Emily😽

"So don't fucking hold it!" Your nails dig into his cheeks, leaving marks on his cute pale butt that only you would see (and maybe the piss test guy if Frank wasn't careful.) "I don't give a fuck but I'm so fucking close and if you pull out now i'll fucking kill you!"

That is enough to make Frank moan, blue eyes rolling back in his head. "You're so fucking gross, you know that? So good to me, my gross, nasty baby. Want me to piss inside you? Wanna be so so so gross? Fuck I love you, oh my goooood I love you, I love you, I- uuuuughgghhh..."

Warmth floods you, filling you deep inside and at first you think he's cumming by how much he's whimpering, but then the flow is so strong and so much it starts squirting out of you.

You cum hard, so turned on by how disgusting it was. No one else ever made you feel safe enough to by this icky.

"Gross, nasty little slut arent you? You like being filled with my piss? It's making your little belly bulge, you see that?" He presses down on you, prolonging your orgasm as he fills you with him cum this time.

"Your so fucking perfect..." As his hips settle and his weight falls on you, words of love are pressed into the sweaty skin of your neck.

You'll need to get up. You'll both need to clean yourselves and put sheets in the wash, clean up the mattress and any collateral damage to prevent infection.

But for now, you just lay with your arms wrapped around your gross nasty boy

“Yeah, babydoll?” Frank looks down at you, his tongue jutting out to lick his dry bottom lip. His gaze focuses on you rather than the mindless news chatter on the television— Frank watches the news. You hate the news.

“Can we play pretend?” you mumble nervously, pressing your thumb over the felt tip of the marker and spreading blue ink across your soft skin.

“Course we can. You don’t need to be so shy when you ask, sweetheart.” Frank’s fingers find the remote tucked between the couch cushions, and he’s quick to change the channel to something more appealing for you before joining you on the floor. With your body splayed out, your stomach pressed into the carpet as you try to revert your attention back to the coloring in front of you, Frank is gentle as he presses up behind you.

“Dad?” you ask with faux curiosity, and the familiar sound of his belt buckle coming undone and his pants unzipping makes your cunt drip into the cotton strip of your panties.

“Yeah, sweetheart, it’s just me.” Frank says as he pulls the hem of your nightgown up. His fingers are cold against your back as he slides them down your spine until he reaches the waistband of your panties. Playing with the edge, he slides your panties to the side and takes in a deep breath as he catches a glimpse of your glistening cunt. “It’s just dad.”

A throaty moan slips past your mouth as you feel the tip of Frank’s cock slide up and down your slit, and when he slides his length inside of you, you can’t help the way your hips stutter forward and how your cheek falls against the page in front of you. “Mmm—!”

“Focus on your drawing, baby,” Frank reaches over your shoulder and taps the paper that your cheek rests against. He slows down his thrusts to give you a chance to regain composure and focus on the task at hand. Both of you bask in this— the fake confusion radiating from you while playing pretend. But Frank knows what you like, and he can tell by the way your walls squeeze around him that every second of this is pure delight for you.

His hips move back and forth, the pressure of his tip pushing against your cervix with each stroke. For some reason, when you and Frank play pretend, the sex just feels better. His hands find their way under your body, lifting you up just enough that the curve of his cock can reach that spongy little spot. It’s clear that he’s found it when your moans become sporadic and you try fucking yourself back on him.

his head was tilted up, groaning to the ceiling. his readers had gone out of alignment, it now sat on the pointiest tip of his nose. his hair unruly from your fingers roughly running across his scalp, and his face flushed and sweaty — he looked absolutely laughable like this. what would his peers or juniors think if they caught their very serious and very professional attending — helpless before a pretty young thing?

there was a large, creamy stain starting to form on jack’s dress pants, and it’s only getting bigger the longer you keep this up. 

“oh god. fuck– ff-fifty. i’m fifty.” he almost whined at the end of his response. 

“again.” you pressed. the roll of your hips getting faster and more desperate.

“i’m fifty. i’m fifty.” he held you firmly at the soft curve where your hips met your thighs, encouraging your movements. his breathing had become more ragged, his moans and groans getting much louder as he’s nearing his peak. 

you begged once more. “say it again, please. dad, please! i’m gonna cum if you tell me again. please. please! i’m gonna cum–” 

since you asked so nicely, looking so pretty as you did, jack leaned in close to the shell of your ear. the lightest touch of his lips and the gruffness of his voice made you shiver. 

“i’m fifty years old, babydoll. shouldn’t have any business playing around with your dad like this, hm? but you’re a nasty girl. when nasty girls feel achey here–” he pressed the pad of his thumb over your throbbing clit. “–they fuck themselves on their dads’ cock.”

“aahh!” you shrieked at the top of your lungs, the walls of your cunt intensely pulsated around his fat length. 

“shit! i’m gonna cum. i’m not wearing a condom – baby, baby i gotta pull out!” he tried to maneuver himself so he could take himself out before he shot his load in you. 

but you kept yourself buried deep, using your position to your advantage. 

“babydoll–” jack warned you. “get up, young lady.”

“no!” 

he wriggled and squirmed beneath you. he should be able to overpower you but if he got up all of a sudden, he’s afraid he might push you down the floor or hurt you in any way. he just desired for you to gently pull out. 

“you asking to get spanked?!” 

he didn’t mean to raise his voice, but he’s very strict about using practising safe sex. it was already risky enough to let you warm his cock in the first place. he also didn’t want you to feel regret  — if something or someone did come to fruition. he didn’t want to put any pressure on you if you were unprepared to step into that chapter of your lives. 

“don’t care, daddy. jus’ wanna feel you cum inside me. i need it.” if that was not convincing enough for him, you took hold of his face in your hands to look him in the eyes. 

despite the sensitivity of your core, you started to slowly grind on his lap again, mercilessly not giving your lover any other choice. 

that made the dam burst, loads and loads of his spend was released in your sex. his cries were sharp, the loudest you’d ever heard from him. you noticed there were actual tears in his eyes, you carefully wiped them away with the tips of your fingers. 

“daddy? i reallyyy want a sister, but i don’t care that much at all, to be honest. a healthy sibling would be perfect.” ♡

“Calm down, baby,” he sighed, stopping you before you could walk through the fence gate of your parents’ backyard. “You think they won’t like me?” 

“I’ve never introduced anyone to them,” you explained. “It’s not that I think they won’t like you. I have absolutely no idea how they’ll react.”

Jack had reassured you and walked in behind you, a polite smile on his face. Your family stared him down as you both walked up to your parents to greet them first. 

“Hi, honey,” your mom smiled, kissing your cheek after hugging you. “Who’s this?” 

“Jack Abbot,” he took the initiative. “It’s great to meet you guys.” 

“Strong handshake,” your dad hummed, puffing his chest out slightly. You cringed internally, glancing between him and Jack with a nervous expression. Was he really going to try the macho bullshit? 

“It’s nice to meet you as well, hun,” your mom gripped your father’s forearm, forcing his hand away from Jack’s. “She’d mentioned she was seeing someone. Said he was very handsome and kind.” 

“Ma,” you groaned, covering your face. 

Jack let out a genuine laugh and said a few more things.

“So, how did you two meet?” Your mom questioned. 

“We met at work,” Jack answered. “I’m an attending physician at PTMC.” 

“Oh, you’re a doctor as well?” She smiled. “That’s great. How long have you been a doctor?” 

“Coming on two and a half decades now,” he nodded. 

“What did you do before that?” Your dad interjected. 

“I was an army medic,” Jack hummed. “That’s how I lost my leg.” 

You watched him lift his pant leg before placing a reassuring hand on his arm with a soft smile on your face. 

“My father was in the military,” your dad nodded. “I was as well. Ten years. They teach you a lot of things there. Discipline, routine…loyalty. My daughter is my world, Jack. You understand that?” 

“Dad,” you called out softly, but Jack squeezed your hand to stop you. 

“When she was born, I was sure that no man would ever be good enough for her,” he continued. “I made sure she knew exactly what she was worth. So, if she thinks that’s you, then all I can do is trust her on that. But let me make something clear, if you hurt her I will beat you with that leg of yours.” 

“Hey,” your mom smacked his shoulder. “Cut the act now.” 

Your dad narrowed his eyes slightly before he broke out into a smile. “I’m just kidding, come here, son,” he wrapped Jack up in a tight embrace. “Welcome to the family.” 

Your body physically relaxed and a relieved breath left you. They hugged for maybe a second longer, your father murmuring something inaudible to you and your mom. 

The rest of the night went smoothly. Your little cousins took a liking to Jack and the fact he was “part robot” because of his leg. Jack seemed happy. He’d expressed his want for children and you’d given it serious thought. Seeing him with them had only solidified your decision, so there were no worries there. 

Now, you both were walking down the street to his parked truck, hand in hand, smiling as you went over the events of the night. 

“Hey,” you pursed your lips. “What did my dad say to you earlier?” 

All Jack did was smile and kiss you softly. 

He’d keep the little surprise of your grandmother’s ring to himself for the time being. That would be his information to share when the time was right.

thank you for reading! reblogs are always appreciated <3

You were sitting on the concrete, huddled next to the rear wheel of Smurf's car. He couldn't tell if you'd gotten in on your own or if Smurf had opened the gate, but it didn't matter at that moment.

His throat closed up when he saw the large bruises on your body and the cuts on your face. You were practically naked, wearing only a pale lace bra and panties, shivering violently. But it wasn't the cold that was making you shiver.

You were soaked in blood.

Not a spray. A torrent.

It was matted in your hair, smeared across your chest, drying dark and tacky along your thighs.

In your right hand, locked in a cadaveric grip, was a ten inch chef’s knife.

"Pope..." Deran’s voice cracked, dropping his helmet. "Holy shit."

Andrew didn't speak.

His world narrowed down to the sound of your ragged breathing.

For months, he had watched you rot from the inside out.

He’d seen the way he spoke to you. The subtle poisonous words at first: You’re useless, you’re crazy, nobody else would ever look at you.

Then the loud ones, shouted through the walls while Andrew stood on the street outside, jaw clenched so hard his teeth felt like they’d shatter, waiting for a signal to go in and tear the man apart.

Deran had begged you to leave him.

Andrew had silently stalked your driveway, a ghost in the dark, keeping guard through a week of escalating screaming matches.

They had tried to protect you.

But they were too late for whatever happened tonight.

Andrew approached you like he’d approach a wounded animal: slow and deliberate. His eyes were wide with a rare panic.

"Hey, princess," Andrew murmured, dropping down to his knees right in front of you on the concrete. "Hey. Whose blood is it?"

Your eyes were wide, glassy, staring straight through the wall in front of you. Your jaw was trembling so hard your teeth chattered loudly in the quiet space.

"He wouldn't shut up," you whispered. Your voice was ruined. "He wouldn't- he wouldn't shut up. He said... he said those things... He said he’d break me."

"He's wrong," Deran said, his voice choking back a wave of nausea as he hovered just behind Pope, wildly looking around for a towel, a blanket, anything. "Whatever he said he's wrong, princess. We talked about this."

"Deran.." Andrew warned. "Go inside. Don't tell Smurf, or Craig." Deran nodded and followed his command, trusting him with you.

"I told him..." You let out a terrifying laughter, dry and completely shattered. "I told him I was losing it tonight and he just laughed... fucking asshole laughing at me."

Your voice spiked into a screech on the last word, the knife trembling violently in your fist as you pointed it at Andrew 's chest. Your chest heaved, a manic grin tearing across your blood stained lips before dropping just as fast into utter emptiness.

"He liked me quiet, didn't he?" you breathed, your eyes locking onto Andrew's with intensity. "He liked me quiet, Andrew... and I'm fucking crazy. He KNEW I would do it, I fucking warned him."

The psychotic break in your voice tore right through Andrew's chest. Andrew didn't move away from the blade aimed at his heart.

He knew that madness.

"Luna..." Andrew said quietly, trying to find you in the storm of your collapsing mind. "Princess, give me th-"

"He wouldn't shut up... he was laughing... he wouldn't stop..." You slipped right back into the loop, your head shaking frantically as the knife dropped lower, your body convulsing with fresh tremors. "and then, the noise... the noise just... stopped. I needed him to stop."

Andrew slowly reached out, his hand hovering over the blade. He saw the way your fingers were locked around the wooden hilt. Your knuckles were completely white, the tendons strained to their absolute limit.

"Give me the knife," Andrew said gently. "Give it to me, princess."

You squeezed the hilt tighter. "He was so loud, Andrew. I had to do it."

"I know. I know he was," Andrew whispered. He gently laid his hand over yours, over the sticky hilt.

Your whole body tensed up, as you thought back to the situation from hours before.

"Hey, look at me, come back to me," Andrew commanded.

Finally, your wild eyes dragged away from the memory and locked onto his. The unadulterated horror bleed through your manic haze nearly brought Andrew Cody to his knees.

"I've got you," Andrew promised, his thumb gently smoothing over your bloody knuckles. "He can't laugh at you anymore. He's never going to scream at you again. You hear me? It's over. But you gotta let go of this now. Let me take it."

It took long seconds. Slowly, finger by finger, your hand uncurled. The muscles in your forearm quivered with exhaustion as your grip finally failed.

Andrew carefully slid the knife out of your hand. Without taking his eyes off you, he slid it across the cement, away from you.

The second the weapon was gone, the adrenaline burned out, leaving only ruin.

You stared at your bloodied hands as if seeing them for the very first time. The manic fog cleared just enough for the crushing weight of reality to collapse right onto you. You caved inward, clutching frantically at your bare, blood streaked stomach, your chest violently heaving.

"D- Did I hurt-" the words choked out of you, raw and horrified. You looked up at Andrew, your eyes blown wide with sudden comprehension. "Did I hurt you? Oh God, Andrew, I hurted him, is he dead? I didn't mean to-Andrew, I didn't mean to-"

You couldn't catch your breath, hyperventilating, sobbing so hard your whole body convulsed.

Andrew pulled off his jacket, wrapped it tightly around your shoulders, and pulled you up into his chest. He dragged your violently shaking body completely into his lap, wrapping his arms around you like a vice, burying his face in your blood matted hair.

"I'm okay, you didn't hurt me," Andrew muttered. He held you tight enough to keep you from falling apart completely, letting your tears and the drying blood smear across his neck and shirt. "I don't know exactly what happened, but I've got you, okay?"

He didn't care about the mess, the blood, you tears soacking his clothes. He didn't care about the body that was sitting in an apartment a few miles away, or the nightmare cleanup they were going to have to do.

He cared about you.

"I'm right here," Andrew kept repeating into your hair, his own eyes burning with tears as he rocked you back and forth on the garage floor. "I'll take care of it. Don't worry."

-'🖤⛓ ⁠*⁠.⁠‧₊˚

Then, Ava said your name.

Yelena twirled a knife between her fingers. “You sure that’s a good idea? You told me she nearly blew up your apartment that one time.”

Ava rolled her eyes and looked down at her boots. “We’ve grown since then.”

You had grown. A lot.

The breakup hadn’t been graceful. There were tears, there was even a screaming match in a Denny’s parking lot that still lived rent-free in both your heads. You had called her “a quantum-emotional black hole,” and she had told you to go “code a conscience.”

Yes, it had hurt, but that was years ago. Now, you both have healed. Mostly.

When the team asked who the hell you were, Ava crossed her arms and said, “She’s… my ex.”

—

The first day Ava brought you into the team, you walked into the tower with a casual confidence that came from having seen some serious shit and come out the other end smarter.

“Hi,” you said, with a crooked smile. “I’m the tech gremlin Ava warned you about.”

Alexei boomed, “Welcome, gremlin!” and clapped you on the back so hard you nearly stumbled. Yelena snorted and shook your hand. Bob waved from behind a magazine.

That was when you felt two eyes watching you. 

Bucky turned toward you, his eyes scanning you from head to toe. His face was unreadable, but his teeth clenched slightly as he studied in the way you moved, the way you owned the space around you without trying. His voice, when he spoke, was almost thoughtful.

“Good to have you here,” he said, like he meant it. Like he wasn’t just saying hello, but figuring out how to categorise you in his mind. You caught the flicker of curiosity in his eyes— the kind felt like… interest.

John didn’t even pretend not to stare. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest, and gave you a once-over that could only be described as bold. He ran a hand through his hair, almost reflexively, like he’d suddenly become aware of what he looked like. 

“Well,” he said, dragging the word out just enough to make it suggestive. “Ava wasn’t kidding.”

You tilted your head. “What?”

He smirked unapologetically. “Trouble.”

—

It didn’t take long for the team to realise you weren’t just a tech genius, you were now fully committed to being their tech genius. You made the tower feel less like a military base and more like a home with a working AI that cracked corny jokes that you programmed, a custom coffee bar that responded to voice commands, and a training sim you programmed to replicate everything from underground bunkers to Waffle House at 2 a.m.

As expected, Ava adjusted to you faster than anyone. Maybe it was the years of history. After the first week, she stopped introducing you as her ex and just started calling you her friend.

You soon realised you still fight like you did before — a reason why this relationship would never work— but now, the two of you high-fived when you cooled off. 

Growth, right?

Besides, you might not love her like that anymore, but you still liked each other as people.

Yelena warmed up to you in her own way. The first time she watched you dismantle a Chitauri drone with a spork and some chewing gum, she nudged your shoulder and declared, “I like you.” After that, you two started tag-teaming pranks. You were the brains, she was the brawn. Bob started avoiding both of you in the mornings.

Speaking of Bob— he liked you from the second you complimented the topping on his sandwich. It didn’t take long to figure out that the key to staying on Bob’s good side was noticing the small things—especially the ones he’d clearly put effort into. Whether it was a meticulously layered lunch or a new patch sewn onto his jacket, a little encouragement went a long way. Bob cared, and he noticed when you cared back.

Alexei decided you were family the moment you added a cooling system into his old Red Guardian suit. He cried a little, and you pretended not to notice. He started calling you "little hacker bear," which you endured with a sigh and a hidden smile.

But it was Bucky and John who were... complicated.

They were never outright fighting, not over you, but there was some kind of tension there.

Bucky would suddenly appear next to you during team meetings, John would offer to “help” on any mission you signed onto. It was like they were both orbiting you but never said anything since… they didn't even know you liked men.

Until…

It was sometime after midnight— Ava, Yelena, and you all gathered in the kitchen, raiding the snack stash and talking nonsense. Between spoonfuls of Nutella and sips of juice, the conversation had shifted to hookups and exes.

“I don’t really have a type,” you said, tapping the spoon against your lip. “But Ava’s still the most chaotic person I’ve ever dated.”

Ava rolled her eyes, orange juice in hand. “You’re just mad I called you a 'human rootkit' that one time.”

“One time?” you repeated incredulously. “You said it on my birthday.”

Yelena chuckled and bit into her cookie.  “Wait, wait, I need a ranking. Who’s number one on your disaster list?”

“Oh, easy,” you said. “I once hooked up with a guy who tried to implant a chip in my spine during sex.”

Yelena choked on a chocolate chip and burst into laughter. “What?! Who does that?”

“That’s not a hookup,” Ava rolled her eyes, “that’s an assassination attempt.”

“Yeah, well,” you shrugged, “Sue me. He had a great jawline.”

Yelena wiped a tear from her eye. “I still don’t get how you both do the dating thing. Romance seems like... too much paperwork.”

You chuckled. “That’s because you’re not built for emotional bureaucracy, Lena.”

Then came the sound—clunk—something hitting the floor behind you.

You glanced over your shoulder.

Bucky was standing in the kitchen doorway like someone had blue-screened his brain, his eyes just a little too wide. Next to him, John blinked, mouth half-open like he’d just discovered a cheat code.

Ava frowned. “You okay?”

Still, nothing. It was almost as if the two of them turned into statues.

Yelena tilted your head. “Let them be.”

You all turned back to your snack, brushing it off like it was nothing.

But Bucky’s mind was racing. She dates guys? She dates—oh. Okay. Okay, noted. Calm down.

John, meanwhile, was already recalibrating his entire mindset. Bi. She’s bi. That’s... that’s a green light, right? That counts. I'm still in this.

You smiled just a little wider as you took another bite of Nutella. Oh, You thought to yourself, they didn't know.

—

It was a lazy afternoon when Ava found you leaning against the railing of the upper balcony overlooking the tower’s gym. Your elbows rested on the metal bar, your eyes locked on the sparring mat below like a cat watching her prey.

Bucky and John were sparring.

Both of them were in sleeveless shirts, their muscles slick with sweat, fabric clinging to their bodies. Every movement was fast and brutal, calculated but controlled punches delivered by two men who knew how to hit where it hurt. The sound of fists meeting flesh echoed through the rafters rhythmically like the world’s most aggressive metronome.

You bit your lip as Bucky landed a clean hit to John’s ribs. John growled, retaliating with a shove that sent Bucky back, just enough to bait him. Then they were grappling— Bucky flipping John onto his back with a twist, only for John to wrap his legs around Bucky’s waist and counter. Your brain short-circuited for a moment.

A small, involuntary sigh escaped your lips.

Behind you, Ava flickered into solid matter and groaned. “No. No, no, no. Don’t even think about it.”

You feigned innocence, even though you were unable to keep your eyes off them. “Think about what?”

“Them!”

You arched an eyebrow. “Jealous?”

“Oh please,” she rolled her eyes, almost fondly. “I’m over you. You leave your wet towels on the bed and talk through movies.”

“But you loved it,” you teased.

“I was deluded.”

“Then why do you care who I ogle?”

Ava gestured aggressively toward the mat, where Bucky now had John pinned, forearm pressed to his chest. “Because I’m trying to save you from yourself. That—” she waved again, exasperated, “is more testosterone for any one girl to handle.”

You hummed, eyes drifting back down. Bucky smirked—he was enjoying this match. John wasn’t exactly fighting him off. 

“…Still,” you whispered, mouth dry, “I could die happy.”

Ava gave you a look of utter betrayal. “I am begging you— please get a vibrator and some standards.”

You shrugged, smug. 

“Fine,” she sighed, “Just don’t come crying to me when one of them broods in your bed for six hours and the other tries to impress you by bench-pressing a motorcycle.”

You rested your head on your hands and kept admiring the view. “Sounds kind of hot.”

She gave you a deadpan stare, but there was affection tucked under the exasperation. “So was Pompeii.”

You both fell into a companionable silence, leaning side by side on the railing. Below, John reversed the pin and shoved Bucky to the mat, bodies tangled, both panting like they needed to tear each other apart or make out about it.

Maybe Ava was right. Maybe this was a terrible idea.

But terrible ideas never looked this good.

—

The first time Bucky did anything about his little crush on you, it was in the kitchen.

After weeks of glances and flirtation, you and Bucky finally broke.

He was cooking that night.

That alone had caught you off guard. The vision of a man built like a brick house and shaped by decades violence, calmly slicing onions like he was born with a chef’s knife in one hand and a combat knife in the other was… something. He had his sleeves rolled up, hair tied back, brow furrowed in focus. His movements were measured, even now.

His human forearm flexed as he chopped. 

You leaned against the counter, letting your eyes roam freely. “Didn’t peg you for the domestic type, chef.”

Without looking up, he replied, “Didn’t peg you for someone who talks this much, at first.”

Your eyebrow arched. “That supposed to be an insult?”

He finally glanced your way. “It’s just… true.”

With Bucky, everything felt like it could tilt into something else if you pushed too hard — or not hard enough. You’d been dancing around this for weeks.

Tonight, you reached.

You brushed past him, on purpose, to grab a spice jar. His arm shot out, catching your wrist mid-motion. Not hard, not rough, just… firm. 

“You’re in my space,” he warned, almost amused.

