Ex Husband!Jack Abbot who didn’t fight back when you slid the papers over to him one evening. Who nodded and signed without question- he knew this was coming for a while already. The fights over being gone for too long, arguments over how he deals with his mental health, crying and silent screaming matches at 3 am so you don’t wake the kids up. It was too much to handle and after he signed the papers he stood, kissed your cheek- packed himself a bag and went to Robby’s for the night.

Ex Husband!Jack Abbot who insisted you keep the house- your dream house that he had built as a push present after having your second kid. Irish twins- ignoring your OB entirely when she warned you about how fertile you’d be after having your first. The same house where you brought your third son home another year later because somehow Jack just couldn’t keep his hands off of you. The same house where you call him when there’s an issue- no sense in spending money and hiring someone when Jack knows the ins and outs of his own place. The same house where Jack is sure he’s had you pressed against every wall and piece of furniture- christened with love that he thought would last forever.

Ex Husband!Jack Abbot who still comes to every game the boys have. Every Saturday morning- pulling up to the soccer field with sunglasses and a dimpled smile that still has your knees weak and heart race. Wrapping an arm around your waist with your youngest in his arms- so proud when your oldest scores a goal that when you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth he doesn’t give you one of his usual smirks. Who joins you for lunch with the boys at home- both of you moving around the kitchen in tandem to feed your kids.

Ex Husband!Jack Abbot who hasn’t dated since the divorce. Why would he? He still wears his fucking ring. Jack still calls you his fucking wife. In his mind that would be fucking cheating and he’s not that much of a shitty husband that he’d think about being with someone else. Why would he? He has the best thing in the world going on, a beautiful woman who gave him equally beautiful sons- he’s fucked it up enough the first time around. Why push his luck?

Ex Husband!Jack Abbot who comes over when the boys are on a camping trip with their uncle Robby. Maybe at Jack’s insistence. Either way- the house is empty and after a bottle of wine and Jack making you dinner he’s on his knees in front of you. Eyes rolling back in his head when you push the curls at the top of his forehead back a few times before gripping because he always knew exactly how to apologize. Flowers forgotten before you could put them in a vase- Jack’s thick fingers working your tight pussy open because it’s been months since you’ve let him fuck you and he’s just making sure you’re prepared before he fucks you into the couch. And the bed. And the floor. And the shower. And the kitchen counter.

Ex Husband!Jack Abbot who doesn’t forget your anniversary despite being divorced. Because he worked through so many birthdays and anniversary and holidays that- he needs to put you first this time. Who comes through the door of the house he had made for you, with the key he still has, with your favorite flowers and your favorite desserts and tells the boys that he’s taking their mom out for dinner because he loves her. Whose breath gets knocked out of him when he sees you walks down the stairs in some gorgeous dress that reminds him why he put three kids in you. Who sees a familiar glint on your ring finger- smirking when you tell him ‘for the boys-’ that’s the only reason you agreed to dinner. The only reason you’re putting up with his shenanigans. Not because there’s butterflies in your gut or because he looks so good dressed up for you tonight.

Ex Husband!Jack Abbot who takes their boys for a night so you can go out with some friends. A much needed break- to feel like a woman again and not a mom. Who picks you up from whatever bar or club your friends dragged you to because they wanted to party and you missed your sons- you missed Jack. Who’s mouth goes dry when you drop to your knees for him as soon as you’re through the door- letting you pull down his zipper and throwing his head back so hard with a moan that you can hear the thud when it hits the front door. Who has no idea what’s come over you but he won’t question it. Who has no idea that you rebuffed every man who came up to you that night- taking your wedding from your clutch and holding it up to them with a smug ‘no thanks’. Who has no idea one of your ‘friends’ made a comment on how you were actually divorced- if you’d mind giving her Jack’s number. Yes you fucking mind. That’s your fucking husband.

