tell him if you don't.” He says to you once you've regained your sentience, snapping back to reality.
To the reality of what you just did.
“Why did you do that?” You can't believe that you just had sex with Titus.
“Because you're the most beautiful woman I've ever met.” He looks at you with those same, affectionate eyes Jack would. “I couldn't die without knowing what you look like when you cum. I would do anything to see that again.”
He does exactly that. He slips his hand back behind your legs, under the skirt of your wedding dress. You grab a hold of his arm but you can't stop him from slipping his fingers inside of you again.
“You need to learn to fight me if you don't want this.” He takes your hand with his free one, placing it on his face. “Slap me. Dig your nails into my face. Gouge my eyes out. Do it or I'm going to make you cum again.”
Why can't you do it? You should hurt him for touching you like this. But his fingers curl inside of you and you cum right then, panting from the sudden rush of euphoria.
He chuckles at your stunned expression, pulling his fingers out of you and stuffing them into his mouth, savoring your taste.
“Try harder next time, or I'm fucking you again.” He gets up and puts his hand out. “Come on, you need to get dressed and we need to get back to my brothers.”
“I can't…” You wrap your arms around your middle, curling into yourself, heartache shooting through you. “I can't look him in the eye after what we just did.”
“Just tell him I raped you.” Titus shrugs, like it's no big deal to him if Jack views him poorly. “He doesn't need to know I made you cum.”
“Titus, this is not something simple that can be explained away.” You wipe your eyes, the tears finally dripping out. “I shouldn't have kissed you. I shouldn't have done any of that with you.”
“Don't blame yourself. I forced myself onto you. You didn't do anything. You didn't betray him. Unless you want me to do it again. Then that's a completely different problem.” Titus kneels down in front of you, placing his hand on your side, rubbing it gently. “There's no way you want me, right?”
No, there is no way. You're in love with Jack. He's your husband. You love him with all of your heart.
But your pussy is throbbing from how roughly Titus just fucked you. You know, deep down, that you'll never forget how that felt.
And you won't be able to resist doing it again.
So, if you do die today, maybe you can take this feeling to the grave.
That you do want Titus, even though you shouldn't…
There's a restroom in the employee locker room so you clean up yourself as best you can so you aren't walking around with Titus's cum dripping out of you and then you check to see if you look presentable enough after you shrug off your soiled wedding dress and put on the uniform. You can't look freshly fucked, after all.
Thankfully you just look disheveled, which is understandable, given the circumstances.
You and Titus spot Jack and Pope in the sauna room and you hand Pope the shirt you had found. He puts it on right away. It's a bit small on him, the fabric clinging to his chest. You shake away any of the flustered thoughts you have about that, about how nice his body is. He definitely works out, like Jack does.
You already fucked Titus. You can't be thinking about Pope too.
But it's hard not to think about him when he's grabbing you and sprinting with you in tow as Jack and Titus fend off their sisters as shotgun rounds go off, blasting off the tiles of the walls.
Julia and Ursula figured the underground spa would be a good place for you all to hide. Their hunch was right. They run after you and Pope while Jack and Titus sprint after them.
Earlier, when Pope and Jack were looking for you and Titus, Pope had found one of those hidden employee corridors. He loops around, evading his sisters, then slips into it with you. His hand clamps over your mouth, keeping you quiet. Jack knows where it is, so surely he will know to come back here once they've chased off their sisters.
Though, Pope wouldn't be surprised if their sisters ended up dead. It's doubtful that Titus would risk keeping either of them alive. The less people playing, the higher chance of making it until dawn.
So when you two hear several shotgun rounds go off, you whimper into Pope's hand, so scared that Jack's hurt.
“Don't worry, I'm sure they're okay.” He tries to comfort you, rubbing your lower stomach.
He startles when you moan into his hand uncontrollably. You're still sensitive from earlier, his touch reminding you of how hard Titus was pounding against your womb with his cock. Pope leans in, and he can smell that musky scent of sex on you. It's not repulsive. But it's surprising, since he had been with Jack that whole time…
“Did you fuck my brother?” Pope asks you directly and the way you squirm in his hold answers that for him. “Why?”
You whisper once his hand lifts off yours, “he wouldn't let me change unless I kissed him so I did and…then…we…”
A kiss is really all it took for you to give yourself to Titus? Pope spins you around to look at him and he can see how you're keeping your legs together. Which can only mean one thing.
Titus came inside of you…he fucked you raw. Like Jack had last night.
“Why didn't you shoot him?” You can handle a gun. You could've shot Titus.
“I don't know.” You really don't. You set your gun down in one of those lockers, where you found the uniform. You forgot to get it… “I realize I left my gun back there.”
“We'll go back for it but…why would you fuck Titus? Do you like him?” Pope would be surprised to hear that. He's pretty crazy but Titus is like an even more fucked up version of him.
And Pope saw how much you love Jack. There's no way you suddenly had a change of heart and would cheat on him with Titus of all people.
“It was just…a mistake.” You let out with a sigh. “It shouldn't have felt good…”
Pope's eyes stare at you with so much shock in them. “It felt good?”
You bite down on your lip. Why did you say that!
“It was just a lapse in—” Your words are cut off by Pope grabbing your face and kissing you passionately. You're so stunned that his lips kiss yours so gently that you almost melt into it. This kiss is so much like the ones Jack gives you when you're making love. It's impossible not to think they're the same when you open your eyes and it's like you're staring at your husband. But it's not Jack.
It's Pope who is kissing you like you're the most precious person in the world to him.
He breathes against your lips, “can you make one more mistake?”
Pope doesn't want to die tonight. But he definitely doesn't want to die knowing he could touch you before he does. If Titus got to have you, there's no reason for you to deny Pope.
You're getting swept up in another brother…
Pope drops your pants, tossing them aside, and then drops to his knees, burying his face between your legs. You gasp, putting your hand in his hair as his warm tongue flicks your clit.
You bite back a whimper when he shoves two fingers into your pussy, curling them while he plays with your clit in his mouth. He knows you don't need any prep and yet your pussy is still super tight. His cock is desperate to burst out of his pants.
You need to tell him to get off of you. You need to tell him to stop. You can't let him make you cum.
You'll never recover if you do.
But then he says, his warm breath tickling your thighs, “I need you to cum. I need to know how you taste when you cum.”
He adds another finger, stretching you out as he spreads them inside of you, opening you up wide like Titus had. You expect him to be like Titus, and fuck you roughly with his fingers. That's why you're ill prepared for him to dip his tongue into your pussy too, the contrast between his calloused fingers and his soft tongue pushing you right over the edge.
You cum so hard all over his face and he laps it up like it's the best thing he's ever tasted.
You love the way he looks on his knees like this. It's not a thought you should have in your mind at all but you can't stop yourself from reacting to how he looks up at you, kissing your thighs like he worships you.
“Please let me fuck you.” Pope begs. He's never begged for anything in his life but he needs this. He needs to know what it feels like to have your pussy wrapped around his cock.
“We can't, Andrew.” You need to stop him.
But your words only motivate him more. “Say that again.”
“What?” You nearly shriek when Pope tackles you onto the hard ground, climbing on top of you, unbuckling his belt. “Andrew, stop!”
“Say it.” He pulls his cock out, brushing it along your bare pussy. You can't help but moan from how good it feels since you're still sensitive from earlier.
But you shouldn't feel good. He's literally lining up his cock. He's going to fuck you.
“We can't, Andrew!” You try to shove him away when you feel the tip of his cock pop inside of you, grinding back and forth against your entrance. “Please, stop! I'm married to your brother!”
“I know.” That makes him ram the entire length of his cock inside of you and he groans when you squirt in response from the sudden impact, tightening up so much around him. “I need you to do that again.”
You don't know if he means telling him to stop or cumming on his cock. He must mean both because he pulls his cock almost all the way out of you before slamming it back inside of you, pulling out another sudden squirting orgasm. He does this again and again, watching you drench the floor beneath the two of you with every thrust of his cock.
“No, don't do this, Andrew, please.” You're going to burst completely if he keeps this up.
You've never cum like this before. It must have to do with the fact that he's uncut, his foreskin rubbing up inside of you in a way that feels completely different than Jack and Titus, who are both cut.
Pope's cock grinds against every spot that drives you up the wall, your whole body convulsing. You feel him press his hand down on your lower stomach, forcing you to be aware of how harshly he's pounding into your womb. He starts to massage right there, drawing out moans you can't hold in anymore.
“Don't cum then.” He knows that'll be impossible from how much your pussy is clenching around him. You're desperate to cum again.
“I can't!” You try to push him off but he grabs your wrists with his free hand instead, pinning them above your head, leaning more forward, holding you down with all of his body weight. You're helpless, his cock pushing you closer and closer to your next orgasm. “I'm going to—”
“You're going to cum on your brother in law's cock?” He shakes his head at you before degrading you, “I didn't realize my brother married such a slut.”
Your eyes roll back and you cum so hard that Pope has to keep you held down or you'd surely push his cock out from the sheer force of your orgasm. You're gasping for air, crying at how every thrust of his cock is making you squirt, wishing it didn't feel incredible to be fucked like this.
You've never felt so defenseless before. He's forcing you to cum and your body loves every second of it.
You love every second of it. He's ruining you.
Pope and Titus have ruined you.
How are you supposed to look Jack in the eyes ever again when you're letting Pope kiss you as you grind your hips against his, needing more?
“Say you're a slut.” He breathes out, taking your bottom lip between his teeth, biting it hard before he demands, “say it.”
“I'm a slut.” You tell him and you believe it from how that bite sent such a thrill through you.
“Tell me why.” He loves the depraved look in your eyes. You looked so in love just a few hours ago. Now, you're tainted with a fucked up kind of lust because of him and Titus.
“Because I can't stop cumming on your cock.” You admit because it's the truth. You can't stop. He has rotted you to your very core.
“Good girl.” Pope presses a soft kiss against your cheek. “I don't want you to stop cumming until you feel me cum inside of you, okay?”
You nod. You have to listen. You wouldn't be able to hold back regardless.
You don't know how many more times you cum before Pope finally finishes inside of you, flooding you with that warmth you can't get enough of.
You were fucked raw for the first time yesterday and now you've had three different cocks fill you up since.
By three brothers who look exactly alike.
You're never going to be normal again after this.
How can you be, when your husband walks in right as Pope is pulling out of you?
You look up and see Jack covered in blood from head to toe. He looks down at you, at your pussy that is leaking out Pope's cum onto the floor. The heat in his gaze is enough to make you cum all of a sudden, pushing more of Pope's cum out of you with your orgasm.
He doesn't have any words to say to you.
Because he let that happen.
He let Pope fuck you.
Because right before this, him and Titus had caught up to their sisters and had a stand off. Everyone had a gun pointing at the other.
And Ursula goes, “I'm surprised you don't want to kill Titus.”
Jack is confused by her words. “Why would I kill him? He's on my team.”
“Is he?” Julia laces in more doubt. “I wouldn't considered a man who fucks your wife on your team.”
Titus scoffs, feigning ignorance. “Are you fucking high right now? What the fuck are you two talking about?”
Julia is definitely high out of her mind. But Titus can't hide from the facts when Ursula pulls out her phone, showing Jack the camera footage from the employee locker room, where Titus is fucking you in your wedding dress against the lockers.
Jack points his gun over at Titus, who keeps his gun on Ursula. “What the fuck did you do?”
“Can we talk about it after we kill them?”
Though, maybe he should take this opportunity to kill Jack. But then his sisters would just unload all their bullets into him. He needs to convince Jack to point the gun back at Julia.
“He fucked your wife.” Julia says to Jack, her words slightly slurred. “Are you seriously not going to do anything to him? She liked it.”
“What?” Jack doesn't believe what he is hearing. Why would you—
“She came so hard on our brother's cock.” Ursula practically cackles. “You should just give her up to us and let us handle her. We'll make sure she gets punished for being a little slut.”
“You don't want a slut like that as your wife, do you?” Julia pushes further, cackling like her sister. “You can do better than a woman who would fuck our psycho brother.”
“What did you just call my wife?” Jack's voice gets dangerously low. Titus's eyes widen, because he knows how he gets when he sounds like that.
It's how he sounds when he's about to kill someone.
Jack pulls the trigger on his shotgun and Julia's guts splatter all over the tile walls of the spa. There's a giant hole in her middle, where her stomach used to be. She collapses, going completely limp. He pumps the shotgun and points it at Ursula. He doesn't hesitate and fires. Her head bursts on impact, blood flying all over Jack and Titus. Jack wipes their blood off his face then his eyes shift to look at Titus.
He reloads the shotgun as he says, “give me a reason to keep you alive.”
“Your wife loves you.” Titus drops his gun and puts his hands up. “There's no reason she enjoyed fucking me other than the fact that I look like you.”
“But she liked it?” Jack clicks the shotgun back in place and aims it at Titus. “Answer me.”
Titus has never been nervous like this in his life. Other than when his father would slap him. Those were the only times he felt on edge.
Because he has no idea what he needs to say to convince Jack not to kill him. He figured Jack would when he found out but Titus was hoping he'd get to fuck you one last time before he died. That seems like a fever dream now.
“They weren't lying.” Titus points to Ursula's phone, since the proof is right there. “She came really hard when you knocked on the door. I think she liked the idea that you almost caught us fucking.”
Jack grabs the phone off the floor, his gun still pointed at Titus, and watches the replay of the security footage. He has never been that rough with you. He always treated you with so much care because you're much younger than him and he didn't want you to be afraid of him in any way. He was slow and patient with you.
But now he sees that you don't need him to be gentle.
You actually like being scared. You actually like being forced to cum. You love it, from the way you don't resist Titus slipping his hand back between your legs after he fucked you, making you cum again.
He had no idea about this side of you. And he can't pretend like it doesn't turn him on to see you give in to your desires. He loves you. Everything about you.
He shuts off the phone and tucks it into his pocket. Then, he looks Titus in the eyes and asks, “are you clean?”
Titus nods. “She's the only one I've ever fucked without protection.”
“What makes her so special to you?” Jack knows the answer for himself but he needs to know if Titus is willing to die for you. That's the only way Jack will let him live.
If he dedicates his life to you forever.
“I don't know. I've never felt this way about anyone before.” Titus is unsure if his confession is the smartest move but…he wants to be honest. “She's so sweet. She bandaged me up. No one has ever cared about me like that.”
“Do you think she wants to fuck you again?” Jack holds the shotgun steady, waiting for Titus to answer.
“Are you going to kill me if I say yes?” Titus would. Less competition.
“I'm going to kill you if you lie to me.” Jack is sick and tired of being lied to.
“I think she does.” Titus doesn't want to stroke Jack's ego but… “I'm pretty sure it's because I'm a more messed up version of you.”
It isn't hard for Jack to believe that his brother would fall for you. You're the most amazing person Jack has ever had the pleasure of being around. Anyone would fall for you. But you love Jack. You love him so much that the only people in the world that could ever sway your heart would be the two people who look identical to him.
“Listen closely.” Jack lowers his gun, his eyes remaining locked on his brother's. “You don't get to fuck her unless I say so. And you don't get fuck anyone else ever again. The moment you do, I put a bullet through your head, got it?”
“Are you fucking serious?” Titus knows he's serious about killing him but…letting him fuck you is unbelievable.
“You're right.” Jack steps up to him, leveling with him. “My wife loves me. Which, unfortunately, makes it really easy for her to fall for someone who looks just like me. I'm not looking to lose her and I'm not risking her falling for you. So, if she wants to fuck you, I'll let her fuck you. On my terms.”
That is something Titus can agree to. He isn't going to win your heart. He knows that. It belongs to Jack. But if he gets to be close to you, to feel your pussy wrapped around his cock again, to kiss you, he'll take that. That works for him.
“Alright.” Titus nods. “On your terms.”
“Swear it.” Jack wants no bullshit.
“I swear to Mister Le Bail that I will not fuck your wife unless you say I can.” Titus makes that promise. “But you will let me, right?”
“If she wants it.” Jack looks down at his blood soaked clothes. “Is there anywhere else we can get clothes?”
“Not here. You said Pope found the service corridor right? They're probably some clothes to change into in the laundry room.”
“I need a bathroom at least.” He doesn't want blood on his hands for much longer. It's going to crust up and get gross.
So, after they wash their hands in the nearby restroom, Jack and Titus head over to where Pope hid you and when they get there, they can hear you and Pope fucking from the door.
“She really gets around.” That comment lands Titus a punch in the gut. “Fuck, sorry, holy shit, that hurt!”
“Shut the fuck up.” Jack doesn't want you or Pope to hear them outside.
He wants to see how far you'll go.
Then he hears you call yourself a slut.
And he knows then exactly how far you would go.
So, they walk in right as Pope pulls out of you, his cum dripping out of your freshly fucked pussy. Your eyes look up to meet Jack's and you cum when they trail down to stare at your soaked pussy. That solidifies it for Jack.
You like being fucked by his brothers.
He stands over you, crossing his arms, the look on his face one of pure disappointment.
“Did you rape her?” Jack turns to look at Pope before turning back to face you. “Tell me he raped you.”
“Yes, I—” Pope is about to answer but then you shake your head. He furrows his brow at that. Why are you protecting him?
“Did you like him fucking you?” Jack's tone is so harsh. You've never heard him so mean before. “Did you like my brother's raw cock inside of you?”
“Jack, I'm—”
“Answer my question.” He kneels down, slipping his hand between your legs, feeling how wet you are and how swollen your clit is. You squirm when he pinches it. “I'm waiting.”
Tears build in your eyes as you nod, sealing your fate. “Do you hate me?”
He doesn't answer you. He looks up at Pope, pulling out a phone from his pocket and tossing it to him. Pope catches it, confused.
“Film this.” That's all Jack says before he thrusts three fingers inside of you, pulling a gasp from your lips.
He's dragging the pads of his fingers roughly against that spot inside of you that always makes you cum right away. “Jack, if you do that—”
“Do you love me?” He doesn't stop fingering you, his stern gaze engulfing you completely.
“Of course I love you.” You pinch your eyes shut, your orgasm building too quickly. “Oh god, I'm going to—”
“Titus, come here.” Jack snaps at him and he drops to his knees beside you right away. “Play with her clit.”
Your eyes shoot open when you feel Titus's fingers rubbing your clit. You burst completely then, squirting all over their hands, unable to control yourself. You don't know what's going on or why Jack is letting Titus touch you but they don't stop. You're going to cum again if they keep—
“Pope is right. You are a slut.” Jack's harsher tone sends you into a frenzy. He's never spoken to you like that before. It shoots an orgasm through you too easily. “Look at you cumming because my brother is touching you. Did you like fucking him too?”
Jack isn't expecting you to nod. Neither is Titus. That makes him harder than earlier, knowing you liked it too.
“I'm sorry, Jack—” You choke on your breath when Jack wraps his other hand around your throat.
“If you're really sorry, you'll show me how hard you cum from being choked.” He drives his fingers deeper inside of you as he tightens his grip on your throat. Titus starts rubbing your clit roughly, then he gestures for Pope to come in closer, so he can catch it on camera clearly.
You nearly pass out from how intense your orgasm is. Your vision goes blurry and you're trying to moan but they're getting locked up in your throat, which only pushes you further to your limits.
When Jack pulls his fingers out of you and moves Titus off of you, Pope pleads to him, “please let me taste her right now.”
Jack turns to you. “Do you want my brother to eat you out?”
Even in your daze, you manage to nod. You feel so crazed for doing that but then when Pope's tongue is dipping into your pussy, you can't seem to care about how you look.
If you die tonight, at least you will have experienced whatever the fuck this is.
You grip onto Pope's hair with your hands, riding his face as you cum again, his tongue eagerly licking it all up.
You're so spent that you don't even register Pope picking you up into his arms. He carries you, walking beside his brothers, trying to understand what just happened. He expected Jack to be mad at him for fucking his wife…not give him permission to go down on you.
Everything is cleared up once you all find the laundry room and barricade the doors. Then, Titus breaks all the cameras in the room, hoping that will stall anyone finding out where they are for a bit.
Pope sets you down on one of the folding tables and you shyly thank him when he gives you a pair of pants to change into, since you left behind the other ones out there.
“She should wear this.” Titus tosses a maid uniform at Pope. “At least then we'll have easy access. Better than ruining another pair of pants.”
You've never felt so feverish as you change into the maid uniform. You meet Jack's gaze while he strips out of his bloody tuxedo. You hop off the table so you can go help him. You take a wet towel and wipe off as much blood off his skin as you can.
“Thanks, babe.” He leans in and kisses your temple so sweetly. “I got it from here. Go help Titus.”
The look in your eyes screams are you sure but Jack nods so you go over and do the same for Titus, wiping off the blood where he can't reach.
“Do I get to kiss her too?” He smiles at you in that sinister but playful way.
“If she wants you to.” Jack says as he pulls on one of the staff shirts. He doesn't seem to care if you do or not.
You're so confused…
“Well, beautiful? What do you say?” He waits for you to reply.
“Jack, can we talk?” You don't know if you can accept what's going on right now without speaking with him privately first.
“There's an office back here.” Pope points to the management office. “You both can talk there.”
You put your hand out and Jack takes it, letting you lead him over there, shutting the door behind the two of you.
“How are we supposed to eavesdrop now?” Titus glares at Pope. “You always ruin all the fun. Like Christmas.”
“Are you still holding a grudge from when we were eight?” Pope rolls his eyes.
That was the last Christmas he ever spent with the Danforths. Smurf was done taking him there for the holidays after Titus threw a fit about Pope “stealing” the rifle Chester bought for Titus. Pope only stole it because Titus kept aiming it at Julia.
Titus has been a pain in his ass ever since, which is why they haven't spoken much until right now.
They're going to be speaking a lot more now if they're going to be sharing you with Jack.
Something you're still unsure about…
“Are we…okay?” You ask that first when you and Jack are finally alone. “I understand if you're mad at me.”
“I'm not mad at you.” He walks up to you, pulling you into his arms. “I promise, I'm not.”
“Why?” Surely you'd be mad at him if the scenario was reversed.
But then he says, “because I figure if you had two sisters who looked exactly like you, it would be hard for me to not feel something too when I love you so much.”
That should give you pause but…he's right. In a strange, twisted kind of way, it would be very difficult for you to be mad at Jack for feeling something for someone who looks exactly like you. You couldn't resist his brothers. You wouldn't be able to judge him if he felt the same if the scenario was flipped.
Though, it might just be because you're learning a little more about your personal preferences than you originally thought…like how much you liked being touched by all of them at once.
“Still, I'm sorry this happened.” You wrap your arms around him, hugging him. “You don't have to be okay with it, even if you love me.”
“Everyone in my family is trying to murder you. I think we're even.” He says with a chuckle, giving you a big squeeze.
“Oh my god, Jack.” You shake your head against his chest, then you giggle with him. “I don't think those are the same thing.”
“Arguably my brothers fucking you is not as bad as everyone else in my family trying to kill us.”
“Still bad though!” You pout at him and he cups your face, nuzzling your nose all cutely.
“It's okay, babe.” He reassures you. “All that matters is making it until dawn. Then, we can figure this shit out after.”
“Should we…figure it out…?” You glance out the glass window of the office, looking at his brothers who are bickering about something out there.
“If you like fucking them, I'd rather you be honest with me then hide it.” Jack doesn't want you to keep a secret from him that would blow up in your face eventually.
You bite your lip then confess, “it's hard not to like it when they look just like you…”
“Who has the best cock though?” Jack's question makes you shove him, making him laugh. “Don't act like you haven't thought about it. Tell me.”
You shake your head. “That's a trick question. I'm not answering that.”
“Oh, I get it.” He pulls you towards him, spinning you like you two are on the dance floor, then wraps his arms around you from behind, holding you securely as he leans in and whispers, “you need a bit more data first, right? You need them to fuck you a few more times before you can decide?”
“Jack…” You're flushed all over from his words and the way his hands are sliding down, lifting your skirt up with one hand and moving between your legs with his other hand. Your eyes snap to the window, aware that Pope and Titus could look over here at any moment once they're done with their argument. “They'll see us…”
“You'd like that, wouldn't you?” Jack starts to rub small, methodical circles around your very swollen and sensitive clit. “Imagine locking eyes with them as you cum on my hand.”
You grab onto his hand, holding it steady against your clit as you grind on it. Jack presses kisses along your neck before taking a bite out of the side of it, marking you. You cum when you feel his teeth sink in, the pleasure overwhelming you. The thought of an obvious mark on your skin for Pope and Titus to see is what sends you reeling.
“You'll always be my wife.” Jack tells you, pressing a light kiss against the mark he made. “And I love spoiling my wife. Is fucking my brothers a good treat for you?”
You say “yes” quicker than you should. Jack can feel how soaked you are between your legs. He needs to be inside of you.
“Get up against the window, babe.” His words make you gasp. “Let them watch me fuck you. Then I'll let them come in and do the same.”
“You're killing me.” You've never been more turned on in your life.
“Luckily I'm a doctor.” He chuckles against your skin. “I'll bring you back to life. Now hurry up.”
You make your way over to the window, looking out at Pope and Titus. They are still arguing, their hands flailing around. You can't imagine what they could be talking about.
But you don't have the space in your mind to think about it when Jack slams every inch of his cock inside of you from behind.
“Hold up your skirt.” Jack demands. “Show them how much of a slut you are.”
The window is large enough that they would be able to clearly see Jack fucking you if you lift your skirt up.
So, that's what you do. You hold it up and you can see the faintest reflection in the glass of Jack's cock driving deep into your pussy. You cling onto the window with your other hand, moaning way too loudly at how good it feels to have Jack back inside of you.
“Do you like having your husband fuck you while your brothers in law watch?” Jack is really leaning into this since you're clenching around his cock so tightly when he does. “You should let them see you cum.”
He's taken back by how much he reacts when you tell him, playing into it more, “please Jack, I don't want them to see…”
You swear he must've gotten bigger inside of you because every thrust seems to fill you up more than the last.
“Why don't you want them to see?” He whispers in your ear, his voice more seductive than ever. “Is it because you belong to me?”
You nod, turning your head back to look at him. “I'm your wife. I'm all yours—”
Jack grabs your chin and forces you to look forward and you lock up when you see Titus and Pope staring right at you through the glass.
“If you're all mine, then don't cum from them watching us.” Jack knows that's impossible for you, which only adds to the thrill. He never realized how fun it would be to tease you like this, especially when you're wriggling in his grip, the pleasure building too quickly that you can't stay still anymore.
“No, Jack, you know I can't—” Your shocked yelp gets caught in your throat when his hand slides down and settles around your neck. He doesn't squeeze but the threat of it is there. “No, please, don't—”
“You don't like it?” He chuckles in that same dark way that Titus does, making goosebumps rise on your skin. “I think you're lying to me, babe. I think you're going to cum real hard once my hand starts to strangle you.”