You looked up at him through your lashes. “You gonna make me move?”

His eyes dropped to your mouth. “You like playing with fire?”

“Wouldn’t you like to find out?” You taunted, stepping closer.

That was all it took.

He moved forward, capturing your mouth in a kiss that felt like a nuclear detonation. His hands were on your waist, dragging you against him, mouth hungry like he’d wanted this forever and finally stopped trying to resist.

But even then—he pulled back, just enough to breathe.

“Tell me you want this,” he said, voice hoarse, forehead pressed to yours. “I need to hear it.”

You reached up, tugged the tie from his hair, and let his hair fall.

“I want this,” you confirmed. “I want you, Bucky.”

The look in his eyes was electric, like your words lit a fuse.

You barely heard the clatter of the spice jar hitting the floor.

“Upstairs. Now,” he growled against your lips, breath ragged.

You grinned, dizzy from his mouth. “Bossy.”

He grabbed your chin, fingers pressing just enough to make you gasp. “No. Just in control.”

You didn’t walk to your room. You stumbled and tripped. Bucky shoved you inside like he couldn’t wait another second—like he’d combust if he didn’t have you now.

He didn’t undress you. He destroyed your clothes, like fabric was just an obstacle between his hands and your skin. His mouth followed, trailing heat and teeth and filthy sounds.

His hands gripped your thighs, spreading you wide. 

“You wanna act smart,” he murmured, dragging his mouth along your collarbone, “but this—” his fingers slid between your legs, satisfied with the sleek heat, “—this doesn’t lie.”

You gasped, loudly.

He chuckled darkly before pulling back. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

And then, he wrecked you.

He fucked like he fought. He pinned your wrists above your head and made you beg without ever asking for it. Every breath he dragged from your lungs belonged to him. The bruises he left weren’t careless, they were crafted. 

Perhaps, after so many years without control, he craved it in other ways.

You weren’t complaining.

And when you came, you saw white.

You didn’t even know your own name for a moment. Just the sound of his voice growling filth in your ear and the press of his body, too hot, too good, too much.

Then, when your body was trembling from aftershocks and your back had slid down the wall—he crouched in front of you, sweaty hair falling into his face, pupils blown wide. He kissed your thigh, then your knee.

“Not done,” he said roughly. “Not even close.”

Much, much later, you lay tangled in his sheets, his hand splayed over your hip, thumb idly stroking a bruise he’d left with his teeth.

You turned your head lazily. “Just so you know… I’m seeing other people.”

He didn’t look at you, but blinked up at the ceiling like he was processing it.

“That okay?” you asked.

“I told myself I didn’t want anything serious,” he said carefully.

“And now?”

His eyes finally met yours. “It’s still okay.”

You smiled, smug. But his grip on your hip tightened, just a little. Just enough to remind you who put those bruises there.

“Just make sure they don’t leave marks I can see,” he warned. “Because I will cover them up.” His mouth brushed your shoulder. “With mine.”

—

You and John started in your workspace.

It wasn’t planned. It sure as hell wasn’t smart.

John Walker didn’t do subtle, and he didn’t really do hard boundaries, either. He just strolled in one afternoon—boots echoing against concrete, hands in his pockets, that shit-eating grin already stretching across his face.

“Whatcha workin’ on, genius?” he asked, giving a peek to his southern charm.

You didn’t look up, though you smiled. You just kept working, fingers moving with precision over the exposed wiring of a decapitated drone.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” you teased.

He moved closer and leaned in. Your teeth clenched when his breath skimmed your neck.

“Not when I’ve got the best view in the building,” he said, like it was obvious.

You finally glanced over. “You flirt like a linebacker with a head injury,” you pointed out playfully.

He laughed. “It’s working, is it?”

John kept showing up after that. You kept pretending he was a nuisance. He asked stupid questions just to make you roll your eyes. Sometimes you caught him watching your hands while you worked— like he was wondering if they could dismantle him as easily as they dismantled a machine.

By the fourth visit, you flirted back. You didn’t expect him to love  it. But he did, as if you’d flipped a switch in him he didn’t know he had.

By the next visit, you had him against the wall,your fingers twisted in his collar, mouths crashing like you were trying to win a war through friction. He gasped into it, hands hovering like he didn’t know where to touch until you grabbed his wrist and put it on your waist.

See, John didn’t take control like Bucky did.

John gave it up.

Maybe, after years of being on top of the chain of field command, he now just wanted to follow orders.

“You want this?” you asked, lips brushing his jaw.

“Yes,” he groaned. “Fuck, yes. Just—tell me what to do.”

So you did.

You pushed him down to his knees on the cold concrete floor. He didn’t hesitate. Looked up at you with flushed cheeks, eyes wide, tongue wetting his lower lip, palms pressed to your thighs.

You used him, and he liked it.

He made sounds like prayer— muffled, desperate, needy. And when you came with your hand in his hair and his name tangled in your throat, he looked prouder than he did when he got a medal of honour.

Later when your bodies were tangled in sweat-stuck sheets, he sat on the edge of your bed, bare-chested, his hands twitching like they didn’t know how to relax around you.

“I’m not lookin’ for anything serious,” he said suddenly, voice quieter. His back was to you. “Got a kid. A real messy life. Divorce. Not yet, at least.”

You reached for the sheet, tugging it over your chest. “Same, I…,” you hesitated, but then realised you needed to be honest. “I’m seeing other people, too,” you added carefully.

He froze as you watched the breath catch in his throat before he forced himself to nod.

“Cool,” he said, but his voice cracked. He reached down and started picking at a loose thread on your blanket like it might hold him together. You tilted your head.

“You sure?” you asked, not unkindly.

He turned back to you then. All that Walker bravado was stripped away. He was just a man now— a little bruised, a little confused, but also… satisfied.

“Yeah,” he said finally, voice rougher and forcing a smile. “Long as I still get to see you.”

—

This was fine. It had to be fine.

You’d been honest with them—at least technically. You told them you weren’t exclusive, told them you were seeing other people. 

What you didn’t tell them—what you hadn’t figured out how to say—was that the other person was each other.

You didn’t plan for things to get this tangled. At first, it really was casual — nothing more than mutual attraction carefully packaged in boundaries you thought would keep everyone safe. 

But those lines blurred fast. 

Because it didn’t feel casual when Bucky touched you. Not when he held your face like it was made of gold, or kissed you like he was trying to edit your past and write himself into every footnote. His control made you drown in your own body, in the best possible way.

And it didn’t feel casual when John looked at you like you were a miracle. Like every time you gave him an order was a gift and he didn’t know what he did to deserve it. He pleased you with a grin and a groan— and then he’d hold you afterward, tighter than you’d ever asked him to. 

They were both rough— just in different ways.

Bucky fucked you like he had to, like he was afraid it was the last time, like he needed to memorise you. Like if he touched you hard enough, long enough, the world would stop trying to take things from him.

John fucked you like he wanted to, like every touch was a prize, like he couldn't believe you kept letting him back in. Like he was proud to be wanted, even if only for the night.

You weren’t supposed to catch feelings. Not for either of them.

Definitely not for both.

But then you started smiling when you heard their footsteps. You reached for both of them in your sleep sometimes, not knowing who you were dreaming about.

Every other night, almost like clockwork, one of them would find their way to your door.

You actually had to make a chart. A chart, because you were starting to forget who liked which pillow, who left bruises and who left bite marks. You were scheduling orgasms like mission briefings, trying not to moan the other’s name by mistake— because you could not choose. You held affection for them equally, and it hurt too much to let either of them go. It got to the point where you were on your knees for John in the sauna, still tasting Bucky’s name in your mouth. Or bent over Bucky’s bathtub, still sore from the night before, as he grunted your name against your throat.

And it wasn’t just about the sex anymore.

Bucky started learning your habits like clockwork. He remembered which tea helped when your anxiety hit at 2 a.m. He kept your favourite blanket folded on the couch and would wrap you in it without a word when you looked too far away in your thoughts. On missions, he always messaged when he could, just a single “Still breathing” or a blurry photo of him with his thumbs up. And when he knew he’d be gone too long, he pre-ordered your favourite takeaway to arrive during dinner time. 

John, in his own chaotic way, made a ritual of “jogging” every morning, conveniently ending his route at your favorite coffee shop. The baristas all knew your order by now, and somehow, he always remembered to ask if you needed anything added— extra syrup on bad days, oat milk when your stomach was off. The cup would be in your hands before you were even fully awake, a lopsided smile on his face like he hadn’t just run three miles to bring it to you. 

Afterward, when your bodies were tangled and the room smelled like sweat, they both let you talk about anything and everything. Bucky would lie behind you, chin resting on your shoulder, his fingers tracing shapes into your skin, humming low while you vented about broken code. The next night, John would lie there shirtless, grinning like your voice was the soundtrack to his day, chiming in with half-jokes even when he had no idea what you were talking about.

They didn’t interrupt. They didn’t try to fix you. But Bucky always made sure your favorite hoodie was warm before you put it on. John picked up extra snacks at the store he thought you’d like and left them on your desk without a word. 

With them, you didn’t have to perform. You could just be.

Neither of them never really asked who else you slept with, not in any way that mattered.

Maybe, they just didn’t want to know.

Then… you started watching them.

Not in a weird way.

But you had to. Because somewhere between the fourth orgasm of the week and realising you were genuinely worried about hurting their feelings, you started noticing… things.

You’d catch it in the small stuff first — how Bucky would shift his stance slightly when someone mentioned John’s name. He wasn’t annoyed, it was just… tense. 

Or how John would crack a playful joke at Bucky's expense with just a little too much nervous laughter. Like he was trying to prove it didn’t get under his skin. 

You told yourself it was nothing. Just two men with history, different temperaments, too much testosterone and too many kills between them.

But then came the moments that weren’t so easy to brush off.

Like during training, John tossed Bucky a practice knife with that cocky little grin he got when he was showing off. Bucky catching it mid-air without even glancing up, tossing it back with an underhand spin John blinked, just once—but his ears went a little pink.

Or in the gym, they loved sparring with each other, circling like wolves. You were pretty sure it wasn’t just competitive. Bucky would push a little too hard, like he was daring John to pin him. And John did— just a second too long, straddling Bucky’s hips before standing up too fast, like he suddenly remembered where he was.

In the field, too. One time, a mission went sideways, and Bucky took a hit meant for John— just a graze, but it was messy. And John, who rarely ever panicked, looked like the ground had dropped out from under him. He didn’t even realise he’d said Bucky’s name three times until Yelena touched his shoulder in an attempt to calm him down. 

Then, Bob would complain after walking out of the locker room, telling you John and Bucky had stood side by side as they changed shirts. Apparently, according to Bob, neither looked, but their necks were tense like they were fighting not to.

The week after that, after a tough fight, John was bleeding from a cut along his ribs. You were too tired to play nurse, so Bucky offered. You watched him clean the wound with a gentleness that was only usually reserved for you. John didn’t flinch, he didn’t even look away. When Bucky finally stepped back, he said, “Should’ve been more careful.”

John, who usually scowled when Ava patched him up, answered quietly. “I know.”

Bucky didn’t answer.

One night, they both even showed up at your office for a little visit—separately, but close enough that the timing got awkward. You made up some excuse about being busy dismantling Yelena’s widow bites to send them both away. 

As they stood at the door, Bucky glanced at John. “New haircut?”

John blinked. “Yeah. You noticed?”

Bucky shrugged. “Suits you.”

John’s ears turned red. “Thanks.”

They didn’t make eye contact again before leaving.

That was the first time you really saw it. The… shape of it. It became too persistent to ignore.

Because the more you studied them, the more you started to understand.

Bucky had grown up in a time when you didn’t talk about attraction unless it was for a woman in a red dress. And John… John had that Southern-boy thing. That “yes sir, no sir, God bless America” kind of upbringing that didn’t leave a lot of room for nuance.

Neither of them had been homophobic, but there was shame woven into their bones. Silent, inherited shame, that you once felt yourself, woven so deeply they didn’t even recognise it. They didn’t know what to do with the tension, the quick glances, the way their bodies leaned toward each other before jerking back.

So they wrote it off, buried it.

But you saw it. Because you were sleeping with both of them. Because you knew how they kissed. How they touched. How they looked at each other the same way they looked at you. 

And sometimes… you caught yourself wondering, What if they kissed each other?

Would Bucky be gentle at first, like he didn’t trust it to be real? Would John go still before melting into it like he always did so desperately?

Would it change everything?

—

The week later, you watched above as the gear room buzzed with noise— velcro was ripping, gear shifting, metal clinking, and the buzz of fluorescent lights filled the room. 

Bucky and John were prepping side by side.

They moved like practicing dance— a precise, practiced choreography of compression shirts, tactical pants, holsters, buckles, and chest plates snapping into place. 

Bucky leaned forward to check his knives, his shoulder brushing John’s. 

John didn’t flinch or step away. Instead, he smirked the kind of smile that was either a challenge or a dare.

“You’re slow today, Grandpa,” he said, trying to sound casual, like he wasn’t paying too much attention. Like he hadn’t noticed the contact, but his eyes slid sideways, catching the line of Bucky’s jaw.

Bucky didn’t glance up. “You’re being too skittish. Rookie nerves?”

John chuckled. “Just don’t wanna carry your corpse out of another blown-up warehouse.”

That made Bucky pause. He turned, eyes sharp but not hostile. “You couldn’t lift me if you tried.”

John stepped in, barely an inch closer. “You want me to try?”

For a second, neither moved.

They stood there— inches apart, shoulders squared, as if they were two lions deciding whether to bite or bare their throats.

From the upper level of the gear bay, Ava walked in and settled beside you. 

“Jesus,” Ava whistled low at the sight of the two supersoldiers. “Either they’re about to punch each other, or they’re about to make out on the bench.”

You didn’t look away. “Honestly?” You sighed, “Either would make it so much easier on me.”

Ava turned her head cautiously. “What… did you do?”

You sighed again. “Them.”

She choked on her spit. “What?”

“Not at the same time,” you added quickly, raising both hands in surrender. “It just… happened.”

“Oh my god,” she breathed, laughing somewhere between horrified and impressed. “You actually did it. You overachiever.”

You shrugged helplessly, eyes drifting back to the scene below. 

John was brushing imaginary lint off Bucky’s chest now. Bucky swatted at his hand—but not really. Then adjusted a strap on John’s vest, muttering something that made John roll his eyes. But he didn’t move away, not even when Bucky tugged the strap tighter than necessary.

You tilted your head, frowning. “You ever think…”

Ava cut in. “That they might be bi? Uh, yeah. Look at them. They’re two seconds away from full Top Gun volleyball.”

You heard a voice behind you.

“Oh, those two?”

You turned to find Yelena approaching—completely unfazed, chewing a bubblegum. 

She shrugged. “Bob and I have a bet going on who’s gonna come out first. He thinks Walker. I say Barnes.”

You chuckled. 

Below, John reached over Bucky’s shoulder for a carabiner and absolutely did not need to drag the back of his hand across Bucky’s chest to do it. 

You crossed your arms tighter, heart thudding in your chest as you watched them move around each.

Maybe, just maybe, you weren’t the only one tangled up between the lines.

—

The mission had been a goddamn mess— a high-risk information extraction in tight hallways with zero visibility and bodies coming from every direction. When they were done, getting out felt more like an escape than a strategy. Bucky’s shoulder was wrecked, John’s knuckles were split, raw, and bloodied. 

The flight back was quiet.

No banter or bickering— just the hum of adrenaline simmering beneath the surface. Now, back in the Tower, they sat in the locker room, stripping out of kevlar, breathing hard. 

John was the first to speak up.

“Christ,” he said. “I need to blow off some steam.”

Across from him, Bucky sat hunched forward on the bench, forearms resting on his knees, head bowed. His breathing had steadied, but his heart was ticking like a clock.

“Yeah,” Bucky said, “Me too.”

John leaned back, swiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “What’s your method? Gym? Whiskey?”

Bucky’s head tilted slightly, and like a match had just been struck from behind his eyes. “I’ve got someone.”

John narrowed his eyes. “Someone?”

“Yeah.” Bucky didn’t volunteer any names or details, but his tone changed. It wasn’t cocky— but it was almost a private kind of smug satisfaction.

John’s brow furrowed. “In the Tower?”

Bucky gave a small nod. “Mhm.”

John’s posture shifted. He sat up straighter, body suddenly more alert than it had been during the mission. “Wait. Who?”

John ran through the options quickly, mentally eliminating names like a checklist. Not Ava—definitely a lesbian. Yelena’s ace. Mel was too young for either of them, and no one liked Val. Bucky was straight, right? Which left…

“No,” John said aloud, mostly to himself. “No fucking way.”

Bucky didn’t say a word and started wrapping his shoulder with compression tape.

John’s stomach dropped. His throat tightened. “…You’re not talking about—”

Bucky’s eyes lifted to meet his. “Why?” He arched a brow. “You got a guess?”

A part of John didn’t want to answer, didn’t want to know. But his brain was already lining up all the pieces. 

The look you gave Bucky after missions. The scratches he didn’t remember leaving that definitely weren’t left by human hands. The way Bucky looked at you sometimes—like he was starving and angry about it. In hindsight, it was obvious.

“I…” John cleared his throat, suddenly unsure of how his voice worked. “Yeah. I do.”

And then, he said your name.

Bucky didn’t deny it.

John stared at him—and for the first time, he saw the cuts, the bruises, the fact that he looked like he was safeguarding his own heart. 

“I…” John hesitated, “I am, too,” he finally choked out, barely audible.

There it was.

It all… clicked.

All of it. The missing hours. The bruises in the same spots. The way your voice always changed when you talked about “seeing someone else.” 

“Oh fuck,” Bucky sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You’re the other guy.”

John sighed, “You’re the other guy.”

They stared at each other. Both had trained for war, both had been through too much, but this kind of realisation was... different. 

Not because you lied; you hadn’t. You’d been honest from the beginning. You just never told them it was each other.

And now, they were too deep to pretend it didn’t matter. 

—

Your room was dim, bathed in the amber glow of the bedside salt lamp. Outside the Tower, the city glittered like spilled stars against the velvet in your room. You were in satin— shorts riding high, camisole slipping from one shoulder. 

You hadn’t dressed for anyone but yourself, yet somehow, you found yourself excited when someone knocked on your door.

Barefoot, you walked to the door of your quarters and opened it.

There they stood, both John and Bucky.

John’s eyes burned — wounded and questioning, but desperate not to show either. Bucky, flexed his metal wrist like he couldn’t decide whether to knock again or slam it into the wall.

“Well,” you breathed out, leaning against the doorframe, “either someone died… or you two finally figured it out.”

John brushed past you and entered without a word, while Bucky lingered a second longer, his eyes dragging over the line of your throat, the slope of your bare shoulder. before stepping in and closing the door.

“Make yourselves at home,” you said dryly, but your heartbeat was thundering beneath your skin.

You sank into the couch, letting your legs drape sideways. They didn’t sit.

They circled — not around you — but around each other.

“You should’ve told us,” John said. “Told me.”

“Told you what?” You tilted your head. “That I wasn’t exclusive? I did.”

“No,” Bucky interjected. “That we were both seeing you.”

“And if I had, what?” you arched a brow, “You would’ve compared notes? Flipped a coin?”

John’s lips tightened. “You could’ve said something.”

“You’re just mad you didn’t figure it out on your own,” Bucky grumbled under his breath.

“I should’ve,” John snapped back. “You acted like you owned her.”

“And you weren’t?” Bucky scoffed. “Always marking your territory—”

“Don’t tell me how I—”

You cut in, too tired for this frankly pointless argument. “Is this really about me?” Your voice was more silent now. “Because it feels like you’re trying to fight each other through me.”

John stopped moving. Bucky’s shoulders dropped.

You leaned back, the satin pulling tighter over your thigh, and both their eyes flicked there instinctively, before snapping up with visible guilt. You sighed, resting your arms on the couch behind you.

“If it helps…” you said, treading carefully, “I think you might be into each other, too.”

The look they had behind their eyes was like dropping a match into oil.

“What the hell are you talking about?” John barked.

“No,” Bucky said at the same time. Not angry—terrified.

You tilted your head. “You fight like people who want to fuck or cry, maybe both. You get jealous like people who haven’t admitted how badly they want the other.”

They didn’t speak.

“I’ve had both of you,” you continued, voice intimate now. “I know how you touch. How you look when you want someone. How you breathe when you're holding yourself back. And I see it when you look at each other.”

Bucky looked away first. John opened his mouth before closing it again.

You leaned forward, now pulling the trigger with a statement. “You’re angry because you’re not sure which one of us you’re more jealous of.”

Just like that, they panicked and started talking over each other again, as if they just went into survival mode. “I’m not into guys—” “He’s not my type, at all—” “This is ridiculous—” “She’s deflecting—” “I’m straight—” “So am I!—”

You shifted, letting the silence take its course. The camisole slipped gently off one shoulder, and it pulled their eyes whether they wanted it to or not.

“Boys,” you sighed, barely above a whisper.

They froze. Their breathing slowed—almost in sync.

“I get it,” you continued. “It's confusing. But for fuck’s sake–  stop lying to yourselves.”

Just like that, you felt the air shift, like a fragile click in the clockwork.

Bucky looked at John. And John… blinked like a door opened inside him that he hadn’t even known was locked.

You watched it wash over them: realisation.

Bucky’s lips parted. John took half a step back like it physically knocked the wind from him.

John finally whispered it. “Oh, fuck.”

Bucky shook his head slowly, lips pressed together. “No,” he whispered, eyes wide. “No, no, no—”

But his voice had no conviction. 

You relaxed and patted the couch cushions next to you — two ends, just far enough apart to be safe.

“Sit,” you said gently, like coaxing frightened animals.

Neither moved at first, but they did, eventually. Acquiescence didn’t come easily — not with their pride, their confusion, their egos — but it came.

John dropped down, spine rigid but legs spread wide like he was still braced for a fight. His knuckles were white where they gripped his knees. Bucky sat slower, as if the cushions were barbed wire. His arms stayed crossed, metal fingers tapping restlessly against his bicep. You were still in the middle, legs folded one over the other, satin now higher on your thighs. 

“I know what it’s like,” you said, laying your heart bare, “That click in your head… when you realise. And you don’t know if it’s freedom or a fucking death sentence.”

John’s eyes dropped to the floor, then flicked to Bucky, then away again, teeth grinding like he was trying to swallow glass. Bucky didn’t move, he didn’t even blink— he just stared straight ahead, breathing through his nose like his chest might cave in.

“It’s not a weakness,” you reassured quietly. “It’s not shameful to want something you were always told you shouldn’t.”

The plates of Bucky’s fingers twitched. John’s shoulders hunched.

“And you know what?” you kept going, carefully. “It makes sense that you’re confused. John, you told me about church. About football locker rooms. About your dad.” You turned to Bucky slowly, putting a hand on both their thighs. “And you came from a world where even touching another man too long meant getting locked in a psych ward. Of course you’re scared.”

Bucky’s voice was quiet, but hoarse. “I thought… I didn’t…” He managed to choke out, “I didn’t know.”

“I… I still don’t know,” John admitted, looking down.

“It’s not greedy to want both,” you said. “Or all. Or neither. Or something in between. You don’t have to call it anything. You don’t have to label it today, or tomorrow. But you shouldn't have to lie to yourselves just because the world made it hard to tell the truth.”

Their faces had changed, not dramatically. But the tension was different now. They were less… rigid.

You looked at both of them in turn.

“If you’re bisexual, you’re bisexual. If you’re pan, you’re pan. If all you know right now is that you want him, or you want me, or maybe you want both and it terrifies you—that’s okay.”