Ex Husband!Jack Abbot who silences you with slightly chapped lips against your own- hushed out praise with a soft ‘not too loud sweetheart, the boys are asleep- yeah?’ that night after he crawled into your old marriage bed with need after putting your youngest back to bed after a nightmare. It was hard seeing how fucking good a dad he was- how doting of a father he was to your sons and not remember exactly why you gave him those kids in the first place. ‘Such a good mom to my sons- another one honey? God- just one more fucking baby, you’ll look so good with another one of my babies inside you. I’ll even let this one look like you- yeah?’ Almost a joke- the boys look so much like him that people even questioned if you were in the room when they were born. But you couldn’t answer. Too fucked out to do little more that whimper, than to tighten your thighs around his waist and nod with soft tears sliding down your cheeks because you feel another orgasm rushing through your body when Jack asks to get you pregnant again.

Ex Husband!Jack Abbot who was always good at getting you pregnant. Who was overjoyed when a month later you hold up a sonogram with a little white blip on the radar. Who cried when you asked if he wanted to come back home. Who cried when nine months later your little girl came out looking like you this time around.

This is the second time Tommy’s been knocked out tonight, you and his coach begged him to admit defeat much earlier in the match, yet Tommy doesn’t take no for an answer, the man always going down with a dirty fight.

You watch in horror as he somehow gets right back up, standing there in defeat as he holds the side of his ribs in pain.

Tommy’s tough, training bright and early six times a week, he’s quickly turned into a popular boxer. The match tonight was supposed to be an easy one—the two of you showing up to get paid for your time, you dressed in your skin tight skimpy outfit, ready to prance around on the stage.

But as the night went on, the fight quickly shifted, the new kid was much stronger than Tommy and his coach believed, and you couldn’t imagine yourself being in his position, his gentle face now bloodied and swollen as the bruises already begin to settle in as he takes punch after punch.

Tommy never gets knocked out like this, hell, Tommy never loses—let alone a loss this bad. You can see the anger in his gaze, even with a clanky mouth piece, his lips are drawn into a snarl as the announcer blows into his whistle, stopping the fight for good.

Tommy’s brown eyes turn black as he looks at you, his sweaty chest darkening his tank top, you pity him—hating to see your man like this.

The announcer holds his opponent's hand up in the sky, screaming his name out loud as he declares him the winner and Tommy the loser.

Tommy doesn’t wait to shake his hand, instead he rips his gloves off and hops under the cords of the ring, jogging back to his personal locker room all without a second glance back to you.

You know it’s best to not bother him when he gets like this, his adrenaline pumping and his frustration rising, you know he’s ready to kill someone, knowing if he ever sees this kid again—the outcome won’t be good, yet you can’t help but feel the urge to chase after him, your tight sports bra rubbing deeply into your flesh.

You don’t pay mind to the mens only sign posted above the cement walls, throwing your body into the green door as it swings open wide, you can hear the sound of water running.

You find him bent over the sink, blood dripping from his open mouth into the drain, the clots spurt in thick clumps into the white porcelain.

He sees you in the corner of his eye, your sorrowed reflection popping up in the mirror.

“Shouldn’t be in here, don’t want you ta see me like this.” Tommy says with a gruffness in his voice.

Puffing his chest up, he takes a quick long stride over to the lockers, picking with his metal lock.

“Just wanted to see if you were okay.” You mumble, following him across the cold room like a lost puppy.

You feel really bad for him, your eyes tracing the deep purple bruise spreading deeply up his torso, a faint green ring appearing around his tanned skin.

Coming up behind him, you place a gentle hand to the side of his ribs, the action causing him to hiss.

“Fuck! Don’t touch me! I told you, I don’t need you seein’ me like this.”

You look at his wide eyed expression with your calm one, crossing your arms over your waist. “I’m just trying to help you, see if you need me to patch you up.”

“You just don’t get it!”

You do get it, you’ve been around him long enough to know he isn’t a stranger to a large ego.

“No Tommy, you know I do, you’re just mad and looking for something to blame besides yourself.”