“Not while they watch.” You try not to meet their gazes or you'll surely cum from how heated they are, staring at you while Jack is holding your body hostage like this. “Please don't, I don't want to cum while they—”
“If you cum, they're going to get to use you however they want. Isn't that what you want?” Jack slips his other hand from your hip to your clit, pinching it between his fingers since he knows you'll break the moment he does. “My wife loves being a slut for me and my brothers.”
It's like a dam breaks inside of you. All the coiled up tension finally releases and you can't stop yourself from cumming anymore. Titus and Pope watch the way you unravel completely, squirting on Jack's cock all over the window. They look at each other.
“Truce?” Pope has already forgotten what they've been arguing about. He's more focused on how hard his cock is against the new pants he just put on.
“Truce. Do you think he'll let us fuck her?” Titus looks towards Jack, who gestures for them to come over. “Our brother is fucking nuts.”
“Runs in the family.” Pope doesn't hesitate to start the walk over there, his eyes never leaving your quivering body.
When the door opens, your scream is choked out by Jack's hand. He smiles at how you're trying so hard again not to cum.
“It's okay, babe.” Jack turns you away from the window and towards his brothers. “Show them how hard you cum when I do.”
You shake your head then gasp when you feel someone's hand on your chin. It's Titus. “Come on, beautiful. Show us.”
Titus takes over rubbing your clit so that Jack can have both hands gripping your hips, leaving your pretty neck all exposed. That's when Pope steps forward, wrapping both of his hands around your throat.
“Oh god, don't do this…” You plead to Pope. “Please, Andrew, I won't be able to—”
You'll never be able to have vanilla sex again after this. You'll crave being touched by all of them at once for the rest of your life.
There's still a chance you die tonight, too.
“This is just what happens when you become part of the family.” Pope tells you, his grip tightening around the delicate column of your throat. “You were never going to make it out of this unscatched.”
“I like her better like this, though.” Titus leans in, kissing you, making you more breathless.
“I love you like this.” Jack says right into your ear and that's all it takes for you to finally give in completely.
You grab a hold of Titus with one hand, kissing him back, while your other hand grabs Pope's wrist, tugging him towards you more, wanting him to choke you harder. Jack starts roughly ramming his cock into you, something he has never done before, and your moans are caught in your throat, desperate to come out but you can't breathe.
Your orgasm is unbelievable. Your thighs are soaked. Jack is pumping so much of his release inside of you that you'll surely be walking around with it dripping out of you after this.
But it won't just be his.
“Let me go next.” Titus breathes out onto your swollen lips, his hot breath intoxicating. “Let me fuck her next, please.”
He has never begged like that to anyone, not even his father. But he'll beg Jack for this. He needs this. He needs you.
“It's up to her.” Jack smacks your ass, jolting you back to reality from your orgasmic daze. “Do you want Titus to fuck you?”
Pope lets go of your throat just a little so you can tell them, “yes, please.”
“Please what?” Jack didn't realize how much of a sadist he really was. “You need to say it clearly, babe. Say “I want your brother Titus to fuck me”.”
Pope and Titus give each other a look. Is this really their straight-laced brother? They see too much of themselves in him right now.
You look right into Titus's eyes when you say, “I want your brother Titus to fuck me, please.”
He starts to laugh. “Holy fuck, she's perfect. You've got an incredible wife, Jack.”
Jack pulls out of you then cups his hand over your throbbing pussy. “Hurry up and fuck my wife before my cum spills out of her.”
Titus eyes the desk chair in the corner and says, “let's go over there.”
He goes to sit down as Jack and Pope drag you over so you can sit down on Titus's lap like you had earlier, sinking his cock into you from behind. You grab a hold of his knees again, squirming at the way his cock is twitching inside of you. Then, you have no idea how to react when Pope drops to his knees between your legs and leans in to lick your clit, his warm tongue making you dizzy with Titus's cock buried inside of you.
“You're a fucking freak, Pope.” Titus groans when you clench around him from Pope playing with your clit.
“Just fuck her already.” Pope wants to know what you taste like when you're being fucked.
You look up at Jack, seeing that his cock is still out, glistening from having been buried inside of you. You lick your lips then grab him by his pants, pulling him towards you. You aren't holding back anymore, so you proceed to stuff him into your mouth, licking him clean.
“Do you like having my brother's cock in your mouth while I'm fucking you?” Titus says right before he nips your earlobe and slams you down harder onto his cock. You gag on Jack's cock in response.
He really shouldn't like the way that feels, but he does, so he keeps his hand in your hair and starts fucking your mouth, stuffing himself deeper down your throat. Tears build in the corners of your eyes from the sudden forcefulness but draws an orgasm out of you more easily than it should.
“She likes it rough.” You can feel Pope's words against your clit, making you tingle all over. “I wonder how much your wife can take.”
You're sent into an instant frenzy when Pope slips a finger into your pussy, stretching you out wider than Titus's cock already is, his tongue still abusing your overstimulated clit.
You pull Jack's cock out of your mouth, heaving out, “wait, wait, wait—!”
Your hand laces into Pope's hair as he sucks on your clit, dipping another finger inside of you, curling them against that spot right beneath your clit. Titus is enjoying every second of you tightening up around his cock so he grabs your hips and starts thrusting up into you, driving the tip of his cock against that spot deep inside of you. Jack leans down and presses his hand down on your lower stomach, making you very aware of everything that's happening inside of you. He wraps his other hand around his cock, stroking himself to the sight of you in complete disarray.
When you feel Jack cum all over your neck, you cum so hard that you drench Pope's face, screaming from the intensity of the orgasm that shoots through you while Titus fills you up with his release. Jack clamps his hand over your mouth, since he can't let you give away where they are. They all need time to refresh after this before going back out there. There's no way he's letting anyone else catch you in this state besides him and his brothers.
Titus pulls you off of him and Pope is on his feet in an instant, grabbing you and slamming you down against the desk in front of them, burying his cock inside of you right away. You're winded from the sudden push but you don't get a chance to take a breath when Pope is holding you down, kissing you, letting you taste yourself on his lips.
It doesn't take him long to finish. It doesn't take you long to cum from him spilling inside of you like his brothers just had. But his thrusts don't stop. Not until he's sure you've cum again from him grinding the tip of his cock right up against your womb, coaxing his release deeper inside of you.
When Pope slides out of you, you're laying there on that desk, dripping their cum onto the floor. You clench your fists around the edge of the desk, pinching your eyes shut, trying to stop yourself from cumming again from the warmth of them slipping out of you. It feels too depraved to cum from this.
But then, you feel two fingers slip inside of you and then Jack's voice saying, “you need to tighten up, babe. You're spilling our cum. How are you supposed to have a baby if you can't keep it inside of you?”
You open your eyes when you feel another set of fingers dip inside of you, alongside Jack's. Titus has his other hand on your thigh, holding your legs open. He smiles at you, that frightening smile of his that sends shivers through you.
“You should listen to your husband, beautiful.” Titus curls his fingers inside of you, pulling a gasp from your lips. “That's it, tighten up.”
Pope holds down your other thigh then slides two of his fingers inside of you, spreading them. He whispers to you rather sweetly, “I bet you can fit two cocks inside of you soon. It'll be good prep for the baby.”
You try to wriggle away from them when they start thrusting their fingers at the same pace, completely in sync, rubbing up against every spot inside of you that's terribly sensitive from having been fucked so much today.
“No, please, you guys have to stop…” This will corrupt you forever. The feeling of the three of them coaxing you to an orgasm you know will shatter you. It'll haunt you forever.
You'll be chasing this feeling forever.
They know this. Somehow, they're very aware of it. Jack looks at his brothers, realizing something about himself that he never thought about before this moment.
That he was never a good man.
Not when it came to you.
Because the moment he had the opportunity to ensure that you would never be able to leave him, he took it.
Because there's no way you'll ever leave him now.
You're his forever.
He has defiled you to the point of no return, thanks to the help of his brothers.
And that is the devil in his blood.
The part of him that revels in the way you're so desperate to hold onto that final shred of innocence you have left in you.
It's gone now.
It's gone the moment Jack pinches your clit exactly the way he has taught you to love over all these years together and you arch your back, the orgasm shooting through you too quickly after that. You scream their names as your body releases all the tension you've been building up in the hopes that you could stop yourself from cumming so hard.
But it's impossible not to, when you have three brothers fingering you at the same time.
It only gets more difficult to stop yourself when they start to degrade you. Titus let out that dark chuckle of his, watching you squirt like a fountain on their fingers, “you're going make such a mess for the staff to clean up later. Is that how you'll be from now on? Are you going to be leaving your cum all over my mansion whenever we fuck you?”
Pope loves how you tighten up around their fingers in response, your eyes glazing over from cumming again and again. “Maybe we should just keep her locked up here so we can use her whenever we want. Keep her pussy nice and full at all times. As long as Jack is okay with that.”
Jack looks down at you, his gaze so intense that you could easily mistake him for his brothers. But you know it's your Jack. He speaks to you in that soft tone of his, asking, “what does my wife want? Does she want to be our little lived-in cumslut? Letting us use her body whenever we want?”
If you had any sense of rationality left, you would say no. You should say no. Because is this truly the life you wanted for yourself? To be made to cum over and over again, to feel this kind of pleasure on a daily basis, to be stuffed with their cocks whenever the feeling strikes?
They stop moving their fingers inside of you at the same time, and you nearly whine. You've gotten too used to cumming the moment you got close. Now they're not letting you. Not until you answer Jack.
“What does my wife want?” Jack asks you again. “Tell us.”
“I want…” What do you want?
“You want to be our little plaything, don't you?” Titus knows that's what he wants. He wants to be able to sink his cock into you whenever he's hard. He wants to be able to kiss you whenever he wants. He wants you.
Pope does too. He needs you to say it. “Say “I want my husband to let me be a slut for him and his brothers”. You can do it.”
You look into Jack's eyes. Your lovely husband. The man you married. The person you're going to spend the rest of your life with.
And you say right to his face, “I want my husband to let me be a slut for him and his brothers because I love him so much. I don't want to be anywhere but right here with you, Jack.”
You made your vows earlier and yet, this seems more substantial than the ones you made at the altar. Because Jack knows you'll be his forever.
He made sure of that, with the help of his brothers.
“I love you too.” He tells you with a beautiful smile on his face. The same smile he had when the officiant said he could kiss his bride. “Now I want to see my wife cum again. Can you do that for me?”
You nod and brace yourself when they start thrusting their fingers inside of you again. Then, the moment they all pop their fingers out of you at the same time, you cum harder than you have all night, gushing all over the desk. You don't know how you're even able to function right now. All you see in your vision is stars dancing around the haze.
“She's so cute.” Pope leans in, giving you a peck on the cheek. “Look at how precious she looks all cummed out that. Are you feeling okay?”
He sits down next to you, pulling you into his lap. You rest your head against his chest, nodding. “I'm okay. Thanks for asking,”
“Do you have a pharmacy?” Jack asks Titus, who has to think of how to get there from here.
“There should be a nurse's office for the employees somewhere along this corridor.” You all will likely find it just traveling down the maze.
“She'll need some painkillers and lots of water.”
“We got leftovers from that electrolytes sponsor a while back.” Titus is pretty sure the staff took whatever extra they had from that event. “We can head to a hospital once dawn hits and get her an IV infusion too.”
You feel kind of strange, hearing them talk about how to take care of you. You didn't think it would be like this. You figured, at least for Titus and Pope, that this would mostly be a physical relationship.
But Pope rubs your back so gently and kisses you on the forehead, whispering, “does it hurt anywhere?”
You shake your head. “Just a little sore.”
“Where?”
“My stomach.” You definitely cramped up a lot from all the orgasms.
Pope lays his hand across your belly and the warmth of it is oddly soothing. You like it a lot, leaning more against him as he rubs your tummy in small circles.
Once you're more relaxed, they find you a staff uniform that fits, letting you take off the maid uniform. As useful as the maid uniform was for the sex you just had, it probably isn't practical to be running around with your legs exposed.
“I can't wait to have sex with you when you aren't wearing any clothes.” Titus whispers to you out of earshot of his brothers.
Though, he shouldn't have been surprised that Jack heard him. Jack, unlike you, has very good hearing. “Keep it in your pants until we make it out of here alive.”
You all go back to where Julia and Ursula died, so you can grab their guns. From the looks of it, no one else has found them yet. You opt to take the revolver that Julia had and Jack takes Ursula's handgun, since the shotgun only has one round left in it.
Then, Titus leads you all to the nurse's office. There is plenty of water, along with that electrolyte powder, and some painkillers. It does look like the staff has been skimming off the top of the medication. Titus will deal with that later.
Jack portions out the medication for you and you take it, trusting him to prescribe you the right dosages. He gives you a nice kiss once you've taken everything and you smile against his lips.
“That should help.” He tells you, brushing his nose against yours. “How are you feeling?”
“I'll be okay.” You actually can walk pretty well, all things considered. Pope offered to carry you but you declined since his shoulder is still shot. Titus would but you'd rather save it for when it's necessary.
Like when a gas canister gets thrown into the room.
And a bright white flash fills your vision in an instant…
So many noises bombard your ears that you can't actually hear anything. All you can really make out is Jack shouting your name, trying to find you in the thick fog that has clouded the room. But a wet rag covers your mouth before you can call out to him.
Your limp body is dragged away from them…
“We need to get out of here!” Pope shouts to his brothers, who are violently coughing from the smoke.
“But they took her!” Jack needs to chase after you but Titus pulls him towards the side of the room that isn't covered in smoke.
“We'll die if we breathe in any more of this shit!” Titus wishes the ringing in his ears from the flash grenade would settle. All this yelling is annoying.
He tries to remember if there's a way to go underneath the spa. There has to be, for all the pipes. He looks around and then gestures for his brothers to come help him pry open the vent that leads down into the sewer.
“This is going to be fucking gross.” Titus cringes but Pope just jumps in. He has dealt with way worse during jobs.
Pope catches his brothers as they drop back to back and then they have to find a path back to the surface.
Before you get sacrificed…
You wake up tied down to a table. You're…in the parlor. The table is placed right beneath the portrait of Mister Le Bail, those black candles still weeping wax, nearly completely melted. Each flame is roaring, moving so quickly that you're getting lightheaded staring at it.
Though, that might just be whatever pungent smell is in the air.
Is that…a goat?
Your eyes shift over to Baz, who is holding a goat in his hands above you, a knife pressed to its throat. You scream when he slits its throat, its blood splattering all over you. You have to shut your mouth promptly so you don't accidentally swallow it.
You then look down and…realize you're wearing an exact copy of your wedding dress, though it's soaked in goat's blood now. You tug at your restraints but the bloody ropes won't budge.
Chester walks up to you, taking a handkerchief and wiping your mouth so you can answer him when he asks, “was it fun corrupting my sons?”
What the hell is he talking about?
You stare back at him confused and he proceeds to slap you. You wince from the sudden rush of pain.
“Don't play coy. I figured I had no control over Jack falling for you. He was the lost one, after all. But somehow you got to Andrew and then even Titus. The prophecy is true, then. Of a snake in my garden.” He walks around the table, your eyes following as you spot everyone else in the room.
It's all the people left in the game, except the sons he's referring to. Where are they?
Are they…dead?
You swallow back the lump in your throat, praying that isn't true.
“You are the forbidden fruit.” Smurf smiles at you, the sight frightening to say the least. “Now that they've all had a taste, they'll do anything to protect you. Even kill their sisters.”
“You killed Craig.” Deran points his rifle at you, stepping close enough to you that your hand brushes against his jeans. He assumes you're trying to touch him and he presses the gun harder against your temple. “You can't corrupt me. I don't like women.”
“I didn't want to kill him.” You're going to remember how Craig looked with that bullet between his eyes for the rest of your life. “But you were shooting at us. What was I supposed to do?”
“Can I just kill her?” Deran asks the family but Billy shakes his head so Deran moves away from you, standing beside his father at the foot of the table.
“We need to sacrifice her first.” Jake tells him, placing more black candles around you before standing beside everyone else. “That's the only way Craig's death will mean anything.”
“What are you going to do to me?” You've never been more scared in your life.
“They're going to offer you to Mister Le Bail.” Catherine answers, grateful that J is with Lena and neither of them will have to witness this. She walks up to you and you feel her give you something.
It's a gun. A very small gun. She conceals it with her body, so no one can see that you're holding it in your hand.
She leans over you, whispering, “end this, please.”
Your eyes dart all over the room. You have to make whatever shot you take count. You need to take out as many of them as you can. Is that even possible?
But then you see that bust of a tiger on that incredibly heavy wooden plaque hanging above where Deran, Billy and Jake are standing.
Baz is a bit to the left of them. Two bullets and you can take out those four. Then the only people left would be Smurf, Chester and Catherine.
Your eyes shift up to Catherine. You want to make sure she realizes what she's asking of you. She nods, signaling that it's okay.
Then, she moves out of the way so you can aim the gun and fire. One bullet hits the drywall, which breaks the integrity of the nails holding up the bust and it collapses onto the three men, the sheer weight of the frame crushing them beneath it, the tiger's fangs piercing through Deran until he's spitting blood. He can't grab his rifle. He can't reach it while he's stuck in the tiger's mouth. He bleeds out pretty quickly. His father and Jake suffocate under the weight.
Baz reacts quickly, pulling his gun out but you shoot a bullet between his eyes before he can shoot you. Smurf shrieks when she sees Baz fall over, dead. She has lost all her sons now, since she can't control Pope anymore. You stole him away from her.
She will make you pay for that.
But before she can, the sound of glass shattering fills the room.
They had secured the parlor doors but not the windows. Jack, Pope and Titus come swinging in on a makeshift rope they hung from the floor above, since they had to figure out a way to get into the room to save you. You breathe a sigh of relief seeing them.
That is, until Catherine grabs the gun from your hand and points it to your temple.
“Move one step closer and I kill her.” Catherine says, her voice eerily steady.
“Catherine…” You don't know what to say.
Why is she doing this after she just helped you?
She turns back to you and says, “I can't let Lena die because of you. But I couldn't be in the game and have the chance to kill you unless Baz died.”
There's a clause that you didn't know about. Where people on the same team can't kill each other. And people who aren't playing can't harm you. So Catherine needed you to kill Baz so she could play. She couldn't do it herself.
Thankfully Jack didn't end up killing either of his brothers because it would've resulted in his immediate death. They are all loyal to one another now. Because they have you to protect.
“Put the gun down, Cat.” Pope says, aiming his gun at her. “Please don't make me shoot you.”
“You should let me kill her. You love Lena, don't you? She'll die if I don't do this.”
“That's right, baby.” Smurf tries to coax Pope to join their side. “If we don't kill her before dawn, precious little Lena bear will die too. You don't want that.”
Titus and Jack share a look. A nervous one. Because they don't know what Pope will pick. As much as Jack values a child's life, since he works hard everyday to save them, he values you much more. Titus doesn't give a shit about children, besides the ones he hopes to have with you.
Pope is the wildcard here. He loves children. He loves Lena. He loves…he loved Catherine.
But he doesn't anymore.
And he definitely doesn't love Smurf enough to pick her over you.
Smurf knows this, from the look that Pope gives her.
That's why she shoots him before he can shoot Catherine.
You hear Pope's body hit the floor from the impact of the bullet to his heart. You let out a wail, a broken hearted sob, because what kind of mother shoots her child like that?
A cold hearted one.
Shots ring out in the parlor. Jack shoots Smurf. Titus shoots Chester. And Pope shoots Catherine, despite bleeding out on the floor.
The gun in Catherine's hand fires but misses you completely. It does, however, rupture your eardrum and you can't hear out of your right ear. That sucks…
“Go cut her out of her restraints.” Jack instructs Titus. “I'll see how bad the bullet wound is.”
Pope seriously got shot twice today. At least he got to fuck you twice before he dies. He didn't think this would be how he went out. He always assumed it would be in some kind of blaze of glory. Not because his own mother shot him for not picking her.
Jack examines the wound. It's bad but…if they get the medical supplies they need, he can stabilize Pope enough to take him to the hospital and Pope should live.
Dawn is approaching.
Just a few more minutes and you will have won the game.
After he unties you, Titus cups your face, pressing his forehead against yours, letting out a series of nervous breaths. “Are you okay? We were so scared when they grabbed you. They didn't do anything to you, did they?”
You shake your head. “My ear hurts, though.”
Titus can see that it's bleeding, most likely from Catherine shooting the gun so close to your ear. “I'll go find some medical supplies. There should be some nearby.”
When he's back with several kits, Jack stabilizes Pope and gets him to his feet. Titus plugs your ear up with gauze then takes over for Jack, since he can pick up Pope if they need to carry him. For now, he's just helping Pope walk outside.
Jack grabs a hold of your hand as you both walk alongside them out of the residence. He's squeezing your hand, needing the comfort.
“We won.” You say to him. “Everything will be okay."
“I'm worried about your ear, babe. And Pope.” Jack hopes by the time they get to the gate, the lockdown will be over and they can get the two of you to a hospital.
“We'll be okay.” You all file out of the estate and Titus sets Pope down on a bench so he can go grab one of the cars.
The sun is rising in the distance. This wedding night is almost over.
At least, it should be.
But then a bullet pierces straight through your chest. Blood spews out of the hole, the redness spreading and discolored your wedding dress more and more. You look up at Jack, your hand going limp in his before you collapse onto the ground. Jack turns around and…
J is there, with a gun in his hand. Jack has no time to react as J shoots him too. Jack drops down right next to you, blood pooling between the two of you, mixing together.
Your eyes meet Jack's and you whisper, like they're your last words, “I love you.”
Tears drip out of his eyes as Jack says back, “I love you too. And I'm so sorry…”
J walks up to the two of you, looking down at you both. “You killed my mother, which means I'm in the game. And now you'll die with my uncles and I'll inherit everything. Just as it was meant to be.”
J points the gun at you and right as he is about to pull the trigger, sunlight overtakes all of you, the light beams flooding past the tree line in the distance. It blinds him for just a moment.
And then J explodes into a million bits and pieces, coating you and Jack in his guts and blood. You've never seen anything like that before in your life. It was like a bomb went off inside his body and he completely obliterated.
What a sight to see before you die…
“Oh fuck, oh fuck!” Titus comes rushing out from the car. “What the fuck happened?”
“We won.” You tell him, coughing up blood.
Everything hurts. It's so sticky too. Feels gross. You go still as Titus lifts you up into his arms and settles you into the passenger seat, buckling you in.
He goes back out to Jack and Jack shakes his head. “Take her to the hospital. Save her.”
“Fuck you, dude.” Titus lifts Jack up into his arms and stuffs him into the backseat. “She won't fuck me if I let you die out here.”
He slams the door shut on that side and then rushes to go get Pope, shoving him into the other backseat.
To think, Titus would end up being the one to save you, when he originally went into this night wanting to kill you. He's even putting in the effort to save his brothers because…now he has a real bond with them. A bond he doesn't want to lose.
He pays an exorbitant amount of money to have you all treated immediately when he gets to the emergency room, which is the only way you all manage to survive. He pays the entire hospital to work on the three of you, ignoring everyone else in there. He can afford any civil settlements if the other patients want to sue. All he cares about is that you and his brothers live.
You wake up a few days later and Titus is sitting at your bedside, sleeping with his head rested on his arms. Somehow, you know it's Titus. Maybe you'll get good at telling the brothers apart.
You lift your hand up to put your fingers into his hair, brushing through his soft curls. He wakes up then, breathing a sigh of relief when he sees your eyes open.
“You're awake.” He grabs your hand, kissing your palm over and over again. “Thank the devil you're awake.”
“Should we be thanking the devil?” You say with a strained giggle. It hurts to laugh, unfortunately.
“Pope and Jack are up already. Their gunshot wounds weren't as bad as yours. Yours got infected. Probably because of the fucking goat's blood.” Titus stabbed that dead goat to his heart's content when he went back to the Danforth residence yesterday to organize the clean up.
“Gross.” You cup his cheek with your hand. “Thank you for saving me…and them too.”
“You would hate me if I let them die so I could have you for myself.”
“I could never hate you.” You pinch his cheek playfully. “You look too much like my husband. Will you get him for me? Pope too?”
Titus nods and then goes out to grab them. Jack rushes up to you, giving you a big kiss. He rests his forehead against yours, also breathing a sigh of relief.
“You scared the shit out of us.” Jack doesn't know what he would've done if you didn't wake up.
“Sorry.” You lean up to kiss him again. “I'm here now.”
Jack moves away so that Pope can look at you. He actually recovered faster than both you and Jack, so he has been worried sick with Titus this whole time. Even though he technically had two gunshot wounds to deal with.
You reach up, wanting to touch Pope, so he leans into your touch, letting you caress his jaw and then he kisses down the length of your arm, so grateful you're okay.
“I guess this means no crazy sex for a while right?” You make a bad joke but they all laugh, coupled with some pained groans from how much laughing hurts.
“We'll postpone our honeymoon until you're all healed up.” Jack wouldn't want to go on a trip while you're not able to fully enjoy it.
“Do they get to tag along?” You ask, looking at Titus and Pope. “I think we can all use a vacation after that night.”
Titus and Pope look over at Jack, since it's ultimately his decision. Jack turns to you and answers, “if that's what you want.”
“I'd like that.” You smile at all of them.
You'd like to spend a lot more time with them.
Though, you'd like to be spending time on vacation with them. Not whatever is about to happen.
A man walks into your hospital room in a suit, carrying an obscenely large withered book.
“Hello there.” He says to you all, shutting the door behind him.
“Who the fuck are you?” Pope is tired of not having his gun on him. He needs to start carrying from now on.
“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Mister Le Bail's lawyer and I have come to inform you all that given the results of the game, there is a clause you all must be aware of.” He sets the book down the tray table above you, so you all have a clear view of the by laws.
“What the fuck is it this time?” Jack does not like how many secret clauses there are to this mix.
“Ah, well, this one is about the game Capture the Flag. If the flag and their team wins that game, then they are bound to those people for the rest of their life. In this case, since you all are men and she is a lovely bride, it means that Mister Le Bail would like some form of security that you four will be tied together for life.” The lawyer flashes you all a brilliantly creepy smile. “I'm sure you're aware of your mother's choice in how to do that.”
The three brothers look at each other. Smurf had children with Chester, Billy and Jake, the three men she chose to protect her…
“There are many options you all can explore for a permanent bond. I'll send you an email with all the details. Mister Le Bail is quite lenient when it comes to this game. It is one of his favorites so there is no rush. Just be sure to stay together forever.” The lawyer closes the book then and grabs it, holding it securely in his arm. “I would prefer it if I never had to see you all again but unfortunately, you aren't the only ones to win a game recently.”