You reached for both of their hands—John’s was calloused, Bucky’s was cold vibranium. Your fingers slid between theirs, and neither pulled away.

“You don’t owe anyone certainty, but you shouldn’t deny yourselves that curiosity,” you rubbed soothing circles on their knuckles, “I care about both of you. ’m not trying to push you into something you’re not ready for. But I… see you.”

Their breathing had synced up without meaning to. They were both looking at you, and for once, it was not with jealousy or accusation or distraction—but with… recognition.

“I want this to be okay,” Bucky said, almost a whisper.

“So do I,” John echoed.

“It is okay,” you whispered. “You just have to let it be.”

You leaned in then, not to kiss, not yet — but to rest your forehead lightly against Bucky’s temple, your other hand brushing John’s knuckles as he gripped your knee.

And still, neither of them pulled away from your touch.

That’s when you realised, you weren’t in between them. You were the bridge.

You could feel them both vibrating beside you with something just shy of frenzy, as if touching each other or you would send everything over the edge. You exhaled slowly, before tilting your head toward them.

“Can I test a theory?” you asked, voice too sweet to be true.

They both nodded, eyes locked on you like you’d hung the moon.

You turned to Bucky first, climbing into his lap with grace, knowing exactly how to break a man apart. He choked on his own breath when your knees bracketed his thighs and your weight settled against him. His hands, both metal and flesh, fluttered for a moment, unsure of where to land, before they found your hips. Your lips brushed his—just once, like a tease— before you kissed him properly. He opened to you like a man who’d been holding his breath for decades. Your fingers wound into his hair, tugging, and he groaned softly into your mouth.

John hadn’t moved. You could feel his eyes on you both — on the way Bucky held you, the way your hips rolled. You didn’t see a hint of jealousy, not even a single hint  of possessive rage.

Instead, your theory was proven right. 

He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t even tense. He was... flushed, breathless, and very, very turned on.

You grinned as you rode one more slow grind into Bucky’s lap—just enough to make his head fall back against the couch with a curse—and then looked over at John.

“C’mere,” you said, voice like a spark to dry kindling.

He came closer. God, did he.

You reached for him as he reached for you, and your lips met in a kiss that was all tongue and heat and frustration burned down into feral need. John’s hands tangled in your hair, tugging, framing your face as you leaned back against Bucky, trapped between them. You moaned into his mouth, felt Bucky’s grip on your waist tighten as he watched.

And Bucky didn’t hate it.

He should have. A week ago, he would’ve punched John for taking what was his.

But now, after listening to you talk through your experiences, he couldn’t bring himself to look away. He loved the flush in John’s cheeks, the way your body writhed between them, the sight of his mouth on yours. He was transfixed. 

You pulled away from John, lips swollen, and looked between them—your two soldiers, your boys.

“I want you to try something,” you said carefully. You nudged gently between them, drawing them closer together. “Only if you want to.”

They hesitated, if only for a second. 

Then—almost in sync—they nodded.

And you watched as John turned to Bucky, watched as the uncertainty warred with curiosity in both of them. 

It started clumsy, just a brush of mouths— more uncertainty than contact.

But then they clicked.

Bucky’s hand came up to cradle John’s neck. John leaned in. The kiss deepened, it became urgent. Mouths opening, tongues sliding together, a shared breath between them. A shocked noise escaped one of them—you couldn’t tell who.

You slid off Bucky’s lap, legs folding under you as you perched on the coffee table in front of them, watching them kiss like they were unraveling everything they thought they knew about themselves. 

When they finally broke apart, it was almost… unwilling.

“What,” John blinked, dazed, “The fuck.”

Bucky was still touching his neck, his thumb rubbing slow circles. “I… liked that.”

You leaned in slowly, a smile curling at your lips as your mouth brushed Bucky’s ear, then John’s.

“Atta boys,” you whispered. “Told you. Nothing wrong with this.”

Your hands slid lightly across their thighs— just enough to make their breaths hitch again.

“Now,” you murmured, eyes dark. “I think it’s time we all blow off some steam.”

Their hands moved at the same time. One flesh, one metal. Both hungry, both learning how to be unafraid. They met midair, just inches from your thighs.

John’s calloused palm grazed Bucky’s vibranium knuckles, and both of them flinched like the contact had short-circuited their programming.

Then, you leaned back onto your hands on the table, satin parting at your thighs, fabric slipping open like a curtain revealing a show. Your legs shifted slightly apart as an invitation. As an anchor.

“Touch me together,” you whispered. “No one’s losing. You’re both here with me. With each other.”

You guided them up — gently threading your fingers through theirs, dragging their hands together up your thigh. You felt the tremble in both of them.

“Still scared?” you asked.

They nodded.

“Still want this?”

They answered in two voices, almost overlapping “Yeah.”

You dragged them both closer, until Bucky’s mouth was at your throat, his tongue tracing the beat of your pulse. John kissed your jaw like he wanted to bury every doubt he’d ever had.

You didn’t try to split the attention, and you didn't need to.

They were learning how to exist together. 

You caught Bucky’s hand and placed it flat against John’s chest, just over his heart.

“Feel that?” you told him. “He’s not the enemy.”

John’s breath hitched, but he didn’t move away. His fingers hovered, then wrapped slowly over Bucky’s wrist, holding him there. 

And then… without any direction from you, they… kissed again.

You watched, heat pooling low in your belly.

“Look at you,” you praised, almost reverent. “Figuring it out.”

John broke the kiss first, breathless. “I kissed a guy,” he whispered, like it hadn’t really hit him until just then.

“And you liked it,” Bucky said, almost amused.

You slid into John’s lap, letting your legs straddle him as you reached for Bucky, curling your fingers into the waistband of his jeans to pull him closer. The three of you tangled—hands on skin, mouths finding mouths, exploring, relearning what wanting felt like when it wasn’t laced with shame.

You tugged your top over your head. You were bare from the waist up, and their eyes followed, even as you helped them out of their clothes.

“I’ve got you,” you reassured, almost affectionately. “Both of you. Let go.”

And they did.

—

Hours later, the room was wrecked.

Sheets were half-hanging from the mattress. Your pajama shorts were slung over a lamp. Bucky’s dog tags tangled in the headboard, and John’s shirt was on the other side of the room. The air still smelled like skin and sweat and sex.

You were curled between them, blissed out, your limbs a lazy sprawl of post-chaos satisfaction. Bucky’s arm was draped over your waist like he’d claimed the space and wasn’t letting go. John lay on the other side, hands behind his head like a man pretending this wasn’t the first time he’d shared a bed with someone he couldn’t label.

“Well,” John finally said, clearing his throat, “that was… something.”

Bucky snorted without opening his eyes. “That’s your takeaway? ‘Something’? Jesus, Walker.”

John turned his head to glare at him, cheeks flushed. “Sorry, didn’t realise we were supposed to be doing slam poetry after an orgy.”

“It’s a threesome, technically,” Bucky corrected, just out of spite.

John rolled his eyes. “You’re technically so annoying for someone so hot.”

You made an amused sound between them, stretching with feline satisfaction. Your fingers traced a lazy line up Bucky’s chest, then reached across your stomach to trace the veins on John’s arm.

“You’re both very chatty for two people who just had their minds blown,” you said, lips quirked up.

John rubbed his face, groaning into his hands. “Yeah, well, I’m trying really hard not to overthink the fact that I—” He gestured vaguely, as if the admission physically hurt. “—liked it.”

Bucky cracked one eye open. “Define ‘it.’”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I really don’t. Be specific.”

John sighed dramatically, like a teenager admitting he cried during Toy Story. “You,” He choked out. “Okay? You.”

Bucky tilted his head, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, but it didn't look smug. A little touched, maybe. “You’re actually gonna say it out loud.”

John rolled his eyes. “You fucked me too, Barnes. Don’t act like you didn’t make that noise when—”

“Alright, alright,” Bucky cut in, holding up a hand. “Let’s not do a play-by-play.”

You bit your lip, half-laughing, half-listening — but you saw it. The edge under the jokes. The old fear, the years of conditioning.

So you pushed up on one elbow and reached for them both. 

John closed his eyes. “I do. Like you. And…” He opened his eyes just to look at Bucky. “Him too, apparently.”

Bucky sighed, looking up at the ceiling.

“Do you… ever wonder,” he said, tentatively, like he was stepping into an old wound, “what it would’ve been like if we’d been allowed to figure this out sooner?”

John could only nod. “Maybe,” he started, “I wouldn’t have been so hard on myself.”

“You’re here now,” you whispered. “You’ve got time, and…” you paused to press soft kisses to each of their shoulders, before settling back against the pillows with a content hum.  “You’re both mine. And maybe… just a little bit each other’s too.”

Bucky let out a chuckle. “We should be terrified.”

“I am” John said, already half-asleep. “But I don’t wanna run from it.”

Neither did Bucky.

Neither did you.

And as sleep pulled you all under, John mumbled one last thing, almost inaudible, “Still think I’m a better kisser.”

Bucky, slurring now, breathed out, “Debatable.”

—-

You did not wake up all at once.

The sun was too bright over the curtains. Someone’s – probably Bucky’s— thigh was over your legs. And there was definitely an elbow — probably John’s — wedged in the small of your back.

You shifted slowly, careful not to disturb the fragile peace.

Bucky made a quiet, muffled sound into the pillow and curled in closer, hair a mess across his cheek. John just groaned and rolled the other way, nearly falling off the bed, dreamily saying something about "needin’ a chiropractor" and "why do you bite."

Oh, he needed a chiropractor? Funny. Last time you checked, you were the only non-supersoldier here.

Not that you were complaining.

You cracked an eye open and saw your pajama top on the floor a couple feet away. Bucky’s henley was closer. That would do.

You dragged yourself from the tangle of limbs, tugging the henley over your head. It smelled like him — clean, metal and cedar. You walked quietly to the door, only grabbing an old mug on your way out.

The hallway was cold.

The common room, thank fuck, was not.

Bucky wandered in a minute after you, hair tied back with a rubber band he’d found on the doorknob, wearing John’s grey sweatpants. John followed a few seconds later, in Bucky’s boxers and your fluffy pink slippers — clearly stolen in desperation.

You raised an eyebrow.

He blinked at you. “What?”

“Slippers.”

“They were closer than my self-respect.”

Fair.

Bucky glanced down at the sweats and sniffed as he sat down on the couch. “Why do your sweatpants smell like an Axe spray bomb?”

John rolled his eyes and gestured at his current outfit. “Why do your boxers ride up my ass?”

From the armchair in the corner, Bob looked up from his Sudoku book and smiled. “Oh! You all learned how to share,” he exclaimed, “That’s nice.”

John jumped, none of you realising that he was even there in the first place.

Bucky coughed into his cup of water like he’d swallowed a fork.

You dropped onto the couch beside them with the blankest face you could manage. “Morning, Bob.”

Bob tilted his head. “So, you had a sleepover?”

“We had a revelation,” Bucky said dryly. John, who was sitting in between you and Bucky now, nudged his metal arm. “We had a lot of things.”

You kicked him lightly under the coffee table. He didn’t even flinch. He was too tired, too exhausted in all the best ways.

Bob leaned forward with a curious sparkle in his eyes. “Is it because you’re all dating now? Or… dating-adjacent? dating-ish.”

You chuckled. “You’re weirdly chill about this.”

Bob beamed. “I watched a lot of Bojack Horseman in recovery. I learned… a lot from that show.” He shrugged before giving John a proud thumbs-up. “Proud of you, buddy.”

You snorted into your coffee, while John managed a half-hearted salute, pink slippers dangling off his toes.

Then, you heard a SLAM.

The door burst open.

Alexei stormed in wearing the same shirt as last night — his hair rumpled with bloodshot eyes.

“I could not sleep,” he declared flatly. “Your room is next to mine. Next. To. Mine.”

Bucky lowered his mug. John looked like he was calculating if the toaster could double as a coffin.

Alexei’s eyes were cold and full of fury. “You screamed,” he said to Bucky. “Like we were under nuclear threat. I prepared go-bag before I realised it was sex.”

Bucky’s ears turned pink. “I...Sorry?”

“And Walker!” Alexei turned his glare to John. “You sounded like angry raccoon!”

John shuffled your slippers in shame.

“Do not even get me started on you!” he pointed at you, “I thought it was bad with one of them. I was wrong. Both is worse.” Alexei grabbed a mug of coffee like it was vodka, slammed it back like a shot, and let out a deep breath. “You all are lucky I support the gay,” he said. “But next time maybe do not explore your sexuality like… freight train.”

Bucky sank down on the couch. “We should really get Alexei noise-canceling headphones.”

You stood, grabbed a glass of water, and handed it to him. “Sorry, old man,” you winced, “I’ll upgrade the armouring on your suit, if that makes up for it?”

Alexei sighed, hand to his heart, and looked to the ceiling. “This is my penance. For being terrible father in past. I accept it.”

You all laughed — Bucky with a breathy chuckle, John with a wheezing groan, even Bob with a little grin that warmed up the whole room.

You leaned over, kissing Both John and Bucky temples as Bucky tugged the waistband of the boxers John was wearing — his own, technically — and pulled him closer. 

John mumbled into Bucky’s shoulders. “Guess we’re doing this.”

Bucky nodded, pouting playfully as he pulled you back on the couch. “Guess so.”

Bob, watching the three of you squished into one couch cushion, just sipped his tea with a sigh of exaggerated patience.

“Well,” he said, glancing back at his Sudoku, “at least it’s good for team bonding.”

—

General Bucky taglist:

@hotlinepanda @snflwr-vol6 @ruexj283 @2honeybees @read-just-cant

 @shanksstrawhat @mystictf @globetrotter28 @thebuckybarnesvault @average-vibe

@winchestert101 @mystictf @globetrotter28 @boy--wonder--187 @scariusaquarius

@reckless007 @hextech-bros @daydreamgoddess14 @96jnie @pono-pura-vida

@buckyslove1917 @notsostrangerthing @flow33didontsmoke @qvynrand @blackbirdwitch22

@torntaltos @seventeen-x @ren-ni @iilsenewman @slayerofthevampire

@hiphip-horray @jbbucketlist @melotyy @ethereal-witch24 @samfunko

@lilteef @hi172826 @pklol @average-vibe @shanksstrawhat

@shower-me-with-roses @athenabarnes @scarwidow @thriving-n-jiving @dilfsaresohot

@helloxgoodbi @undf-stuff @sapphirebarnes @hzdhrtss @softhornymess

@samfunko @wh1sp @anonymousreader4d7 @mathcat345 @escapefromrealitylol

@imjusthere1161 @sleepysongbirdsings @fuckybarnes @yn-stories-are-my-life @rIphunter

@cjand10 @nerdreader @am-3-thyst @wingstoyourdreams @lori19

@goldengubs @maryevm @helen-2003 @maryssong23 @fan4astic

@yesshewrites1 @thewiselionessss @sangsterizada @jaderabbitt @softpia 

@hopeofwinter @nevereclipse @tellybearryyyy @buckybarneswife125 @buckybarneswife125

jack who’d get home right as you were waking up only to take you right back to bed and have his way with you? or robby who’d get home late and pulling you into the shower with him only to spend most of it with his face between your legs?

yeah, you were definitely getting selfish. 

robby hadn’t even made it through the entrance way before jack was on him. he had only gotten so far as to take off his zip up. 

as the pair stumbled to the couch, robby barely squeezed your tucked up knee before hitting the cushions. 

and now you’re here, confided to the smaller loveseat as the obscene noises of their makeout filled the living room. 

“guys,” you try and make your voice a little firmer now. and that was definitely difficult with how your body was reacting to watching. 

robby rolls his head. jack’s lips hit his cheek this time, a groan escaping at the loss of contact. he pivots, lips latching onto the underside of robby’s jaw. 

you gulp. his eyes are dark and god, robby’s lips are such a perfect shade of kiss pink. 

“stop being a brat,” robby jeers. 

it’s true. you have been spending a lot of one-on-one time with your boys. it’s not your fault they gave into you like ken dolls. 

maybe you were a brat. 

you know you won’t have robby’s attention for long. jack’s growing needer, clearly unsatisfied with only having his neck to go for. 

you slink off the loveseat, palms of your hands hitting the carpet as you crawl over to the couch. you lean back on your heels, head perfectly level with the two men. 

“need something?”

you meet his gaze. “you’re forgetting about me.”

“not forgetting,” robby shuts that doubt down immediately. “haven’t seen jack all week.”

“yeah but you haven’t seen me all day!” you exclaim like it’s the simplest thing in the world. 

“c’mon doll,” jack’s big hand comes up to cradle your cheek. “can’t give me and mikey some time?”

you pout. “not when you’re kissing like that.”

robby narrows his eyes. “aww. is someone jealous?”

yes. yes you are. 

the blush that dances across your cheeks gives your clear answer away. 

“was having us on rotation not enough?” robby adds. 

jack’s attention is back on the attending. “don’t be mean. she’s just being needy.”

god you loved your little dynamic. 

“how about i give you a kiss, doll,” jack offers. “and then once i get mikey for a little i’ll share.”

you could handle sitting back for a round. but only having a single kiss to hold you over? unacceptable. 

“just one?” you push your lip out to try and reason.  

jack doesn’t respond, only shifting forward to press his lips firmly against yours. just as you try and push further, he’s pulling right back.

you give one more attempt, sporting your best doe eyes as a final plea for just one more kiss. 

and like always, jack falls into your trap. 

he kisses you again, still careful to give you just enough to hold you over. 

“you’re too nice to her,” robby remarks. 

you push yourself off of your knees, heading back to your spot on the loveseat. a perfect vantage point. 

For the fourth morning in a row, the same guy keeps showing up to the shitty dive bar where you work, which is unfortunately open 24/7. And you've been stuck with the shift that starts at midnight since you moved to this city. 

You don't mind it now. Not when you have a hot old man wearing black scrubs to look at before your shift ends. 

Though, he has gotten a bit gloomier over the days. Orders the same thing. A cold beer, that he nurses for half an hour before asking for a double shot of whiskey. Like he needs to pretend to debate drinking more than he should at seven in the morning. 

But today, he starts with the whiskey. 

“Bad night, Doc?” You assumed he was a doctor but you know for certain now since he hasn't taken his badge off yet.

You're a bit too distracted by the sad look in his eyes to catch his name before he tucks his badge into the backpack he always slings in on his shoulder and drops at the bar stool beside him. 

“Jack.” He tells you his name because Jack would rather not be reminded that he's a doctor for the time being. 

“No need to talk about it, Jack.” You pour him his shots but also hand him a glass of water. “But the bar's all yours if you want to. I'm pretty good at keeping a secret too.”

You wink at him, smiling beautifully. 

Jack hasn't had a pretty girl smile at him in a long time. Probably because he's been so wrapped up in attempting to salvage his failing relationship with his longtime partner, Robby, that he hasn't noticed anyone batting their eyelashes at him the way you're doing now. 

The bar is empty. That's why Jack comes here. It's a far trek from work, so no one he knows ever goes to this area. He usually drives but the last few days, he's been calling a rideshare so he has the option to get wasted. He hasn't yet.

Today might be the day he does. 

Because he caught wind of something he shouldn't have. 

And it's killing him.

He has no one he can talk to about it. 

Except you…

“Only if you drink with me.” If Jack is going to spill his secrets, he'd rather you not be sober. At least then, he can pretend that maybe you'll forget all about his ramblings. 

“Trying to get me in trouble?” You chuckle, then grab a cold glass, filling it with beer. “How about this: you drink your usual beer then you wait until I'm off work in an hour and we can drink at my place nearby. Good idea?” 

Jack's stomach churns at that. Because he shouldn't say yes. He's in a committed relationship. He definitely shouldn't go over to your place, especially when it's blatantly obvious that you're an incredibly attractive woman who isn't hiding for a second your interest in him. 

But if Robby can "hang out" with someone much younger than him, so can Jack. 

It's only fair. 

“Alright. But I'm paying for the liquor.” 

You shake your head. “I have plenty of booze at home. You're paying for breakfast.” 

Jack doesn't like how smooth you talk. So casual. So easy going. So much like he was before insecurity racked his every waking moment. 

“Fine.” 

“It's a date.” You slide the shot glasses back towards you and then Jack watches as you down them both back to back in front of him. His eyes trail along the whiskey that drips off the sides of your lips.

He wants to lean forward and lick it up.

A thought he shouldn't be having.

Fuck. He's going to do something stupid, isn't he? 

Accepting your invitation was stupid enough as is but lusting after you would be the worst decision a taken man like him should consider. 

But when he sees the way your tongue swirls around your full lips, Jack can't help but stare. 

You've always had this effect on people. It's what makes the kind of lifestyle you live easier than it should be. Because you can always get a job bartending in any city you go to without a resume and you can always convince the owner to pay you under the table. Same goes with your landlord, who is happy to let you pay your rent in all cash without verifying if your identity is real or not.

It isn't. It never is. 

Because you would've been caught by now if you weren't as smart as you are. 

And you like killing people a little too much to get caught now. 

So, when Jack asks you for your name, you give him the same old routine you do with everyone and tell him, “just call me baby.” 

“Baby? That can't possibly be your name.” 

“It's what you'll call me.” You lean over the counter, giving him a very nice view of your breasts peeking through your low cut sweater. “I like that or babydoll. Especially when I get to call you daddy.” 

Tension forms in every muscle in his body. 

Because…fuck, he has missed being called that. 

Robby never liked it. He was dismissive of Jack's daddy kink, made him feel ashamed for having one so Jack repressed it.

Now here you are, openly feeding into it. 

“I should tell you I'm in a relationship.” Jack has to ruin this. 

But you don't let him. “Then break up.” 

“W-What?” He is so shocked by how blunt your words are that he stammers his own. “E-Excuse me?” 

You put your hand on his, drawing a line from his wrist to his knuckles with your finger, swirling the tip around each bone as you tell him in a sultry tone, “come on, daddy. You know you want to, or you wouldn't have said yes to me.” 

“W-We've been together for years.” It feels like a poor excuse once Jack says it aloud. 

You shrug, not caring at all. “So?” 

“He's…” Jack doesn't even know what he was going to say because your hand comes up to cup his face, lifting his chin to look at you. 

“He's just your boyfriend.” You brush your thumb over his lip, smiling when his jaw tightens in your grip. “You don't need a boyfriend when you could have me.” 

For fun, you step closer, wanting to see how he'll react to your lips being only an inch away from his. 

His reaction is on par with a man his age who has been out of the game for a while. “You're at work.” 

“If you kissed me, I wouldn't mind getting fired.” You playfully bite your lip, purposefully making it swell so he's more enticed than ever. “Do you want to kiss me?” 

Jack should say no. He definitely should say no. 

He's in a relationship. A shitty one, where Robby is cheating on him but he made a commitment. 

One that he'll need to break if he's going to say yes. 

“I—” Jack is rendered speechless when you nuzzle his nose with your own, giggling at how flustered he gets because he thought you were about to kiss him. 

“God, you are so fucking cute.” You want to ride him until the next morning. “Can you just break up with him already?”

Why is Jack even considering this? 

Maybe because he knows it's rational. He caught Robby cheating on him with that younger resident, Dennis Whitaker. He hasn't confronted Robby about it yet.

Jack knows his relationship is over.

So, why is he clinging onto it when there's a gorgeous girl right in front of him that's practically throwing herself at him? 

He should forget about Robby, like he has been trying to do these last few days. 

He can do that by fucking you. 

He will do exactly that.

“Fuck it.” Jack pulls out his phone and against his best judgment, he shoots Robby a text. 