“I don’t lose, this ain’t like me.” Tommy mumbles defeated, his locks of brown curls falling on to his sweaty forehead.

You take a step closer to him, your heels clacking against the tiled ground as your body closes in on the wild-eyed man.

Tommy leers up at you, your skimpy outfit doing little to help his manhood currently, the feeling to find an outlet to let out his anger causing blood to rush down to his cock.

“Thinkin’ you were wantin’ me to lose. Standing there jumping up and down, looked too damn good tonight.”

“I-I don’t like seeing you like this, always gettin’ all mean to me,” you whine, and you can feel the tears beginning to build in your eyes, preparing for him to start an argument.

To your surprise, Tommy grabs you by the thick waistband of your slippery shorts, manhandling you belly first on the bench in the middle of the walls of seafoam green lockers, the pale wood cool on your exposed stomach.

“Tommy! ‘s gross in here!” You scream, kicking your feet back in an attempt to hit him with your heels.

“Come on sugar, help your man out here.” Tommy pleads, his fat lip causing his words to slur on his tongue.

He grabs your arms and places them behind you, holding them tight in his hand, his bicep flexing as he holds up the weight of you, your wrists burning in his grip.

“Don’t be too rough on me, ain’t bein’ nice to me.” You remark like a brat, pushing your lips into your mouth, biting down on the flesh.

“Cmon doll, thought you like it rough?” He questions, his usual cocky attitude returning.

You're glad only you can cheer him up, his favorite spot besides the gym or the ring is between your legs, fucking you until your too overstimulated, eyes teary and cunt puffy.

You can feel his free hand grab the top of your tiny shorts, the seems ripping as he pulls them down your hips, letting the material pool at your ankles.

“We’re in public!”

“Yep, that’s the point.”

Scoffing, you roll your eyes in defeat—thankfull Tommy can’t see the face you’re making at the moment.

His thick cock is hot against your thigh, feeling his precum paint the small keyhole between your legs, he nudges the tip into your lips, pushing lash the growing wetness to your center.

“Be good and take this alright? I need t’ let off some steam, baby.” He coos, his words charged with a grin.

He pushes all the way in you swiftly, your pussy attempting to take him, your walls shake as they choke around his thick cock.

Maybe if he loosened you up with his head between your legs you would be able to take him better, but of course—what Tommy wants, Tommy gets.

“Quit squeezin’. Can’t fuck ya right if you’re squeezin’ me so damn hard.” He hisses out between closed teeth, the tip of his dick hitting your hard cervix.

Although his actions say otherwise, rapidly fucking you onto him, Tommy uses his hand to guide your hip back onto his cock, planting you hard against his thighs.

“With the fuckin’ night I’ve had, least I got this pretty lil’ cunt.” Tommy curses, his swollen words turning into slurs as you attempt to keep up with his harsh thrusts.

The meat of your ass ricochets with the snap of his hips, each globe of fat ripples like waves, the sounds of wet skin and skin slapping echo off the concrete walls—surely loud enough for anyone to hear.

Although you're not facing him, you can smell Tommy’s sweaty musk hit you face, the manly musk mixed with his adrenaline turns you on further, your cunt gushing around his cock.

“These fuckin’ guys go home with five thousand bucks, jerkin’ off to some slut on their screens. They ain’t like me, don’t got a pretty girl on the tip of their dicks like this.”

You don’t answer him spewing nonsense, feeling your face heat up at the angle, your eyes begin to water, the blood rushing to your brain as he fucks you rough.

“Ain’t that right baby? ‘m real lucky d-don’t ya think so?” Tommy pushes, and you can tell by the shakiness in his voice, he’s approaching his release.

He brings you up by your arms, holding you close to his chest, his white tank top brushing against your lower back.

His free hand sneaks itself up your chest to your neck, hooking his pointer finger around your cheek.

“Yes! Yes Tommy!” You manage to squeak out, your voice cracking in the process.