“What are you talking about?” There are only a few families in the High Council who participate in Mister Le Bail's games.
Who else got married recently?
“The Le Domas. They have met their end, I'm afraid. Meaning the High Seat is up for grabs for the first time in years. Naturally, it would've fallen to you, Titus, but since the bride survived, the ring is up for grabs. And you three are the only heirs left to the Danforth fortune so given that you're triplets, you all will have to compete together. How exciting. Would you like to host the game?”
For once in his life, Titus is not excited to participate in a game. But he should host it, so they have home field advantage.
“Will she have to play?” Titus points to you. He won't do it if you're in danger.
The lawyer shakes his head. “She will only have to participate if the three of you die, since she would be the last heir in that case.”
“When do we have to do this?” Jack would prefer to heal up a bit more if he has to kill people for some sick game again.
“Preferably within the next 48 hours. While the bride is still fresh.” The lawyer is referring to Grace Macaullay Le Domas, who won her Hide and Seek game against the Le Domas family. They all perished, including her husband. She's the only one left.
“Let's just get this shit over with.” Pope will kill her quickly so he can come back and enjoy your company now that he gets to be with you. A forever bond, thanks to the devil.
The lawyer leaves so that Titus can start making arrangements. You grab a hold of Jack's hand, saying, “will you be okay?”
“I have to be.” He's firm in his words. “This is our family now.”
What a fucked up family this is…
A/N: So if I do continue this, it'll likely be the alternate take on the events of the second movie (since this fic was kind of an alternate version of the first movie, but with Capture the Flag instead of Hide and Seek) + the honeymoon! Because well, how can I not write a honeymoon hehe ~
Hope you all enjoyed the read and I didn't scar you too much! I actually think I was tamer than I originally planned. The smut was so fun to write so I hope you enjoyed ♡
SUMMARY ➩ moving in with your older sister tammi, you develop an odd fixation on her husband
AUTHORS NOTE ➩ for my sammy lovers! also note that sammy does say no or things like “we can’t” multiple times but he’s a willing participant (just a guilty one) NOT PROOFREAD
Your sister was the absolute last resort when you suddenly needed somewhere to stay.
The college housing situation you last minute arranged had fallen through, your parents sold your childhood home randomly in the fall to travel after retirement, and most of your friends were already triple bunking up with eachother by the time you started to get desperate.
You and Tammi couldn’t be more different and after a childhood full of arguing, hair pulling, and tense silences whenever you were in a room together, you pretty much resorted to only speaking on holidays.
Tammi thought you were boring and afraid of change, she’d go on and on about you wasting your youth and having no ‘shine.’ You thought, to put it frankly, she was an imbecile. You couldn’t stand her immaturity and lack of structure that left you often feeling like the older sister despite before over ten years her junior.
It didn’t help her case that she had an absolute bore of a husband.
Sammy was nice enough in the handful of conversations you’d had with him during visits back home, Tammi somewhere off demanding things of your parents or complaining about the niche aspects of holiday decorations.
He’d make awkward small talk with you while holding a beer that was growing warmer and warmer the longer he nursed it, asking you how school was going and scratching the back of his neck when you gave a dry response.
The most interesting thing about him was the one time you’d walked in on him smoking weed in the garage, his eyes widening as he hurriedly waved the smoke away from his face and told you it wasn’t what it looked like.
You’d told him you weren’t stupid and asked him for a hit, hand already extended with the same bored look on your face as always.
You both never talked about it and you wished you could have said you were surprised when a few years later he was suddenly in the police force but it seemed like a very obvious thing to do for a man as boring as Sammy Bryant.
Now that you were staying with the not so happy couple, he actually provided a good amount of entertainment even though it was a bit hard to watch.
They’d fight over just about everything, from dinner sides to him coming home a few hours late and being too exhausted to help out around the house. He’d get the same embarrassed look on his face everytime he saw you watching them curiously, either because he was the one stuck married to her or because he felt guilty your stay was a far shot from peaceful.
You weren’t sure when your small fascination with him started.
Sammy was of course easy on the eyes, especially when he would come home after a long day with his hair curlier than usual from exertion and his hands tugging at his tie and shirt buttons. You hadn’t ever missed the fact he was attractive but it seemed a lot more apparent now that you were seeing him more than annual visits.
And he was gentle, one of the sweeter men you had met in your lifetime. He was endlessly patient with Tammi even when she was acting in a way that would drive any normal person insane, devoted to his job and the troubled youth he encountered, and even warm to Richter who had his own share of canine problems.
You found him fascinating when he’d come home in the middle of dinner and greet her with a stiff kiss, starting to talk about his day with enthusiasm and then trailing off unfinished when he noticed she wasn’t paying attention.
Sometimes he’d catch your eye and you’d give him a sorry glance but most nights he silently finished his meal while staring at his plate.
Currently you’d been standing in the doorway of the kitchen for a few minutes, watching the muscles in his tense back as he scrubbed the dishes and occasionally muttered under his breath.
Him and Tammi had fought again, one of the screaming matches that seemed a bit heavier than the usual bickering.
“I’ve got it.” He jolted a little at the sound of your voice barely audible over the running water, stopping his movements and glancing over at you. “Seriously, you must be exhausted. I’ll finish up.”
He hesitated like he wanted to protest but the fatigue was obvious on his face, only having had walked through the door less than half an hour ago. Dinner had ended abruptly with Tammi in a fit of tears as she screamed about her broken camera and he screamed back about her getting a real job instead of spending all of his money.
You weren’t sure if he had even eaten anything before he was shoving his chair back and aggressively clearing the plates.
“You sure?” He sighed it out and ran a hand over his face, looking a lot less angry now as he slowly gained that familiar embarrassed look.
You gave him a reassuring nod and gestured for him to leave the kitchen, your eyes staying locked together in a silent exchange for a few seconds before he was pursing his lips and doing exactly that.
It became a bit of a routine after that, the two of you cleaning up together after dinner. Most of the time it was quiet between you but occasionally you talked about his day or rambled about your part time job downtown and the variety of ridiculous customers.
Tammi didn’t seem to notice the small bond forming between you considering she most likely wasn’t even aware you had a dishwasher in the house. You weren’t sure you’d ever seen her clean a single thing despite her messy tendencies.
However she did apparently notice your choice of wardrobe now that the summer weather had kicked into high gear.
“It’s a pair of shorts Tammi.” Your voice was detached and unbothered as you fiddled with Richters collar, attaching the leash to the metal ring and ignoring your sister as she scoffed.
“Barely. My husband lives here too you know.” She spat back in that shrill voice of hers and now you fixed your gaze on her with a sharp glare.
“He’s not even home and it’s almost 100 degrees outside, what the hell do you expect me to wear?” Your voice was louder now as you moved towards the door, a typical sister argument if it wasn’t for the slight truth behind her annoyance.
Despite your denial, you did find yourself dressing a bit more provocative when you knew Sammy would be around.
Maybe it was a bit cruel of you but you liked how awkward he got when you walked past him in a tight tank top without a bra underneath, or bent down to unplug the vacuum in a tiny pair of sleep shorts. His gaze was always on the ceiling when you checked his reaction, neck a little flushed as he cleared his throat and made some excuse to leave the room.
You saw the way he kissed your sister good night, both of them stiff and without any type of chemistry or heat. They barely touched and looked almost disgusted when they had to be in close proximity, no noises from their bedroom at night that would indicate either of them having a good time.
Sammy looked more heated when you were simply doing laundry together.
You didn’t blame him even though you could tell he blamed himself, an almost pained look on his face whenever you gave him a flirty smile or giggled a little too girlishly. He wasn’t the type of man to let his eyes wander in a marriage, even one as unhappy as his was.
It didn’t help that you were his wife’s younger sister, much younger.
You were storming out of the house as Tammi continued to try and lecture you about your clothing, lightly tugged along by an excited Richter. He pulled a little harder than normal when he spotted the car in the driveway, Sammy getting out right as you were passing by.
“Hey.” He greeted gently, approaching just enough to bend down and pet Richter on the head. His eyes slowly drifted up to your face, not before trailing over your bare legs and thighs. “You guys heading out?”
“Your wife is driving us both insane.” You said flatly and he laughed a little, shaking his head in disagreement. Sammy was never one to talk down on your sister, even after a huge blowout argument he still would try and convince you she just was having a hard time lately. “How was your day?”
He kissed his teeth at the question, eyes drifting off as he squinted against the bright sun. “Could’ve been better.”
You nodded sympathetically and gestured back towards the house with a thumb over your shoulder.
“Good luck in there then.” You said softly, half joking but genuinely feeling a little guilty knowing your sister was already in a terrible mood.
He clenched his jaw a little like he was just as aware as you were that a fight would unfold in no time, nodding his head in parting as he disappeared inside.
You took your time walking Richter around the neighborhood in circles, hoping that Tammi would be in bed avoiding household chores by the time you got back there. Both because you couldn’t take anymore bitching from her and because you were selfishly hoping to catch Sammy alone.
Fate was clearly not on your side because you walked back in to a rare sight, the two of them curled up on the couch beside each other as they watched a movie.
You could remember being in high school and seeing them like this, sitting together by a Christmas tree or kissing happily on Thanksgiving. There’d been no sign of it since you moved in and you felt a little surprised at the pure bitterness you felt in your stomach, a little rough as you tossed Richters leash on top of the shoe rack and shooed him away.
Tammi complained when you purposefully passed by them, blocking the TV momentarily with an emotionless look on your face.
You weren’t sure why it bothered you so bad.
Sure you thought Sammy was attractive and you liked getting under his skin, the complimentary nature of his stuttering when you blinked up at him or took a deep breath if you brushed by him closely. It was flattering and an ego boost for him to so obviously struggle around you but that shouldn’t leave you feel so sick at the sight of him resting his head on your sister’s shoulder.
His wife’s shoulder.
Your movements were a little rougher than necessary as you cleaned up the kitchen and you didn’t hear his footsteps over the clanking of the plates.
You stiffened when he was suddenly next to you, unbuttoning the wrist of his sleeves so he could roll them up to his elbows and help you wash up. He was silent for the first few minutes and then he cleared his throat, your eyes going to the side of his face.
“She feels bad that you fought.” He muttered and you glanced back at the living room, unable to see your sister sitting on the couch now and assuming she had retreated back to their room.
“Bet she does.” Your voice was cold and sarcastic which made him sigh in that disappointed paternal way that apparently made you shiver. “Did she tell you what it was about?”
You’d stopped with the dishes now to fully face him and he was putting a noticeable amount of effort into avoiding looking at you, letting you know she had in fact told him before he even hummed in confirmation. You scoffed bitterly and nodded slowly in disbelief at how obvious it was that she had said something to him about your clothing.
“Really Sammy? You’re not even going to look at me now?” Your voice dropped into a low whisper that made you feel like you had done something wrong.
Your intentions may had been a little misguided but you’d never actually crossed any type of line. His gaze and your subtle flirting could easily pass as just being friendly and a little awkward, you’d never done something as simple as felt his skin against yours before even in an accidental graze.
You’d never once actually flirted with him or said something that could have a hidden innuendo. The tension was simple enough it could have been entirely in your head even though you started to doubt that when he finally looked at you, clearly a little conflicted.
“Maybe you could just throw a shirt on sometimes.” He said it so softly that you almost felt bad, a little awkward stammer stunting a few words from leaving his mouth.
“It’s not my fault if you look at my tits Sammy.” Your words were harsher than you meant them to be and definitely a little counterproductive towards your possible end goal of actually catching his attention but you could practically hear your sister’s voice in his suggestion.
You were nearly certain she had whined and complained to him about you and how uncomfortable it was making her, begging him to talk to you and put up some boundaries.
He fully flushed at the statement and his eyebrows furrowed, taking an instinctive step back and resting a hand on the counter as he stared at you.
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.” He practically whispered and now it was your turn to sigh.
“Do you even care about how unfair this is?” You took a step closer to him under the guise of keeping the conversation private and he stared down at you with a level of knowing that almost made you embarrassed by how obvious you apparently were. “Isn’t this my house too?”
He said your name so softly that you felt a little dizzy, a little hot all over from him scolding you for some reason.
“You know how she gets.” He whispers like it’s a secret the two of you share and now you’re frowning, hating most of all when he tries to defend her to you like you don’t know her better than anyone for the worst reasons.
“Yeah she’s ridiculous, borderline crazy.” You say back and it’s a little less quiet which makes him send a panicked look towards the hallway that leads to their room. “She treats both of us like shit Sammy.”
“She’s go-“ He starts and stops the second you send him a sharp look, not needing to hear the same spiel about her and the hard times she’s apparently going through for the dozenth time this week.
He huffs out a defeated breath but thankfully doesn’t try to continue and make excuses for her that you both don’t actually believe. It’s followed by a moment of tense silence before you turn and head down to the guest room, feeling so bothered by your first slight argument that your chest burns.
Sammy doesn’t bring it up again even though Tammi clearly gets more and more annoyed by you, not just the fact that your clothes have since gotten shorter and tighter since the fight but now she’s started to nitpick just about everything she could think of.
Going for long walks with Richter just didn’t cut it for you anymore which is exactly how you found yourself sitting at the counter of some random dive bar you’d pass on your way back from work.
It wasn’t that late yet so there was only a dozen or so people sat with drinks, either having been there for most the day already or just getting off a shift and seeking solace the same way you were.
You felt almost like life was playing a cruel trick on you when the door opened behind you and a loud group came in, already a bit annoyed at the volume before you glanced over and saw the familiar uniforms now standing next to you.
There was a group of about six officers, most of them rowdy and shoving at eachother with overlapping jabs you couldn’t make out under the layers.
And in the middle of them was Sammy.
He was currently being nudged at by one of the guys who was clearly mocking him about something, a boyish grin on his face as he waved the man away playfully. He looked different like this, so much lighter than he seemed at dinner or after an argument with Tammi.
You weren’t sure if it was the feeling of your gaze on him or just natural instinct to scan his surroundings but his eyes were landing on you and the smile on his face was gone, replaced with a sort of deer in headlights look that almost made you laugh.
It took about four seconds for the others to notice where his attention had gone to and it clearly peaked their interest, seeing an opportunity to make the situation completely humiliating for him.
“Sammy.” You couldn’t stop yourself from saying his name in a light greeting, tipping the top of your beer bottle at him and slightly angling your body in his direction.
“Why aren’t you at home?” His response didn’t help his case at all with the other officers, curious smirks on their faces as one grabbed his shoulders from behind and shook him lightly.
The question was a bit nonsensical considering it wasn’t that late at night yet but the area you were in definitely wasn’t the safest and you’d never really been the type to go out, typically heading back home as soon as you were done with work or class.
“You didn’t tell us your wife was a total smoke show Bryant.” The guy behind him was loud and obnoxious but you smiled at the comment, fully turned in their direction now with your back leaned against the bar top.
He was either new or didn’t know Sammy very well considering he’d definitely brought Tammi around before but you figured her appearances probably dwindled in recent years once their marriage got rocky.
“She’s Tammi’s sister.” He mumbled but it was barely registered by the others who were going between snickering at his awkwardness and trailing their eyes up and down your frame.
“Ah younger model.” One of the others snickered and Sammy tensed completely now, jaw tensing when you audibly laughed.
“New and improved.” You were clearly laying it on thick, twirling your hair with your finger and arching your back in a way that practically shoved your tiny tank top covered chest in their direction. Your tone was flirtatious and far more seductive than necessary, maybe not noticeable to the rowdy officers but definitely to Sammy who had never heard you like that.
He was moving faster than you could process it, gripping your forearm and lightly tugging you off the stool as you made a sound of protest.
“Let’s go.” He gruffed and you had no choice but to follow after him, the whistles and hoots of his coworkers getting more and more distant behind you.
You yanked your arm away from him as soon as you were outside, feeling a burning sensation where he had been touching you.
“What the hell is your problem?” You hissed and he spun around to face you, expression just as irritated as it was when he fought with your sister which left a weird feeling in your gut.
“Why are you saying shit like that?” He spat back and your eyebrows furrowed, not buying that he was really that upset about your slight dig towards Tammi.
You were quiet as you contemplated the real reason he might be this agitated by the brief interaction, taking a few steps forward that made him clench his jaw and gulp as that familiar nervousness started to replace his anger.
“Don’t be like that Sammy.” You said it softly, that tone of voice you used when you were trying to fluster him. It was already effective enough in the kitchen doing dishes but even more deadly now, standing outside a bar in that outfit. “Are you mad they can look and you can’t?”
He didn’t reply, his eyes locked on your face intensely like he was physically restraining himself from letting his gaze wander, and you knew you had gotten it right.
“I won’t tell her.” You say quietly now and shift even closer, a bit distracted by the rare sight of him in full uniform and the way the shirt stretches around his biceps.
“Come on.” He says and it sounds exhausted, taking a few steps away. “Get in the car.”
You sigh but follow him without any resistance, disappointment that your first actually incriminating line hadn’t gotten much reaction from him. His lack of reaction was a win within itself though considering how pained he looked from trying to keep himself in check.
He drove in silence back to the house, parking in front of it when you arrived instead of in the driveway. You could see all the lights turned off except for their bedroom, blinds completely drawn where Tammi was undoubtedly obsessively editing her photos or searching for new camera equipment she’d force him to buy.
“I have to go back to the station for some paperwork.” He mumbled in explanation for the distant parking and you stared at him for a second.
He was keeping his gaze focused on the wheel in front of him, only glancing over when he felt your eyes on him. It was almost instinctually, the way it dipped down to your chest before flickering back up to your face with pure guilt.
You wanted to laugh but you almost felt pity for him and his inability to keep anything hidden.
“Sammy.” Your voice was half pleading and half tempting, your body shifting until you were facing him fully. “Go ahead and look.”
His eyes stayed locked on yours for a few breaths, clearly conflicted with himself. You felt a wave of heat at how obvious he was with his desire, regardless if it had anything to do with you or just the fact you were a young and attractive body in front of him when he was so obviously starved of intimacy.
Then he was finally caving and staring down at your chest, covered by the tank top mostly but still a noticeable amount of cleavage and smooth bare skin for him to gawk at.
You didn’t want to lose his attention now that you finally had it and you weren’t really thinking straight when you reached up to your shoulders to pull the straps down, ignoring the way he said your name in warning and tugging the tank top so it bunched up at your ribs.
He inhaled sharply at the sight of you in your bra, eyes darting all around your torso for a second like he couldn’t decide if he should still look or find something else to focus on.
His hands were twitching in his lap, curling into a fist and balling up the fabric of his pants.
“More?” You asked softly and now you were toying with the final straps on your shoulders, eyes curious as you obsessed over watching him and his reactions. He was almost embarrassing to observe, so clearly overwhelmed and torn by the sight of you.
You smiled when his head was nodding eagerly after a moment of contemplation, maybe too desperate to think straight or just having realized you’d already crossed a line.
Sammy wasn’t going to touch you, you knew that for a fact, atleast not yet. But he clearly had given up on pretending he didn’t want to look at you.
Your hands were steady unlike his still fidgeting anxiously, undoing your bra with an easy motion before you were taking it off completely and letting it rest on the middle console. His eyes went to it briefly, almost touching his forearm, before they were immediately locked back on your now bare chest.
You stared at him as his breath hitched.
He almost looked like he was going to cry when you were letting your palms glide over your ribs, teasing your skin until he seemed like he was going to lose his mind before you were cupping your breast and pushing them together.
“Do you like that?” You whispered softly and the sound of your voice, flirty and coaxing seemed to almost break him.
He groaned audibly and ran a shaky hand over his face, slapping it against the top of the steering wheel after as he adjusted his posture before looking back at you closely.
“Yeah.” He croaked it out with noticeable effort and you hoped the satisfaction you felt wasn’t as obvious on your face, practically beaming at the admission. “Keep going.”
You hummed in response and did exactly as he said, rubbing and groping your own chest as you stared at him closely. He seemed almost transfixed by the sight of it, your soft flesh being pushed and pulled by your hands and your hard nipples peeking through your fingers.
“Wish you’d touch me Sammy.” Your voice was definitely breathier now as you felt a familiar stirring in your gut from your own stimulation, a low groan leaving him when your words registered. “You don’t have to say anything. Just watch me touch myself.”
He stayed silent like you expected, clearly having decided that speaking to you would only make this situation worse than it was, but he kept his gaze locked on you and the way you were playing with your nipples and skin.
This went on for a few tension filled minutes before his radio was crackling to life with some combination of words you couldn’t register. You frowned as he noticeably stiffened and finally looked away from you, taking a deep calming breath.
“Please go inside.” He whispered, back to pointedly staring at the steering wheel and avoiding the sight of you. “Please.”
It was nearly begging and you had a feeling if you pushed just a bit further he would fold, halfway considering it before you were nodding and grabbing your bra off of the middle console.
Sammy was pulling off with a squeal as soon as you were at the front door, having waited and watched until you were off the sidewalk.
—
He practically acted like you didn’t exist after the encounter, no longer helping you with dishes or lingering around after dinner to have small talk with you about his day.
You’d expected it but it still stung the same.
He hadn’t taken advantage of you, if anything it was the opposite, but you still felt almost sick with shame and rejection. It drove you nearly insane to see him with Tammi now that you knew what it felt like to be under his wanting gaze, an obsession of sorts brewing dangerously under your surface as you went about your days like nothing had happened.
You waited to try your luck again until one of the rare days Sammy was home and your sister wasn’t. She had mentioned to you this morning that she had a dinner with a ‘model’ before talking your ear off about the photoshoot subject but you’d stopped listening as soon as she said she’d be gone for a few hours.
Sammy was somewhere in the living room when you had gone into the shower, making it one of your shortest of all time. You stayed in there just long enough to let the room get steamed up, your wet hair sticking to your shoulders and your bare skinned adorned with nothing but a small towel and water droplets.
You waited for a second after shutting off the shower head, listening closely to see if you could hear him in the living room. You smiled when you heard him clearing his throat and muttering something to Richter.
“Sammy?” You called out in an exaggerated helpless tone. You repeated it louder a few times until the sound of his quick footsteps coming down the hallway and you grin with excitement.
“You okay?” He asked softly, first half of the question muffled behind the door and the second clearer as you swung it open.
His gaze immediately raked over your towel covered frame, the bottom of it barely covering the swell of tour ass. He had a knowing look on his face when his eyes finally met yours again, worsening when you gave him a sweet smile.
“My clothes were too close to the shower and got wet.” You frowned at him in an exaggerated manner and he sighed loudly, glancing behind you to see the piles of clothes that looked suspiciously dry. “It’s too cold to walk all the way to my room like this, could you grab me something to wear?”
He said your name slowly in warning, fingers tapping against the wooden doorframe like he was considering calling you out on how obvious you were currently being. But Sammy was too sweet to do such a thing and you knew it, using his kindness as a clear weakness.
“Please Sammy.” Your pout was even more pronounced and you leaned in close enough for him to inhale sharply, leaning back immediately until he was nodding and heading down the hallway. “Thank you.”
He ignored your call after him and you waited patiently for him to return, leaning against the doorway in the tiny towel and trying to ignore the slight shiver that ran over you for the sake of your plan.
He came back with a stern look like he had mentally prepared himself to be unaffected by you and pushed a handful of clothes in your direction. You took it and laughed after a quick glance over.
“No underwear?” Your head cocked and his face fell, genuinely having forgotten in his determination to do anything but think about your drawer full of lacy panties. “That’s okay.”
There was no hesitance to the way you dropped the towel, letting it pool in a ball at your feet. His shoulders deflated and he instinctively stared at your chest before drifting down the smooth plane of your stomach and finally between your thighs.
He couldn’t see much considering you were both standing close enough together that he’d have to very intentionally strain his neck downwards to really look but you were fully naked in front of him and that fact was enough to make his head spin.
It was only a few seconds of bare skin before you were pulling the shirt he had grabbed over your head but it was long enough for the image to burn in his mind.
“More comfortable this way anyways.” You said softly as you smiled up at him and brushed past, letting your chest rub against his arm as you went to your room.
—
It turned out that driving Sammy Bryant to insanity was a highly entertaining hobby to have developed. He was so easy to fluster even after seeing all of you that day in the bathroom, still getting all red in the face whenever you got too close or touched his hand while passing salt at dinner.
Tammi had been relatively calm lately, the fights she picked daily consisting more of brief bickering than actual screaming matches. You figured it had something to do with that so called model she had dinner with the other night but that was also keeping her out of the house more often so you weren’t going to mention it.
You liked being alone with Sammy and for more reasons than your own selfish teasing. It gave you a genuine warmth to cook dinner for him, cleaning up side by side and sometimes watching movies when he could stomach being around you for long periods of time.
He would never sit next to you of course, maintaining a respectful distance and excusing himself awkwardly to bed the second you said something flirty or a romcom got too steamy.
Sammy Bryant was sadly a good guy.
So you really were left with no choice but to cross the line for him, knowing he’d never do it himself.
You’d been watching a movie silently like you were so often these days when you grew too impatient to continue trying to toe that stupid fucking line with him. You stood up and went to block his view of the TV, his gaze questioning and then panicked when you climbed into his lap.
“What are you doing?” He halfway gasped out and you kneaded your hands into his shoulders.
“Don’t play dumb Sammy.” You sigh softly as you settle onto him, knees on both sides of his thighs as you straddle his lap. “I can’t take it anymore.”
“We can’t do this.” He rushes out but he makes no move to remove you, maybe too scared to touch you at all.
You frown and lean forward so your chests are pressing together before placing a light kiss on his jaw. He practically melts right away, unsurprisingly easy despite how much he was pretending to not want you the same way you wanted him.
Your mouth is hot and wet on his skin and only gets more feverish when he’s finally letting his big hands rest on you, one on the small of your back and the other tangling in your hair like he’s preparing to stop you if you go too far.
“Does that feel good Sammy?” You whisper against his neck and he makes a sound from deep in his chest. You suck on his jaw lightly and his hands clench on you, eyes closing at the sensation. “Let me make you feel good.”
“Yeah.” He breathes out in agreement, a desperate pant as he nods. “Please.”
Your mouth is on his as soon as the word leaves him and it’s messy right from the start, moving together roughly as he slightly sits up off the couch to press into you. It’s depraved and dirty, the tension boiling over into a crash of teeth knocking and tongues colliding desperately. Sammy kisses you like he’d been thinking of it for far longer than you might have realized and you return it tenfold, gripping his shoulders tightly.
He hums and grabs your jaw to keep you steady as you lick into each other’s mouths, tilting your head just enough to allow him to get deeper as he eagerly tastes you. You hadn’t expected him to be this dirty considering how stale every interaction with Tammi seemed.
You’re desperate to get your shirt off and he waste no time, caught up in the heat of what’s happening and both of you dazed from how fast things escalated. His hand is roughly cupping one of your breast and he’s bringing his hot mouth down to it, wrapped around your hard nipple as you whine loudly and grab his hair.