With a video of Robby and Whitaker from Jack's hidden camera in Robby's apartment.

And the only text he sends with it is: It's over between us. 

Then, once it's sent, Jack grabs you by the throat and tugs you to him, kissing you. 

You were not expecting the sudden aggression. But, it's incredible. 

Like Jack is finally able to enjoy himself for once. 

You like how tight his grip is, how you're certain if it was any tighter, he'd bruise your neck. You like how he's eager to kiss you, his tongue slipping into your mouth the moment you let him. 

You slide your underwear off under your skirt, tucking it behind the counter before you end up getting it wet. You're already raring to go, just from this feverish kiss. 

You'll surely have to fuck Jack now. 

“Let me lock the door.” You say all breathless against his lips. “Unless you want people to walk in and see you with your hand wrapped around my throat.”

Jack's eyes shift to the door then back at you, trailing down the length of your body to your short skirt that leaves nothing to the imagination. 

“Do you care?” He asks, his hand releasing your neck from his hold, and you smirk in response. 

“I'd let you fuck me right here if you wanted to.” You're getting fired anyways. 

Might as well enjoy the taboo of it while you can. 

“Do you have a condom?” Jack should not fuck the first person to give him attention but especially not without protection.

You laugh at that. “Did you fuck your ex with a condom?” 

Of course Jack did and he is thankful he did because he has no clue how long Robby has been cheating on him for. He could've gotten something unknowingly. 

Maybe he doesn't feel too shitty about breaking up with Robby now…

You snap your fingers in front of Jack's face, breaking him from his thoughts. “I'm going to take that as a yes. I trust you're clean. You are a doctor, after all.” 

“Are you?” He has to ask.

“A doctor? Definitely not.” You laugh again, earning a glare from Jack. 

“Clean.” He emphasizes the word. 

You pull out your phone, showing him the test results along with proof of your IUD that you got from a doctor friend of yours who works at a clinic a few states away. You always test after every sexual encounter.

You'll likely head there again after this because from the look in Jack's eyes when they meet yours, you've got him hook, line and sinker. “Did I pass, Doc?” 

“Why do you want this?” That insecurity of his leaks out. 

“Hmmm.” You tap the rim of his untouched glass of beer before following the line around it. Once, twice, trailing slow circles around and around, for no real reason.

Jack is mesmerized by how strange your movements are. He's never met anyone like you. Someone who could entrance him with a simple motion. 

Your words draw him further into your spell. “Because I know when a man is dying to fuck a nice pussy.” 

You pull your finger off the rim then and pick up the glass, hovering it over the drain behind the bar in front of you. 

“The question is: are you going to fuck me with a beer in your system or stone cold sober?” You slowly tip the glass, baiting to see if he'll stop you from pouring out his drink. 

Jack doesn't. He lets you pour the bubbly amber liquid down the drain, setting the glass aside when you're done. 

Then, he snaps at you. “Go to that booth and spread your legs so I can see that nice pussy of yours, babydoll.” 

Your lips curve into a wicked smile, “now how did you know I'm not wearing any underwear?”

“Because a slut like you wouldn't.” He snaps again, his tone harsher now. “Go.” 

You lick your lips before skipping over to the last booth in the bar. The one furthest from the door. Also the one that is out of the line of sight of the only camera.

So, the doctor is aware of the blind spots. 

You wonder where he learned to be so diligent. 

Is he ex-military? Must be. 

For the sake of cleanliness, you throw a freshly washed tablecloth over the table before you hop onto it. Doing exactly as Jack desires, you spread your legs for him to see that you were not lying to him. 

The owner of the bar will have a fun time with that lace pair of yours when they find it later. 

But not as much fun of a time as you're about to have because Jack walks over until he's standing right in front of you, staring down at the sight before him. 

You have the nicest pussy he has ever seen in his life. He wants to know what you taste like. What you look like when you're cumming. 

If you're this gorgeous right now, he knows you'll be breathtaking when you're out of breath from cumming on his tongue. 

He nearly drops to his knees when you use your hand to part your folds for him, giving him a clear view of how wet you are as you say in that sultry tone of yours, “is my daddy going to eat my pussy or not?” 

Jack holds back because he's done giving someone else the reins. It's been a long time since he got to be the one in charge. He wasted too much of his life trying to please Robby.

Right now, he's going to focus on himself and what he wants. 

And what he wants is for you to beg him to touch you. 

“Ask nicely.” He instructs and you can't help how giddy you feel hearing his stricter tone. 

You want to be a brat but you decide Jack must've suffered enough in his last relationship. 

You should make his life easier by submitting to him. 

It's what he needs right now. 

“Will you please go down on me?” You ask so sweetly that Jack swears his teeth might rot. “Pretty please?” 

“Is that what my baby wants?” He leans forward, hands gripped on the corners of the table, fisting the cloth beneath him. “For her daddy to make her cum?” 

You nod eagerly. “Yes, please.”

Jack slides into the booth and gestures for you to adjust. “Scoot over here.” 

You listen without any hesitation and once your legs are in his reach, Jack yanks you closer to him by your knees. His face hovers so close to your pussy that you can feel every exhale he takes. 

He feels parched. He hasn't had anything to drink yet. And the sight of your slick is enticing him too much for him not to give into his need to taste you. 

You let out a breathy little sigh of pleasure when you feel his tongue drag along the length of your folds before settling at your clit, giving it a light flick. 

“Can I touch your hair?” Your hand aches to feel those soft looking curls he has. 

“Say please.” Jack is so fucking hard right now, it's unbelievable.

His cock wants to burst out of his pants when you respond so beautifully, “please, daddy.” 

He nods and you gently lace your fingers through his hair, reveling in the feel of it. You play with his curls as he leans back in, his tongue dipping into you this time. You don't hold in your voice, a moan leaving your lips immediately. 

It's like heaven to Jack to hear you react to his touch. He never liked how quiet Robby could be in bed. It made him feel inferior, like he wasn't doing a good enough job. 

Especially after seeing how vocal Robby could be in that video.

It pisses him off that—

Jack winces when you tug at his hair hard all of a sudden. “What the f—”

“If you're going to eat my pussy, can you focus on me?” You don't like that his mind is elsewhere.

Jack realizes how he's acting. He's doing what he dreaded from Robby. You deserve his undivided attention, like he deserves yours. And you're willing to give him your attention. 

So, Jack apologizes, “I'm sorry, babydoll. It won't happen again.” 

“It better not.” You pull him towards your pussy. “Now you have to make me cum, to show me you'll keep your word.”

He licks his lips then smiles, his mind locked in this moment with you now. “Don't worry. Your daddy is going to make you cum real good.”

He finally feels confident again, especially when you cry out his name the moment his lips seal around your clit and start sucking on it. He alternates between that and swirling circles around your clit until the tension in your core coils up to the point of no return. 

“Please don't stop.” You're gripping his hair tight, keeping him against you as he plays with your clit just right. “Please let me cum, please.” 

Jack does let you, pushing you right into your orgasm with every flick of his tongue on your clit. Your eyes roll back when the pleasure shoots through you, your body bathing in the heat of it. 

It was a great orgasm but Jack knows he can do better. He can make you cum harder than that. 

So, he tells you, “get on your knees.” 

You bite your lip, looking up at him with the same amount of lust he has for you. Then, you, like the good girl you are, listen, flipping over, getting on your knees for him. You give him a wonderful view of your ass and your dripping wet pussy and he groans, kneading his cock through his pants with his hand. He could fuck you right now. Nothing is stopping him. 

Besides this desperate urge to make you cum your brains out. 

“Tell me how you like it.” Jack doesn't want to do the guesswork. 

And you don't mind being honest. “I like it rough.” 

“Yeah?” He smacks your ass all of a sudden, drawing a yelp from your lips. “How rough?” 

“Harder than that.” You wouldn't mind wearing his handprint on your ass for the next few days. 

“Rub your clit for me and don't you dare cum.” Jack demands as he slides out of the booth. 

You do as you're told, playing with your clit as you watch Jack walk behind the bar counter to wash his hands in the sink. You find that oddly endearing. He doesn't want to touch you with dirty hands. You appreciate that. 

He might prove to be more fun than you originally thought. 

Jack sits back down behind you then slaps your ass again, this time even harder as he scolds you, “you're barely rubbing your clit. Do better.” 

“I'm sorry.” You touch yourself the way you usually do, a bit more heavy handed. “But if I keep doing this, I'm going to cum…”

“You cum when I tell you to.” His hand strikes you again. You definitely have an imprint of his hand now… 

Your whole body is shaking from the throbbing sensation of your now sensitive flesh and the ache between your legs, which Jack quickly resolves when he thrusts a finger inside of you. 

His finger is so thick that you're hardly prepared for him to add another one so quickly, prying your pussy open when he pushes them deeper inside of you. 

“You're clenching so tightly around your daddy's fingers.” Jack curls them, trying to gauge where he should touch you. He knows he found the right place when your legs start to buckle. “Is this your weak spot, babydoll?”

He presses his fingertips exactly where you need him to so you beg him, “right there, please touch me right there.”

“Cum as much as you'd like.” He wants to see you wrecked. 

You cum so hard when he pounds his fingers right where you need him too. You cum again when he smacks your ass while his fingers are still inside of you. 

“More, please.” You haven't felt this good during sex in a while. It seems like you and Jack are quite compatible. 

And he is happy to give you what you want as long as you give him what he wants. “Do you want daddy's cock buried in this tight pussy?” 

“Yes.” You repeat the word over and over as he continues fucking you mercilessly with his fingers. “Please, I want your cock. I want to cum on your cock.”

“You're going to cum on my fingers first. I want to see you squirt.” He will make you. He's well aware of where he needs to touch you to make it happen.

And he likes your nervous response, “I've never…”

It's his turn to get you all flustered. 

“Then you will now.” Jack grips your ass with his free hand for leverage as his fingers start moving quickly side to side, stirring up every inch of your pussy with the pads of his fingers. 

You can't seem to stop the orgasm that hits you hard enough for you to see stars in your vision. It crashes through you uncontrollably and you squirt when his fingers pop out of you. He likes the sound of you panting from the intensity of cumming that much.

Jack likes knowing that no one else has made you cum like that before. 

You're in a bit of a daze, your head swimming from the rush of pleasure, which is why you don't register him grabbing your hips and pulling you down onto his lap. It isn't until you feel the tip of his cock pushing against your entrance that you wake up from the bliss, startled. 

“You can take it.” He eases you down onto his cock. “Lean on me, babydoll.” 

You lean your back against his chest as you sink down onto him. You didn't even get a good look at his cock but you can feel how big he is, stirring you up inside like his fingers had. 

You breathe out a sigh of relief when he hilts, impressed you managed to take him all the way. You haven't felt this full…ever. He must be the biggest cock you've ever had.

“You took me so well.” He praises you, his hand resting on your lower belly, his fingertips pressing down on where he's resting inside of you. “Do you feel how deep I am?”

You nod, gripping the edge of the table, needing some kind of leverage so you don't collapse from how good he feels buried inside of you. Your eyes stare at the wet spot in the tablecloth, where you came. 

Heat rises to your cheeks at the sight. 

Did you really cum that hard? 

You feel Jack's lips kiss a line from your shoulder to your ear, distracting you from the thoughts swirling your mind. Then, he whispers, so low into your ear, “now imagine how good it'll feel to squirt on your daddy's cock.” 

You might not survive that. 

You may have initiated this but usually it's more fun to just mess around with someone before killing their ex. You normally don't cum this much, sometimes not even at all. It's mostly supposed to be a memory to touch yourself to afterwards.

But right now, it's looking like Jack is going to be a memory you'll likely never forget. 

So you might as well make it unforgettable. “Can I turn around?” 

“Why?” He wonders aloud. 

“I want to kiss you.” You're honest. 

Now Jack is wondering why his heart skips a beat at how cute of an ask that is. He lifts you off of him and helps you straddle his lap while facing him. He guides his cock back inside of you as you wrap your arms around his neck, pressing your chest flush against his, letting him enjoy the sight of your breasts in that low cut sweater of yours.

He wants to rip it off of you. He wants to see you naked.

You can tell what he wants, which is why you lean in and whisper against his lips, “you can have me naked in my bed after this.” 

“You want to fuck more than once?” Jack wasn't sure if that was still on the table. 

“If you can make me cum like that again, I don't see why not.” You nip at his bottom lip before giving him a kiss. “I like you, Jack.”

Jack reaches up with both hands to cup your face, liking how you relax into his touch. He likes you too. Much, much more than he should. 

He barely knows you and yet he wants to see you again and again. 

Because you make him feel at ease.

You kiss him so naturally, like your lips were made to be kissed by his. The two of you sit there kissing in that booth, your hips rolling against his, grinding his cock deep inside of you. You ride him just like you wanted to, your lips never wanting to part from his. 

You definitely will need to do this again. You're enjoying yourself too much not to fuck him again.

Somewhere along the way, Jack tosses you back down onto the table so he has more space to pound his cock inside of you. He's getting closer to his orgasm, so he needs you to get close to yours. His thumb swipes your clit back and forth as he fucks you, making you rasp out his name beautifully. 

“I'm going to cum, Jack.” You can't hold back any longer. “Please cum with me.” 

“I want to see you cum on my cock first.” He wants to see you make a mess. 

Jack starts fucking you rougher, driving his cock deeper inside of you and you nearly tip over the edge from it. But it isn't until he wraps his hands around your throat and pressing his thumbs down on the center of it that you burst at the seams, cumming so hard when you can't breathe. 

You claw at his muscular arms as he continues to choke you through every rough thrust. Jack has always liked it rough, always enjoyed the light look of fear mixed with pleasure. He finds yours to be the most beautiful he's ever seen. 

Especially when you're unable to stop cumming beneath him, your eyes so glazed over from the pleasure that he could probably snap your neck and you wouldn't even realize it. You'd be too lost in your head to notice. 

So he has to bring you back, loosening his grip on your throat just enough for you to be able to respond to him when he asks you, “do you like getting your pussy fucked like this, babydoll?” 

You nod, smiling softly up at him. “Yes, daddy. I love it.” 

“Tell me to go harder.” He's going to cum when you do.

“Fuck me harder.” You want it too. 

“Good girl.” He leans down, kissing you again as he thrusts wildly inside of you like an animal in heat, no longer holding back his need. 

You cum when you feel him pumping every ounce of his release deep inside of you, warmth filling your lower belly. You haven't let anyone cum inside of you this much in a long while.

You're in absolute bliss, which is why you don't hear the door to the bar open.

But Jack does, so he pulls a gun out of the back of his waistband and points it at the person at the door. “Get the fuck out or I'll shoot you.” 

The door slams shut immediately after that and you laugh so hard, breaking from your daze a bit. “What the fuck, you had a gun on you? While we were fucking?” 

“I grabbed it before I went to wash my hands.” He figured he should be safe than sorry. 

The bar isn't in the best neighborhood…

“Just don't shoot me in bed, okay?” You pat his chest, trying to nudge him off of you. But he won't budge. “Jack?”

“You aren't afraid of guns?” He noticed you didn't flinch when he pulled it out.

You're noticing that he's paying a little too much attention to you while his cock is still resting inside of you. Meaning you can't hide the way his question makes your body tense up.

“I grew up shooting them.” You lie because you are not going to explain to him that you took many lessons to learn how to shoot so you could kill people easily. 

“Are you a good shot?” 

“Are you going to keep your soft cock inside of me or can we have this conversation over breakfast?” You tap at his chest again and thankfully he moves this time. 

Jack puts his gun away in his backpack and then comes back to you with some wet wipes he carries in his bag. You take them into the bar's bathroom to freshen up a bit and then go to grab your things, since your shift is over. You leave behind a note saying you quit and that you don't need your last paycheck.

You aren't planning to stay in this city much longer, anyway. 

Something that proves difficult because you end up sleeping with Jack every day since then. 

Even on the day you kill his ex-boyfriend, Robby. 

You had to make sure to do it on a night where Jack was on shift, so that he had an alibi. You saw him the next morning because he has made it a habit to come over to your apartment after work now. 

A habit that will end rather abruptly soon. 

Because Jack keeps asking you too many questions you can't answer.

Like why you don't have much furniture. Or why you won't tell him your name. Or why you aren't looking for anything serious. 

For the first time, you actually feel bad for what you've done. This was supposed to be a one night stand. A little fun, to help him move on. 

That's all it was supposed to be.

But then you found the hidden camera Jack installed…

It's fresh, not even a day old. You know that for a fact because you religiously scan your surroundings for any kind of tampering. In case the cops are onto you and you need to bolt.

You realize then that Jack is not normal. 

You should've known that from the jump but you ignored the signs since you figured you wouldn't ever see him again. 

So, when you leave without a trace, Jack goes crazy. 

It's bad enough that no one has heard from Robby in days. Jack went over to check Robby's apartment but he wasn't there. He asked Whitaker if he had heard from Robby but he hadn't either. 

Two people in Jack's life have disappeared all of a sudden.

But Jack only seems to care about you.

Because a few days after you cleared out your apartment and left the city, Jack gets a visit from the police that solves what happened to Robby. They ask him where he was the night that you killed Robby and he tells them that he was at work. Then, they tell him that they found Robby's dead body at the bottom of the river. 

A clean bullet through the head. Execution style. Like a professional hit. 

Since the officers are friends of Jack's, they reveal a little extra detail that they probably shouldn't. That a similar kind of killing happened a year ago just a few cities over. 

Same exact gun. Same exact kill shot. 

Right between the eyes. 

Whoever it was made their victims look at them in the eyes as they killed them. 

“What else do you know?” Jack doesn't know if he's asking out of grief or curiosity. 

“Apparently, when they interviewed the dead person's ex, they had been convinced by some woman to break up with them a few days prior to the person dying.” The officer shrugs at Jack. 

“Did they get a name?”

“Just said to call her “baby”. Isn't that strange?” 

Jack maintains a perfect poker face because if he didn't, the officers would know that Robby's murder would for sure be connected to that other murder. But he doesn't say a word about it.

He doesn't know why he protects you.

He just does.

You have no clue how close you were to being caught, or at least put on the radar more than you should be. But you always lay low after a kill.

You have a long cooling off period, an erratic one because you only kill if the universe has you stumble on a miserable person in a shitty relationship. Another saving grace as to why you haven't been caught just yet. 

You stay indoors mostly, at the house you own under your real name. You never kill anywhere near where you live. Your neighbors just assume you're off on business all the time. 

The only regularity you have is visiting the clinic to see your friend to get tested. You're certain Jack is clean but you had to make sure. You did have a lot of sex with him before you left him. 

“By the way, how's the IUD?” 

You groan then say, “actually, can you take it out? I don't plan to have sex for a while and I'm sick of the heavy bleeding.”

You got the copper IUD recently and it has been making your periods unbearable. You wouldn't mind a break from it. 

So, you get it removed and then spend the rest of the week curled up in bed from the pain. 

It's moments like this where you wish you weren't alone. 

The life you live can get a little lonely at times but you doubt you'd find anyone who would be okay with what you like to do in your free time. 

Though, maybe you should just ask the man that's been hovering over you while you sleep for the past few nights.

Jack is very open to keeping you company.

It took him forever to find you so he definitely isn't going to let you get away from him again. 

He had to use every bit of his brainpower to remember the clinic name on your test results sheet. From there, he installed a camera across the street from it so he could catch you when you inevitably visited. 

After you did, it didn't take much for him to be able to smooth talk his way into the office by pretending to be a delivery person so he could snoop through the appointment log and find your real name. 

Along with your medical file.

And he sees that you currently aren't on any birth control. 

Giving him the perfect way to keep you tied to him forever.

You notice the slight tilt in your wall outlet. It's obviously been tampered with. But you can't figure out by who or why… 

Because no one should know where you live. The cops definitely shouldn't.

So who…would? 

You try not to show that you know there's a hidden camera there. You just go about your day like you normally would. The camera hasn't been there long. Maybe a few hours. 

Whoever put it there did it while you were asleep.

You don't know how they managed to get past your cameras. 

It would require them to have extensive knowledge of surveillance—oh fuck.

You know exactly who it is. 

Because you only know one person who is a veteran with a background in military surveillance.

Though, you can't help but wonder why Jack would go out of his way to find you.

Sure, the sex was great but you literally killed his boyfriend. There's no way he doesn't know by now. He's a smart guy. He has friends in the police since he works with SWAT. He would've figured out it was you who killed Robby.

Could he be here for some kind of revenge plot? But if that was the case, he could've killed you in your sleep. 

You doubt Jack is the torturing type. Then again...you do remember the little sadistic streak he had going on. You can still feel how much your ass stung from all of his spanking. 

But again, why would he go through the effort of going halfway across the country for you? 

What's his endgame?

Is it…you? 

You shake away that thought. Again, you doubt you could ever be in a relationship with anyone. 

He's here for some reason. He's watching you for some reason. 

You won't delude yourself into thinking it's more than some kind of morbid curiosity of his. He hasn't ratted you out to the police yet so there is something he wants. 

So, you decide to check to see if it's you he wants. Just to be sure. 

You install a hidden camera on a vase of yours and add some flowers to it to bring into your room, placing it perfectly in the corner on a cute little side table.

Then, for fun that night, you touch yourself.

You do it purposefully where Jack can get a nice view of your pussy through his hidden camera and you make sure to cum while moaning his name. 

Then, you fall asleep wearing only your favorite nightgown, leaving yourself still dripping wet between your legs. 

And sure enough, when you wake up the next morning and head out for the day so you can check your camera footage, Jack was there in your room last night. 

With a syringe. 

You stare at the video, baffled at the sight of Jack injecting you with a sedative. Then, you watch as he goes down on you for hours before he finally fucks you. 

You decide then to put in earbuds so you can listen to the audio. 

And it's full of crazed thoughts of his that surely you should not know. 

He rants about how you made him crazy for you. He talks about the things he wants to do to you, the things he will do to you. 

Like fuck a baby into you in your sleep…

He tells you that it's all your fault he's like this because you seduced him. 

So you have to take responsibility for your actions. You have to let him have you. It's only fair.

You've never encountered anyone with this kind of obsession before. 

It should scare you. 

You should be worried for your life, especially when you hear Jack say that if you don't learn to love him back, he'll kill you like you killed Robby. 

But you've always liked to play with fire. 

Which is why that night, you do the same thing you did the previous night. 

You touch yourself to the memories of Jack.

Then, for the fun of it, you say to yourself as you cum, “I wish my daddy was here to fuck me.” 

And you scream when Jack comes out of your closet with a gun in his hand. 

“Be quiet, babydoll.” He shuts you up right away when he flips off the safety. “Or I'll shoot you.” 

You weren't expecting him to be in your walk-in closet. 

How did he get in there without tipping off your camera? 

Unless…he knew about it this whole time…

Fuck. Of course Jack did. 

He wanted to see what you'd do if he spilled every sick thought out of his head. He expected you to run far away, to be afraid of him. 

But you're just as sick as he is, touching yourself to bait him.

Now, he needs to know how far you'll let him go. 

“Don't stop because of me.” Jack climbs into bed, hovering over you, his gun pointed right between your eyes. “Keep touching yourself. Let your daddy watch you cum.” 

“You only want to watch?” You slide your hand up the length of your body. His eyes follow the ripples you make of the silk you're wearing, the motion so intoxicating. “You could have more than just a look, Jack.” 

“Take it off.” He wants to see you bare beneath him. 

You obey without hesitation, slipping your nightgown off. Jack scans every inch of you, imagining how you would look with his bite marks all over you. Or with the indent of his pistol pressed into your skin. 