Tommy’s hips falter slightly, focusing his thrusts halfway into your cunt, he groans loudly as he spills into you, his dick graciously filling your walls in a silent thank you for allowing him to use you.

Pulling his hand out of your cheek, he brings it around your waist, holding you from collapsing as he lets go of your reddened wrists.

The two of you loudly gasp for air as he pulls out of your neglected cunt, Tommy too focused on himself to make you cum, you furrow your brows, feeling his seed begin to seep out of you as you wobbly pull up your shorts.

“What about me? Too full of yourself tonight huh?”

“Shit doll,” Tommy laughs looking down at your legs, “you look pretty damn full of me.”

Scoffing, you hit his shoulder annoyed with his nasty jokes, the once angry man quickly turning back to his soft cocky self makes a smile creep up on your lips.

Tommy pulls you into him, his sweaty bicep wrapping around the back of your neck, he kisses the top of your messy hair. “I’ll make this up to ya when we’re home alright? Go on ‘n I’ll meet ya outside.”

“You think your attitude is cute?” No- no you thought he was cute. You thought Brett was so fucking cute and when he walks along the station with that smug look on his face it took everything in you to remain professional- everything you fucking had to remind yourself that fucking the battalion chief was wrong even if he made you feel so right. He shut you both in his office- barking your name when you rolled your eyes after he went through another briefing, the entire station lined up like he likes and you just couldn’t help running your mouth off- calling him Brett even and not sir.

“I think you should smile more,” smirking, making yourself comfortable in his chair- putting your fucking feet up even. “Come on Brett- you need to let the crew relax a little,” you answer for him, already knowing his exact response and even say it with his tone that makes your underwear feel slick against your folds- ‘relaxing gets people killed’. It makes his eyes narrow, nodding to himself before locking the door behind him and taking long heavy steps towards you- a hand coming down to rest next to your head while the other cages you in by bracing the armrest. You swallow, feel a shiver run down your back when his face gets mere centimeters from yours- anticipating his next move and dragging your eyes over every detail of his face that you love. The softness of his hazel eyes, the crinkles that frame them, the slope of his nose and the freckles that dusted it, his slightly chapped lips that feel so good against yours- the fucking salt and pepper curls atop his head that clung to the original auburn color and refused to let go. You tilt your face up- anticipating a kiss that will leave you breathless and needy. But it never comes.

“Up,” there’s no gentleness in his tone, no softness- “stand and strip.” Commanding, like he’s barking an order out on a call- and you listen easily because it usually means life or death. Brett makes himself comfortable, sitting in his chair while he watches you peel your clothes off with shaky hands and heat making your skin feel flushed and warm- not bothering to try and cover yourself in fake modesty because you know he’ll tear your hands away if you do. “Sit,” nodding to his desk, not bothering to move his legs meaning you have to awkwardly keep your thighs open so your pussy is on full display from him- because it belongs to him. Your body trembles, your face is on fire but Brett takes his sweet fucking time- running his large calloused hands up and down the soft silkiness of your legs, pulling you by your knees to the edge of his desk so he can get the perfect view of your dripping cunt. He hadn’t even fucking touched you yet and there you were- practically leaking on his desk, breathing heavily with each slow tortuous touch of his fingers up and down your skin.

“Please, Brett-” he silenced you with a look, large hands on your thigh and fingers dangerously close to your folds. “Sir,” you corrected yourself, “please, sir.” He wastes no time, sliding two thick fingers inside your walls while he wedges himself closer- your thighs opening with an ache to accommodate his broad shoulders and wide chest. You have to bite your lip- remember where you fucking were while Brett starts a slow pace, fingers in no hurry when they glide embarrassingly easy into your pussy, walls greedily sucking him in with an obscene sound that makes him smirk. Mumbling to himself but asking if ‘you just like to piss me off, your pussy seems to like it’ and when you don’t fucking answer him his fingers go faster- rubbing against the spot along your walls that he’s already fucking memorized, making you cum on his fingers with a bite of your lip to keep from screaming his name. That wasn’t all, no, Brett wants you to know just how fucking pissed he is so he gets closer- throwing your legs on his shoulders so he can wrap his lips around your clit while his fingers stay deep in your cunt.