“Oh fuck Sammy.” You gasp, back arching to push yourself further into him as he feverishly licks and sucks your heated skin. “There we go baby, I knew you wanted me like this.”
“Stop talking.” He grunts as he comes up for air just long enough to pull you into another bruising kiss, tongues immediately tangling again.
You’re rocking in his lap now and he’s groaning so much he can barely keep up with your mouth, more so just you licking into him while he completely loses control of himself now that he’s finally allowed himself to have you.
“Oh my god.” He grunts out, clearly pained from the desire filling him, his eyes lock down on his lap where you’re currently rolling your hips against the obvious tent in his pants. “What the fuck am I doing?”
“Letting yourself have what you want for once.” You’re whispering in his ear as you rock against him, panting slightly into his neck as you cling to his shoulders. He groans and lets his hands grip your hips roughly to help you move.
“Oh god.” He nearly whimpers as you speed up, getting sloppy and desperate as his own hips leave the couch to try and thrust up against you. You gasp at the feeling and nod to encourage him to continue.
“Fuck Sammy.” You whine and he grips you harder at the sound. “Wish you could fuck me like this, I’d ride you right now.”
“N-no.” He groans and you’re suddenly very aware of the cold metal band around his finger digging into your skin. “We can’t.”
“But I’m so tight.” You tease, going back to kissing him between panted temptations while what you actually mean is heard silently by both of you, tighter than Tammi, better than Tammi. “I’d make you feel so good.”
He curses under his breath as he bucks up to meet your pace again and you nearly collapse against his chest as you fall silent and let yourself atleast enjoy the feeling of humping against him like this.
You’re both losing it, whining and groaning as you make out sloppily and his hands rub up and down your bare back, occasionally snaking to the front to desperately grab at your chest and any part of your body he can touch.
“Oh my god.” He grunts out and you know exactly what the pained sound means, encouraging him with kisses to the neck and a nod of your head.
“There we go Sammy, come on baby please.” You gasp as you keep moving on top of him, the heat filling you almost making you dizzy as you exert yourself to please him. “Want you to cum for me.”
He’s gripping you so hard it’s painful as he rushes forward to kiss you again and shut you up, both of you moaning and panting into each others mouths as he finishes in his pants, still thrusting up against you until your whines get high pitched and you’re following right after him.
There’s a moment of softness after it’s over where you relax against his chest and continue to kiss each other, less heated now but still deep and passionate as you taste him eagerly.
It’s almost sweet, his hands much gentler now as he rubs your back and yours hold his face softly.
You kiss for a long time and your heart senses the end before it actually happens, just a split second of hesitance from him making your chest tighten up. He pulls away and his face is full of guilt, nearing so close to disgusted that you almost want to cry even though you know it’s not directed towards you.
He’s fully hating himself for what happened because Sammy is a good man. So good that it’s hard to blame him when he’s gently pushing you off of his lap and onto the couch before he’s standing up and retreating back to his room.
—
He’s flat out avoiding you now and not even bothering to hide it.
His hours at work nearly double and suddenly he’s always too tired to eat dinner with you and your sister or not feeling good, a headache or a back ache or anything that warrants him getting to hide out in their room as much as possible.
Tammi rants to you one of the nights he doesn’t come home until far past normal, telling you how she thinks he’s depressed and that he needs a creative outlet or a hobby.
You want to tell her that she’s an idiot and that if he was depressed he’d need real help and not a fucking paintbrush, but you settle for humming in vague acknowledgement.
You’re only half paying attention when she mentions the fact they’re trying for a baby, head snapping up to stare at where she’s currently sitting at the table and scrolling on her laptop.
“What?” It comes out sharper than you mean for it too and she narrows her eyes at you. “A baby? I mean… are you sure that’s a good idea Tammi?”
You tell yourself you’d have the same reaction regardless of what happened between you and Sammy, the knowledge of your sister being a terrible candidate for a mother existing long before you even took a second look at him.
“Why wouldn’t it be?” She asked just as tensely, another sister disagreement already building at the mere suggestion you disagree with her.
“You just said Sammy might be depressed.” You reason even though it doesn’t even feel right to say.
Sammy would be an amazing father regardless of how he was feeling emotionally, you could just tell by how patient and gentle he was with just about everything and everyone around him. Including you before you’d pushed him too far, holding out for much longer than anyone else might have with your advances.
And even now he still wasn’t cruel to you although the distance was worse in your opinion.
“It was his idea.” She shrugs as she says it like it doesn’t send a pang directly to your heart.
It takes all of your effort to not show how affected you are on your face.
Sammy can’t avoid you when he comes home, you made sure of it. Tammi had fallen asleep hours ago and Richter was resting in his kennel, dishes done and house spotless without a single excuse for him to ignore you standing in the kitchen.
He’d have to really be an asshole and purposefully walk right pass you when you’re so clearly waiting for him and it’s just not in his nature so he slows down with a sigh, lingering there as he waits for you to or do whatever thing you’ve decided on torturing him with today.
“You’re having a baby?” Your voice is quiet and sounds more hurt than you expected it to, a little too accusatory. It was meant to be a question but the delivery barely landed and his eyebrows furrowed immediately.
“What?” He surprisingly takes a few steps closer in confusion, setting down his jacket on the chair. “What are you talking about? Did Tammi say that?”
You sigh and shake your head, realizing how what you said could be misunderstood as a very poor announcement of something he wasn’t supposed to know.
“No I just meant.. she said you were trying.” You try and explain but it comes out awkward and a little lost.
He takes a long pause as he just looks at you and you hate that it’s the first time he’s really paying attention to you in days and it’s with so much pity. The pity is ten times worse than any anger or distaste he might be able to muster.
“We talked about it yeah. Months ago, before you even moved in.” His voice is soft and reassuring even though you both know that it makes no sense in this scenario. He doesn’t owe you anything, not an explanation and certainly not loyalty.
You nod but your lips are pursed tightly and you feel a weird scratching feeling in your throat, suddenly very aware of the fact you want to cry.
You have no idea when your twisted attraction for Sammy turned into something else entirely. It had been a fun game for you to occupy yourself with while you were stuck in a suburban hell but somewhere along the ride you had gotten lost in the domestic nights you shared.
“Hey.” And then there was that, the sweetness of his voice as he moved closer to you.
It was rare he ever initiated contact, barely staying in a room with you lately, but his caring nature clearly made him drop some of his walls because he was cupping your cheek gently.
“Don’t do that please. I don’t want you to be upset.” He’s still whispering but it feels incredibly invasion, like he’d seen right through you far easier than you preferred.
You weren’t sure what drove you to it but you almost couldn’t help yourself, leaning forward on your tiptoes and pressing your lips against his.
He kissed you back immediately almost out of instinct after last time before he was sighing and pushing you back lightly, shaking his head and clenching his jaw.
“We can’t.” He said sternly but his hand was still on your face, thumb lightly rubbing your cheek. “You know we can’t.”
It would have hurt more if it wasn’t for the expression he had as he stared down at you, gentle and so clearly wanting. You nodded in reluctant understanding but he was surprising you again when he made a low noise and dipped his head to kiss you again, clearly pushing past the mental block he was facing.
You eagerly kissed him back, similar to the last one you had shared full of sweetness and undeniable passion.
Your mouths moved together perfectly, chemistry obvious between you as your tongues tangled in sync and you halfway deflated in relief at the ever growing familiar taste of him.
“I’m sorry.” He mumbles against your mouth and you try to quiet him with more kisses, a few being allowed before he’s continuing to speak. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you Sammy.” You attempt to reassure even though you know it most likely falls on deaf ears. “It’s okay to want something.”
“Not this.” He immediately disagrees but still pecks your mouth a few more times, the final time being a long press. “I can’t want this.”
You’re both silent for a second as you frown softly, your hands on his biceps as you rub softly.
“But you do?” It’s more vulnerable than you mean for it to be but now you’re plagued with the thoughts of him and Tammi having a baby, sealing their lives together forever and shifting his priorities and attention far away from you and whatever this was.
You needed to hear him say, not just assume from the desperate longing look in his eyes whenever he glanced at you.
“Yeah.” He whispered the confirmation down at you with little to no hesitance and you release a breath you didn’t even know you were holding so deeply. “I want you.”
Sammy only had a few more seconds to spare before Tammi’s voice was coming down the hallway, questioning and beckoning him to bed while your stomach clenched painfully. He glanced down at your lips again like he was considering kissing you goodnight before he seemingly decided against it, giving you a pitying look before he was leaving.
—
He stopped ignoring you after that but you had decided that was almost worse.
You craved him all the time and it was a little less embarrassing now that he was hiding his own wants less. His hands were constantly finding you when Tammi wasn’t paying attention, grazing the small of your back or tucking your hair behind your ears with an overwhelming gentleness.
And then there was the kissing.
It happened less often than you would have liked but still almost every time he could, initiating most of the time. You’d be doing the laundry and suddenly pressed against the machine with his mouth on yours or getting a quick stolen peck when he passed by you in the living room before going to work.
You could almost pretend that he was your husband instead of your sisters.
You had the same domestic fantasy when you were walking into the police station, Richter in front of you slightly pulling you along as you tried to reel him in to the best of your ability. He was excited for the same reasons you were, spotting Sammy at his desk and nearly yanking your arm off.
“Hey you guys.” Sammy’s voice was soft when he spotted you both, rolling his chair slightly away from the desk so he could greet Richter with some playful pets. His eyes went to you next and you were glad to see him smiling, halfway worried he was going to be upset you showed up unannounced. “You okay?”
“Ask him.” You smiled back and gestured down towards the excited dog, pulling out the small baggie you’d been stashing when Sammy raised his eyebrows in question. “He found this on our walk, almost tripped me in the process of getting it out of a bush.”
You’re holding the plastic with your fingertips to avoid touching it too much and Sammy laughs in slight disbelief at the baggie filled with white powder, nodding his head slowly with a low whistle.
“I figured I should bring it to you instead of throwing it away at the park.” You continued to explain and he was standing now, pulling a plastic glove out of one of his drawers and taking it from you.
“You figured right, thank you sweetheart.” He said lightly and you both tensed up at the pet name, definitely accidental judging by the embarrassed look on his face.
You blinked at him for an awkward second before clearing your throat and glancing around the station.
“You have a second?”
His eyes darkened just enough for it to be noticeable before he was nodding and gesturing for you to follow him. You left Richter behind with some of the officers who had been fawning over him since he walked in.
Sammy was on you practically as soon as you turned a corner into a quiet hallway, mouth pressed against yours as you giggled softly into the kiss.
“Shouldn’t we go somewhere more private?” You asked him softly, your hands flat on his chest and rubbing softly while his went to the small of your back. He ignored you for a second in favor of kissing you again before he was huffing out a breath and nodding, taking your hand in his and leading you further down.
It was a small room with a few printers that looked old or broken, some leaning shelves full of stacks of paper and a noticeable lack of windows.
You kissed him desperately now that you were free to, hand holding his jaw as he guided you back against the door with his own grip on your waist. His mouth was hot and desperate on yours in a way that made your stomach clench with anticipation after waiting for him to want you like this for so long.
“Been thinking about you all day.” He confessed against your lips and you beamed up at him, letting the hand that was on his face move up to his hair.
“Yeah?” You whispered softly as pecked his jaw which drew a low hum out of him. “What about?”
You were kissing again like that was an answer within itself, his tongue slipping into your mouth and sending waves of warmth through your body. You matched it eagerly, tangling them together and using your free hand to try and tug his tie off.
He made another sound, this one of disapproval and grabbed your wrist lightly to stop you as he sighed and pulled away from your mouth. You frowned but were slightly satiated when he rested his head on your shoulder like he was physically exhausted from denying you.
It was quiet for a minute or two and you wondered if he was coming to a similar realization to that one you’d recently accepted.
This was more than lust and stupidly now.
Your hands were gently rubbing him, in his curls and across his back while his grip flexed on your hips. You could hear the sounds of other officers and detectives outside the door, a whole life he lived and belonged in while you were guided to the storage closet.
“You called me sweetheart.” You said softly just to break the silence, not even realizing the pet name he had accidentally used earlier had stuck in your head until you spoke.
His head lifted off your shoulder so his eyes could be locked on yours, they were so ridiculously fond and gentle it made you a little dizzy, a big change from the nervous and guarded look he had a few weeks ago.
“Yeah it just came out.” He spoke quietly, leaning forward as he did so you felt his breath on your lips before he was kissing you again. “Is that okay? Is it something you like?”
“Yes.” You breathed back immediately, deepening the frustratingly slow kisses for a few seconds before pulling back again. “I like it a lot.”
Sammy wasn’t shy with the pet names after that, using them almost constantly now that he knew you liked them. He used them so habitually that you felt a little anxious anytime Tammi was in the room and he was speaking to you, wondering when the time would come that he slipped up out of instinct.
Things were good between you for weeks even though there was the selfish part of you that was always wanting more and more. He still had that same guilt in his eyes, especially when you got a little more heated than just kissing in passing.
But he wasn’t denying himself of you any more and you were completely greedy.
You felt no shame about what you were doing, it didn’t keep you up at night thinking about how you were betraying your sister. That’s where you and him were different, where he was a good man still despite the growing affair.
The need for more was never satisfied just by kissing him, even if it was the type of kissing that left you with shaky legs and damp underwear. He’d let you say filthy things to him, running his hands all over your body and being a little too nervous to talk dirty back to you. You liked the redness of his neck when you whispered sweet sins to him
He even pushed aside his shame to let you blow him in the front of his patrol car, stopping by on a lunch break when you texted him that you had a terrible shift.
He’d looked so concerned when you pulled up that you almost felt bad for the hunger that hit you seeing him in uniform. He had barely gotten down the street before you were leaning over the middle console and gently kissing at his neck, trying his best to ignore you before he was turning into an empty parking lot.
It was the same as always with your mouths hot on each other, tongues tangling and him tugging you out of your seat until you were sitting on his lap and whining against his lips.
You could feel him getting hard under you and you were so desperate you could barely breathe, mouth watering as you begged him to at least let you see it, even let you just jerk him off before he went back to work.
“No baby no.” He had protested against your mouth even though he was visibly shuddering at the suggestions and groaning everytime you shifted your hips ontop of him. It didn’t take long before he was gently moving you back over and letting you take his belt off.
Things got much harder for you after that, getting to see his length and taste him on your tongue and down your throat without having him completely. It was driving you genuinely insane enough to the point you would have jumped his bones right in front of Tammi.
He was currently making it much worse by walking in the kitchen with the tired look on his face you liked so much and his big hands tugging off his tie.
“Is she asleep?” His voice is low and you nod, lip pulled between your teeth as you rest your back on the kitchen sink drawers and watch him approach you slowly. Your hands are behind you and curling around the edge of the counter with anticipation. “Hey baby.”
It’s soft, far softer than the things you’re currently imagining and you lean closer to him when he presses against you and cups your face to give you a greeting kiss.
Like you’re his wife.
“How was your day?” You hum back, more than happy to play the part.
“Long.” He says back and you can feel the words vibrating your mouth, answering him and his stressed out tone with a deeper kiss.
He doesn’t hesitate before reciprocating it, hand leaving your face in favor of spanning across your lower back and tugging you closer. Your head tilts naturally to allow the kiss to escalate even more and you almost feel guilty for the depraved things you’re thinking about.
“What’s wrong sweetheart?” He mumbles against your lips and you pout a little at the gentle question, not knowing how exactly he could tell your mind was occupied.
“Nothing’s wrong.” You say back and he gives you a slightly firm look, clearly not buying your answer. You sigh and peck his lips before taking a second to consider how you want to word it. “You’re being mean to me.”
He fondly laughs a little in surprise at your statement, rubbing your back softly as you blink up at him. Your hands go to his loose tie to help remove it fully, working on the top few buttons next.
“I’m not being mean.” He denies with amusement, eyeing you as you maneuver with his clothes. You don’t stop at the top three buttons and his eyebrows raises. “I give you what you want.”
“Not everything.” You disagree easily and he knows what you’re talking about, he must know by now what you really need so desperately from him.
“It’s hard baby.” He whispers and kisses you again like it’ll soothe you enough for you to drop it. You don’t at all, the opposite in fact when you let your palm leave his shirt and go down to the minimal space between your bodies to tug at his belt buckle.
You’re not trying to undo it but simply pulling him forward and indicating what you really are wanting.
“You know we shouldn’t.” He sighs in a whisper but he looks conflicted and still a little fond of you and your antics, no matter how whiny.
“Can I at least blow you again?” You pout up at him like it’s such a simple request and his breath catches in his throat. “I did so good, didn’t I?”
“Of course you did sweetheart.” He agrees easily, bending down to kiss you again and softly tucking your hair behind your ears. He’s so sweet that it makes you a little angry, wishing so bad he’d just take what you knew he wanted from you. “You’re always so good for me.”
You’ve gotten halfway down his shirt now with the buttons before you stop, leaning forward to press your lips against his chest briefly before you’re blinking up at him again. A warmth fills you at the praise even though you’re well aware of how good you make him feel.
“Say it.” You whisper and he knows exactly what you mean, the same phrase you’d requested from him numerous times by now with no shame. His head tilts as he sighs, wanting to tell you no but knowing by the look on your face it’s a terrible idea.
“You’re better than her.” He says back, barely audible but still sincere. He’s looks a little pained to say it but it makes you breathe out in relief and nod your head in quick agreement. “You make me feel so good babygirl.”
Your mouths are pressed back together and it’s filthy immediately now, tongues tangling and his hands moving off your back and down to knead your ass under the small skirt you’re wearing.
It’s heating up quickly again, getting dizzier and dizzier the longer it goes on.
He’s groaning loudly at one point and pulling away from the kiss to roughly turn you around. You gasp at the movement and the way he crowds up behind you, his chest pressed against your back as you halfway bend over the counter.
You whimper loudly when you feel how hard he is against your ass and bend over even more so you can rub yourself back on him. He groans and immediately goes to roughly grab your hip with one hand, the other one smoothing over your cheek before he’s pressing a finger into your mouth. You suck happily on it as he experimentally ruts his hips forward.
“Gotta be quiet princess.” He urges as he slips another finger in and you moan obediently around them, arching your back as he rubs himself against you and fills your mouth.
Your tongue is eagerly licking all over his fingers as you suck desperately and he is clearly affected considering the way he’s humping you a bit desperately. His soft noises are driving you crazy and so is the mental image of how the two of you look, his big frame leaning over you and trapping you against the counter just to dry hump you like a teenager.
“God you feel so good.” He grunts and you audibly whine, eyes closing in bliss as you try your best to push backwards and meet his grinding. “You’re so pretty sweetheart.”
“I need you.” You’d grabbed his wrist to take his saliva covered fingers out, kissing against them as you speak through near sobs. “Please Sammy I can’t do this anymore.”
“Let me taste you first.” He says in the lowest voice you’d ever heard him speak in. You shake your head in protest immediately but he ignores you, free hand coming down to slightly lift your skirt and rub across the wet slit of fabric between your legs. “Fuck baby you’re soaked.”
“N-no more waiting.” You nearly sob as you continue to shake your head to really sell your point. “I need it so bad.”
It’s silent for a few seconds like he’s trying one last time to search for the self restraint to hold back but it’s clear what you want and you know he needs it just as bad as you do. You’d let him get between your legs with that tongue of his another time, any time he wanted, but right now you were desperate to be filled by him.
Sammy has you pressed against the kitchen counter tighter, your stomach digging into the top of it now as he bends you back over fully and roughly tugs the skirt up so it’s sitting in a messy pile around your hips.
He doesn’t bother taking it off, pulling your panties down your legs and grunting when he sees you all exposed for the first time.
“Do you want me to stretch you out?” He asks it lowly and the sound of his voice is nearly enough for you as is, a high pitched whine leaving you as you lay your face down on the counter and close your eyes. “Want me to take my time with you?”
“No no.” You pant out immediately and arch backwards again, knowing how depraved the sight of you must look. You feel his thumb rubbing through your soaking wet slit experimentally, a low sound from his chest coming from behind you.
The metal clasps of his belt being undone comes next and now you really feel like you’re about to cry, straining your neck to try and look over your shoulder to get another look at the thick length you’d be obsessing over since he was pushing it down your throat not too long ago.
He stopped you with a slightly rough hand to the back of your head, pushing your face back down against the cold counter just as he shifted even closer and rubbed up against you.
You could feel him now, bare and aching against your core as he teased it up and down softly. You knew you must have been soaking him from how wet you were, no doubt his intention to make the stretch easier for you.
“Are you sure about this?” He asks from behind you and now the low rasp is gone again, sounding more like his typical nervous cadence that you’re so fond of. “We can’t go back from this.”
“Don’t want to go back.” You say immediately and you’re shocked by how much you don’t recognize your own voice layered in this much desperation. “Want you to fuck me.”
He chuckles a little at the unashamed answer you give and bends down to press a gentle kiss to the side of your temple, your heart racing at the gesture even though you’re a bit distracted by less domestic fantasies. His weight leaning against your back almost makes you want him that much more and you impatiently rock your hips backwards against him.
He stills you with rough hands on your bare hips before he’s sucking in a shaky breath, the life changing feeling of the throbbing blunt head of his length pressing against you making you whine out desperately in anticipation.
“This what you wanted huh?” He groans as he pushes into you slowly and you whine happily, face flat on the counter as your eyes close from the pain of the stretch. “Wanted to be fucked like a whore baby?”
“Yes yes.” You cry in agreement as you clench around him, barely past the tip and already feeling like he’s filling you. “I’m a whore Sammy, wanted you so bad.”
His hand lands roughly on the exposed skin of your ass and you yelp, instinctively trying to move back away from the pain and instead taking a few more inches of him all at once. Your pained gasp is followed by a moan and he curses behind you.
“Slow babygirl slow.” He grunts, that softer side of him you like so much still showing despite his need having caused him to get rougher initially. “Don’t wanna hurt you princess.”
“Could never hurt me.” You gasp as you try and move further back against him, he grips your hips roughly to stop you and you whine in protest. “Please Sammy please, want you to fuck me.”
“I’m gonna fuck you baby.” He soothes the best he can but you’re too desperate to focus on what he’s saying. “You’re just so tight.”
You try your best to be patient but it’s nearly impossible, whining and squirming nonstop as he rubs your clit with his thumb and kisses against the back of your neck to try his best to get you to relax so he doesn’t stretch you uncomfortably. You’re glad he didn’t work you open first with his fingers, the pain so good you let the tears in your eyes fall endlessly.
Finally he’s bottoming out inside of you and groaning lowly, his forehead resting on your back for a second as he tries to collect himself enough to properly fuck you.
“Sammy please baby.” You gasp in a sob and you feel him tense up at the wrecked sound of your voice. “Fuck me hard.”
That seems to be the trigger that he needs to go from a soft conflicted husband to somebody fucking a tight young thing, a low grunt leaving him as he stands back up fully and grabs your sides.
Sammy is almost animalistic as he thrusts into you, kitchen full of his grunts and your high pitched whines as he fills you over and over again. The stretch is the perfect blend of pain and pleasure and you can barely catch your breath from his relentless place.
Your stomach is digging against the counter roughly and you’re barely able to catch your breath or think as he roughly fucks into you, filled up so deep you can feel him in your stomach.
“Oh my god oh my god.” You’re sobbing as he fucks you and his big hand comes forward to cover your mouth roughly, slightly lifting you off the counter to make sure you’re kept quiet.
“Gotta shut the fuck up if you want to be fucked baby.” He says it softly in your ear but it’s completely filthy and a big change from how gentle he normally is when he speaks to you. You’re most definitely crossed eyed by now from pleasure as you dumbly nod and listen to your muffled moan under his palm. “Fuck you feel so good. Best pussy I’ve ever had.”
It’s completely filthy and all you could have imagined for when he finally lost control, ramming into you over and over as he continues to speak the dirty confessions in your ear. Your stomach clenches dangerously early as he tells you how good and pretty you are, how he wants to fuck you everyday, how hard you get him just from a kiss.
“S-Sammy oh my god.” You sob out as he lifts you further off the counter, one of his rough hands smoothing over the front of your stomach and pushing down at the soft skin there like he’s trying to feel himself deep inside of you.
“I know princess I know.” He practically coos, kissing your neck sweetly while he continues to fuck you like an animal. “Does it feel too good baby? You like getting stretched like this by me?”
You can’t even bring yourself to respond, the filth coming from him and the feeling of him inside of you completely taking away your ability to think or communicate. You’re just whining and sobbing softly as he gropes you all over and brings you the type of pleasure you didn’t even know was real.
He falls silent too and you can tell by the stutter of his hips every few thrust that he’s getting close too, grunts getting lower and more desperate as he kisses against your skin.
“Want you to cum inside.” You beg him once you finally manage to get your voice back, high pitched and breathy. “Please Sammy please I want your baby.”
He curses audibly at that, a little too loud for the otherwise quiet kitchen and then you’re slammed back against the counter and fully bent over again as he speeds back up.
You’re finishing as soon as you’re back in the position and he’s able to get as deep as you imagine possible, a loud cry leaving you that is only halfway silenced as he remembers to clap a hand over your mouth too late. You can’t be bothered to care about that right now considering he’s filling you up only a few seconds after, groaning lowly while his hips stutter through his climaxed.
You’re both silent for a few seconds after, panting and catching your breath as you lay against the counter with shaky legs and he practically drapes himself over your back again.
A beat passes before he’s standing with a tired sigh and rubbing your back softly as he pulls out. You squirm uncomfortable at both the emptiness and the ache from the pace he’d been going, his hand still massaging you lightly as he shushes you gently and leans over to the sink to wet a washcloth.
It’s cold as he cleans between your legs quietly and presses light kisses to your body the entire time.
“Are you okay?” He asks you gently as he adjusts your skirt and helps you stand up, turning you around and making a surprised noise when you’re throwing your arms around his neck for a tight hug.
His hands rest on the small of your back as you hug, rocking back and forth with you for a minute or two. You pull back and help him with his belt, his eyes locked on your satisfied but tired face fondly as you close it for him so sweetly with your little shaky hands.
You finally kiss him once you’re done and it’s sweet again now, like you’re two people genuinely in love and not in laws who just railed each other a few rooms over from your sister and his wife.
Pairing: Andrew “Pope” Cody x Reader x Jack Abbot (but this time, they're alphas and you're their fated omega ♡)
Summary: Usually when a heist goes wrong, Andrew “Pope” Cody will do everything he can to escape without risking getting caught. But when he nearly kills you, an innocent bystander, he wonders why he can't seem to drive away. Usually, he would. But he can't because for some reason, his instincts are screaming at him not to let you die.