He drags the gun down in a straight line, from your forehead to the middle of your breasts, the cold metal causing goosebumps to form on your skin. He pushes the tip of the barrel against the very center of your body, leaving a nice little ring there. 

“I own you now.” He says as he slides the gun back up, resting it against your lips. “Your life is in my hands, babydoll.” 

But he knows his words are just words. 

Because the truth is, you own him. 

With that daring smile of yours and that seductive gaze you give him before you part your lips and pull the barrel of his gun into your mouth, tasting the harsh metal on your tongue. 

The moment you start sucking the tip of his gun, Jack kicks off his pants. He needs to be inside of you right now. 

You moan against the metal when you feel him drag his cock along the length of your slit before pushing so easily inside of you. He groans when he hilts, letting out an almost frustrated huff at how good you feel wrapped around him. 

“Did you miss your daddy's cock?” He smiles when you nod. “God, I missed you. Don't ever leave me again, baby.” 

He pulls his gun from your mouth so you can tell him, “you can kill me if I ever run from you again.” 

Jack smacks your cheek lightly with his gun as a reprimand. “Don't say something like that.” 

“Why?” You pout at him, wrapping your legs around his hips to pull him in deeper. 

“Because I might actually do it if you ever try.” Jack's threat is real and he likes how you clench around his cock in response. 

“I'd let you.” You owe him for keeping your secret. “I'm all yours, Jack.” 

“You better be.” He's sick and tired of not having someone who is his entirely. 

You place your hand on the ring he made on your chest, tracing the dip in your skin as you make your promise, “you own me until this fades away.” 

Jack smacks your hand away with his gun so he can press it back against the center of your chest, digging the mark further into your pretty skin. “Then I might as well shoot you so you can wear that scar for life.” 

“You could just buy me a ring.” You flash your left hand at him. 

You bite back a giggle when his cock throbs inside of you. “You'd marry me?”

“You'd marry me?” You ask back, earning another one of his annoyed glares. 

“Stop doing that and answer my question.” 

“I'd like a better proposal than you holding a gun to my chest but yes, I'd marry you.” You let out the chuckle you've been holding in and Jack basks in how wonderful it sounds. 

He tosses his gun aside so he can grip the sheets by your head, staring down rather fiercely at you, lust raging in his hazel eyes, “I'm going to fuck you until the sun's out.” 

You pull him in closer so you can press a soft kiss against his cheek before whispering, “just until the sun's out?” 

He scoffs at that. “You don't want to leave this bed, do you?” 

“Not while my daddy's home.” You smile brightly. 

Jack likes the thought of that. Of moving away from Pittsburgh. Of making this place his home. Of making you his home. 

“Is your friend's clinic hiring?” He asks and you laugh so loud at him. 

“Can we just fuck already and then browse job listings after?” You're aching to get railed.

“Someone's being needy.” He rolls his hips against you as a tease. “You don't like keeping your daddy's cock warm while we talk?” 

“I'd rather be cumming on it.” You grind your hips up to meet his, desperate for some more friction. “Please fuck me.” 

“I might fuck a baby into you if I do.” He's not wearing a condom and you aren't protected anymore. 

“You didn't seem to give a shit about that last night.” Your lips curve into a devilish smile that matches the one on his face.

“Touché.” He pulls his cock out of you almost all of the way before ramming it back inside, causing your whole body to shake from the feeling. “I'm going to make sure you get pregnant now.” 

Jack then makes it his goal for the night to edge you until you're whining and pleading for him to let you cum. 

But he keeps waving off your desperation, saying, “you'll have a higher chance of getting pregnant if you cum hard when I do.” 

“You're torturing me.” Your body is hot to the touch and you need to cum. 

“Payback for you leaving me.” He considers you both even now. 

“I promise I won't ever do that again so please let me cum.” You can't wait any longer. 

“Fine.” He slips out of you completely, drawing another whine from your lips. “Flip over, baby. I'll breed you like you want me to.” 

You quickly get on your knees and you feel his hand push down on your upper back, having you press your chest against the mattress, burying your face into your pillow. You dig your nails into your sheets the moment you feel the tip of his cock at your entrance. 

You cum so hard when he slams the entire length of his cock inside of you from behind, your legs quivering from the intensity of it. Your body won't stop shaking because Jack smacks your ass as he fucks you deeper into your mattress, causing tension to coil and burst inside of you. 

“Oh fuck—” You muffle your screams into your pillow when you feel his fingers pushing into your pussy along with his cock, filling you up more than you can handle. 

“You can take it.” He says with another harsh smack of your ass, which lets him slip his fingers in deeper, curling them as the tip of his cock pushes against your womb. “You're going to cum so much for me, aren't you?” 

You nod into your pillow because it would be impossible not to cum from the way he's abusing your pussy like this. You yelp when he slaps your ass even harder.

“I expect a response.” He slows his thrusts until his cock and fingers are just resting inside of you. “Are you going to cum for me?”

“Yes, daddy.” You practically pant out, your mind growing fuzzier by the second. 

“Good girl.” He rewards you by fucking you with both his cock and his fingers until you're squirting all over him. “Just like that. Keep cumming, baby.”  

“I can't—” You're going to pass out if you keep cumming this hard. “Please, I can't—”

“You can and you will.” He gets rougher now, sending you spiraling, gasping, reeling from every harsh movement. 

Jack is pounding into you with so much force that your mattress is shifting beneath you with each thrust. You're seeing stars, your vision going dark, your body bathing in constant waves of pure pleasure that can't seem to end. 

Then, you feel Jack's hand against the back of your head, shoving you down into your pillow, cutting off your air. You flail beneath him, trying to stop him, trying to breathe but you can't. 

You can only cum. That's all he'll let you do. You're only allowed to take the pleasure he gives you and that's it. 

You'll get to breathe when he says so. 

“I love my slutty babydoll.” He rams his cock as deep as he can as he pumps hot ropes of cum inside of you. “Taking my cum so well inside her tight pussy. Did that feel good?” 

He tugs you up from your pillow by your hair, letting you finally gulp in air before you reply with such delight in your tone, “yes.” 

“Want to do it again?” Jack is still hard. He could fuck you until he's soft. 

“Please.” You say all breathless and beautiful. “Never stop.” 

Jack doesn't give you a break all night, which is fairly reminiscent of all the times you two had sex before. He has too much stamina for a man his age and you have too much determination to let him think he's wrung you out. Even though he definitely has because your pussy is dripping copious amounts of his cum by the time the sun is out. 

But when you wake up from your nap, you're completely clean, dressed in a nice pair of cozy sweats. 

And there's a morning after pill next to you with a glass of water and some painkillers.

No Jack, though. 

“Jack?” You ignore the pills, getting up despite the weakness in your legs. 

There's no way he left, right?

You slowly make your way through your house and then notice that the door leading to your basement is open. 

Fuck!

Adrenaline spikes through you enough for you to move quickly down the wooden stairs to your cellar, seeing the door to your hidden basement also wide open.

Fuck, fuck, fuck—

You sprint in and see…Jack, standing in the middle of your trophy room, where you keep all the personal effects of the people you've killed. They line the walls, spanning at least a decade of murders you've done.

“You did all this?” Jack turns back to look at you, furrowing his brows at how out of breath and panicked you look. “Everything alright, baby?”

“I…” You don't know what to say. 

Because surely whatever you and him have is over, right? 

He's going to turn you in, right? 

Why wouldn't he after seeing how many people you've killed over the years…

Maybe because he's crazy about you. To the point where this doesn't bother him in the slightest.

But he can tell you're worried so he steps up to you, pulling you into his arms for a hug.

“We're okay.” He pats your head gently. “I don't love you any less.” 

“Really?” You ask, both about this and about the fact that he just said he loves you. 

“If anything, I'm impressed.” He had read through your logbook, where you wrote down the reasoning behind each kill. They were all terrible partners who hurt the people they were supposed to love most. 

“Don't say that…” You shouldn't be praised for your compulsion. 

“I'm just stating the obvious.” Anyone would be impressed that you managed to get away with this many murders. 

As fucked up as that is… 

“Jack…” You're unsure if you believe that he actually accepts the fact that you're a serial killer. 

But he reassures you. “I won't tell a soul. I'm not going to let them arrest my fiancé.” 

You are left absolutely speechless at that which makes him chuckle. 

“God, you are so fucking cute.” He cups your face with his hands, pinching your cheek. “Lighten up. I'm not leaving you and you're not leaving me because if you try, I'll kill you before the FBI gets the chance.” 

You look up into his eyes then say, “promise?” 

“I promise.” He leans down then to seal that promise with a kiss. 

Because now you're stuck with him and all his craziness.

And you wouldn't want him any other way...

a/n: freak4freak nation is back, baby! I had a lot of fun with this one (though I always have fun so this one was just super duper fun!) because I just wanted jack to be so touch starved and nuts that ofc he would be okay if you were a serial killer! that man is a lover boy fr ~ 

You’ve never been known for virtuosity. Growing up in the south, many of your classmates were raised with pewter purity rings beneath their knuckles and Mary Janes glued to their feet. You were the one all the sweet Catholic girls were forbidden to be around, as if your presence would ignite the Lord’s distaste. You never grasped why you were excluded from their birthday parties, never invited to playdates, or always talked about as a miscreant — but now, you think you might have a hunch.

Maybe those WASP moms could see through to the version of yourself that you are right now, taking full advantage of your time home alone. Phone in one hand, with your other shoved haphazardly beneath your lacy waistband to flick at your slippery clit. You whimper, hips rutting against the pads of your fingers, eyes fluttering. Heat ribbons through your veins and around your spine. You eye the trashy porn currently playing out behind your cracked screen protector — VIRGIN SLUT DEVOURS DILF’S ASS. You try to tell yourself it’s because the ‘virgin slut’ in question has your body type, but the DILF in question is… topical.

Three short days ago, Joel, your dad’s infamously perverted best friend, had finally taken the initiative to make things sexual with you. As much as he’d been smacking your ass lately and not-so-subtly eyeing you up, none of that cold hold a needle to the time he’d cupped the back of your head and shoved you face first into his armpit. You’d licked and sniffed at his musk until you’d come completely untouched. Later, you’d watched him fuck his own fist, back arching off of his mattress, and that’d been that.

Except… it really wasn’t just that. You’ve been glued to your phone watching the nastiest, raunchiest stuff you didn’t used to be into — until you’d imagined Joel being the one to do them to you. (Hell, you didn’t know wedgies and tickling were kinks. But you’d sure as shit stumbled across the pornstars making a living off of them.)

Rimming is the most recent of your fascinations. The star of this video, a beefy middle-aged man with thick thighs and a plump ass, is just as domineering as Joel had been. He’s on his knees with his ass up, body braced on one folded elbow while his other hand cups the back of the woman’s head. He holds her down as she whines, tongue circling around his asshole. The camera zooms in, capturing the little smatterings of hair along his cheeks. “Just like that. Get in there good, girl,” the DILF says. You whimper, closing your eyes and imagining it’s Joel saying that. Joel’s skin on your tongue. His hips hitching under your mouth. His thighs tensing as he paints his belly with cum.

A new surge of slick rushes down your fingers and you whine as your stomach tightens into a double knot of pleasure. You’re so close, teetering over that precious edg–

The doorbell rings.

Your dad wasn’t supposed to be home until five. It is midnight.

With a frustrated groan, you chuck your phone facedown and scrub your hand along your face. You tug your hand out of your soaked panties, breath still sawing in and out of you as you wipe your juices off your hand with a tissue from your nightstand. The doorbell rings again. “Jesus, I’m coming!” you shout. You should be coming. You shove your phone in your pocket and head downstairs. 

You unlock the door between cluttered grumbles and yank it open. “You should have a key by now, dude,” you start telling your dad. Except it’s not your dad’s figure blocking the doorway, eclipsing the simmering Texan sun. It’s the very object of your degenerate fantasies — Joel Miller himself.

Joel had tried everything to avoid going to your place. He couldn’t even bring himself to look at your house, only able to think of the moment you two had shared in the garage. When he’d defiled you, right underneath your father’s roof. His eyes feel gritty from the thought, how all those degrading words had rolled off of his tongue like they belonged there. His best buddy’s little girl, licking and nipping at his fucking armpit. He squashed that thought quickly. The memory makes his blood rush south all over again.

When his phone ran out of juice as he was putting in a request for supplies he needed ASAP, he’d grabbed his charger. Except after he plugged it in, the battery only sporadically caught a charge. It made that irritating pinging noise repeatedly. He adjusted the angle enough times that he felt like he was taking measurements on a job site before giving up.

He prowled around Sarah’s room for a spare, except she must’ve stuffed hers in her duffel bag for her sleepover at Emma’s house tonight. After that dead end, he unplugged her galaxy light. It wasn’t the same shape. Port. Contact. Whatever the hell it is. He remembers vividly three years back when Sarah had seen some sort of viral video about making a charger out of a potato. She didn’t shut up about it for a week until he came home with two potatoes. One ended up as a failed charger, and the other had been dinner. With no spare wires in this house, Sarah at Emma’s, and every single store within fifteen miles closed for the night, it’s looking like he’ll have to wait for the morning.

Except he’s got a packed week. The prissy nepo baby’s ‘dream house’ he’s working on wants everything done quickly and well. She had them install the tiles for her kitchen only to decide when they were halfway through with the marble tiles that she wanted rose quartz. God forbid she throw another fucking temper tantrum.

Joel looked at the potatoes on the counter, then to your bedroom window. The lamp was on. He sighed.

He had never before wished potatoes could emit electricity, but he was now. Then, he’d toed on his Crocs and shuffled next door. He rang the bell, waiting with bated breath.

“Jus’ take your sweet time,” he says to your porch as he hears you thunking down the stairs. “Ain’t like the skeeters ain’t eatin’ me alive out here,” he grumbles.

“—should have a key by now, dude,” you say as you tug the door. You blink at him several times. He can see your shock through the screen door in the furrow of your brows. “Fuck are you doing here?”

“Real warm welcome for a neighbor,” Joel says, shouldering past the screen door. He scratches at the back of his neck, swallowing. He eyes the soft curve of your lips and the squint of your eyes. In the porch light, your sweat-slick complexion shimmers. You’re panting. Must’ve run a hell of a marathon to get down here, even if you were slower than a turtle. Unless–

No. He’s gotta get his brain outta the gutter, which seems to be his dick’s place of residence. 

“My charger’s busted. Needa do some work stuff. Was hopin’ I could snag yours.”

“Well what if I’m charging my phone?”

Joel points to the suspiciously phone-shaped outline in your pocket. “Chargin’ your phone my ass. C’mon, do me a solid, I’ll owe ya.”

“You already owe me.”

“Yeah, for what?”

“That time I tutored Sarah when she had a C in–”

“Alright, alright. I’ll owe ya twice, how ‘bout that?” You roll your eyes and turn, already heading back for the stairs. “Wait,” Joel says, snagging you by your wrist. A week ago, he would have snapped your bra strap against your skin to get your attention. Now he feels nauseous at the idea. He’d already disrespected you so wholly once before. It’s not as if he has any further left to go. “Could I borrow yours in the meantime? Y’know… mine kinda takes a second to get some juice. I want to get a jump on looking for what my client needs.”

“That washed up producer’s daughter with five thousand Spotify listens per month? Yeah, dad told me about her. I’ll let you. But only ‘cause I pit you. She sounds like a nightmare.” You fish around for your phone, type in the pin, and smack it against his palm. “No snooping,” you say, holding a finger in front of his face.

“‘Course not,” he says. “Thanks, kiddo.”

You pull a face at that. Before he can apologize, you’re already halfway up the stairs.

Joel resists the urge to kick himself the entire way to the couch. He curls up against the arm rest. He hears you kicking and rifling about upstairs as he searches your phone for any sort of search engine. He wishes he would’ve brought his readers over, too, but that much foresight had been lost on him. Settling for squinting at the glowing screen, he taps on Chrome. A tab whooshes open. Immediately, Joel’s bombarded with artificial, keening moans, the ragged coaxing of, ‘C’mon, honey, doing so well for me’ blurring out of the speakers. His eyes widen as he scrambles to lower the volume. He’s about to slam the phone down and never make eye contact with you ever again when he spies the title of this particular porno.

VIRGIN SLUT DEVOURS DILF’S ASS.

Heat wobbles up his face, ripening his cheeks. His thighs warm and stir, enough to harden his far too attentive cock. Jesus Christ. 

Did you mean to do this? No — you don’t have that kinda foresight. You’re crafty and a goddamn temptress, but that doesn’t make you some sort of mastermind who’s scheming to get back into his pants. If you were, though — this would be a good way of doing it. You must’ve been right there before he’d shown up on your doorstep. You had still been panting. His head hadn’t been in the gutter. He’d been right. Nasty little slut.

His eyes land on the woman who’s advertised as a ‘virgin slut’ but is about 100 videos past virginity if her channel bio is telling the truth. She’s built a lot like you — has the same shoulders, same hips. Her tongue hungrily swirls between the DILF’S cheeks. He’s pretty sure he knows who you’re imagining that to be. 

They share the same skin tone, the same bow in their backs, the same scattered patches of hair along the backs of their thighs and cheeks. He envisions you with a hand stuffed in your dangerously tight shorts, rutting against it. Tongue lolling out as you imagine rimming him. He smothers a groan at the thought.

The video keeps rolling as he stares in disbelief. The man groans, spreading his cheeks wider and pushes back onto the woman’s face. She slurps his asshole. Joel imagines holding your head in place, stroking your jaw as you work your tongue on him. Your lips, your tongue, doing exactly what he just watched, but to him. His cock twitches at the thought of you between his legs, licking, sucking, wanting.

All his attempts to shut you out of his brain come bursting out of the floodgates. A dam breaking, fattening his cock. 

Joel’s eyes flick to the stairs. He can still hear you rummaging around. Curiosity kills the cat as he presses your history button.

Naughty whore punished with ass eating humiliation. girl next door tongue fucks dilfs ass. DESPERATE BITCH BEGS TO EAT ASS. 

It shouldn’t surprise him. After you’d finished licking his pits, you had a geyser in your panties they’d only found in Yellowstone before. You’re a fucking freak, and goddamn if it doesn’t make the gears in his head turn.

Joel adjusts his bulge, raging tight against his boxers. He swallows the newly formed lump in his throat. His stomach burns. The things he could do to you, if he were to let himself. You’re practically fucking begging for it. If he were to slip his hand along your abdomen, past the gusset of your panties, and cup your mound, would you already be ready for him? The way he’s ready for you?

Upstairs, he hears a loud bang, followed by a resounding “FUCK!”

After wrestling with your extension cord, you’d finally grabbed your charger for Joel to borrow. Not without escaping unscathed. A swollen pit throbs on your head, and you rub it absently with the heel of your palm as you trudge downstairs. “The shit I do for you,” you remark under your breath, shaking your head in disbelief. You plod across the living room, tossing your charger Joel’s way. “Can I have my phone back yet, Miller?”

He quirks a brow at you. “If you answer me a question.” You roll your eyes and cross your arms, planting your feet. This dick. “You usually get off watchin’ shitty three-star pornos?”

Cold slithers around your gut as you stare blankly at him. Oh fuck. Shit. Son of a– “Excuse me?” You’re an idiot. All hat, no cattle. Lights on, nobody home. Joel had seen–

“‘Virgin slut devours DILF’s ass’,” Joel reads out in a monotonous voice. He wolf-whistles. “A little on the nose, ain’t it? But hey, whatever gets ya goin’.”

“G-get the hell out,” you say, snatching your charger off of his lap. Your eyes stall on his straining, blatant hard-on. A new wave of slick spills out of you. You have to bite your tongue not to lick your lips. “You’re a fucking… pervert. Nasty. You’re nasty, Joel.”

“And you ain’t? Got a whole waterfall in those britches of yours, I bet. I mean, this guy looks a whole lot like me, don’t he? Got the DILF thing going on too. Yeah, you’d be into older men. Look at ya,” he all but croons.

You look down at yourself, gesturing at nothing in frustration. “I told you no snooping. Guess your selectively hearing ass heard go snooping.” You swing in close to snatch your phone, but he holds it out of reach.

“Answer the question, kiddo. You like watching porn all the time, or just when you’re tryna imagine your daddy’s buddy?” He smirks up at you. You make another grab for your phone, and you’re not sure why. The damage is already done. But Joel — Joel makes you feel so, so out of control.

“You’re being an asshole, Joel,” you say, too exasperated to police your word choice.

“Yeah, but you like eatin’ ‘em. Don’t you, sweetheart?” You sputter, dragging your hands down your face. As if letting him debase you in the garage, no matter how good it felt, wasn’t enough. This is ten thousand times worse. “Gotta say. You’re a ‘lil sick in the head for that….” He tuts at you, clicking his tongue.

“Not as sick in the head as you. Going through my search history. Taunting me about it. And— and— the whole pitcident.”

“Pitcident?” he asks, raising an amused brow. “Thas’ a new one.”

“Would you rather I say the whole thing? That you held your buddy’s daughter down against your musky ass armpit and made me lick it clean? That you liked it so much that you jerked yourself off after knowing I was getting an eyeful of it?”

His throat bobs. He seems to think about it for a moment before he tilts his head at you. “Kiddo, you woulda creamed all over me if I took a breath in the direction of your swollen little clit. Didn’t even have to do that to get that pussy droolin’ for me. Bet it’s doin’ it now.” He gets up, dropping your phone onto the couch cushion. It bounces before sliding against a throw pillow. “Tell me,” he says, voice low. “You touch yourself to this shit, honey?”

“Why?” you ask, holding eye contact with him in defiance.

“Seems like a waste… when you could be gettin’ the real thing.”

Your mouth goes dry. Uncontrollably, your cunt pulses between your legs. “Jesus, Joel–”

“Been wonderin’ since you put your mouth on my pit how your tongue would feel on my cock. On my ass…. Same thoughts as you, I’d bet. Yeah?”

You swallow, forcing breaths back into your too-tight lungs. “Yeah,” you say. “I… fuck.”

“Ask nicely, kiddo. I’ll consider indulging you.”

“Seriously?”

“‘S that what you want, kiddo? Want your pretty face between my cheeks while I laugh at you for how desperate ya are for it?” Your vision swims. Joel is heady, alluring. You can’t pry your eyes away from him. It’s easy to remember how you bent to his whims last time. “Yeah, thought so,” he hums. “Already in this habit ‘a mouthin’ off at me. Ought show some respect. Could be a whole lot meaner to ya. Or we could do this the easy way, sugar. Your call.”

Your face feels scalding hot, eyes watering with something like arousal. Your thighs clamp together, squeezing in attempts to get some friction on your neglected, weeping cunt. “Please,” you rasp, voice more animalistically needy than you’d expected.

Joel rolls his eyes. “You askin’ for the table salt or to lick my ass, kiddo?”

“Jesus Christ, you’re picky. Okay, your royal highness. Please, can I lick your perfect, majestic, incredible ass?”

Joel reaches out and grabs your chin. You whimper as skin prickles under his calloused touch. He presses his fingers into the hollows of your cheeks, teeth shelving against the insides of your mouth. “Like I said. Mouthy. I’ll fix that, kiddo. Probably won’t ever wanna open your mouth again after you get what you wish for.” He gives your face a light slap, hardly enough to feel the thud of his palm against your skin. Still, your head rings.

Joel grabs you by the back of your neck and shoves you down onto your knees. You grunt at the whirlpool of colors blurring around your head, at the wood grains of the floor meshing into your kneecaps. He stands, facing the back of the suede couch. “Go ‘head, kid. If ya want it so bad.” 

You balk, staring at what you’re now face-to-face with. Joel’s ass, plump and thick and covered by his boxers and a thin layer of sleep shorts. He shuffles, sticking his ass out a bit.