You try to close your thighs- try to force him to slow down or stop but Brett keeps your clit rooted in his mouth, tongue lapping at it while he finger fucks another orgasm from your pussy with quick thrusts of three fucking fingers now. The stretch had your pussy cream, used to being pushed to your limit but Brett’s other hand forces you open- pressed into the soft flesh of your thigh to keep your pussy exposed for him while his tongue replaced his fingers to dive into your aching hole to feel you tighten around him when you cum again. Poor baby- you were already panting, shoving his hands away from your swollen clit when he came to stand between your legs, keeping eye contact with you as his hands worked at his belt and pants. He’ll fuck you good- remind you who’s in charge here because it feels like you’ve forgotten and Brett is always ready to give you a lesson.

“Open,” his thumb brushes against your lips, “suck,” heavy fingers gripping your jaw to make you open your mouth and welcome the thick digit to rest along your tongue- cock mirroring the same image. Leaky head smearing precum between your folds- Brett’s hand at the base to slide himself up and down your pussy lips to keep you in suspense until he slams into you with full force. His thumb in your mouth kept you silent- muffled your cries when he forced his cock in and out of your tired cunt, a devastatingly fast pace that it made his desk rattle and shake from the force of his hips into yours. Your clit was sore, swollen and throbbing when his other hand started to swipe at the slick covered bundle of nerves- thumb between your lips replaced with his tongue to swallow your whimpers and taste the pathetic cries of a cease fire. Your pussy fluttered, walls spasmed and tightened around his fat cock in another orgasm that made your thighs shake around his waist- falling limp on either side of him but he kept ramming into you. Tiny office filled with the sound of his hips slamming into yours, balls slapping against the swell of your ass and your sweet little whines that Brett finally acknowledged.

“What baby- tell me what’s wrong?” He doesn’t stop moving his cock between your throbbing walls- just slows his rhythm enough to give you a second to breathe. You’re dizzy, arms clinging to his shoulders and a hand gripping his shirt for dear life to keep you from passing out- you need a second. Just a fucking second to remember how to think, so you whimper the safe word against his lips- eyes glassy and half lidded but you stutter out ‘fire’ against his lips to beg for a truce but- Brett laughs. His words earlier were condescending, calling you baby to lull you into a false sense of security so you’d think he was on your side but Brett was always a step ahead of you. “The safe word? Oh, baby we’re nowhere near there yet.” The sound of random objects from his desk being scattered around the floor followed, his strong hands peeling you from his body to lay you back down against his desk- hand coming down to rest along your neck as his pace continues. Fast. Hammering thrusts to spear his cock deep into your leaking pussy, the violent squelching noise echoing in the room and when you repeat the pleas of your ignored safe word you feel Brett’s hand tighten around your throat.

“Baby, you ignored my words earlier,” he sounded so controlled- like he wasn’t even breaking a sweat from fucking you, “so why should I listen to your little safe word now?” You couldn’t even answer him if you wanted, your brain hazy, oxygen supply cut off and your pussy flared again- seizing around his heavy cock so you can cum again with a gush of slick running down Brett’s balls and onto his desk. Your hands clambered at his forearm, grabbing and scratching at his skin- something, anything to keep you from passing out from the please of being fucked into the desk. Brett hooks you knees over his arms, keeping you bent in half and under his complete control while he gives a few more shoves of his cock inside you- ready to cum but he thinks he wants to feel you break once more around him, one more orgasm from your pretty pussy and he’ll fill you up like he likes. Your head lulls back and forth- looking up at the fluorescent lights overhead and mewling from the pleasure that Brett forces upon you. Another? You’re sure he can go all fucking night if he wanted- his desk creaks and you’re sure it’s dragged a few inches across the floor from his rough his thrusts are.