So, he breaks the one rule he has had all his life, never ask for help from his identical twin, and takes you to see Dr. Jack Abbot, in hopes of saving you. Jack hasn't seen Pope in years and now he is trying to save some random person bleeding out in the middle of his house for his estranged brother. He doesn't know why he agrees. Maybe because he's as drawn to you as Pope is.
Though, neither of them can figure out why…because you're just a beta, right?
Word Count: 22.7k
A/N: Don't ask me how I came up with this. I think this is the craziest shit I've ever cooked on a whim. But I couldn't help myself…the idea of getting railed by two alphas is just too yummy…
You can see a full list of warnings on the fic on my AO3, or you can go in blind! That's up to you!
I will warn…there's a lot of yearning in this fic. Because I just like suffering I guess. At least there's porn! Because how can I resist a good knotting! Hope it's a fun read ♡
Pope has many rules he follows to ensure he never gets caught. The golden one being: never do a job near home. And he is technically following that rule.
He isn't doing a job near his home.
But he is doing a job near his estranged twin brother's home, on the east coast.
Far enough from Oceanside that no one would even think to link him to it.
That is, if the job went right…
It was supposed to be simple. A one man job, large pay day, in and out. Just a clean robbery during a restocking of a local jewelry chain. Smurf's fence already had buyers lined up for the take. All Pope had to do was make it back to California with the jewels.
But things are never as simple as he thinks. Because when he robs the place, it's like the cops had already been tipped off. And he has a bad suspicion that his mother wanted him back in prison.
Why else would she have him get caught on the other side of the country?
Unfortunately for her, Pope has learned his lesson from his previous stint in prison and he knows how to get away from the cops much better now. He planned for this. He always has to now.
But what he wasn't planning for was you, getting off of work at the restaurant you serve at.
You have a bad habit of jaywalking because you're so used to there not being any cars on the street where you park, since it's a few blocks away from the restaurant. Plus, it's late at night in a run down part of town.
There are never cars driving around here—
Until one slams into you while you're in the middle of the street and you go flying into the glass window of a nearby discount thrift store.
You don't know if you feel lucky that the sheer number of clothing racks breaks your fall. It distracts you from the insanely large piece of glass that's lodged in your side. When you notice it, you almost scream from all the blood oozing out of you.
Almost, because a gloved hand goes over your mouth before you do.
“Don't scream and I'll take you to a hospital.”
You look up to see a man wearing one of those black ski masks, where you can only see his hazel eyes peeking through. Your heart is hammering in your chest but you don't know why it isn't out of fear. You aren't feeling afraid, mostly just startled.
Pope doesn't know why he stopped the car. He should've driven away. There's no reason for him to risk getting caught to check on an innocent bystander.
But something about you, about how soft and small and beautiful you are, made him stop the car. It was like he couldn't help it.
Could you be…
He shakes his head. You couldn't be. He would smell it. You don't smell like an unclaimed omega.
You don't smell like anything, which usually means you're a beta. If he smelled threatened by you, you'd likely be an alpha.
Like him.
Like his brother, who will not be happy to see him soon.
Because you tell Pope, through shaky breaths, “I don't have health insurance. I can't go to the hospital…”
You get paid cash under the table to serve at the hole in the wall, mom and pop restaurant you work at. Because…you have a criminal record. And it's hard enough getting a job in general but as a previous felon, it's even more difficult. Every employer, even though they aren't supposed to discriminate, looks at you differently once they've discovered what you've done time for. So, you can only work for shitty pay in bad parts of the city and pray that one day, you'll get out of here.
You had no idea that day would be coming much sooner than you thought…
“No screaming and I'll take you to a doctor I know.” Pope is not sure Jack will do him this favor. His brother owes him nothing after all the bullshit Pope put Jack through growing up.
That's why, when they got placed in the foster care system and Jack got the opportunity to get adopted by another family, he took it. The Abbots didn't want Julia or Andrew, because they had disciplinary records. So, they just took Jack.
Jack has no clue that Pope has been keeping tabs on him all this time. It has to be, what, more than twenty years since they've been separated? Maybe even longer…
So, it's a surprise to Jack why he's letting his twin brother bring you into his house, bleeding all over his hardwood floors.
“What the fuck, Pope?!” Jack moves everything off his dining table so Pope can set you down. “What the fuck are you doing here? Who is she?”
“I hit her with my fucking car. Can you save her or not?” Pope doesn't care for the reunion talk. He's more focused on the giant shard of glass poking out of the side of your hip.
“She needs a hospital.” Jack sees all the micro cuts from shattered glass all over your exposed skin where your clothes have ripped from the impact. Probably through a window…
“She can't pay for a hospital.” Pope doesn't have to explain anything extra to Jack. Jack knows how hard it is to afford medical care. He sees it every day.
“It…hurts…a lot…” You clutch your side, tears dripping down your face from the pain. “Am I going to die?”
“No.” They both say at the same time.
Jack glares at how close Pope is hovering. “If you want me to help her, get out of my way.”
Pope would move. But for some reason, even the simple action of stepping aside from you feels strange. He doesn't want to leave your side.
Jack sees a look on Pope's face that he has never seen before. It's…care. He cares about you. Jack can't seem to understand why Pope does. He hasn't ever cared for anyone, not truly.
But he worries for you.
And that's enough for Jack to care too, at least enough to make sure you don't die on his dining table.
It takes him all night to pull out every shard of glass from your skin. You're shivering by the end of it because he had to cut you out of your thick winter clothes to check your whole body. They were ruined anyway from the impact through the window.
It was difficult for Jack not to notice how nice of a body you had hidden under your rather modest work attire. It's even more difficult not to react to how cute you look in his clothes, since he had to put you in something after he finishes cleaning your wounds.
“You're lucky I wasn't working tonight.” Jack tells Pope once he has you wrapped up in a warm blanket and settled by the fireplace.
It's freezing outside. It's supposed to snow soon. Jack thankfully bought some wood ahead of time so you're all snuggled up and cozy, the fire illuminating you as you sleep peacefully on the fluffy rug Jack laid down there.
To help with recovery, he gave you all the painkillers he had. It's a miracle you didn't break any bones. You did lose a lot of blood but him and Pope are both universal donors so…you are very lucky you didn't need to go to a hospital. Jack had everything needed to treat you.
“Thanks.” Pope doesn't know what else to say.
“Who the hell is she?” Jack can't wrap his head around his brother helping some random person off the street. He has definitely left people for dead for less.
While Jack hasn't kept in touch with Pope, he will, on occasion, call Catherine since they were friends prior to him moving away. She keeps him in the loop since she understands what it's like not to like his family.
Though, he hasn't heard from her in a while…
“I don't know. I was…running from the cops and I hit her with the getaway car.”
“Is that what's in my driveway right now?” Jack bites back the anger that's threatening to come out. “Am I an accomplice now?”
“No, it's her car. I crashed the other car into the store she fucking smashed into. There's no reason for them to think it was anything but a car crash. They probably think I'm on foot somewhere nearby.”
Jack pinches the bridge of his nose, a headache forming at the center of his skull. “What the fuck are you doing here, Pope?”
“Smurf has a connection here with an in for this jewelry chain. She wanted me to hit the restock.”
“She made you come all the way out here for a job?” Jack would believe it. Their mother is crazy.
“I'm pretty sure she tipped off the police.” Pope had a bad feeling when she told him to go alone without his brothers or J.
“Why would she do that?” Jack shouldn't ask that. He already knows.
“Because she wants me to go back to prison.” Pope is certain she never wanted him to get out. “That way, none of them have to deal with me.”
She probably figured he'd die in there. He almost did, several times. The abuse was brutal, especially since he went to a prison full of criminal alphas. The guards were alphas too. Everyone was on edge and looking to be the toughest guy in there. It's a miracle Pope got out early.
Smurf has been making him do risky shit ever since, hoping he'd slip up. He almost did, getting involved with you.
Pope hasn't taken his eyes off of you since he saw you for the first time. He doesn't like the feeling that stirs in his chest when he sees how peacefully you're sleeping. Nor does he like the ache that he feels when you wince from the pain before adjusting your sleeping position, like your body is remembering that you got hurt.
“You don't take anything, do you?” Jack, again, keeps asking questions he knows the answer to.
Pope refused to take any suppressants growing up. Jack did because he knew it would be better in the long run not to let the hormonal imbalance of being an unmated alpha interfere with his life. He has been taking them every day since puberty. He hasn't missed a dose yet.
“Smurf tried to sneak some in my food but I figured it out.” Pope doesn't like the way the suppressants make him feel. They dull everything and whenever he gets that dull, he's afraid of what he might do to try to feel something again…
“You should take them. They've made them better since we were kids. They won't make you feel weird anymore.” Jack is very different from his brother in many ways.
Despite growing up in the same household, Jack learned at a young age that being in control is always the best option. Pope would rather let the people around him control him, tell him what to do, push him towards whatever they wanted for him, even if it ate at him inside. Jack tried so hard to get Pope to snap out of that mentality but it never worked. Pope would just lash out at Jack and soon enough, Jack was tired of trying.
When he moved away, he forgot what it was like to be a Cody, with all that unnecessary pressure.
In his mind, he will always be an Abbot.
He wonders if life would've been different for Pope had he been adopted by them too.
“Do you have one of those machines?” Pope can't remember what they're called. “That check for markers?”
“Pope, she's definitely a beta.” Jack has worked with plenty of omegas before. He knows the smell well. It doesn't affect him, given the suppressants, but it still is prevalent regardless.
You don't smell like anything, except blood…
“Do you have a machine or not?” Pope knows Jack's right but he can't shake the feeling.
“Yeah, I have one but it's not super accurate since it's a portable one.” Jack goes to his backpack where he keeps his on-the-go medical supplies and pulls out a machine that looks like a credit card reader.
It's useful to have a detector on hand since, medically speaking, each demarcation has their own unique subset of possible complications. For betas, they heal much slower than alphas and omegas, meaning for wounds like yours, it'll likely take twice as long to get you back on your feet. It also means betas need faster medical treatment because they can die much easier.
Mated omegas and alphas heal exceptionally well. Something about their bond allows them to heal in the presence of each other. That's why it's never a good idea to separate an alpha and an omega when one of them is hurt. It slows the healing process tremendously if so. Though, instinctually, if one of them is hurt, the other could never leave their side. It makes them feel sick stepping away from their mate.
Maybe that's why Pope thinks you might be an omega. Because he doesn't seem to want to leave your side.
Jack pricks you with a sterilized needle and then drops the blood into the machine. It whirs and then beeps after a few seconds, flashing the result on the screen.
“High traces of the beta marker.” Jack shows Pope. “Told you.”
Pope nods. That confirms it. So, he should be able to leave you. He should leave you to get back to Oceanside to fence the jewelry he stole that's sitting in your car right now.
But he asks Jack instead, “can I…stay here for a while?”
His brother doesn't look happy about that. “Why do you want to stay here?”
“Just until I find my own fence. Once I have the cash, I'll leave. I need to get out of the country or something. Disappear somewhere Smurf can't find me, like you did.”
“I didn't disappear.” Jack corrects him. “She never bothered looking for me. She'd look for you, though.”
Pope was always her favorite because he was her errand boy. Jack never let her use him the way she uses Pope and he tried his whole life to get Pope to stop letting Smurf walk all over him. But Pope is loyal. He always has been.
“Please, Jack.” Pope rarely begs but…he doesn't want to go back to Oceanside. “Just until she recovers. I'll keep an eye on her while you're at work. I'll be out of your hair then.”
“You're going to make me gray more than I already am.” Jack brushes his fingers through the gray streaks in his hair. Then, he concedes, “fine, but only if you help me clean up. My housekeeper has been on vacation.”
Pope did notice that, minus all your blood on his floors, Jack's place could be a lot cleaner. There's clothes everywhere. It looks like Jack doesn't make it to his bed half the time from the way there's blankets piled up in the living room.
Jack catches Pope staring. “I sleep out here when it's cold, since it has the fireplace.”
“I wasn't judging.” He can't judge. He barely sleeps as is. “I'll get your shit cleaned up.”
“You can take the guest room. The one on the left.” Jack points down the hallway. “Are you going to sleep now?”
“No, I'll sit here.” Pope walks over to the armchair that Jack has in the living room, sitting down, staring at you all curled up by the fire.
Jack finds himself looking at you too before he snaps his attention away. There's no reason for him to be staring at you, other than the fact that you're a gorgeous woman who happens to be sleeping in his house.
That same strange feeling that's stirring in Pope is making Jack's stomach churn every step he takes away from you towards his room. It's faint, like his body is trying to digest food that isn't sitting well with him. He figures it must be from having to give blood while performing surgery on you to get those glass shards out.
The queasy feeling doesn't end, though. Jack finds it hard to sleep. He feels colder than usual too. He tries to tough through it but he needs to sleep since he's working the night shift.
So, after enough time has passed, he gets up and walks out to the living room. Pope is fast asleep, sitting up on the chair. You're still sleeping by the fire, the medicine definitely helping you relax. Jack lays down on the couch and for some reason, he feels a lot better now.
He doesn't like the way he's looking at you, though. He doesn't feel comfortable with the thoughts stirring in his mind. Of how nice it would be to scoop you into his arms and hold you while you sleep.
Jack shakes it off. He hasn't thought like that in…maybe ever, honestly. He has never been so drawn to someone before.
And he doesn't even know your name.
By the time you wake up, it's almost evening. The warm colors of the sunset are filtering through the sheer curtains in the large windows looking out from the living room.
But this isn't your living room.
Your shitty studio apartment doesn't have a living room and if it did, it would not look this nice.
You…don't know where you are. And you forget that you're injured because you sit up, thinking you can, and then you immediately let out a scream when your stitches rip.
“Ow!” You grip your side, warm blood coating your fingers. “Oh fuck…”
Two men come rushing towards you in an instant. You've never seen either of them before. Or, wait…have you?
You feel nervous all of a sudden with how close they are to you, your skin heating. It's hard not to notice that they're twins. It's even harder not to notice how handsome they both are…
You've always liked your men older.
“You need to lay back down.” One of them tells you, gently helping you back down onto your back. “You tore your stitches. I have to redo them.”
“Why do I have stitches?” You lift your hands off the wound so the man, presumably a doctor from the way he's examining you from head to toe and grabbing medical supplies, can start working on closing your wound back up.
“Because I hit you with my car last night.” The other man, who sounds eerily similar to the first one, says to you.
“What?” Why can't you remember?
“She must've had a concussion if she can't recall.” The man redoing your stitches waits until you're looking him in the eyes to say, “my name is Jack Abbot. I'm a doctor. This is my…brother, Pope.”
Jack refrained from attaching a very unwelcoming adjective in front of the word brother.
“It would be crazy if you two weren't brothers.” You make a really bad joke since they look exactly alike and Pope actually laughs. It's faint but it's there, a dark little chuckle. You want to laugh too, but it would probably distract Jack.
Then you take a moment to introduce yourself, since you assume they don't know anything about you.
“I'm sorry I hit you with my car.” Pope tells you and he sounds distraught over it. “I would've taken you to a hospital but you told me not to.”
“Yeah, I wouldn't be able to afford that bill.” You barely clawed your way out of debt. You are not going to swim in it again. “Thank you, Dr. Abbot.”
“Just Jack is fine. You are in my house, after all. Be weird for you to call me Doctor here.” Jack finished up redoing your stitches. “Now, please, be careful getting up. If you need help, tell one of us and we'll pick you up.”
Jack bites down on his tongue right after he says that. What the fuck is he saying? He should've just said he'd help you up so you can walk on your own. Why did he—
“Can I get a little help then?” You lift your arms up for one of them to take you. “Is there a bathroom somewhere?”
Before Jack has a chance to, Pope already has you scooped up in his arms. “I'll take her. You should get ready for work.”
“I still have a landline. If I call, you answer, alright?” Jack walks over to the phone on the wall.
“You still have a landline?” You chuckle and Pope tenses when he can feel your breath on his skin. “That's crazy.”
“It's the most secure line for emergencies.” Jack shouldn't be explaining this.
Why is he even talking to you?
You're just a patient.
But your giggle has his heart skipping a beat. “I've never met anyone with a landline before.”
“You've probably never gotten hit by a car either.” Pope says and you laugh at that, clutching onto him more for balance because you wobble a little in his arms at your laughter.
He likes the way your hands have settled in his hair, clinging to the back of his head. He wants your hands in his hair all the time…
“Definitely not.” You still can't believe that happened, laying your head against the crook of his neck. “Thanks for getting me help.”
“We'll help you until your stitches heal and you can walk on your own. Unless you want to go back home.” Pope realizes he knows nothing about you. You could have someone back home waiting for you, like a kid…or a lover.
He doesn't like how his heart aches when he thinks that.
“This place is way nicer than my place.” You can't believe the size of this bathroom. And it's just the guest bathroom!
Pope helps set you on your feet and you tell him that you've got it from here and will call for him when you're done.
“Do I call you “Pope”?” You're unsure if you heard Jack right earlier. “That's an interesting name.”
“My brothers would call me Pope Andrew growing up so it just stuck one day.” He explains. “Either is fine.”
“Which do you prefer?” You ask to be polite.
Pope thinks for a second and then says, “Andrew.”
“Okay. I'll tell you when I'm done, Andrew.” You say back with a soft smile, in that sweet tone of yours.
Pope closes the bathroom door behind him and…he puts his hand over his heart. It's beating so fast all of a sudden.
Why does he feel like this? Just from seeing you smile?
Jack catches Pope just idling by the guest bathroom door after he's done getting ready for work. He has no clue how long Pope has been standing there like that. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah.” Pope answers, still dazed from you saying his name. “I'm fine.”
Jack raises an eyebrow because Pope definitely doesn't look fine. He looks like he's going to have a heart attack with the way he's clutching his chest.
The bathroom door swings open and you hobble out, holding onto your side so you're staying aware of it. Jack feels the urge to lunge forward to stop you from walking any further but Pope beats him to it, lifting you back into his arms.
“You were supposed to call for me to get you!” Pope lightly scolds you. “What if your stitches break when Jack's not here? I'm not very good at them.”
“I'm sure you'd do fine.” You say, patting his chest lightly. “You've probably gotten plenty of stitches yourself.”
You notice that his heart is racing when your hand touches his chest. You look up at him, wondering why that could be. Maybe it's difficult for him to carry you?
“If this is too much, you can just help me walk. I should be fine without the princess treatment.” You do like being held like this, though.
But you're very aware of the scent that is coming off of Pope. It screams alpha.
Which means there's no reason for him to treat you so kindly.
It's not worth the effort. Betas rarely get involved with alphas or omegas because it always ultimately leads to heartbreak.
You know better…
“I hit you with my car. It's my responsibility to make sure you recover well. This is the least I can do.” Pope genuinely feels bad he didn't see you. It was a dark street, with broken street lamps, but he still should've noticed you.
You'll accept that explanation. Makes much more sense than the silly thought running through your mind that he likes you. He definitely doesn't like you. His brother doesn't either. Unless…
“Are you both alphas?” You didn't get a scent off of Jack.
Your hopes are crushed when Jack says, “yeah. We're triplets, actually. Our sister was an alpha too, like our mother.”
You notice he says “was”. Their sister must've passed away.
“You're in a good occupation then.” There are a lot of alphas in the medical field since they have great stamina so they can work long hours doing difficult work, like saving lives. “Are you heading to work now?”
Jack is wearing his usual black scrubs. He wanted to show you his badge, so you knew he wasn't lying about being a doctor. He shouldn't care that you're way too trusting. You're not someone he should worry about.
But he can't stop himself from saying, “this is the hospital I work at, just so you know. Make sure if this ever happens again to verify the identities of the people who are helping you. They might not be good people.”
You look up at Pope then back at Jack, before answering, “what if I'm the one who's the bad person? You never verified me.”
That gives Jack pause. You're right. They just assumed you were harmless because you look harmless.
Never judge a book by its cover.
“Are you?” Jack asks.
You shrug, giggling. “Maybe. Are you?”
“I am.” Pope says without hesitation. “I was in prison for a while. Does that make you uncomfortable?”
You shake your head, admitting, “would it make you uncomfortable if I said I was in prison too?”
You meet Jack's gaze. He's puzzled. Most people are when they learn that.
“Why were you in prison?” Jack has to know.
He asks your least favorite question. It never ends well when you tell people why you've been in prison…
Pope catches how much you're trembling in his arms. It must be difficult to talk about for you.
“Can you put me down?” You point to the bed and Pope nods, setting you down there. You carefully sit up, keeping your hand on your side. Then, you tell them, “I hurt someone. Specifically…an omega.”
You bite your lip then sigh. You hate having to tell people this, especially alphas. They're hardwired to protect omegas so you're certain Pope and Jack aren't going to treat you as nicely after you fill them in. But you don't want to keep this from them.
You'd rather they know so they can judge you for themselves with the whole truth.
“It was stupid and when I was younger but…I was jealous of this omega so I shoved them and they tripped and ended up breaking their arm on their fall.” Hurting an omega in any capacity leads straight to serving prison time, given that they're such a small percentage of the population. They are a very protected class. “I served my time and I haven't done anything like that since but…I get it if you don't want to deal with me anymore. I can just heal up at home.”
It may not be as comfortable as Jack's house and you'd be losing access to an actual doctor but alphas rarely affiliate with anyone who has hurt an omega. That's why finding work is so hard for you. If the employer is an alpha, you're almost always skipped over.
Jack looks over at Pope, trying to see what he thinks. Pope meets his gaze then turns to you and says, “if it's in the past, it's in the past. You're not the same person you were then.”
You blink, trying to stop the tears from forming in your eyes. But they drip down your face anyways. You didn't realize how much you needed to hear those words.
“We've all done things we aren't proud of.” Jack is earnest with his words. “All we can do is keep pushing forward.”
“Thank you for not hating me over one mistake.” You wipe your tears away, holding in your hiccup. “I really appreciate it.”
Perhaps if it was any other person, they wouldn't be so forgiving. But for some reason, neither Jack nor Pope can find it in them to be mad at you over what you did. They seem more focused on getting you to stop crying.
“You should get her something to eat.” Jack practically orders Pope around. “Make her drink water too. Don't forget. Do you need money?”
Pope shakes his head. “I got cash. You know any places that deliver?”
“I'll show you.” Jack gestures for him to follow.
“Wait.” You don't want them to go just yet. “Can one of you help me back to the living room?”
Again, without any reservation, Pope comes over and picks you up into his arms, carrying you back out to your little spot by the fireplace. There's no fire going right now, but you really like this spot. It's cozy with the fluffy rug and soft pillows.
You wish there were more blankets to add to your pile. You could make yourself a nest.
Though…you have no clue why you're thinking that. What an odd thought.
“These are take out menus of places that deliver nearby. Pick a place and buy me something to heat up later.” Jack hands Pope the pamphlets.
“Do you still like kung pao or have you moved on since you were fifteen?” Pope picks the Chinese place, since it looks like this is the menu Jack looks at the most with how worn it is. “With extra peanuts, right?”
“Yep.” Jack is surprised that Pope remembers. “A side of rice too.”
“I got it.” Pope heads over and sits beside you, handing you the menu. “You pick something and I'll order it.”
“My bag is in my car.” You can see it parked in the driveway. “I can pay for my food.”
“You don't have to worry about that.” Pope does not want you to be thinking about money. He can take care of you.
Thankfully, you're looking very intently at the menu because if you turned to see the look on Pope's face, you'd question why he seems so distraught. It's because he doesn't know why he feels so much for you. He hasn't ever felt anything like this before. He's thinking thoughts he hasn't ever had.
Like what you would look like with his bite mark on the back of your neck.
Jack is going through the same struggle when he's driving to work. He feels sick, that stomachache from last night returning in full force. It only gets worse the further he is from home.
He brushes it off as him being worried that Pope is in his house. He doesn't think Pope would steal anything from him.
Apparently Julia did that a lot, according to Catherine, to Smurf but Jack doubts Pope would to him. Not after he begged Jack to stay in his house. Pope can be tough to deal with at times but he isn't truly a bad person. He can do bad things but he doesn't like to.
Jack's head starts to pound when he puts his backpack away in his locker. He clutches it and Dr. Shen notices.
“Abbot, you okay?” Shen raises an eyebrow at Jack massaging his temple. “You look like shit.”
“I'm fine.” Jack fights through the pounding in his head. “I just need to drink more water.”
“Always got to stay hydrated.” Shen says right before he takes a sip of his iced coffee.
Water does not help. By the time Jack is off work, he debates calling a cab to pick him up because he's so woozy. It did help to eat the protein bars he packed for the rare moments he has a break during work, so he must just be hungry.
Somehow, he makes it back home in one piece.
Just being in his driveway already soothes him. But he gets the greatest wave of relief when he opens the front door and sees you sleeping by a lit fire. Something about how warm and welcoming you look eases him.
Suddenly, his head isn't throbbing anymore and his stomach has stopped its churning. But it can't be because of you, right?
He shakes it off. It's impossible. You're a beta. He's just trying to see things that aren't there.
Because he can't rid himself of the desire to make you a permanent part of his life.
Jack is losing it. He must be overworked.
He looks around but Pope isn't here. He notices then that your car isn't in the driveway.
You stir a bit at the sound of Jack's footsteps before mumbling, “are you back already, Andrew?”
“No, it's me, Jack.” He didn't realize you're calling Pope “Andrew”.
Why does that make him feel…jealous?
“Did you have a good day at work?” You ask, rubbing your tired eyes. Then you giggle, “I meant night.”
A force inside Jack's body wants him to walk up to you and find a way to bottle up that smile. He settles for clenching his fist, digging his nails into his palm to wake himself up from these strange thoughts.
“It was okay.” It could've been worse but he managed. “Where's Pope?”
“He went to go get some clothes for me, since I feel bad wearing yours.” You flap your arms so he can see how big his long sleeve is on you. “Though, I kind of like your clothes. They smell really nice.”
You kick yourself under your blanket. What are you saying? Why did you just say that?
It is the truth but you didn't have to tell Jack!
Now you feel embarrassed…
“What kind of laundry detergent do you use?” You try to make it not seem like you like the way he smells in particular.
“Whatever my housekeeper usually picks.” Jack delegates all of his household goods to the kind woman who has been helping him since he got this house. He has been pushing her to go on a paid vacation and she finally caved.
“I like it.” You say, lifting the collar of the shirt over your face to smell it. “It's comforting.”
Jack cannot dig his nails any harder into his palm. He must've torn flesh by now because he keeps thinking about how adorable you look and how much he wants to touch you.
Wait, what? He needs to focus on something else. His thoughts are all over the place.
Jack goes to the fridge and pulls out the takeout Pope bought earlier, tossing it in the microwave to heat up. He feels compelled to ask, “did you eat already?”