“Don’t be chicken. Put your money where your mouth is.” He taps the back of your neck, urging you on. You tug at the stretchy waistband of his shorts and let them slide down to his ankles.

You scrutinize his choice of footwear. “Crocs? Really?”

“Do what you’re good for and kiss. My. Ass,” Joel says.

You probably should’ve expected that.

You lure his boxers down, breath hitching when you see how his cheeks come together. He’s warm, with a physique made for worship. Your mouth works as you swallow, mouth watering at the thought of getting your tongue in there. Instead of going for the throat, you start slowly.

You plant a kiss where his left cheek meets his thigh, tongue peeking out to stir at the soft patch of skin there. You press sloppy little kisses along the globes of his ass. One here, one there, a couple nearing his cleft. The very tip of your tongue pokes out of your lips to do a sweep of the inside of his right cheek. At this, Joel lets a breathy sigh out. 

“Got a perfect fuckin’ mouth.”

“I know,” you quip. You lean in and take a deep breath of a scent that’s so undeniably Joel. He’s cleaner this time, not fresh off of the lawn mower. He smells more like the Dr. Squatch soap you’d usually find in a Walmart aisle. You know from visiting his house that his bathrooms are stocked with the stuff. It’s woodsy and outdoorsy, a gingery pine aroma that wafts up your nostrils. You sigh and nuzzle into his skin.

“Ain’t a Bath and Body Works.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you grumble.

“Like I said. Sick in the head, likin’ all this odd shit.”

You spit into your palm and reach around, giving his cock a quick pump. It twitches in your head. His head tips forward, groaning and shoving his ass closer to your face. You smother a laugh. “You like it too, old man.” As you tug your hand down, you give his balls a generous squeeze. Then, you reach to spread him proper.

You damn near get heart eyes as you eye his pucker. Tan and blending into the rest of his skin, wrinkled and in dire need of attention. You lean in and throw him into the deep end with a broad stroke of your tongue along his hole. His hips jerk, a stunned noise ripping out of his lips.

“Fuck. Yeah, attagirl.” You groan into him, starting to swirl your tongue around. It whorls around his hole. You sweep softly along the inside of each of his cheeks, spit dribbling down his skin and along his taint. “Knew you’d make a good ass wipe. ‘S what you’re good for. Cleanin’ me up…”

You whimper, legs squeezing together needily. Your tongue swoops along the bend of his hole. Your thumbs dig into the insides of his cheeks so you can really nudge your tongue in there. Shallowly, you fuck your tongue in and out of his hole. Joel groans, hips thrusting against your face. “Goddamn,” he says through a hiss. He looks over his shoulder at you. Your eyes are needy and lidded, tongue hanging out as you work it against him. “Look atcha. There ya go, kiddo. Needy ‘lil slut for me…”

You hum in agreement as you flick your tongue up and down, left and right. You bob your head, determined to work him up properly. You slobber all over him. Little whines and whimpers hitch out of your mouth as you slurp and suck on his asshole. “Oughta keep you down there all day. Fuck, looks like it’s right where ya belong. Nose squished under my balls, breathin’ in my musk while you drool all over my ass. Be nice, havin’ a little cushion while I watch some ball games, do my work.” He cuts off into a strangled moan when you thrust your tongue inside of him properly, swirling it as deep inside of him as you can get it. 

You reach up to cup his balls, work your grip along his length, but he snatches your wrist when it’s halfway there. “Nuh uh, sweetie. Ain’t deservin’ of this cock. Gotta earn that privilege back after bein’ a naughty whore. Watchin’ all that porn. On your daddy’s WiFi. Got no shame, hm?”

“N-not my fault you left me high and dry–” you stammer out between kitten licks at his hole.

“Didn’t leave ya dry. Left you wetter than a fire hydrant. And if you wanna be high, I’m sure I could get a sex swing off ‘a Facebook Marketpla–”

“Jesus Christ, shut up and let me eat your ass.” He laughs, head hanging low towards the couch. You keep your palms splayed along his cheeks, baring him to you so you can pleasure him in a way that has long been foreign to both of you. He makes a choked noise as you purposefully twist and flutter the point of your tongue into his opening. His hips jerk, holer quivering around you.

“Goddamn, kiddo— shit, thas’ good…” he tapers off into a frayed moan.

Your thighs, spread against the floorboards, heat like furnaces. Slick drools out from your pussy lips, twitching and aching, needing so badly for him to fill you. You whine an unintelligible curse into his skin, hand fumbling past the elastic band of your shorts. Your fingers nudge past your panties, finding your clit wet and wanting from your interrupted session earlier. Your fingers work a slippery circle onto your puffy clit. A moan bends out of your lips as they work and suckle at his hole.

Joel cranes his neck over his shoulder, dark, half-closed eyes tracing your pathetic figure. You’re shrunken down on the floor as you serve him, so zeroed in on his pleasure. Yours is an afterthought, but your hips still chase after your wandering, fleeting touches. “Can’t believe this gets you off. Touchin’ yourself…. Does my ass really get ya this worked up?” He groans, grasping the back of your head and holding you into his cheeks. As if you’d ever pull away.  “Someone’s gotta–” he exhales. “gotta get you a fuckin’ vibrator. Gonna rub that sweet pussy raw.”

You whine at the thought, tongue traveling lower to give his taint some attention too. “Shit. Thereeeee ya go. Embarrassin’ kinda kink to have, y’know? Oughta get you an audience. Some folks from work… Tommy too, maybe. Bet you’d come twice as fast and twice as hard.” 

You nod in agreement, swiping your tongue all along his hole. Fingers snapping along your clit, a moan is drawn out of you. Languid strokes steadily quicken into sweeping jabs that leave his hips stuttering against the air, cock dripping pearls of precum onto the floor. “Hngh,” you whine into him, putting your full neck, head, and tongue into your efforts. Joel rocks back against you, rolling his asshole along your exposed tongue. You whimper, reaching up for his cock again with your spare hand. This time, you meet no resistance. You wrap your hand around him properly, stroking him in time with the circles you draw along your clit.

A flurry of curses sling off of his tongue, sharp and stunned by your vigor to bring him to the edge. Your lips lock around his asshole, sucking him, getting him there. Your thumb brushes along his twitching tip as your tongue slides in and out of his clenching hole. “This what you been wantin’?” he taunts, gripping the back of your neck. You keen in response, the noise vibrating along his ass. “‘Course it is. Pretty slut like you… meant to be on her knees with ass in her face.” His other hand slips back too, one around your nape and the other at the back of your skull, urging you to lick deeper, faster, more.

You whisk your tongue hungrily along his pucker, whining into him. Your fingers tweak at your clit, hips grinding into your hand with each upward stroke of your tongue. 

“Shit, kiddo. Gettin’ me close–” he rasps. Your hand slips down to squeeze at his balls, middle finger slipping along his shaft. You let out a high-pitched whimper as your hips roll down to meet your hand. “Fuck, I ain’t the only one. You really gonna come from this?” he hisses, digging his fingers harder into your skin. You let out a piercing, whetted moan. “Embarrassing. Thought it’d take mo–” He cuts himself off with a moan. “Goddammit, more. But I shoulda known you’d be easy. Came just from grindin’ on your inseam last time. Jus’ call you a slut and let you lick me clean and your panties are done for.”

Your eyes water with humiliated arousal. You drip all down your fingers, feeling wetness leak down between your legs. “Joel,” you moan into him through gasping breaths and slithery licks. Your clit twitches against the pads of your fingers. Your pelvis jerks. With each clench, your cunt salivates along your fingers, wanting. All you can taste, feel, hear, is him. His musk on your tongue, his skin under your hands and his cock between your fingers, his moans ringing in the air like a song. 

Joel grinds down your face. You lick up between his cheeks, landing another sloppy kiss on his hole. With a determined thrust, you twirl your tongue inside of him at the same time your hand twists around his cock. You know he’s coming from his sounds alone, something you’d been deprived of from just watching him across the street. You never would’ve taken Joel Miller to be loud in bed, but you are glad you are wrong. His whines and grunts heave out into the emptiness of the living room. “Fuck, hngh — good slut. Yeah. That’s my girl. Good ‘lil ass kisser. Gonna cream those fuckin’ panties for me like those girls do in your videos, aren’t ya? ‘S alright, kiddo. Come for me. Go ‘head.”

 Your tongue works him over diligently, fingers scuffing along your clit until it damn near chafes. His noises, the way he grinds, his words are enough to send you plummeting over that edge. You’re suspended on the precipice of your climax as you hover in time, but then the pestle of your fingers presses against your cunt. You’re done for, spiraling as juices leak out of you. Tiny, hitching moans hiccup out of you. You repeat his name like a mantra, “Joel, Joel, Joel, Joel,” hand still wrapped around his softening cock. Your tongue hangs out, forehead pressed against his cheek. Panting in the comedown, in that warm-lit afterglow of release, you slump back onto your haunches. Your chest heaves, stomach unknotting from that peak of pleasure. 

“Fuck,” you say articulately, looking up at him with glazed-over eyes.

“Fuck,” Joel says, in an entirely different tone. You follow his gaze to the back of the couch, splattered with pearly ropes of cum. Unable to stop yourself, you smother a giggle into the back of your hand. His panicked look only makes you giggle more before you burst into an entire laughing fit, clutching your gut as you wheeze at him.

Instead of fussing, Joel laughs too, shaking his head. “Goddamn, kid. You’re trouble.” He reaches down and squeezes your shoulder anyway. He bends down and tugs his shorts up, groaning as some of his bones snick from all of the bending. “Your dad keep any shock around?”

“Under the sink,” you say through your giggles, bracing yourself on your elbows. It takes until Joel comes back with an orange spray bottle and a rag that you manage to pull yourself up, dusting yourself off. You can still taste him on your tongue, a lingering musk that sits on your tongue. The bottle squeaks as it sprays foaming cleaner along the couch. You cross your arms and toe the ground, waiting for him to finish up.

“All that,” he says as he runs the rag under the faucet. “and we didn’t even plug my phone in.”

“Keep the charger,” you say. “I… think I have a spare. Somewhere. Besides. Won’t need to do another late-night viewing tonight.”

“Yeah,” Joel says with a content nod. “Guess you won’t.” He toes back on his Crocs that had come off somewhere in the fray. He runs a hand back through his hair. “Well, kiddo. Sleep well,” he says. “And get better taste in porn. You’re better than the cheap shit.”

You roll your eyes and wave him off. “Yeah, yeah. Goodnight, Joel.”

“Night,” he says, voice a tad stilted as he slips out of the house to go back next door.

For what it's worth, you still sleep next to each other that night. But where Jack would typically hold you close the whole night through, he's instead turned onto his side, practically hanging off the edge of the bed he seems to want to be so far away from you.

You lie awake the next two hours replaying things over and over again until your thoughts have turned into a jumbled mess, like a tangled ball of yarn needing to be unwound. The dishwasher hadn't been draining correctly the last two times you ran it, so you'd only asked if he could please take a look to see if he could figure out what seemed to be the matter.

His expression had shifted in an instant—from cool and collected to resentful and irate.

Has he finally had his fill of you, then? Have you grown to be too much for him to handle? Does he desire returning to bachelorhood again?

Turning onto your side as well, you make to reach out to him; to rest a loving palm against his back. But just as quickly, you retract the limb before moving away once more, deciding to let him cool off instead.

That night, you cry yourself to sleep.

The past week has been so silent in the house that you could hear a pin drop at any given hour. Jack has made little effort to speak to you, so you've in turn kept your mouth shut as well—terrified of setting him off again.

Things are just as bad at work.

Maybe worse.

Because there, where he's your superior, he feels justified in taking his persistent anger out on you by continuously barking orders and pointing out every time you make a mistake—right down to when the laces on your tennis shoes are coming undone. You've deferred so extremely to his authority that you've stopped calling him Jack, instead replacing it with either Dr. Abbot, or, later on, 'Sir'.

It'd tasted like vinegar when you did so. Surprisingly, the first time you tried it out—just to see how it'd feel, but also to gage his reaction—he'd stumbled over himself while advising a patient on the surgery they'd soon need to have scheduled in order to remove a swollen abscess, but ultimately returned to business as usual not long after.

Disappointment had settled into your chest at how unbothered he seemed by it. If not preferential toward it.

His behavior is wearing on you more than you initially thought it would.

Like at dinner and lunchtime, where you used to devour your meals because your days were so jam-packed with work, errands, and chores that you would always be starving when mealtime came around, you now only pick absentmindedly at your food, finding it to be of little interest as your appetite seems to have gone.

You're not sleeping well, either. The night finally came—not too long ago, in fact—where you were so exhausted that you opted to silently slip away to the couch... Only to wake up back in bed when your alarm went off.

Maybe you sleepwalked back to it.

Wanting nothing more than for the endless series of berates to end, you start giving Jack a wide berth in the ED, choosing instead to blend into the wall whenever you're in a room together by standing out of the way, allowing him space to work where you can't be an impediment.

People seem to have noticed, but after bearing witness to what earning his ire gets you, they've kept their mouths shut about it.

You've never felt so alone.

You take your time placing your things in your assigned locker before nightshift begins—fighting against the hot tears that well in your eyes from exhaustion all the while.

You can't imagine being on your feet for the next ten to twelve hours in this place. You can even more scarcely imagine going home to a house that's grown so cold and devoid of even a modicum of love or happiness that stepping over its threshold now feelings akin to walking across a minefield.

Something has broken between the two of you that you don't know how to fix. You still fold his laundry, put leftovers away for him to eat when he gets hungry, and make his side of the bed. Meanwhile, Jack changed the oil in your car a few days past, despite you making an appointment to have it done at a nearby autoshop because you were so incredibly afraid of asking him to. You deemed the extra cost of a hundred dollars worth it if it saved you from a fight.

When you glanced out the window and saw him lying on the ground beneath the front of your car, however, you disappeared into the bedroom to sob.

You don't know why.

Now here you stand, staring down at the stethoscope he bought you, wanting to pop the pieces off and throw them in the garbage as a way to take out the simmering anger you've been bottling up.

Instead, however, you shove it down like always and drape the object across your neck before gently pushing your locker closed with a soft click.

When you look up, it's to the sight of Robby standing half a dozen paces away with crossed arms and a thoughtful look on his face.

"I thought you went home," you remark.

He shrugs slightly before stepping closer. "I'd hoped to catch you alone so that we could talk."

You glance toward the end of the hall, knowing Jack will be looking for you soon. If you're so much as a minute late to starting your shift, he'll have your head. It'll be one more excuse for him to bite it off.

You want to scream at him for it.

Focusing on Robby again, you softly shake your head. "I can't. Jack will—"

He comes closer. "To tell you the truth, I really don't give a shit what Jack wants right now. My sole concern is for you."

You shift on your feet.

Robby reaches around and plants a hand firmly against the middle of your back while guiding you toward the elevator. "C'mon, we're gonna go talk somewhere private."

"But—"

He shakes his head gently. "No buts. C'mon."

The world seems to fall away from up here. The city of Pittsburgh somehow seems so very inconsequential when you're looking at it from an angle of thirteen stories up.

Too bad you can't tend to patients on the roof.

Seating himself upon a railing near the ledge while still facing the direction where the two of you just ascended a flight of stairs, Robby grips the steel beneath him. "I'm not going to pretend to know, or even understand every facet of your two's relationship."

You gently cross your arms as a subconscious form of defense.

"But what I can tell you is that the way he's been treating you isn't sustainable. Every night when you two come in, he goes one way, you go the other, and from what I've been told, the only time he bothers speaking to you is to reprimand you. For things that absolutely do not warrant it."

Taking a sudden interest in your shoes, you stare at them while shrugging—ignoring how a lump is quickly forming in your throat. It's really becoming quite the hindrance in every day conversation as of late. "He's just—" You sigh, then start again. "We—" Your nostrils burn. "It's a rough patch. I can fix it."

"Y/N, look at me."

You blink back tears while tracing the loops of your shoe's laces with your eyes.

"Look at me, Y/N," he insists.

Lifting your head, you do as he asks while brushing away the tears that're now slipping down your cheeks.

"He's going to steamroll you if you stick around. How long is it going to take before you finally see that it's only going to continue getting worse?"

You scowl. "He's supposed to be your best friend. So why are you doing this?"

He throws his hands up before slapping them against his thighs. "So, because he's my friend, I can't hold him accountable when he's emotionally abusing you?"

You flinch as if you've been hit. "It... It's not like that—"

"Then tell me what it is like," Robby says while standing. "Tell me that you're not afraid when he walks into a room, because I've sure as hell bore witness to behavior that tells me otherwise." He swipes an index finger through the air—gesturing horizontally with it. "He comes in the room, and you can't get out of it fast enough."

He comes closer. "You dare to voice a thought or opinion, and it's all he can do to not list every single reason why you might be wrong. Why he knows more than you."

Your chin wobbles. "He's just going through a hard time."

He chuckles, but it's mirthless. "Well, that makes two of us," he states while sliding his hands into his pockets. "Difference is, I could never imagine treating you the way that he has: like his own personal fucking punching bag."

You ball your hands into fists at your sides. "Stop it."

"Why? Am I telling you things you don't wanna hear? Am I finally making sense?"

You grit your teeth and practically snarl like an animal cornered.

"You want somebody to take it out on?" He questions. "You wanna hit me?" Robby asks while studying your fists. "C'mon," he says while gesturing toward his chest. "Give it your best shot, sweetheart. I can take it."

Your fuse having finally run its course, it bottoms out against dynamite.

As if you've gone feral, you begin beating against his chest with your fists. "Just shut up!" You scream. "Stop it! Stop talking about it!"

You pummel his pectorals. "I fucking hate you! I hate you! Why did you do this to me?! Why?!"

You claw at his zip-up hoody with vehemence. "What did I ever do but anything you asked?! Why wasn't it enough?!"

Robby stumbles back slightly before planting his feet once more, letting you continue on with working this pent-up rage out of your system.

"Why wasn't I? I'm not stupid! I'm not a nuisance! Why've you done this to me?!"

Soon, you begin to grow weak, and the sides of your fists sore. Your righteous anger turns to sorrow, and your screams to sobs while your fists loosen to instead grasp at Robby, now desperate for comfort. With wobbling knees, you stumble before finally falling against him.

He quickly catches you up in his arms and wraps them around you to hold—one tightly around your middle while his opposite hand cups the back of your head. "Shh. It's alright. It's over now."

You gasp for breath between violent, all-consuming sobs. You open your mouth to say something—anything—but fall short when all you can release are strangled cries.

Your body trembles as you grow cold all over. So hard that it begins to shake even him.

Robby releases you only momentarily to shrug off his jacket before draping it over your shoulders and zipping up the front to keep you warm. Cupping your cheeks between his hands, he forces you to meet his gaze. "Tomorrow, you're taking the day off."

"Rob—"

"Let me finish," he interrupts. "Because the day after, you're joining the day shift."

Your eyes grow wide. All hell will break loose if you do that.

Animatedly shaking your head, you mean to tell him no, until he grips your upper arms. "That right there is what I'm talking about: you're not wanting to tell me no for any other reason than because you're afraid of how he'll react. When things have reached a point where you're walking on eggshells and always being the one to acquiesce unless things end in a fight, is when it's time for a change."

You throw your head back and stare up at the stars in an attempt to calm your breathing before you try to change his mind.

Watching as your shoulders rapidly rise and fall, he continues. "Maybe you're just around each other too much. It's the only reason I can come up with. Unlike most people, your jobs don't serve as a daily period of separation. Instead, you're constantly together. For some, maybe an arrangement like that works out for the better. Others? It's a recipe for disaster, which you two are quickly coming to learn. So, I'm putting you on dayshift with me starting the day after tomorrow. It'll give the two of you some space."

You lower your chin. "He won't be happy about it."

Robby shrugs while crossing his arms. "I couldn't care less. I'm doing this for both your benefit. If he has an issue with it, then he can take it up with me. I find out he's taking it out on you, and he won't like the way things go after."

You open your mouth to defend him—God knows why—until Robby interrupts. Again.

"I know I'm not your attending. But I am an attending, nonetheless. So what I say goes. My decision is final."

He takes a small step forward, and slides his hand along the curve of your neck, slowly tilting your head back until you're looking up at him. "Two days from now, you're mine."

To his credit, Robby pulls Jack outside to the ambulance bay to inform him of your new working arrangement so you don't have to.

And he blows up in spectacular fashion.

So extremely does his anger set ablaze that Santos records their argument from afar while somebody behind you—McKay, you believe—quietly mumbles "Worldstar" before walking off. Meanwhile, all the rest of them stay captivated by the quarrel.

Until Dana shouts for everyone to get back to work.

Meanwhile, you stay put—utterly mortified as you watch Robby stand there with crossed arms and a set jaw while Jack loses his fucking mind in front of him.

Once things seem to have finally settled—as much as they can, anyway—Jack comes storming back in while Robby merely grants you a small smile, coupled with a reassuring nod from the doorway, before turning and setting off for home.

Turns out that working separate shifts most certainly does put some distance between the two of you. As in...all of it. Not only are you getting distance at work, but you're both just missing each other when you come home.

But not talking has become the norm for the both of you, after all. It's become routine, really.

It makes you upset to think about the fact.

You do your best to enjoy your new daytime shift, though, which isn't incredibly hard to do now that you're being given regular audience with the sun and don't live in perpetual darkness anymore. Literally or figuratively.

And Robby has been a balm to your ragged nerves.

You're not afraid to go to him with questions, or to voice your thoughts aloud when a new patient is presented with curious symptoms. Instead, he listens patiently, commends you for your intelligence, and takes what you say to heart. But in the best of ways.

All that's really left is for him to plaster a gold star on your forehead at the end of every workday to complete the whole adoring teacher ensemble.

Initially, you'd told yourself that working a shift opposite your usual one wouldn't last long. Maybe a couple weeks, then things would get better, you and Jack would make up, and things would finally return to normal.

But the longer you spend away from him, the less you find yourself wanting to return to your "usual" routine. Such a desire makes you feel guilty. Having you there to confide in had meant something to him. When he would tell you his darkest thoughts—like memories from overseas he'd rather forget—or when you would massage his aching leg while he bit back tears, mumbling over and over again that 'it wasn't really there'.

And you miss making love to him. Or...him to you. Feeling him sliding inside of you once he'd worked at your body with his tongue and teeth and fingers until you were dripping and literally begging him to sink himself between your thighs is a feeling you now ache for.

Does he remember those moments too, or only you? Does he care to?

You wish you could ask him.

Just when you've unlocked your phone and have pulled up your texting app does Robby call your name. Looking up, he waves his hand for you to follow him. "C'mon, sweetheart. Just got another case I want your help on."

Tucking your phone back away, you follow in his direction.

Time has stood still for Jack on so many occasions that the sheer amount of instances overflows the fingers on both his hands and instead now slips through them like water. But this one, in which an ambulance is incoming with a woman matching your exact description, makes an entire life potentially lost race through his mind's eye—blowing apart any plans he once thought plausible for the two of you, like dynamite collapsing a mine.

And it will have been all his fault.

Why hadn't he added your name to the deed for his house? He told you it was yours just as much as his, and yet he never made it so literally. At his age, why has he not gotten down on one knee—refusing to waste even one more moment by not binding the two of you together so that death alone may be the factor which serves to part you?

Most of all: why did he allow it to reach this point? Where there used to be no room between the two of you—literal or otherwise—there is now a gaping chasm. Is there even enough apologies that can be said to serve as thread to stitch this frayed bond back together?