You nod. “A few hours ago. I am a little hungry now but I will probably just try to go back to sleep.”
“Do you want to eat some with me?” What the fuck is Jack saying? Didn't he just say he needs to focus on something else? So, why is he offering?
What the fuck is going on—
“Oh, sure.” You want to get up on your own but you know you shouldn't. “Can you help me up?”
His feet move before he can think. He kneels down and picks you up easily. You lean into him, taking in a deep breath.
Then, you notice how nice he smells, even with the layer of sweat from working all night. He smells just like this laundry does, with an extra bit of him to it. Usually, you find the scent that wafts off of alphas disturbing. But you really like his smell for some reason.
It makes you lean your head on his shoulder, wanting to breathe more of it in before he sets you down at one of the stools he has for his kitchen island.
Jack was pretty quick about bringing you over but he still feels like he let you linger in his arms more than he should've. His heart is pounding in his chest right now. Maybe it's because he can see just a bit of the skin on the back of your neck and he can't control the way he licks his lips. It's like his teeth are aching to bite you.
He pushes the thought away. He must be sleep deprived and starving. That explains it.
So, he let out a sigh of relief when the microwave beeps and he can grab the food from it, setting it in front of you. He grabs two plates and some utensils and then, against his best judgment, he sits right next to you at the island. He should've stood across the way. At least then he would be putting some distance between the two of you.
But he notices how your bare leg brushes up against his.
You aren't wearing any pants…
“Oh sorry!” You scoot over a little, realizing how casually your leg was resting on his. “None of your pants fit so I just went without.”
“Aren't you cold?” Jack has to talk or else he'll start thinking about sliding his hands up your bare thighs and—
“It's toasty in here with the fire.” You glance over at it, the embers lighting up the living room with that soft orange glow. “I like the way the wood sounds.”
“Me too.” He does. It's calming. He wishes it was helping him right now.
“I don't want to steal food out of your mouth.” You gesture for Jack to start eating first. “I'll pick at it after you serve yourself since I'm not too hungry.”
Jack turns his attention to the food, making himself a plate. Then, he makes you a plate too because…well, he doesn't really know why. He just does. He unconsciously gives you a lot more food.
You chuckle at the sight of it. “We should switch. You gave me so much.”
You slide his plate over towards you and when he goes to grab yours, his hand brushes along your fingers as you try to do the same. You quickly pull away, letting him take the plate. You try not to react to how warm his hand is. But it's hard when you're thinking about how thick his fingers are and how they would feel—
What is going on with you? You've never lusted after someone like that before.
You go to pick at your food, trying to distract yourself from the thoughts swirling around in your head. Jack scarfs his food down, trying to do the same, trying to get you out of his head.
He keeps repeating the same thing over and over again in his head. He must just be hungry, or tired, or pent up. It could just be because he finds you attractive and it's been a while since he has been in the presence of someone attractive. That must be it. You're just a very attractive beta.
This attraction will not last. It never does for Jack, but especially because you're a beta. It would be an insult for him as an alpha to pursue you, knowing that one day, he would have to leave you if he met his match. It's frowned upon to lead a beta on. That's why there has never been a case where an alpha and a beta live happily ever after.
So it will not happen here. Even if…he wants it to…
“I'm sorry to ask, but can you get me some water?” You would do it yourself but the last time you tried, Pope scolded you into the next millennium so you will not be risking that again. You're certain Jack would scold you even more.
“Of course.” Jack gets up, grabbing a glass and filling it with the filtered water from his fridge, handing it to you.
When your fingers brush his again, his heart nearly stops in his chest. He pulls away the moment you have a grip on the glass.
“Thank you.” You swallow the whole glass because you're super parched.
Jack hates that he stares at you the entire time, right at your neck. He goes to grab some water for himself so he isn't looking at you directly anymore. Like somehow that'll help him stop thinking about you.
The water goes down but it doesn't quench his thirst at all. He fills his glass up and walks back to sit down next to you. You eye the water.
“Can I have some of that?” You're still thirsty and you'd hate to make him get up again. Pope told you about Jack's prosthetic leg so you'd feel bad making him move around so much after a long shift.
He slides it over to you, narrowly avoiding your fingers brushing against his again. He turns away while you drink, so he isn't caught staring at you.
But he is thinking about how you're sharing his glass. An indirect kiss. A kind of intimacy he hasn't had with anyone before.
“I asked Andrew but I wanted to ask you too.” You turn to Jack when you're done sipping some water and say, “I know he hit me with his car but I don't want to be any trouble. I can chip in for things, like food, etc, while I'm here.”
Jack really doesn't like how easily he almost told you not to worry about it, that he'll take care of you. He asks you instead, “what did my brother say when you asked?”
“He told me to just focus on recovering.” But you don't want to mooch off of their kindness…
“You should focus on recovering.” Jack agrees with Pope there. “I've got plenty of money so don't worry about me.”
“That must be nice.” You say with a half-chuckle. “I wish I could say that.”
“Is it hard for you, financially?” Jack is slipping further into you, wanting to know more about you, even when he knows he shouldn't get closer…
“Ah, I'm okay.” You wave off the concerned expression on his face. “I was in pretty bad debt after prison but I'm all clear now. That's why I didn't want to go to the hospital. I would've been right back where I started if I did.”
“It's a good thing my brother took you to me.”
Though, is it a good thing? Ever since you showed up, Jack has been feeling stranger than ever.
“Thank you for helping me. You didn't have to. I'm just a stranger, after all.” You'll likely remain a stranger to him. He'll forget all about you once you're gone. You're sure of it. You're also sure you'll never forget him.
The handsome doctor…
“You don't have to be a stranger.” The words leave Jack's lips before he can stop them.
You look up into his eyes then. You want to understand what would compel him to say that.
Is he being serious? He wants to get to know you? You can't understand why he would.
But then his eyes drop to your lips before meeting your gaze again. He hopes you didn't notice that. But you definitely did.
Jack sees the way you look at his lips in response. Then, you throw everything you've ever believed out the window to grab him by the collar so you can pull him towards you to kiss him.
And Jack stops caring about all the conflicting things screaming in his mind so he can kiss you back.
He does more than just that. He deepens the kiss, his hand cupping your face, adjusting you so he can slip more of his tongue into your mouth. You can't help the moan that leaves your lips when you feel his other hand slide up your bare thigh.
You move your hands to his shoulders and you dig your nails into him the moment his fingers drag along the outside of your underwear. He can feel how wet you are, soaked through the fabric. You nearly cum when his fingertips brush along your clit, the friction from the fabric dizzying your mind. You've never been so sensitive before.
You've never wanted to be touched like this before. You've always been so apprehensive when it comes to sex. You would never let anyone touch you. And yet you're letting Jack.
You want him so much. And he wants you.
But then, you both hear the front door unlock and Jack quickly pulls away from you, turning back towards the island, to hide the redness that has surely creeped up on his face from how much he wanted to touch you. He needs to calm down right now.
Since Pope is home. “I packed everything from the list you gave me. Do you want your pajama pants now?”
“Uh y-yeah.” You swallow back the thrumming of your heart. “I really need those.”
Pope comes up and helps you put them on. He notices how hot your skin feels.
Do you have a fever or something?
“I'm going to bed.” Jack gets up from the island, not turning to face either of you. “Can you do the dishes?”
“I got it. You go rest.” Pope waves Jack off and he does not wait a second longer to leave.
“Thanks for doing that, Andrew.” You would've dressed yourself if you could move. “I'll just brush my teeth here so you don't have to carry me all the way to the bathroom.”
Pope hands you your toiletries and walks you over to the kitchen sink so you can brush the taste of Jack out of your mouth before it lingers for too long. That kiss will surely linger on your mind forever. And the feeling of his hand on your thigh, his fingers almost dipping inside of you.
“Are you feeling okay?” Pope is concerned at how much heat is radiating off of you.
“Yeah, I-I'm okay.” You try your best not to stutter from the nerves. “I think I'm just tired.”
After you finish brushing your teeth and washing your face, he helps you back to your spot by the fire and adds a few more logs. You glance over to see Jack's blanket on the couch.
“Can you get me that? It's a little cold.” You aren't lying. It is cold. But you…miss his smell too.
Pope drapes it over you, tucking you in. “Better?”
You nod, breathing in deeply that soothing scent. “Very warm now. I'm sorry to keep bothering you, but can you pull my suitcase over here?”
“It's not a bother.” He likes helping you. It fulfills something inside of him, though he's unsure what that is.
Once you have your things, you sift through for a shirt you usually would wear to sleep. It's too toasty with Jack's long sleeve on so you bury yourself under your blankets and change. Pope almost tells you that you don't have to hide but…he can't guarantee he wouldn't look. The memory of you undressed yesterday so that Jack could clean your wounds is still haunting him in the back of his mind.
“I'll take that.” Pope puts his hand out in front of you when you've emerged from swapping shirts. “I need to do the laundry anyways.”
You like that his hand lingers against yours for a moment before he takes the shirt from you and walks away. You know you shouldn't like it…but you do.
Pope goes out to the garage, where Jack's washing machine is. And he's supposed to add the shirt to the clothes already in the wash. He is supposed to.
But he stands there instead, lifting it to his nose and basking in your subtle smell. Then, because he knows you can't get up to catch him and Jack must be fast asleep, he slips his hard cock out of his pants and starts rubbing one out. Like he did multiple times at your apartment.
The smell of your place sent him into a craze. He was sure you never invited anyone over because it only smelled like you. It was heaven. Everything had a trace of you there. He wanted to stay there forever. It was almost as good as being by your side. It helped quell the sickness he was feeling driving there.
But his cock wouldn't go down, not even after he jerked himself off several times. That's why he took so long gathering your things. Every time he would pack more, he became overwhelmed by the thoughts of you laying underneath him with his cock buried in your pussy, fucking you until you were screaming his name over and over again.
Pope looks down, his own cum coating his hands, and he can't believe how much is still coming out. He wipes himself off with the shirt and tosses it into the wash, quickly turning the machine on so he can hide the evidence of what he just did. He tucks himself back into his pants and just stands there, staring at the clothes in the machine as it starts the wash cycle. Spinning around and around. Like his head is, with all the thoughts of you.
Unfortunately for Jack, he's suffering the same affliction but it's amplified by how much his chest is hurting too. Your scent still lingers on his fingers so he holds them against his nose while he wraps his hand around his cock, needing that release. He almost fucked you. He would've if Pope didn't come home.
But why would he have?
Every logical and rational part still awake in Jack's mind is telling him that there's no reason for him to want you so much. You're not his person. His person is some omega out there who is waiting to meet him. He's supposed to feel something like this for his mate.
Not you, this random beta that his brother hurt and needed him to treat.
And yet, Jack is so pent up that he's still hard after cumming three times. It's like torture because the more he touches himself to the thought of you, the more he wishes he was touching you instead.
The more he wants to be fucking you instead of his own hand…
You feel the same levels of frustration, hiding under the covers, not sure if you want to be caught with your hand down your pants. You keep thinking about their hands, all over you. You still feel Jack's lips against yours, his tongue in your mouth, his hand on your thigh. You wonder what Pope tastes like. You wish you knew.
The greed overwhelms you. Your desire to have them both. It makes you feel ridiculous. The thought of having two men fawn over you is incredibly greedy. But having two alphas dote on you, when you're just a beta, is…biologically irresponsible.
You'll surely get your heart broken, shattered, destroyed.
But you can't stop your fingers. You bite back a moan when you cum from rubbing your clit while your fingers are dipped inside of you. You don't want to stop. You cum again and again until you hear the garage door open. You hear footsteps getting closer and closer.
So why are you still touching yourself? Why can't you stop, even after you hear Pope sit down at the chair he's been sleeping in?
You cum even harder knowing he's there. The wet sounds are barely muffled by the fire raging on next to you.
Barely muffled, but loud enough for Pope to hear.
And he's on you in a second, ripping the blanket off of you.
“Andrew!” You gasp, feeling way too exposed, given that he can definitely see where your hands are buried.
“What are you doing?” He knows what you're doing but he wants you to say it.
“N-Nothing.” You're meek, curling inwards to make yourself smaller in hopes he'll just pretend he never saw this. “Just sleeping…”
“Just sleeping…with your hands settled between your legs.” He grabs one of your wrists, yanking your hand free from your waistband, bringing it up to his nose. Then, he can't stop himself from dragging his tongue along your soaked fingers, the taste of you intoxicating.
You unconsciously curl your fingers, which are still buried inside of you, at the feeling of his warm tongue licking your hand. You desperately attempt to hold in your orgasm but it shoots through you anyways, your full body shivers betraying your supposedly sleeping claim.
“Give me your other hand.” Pope demands and you listen without thinking it through.
He stuffs your fingers in his mouth, licking them like they're the best thing he has ever tasted in his life.
Arguably speaking, it could be.
You taste so good.
He wants more.
“Tell me to stop.” You can feel every word he says against the palm of your hand, so hot and heavy. “Please tell me to stop.”
You should. You should tell him to stop because you know this won't end well. He's going to find his omega and you'll get left behind. It's inevitable.
So, why does your hand gently caress his face? Why do you trail your fingers along his jaw, trying to memorize what it feels like to touch him? You want to remember. Because you'll never forget him.
“If you want me, I want you.” You tell him honestly. “It's okay if it's only temporary. It's okay with me.”
It's not…but you can't resist. Not when he's looking at you with so much hunger and lust in his eyes. No one has ever looked at you like that before.
Except Jack…
Pope climbs on top of you in an instant, his lips crashing onto yours before you can even react. You moan when he grinds his hips against yours, rubbing his hard cock against you through his pants. You wish he was inside of you.
A thought you never thought you'd ever have.
Because you've never had sex before.
You've barely even kissed other people. Usually, you're repulsed after. Jack might have been the only person you ever felt good kissing. Him…and now Pope.
Pope kisses a line down your body and his impatience has completely fogged his mind. He buries his face between your legs, breathing in your smell through your pants, his cock throbbing so hard in his pants, it's begging to come out.
“Has anyone ever tasted you before?” He demands to know. He'll find them and kill them if they've touched what's his.
You shake your head. “I've never even…”
You're unsure if you should admit this but Pope knows exactly what you meant to say.
You're a virgin. He's the first person to ever touch you like this. Technically the second, since Jack nearly did earlier, but you aren't going to say anything about that.
You have to say, when Pope pulls your pants off, “wait, Andrew, what if Jack—”
“Let him hear.” Pope doesn't care.
There's not a layer of fabric between him and your pussy anymore. He doesn't give a fuck about anything else right now.
You clamp your hand over your mouth the moment you feel Pope's tongue gliding up. He groans at how good you taste. He wishes he could savor it but he needs to know what you taste like when you cum.
He has to know.
This feels exponentially better than touching yourself. His warm tongue dragging up and down, teasing every inch of your sensitive flesh. Your orgasm is building so quickly. You could burst at any moment.
You do, when he seals his lips around your clit and starts to suck. You scream into the palm of your hand, cumming so hard that you squirt for the first time in your life. You're so embarrassed about it…until he laps it up like he hasn't taken a sip of water in days.
He could stay here all day long. He would if you let him. He loves how swollen your clit is, how easy it is to roll around with his tongue, how your soft whimpers come out when he does. Each time he tastes you cumming, he's like he's been possessed. There's nothing else on his mind except wanting to make you cum again.
“Andrew, I can't—” You bite down on your lip when your orgasm hits you again.
You've never cum this much before. It's overwhelming every one of your senses. It's corrupting you in ways you'll surely regret in the long run.
How are you supposed to ever find someone else when the perfect man for you is between your legs right now?
Or hovering above you, his shadow engulfing the two of you.
You glance up to see Jack. You were so distracted that you didn't hear him walking over. He wouldn't have let you hear him coming. He prowled over like he was a predator on the hunt. He could smell you in the air, the same smell that was lingering on his fingers. He followed that smell to the sight of his brother eating you out on the floor by his fireplace.
And now he wants a taste.
“If you don't move right now, I'll kick you out of my house.” Jack threatens and Pope glares up at him, not moving an inch. “Pope, move.”
Pope growls in response like a rabid animal so Jack has to yank him off of you. He holds Pope by the collar. They're both staring so intensely at one another. It's like they want to kill each other.
But then, they hear you say, with so much panic and fear in your tone of voice, “please don't hurt each other. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done this…I'm so sorry. You both were treating me so well and I took advantage of that. I'm horrible—”
“You're not.” They both say in sync then they're back to staring at each other, shocked they keep syncing up like this.
Jack lets go of Pope then goes, “touch her somewhere else. It's my turn to have a taste.”
Pope turns his attention back to you. “Do you want him too?”
You cover your face with your hands. You were just moments away from bursting out into tears and now you're about to admit that you want them both to touch you. You've never been so greedy in your entire life.
Pope yanks your hands away from your face, “answer me.”
“I do. I'm sorry—” You can't get the rest of your apology out because Pope has his lips sealed over yours again. You move your hands to his face, holding him against you as he deepens the kiss like Jack had earlier.
Meanwhile, Jack is fixated on how glistening your pussy looks right now. You're so wet. He could slip right in. But for some reason, it's like he knows he needs to prepare you first.
His fingers tease your entrance, making you moan on Pope's lips and he silences you by slipping his tongue deeper into your mouth. They really are in sync because Jack slips a finger into you right then.
Jack has to stop himself from going feral when he feels how tight you are. “No one has ever fucked you?”
Pope pulls off of you to tell him, “she's a virgin.”
“Oh fuck…” Jack grips your thigh with his free hand even harder for leverage, his senses overloading. The need to claim you is consuming him.
“I want you both.” You say out loud now that you're free to speak. “I need you both. I've never wanted to have sex with anyone before you two.”
Surely, they'll be disgusted with you for wanting so much. You're not in a position to ask for this. If you were their omega, sure, but you're nothing to them. They have no obligation to fulfill your needy wishes.
But neither of them can deny how much they want you.
“Prep her.” Pope leaves that to Jack because he doubts he could be gentle right now. He wants to fuck you rough. He'll settle for your mouth right now.
You lick your lips when Pope pulls his cock out, letting you see quite clearly how hard he is right in front of your face. You've never seen a cock up close. But your mouth is watering, desperate to have a taste.
You do warn him, “I've never done this before either…”
“Just mind your teeth and you'll be fine.” Though, Pope couldn't care less what happens as long as you put him in your mouth. He just wants to feel you wrapped around him in some capacity.
You nod and then inch forward. The tip of his cock has a bit of pre-cum leaking out of it that you don't stop yourself from licking it up. He tastes more incredible than you thought he would. It's an alarmingly masculine kind of taste but not uninviting. Sort of like a mixed drink with just a tad more alcohol than it should have.
You want more of it, so you drag your tongue up the length of his shaft several times, admiring the feel of every prominent vein. Pope is trying his hardest not to cum right away but he's barely holding on. It doesn't help that you're moaning on his cock from Jack's fingers curling inside of you, looking for that spot that you can't always reach with your fingers.
When he finds it, you have to stuff Pope's cock into your mouth to stop yourself waking up the neighbors. Jack watches you squirt all over his hand and all he wants is for you to do it again, but with his tongue on your clit. So, he leans down, flicking your clit with the tip of his tongue, getting harder than before at the gagged sound you make when he does.
Pope is suffering from how wonderful your mouth feels around his cock. You're so warm and wet and eager with your tongue swirling around the tip of his cock whenever you slide up his shaft before sinking back down. But he notices your body is slightly twisted and pulls out of your mouth and snaps at Jack.
“We should move to a bed.” He doesn't want to risk hurting you more. You don't even notice the ache in your side.
You're way too distracted by Jack's fingers inside of you and his mouth around your clit. He lifts off for a moment to say, “after she cums again.”
Then he's right back on you. You arch your back, grabbing a hold of his hair, riding out the orgasm that shoots through you on his face. You've lost count of how many times you've cum tonight.
You can't believe you still want more.
When Jack pulls his fingers out of you to lick them clean, Pope immediately picks you up. “What room?”
Jack shouldn't say it but he answers, “my bedroom.”
Pope gestures for him to lead the way. Jack will surely regret this. The reminder every time he goes to bed of how he fucked you right here will ultimately ruin him. But he doesn't care.
All he cares about in this moment is being inside of you, filling you up with his cum. Thankfully, betas can't get pregnant from alphas or omegas. Only other betas. So he can spill everything he wants to inside of you without repercussions.
The only problem is: Jack and Pope need to decide who gets your virginity.
But Pope makes it easy. “You go first.”
“Seriously?” Jack has never seen his brother so considerate.
“I owe you for saving her life.” That is true.
“I would've saved her life regardless.” He took an oath.
“Still, I'll never be able to repay you.”
“It's fine—”
“Please, can one of you just fuck me already?” You whine, your pussy aching.
Jack and Pope share a look. They're both thinking the same thing. That it's a shame you can't be theirs. Because you're absolutely perfect with how needy you are.
You breathe out a sigh of relief when Jack finally climbs on top of you. He adjusts you so that Pope can kneel at the edge of the bed on the floor, leveling with you. You reach towards him, touching his face.
“Thank you for moving me.” You thank him because it's much easier to kiss him like this.
You're the only person he'll ever get on his knees for.
“This might hurt.” Jack warns you after he kicks off his pants, letting you see his cock for the first time. They really are twins because they're practically the same down there too.
“It's okay if it does. You're a doctor, after all.” You say with a giggle and Jack can't help but lean down to kiss you, wanting to feel you smile against his lips.
“If it hurts, just focus on me.” Pope turns your head towards him, yanking you away from Jack. That earns him a glare but Pope doesn't care, kissing you anyway. You're giggling so much from how they're acting.
It makes you wish this happiness could last forever.
You know it can't but maybe if you wish hard enough, it could.
Pope leans his forehead against yours and it's like he can feel what you're feeling. Though, he doesn't know that you're feeling the same way he is right now. Wishing that he could feel this peace forever.
Jack doesn't like the desires that stir in him right now. Because he doesn't want to just fuck you anymore. He wants to make love, to hear you say you love him, to see that beautiful smile everyday.
So, deep down, he hides the fact that he wishes the same thing you and Pope do. That this could be more than just a casual fling.
Because when he finally starts to sink inside of you, Jack knows this is the only place he ever wants to be. Right here, with you under him, letting out those breathy moans. You take him so easily despite it being your first time. Maybe because you want him that much.
“Are you okay?” Pope notices how shaky your lips are against his.
“I really hope you aren't as big as him.” Your answer makes him scoff and Jack laughs so hard that you can feel his cock throb inside of you. “Jack!”
“Sorry, sorry.” He slips a little of himself out of you before slowly thrusting back in. “Better?”
“It's a lot easier when you move.” You let out a gasp when he starts rolling his hips. “Oh god…”
There's so many new sensations happening all at once. His cock is hitting places you never knew existed inside of you. The pressure is intense and incredible at the same time, his cock prying you open. You're sure it would feel even better if he wasn't being so gentle.
Jack must read your mind because he presses his hand down against your lower stomach, making you very aware of how deep he is inside of you, before he picks up the pace, pounding into you. You cum way too quickly once he does and he groans when you tighten up around him. He fucks you even harder through your orgasm.
You grab onto Pope for support and his lips are on yours in an instant. You like how his tongue tangles with yours, stopping you from moaning Jack's name as he drives another orgasm through you with how his cock is filling you up.
He must be getting close because he's getting rougher, grabbing your hips and angling you up towards him. You have to pull away from Pope, gripping the sheets to brace yourself because you know the moment he cums, it's going to hit you hard.
“Tell me you want my cum.” Jack demands, on the brink of exploding.
You listen without hesitation. “I want your cum, please.”
That's all it takes for Jack to release all that pent up frustration inside of you. You've never felt warmth pumping into you like that before. It's addictive. You feel so empty when he pulls away, his cum dripping out of you, giving you those full body shivers.
That empty feeling doesn't last long. Pope switches with Jack, who opts to sit beside you instead of kneeling, which you don't mind at all. You like having him near you. You like how he places his hand on yours, interlocking your fingers with his.
You nearly fall in love when he brings your hand up and kisses your knuckles.
You're so distracted by Jack that you're not prepared to feel Pope's fingers inside of you. He sees the confusion written all over your features and smiles, “you can't expect me to fuck you with my brother's cum inside of you.”
You squeeze Jack's hand tightly when Pope starts fucking you with his fingers. Your vision goes blurry from how he's practically scraping Jack's cum out of you with every thrust, teasing that spot inside of you over and over again until you're squirting. He pulls out of you then, watching as the cum leaks out of you, a mixture of yours and Jack's pooling between your legs.
“There, much better.” Pope pulls his cock out again and lines it up, pushing at your entrance. “Are you ready for me?”
You nod but then look up at Jack. He reads your cue and leans down to kiss you. Now you're definitely ready for Pope to slam every inch of his cock inside of you all at once. You almost bite Jack's lip when he does that.
“What the fuck, Pope?” Even Jack knows he was being way too aggressive there.
“She said she was ready.” Pope feigns ignorance and does it again.
This time, you don't have Jack's lips to distract you and you scream out, “Andrew!”
“How am I supposed to stop now?” He needs to hear you scream his name again.
So, he figures out exactly what pace he can take you at that has you gasping for air. You're seeing stars in your vision, the orgasms happening too often that your brain can't keep up.
It doesn't help that Jack lifts your shirt up. He reasons it's to check on the stitches on your side. But he really just wants to touch you…
You cum on Pope's cock when Jack pinches your nipples, rolling them between his calloused fingers. It shoots sparks through you that you feel in the same place Pope is pounding into you at.
Then, you unravel completely when Pope slips his hand between your legs and starts rubbing your clit as he fucks you faster. You don't even think you're saying words anymore. You don't need to when Jack has his lips on yours again.
The surge of pure bliss that flows through you when Pope finishes deep inside of you is a feeling you hope you can feel again. Especially when he's pushing Jack off of you to kiss you, his last few strokes pumping into you nice and slow. You're left breathless and wanting more.
The need you were experiencing earlier isn't gone but…it's changed now, converted into a longing.
Yearning for something you can never have.
Like the gentle look in their eyes.
And the way they take care of you afterwards.
Jack picks you up once Pope pulls out and carries you to his shower, setting you on his shower chair. You let him pull off your shirt completely, leaving you naked.
There's something deeply intimate about having someone gently rinse your whole body. He does a great job avoiding your stitches. Then, he goes to grab a bar of soap, rubbing it between his hands, like he plans on lathering your skin for you. He does for your legs but you stop him before he trails any further up.
“I got it.” You don't think you should let him do too much for you. It's too…it's not something he should do for you. That's all.
Jack hands it to you and you finish up the rest. He only helps you rinse again and dry off. Even though he wants to do more.
He sees the distance you're trying to keep now.
He knows it's for his own good but…
Why can't he let you go?
You notice that Jack lingers at your feet, kneeling in front of you. If you could bend over, you'd take care of your legs so he wouldn't have to. But he already has. You're nice and dry.
So why…isn't he moving?
Jack finally gets up when Pope comes back with some clothes for you.
“Thank you.” You take them and Pope helps you with your pants like he did earlier. Your skin isn't as hot as before. Like that feverish feeling has subsided.
He picks you up and carries you back to your little spot by the fire. Jack follows behind because…well, he doesn't really know why. He takes a seat on the couch, like the previous night. Pope sits in the armchair once he has you settled with the blanket tucked around you.
There's a silence that fills the air that is indescribable. Something is floating in the space between the three of you. Feelings none of you can talk about because they're unrealistic. But ones that each of you feels all too clearly.
You stare up at the ceiling and then say, against your best judgment, “can we do that again? Just until you both…find your mates.”
You close your eyes then, hating that you put that out into the air. But you don't want this to be the last time they ever touch you.
You've decided the heartache will be worth it. If it means you get to spend a little more time with them.
Pope doesn't answer you. He just gets up and then goes over to lay down next to you, pulling the blanket over him, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close to him. That'll all he can do.
Because if he spoke a word, he would want to tell you that he never wants anyone else but you. But he can't promise you something that is biologically impossible. If he met his mate, he would be drawn to them more than he is drawn to you. So, he keeps this to himself and holds you the way he wants for right now.
You lean into his chest, breathing in his scent, blinking back tears. You want to feel comfort but…your heart is already broken. You didn't expect either of them to agree. You had hoped, maybe, that they'd be stronger than you and put the boundary up.
Jack tries to do just that. He's more realistic. He always has been. He knows sleeping with you was a mistake. He knows sleeping next to you would also be a mistake. One that he will surely never recover from.
But when he hears your quiet sobs, his body moves on its own. He tucks himself on the other side of you, cradling you in his arms as well. He leans his forehead against the back of your head then he presses his lips against the back of your neck. A simple kiss.
It doesn't satisfy that toothache he has but it'll suffice.
This will suffice…until they find their person.
You'll be their world until then.
Much to your surprise, your wounds heal faster than Jack expected they would. It only takes a week for you to be able to walk around with only a dull pain in your side and no more stitches.
You figure you could probably go back to work now. It would be harder than usual but you can't keep relying on Pope and Jack to pay for you. Eventually, you'll need to leave. You need to prepare for whenever that day comes.
They both try to stop you but they can't really justify it. You do need to work because eventually, you won't have them looking out for you. You can't rely on either of them. Even if you wish with all of your heart that you could.
Your first night back to work is a mess. You keep making dumb mistakes like messing up orders, getting table numbers mixed up, pouring the wrong drinks. You have no idea what's going on with you. The owner of the shop tells you to take another week off, to get your bearings again. You agree to it because your head hurts so badly by the end of your shift.
You have to sit in your car for a bit before you can drive back to Jack's house. You told him that you could just stay at your place and only come over when they…want you. But he told you to stay. And you weren't going to say no to that.
Because every day since that night, you've been sleeping with them, in both iterations of the word. The sex is fantastic but you enjoy the cuddling afterwards even more. You also like how they kiss you like it might be the last time they get to.
You never know when that time will come. You just try not to think about it. Because whenever you do, tears well up in your eyes. It makes your head hurt worse than before.
You barely manage to make it to the door before collapsing at the front step, your body hitting the door with a thud.
You're out like a light…
Pope opens the door and immediately panics when he sees you topple over onto the floor in front of him. “What the fuck?”
He shakes you…but you aren't waking up.
He checks your pulse. It's terribly faint…
“Jack!” Pope picks you up and sprints back towards his bedroom.
Jack comes out of the bathroom, freshly showered, not prepared to see you limp in Pope's arms. “What the fuck happened?”
“I don't know. I found her passed out at the front door.”
Jack has Pope set you down in bed so he can check on you. Your skin is cold. There's tension in your head. You're hardly breathing. Your pulse is so faint. You're alive but it's like you're dead. He has never seen this before.
At least, not on a beta…
“What's wrong with her?” Pope asks, unable to quell the fear that you're going to die.
“I'm unsure.” Jack is so confused.
You're showing all the signs of a pheromone withdrawal. But only omegas experience this, when they're away from their alpha for too long. And it only affects unmated omegas.
It's why it's such a risk to deny the mating process once an omega has found their alpha. They could die if they don't get enough of their alpha's pheromones regularly. The mating process regulates this so that the omega can survive longer without their alpha, since the connection is established.
But Jack has never seen these symptoms on a beta, so he has no clue how to treat you. The normal treatment would be to place the patient in a quarantine bay and flood it with artificial pheromones until the withdrawal symptoms ease enough for them to be sentient and moving then their alpha has to push to make them mates to prevent this from happening again.
“We have to take her to the hospital.” Jack decides. “I'll pay whatever it costs. Let's go.”
Pope lifts you back in his arms and carries you to Jack's truck. He places you between the two of them, leaning your head against his shoulder after he buckles you in. Jack drives like he's a madman on the road but there's so much traffic right now once he makes it downtown…
“What is going on?” Jack looks ahead and then rolls down his window, shouting to the car next to him. “Hey! What's up there?”
“Some k-pop concert.” The passenger shouts back. “They just finished up. I've never seen the streets this packed. Must be a big group.”
Fans are flooding the streets, waving their colorful lightsticks, singing songs Jack has definitely never heard before.
“Motherfucker.” Jack rolls back up the window, turning towards you and Pope. “We're going to be stuck here.”
“Can we run?” Pope would do it for you.
Jack shakes his head. “It's way too far. And my hospital is the only one with a quarantine center.”
“A…what?”
Jack doesn't want to have to explain but since they're stuck, “it's just a specialized room to treat omega-related emergencies, like pheromone withdrawal or overdose.”
“But she's a beta.”
“I know.”
“Then how…”
“I don't know.”
“Fuck.” Pope doesn't get it but it doesn't matter what you have.
He just needs you to get better…
Your skin is so cold. It breaks his heart seeing you so lifeless like this.
“What do you think she has and what's the treatment?” Pope wants to know.
“All signs point to pheromone withdrawal. The treatment is to administer potent artificial pheromones until the symptoms resolve.” It's like you lack air and need a breathing mask except it's pheromones and not oxygen.
Pope immediately unbuckles your seat belt and Jack shouts, “what are you doing!”
Pope pulls you onto his lap, taking off his shirt then resting you against him. Then he holds his shirt against your face, letting you breathe in his smell.
Your breathing picks up a little. Only a little but it's enough for Pope to snap at Jack.
“Give me your fucking shirt.”
“Are you nuts?”
“I will rip it off your body if you don't take it off right now.” He's not joking.
Jack groans then pulls off his shirt, tossing it at his brother. Pope holds them both against your face, your senses flooding with their scent. Your eyes start to flutter, like you're about to open them.
“That's it.” Pope leans his forehead against yours, his heart aching so badly in his chest. “Please wake up.”
Your head is pounding when you wake up but you do wake up. You open your eyes to see that you're cradled on Pope's lap and he's shirtless. And you're in Jack's truck.
“What's…happening…” You're so tired and your head is foggy.
“We're taking you to the hospital.” Pope tells you. “You fainted at the front door.”
“What…?” You can't even think because your headache is horrific.
“Jack, does our saliva have pheromones?” Pope has no clue. Jack must know, he's the doctor.
“It does—”
That's all Pope needs to hear. He grabs a hold of your face and kisses you, slipping his tongue into your mouth. You're still drowsy but the headache is suddenly improving so you lean more into his kiss.
It isn't enough, though. You're still having difficulty staying awake and breathing. Every time Pope stops kissing you, it's like you're about to pass out again.
Pope turns to Jack. “Switch with me.”
“Pope, I am fucking driving.”
“We are stuck here.” He points to the way no one has moved on the road. “Switch with me and kiss her or she will fucking die.”
Jack curses under his breath and unbuckles his seat belt, sliding over. Pope hands you to him and gets out of the car. The car behind the three of you honks and Pope flips them off, looking crazy since he's shirtless, before getting into the driver's seat.
You're so limp in Jack's arms. He hates how wilted you feel. He doesn't know why he's even listening to Pope but he kisses you anyway. When he deepens the kiss, he can feel your hands grab a hold of him. Or try to.
“You're not…wearing a…shirt…” You mumble out in between kisses, touching Jack's bare chest with your hands.
“Don't ask.” Jack grabs the shirts and holds them up to your face. “Can you take a deep breath for me? Or try to?”
You do as he says, breathing in as deeply as you can, your senses filling with the comforting smell of them. Your heart rate finally picks up, blood pumping through your body better now.
Your head doesn't hurt as badly anymore. Maybe because you're actually getting blood going there now.
Any longer, and you might have died…
“How are you feeling?” Jack checks your vitals, touching your neck and looking at his watch. “Good pulse.”
“Confused, mostly.” You must've given them quite the scare. “I'm sorry. I must've not eaten enough or drank enough water.”
Jack and Pope share that knowing look of theirs. They definitely don't think that's it.
“You've…done testing to check that you're a beta, right?” Jack needs to know for his own sanity. He knows the answer but…just like Pope, he feels like there's something more to it.
You nod. “Plenty of times.”
You know there are weird cases where people do suddenly swap markers but from what you've read, it's usually betas who have dormant alpha genes that overwhelm the beta markers once the body stabilizes. Rarely does a beta ever turn out to be an omega. Omegas are rare. That would be even rarer.
And you doubt you're that special.
“Is there any other tests she can do?” Pope asks Jack, who has to think about it.
“I'll have to ask around.” Jack works mostly with emergency situations. He doesn't know much about the research end of healthcare.
“I hope you guys don't think…” You hope they don't think you're somehow an omega because then it would give you hope.
Hope you shouldn't have…
“Whatever it is, we'll figure it out.” Jack holds you closer to him for a moment and then goes, “are you okay to sit in the middle? We're moving now so it's safer.”
You move off of Jack's lap and he helps buckle you in. Then, he gives you their shirts.
“Keep breathing it in if it helps.” Jack doesn't know if it actually does or if it's just a weird coincidence.
You feel shy about how much you like that you can do this openly. You've been hiding it from them but you have been collecting shirts of theirs whenever they go into the laundry basket and piling them up under the blanket at your spot by the fireplace. When they aren't nearby, you like to huddle in there, like a little cave, surrounded by their smell. You're embarrassed how much you like how they both smell. They each smell different on their own but even better together.
The mix fills you with a subtle kind of pleasure. A type of tranquil peace, really.
By the time you all get to the hospital, you can walk on your own. Neither of them want you to, after seeing you nearly lifeless, but you think it's good for you to get the blood pumping throughout your body. You seem fine enough to give them back their clothes, since it would be very difficult to explain why neither of them are dressed from the waist up otherwise.
“I didn't think you'd be in tonight, Abbot.” Dr. Ellis furrows her brow at the sight of Pope. “I didn't know you had a twin.”
“Do you know anyone who specializes in markers?” Jack will likely have to ask around so he starts with Ellis.
She thinks for a moment then says, “ah, have you ever had to call Dr. Javadi?”
“The resident?” Jack does not think that's right. “Do you mean her mother?”
Though he's pretty sure her mother is a surgeon…
“Actually, I mean her father. He's an endocrinologist. They're usually the ones that come down when an omega needs a specialized treatment plan. Try him?”
“Okay, thanks.” Jack heads upstairs with you and Pope in tow. Ellis will have to ask Jack about what's the deal with the three of you at a different time.
Dr. Raymond Javadi is very helpful. He runs an entire series of specialized tests after you all explain what happened to you. You're nervous about what they may cost.
But he reassures you, “if you happen to be a rare case, all of these will end up being free of charge since it'll benefit our research."
But that's only if you end up being one.
The tests take hours. Jack and Pope wait in the lobby on the testing floor. Jack is doing research on his phone about the tests while Pope is pacing back and forth, his nerves getting to him.
Jack's head starts aching all of a sudden and he checks the time. He hasn't taken his suppressant yet and it's been well over twenty-four hours. This is probably the longest he has ever missed a dose. He's been so preoccupied with you that he didn't think to grab his backpack. But he doesn't want to leave you here with just Pope.
He should be fine without taking it…right?
The nurse calls for them to come back, since you want to see them. Dr. Javadi is standing at your bedside, reading the results the lab got back. You consented to let Jack and Pope hear.
“You definitely experienced a pheromone withdrawal but you don't have any omega markers. Not even a few here and there, like other betas do. You don't have any alpha markers either. You just have beta markers. I've never seen a case like this.”
“Is that…bad?” You don't know what that means.
You're 100% a beta?
“Not bad but…very unusual.” He stares at your results for a long time, thinking. “I have seen cases where an omega has all omega markers. Those are rare but definitely more plausible than this.”
“Plausible in what way?” Jack asks, though it's hard for him to pay attention with the way his headache is getting worse.
It doesn't help that he can smell you so clearly for some reason. It's like your scent is wafting towards him, surrounding him completely. It's making him dizzy…
“There is really no reason for someone to have all beta markers. If an omega has all omega markers, usually it's because their biology doesn't want them to ever be mistaken for anything but an omega. In this case, biologically speaking, why would you need to present so prominently as a beta?” Dr. Javadi can't wrap his head around it.
That is, until your heart rate elevates out of nowhere and your heart monitor starts to beep loudly. You don't know what's happening. You were just fine but all of a sudden, your heart feels like it wants to burst out of your chest.
Are you having a heart attack?
Your whole body is on fire. It's like you got drenched in gasoline and someone threw a match on you. You feel it all over.
“What the hell is going on?” Pope watches as nurses file in and Dr. Javadi throws on a pair of gloves.
“You two need to quarantine right now.” He directs a nurse to move the two brothers away from you.
But neither of them want to go. They can't go. The thought of leaving your side is actually impossible.
“It's just the next room over.” The nurse points to the room beside yours. “You can still see her through the glass. She'll be okay. Please come with me so we don't have to sedate you two and drag you over there.”
It takes everything inside of both of them to listen to the nurse. They're quickly sealed in the room and the nurse activates the pheromone overdose procedure, which is really just redirecting all the pheromones that are emanating off of Jack and Pope to a secure, disposable container.
The nurses also seal your room up so that you can respond to heat treatment, trying to delay you from going into a forced heat from the sudden overdose of pheromones that will hopefully exit the room swiftly. It can only delay your inevitable heat, though. They're unsure how long it'll delay.
They've never had a case like this.
A beta going into heat because of two alphas.
“Check her again.” Dr. Javadi instructs so one of the nurses pricks your finger and drops the blood into one of the specialized detectors.
And they all watch your markers shift from beta to omega and then back to beta.
“Open the window.” He points to the one that connects the two rooms, since this is a specialized room made for this kind of separation between alphas and their omegas. “Just a bit then shut it. Prick her before, during and after.”
The nurses do exactly that. And before the window is open, you're a beta. When you're bombarded with their pheromones, you're an omega. Once the window shuts, you're back to being a beta.
“Incredible.” Dr. Javadi is astonished by the results.
“Am I going to be okay?” You're more mentally stable now but you're…aching between your legs.
What the…
“Well, that depends.” He turns to you and asks, “do you like those men?”
“What?” You must be hearing things. Why is he asking you—
“If you don't like them, then we can administer some heavy suppressants, sedate them so you can leave and then you need to go to the nearest police station and file a restraining order.” It's extreme but there are cases where despite being a fated pair, one of the partners doesn't feel safe with them so this is the only way to prevent assault.
“W-Wait. I don't want to do that. I…I like them.” You confess, hoping they can't hear you from the other room.
“Both of them?” Dr. Javadi wants to make sure.
“Yes…” You feel your cheeks warm just admitting it.
“Then I highly suggest you mate with them soon or you will risk another withdrawal.” He prescribes some basic preventative medications typically given to omegas for their first heat, like birth control, muscle relaxants for the knot and a specialty mouthwash, to prevent infection from the bite. “Put the mask on her.”
The nurse does just that and then Dr. Javadi walks up to the window, opening it.
“I need you two to consent to us giving you a strong suppressant dose or you will induce her heat the moment you're in the same space as her again. I'm sure you'd prefer to mate in the privacy of your own home so please consent. We'll talk more once you both have been given the shot.” Dr. Javadi hands them a form through the window before shutting it.
The nurse explains to them everything they need to know about the prescription strength suppressant and how it will help you if they take it.
For the first time in Pope's life, he actually agrees to taking a suppressant. Jack signs it right away and the nurse administers the series of shots. Pope clenches his fists because he doesn't like how dull it makes him feel once they've set in and their pheromone levels have become nonexistent.
Thankfully, everything warms up once they're back in the same room as you.
“Long story short, it seems like the beta markers are a biological deterrent.” Dr. Javadi explains to you all. “It's the opposite of an omega having all omega markers. You have all beta markers as an omega because your body did not want you to accidentally mate with the wrong alpha, so your omega traits only activated because you met your fated pair. It must have something to do with the fact that you have two mates, instead of one. Your body needed to lay dormant until you met them both.”
“That's…” You're actually speechless.
So are Jack and Pope. Because this means…
“This is always a very awkward situation but congratulations, you've met your alphas!” Dr. Javadi applauds. “And you all are free to go. Be sure to pick up your prescriptions on the way out. I suggest leaving quickly, before the suppressants wear off. It varies from person to person but I have an inkling that since you have two partners…it'll happen sooner than later.”
You all leave then. You're completely stunned the entire way to the car. None of you have said a word to each other.
Probably because you all spent the last week reeling over the fact that this relationship would end eventually. But now it isn't.
It's actually going to last forever.
The relief of it all does not hit you until you're in Jack's house. You drop into your nest of blankets and clothes, and the tears just burst out. They both come up to you, sitting down on either side of you.
“Let it out.” Pope tells you, kissing the side of your head. “It's a lot.”
Jack takes your hand in his, holding it against his chest, letting you feel his steady heartbeat. You cry until you've fully let go of the thought that one day, they'd leave you for their omega.
They won't ever do that.
Because you are their omega.
You've been waiting for them your entire life, your body hiding behind your beta markers until you met them. Saving yourself for the men you were meant to be with.
At least now, everything makes sense. You were nesting, like omegas do. That first night together must've been like a psuedo-heat. You healed much quicker than anticipated. You couldn't be away from them for too long or you got really sick.
It all clicks in Jack's head too. Why he was so ill when he went to work. Why he couldn't get you off his mind. Why he was completely enamored with you.
For Pope, he knew the whole time you had to be his. There was no way he would feel anything for anyone that wasn't his mate. He doesn't usually feel anything at all so the fact that he cared about you was enough of a sign for him. He just needed the proof and he got that today.
It nearly killed you but now, they know you're their omega.
“You must be tired.” Jack lays his hand on your forehead. “You went from work straight to the hospital to do tests.”
You are tired. But you don't want to be away from them for even a second.
“Will you both lay down with me?” You're nervous asking.
Pope doesn't answer you and just lifts you into his arms, gesturing for Jack to get up. Jack does and they take you to his bedroom, settling you down in the middle between them. You lay on your back, shifting your head back and forth to look at them.
Your mates. Your alphas.
They're all yours.
“Is this okay?” You know it is but you're still anxious about it. Plus, it's probably good to talk now before your heat comes back in full force.
“I've been waiting my whole life for you.” Pope says, his hand skating up and down the length of your arm, his touch both electric and soothing at the same time. “Of course it's okay.”
Jack leans his head against your shoulder, finally giving into the desires he has wanted. Like getting to love you. “You're ours. It's more than okay.”
“I get to bite her and knot her first.” Pope claims that right away. “Since you got her virginity.”
“Fine.” Jack will concede since Pope's quick thinking earlier definitely saved your life. He looks back at you. “You should take the muscle relaxants and the birth control now, so they have time to kick in while you nap.”
You bite your lip, not knowing if you should say this out loud but you decide that you aren't holding back anymore so you tell them, “what if I don't take the birth control?”
Jack's grip on your hand gets tighter. Pope grabs a hold of your arm, squeezing. You feel flush from their reactions.
So primal and possessive.
“Are you sure you want that?” Jack feels like his rut would start right now if you said you wanted him to fuck you until you were pregnant.
“I want you both.” You look at them, smiling softly. “And I don't want either of you to hold back anymore.”
You all were holding back before. Every touch was laced with the fear it would end one day.
You're making a vow to give them all of yourself.
“You need to go to sleep before I fuck you right now.” Pope growls in your ear, his cock already hard and throbbing in his pants. The suppressants did not last, it seems.
“Let me get you the muscle relaxants at the very least.” Jack has seen enough painful injuries from knotting that he knows this is an important medication to take ahead of time.
You take them and then close your eyes because you will definitely need some sleep with them planning to keep you up later…
You wake up to your skin on fire and someone's head between your legs. You grip onto his hair with your hand, gasping from how close you are to cumming already. And you just woke up…
It's Pope, gliding his tongue up and down, the warmth and softness of it sending such subtle sparks through you. But it isn't enough. You want him inside of you already.
He wants to be there too but he doesn't want to hurt you when he knots. He wants to make sure you only feel pleasure when he fucks you.
“Are you fucking serious, Pope?” Jack comes back with a glass of water, staring in shock at the sight of his brother lapping up the orgasm you had the moment you realized Jack is there too.
“She really likes it when you watch.” Pope hums against your clit and you squirm, feeling all shy.
“You woke her up.” Jack sits down next to you, lifting the glass of water to your lips. “Drink.”
You nod, letting him gently pour it in your mouth. It dribbles off the side of your lips and Jack doesn't stop himself from leaning in and licking it up. And you don't stop yourself from pulling him in for a kiss.
The smell radiating off of you is clouding his judgment. You smell so sweet and he just wants to eat you up. That's probably why Pope couldn't wait. Jack is barely holding on as is and he's used to being suppressed. It's impressive that Pope didn't start fucking you in your sleep.
“You both smell incredible.” You take a deep breath, reveling in the scents that linger in the air around you. “Is this real?”
“I still can't believe it.” If Pope truly gets to touch you every day from now on, he must be in heaven.
“It's real.” Jack says with such certainty.
Dr. Javadi showed them the results. You are only an omega in their presence and only when they're emanating their pheromones for you to consume. You would've lived your whole life as a beta had you not met them.
You can't imagine a life without them now.
“Do you both want this? Want…me?” Obviously, you can't control your biology but they could, theoretically, opt out before mating with you. It would break your heart but you wouldn't want them to force themselves to stay with you if they don't want to.
“How can you ask me that when your pussy is on my face right now?” Pope growls and you can feel the rumbling against your sensitive skin.
“I just want to make sure—” You grip onto Pope's hair the moment he dives back in, his tongue answering you for him. Your hips buck when your orgasm washes over you all of a sudden, his lips all wet and glistening from it. “Oh my god…”
“I'm going to rinse my mouth now.” Pope sends Jack a look when he gets up. “Don't touch her pussy. It's mine.”
“For now.” Jack says back, smiling. “But I'm taking her the moment you finish.”
Pope hopes he gets to fuck you for a long time before that then. He leaves to gargle the prescription mouthwash Dr. Javadi prescribed.
Meanwhile, you turn to Jack and tell him, “will you finally let me put you in my mouth?”
Jack has been apprehensive about it all week because he didn't want another thing to obsess over you about. But now, he can actually fully enjoy it, knowing that you're his omega.
“You really want to be sucking me off while my brother knots you?”
You nod profusely. “Please.”
Jack sits up against his headboard after he kicks off his pants, letting you see how hard his cock is. You're already drooling. You settle between his legs, dragging your tongue along the length of him like he's the best thing you've ever tasted. He might be, though you'll have to learn to treat him and Pope equally. You don't want either of them to fight because you're giving them more special treatment than the other.
Jack leans his head back against the wall, groaning when you stuff him all the way down your throat. He could feel the base of his cock wanting to swell already. But it won't until he's inside your pussy.
Like Pope will be soon.
He comes back to you sucking his brother off and he should've guessed this would happen. There was no way he was going to be able to fuck you alone. It's just something he'll have to get used to.
Though, the next time Jack is away at work, Pope is going to take his sweet time fucking you. He has to make sure you're going to have his baby.
So, he'll start right now. Pope climbs back into bed and you feel the mattress sink behind you. The anticipation is killing you, your pussy throbbing, begging to be filled. Pope loves the way your body shakes when he rubs the tip of his cock up and down your pussy.
You pull yourself off of Jack's cock to beg, “please, Andrew. Stop teasing me.”
“I want to hear you say it.” He lines himself up, waiting.
“I want you inside of me.” You tell him desperately. “I want your knot and I want you to make me yours, Andrew.”
“Then put my brother's cock back in your mouth and try not to gag.” Pope snaps at you and you listen right away, sinking your mouth back down on Jack.
The moment you feel Pope's cock slide into you from behind, you cum so hard, moaning on Jack's cock, pushing more of him down your throat. Pope closes his eyes when he hilts, needing to etch this feeling into his mind permanently. He feels himself wanting to swell up already but he needs to bite you first and make you his.
“Be careful.” Jack warns Pope, putting his hand on the back of your neck, presenting it to him. “Base of her neck, you pick a side.”
“I'll take the right side, since I knew I was right about her being an omega.” Pope leans down, kissing the right side of your neck.
You nearly cum from feeling his warm breath there. You need him to bite you now.
When his teeth pierce the nape of your neck, you pull off of Jack so you can scream his name, “Andrew!”
That's all it takes for his knot to swell inside of you. You moan at the feeling of it filling you up, the pressure building in intensity. It only gets better when he starts to move, pushing his knot back and forth inside of you.
You cling onto Jack, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, burying your head in his neck. You start kissing up the column of his throat until you reach his lips. Jack looks at you like you're the most beautiful person in the world before he leans in to kiss you.
Pope lifts off of your neck, dragging his tongue along his bite mark before focusing all his attention to filling your pussy up with his cum. He grabs a hold of your hips and without warning, he pops his knot out of you, only to shove it right back in immediately after. You gasp against Jack's lips as your orgasm shoots through you and you can't stop cumming. Because Pope won't stop.
He purposefully pushes his knot in and out of your pussy until you're squirting with every thrust. Every time his knot shoves back inside of you, the feeling of being so full makes you burst, your orgasms getting more and more intense.
You can't focus on kissing Jack anymore when Pope starts pounding into you, picking up speed, digging his nails into your hips so he can fuck you as hard as he wants to. You're screaming the word please over and over again.
“Please what?” Pope smacks your ass, the sudden strike sending shockwaves through you, tipping you over the edge into another orgasm.
“Please cum inside of me.” You plead, wanting to feel that addictive warmth. “Please, I need it. I want to have your baby. Both of yours.”
It's your life's purpose, after all. You want them to breed you. You never want to feel empty again.