Has Jack done too much damage and thus turned you away from him entirely? Your clothes are still in the closet next to his, your soaps neatly placed in the shower caddy beside his Old Spice body wash, and your tennis shoes rest by his running shoes near the front door. But is it all merely out of habit, or because you're still committed?

As Jack nears the doors to the ambulance bay, a thought which nearly cleaves his world in two crosses his mind: none of it may matter soon.

While EMS rattle off vitals while pulling an occupied gurney from the back of the ambulance, Jack remains on stand-by, unable to look—to really see.

"Is... Is it her?" Jack asks, though the words hardly feel like they came from him.

Parker turns back to him with furrowed brows while gripping one side of the gurney to begin wheeling it inside. "What're you talking about?"

Jack swallows thickly. "Is it—"

Like a rubber band snapping into place, his mind returns to itself. He's wasting precious time staring, but he has to study every facet of the unfamiliar face, so as to reassure himself that his reaction was wholly unwarranted after all.

Not you, not you, not you.

Gripping the other side of the gurney, Jack flies into action by rattling off orders and moving his new patient inside.

If there is a God, he's just given him a second chance to fix what he's broken. And he'll be damned if he wastes the opportunity.

He's left you a few voicemails, as well as a couple sweetly written notes on the fridge. Small, but nevertheless precious things you hold close to your heart while deeply hoping that this is the beginning of a new start for the pair of you.

Jack had said in one voice message that he'd laid everything on the table with his therapist—that he hadn't been entirely honest with them for a little while because he was so ashamed of his treatment toward you. And because he wasn't disclosing it to the one person he should've been, he thus found himself unable to stop. He'd made clear that that was no excuse for any of it, but rather an explanation. If you were looking for one, that is.

That between burnout, and PTSD-riddled nightmares he never divulged to you...yes, he turned you into his own personal punching bag. Just as Robby had said. But now there was admittance, and thus, forgiveness and understanding could be granted in kind.

When you go to your daytime attending with the happy news that things seem to finally be on the mend between you and Jack, he seems happy enough to hear that his friend is doing better, but somehow still perturbed.

"I still don't see how it'll work out," he'd said.

You'd merely given him a quizzical look.

"You have three options," he'd explained. "One," he'd begun by holding up a thumb. "You stay on dayshift with me and the two of you continue never seeing each other. Two," he'd said while flicking up his pointer finger. "You return to nightshift and hope for the best—that things don't go sideways again."

Finally, he extending his middle finger. "Three, you find a different place to work."

You'd reeled back, causing him to reach out to you. "That isn't me trying to fire you, sweetheart. I'm just telling you how it's probably going to wind up. I'm not saying there isn't a scenario in which you don't go back to Abbot's shift and the two of you end up the happy couple again. He keeps being honest in therapy, and that may very well happen. But if it doesn't?"

He cocks his head to the side and shrugs. "Then I guess you'll have your answer. Once and for all."

"About...?"

"Whether the two of you are meant to remain together in the long run."

You had rubbed nervously at your arm with your opposite hand; your head now full of doubt where a moment ago it'd been filled with relief for the first time in weeks. "I don't...want to be alone again."

Robby had stepped forward before placing a firm, affectionate kiss to your forehead. "You won't be."

Jack feels lighter than he has in months. He's doing well in therapy, the two of you are talking more—including you sending him a couple risqué photos from your shared bed which had given him cause to excuse himself to the men's room at work in order to get his dick back under control—and his residents are flourishing. Except the time Toomarian got hit on by a middle-aged drunkard who Abbot had to practically restrain in order to get him to stop flirting with the poor woman.

She'd found the situation mildly entertaining, at least.

So, safe to say that things are going good.

Or so he had thought until he ran into McKay in the parking lot one evening and she pulled him aside and told him something which opened a pit in his fucking stomach.

"Maybe he's just being nice. Trying to...undo what..." She'd sighed. "I'm just gonna be straight with you, Abbot."

He'd nodded. "I'd prefer it. Shoot."

"You really did a number on her, as I'm sure you're well aware. At first, I just thought Robby was trying to get her comfortable working the new shift. Reassuring her, y'know, so she'd know that he was approachable. But before long... It's like he was dead-set on keeping her practically glued to his side."

A muscle in Jack's jaw feathers.

"He bought that stupid fucking motorcycle and started talking about a damn sabbatical, then he switches her shift and," she swipes her fingers through her bangs, "He wasn't doing well. You could practically see that fact from space. And I'm not saying he's out of the woods yet. But I'm afraid that she's jumped from the frying pan and into the fire. It's like unless he's with her, he's a miserable son of a bitch. But she obviously doesn't get to see that side of him because with her, he's Mister Fuckin' Rogers. I don't want to put myself in the middle, but I'd be willing to put money on it that he's trying to work toward splitting the two of you up so he can have her."

Jack shakes his head. What she's saying is absolutely ridiculous—they're not the stars of some shitty teen drama where a poor innocent girl is caught between two warring pubescent boys. "No. No, Robby wouldn't do something like that to—"

"When you're at the end of your rope, you'll do anything you damn well please. Because you just don't care anymore about what may happen when you do."

With you having already gone home, and possibly already being asleep, he heads into work to stew on what he's been told. To figure out his next step.

Robby has been giving you...quite a lot of extra attention as of late. To the point where it's bordering on being smothering. Every time you turn around he's at your side. A fact which had initially endeared you to him because it gave you ample opportunity to learn. But then he stopped wanting to talk as much about medicine, but instead about... Well, you.

About the places you've been, and the ones you'd still yet like to see. Your hopes and dreams for the future. Flattered, you'd indulged his curiosity. Especially since it came during a time when you and Jack were at your lowest. Where you were craving love and validation, but not getting it from him, Robby had seemed all to happy to grant it.

Well, not love, of course, but kindness, surely. He was just being a good friend. A good superior by looking out for his suddenly vulnerable subordinate.

You haven't told Jack yet for...obvious reasons. Number one being that it will set three lives ablaze when you do...but you went riding with him one evening. He drove for so long that the two of you nearly crossed West Virginia's state line until he suddenly swerved and turned the two of you back the way you came.

You'd lost yourself a bit that night in the temptation of the open road.

In him.

You'd clung to his back, smiling softly as the stresses of your daily life disappeared with the miles Robby put between the two of you and what lay behind, awaiting your inevitable return. So it came as no surprise that an overwhelming want to tell him to keep going eventually came over you.

But you instead bit your tongue—same as always—and held close to him, not wanting to plant a seed of temptation where it ought not grow. It seemed it did anyway, however, but in different form. Because when he brought you to an empty parking lot to 'let the motor cool for awhile', he'd said, you each crossed a line.

Or...came close to it.

You're unsure. If the roles were reversed and it had been Jack with another woman, you know you would've undoubtedly considered it cheating.

Robby had been leaned back against the bike while you stood between his legs—the two of you laughing and going on about something you can no longer recall. What you can, was his hand snaking under the back of your shirt to caress your naked skin while you carded your fingers in his hair and tugged playfully at his beard. Occasionally, you pawed at his stomach, appreciating how he was a bit soft in the middle.

He'd pulled you close and gazed up at you with eyes full of adoration—the two of you illuminated only by a dim overhead streetlight—before placing his other hand at the back of your head and guiding your lips down to meet his own.

You'd hovered there—a mere inch away—close enough to feel his ragged breath against your mouth while your heart pattered away in your chest like a machine gun let loose to fire.

Something came awake in you in that moment. An unexpected desire. For him. You could feel the heat building between your legs from it.

But for all the sensual thoughts in your head...you pulled away. An action which left you feeling both empty and hollow, and perhaps a bit sick. Mumbling a quiet apology, you'd been unable to look at him.

Until he stood, walked over to you—his boots thumping against asphalt; a sound you found incredibly sexy and dangerous—and leaned down before pressing a long, heated kiss to your cheek... Which then traveled lower, to the corner of your mouth.

Robby had refused to make it easy for you when he groaned, "If you want me to stop, then you're going to have to tell me to."

As you gasped for air, he moved to your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin there—likely to leave a mark (as was his intention)—before traveling lower and running the tip of his tongue along your collarbone. An involuntary 'Oh God' exited breathily from your mouth as you held yourself close to him, desperate for a bit of relief from the pressure that was gradually building between your legs.

Robby had slid his hand upward and unclasped your bra in one swift motion before pushing at the hem of your shirt, desiring to have as much of youself as you would allow him to.

When his calloused hand skimmed the soft skin beneath your breast is when you finally stumbled back, only just noticing that he'd managed to undo the front of your pants as well.

"Jesus Christ," you'd quietly cried while trying to gather yourself with shaking hands. "What are we doing?"

Robby had stalked toward you. "Whatever the hell we want."

"No!" You'd shouted with an arm outstretched in his direction. "This isn't..." Your chin wobbled. "Jack and I are still together."

Feeling incredibly close to the edge of the kind of freedom he'd only been able to dream about for the last few months, he finally spoke his mind aloud. "Maybe you shouldn't be."

Reaching beneath your shirt with trembling hands to fasten your bra back into place, you'd shaken your head in an attempt to clear it. "You don't know what you're saying, Robby. We're both just... God, where the hell even are we?" You'd exclaimed while looking around.

Pressing the heels of your palms against your forehead, you squeezed your eyes shut and just breathed. "I need to go home. I need you to take me home." Opening your eyes a moment later, you filled to the brim with regret from the absolutely shattered look you found upon his weathered face.

"Robby," you'd started while walking toward him.

He'd merely turned back to his bike and swung his leg over the side before bearing down on the kickstart. Without a word, he held out his helmet for you to take.

And now here you sit, stirring a cup of Easy Mac while hiding amongst the staff lockers, hoping for a bit of peace and quiet before you submerge yourself in blood and guts and sickness again in just a bit.

Like your thoughts are able to manifest themselves in real time, he comes around the corner and smiles at the sight of you. "Was wondering where you wandered off to," he says before leaning down and seating himself heavily beside you.

"Just getting something to eat before I go back to it," you mumble while idly stirring what is now lukewarm macaroni.

He doesn't take his eyes off of you, despite the staring making you want to squirm. "We haven't talked about it."

Elephant, the doctor will be seeing you now.

"I know," you say quietly.

Pursing his lips, he studies you for a moment. "Do you regret it?" Robby asks hesitantly—the tone of his voice one of pure hesitation; a man awaiting his sentence.

Not in the moment, because things had been so awful between you and Jack. But now that they're improving and you still have yet to disclose it to him?

"Yes and no."

Robby is silent, but not for long. "You have nothing to feel guilty for if that's your reason for saying yes." He shrugs while rubbing his palms together. "I mean," he separates his hands before quietly clapping them together and folding his fingers. "I'd say he sort of drove you to it, wouldn't you? You did everything you could for him, and in reward he made you afraid of his very presence."

You suddenly decide that you don't want the macaroni anymore.

"We're working it out."

He snorts. "What? Over text? Has he even tried to—I don't know—make arrangements so that you can speak in person, or—"

You set the macaroni aside. "Would you have really done that to him that night?" You turn to face him. "Had I not stopped you, how far would you have gone?"

The closer his sabbatical looms, the less he feels he has to lose. "As far as you would've let me."

Your eyes flit between his in surprise. "So...some cheap motel, or your own bed or—"

"Whole nine yards, sweetheart," he retorts with no remorse behind it.

You feel like you may be ill.

At least the restrooms are close by.

"I—" You clamp your mouth shut. He's left you utterly speechless from how cavalier he's being.

"Had he not been in the way, wouldn't you have done the same?"

In the way? Is that how he thinks of Jack now? Someone who's done so much for him? The man who, as far as you know, is still his emergency contact? His brother by choice being the deciding factor?

You sputter for an answer and wrack your brain for a way to deny what he's just said. You'd not been thinking clearly that night. It was late, you and Jack were still on the outs, and it'd been just you, Robby, and the open road with no set destination. So, yes, you'd thrown caution to the wind, but only for a moment.

"Robby—"

Cupping your cheek in his palm, he cuts you short. "Come with me when I go on my sabbatical."

Your eyes widen to the size of saucers.

"We can get away from this fucking place. Together. I'll—"

"Robby, we need you."

Seeing McKay standing at the end of the hall, blood rushes to your cheeks from a sense of mortification. You turn away and gather your forgotten snack before wandering off to toss it in the trash. A small moment that you utilize to try and get ahold of yourself.

You need to talk to Jack, and as soon as possible. Come clean about...whatever is happening between you and Robby.

You've played and replayed so many scenarios during sleepless nights of how such a conversation—rather, more likely a rip-roaring argument—will go. Will it be the end of your relationship once and for all?

Every time you think for any length of time on that possibility, though—of it being you and Robby, and you fixing whatever it is which you see broken in his eyes—you fill with a sense of sheer purpose. And something more...which you don't yet have the words to describe.

One evening.

It's all the two of you need to finally set things completely straight and for you to begin thinking with a clear mind again. No more withholding. No more distance. No more secrets.

It's all or nothing.

Once your shift is through, Robby walks you out to the parking lot with an arm slung lazily over your shoulder—his way of keeping you close to him.

It feels like you're the only warmth left within his life that has gone cold, like a corpse lying unclaimed in the county morgue.

You're all he has left.

Robby pulls you even closer, causing you to stumble into his side before he presses a kiss to the side of your head. "You have a good day today?" He asks quietly.

You merely nod. "I did. Did...you?"

He feigns a smile, though you can't see it. "Always do when you're around."

"What's goin' on?"

Jerking your head up, you're greeted by the unexpected sight of Jack standing near his truck with crossed arms and a peeved look on his face.

Breaking away from Robby's side without hesitation, you make way toward him. "You're here early," you remark with a welcome smile. One which he thankfully returns; a gesture which causes an only recently occurring tension in your chest to dissipate.

He cups your cheek and you step into the much wanted embrace. "Was hoping we could talk. I thought an extra half an hour could give us some time to."

You nod eagerly. Although...is thirty minutes enough time to disclose what occurred not too long ago in another parking lot with the man who stands but a few paces away from the pair of you? You feel slightly nauseous at the thought of it.

Robby walks over to his bike and quietly straps his bag to the luggage rack on the back before leaning back against it.

He has no intention of driving off one way while you and Jack go the other, however.

Everything changes tonight.

"Of course we can," you say with a nod while taking his unoccupied hand in your own.

He turns not even half a step before Robby dives in head first. "Got a lot to talk about then?"

Jack halts and a muscle in his jaw feathers. He looks toward him, but speaks not a word. He allows the intensity of his gaze to do the talking for him. Seeing the two of you tonight—how closely he held you to him—has already lit a fire under his ass. He thinks it best he not address it now, however. It's a conversation best saved for another time. Because right now, you—your relationship—is his priority.

Having backed into the spot, Jack pops open the passenger side door for you.

"Did she tell you about the parking lot yet?"

Your head snaps back in Robby's direction while your stomach drops to your feet.

His brown eyes flit to yours. "Or were you going to do that now? I could just save you the trouble."

Your heart now wound up like a child's toy, you feel utterly breathless with panic. "Robby, don't," you spit.

Planting his palms against the leather seat behind himself, he looks at Jack, who otherwise is looking at you.

"What's he talking about? Parking lot?" He shuts the door. "This one? Did something happen? With a patient or—

"Nope," Robby interrupts. "Not this one," he supplies with a shake of his head. "It was a few weeks ago. I had us about thirty minutes from the West Virginia state line. I had half a mind to keep going, but with only the clothes on my back and my wallet in my pocket, I couldn't have exactly provided for her the way that I mean to."

He's just lit a match to your entire fucking life.

Having grown hot all over, you take a step toward him. "Robby, stop it!" You shout while wiping away angry tears that've sprung forth without warning.

He turns his head in your direction. "I had no intention of making this easy for you by letting you go back to him without a fight. You knew what you were getting into the night you climbed on the back of my bike. This is me finishing the job by making sure it's all out in the open so that you know you have another option."

Looking at Jack, he continues. "I pulled us off the interstate to let the motor cool. We didn't kiss on the lips, but there was plenty else that we did do," he states with a shrug of indifference. "Heavy pettin', if that's what you wanna call it. She only pulled away once I had her bra unclasped and her pants undone."

"Please!" You cry.

"Thing is, I could've had her that night had you not been in the fucking way," he hisses. "It was the only reason there was even a moment of hesitation on her end." Robby runs a shaking hand down the back of his head, which he jerks to one side, then the other while studying the lined parking spaces around them.

It feels like the world has shifted on its axis, leaving you standing on unsteady feet. Turning back to Jack, it's with a mouth that repeatedly opens and shuts as you grasp for words to right this wrong.

"I don't believe you," he whispers while stumbling back into the side of his truck.

"I—I wasn't thinking clearly," you supply uselessly.

"I fixed what you broke," Robby calls out. "Gave her everything you'd been withholding: approval, affection, attention. And in return I gained a reason not to. The only one I've got fucking left," he says with a humorless laugh while slapping his hands against his thighs before wrapping his arms around himself once more.

"You just burned a fucking bridge," Jack replies—his voice breaking. "One of the only ones you had left."

With trembling shoulders and quickly emptying eyes, Robby shrugs while nodding toward you. "As long as I have her I don't need anything else," he states while wiping tears from his damp cheeks.

Jack takes a small step forward. "You'd do that to her? Are you really that far gone that you'd lay the weight of your own survival—your fucking life—on her shoulders? You think that she's what? Going to fix you? She's not your solution, Robby, she's a goddamn midlife crisis!"

You stumble back like you've been struck.

Robby begins to slowly rock himself. "We're the same age. So what's that make her to you?"

Jack clenches his jaw while shaking his head—now at a complete loss for words.

Robby trails his line-of-sight back to you.

Your hands have gone numb, like you're not really here. This moment feels like a nightmare, which you pray you'll soon wake from.

"I can give you what he can't," Robby starts. "Come with me, and I'll take us three thousand miles from this fucking place. Just you and me. We'll go out West. I'll marry you, buy you a house—whatever you want. Whatever I have to do to keep you. To make you happy. But you have to come with me now, because I'm done. I can't stay here another day."

His eyes flit from Jack, then back to you. "You have to choose."

"She comes with me, and then what?" Jack asks while making to step toward you.

Robby snorts, while shrugging. "I follow through."

He should feel ashamed of himself for handing this responsibility to you. But he can't. Not right now, or his mind will fracture. The two of you have to stay together, because you're the only one left who won't leave him behind. The only one who will stay, and look after his wellbeing because he just can't anymore.

You're too maternal not to. He's seen it so many times since bringing you onto his team. How sweet you are with kids, how thoughtful you are with adults, and how selfless you've been with him.

When he looks at you, your ears begin to ring, and you take note of how you're beginning to feel rather lightheaded. Perhaps you should go back inside the hospital where its safe; leave the mess you've created outside where it belongs. Someone else can clean it up.

"Please," Robby begs while staring at you through bloodshot eyes. "Come with me. Just get on the bike."

You open your mouth, then shut it. You... You can't make a decision like this with no time to think.

"You're the only thing I have left," he continues. "I can't live without you."

Jack tugs gently on your forearm, but you remain looking at... No longer his best friend. You feel like you might shatter at the realization.

What have you done?

Finally, he takes your face between his hands, forcing you to meet his gaze. "You can't fix him. You know this. It fucking—it pains me to say it; to see him like this, but you cannot climb on the back of that bike. Just get in the truck and I'll take you home. Baby, I drove you to this. I know I did. We've both done enough damage, so let's just... We're even, alright?" Releasing you, he takes your dominant hand between each of his own. Jack kisses your knuckles before pressing your hand to his chest. "I forgive you. Just like you've forgiven me. Nothing has happened yet that we can't come back from."

Animatedly, your head slowly maneuvers back in Robby's direction. For the first time, you see just how far gone he truly is.

How weak his body seems as it folds in on itself. How gaunt his face has become. How hollow his eyes have grown.

Pulling away from Jack, you take measured steps toward Robby, whose head hangs ashamedly between his shoulders.

You clench and unclench your hands at your sides before finally sliding a finger beneath his chin and tilting his head back. "I need you to give me a few minutes." You rest a palm atop his shoulder. "You owe me that."

His eyes flit between your own—you want so badly to wipe away his tears; to love this agony out of him—before he gives a single, solemn nod.

Turning back, you return to Jack and embrace him without a moment's hesitation.

It's like you're no longer in control, but acting on such strange form of instinct instead.

Knowing little else of what to do, you go with it.

Standing on tiptoes, you wrap your arms around Jack's neck while squeezing your eyes shut. "I love you," you whisper into his ear. "A part of me will always love you; will always feel that I have a home in you, even if the day comes when I don't because you've moved on."

He chokes back a sob while wrapping his arms around your middle—practically crushing you to him. Maybe if he tries hard enough, he can meld you to him so you'll never be parted again.

"I forgive you," you continue with reassurance. "Don't you ever think for one moment that I don't. But I..." You swallow thickly. You have to get this out before the lump in your throat becomes too much for you to bear. "Only one of you needs me. You'll be just fine on your own," you murmur while running your fingers through familiar curls. "I'm so sorry that I hurt you. But you'll make it through this, just like all that which came before. He... Robby needs me. I can't leave him. Not like this."

Pulling back, you crush your lips to his, and you pour all your love and sorrow and hope for his future that will be spent without you into it.

When you withdraw, you both gasp for air. "Know that this has nothing to do with you. That he cares. And try, if you can, to one day forgive him."

You press your forehead to his. "Promise me that you'll take care of yourself."

Jack tugs against your hips. "Please stay."

"Promise me."

He nods.

You break away then and step quickly over to Robby before you can change your mind; make a decision that will cost a life in due time.

It's not even day-by-day or even hour-by-hour that his mental state is diminishing now. Seeing how he's shaking like a leaf, and wiping his running nose against the sleeve of his jacket as his world crumbles around him, you see that it's minute-by-minute.

One hand comes to cup his cheek while your other tilts his head back. "Take me home," you say quietly. "I made my choice."

His chin wobbles. "M-Me?"

You nod slowly, then press a kiss to his forehead. "You."

Pulling you close, he buries his face between your breasts and begins to sob.

You shoosh him, run your fingers through his hair, and caress his feeble shoulders.

Meanwhile, he quivers so violently that it shakes your entire body.

"Shh, it's okay. I'm here now," you mumble comfortingly, despite being unsure that the latter part of your statement is entirely true.

It feels as if somehow you've melded into him. Become a part of his very being and psyche. When did it happen, you wonder?

Sliding his hands up your back, he begins taking calm, measured breaths.

You wonder then if Jack is still watching. You pray not.

Robby leans back once more, and you swipe tears from his reddened face with the pads of your thumbs. "Let's go home," you insist before leaning down and finally pressing your lips to his.

The kiss is soft, like a whisper on the wind; consoling and passionate. His jaw shakes as he opens his mouth to draw in a lungful of air, and you tease his bottom lip with your tongue.

If you try hard enough, you may actually believe that you've made the right decision for everyone involved.

Finally, you pull away—tracing the curve of his lips and the stubble which surrounds them with your thumbs.

Robby nods then, and you step back while he throws a leg over the side of the bike before getting it into position and bearing down on the kickstart. Once it's rumbled to life, he extends his helmet toward you. Situating yourself behind, you hold firmly to his waist while keeping your face turned away from where Jack's truck lies.

You can't face him now. It's paramount that you remember him the way he was a moment ago, with his lips against your own and a nod of forgiveness granted.

As Robby pulls out of the parking lot, Jack walks to the edge of it and watches in silence as taillights disappear into the dark.