You need them inside of you every single day, filling you to the brim with their cum until there's no way you aren't pregnant.
Pope's thrusts grow erratic until you feel him spill inside of you, pumping every ounce of cum he's been saving just for you. His omega. The sound of his knot popping in and out of you drowns you in pleasure.
You clench so hard around his cock when his hand slips between your legs and starts rubbing your clit. You explode, squirting all over his hand as his fingertips bully your swollen clit while he keeps fucking you. He's still cumming. You're still cumming.
It feels endless…
By the time his knot finally subsides, the sheets beneath you are drenched. Pope pulls out of you but then clamps his hand over your pussy, not wanting any of his cum to drip out.
“Go sit on Jack's cock so you can keep my cum buried inside of you.” He demands.
You nod, going to straddle Jack's lap but he shakes his head, turning you around so your back is against his chest instead. You sink down onto his cock, arching your back against him. He pulls your shirt off of you, so that he can cup your breasts, pinching your nipples between his fingers exactly the way you like. Then, he leans in, kissing along your shoulder blade until he's right at the nape of your neck. He sees where Pope bit you.
“I'll get you the mouthwash.” Pope gets up and bring back an empty cup and the prescription. Jack gurgles it and then spits into the cup, handing it back to Pope. “You're welcome.”
“I ain't thanking you. You should help me make sure she doesn't get an infection.” Jack presses a kiss on the left side of your neck, where he's going to sink his teeth in. “We'll take good care of you, our beautiful omega.”
You bite back a bashful giggle at how sweet his words are. “Thank you, my lovely alphas.”
You shift your head back so that Jack can kiss you. He loves the way you smile against his lips.
When he pulls away, he whispers to you, “I love you.”
Your heart soars in your chest. “What?”
Jack chuckles, brushing his nose against yours. “I said I love you. You don't have to say it back. I know you will feel the same way eventually. I just didn't want to wait.”
“I love you too.” You tell him without any fear left. You really do. “Make me yours, Jack.”
You turn your head when Pope climbs back onto the bed, having heard everything. “Do you love me?”
You nod. “I love you too, Andrew.”
“You better fucking bite her, Jack.” Pope settles in front of you, grabbing a hold of your face to look at you directly. “Or I'm going to keep her for myself.”
You smile at him and he loves that he can feel you smile against the palms of his hands. Pope has never been this happy before. Is this how it was always supposed to be? When he finally found his mate?
Maybe he should thank Smurf for making him come all the way out here. How else would he have met you?
Jack brushes his fingers along where Pope bit you and you wriggle on his lap when he trails around the edges of the mark. He has seen many of these before at work, mostly ones that got infected because of carelessness. Yours looks…perfect, marking your skin exactly as it should, healing well already. He can't wait to make his mark.
“Are you comfortable?” Jack asks as he reaches between your legs with his other hand, grazing your clit, making you shiver all over. “Because we're going to be here a while.”
“I'm comfortable.” You glance down at his prosthetic. “Are you? Do you want to take that off?”
“I'm fine.” Actually, Jack is more than fine. He's great because you're so caring and considerate.
It's going to make it harder for him to control himself. The suppressant is definitely wearing thin. His teeth are aching to sink into you like his cock has inside of you.
“Quit stalling.” Pope glares at Jack. “I want another round after this.”
He likes how your eyes widen at that.
“Did you think I was done with you?” He smirks, leaning in to kiss you, saying against your lips, “we're going to fuck until you need us to carry you everywhere.”
Jack groans against your ear at the way you're tightening up around him at Pope's words. He's staring at your neck. He can't control himself for much longer.
“I'm sorry for what I'm about to do.” Jack whispers to you. “I can't hold back anymore.”
Then, he bites down on your neck, pulling a gasp from your lips as his cock swells inside of you, the knot forming. Since you're on top of him, you feel it more prominently than you did before with Pope. It's like you're being spread apart.
“Eyes on me.” Pope instructs, having you focus on him.
He starts peppering you with lovely little kisses all over your face. It helps distract you from the pain of Jack's teeth embedding into the sensitive flesh of your neck.
“Now, start grinding your hips.” Pope grabs your hips, helping you do the motion, and you can't describe how good it feels. It's like Jack's knot is rubbing up against your clit from the inside with every roll of your hips. You stare back at Pope with those glazed over eyes and he smiles. “There you go, riding his cock beautifully. You're doing great.”
All his praises satisfy something primal inside of you. You have a deep desire to be good for them.
So, you keep moving your hips, grinding on Jack's knot until you feel his hands slip up to your chest, cupping your breasts. You bite back a whimper when his thumbs start rolling small circles over your hard nipples, getting you way too close to cumming. But you want to hold it in for a little longer. You want to feel him cum inside of you first. You want to share that pleasure.
But then Jack lifts off of your neck to drag his tongue along the bite he just made, and the sparks it sends through you ripples into an unbelievable orgasm. Every breath you take is getting heavier and your skin is heating up all over. You can feel your slick pooling between your legs, more than ever.
What's going on—
“Fuck.” Jack lays his head against your shoulder, growling, the sound vibrating against your skin. “You smell so good. You feel so good. I didn't think it would be like this. I can't think straight.”
Jack's vision has completely fogged over. It's like all he can see is red. All he can think about is fucking you until you're full of him.
It's hitting Pope too. He thought you had already mated with him. He thought he was cooling down after a blissful moment together. But you hadn't actually mated with him, not truly. Your body needed both of them to mark you before the claim was made.
And now that you're theirs, you're sending out the one signal neither of them can ignore.
An undeniable, biological need to be bred.
It's clouding every part of your mind. You only want to be used by your alphas. That's all that matters to you in this moment.
That's why when Jack grabs your hips and pops his knot out of you before forcing it back inside of you, you don't scream. You just grab Pope and crash your lips against his, needing to taste him. He eagerly slips his tongue into your mouth as Jack starts thrusting upwards, finding a rhythm where his knot is catching inside of you for a second before he pulls it past your entrance again. The sensation of his knot pounding into you over and over has you clawing at Pope, your nails clinging to his shoulder blades for leverage.
He wants to fuck you hard enough for you to draw blood when it's his turn. He'll bask in the marks you leave behind on him.
Tears are building up in the corners of your eyes because of how intense everything feels. You're going to burst if Jack keeps driving his knot into you like this.
You pull away from Pope's lips so you can bury your head in the crook of his neck, breathing in his comforting scent, mumbling like a broken record, “I'm going to cum, oh god, I'm going to—”
“There's no god here.” Pope snarls at you. “You say our names when you cum. Got it?”
You do exactly that when you feel Jack pumping everything he has wanted to release inside of you, drowning you in the warmth you'll surely never want to be without. You can never be empty again. You have to have this feeling every day from now on. Every second of every day if you could.
Pope watches the way you drench the sheets, squirting all over Jack's knot. He's compelled to reach forward, dragging his fingertips in small circles over your throbbing clit. You scream his name when he does, coating his hand in more of your slick as you cum harder and harder. That sends Jack into a frenzy.
He was expecting his knot to go away, like it had for Pope. But it isn't dying down at all. If anything…
“Are you getting bigger?” You dig your nails harder into Pope. “He's getting—it’s too—”
“You can take it.” Pope keeps rubbing your clit, helping you adjust to Jack swelling more inside of you. “You will take it because one day you'll have to take us both.”
You can't believe how much the thought of having both of their knots buried in your pussy sends you reeling over the edge.
“Would you like that?” Jack nips at your ear, his hot breath making you more feverish than before. “Feeling both of our knots locked inside of you, forcing you to keep all of our cum buried right here.”
He presses his hand into your lower stomach, right where your womb must be. Right where they'd fill you up.
“You'd like being trapped in our hold. Our beautiful omega, at the mercy of her alphas.” His voice is intoxicating. You feel drunk hearing these words echoing in your mind. “You'd want us to ruin this little hole of yours, wouldn't you? Make it so that you could never be satisfied with anything else ever again.”
“Yes.” You want that right now. “Please, fuck me. Both of you. I can take it. I want to take it.”
The brothers share that look, the one that they're discovering really does sync them up. Because they're thinking the same thing.
How are they supposed to say no to that?
“You sit, I'll stand.” Pope climbs off the bed, gesturing to the edge.
Jack lifts you off of him, which pulls a whine out of you. “Don't worry, you'll be nice and full again soon. Give her another dose of those muscle relaxants.”
Pope comes back with those pills, asking, “can she take more than prescribed?”
“I'm a doctor. I can prescribe it.” Jack is well aware of the dose you can handle. You'll definitely need it for what they're about to do.
You take them, trusting him. “I know neither of you will hurt me.”
Pope walks up to you, grabbing you by your chin to lift your face to his, brushing his thumb across your lip, “even if it hurts, I'll make sure it feels good too.”
Your heart is pounding louder in your chest now. There's so much lust in his eyes. It's consuming you with need. You love the contrast between Pope and Jack, how their personalities overlap.
“Do you want to face me or him?” Jack asks you when he's sitting at the edge of the bed.
“Don't make her choose.” Pope glares at him, mostly because he'd hate to hear you pick Jack…
“What would be easiest for what we're doing?” You're going to jump Jack soon if they don't figure this out quickly. You're dripping between your legs, unable to handle all the stalling.
It seems like they love to stall though, knowing how needy it makes you. They can smell it in the air. Your body is sending out those desperate pheromones, begging for them to fill you back up. You're clenching around nothing and you're trying to hold back whining about it.
“Straddling me will be easier.” Jack says because it's true. But also because his cock is throbbing so much and if he isn't buried inside of you soon, he'll have to grab you and put you there himself.
You hold onto his shoulders the moment you're on his lap and it takes all the willpower you have left not to sink right onto his cock. But Pope grabs your hips, keeping you in place so he can get into the right position.
Then, he leans in and whispers in your ear, his tone too erotic for your feverish mind, “are you ready to take your alphas?”
“Yes.” You're rewarded for your honesty with both of them thrusting into you at once.
You gasp because just the tips of their cocks together feels like a knot in and of itself. Like a huge knot about to split you open. Then they start moving and you could die from how intense the pressure is inside of you, spreading you apart in ways you've never felt before.
To think, you were just a virgin a week ago…
Now you're taking two cocks at once.
“I'm sorry.” You tell Jack when you unconsciously dig your nails into his shoulders, breathing heavy against his neck. “It's hard to hold myself up.”
They're barely halfway inside of you. How are you supposed to take them all the way? With their knots too? Maybe this was too ambitious—
Pope thrusts the entirety of his cock inside of you all of a sudden, knot included. You can't process how quickly you cum, the sudden forcefulness causing you to squirt all over Jack's lap. That gives him the slick to slide more of himself into you, groaning at how you're squeezing around both of them from how hard you just came.
Pope pops his knot out of you then says to Jack, “your turn.”
“Wait—!” You can't stop Jack from grabbing your hips and forcing you down onto his lap, pushing his knot inside of you this time. You cum again, embarrassed at how much liquid is pooling between your legs.
You cling onto him, on the verge of tears from the pain melting into pleasure. Jack sees your exposed neck and it's like all the reasoning has left his mind.
He bites into your neck, right where he had earlier, reveling in how you scream his name. “Jack!”
That gives Pope the opportunity to lean in and do the same, biting your neck exactly where he has earlier, right as he thrusts his knot inside of you completely.
“Andrew!” You can't believe how full you feel right now. They're both inside of you. And they're both moving. “W-Wait—!”
No, they aren't just moving. They're fucking your pussy, their knots thrusting in and out of you in an almost too perfect rhythm. Like they're in sync. They know exactly where to grind, what angle to do it at, whose knot slides in before the other so that you're cumming nonstop, giving them that tight squeeze they love around their cocks.
They still have their teeth sunk into your neck…
You can't shake either of them off of you. You're locked between them. Pope has his hands around your waist, pressing down at your lower stomach, massaging your womb, prepping you to take their release. Jack has his hands gripping your hips tightly, controlling the pace, paying attention to the raspy breaths you're letting out against his ear to signal exactly how him and Pope need to move to get you to cum over and over again.
“I can't—” You can't handle it.
They're fucking you faster now, rougher, slamming you down onto Jack's lap as Pope drives his cock into you from behind. Their knots are holding your hostage. You can't wriggle away. You can't stop the pleasure that's being dragged out of you with each overwhelming thrust. You can't run from how hard they're forcing you to cum on their cocks.
You're seeing red, pure red, filling your vision. You're being eaten alive by their need to breed you.
Jack lifts off of your neck then then growls in your ear, “you can take us. Be a good girl, cum a lot and get pregnant for us.”
Pope releases his bite to whisper into your other ear, with the same resonance as Jack, “give into it. This is what you were made for. To be fucked by us. To have our babies. To be all ours, in every way.”
Give in. You need to give in. You need to let them take you the way you were meant to be taken. You were made for this.
You were made for them.
For your alphas to use your body to relieve their desire to mate. They won't stop until they're sure you're pregnant. They'd know when you are.
And since you aren't yet, you need to let them fuck you until you are.
You slip your hand between your legs, pinching your swollen clit, drawing out another intense orgasm that makes your alphas almost cum from how tight your pussy clenched around them. You keep playing with your clit with one hand then you grab a hold of Jack's hair with the other so you can pull him forward to crush your lips against his, sliding your tongue into his mouth to deepen the kiss. You cum when he groans against your lips from how good it feels to kiss you while he's fucking you like this. You love that sound.
You love how wicked Pope's words get when he's jealous. “Get the fuck off my brother.”
He yanks you off Jack by your hair and then crashes his lips against yours, slipping his tongue into your mouth. You moan against his lips and you bathe in pure bliss when he groans just like Jack when you squeeze around his cock. You're rolling your hips now, practically bouncing on their cocks, eager and willing.
Jack leans forward, his hands arching your back so that he can take your nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around each one, playing with them between his teeth. It sends shockwaves through you, your hand still laced in his hair, keeping him against your chest so he doesn't stop.
Pope pulls off of your lips to ask, “do you like being ours? Do you like being fucked like this?”
“I love it.” You say back, your soft, breathy tone causing both of their cocks swell even more than before. “I love you both.”
Hearing you say that, knowing you mean it with all of your heart, is all it takes for them to ram their cocks as deep inside of you as they can before you're flooded with their release. It's like a dam has broken.
Neither of them has ever cum that much in their lives. And it won't end. Pope has to grip your hips hard enough so he can keep pounding his cock into you because he can't stop cumming.
“Back up.” Jack tells Pope, who listens because he knows what Jack is about to do.
You don't, though. That's why you scream when Jack stands up all of a sudden, shoving his cock deeper inside of you simply from the gravity shift. You're grabbing onto him with all of your might, afraid to fall, but you couldn't drop even if you wanted to. Pope is keeping you held up by your hips and Jack has his arms hooked around your thighs.
You're sandwiched between them, getting fucked at an angle you never thought was possible. And somehow, they're still cumming inside of you. The wet sounds of their cum leaking out of you every time their knots pop out of you has you in a frenzy.
You don't want it to leak out. You want all of their cum. You can't waste a bit of it. You need to get pregnant.
“It's spilling out. Please don't let it spill out.” You whimper, drawing out a protective growl from them both. They don't want you to worry ever.
So, they both push their knots inside of you and they keep them there, pumping their cum into you like that. You feel so full, it's incredible. Their knots create the perfect seal, trapping every bit of their release inside of you.
They hold you steady as you cum harder and harder, your release drenching the floor beneath them. It's like every time you feel the warmth of their cum inside of you, your body can't help but squirt in response.
“You're so perfect.” Pope nuzzles his nose against his mark on your neck before kissing it. “Milking our cocks so well.”
Jack leans in to kiss his mark on your neck before telling you with a big smile on his face, “how did we get so lucky to find such a beautiful omega to make ours?”
You wish you could enjoy their praise. But you're still cumming all over them. And it makes them both so happy.
“How long is that going to last?” Pope asks Jack, seeing that he probably has more knowledge of how mating goes.
“She's going to cum every time her body reminds her that our cum is inside of her. It's going to be a while.” Jack knows you won't snap out of it until your body is completely satisfied.
“She'll need a lot of water.” Pope is certain you're going to be dehydrated if you keep squirting on their cocks like this.
“I got an IV I can set up.” Jack looks you in your dazed eyes, his smile so lovely. “Are you still with us?”
You nod but you can't really talk. The pleasure is overwhelming all of your senses. You've never felt this good before in your life. You feel so fulfilled, like you did what you were meant for.
You really are in heaven.
You're still cumming by the time their knots have subsided and they can pull out of you easily. Pope lays you down on the bed, keeping you company while Jack gets everything set up for the aftercare. He likes that glazed over look on your face, turning you to look at him laying by your side.
“Do you need some more help?” His hand slips between your legs.
You cry out when you feel his fingers rubbing your overstimulated clit, squirting hard enough to push some of their cum out of you. You tear up a little at the loss but Pope leans in, kissing your cheek.
“You got plenty.” His other hand goes to rub your soft belly. “Now it's time to relax.”
He keeps gently rubbing your clit, drawing out as many orgasms as it takes for you to regain your sentience. You finally do when Jack is back, looking up at the IV he has set up.
“Is that for me?” You didn't know he had one.
Jack nods. “You won't feel it now but you will eventually so we'll push some preemptive treatment so that you aren't too sore later. Let's get you cleaned up first.”
You definitely cannot move your legs so Pope picks you up and takes you to the bathroom. This time, they both help you shower then Pope takes you out to help dry you off so that Jack can wash up and then they trade. Jack has you wait in the bathroom while he changes the bedsheets and makes his bed as comfortable as can be.
But when he carries you back out to the bedroom, you ask, “can you take me to my spot?”
He can't say no to you. If you're comfortable there, then he'll drag the IV out there for you.
You give him a big kiss before he sets you down in your spot. Jack lifts the blanket to help settle you in comfortably and notices his clothes, mixed with some of the clothes he let Pope borrow, hidden underneath. He should've seen all the signs that you were an omega, with the way you were nesting here. It seems like he might have to invest in putting a bed out here if this is the spot you've chosen.
Pope is back by the time Jack has you all set up with the IV. He yawns because he has gotten used to sleeping, since he feels so comfortable at your side. That's why he plops right down next to you, pulling you in towards him to spoon you. You giggle at how he peppers the back of your neck with kisses. He loves hearing you laugh. He also loves seeing his mark on you.
“You should probably eat.” Jack should be responsible and go get some food.
But you put your hand up, wanting him to lay down next to you too, and he can't resist, letting you pull him down beside you.
“I want to enjoy sleeping with my alphas.” You rest your face against Jack's chest, breathing in his comforting scent. “Now that I'm all yours.”
“Fine.” He really can't say no to you. That'll surely become an issue in the future but he'll deal with that then.
Right now, Jack just wants to cuddle you, taking your hands in his and holding them to his chest. Pope is already snuggling you, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You can feel his smile against your skin.
You are unbelievably happy right now.
Because you've found your mates.
A/N: Someone needs to stop me. How did I write over 20k+ words for this concept! I guess the heart wants what the heart wants…and I really wanted to get knotted by my favorite set of twins ♡ hope you all enjoyed it as much as I did!
I really can't get enough of Pope and Jack as twins. I feel like I could write so many iterations of them so…expect more in the future! See you next time ❁
♡ summary: when an unspeakable truth becomes apparent at work—that you're harming yourself—jack refuses to let the issue slide when he has a private heart-to-heart with you in the women's restroom.
♡ content: angst, hurt/comfort, self-harm, jack tends to your cut & helps redress you in clean scrubs afterward
♡ a/n: requested by anon, ty!
"Hey," Jack says, lightly bumping his shoulder against your own.
Looking up from a teal-colored clipboard that's filled with various medical forms that you've been busy scrawling patient information across for the last twenty minutes, you turn in his direction. "Hm?"
Bowing his head, Jack scooches closer. "You're bleeding," he whispers before flitting his brown eyes downward, past the counter you both stand at.
With knitted brows, you take a small step back and turn this way and that, assessing each of your legs for obvious stains. When you finally spot it—fresh blood in a horizontal line but a few inches wide, blooming across your inner right pant leg—the blood drains from your face and you break into a cold sweat.
"I—" You shake your head fervently, then stumble back—nearly knocking into an empty gurney when you do so.
He reaches out, ready to steady you, should you fall. "Hey, easy."
Now in a panic, you search for an exit. A path which will lead you to a secluded corner, or hall, or room where you can escape prying eyes as you...clean the evidence of what you've done off of yourself before finally washing it down the drain. "Just... A patient," you explain. You lie. To your attending, no less. "I wasn't paying attention."
You feel like you're going to be sick.
"I'll go change. I'm so sorry."
Before Abbot can so much as formulate a reassuring reply that you've done nothing which warrants an apology, you've already slipped past him, and are headed in the direction of the back hall which houses the machine that contains freshly laundered scrubs.
His jaw flexes as he considers. Your reaction being due to humiliation because the stain is from your period isn't wholly out of the question. But because of how low it is, and in such a neat little line at that, makes it unlikely.
He doesn't want to acknowledge the evident truth that lies obvious before him.
Jack grips the counter of the nurse's station tightly, trying his utmost to convince himself that it's none of his business. His patient the next room over is. But if he didn't want to make you his responsibility, then he shouldn't have spent the last few months cozying up to you. Buying you lunch, walking you to your car once your shift has ended, making easy conversation on your breaks (not to mention him changing to the time of his own to match up with yours).
With a quiet curse, he stomps off in search of you.
The fucking machine is malfunctioning. This can't be happening. Not now. Not to you. Not today. Standing in front of it with nothing to cover your modesty below the waist, you keep shoving your card in to earn yourself a new pair of bottoms, only for it to grant you an angry red display and a loud buzzer-like screech while its screen repeatedly states 'invalid input' instead.
"God, please," you quietly plead—jerking your head every time the sound of tennis shoes near, terrified that someone will see. Because if they do: what comes next? Will you be fired? Involuntarily committed? Be forced into a therapist's office as they dissect your brain to see what's gone wrong with you, specifically?
You can stop any time you choose. You're just not ready to yet.
Just as you've reeled your leg back—ready to kick the damn thing out of sheer spite—Jack quickly jogs to your side before you cost the hospital a couple thousand in repair bills.
"Hold on, hold on," he insists, shooting his arm out in front of you to hold you back before he shoves his own card in, types what must be some special, hidden code, allotted only for important big-shots like himself, and voilà: a new pair of pants are presented to you.
Snatching them away, you turn in the direction of the restroom, wanting to clean yourself up first so you don't soil your new garment, thus sending you back to square one again.
Just as you make to turn, however, you take note of where Jack's line-of-sight is currently stationed: between your legs. Rather, on the one which blood is currently running down and dribbling onto the floor from.
Countless tiny silver slashes are carved into your inner thighs, displayed prominently for him to take fleeting stock of before you finally race past and lock yourself in the women's restroom.
Now spiraling, you sink to the floor and shove your head between your knees. "One. Two. Three—"
An unwelcome knock sounds against the heavy metal door, causing you to jolt in surprise.
"Y/N," Jack starts "Sweetheart, just..." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "You're not hurting yourself in there, are you?"
You tuck your chin in close to your chest and blubber like a child. "No," is your succinct reply. You don't want to have this conversation. Don't want to provide elaborate answers to questions you don't know how to reply to. Or, much more, have no wish to.
He settles his palm over the door handle, but ultimately decides against it. Jack knows you have it locked, so he doesn't want to come off like he's attempting to force his way in. "Y/N, it's just you and me. Can you let me in so that we can talk? Please. Honey, I'm just worr—"
Click.
You figure the longer he stands out there, the more likely a crowd is to gather, curious as to what is transpiring at current. Nevermind that it's nobody's business but your own.
Breathing a sigh of relief, he gathers himself before making entry.
Once the door is shut securely behind him, and the lock pushed into place, he kneels with a groan before plopping down beside you.
"Gettin' old," he mumbles before settling back against the wall you're seated before.
He rolls his head to the side, frowning at the sight of you curled in on yourself. "I'm not gonna ask why. The reasoning can be different for everybody, I guess. But the one thing they all have in common, I'd assume, is feeling like they deserve it. Or...like it's an impulse they can't fight anymore. Maybe you don't want to."
Jack pulls himself closer to you before sliding an arm around your shoulders and tucking you against his side. "Honey, you need to talk to somebody. It's somethin' my therapist deals with. I can give you their number—a business card—whatever you want so that you can get the ball rolling."
You squeeze your eyes shut and lie your cheek atop your bent knee. "I don't know if I can."
He rubs his hand comfortingly against your arm. "What if you cut too deep at some point and hit an artery? There's other ways. Have you tried the ice cube method?"
You shrug. "Couple times."
"And?" He asks.
"It helped. Just...a razor is what I'm used to. Like it's a habit. An...old friend."
"Any friend worth their salt would never do something which would bring harm to you," Jack replies.
You loosen up and spread your legs in front of you, draping your new scrubs atop them before settling your head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry that—"
He shakes his head. "Don't apologize. I'd rather know than not. To look after you a bit better, if nothin' else."
You turn and cross your legs, now facing him. "That isn't your—your responsibility, or—"
He taps his own leg with his knuckle, the metal quietly reverberating from the action. "It helps: divulging the darkest parts of yourself to others who get it. So you can have a different perspective. Hear how they got through it so you can gain some hope that you will, too."
Unsure how to even continue, you stand and walk over to the sink. It's one way to cut this conversation short, you're sure.
Once you've wetted a paper towel, you bend over to begin cleaning your wound before applying a fresh Band-Aid from the first aid kit that's mounted beside the soap dispenser.
Until Jack takes the damp towel from you and kneels at your feet. Gently, he wipes away the dried blood which clings to your skin. "You think about doing this again, come to me. If it happens when we aren't here, then call me. I'll come running."
He slides his opposite hand up your calf. "Understand?"
You blink down at him stupidly, now at a loss for words. So you simply nod instead.
"Good." He nods to the first aid kit. "Band-Aid."
Once you've plucked the plastic box from the wall, you hand it to him. If you try unclasping it right now, with the way that your hands are currently trembling, the sterile supplies is likely to scatter across the tile floor.
Once Jack has peeled opened a Band-Aid and spread a small dollop of Neosporin across the absorbent pad, he applies it to your cut. Next, he takes your pants from where they sit on the lip of the sink and holds open the right pant leg for you to step into, followed by the left.
Once he's cinched the waist in the front and tied a pretty little bow, he stands. "I don't want you to worry," he says quietly, running his knuckles down your soft cheek. "What happened today stays between us. Alright?"
You nod yet again, grateful to him. You swipe away budding tears before taking the first aid kit back from him so that it can be returned to its rightful home on the restroom wall. "Thank you."
He wraps his arms around you, and presses a tender kiss to your forehead. "Welcome."