⋆ ──── ♡ ──── ⋆

Flashback

A shadow, is how you felt like for most of your life. A dark silhouette of something big and great, and you only seem to be noticed when the light is faced towards this so called something that is big and great.

“Oh Mikey don’t you look so handsome!” Your mom claps her hand together as she fights back tears once she sees your brother all dressed up in his graduation gown. “Doesn’t he look great?”

“You look nice” you look up from your book and smile at him. “Have fun at graduation!”

“Sorry you’re not coming.” He says softly, forcing a small smile. 

“Me too.” You aren’t sorry in the slightest, because it means you get the house to yourself for a few hours. Your mom also forgot to buy your ticket — a blessing is disguise if anything. “Take lots of pictures please!”

The moment they leave the house, is the moment you can finally breathe. You grab your book, curl up on the sofa, and lose yourself in a made up world where you weren’t forgotten about. 

A world where you didn’t feel lonely.

A world where you felt loved.

⋆ ──── ♡ ──── ⋆

“Your mind is elsewhere tonight.” A gentle voice snaps you out of your haze. 

“Sorry Jack.” You clear your throat, giving yourself a second to readjust to your surroundings. “What were you saying?”

“Nothing, but you’ve been staring at the screen and not blinking for a good few minutes.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t need an apology, just making sure you’re alright?”

“Robinavitch!” Someone yells your name, “patient in five is after you.”

You fight back tears you didn’t know the cause of, mutter another sorry as you log out of the computer and walk to room five. Jack watches you as you walk away, a familiar look of defeat and sadness in your step. He wonders what went wrong, but he doesn’t know when it went all wrong. He had known you at least fourteen years, and working beside you has brought him nothing but joy. But the more he watched you, the more he realised how good you did at hiding your emotions. But he had a feeling that you might be getting too tired to hide anymore and he desperately wanted to help.

⋆ ──── ♡ ──── ⋆

Flashback

“Oh she’s vomiting again, you’re gonna be late for school!” Your mom yells as she passes by the bathroom. The time was 6am, and it was exams week. Which means that sickening feeling in your stomach was back; a feeling you didn’t know what it was and was difficult to explain. You also had no one you can tell about this feeling. But it made you uncomfortable and you couldn’t fight the nausea that burned your stomach every morning. So during exam week, or whenever there was a test coming up, you vomited just before going to school. Your body had built up a coping habit, and you didn’t know there was anything wrong with it until you became a doctor many years later and reflected back on it.

“I’m ready” you say weakly as you rinse your mouth clean. “You’re the one who’s still in pyjamas.”

“Your dad’s taking you.”

“Which means I’m gonna be late for school!”

“It’ll be fine!”

“Mom! No! They gave me detention last time because he was late!”

“He works harder than you, the least you could do is say thank you.” She snaps back.

You choose silence, because that’s the best option most days. You wait by the door for him, backpack slung over your shoulder as you tap your foot on the floor anxiously. The sickening feeling in your stomach is back, and this time you don’t feel nauseous, but you feel an unexplained wave of fear wash over you.

“You’re quiet on the drive this morning”

“Please can you drive faster? I’m gonna be late.”

“I’m going the speed limit.”

“You’re 7 miles under.”

“You could at least appreciate the morning with me? Michael always was so much more talkative.”

Michael was more talkative on the way to school because they asked Michael questions on the way to school. Whereas for you? Your interests, which were mainly reading books, wasn’t their interest so no questions were asked. 

“It’s career day at school today.” You say quietly. 

“That’s exciting! Right! You’re gonna be a good doctor.” A good doctor, but not a great one. A career that was chosen for you, the moment Michael was accepted into medical school. Your mom cried tears of joy: “oh I’m gonna tell everyone my son is a doctor! My daughter will be one too! Hopefully.”

⋆ ──── ♡ ──── ⋆

The shift goes on like how anyone would expect, and the tears you were fighting earlier, came rushing out the moment you stepped into the bathroom cubicle. You actually weren’t too sure why you were crying; you felt an ache in your heart that twisted so badly at you. The ache is always there, sometimes forgotten about, but today… today it was excruciating. You wait until your face had calmed down slightly, and your eyes were not as red before you step out into the ED. You had two more hours of this shift; two more hours until you can get home, and zone the hell out. Two hours until you take yourself into an imaginary world in which you didn’t feel broken. 

“Robinavitch” Ellis calls you over, but she instantly clocks in on your sad and red eyes. “You alright?”

“Mhmm. How can I help?”

“Patient in room 5 is asking for you again.”

“Okay.”

“Wanna know why?” Ellis frowns at how quiet you had gotten all of a sudden. “What’s up with you tonight?”

“PMSing.” A lie. “Bad night.”

“Go rest, I’ll do it.”

“No, no, I can do it!” You had this deep fear of someone doing you a favour. Again, a feeling you weren’t too sure why existed, but it was deeply unsettling. 

“Girl, go rest. I can see you fighting the will to live.” Ellis’ words hit you like a punch to the gut. You have been in survival mode for far too long, and the will to live is now a stranger. “On-call room is yours. I’ll come find you in 30 minutes”

You give her an unexpected hug, and she doesn’t have time to react before you pull away and rush to the room. Your tears once again had started falling and you weren’t too sure why. You open the door without knocking, and walk in on Jack talking to someone on the phone. You freeze, not entirely sure where to go from here, and he quickly hangs up the call. “Who upset you?” He says firmly. “Give me a fucking name.”

“No one” you whisper as you wipe your face clean.

“A name!” He says loudly.

“Jack I promise nobody’s upset me.”

His jaw tightens as he walks toward you, “I swear I’ll skin them alive.”

“Abbot I promise…” you say softly, “Nobody. I’m having a bad night.”

“And if I find out you’ve lied to me?”

“I’ve never lied to you Jack.” 

He wraps his arms around you, holding you tight against him. “I’m here to talk. Always have been.”

“I have nothing to say.” You had plenty to say. So much to say, in fact, that you had written so many notes and letters about the unexplained emotions you have felt since you were younger. You kick your shoes off and lay on the bed, resting your legs on Jack’s thighs who sat at the end of the bed. You don’t go to sleep, instead, you close your eyes and focus on a happy memory. Although you don’t have many, there was one that always stuck.

⋆ ──── ♡ ──── ⋆

Flashback

Graduation day, for you, went a lot differently than Michael’s. You got ready in your room alone, which you were grateful for. But when it was time to take picture, your mom was too busy doing her makeup, and Michael was still out at work. Your dad was too, so you opted for a couple of mirror selfies.

Your mom yells for you to get the door as it rings. You groan loudly, and she snaps back, “I heard that!”

You run down the stair, holding onto your graduation cap, and open the door to one very smiley Jack.

“Jack! Hi!”

“Wow” you exclaims as he looks at you, “you look amazing!”

“Aw thank you!”

“Seriously Robinavitch, you look stunning.” He follows you into the house, gently closing the door behind him. “Where is everyone?”

“Dad’s at work, he might not make it on time. Mom’s still getting ready and Michael’s nowhere to be seen.”

“That’s fucking terrible. On your graduation day?”

“Hey at least they remembered!” You tease. 

“Okay while everyone’s busy then.. I have something to give you. It’s something small, really, but I thought you might like it.”

He pulls out a small jewellery box, and hands it over. You open up the box and find a bracelet, with a few charms dangling from it. “You didn’t have to get me anything?”

“Of course I did! It’s your graduation!” You take the bracelet in your hand and look at all the different charms. There was a book charm, a cat charm, and a stethoscope charm. 

“You can add more charms if you want to, I just picked the three I thought you’d like the most.”

You throw your hands over him, knocking your cap off your head in the process and Jack doesn’t hesitate to pull you tightly. “So proud of you.”

“I can’t thank you enough.”

“It’s nothing!”

“Jackyyyy!” Your mom says loudly, interrupting your moment. “Don’t you look handsome.”

“Me? Have you seen her? She looks stunning!”

“What’s up with your hair” she points at your hair that had gone messy form the hug, “fix it quick. Jack how do I look?” She spins around, showing off her dress. 

“You look nice, Mrs Robinavitch.”

“Aren’t you a polite young man.” She giggles at him. “Are we ready to go?”

“Is dad not coming? Or Michael?”

“They’re running late but I said I’ll take pictures!” She says as she walks away from you, grabbing her keys off the side. 

Although you feel disappointed, because how could you not, you don’t feel as sad once Jack links his hand in yours, grabbing your cap off the floor and leading the way out of the house. Having your only friend cheer you on today made everything so much better.  

⋆ ──── ♡ ──── ⋆

“Wake up” Jack say softly as he gently shakes you, “it’s home time.”

“No” you mumble, “I like it here.”

“What, in the on-call room??” 

You body jolts wide awake and you look around confused.

“It’s just me bubs. Shift’s over.”

“Ellis was supposed to wake me up! You were supposed to wake me up!” You say panicking as you feel your heart hammer in your chest. You feel instant guilt of letting people down. “They needed me out there! Why didn’t you wake me!”

“It’s okay, it was quiet. Honestly everyone’s been twiddling their thumbs.”

“You’re lying to me.”

“Ive never lied to you once.” He helps put your shoes on, “shall we grab breakfast after this? What are you in the mood for?”

“Can’t. I’m meeting Rob after work.” Jack hates Rob, so does Ellis, and Robby, and everyone else that had met him. But you weren’t meeting him, that was just an excuse to not go out with anyone so no one asks you what’s wrong, “Sorry,”

“Don’t be. Go enjoy it. I’ll see you tomorrow night?”

“Sorry again about missing the shift.” You say quietly.

“Sweetheart…” Jack mutters softly, “I don’t know what’s going on in that beautiful mind of yours, but I can feel your sadness, and I need you to talk to me when you’re ready. Hmm?” Jack hand known you since you a teenager, after meeting your family once him and Robby started residency together. He had picked up on your habits, like how you preferred to zone out when the world around you was loud. How you read books that had the most unrealistic realms ever. How you avoided your family like the plague, and more importantly, how the light had been sucked out of you slowly but he couldn’t understand why. 

“Thanks Jacky”

“Don’t let anyone out there know you call me that,” a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips, full of worry but also full of love. “Say hi to Rob.”

⋆ ──── ♡ ──── ⋆

Flashback

The first time you inflicted pain on yourself was the first time you felt at ease. A bizarre and unfamiliar feeling washed over you, which confused your mind deeply. How was it that a small cut took the ache in your chest away? It didn’t make sense. It became a coping mechanism, from the moment you left home and started med school. But you didn’t do it often, because you didn’t need coping when you were away from home. It was when you got a random phone call from your parents, to tell you about another one of Michael’s achievement. They however also would ask about med school, your friends, exams, etc…. “It’s been tough, I’ve picked up some shifts at a local cafe so trying to juggle both had been a-“

“Oh I’m sure it’ll be fine, it’s all about time management.”

“Yeah, time management….” You murmur, wanting to roll your eyes at her but that would be catastrophic.

“When I was your age, I picked up two jobs at college. Michael did too actually.”

“He worked in a bar, mom. He got paid to party.” You see the moment her facial expression changes on the screen. How she presses her lips together tightly, holding back words of anger. “Gotta go mom, say hi to dad.”

“You should call us more often” she says but you end the call so damn quickly. You mutter to yourself, “You can call me too, you know.”

Michael, or he now goes by Robby, checked in on you constantly. But it was always a text, or a quick call. When you tried to call him yourself, he always declined and said he was too busy. But the only person who was always to pick up the phone was Jack. 

“Hey bubs!!” His face lights up the moment it comes on the screen. “I’ve missed you!”

“Hey Jacky, I’ve missed you too! I wanted to see how you are.”

“I’m good, great actually. How’s university? Is that roommate still giving you trouble?”

“Actually she moved out. So I’m all alone.”

“Which you love!” He says excitedly. You always loved your alone time. “Do we still… love that?”

“I do, of course. It’s nice having all this space to myself.”

“What about boys?”

“There’s some cute guys but they’re so childish….”

“You staying safe?” 

“Always” you assure him, “can’t have little Robinavitch get in trouble now can we?”

“You never got in trouble once… you were a golden child if anything,”

You snort out loud, then the familiar ache appears back in your chest. “Yeah….”

“Hey uhh, when are you coming home?”

Never would be the answer, but one thing you didn’t do was be sarcastic with Jack. “Not soon, maybe Christmas? Why?”

“Nothing I just miss you.”

“You can always come to California? There’s a medical conference on in a couple of weeks at Stanford. I can give you the tour and we can attend it together?”

Jack grins from ear to ear once he hears the invitation, “I’d love that. Let me work out logistics.”

⋆ ──── ♡ ──── ⋆

“Morning, sweet girl” a soft voice whispers in your ear, and you brush him off. “Fancy breakfast?”

“No… I’ve just worked a 14-hour shift… can you let me sleep in, please.”

“But I’m bored.”

“Rob, respectfully, not my problem. I’m working tonight.”

He grumbles as he flicks the off the duvet and walks out of the bedroom. Despite all the loud noises he made in the kitchen, you managed to drift off back to sleep. Rob has his own apartment, but always opted to staying over at yours because it was bigger and nicer. But that also meant that your much needed silence is interrupted daily, and there always was a mess you needed to clean up. But dating him was also fun… sometimes. He was nice and kind and never got angry at anything.

A couple of hours later, you wake up feeling refreshed for the shift ahead. You have a few missed calls from your mom, and you decide that you are in no rush to give her a call back. She’s well aware that you work nightshifts, but she doesn’t seem to pay attention to that. You can also guarantee that the moment you call her back, she’d say something like, “I called you five times” 

“I was asleep”

“At midday?”

“I work nights remember?”

“What’s with the attitude?”

“I woke up not long ago and you for some reason are in a bad mood.. what can I do for you mom?”

“It’s your grandma.”

“Okay?”

“She’s dead.” 

Oh. 

“That’s terrible.” You say flatly, not a hint of emotion in your words. Death never really affected you, not in the way it should have. Michael was also your grandma’s favourite, and she forgot your name most of the time. 

“You can sound a bit sad you know.”

“I am sad…” You feel a small hint of sadness, but also feel generally numb.  

“I don’t hear you crying?” She says rudely.

“Are you crying?”

“Of course I am!” She certainly wasn’t, because you knew her fake cry very well and she was putting it on too dramatically.

She tells you about her the funeral dates, talks far too much about flower arrangements and then asks you to pick a nice, suitable dress for the funeral. She reminded you to send her a photo of what you pick because she knows best and she will make sure you look your best. “It’s a funeral, not a fashion show” you mutter to yourself once you hand up the call. 

You text Robby: have you heard from mom? 

No, what’s up? 

It’s not good news

Is it about gran?

You know?

She’s been gone a few days… 

You let out a sarcastic laugh. They forgot to tell you that your grandma died? Ah, the carrier pigeon must have had a detour.

He doesn’t respond to your text and you don’t expect him to. They forgot to tell you that your grandma had died, but made sure to tell Michael that she has. That summed up your life. 

The day of the funeral, you wanted to feel sad, you truly did. But you felt nothing as you slipped your black dress on, brushed your hair back, and fixed the last bit of your makeup. You stare at your lifeless eyes in the mirror, “why aren’t you sad? We should be sad….”

You told Rob that he doesn’t need to attend, because the last thing you needed was family members asking when you’re getting married. The answer would be never. Robby picks you up, and you’re surprised to see Jack in the front seat. He offers to switch with you so he can sit in the back but you quickly decline. The ride over was quiet, like anyone would expect, but Jack texted you sneakily to ask if you were okay.

I’m managing. 

Anything I can do to help?

Help me get through the big Robinavitch reunion, please 

I’ll never leave your side

Thank you always <3

The ceremony went as anyone would expect, a few forced tears came out of your mom’s eyes, none from your dad’s. Robby shed a few tears too, and despite all your best efforts, nothing came out of your eyes. You even pinched your hand a few times, hoping a bit of pain would trigger some sort of sad emotion, but nothing happened. Jack sat next to you, a few rows behind your parents and all the other family members. Jack moved his hand slowly over to your hand, and gently linked it with his. His touch was warm, soft, and everything you ever wanted in this life. The tears you’ve been holding back have now come rushing out, and not for the reasons anyone expected.

“Once this is over… wanna get out of here?” Jack whispers.

“Where to?”

“Somewhere with alcohol….”

You keep your eyes fixed ahead at the person who was leading the ceremony, but you slowly nod at Jack and squeeze his hand tighter. Once the ceremony was over, you wait for everyone to leave and you stay behind, wanting to avoid any family members that might ask about your marriage status, and Jack hangs around with you, noticing how reserved and uncomfortable you looked, “Fake a medical emergency?”

“Dropping dead would be ideal” you mutter.

Jack shoots you a look of concern; you always had a dark sense of humour but this time there was nothing humorous about it. Your tone was serious. 

“I’m kidding Jack.”

“Mhm… let’s uh… let’s brave the Robinavitchs then.”

“Come say hi to auntie!” Your mom says excitedly, forgetting that this is a funeral and she should be acting sad. “She’s a resident, working where my Michael is. Can you believe it?”

“Hi” you give a small wave, but she pulls you in for a long and wet kiss on the cheek.

“You must be so proud”

“Oh yes he’s the attending of the entire department!”

“No of her” Auntie says, “you know, despite all her troubles as a kid… she’s now a doctor!”

The troubles she referred to as a kid consisted of being alone, crying at random things and having panic attack, which reflecting back on, you didn’t know they were panic attacks. You thought you were dying when you had the most terrible fearful feeling wash over you. They took you to a doctor once, a shrink as your mom called it, to find out what’s wrong. When he told them that their 9 year old daughter might be anxious, they laughed and told him not to be ridiculous. 

“Good to see you, Auntie. I’m no longer troubled, if you’re wondering.” Her eyes, as well as your mom’s widen in horror at your comment. You rarely ever snapped back at anyone, and to do it at a funeral? You knew you were about to be the talk of the family for weeks.

You turn on your heels and brush past them as you walk away abruptly, but your mom of course catches up with you. “That was rude young lady.”

“You think I’m troubled?”

“Not anymore, I don’t!” She tilts her head at you, an attempt look sympathetic but in fact it looks condescending more than anything, 

“I wasn’t troubled! Mom! I was sad!” You still are sad, but she doesn’t need to know that. 

“We gave you everything. You had a roof over your head and food on the table every day. You never once went hungry! What even made you sad”

You laugh at her words. “So providing the bare minimum for a child you decided to birth is a luxury?”

Jack sees you from a distance arguing, and without saying a word, he takes his phone out and requests an uber back to his place.

She leans in and hisses, “Stop being a brat. You think you’d change after all these years.”

“See you later, mother.”  You charge past her, your anxiety wrapping itself around your neck like a rope. You don’t see Jack approach you, or all the eyes on you, but you do remember walking away from them as quickly as possible. Jack rushes after you, eventually catching up, “hey, hey”

“No, no I don’t want to talk!”

He holds your shoulders steady, “wasn’t gonna. Taxi will be here in a minute then we’re going home.”

“Where the hell is that Jack! Because it sure can’t be this hell!”

“Back to mine, okay? Back to my home.”

You try and catch your breath but your chest is on fire. He pulls you away from prying eyes, holds you in his arms until the taxi arrives. Without another word to anyone, including Robby, Jack takes you home.

⋆ ──── ♡ ──── ⋆

Flashback

“Can you tell me about how you’re feeling?” The therapist asked you.

“I don’t understand the question” you replied. 

“Your teacher at school sometimes say you hurt yourself on purpose.”

“I don’t hurt myself…”

“She says you pinch yourself a lot and you have bruises?”

“It’s a habit…”

“Usually ten-year-olds like you… Would pick up on other habits. What makes you pinch yourself?”

It was something you did when you felt uncomfortable, and it gave you a sense of relief. You felt too clastrophobic in the classroom, scared for no reason, terrified you’d feel that unexplained feeling of dying again, and so pinching yourself helped you cope.

“I’m sorry I won’t do the habit again. I promise.” You made a mental note to pick on places no one can see. And when the habit developed into something more dangerous, like using something sharp, you again, did it no place anyone will see. 

⋆ ──── ♡ ──── ⋆

“Drink” You snap out of your haze and look up at Jack, who was standing in front of you with a drink in his hand. 

“Is it strong?”

“It’s whiskey”

“I’d take Absinthe at this point.”

“Maybe one drink at a time..” he says softly as he sits next to you. “I’m proud of you.”

“Hah. What for?”

“For standing up to her.”

“I didn’t, though…”

“You absolutely did!” Jack sets his glass on the table. “did you see the way you spoke to her?”

“It’s nothing to be proud of…”

“Why? Because you were taught always to respect your parents?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“That’s bullshit.” he gently moves your face toward him, then mutters, “You know it is.”

You instantly burst into tears because what is being said is true. You don’t need to respect them because they never respected you or even loved you. A roof over your head does not mean love. “No one will ever love me!”

Jack holds your face in his hands, resting his forehead on yours, “I love you, you know that. I tell you that all the time and I’ve never once lied about it.”

Your sobs only get louder, “You only love me because you’ve known me since forever! It’s like you have to love me because you know me!”

“I love you for a lot more than that.”

“I don’t know if I am deserving of anyone’s love, Jack. Like she said, I’m troubled”

Jack mumurs softly, barely audible, “Until the day I die, I will prove to you that you are wrong.”

For a moment, everything goes quiet. The pain and the emptiness, it was all too much. You have reached a breaking point, and you don’t want to think anymore. You want to feel love. Or something. Anything.

You lean in and kiss him first. It isn’t soft or sweet, no. It’s desperate and hungry, like you haven’t kissed anyone before.

Jack freezes for half a second in surprise, then kisses you back just as fiercely, one hand sliding into your hair, the other pulling you closer. For those few seconds, the noise in your head go blissfully silent, and you feel loved. Then reality hit you like a truck as you pull back sharply, eyes wide with guilt. “fuck, fuck fuck!” You push away from him and rush to the door.

“Wait, please don’t go!”

“No! Jack! I’m stupid! What the hell did I do that for! We promised never to do that again. Rob! oh my God, what about Rob!”

“Rob is a jackass!”

“Hey! no!”

“He forgot your birthday! He forgets you work night shifts, sweetheart. He- you deserve better!”

You throw your heels on, and with shaky hands you manage to grab your bag and phone, “don’t I know it Jack!”

⋆ ──── ♡ ──── ⋆

Flashback

“Welcome to Stanford University!!” You jump up and down in excitement, showing off a huge building behind you. “I can’t believe you’re here!!”

Jack gets out of the car quickly, forgetting about his bags or paying the cab driver, as he picks you up and spins you around for a hug. “Oh, I’m already feeling so much better”

“Me too, Jack, me too!!!” 

He puts you down but doesn't let go just yet; he wants to make sure you’re really here with him. “Hi”

“Hi Jacky” 

“Missed you.”

“Missed you too”

“Excuse me! Your uhh bags??”

“Shooot” Jack rushes back to the cab to pay, then takes his bag in one hand, your hand in the other as he lets you lead the way. “This is beautiful.”

You look at the old building and the green parks aorund it. “It sure yes.”

But Jack isn’t looking at the building or the garden; he is looking at you. 

“Do you want the grand tour first or freshen up in my room?”

“I’d like to see where little Robinavitch lives please and make sure there are no childish boys hiding under her bed.”

You giggle softly and lead the way, Jack casually swinging one arm over your shoulder as he asks you a million questions about Stanford.

The door to your dorm room clicks shut behind you once you make it back. Jack set his bag down and looked around the small space with a soft smile. “I like it, it’s cozy.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s you. You’ve decorated how you want it, not how anyone else wants it.” You don’t understand exactly what he means, but Jack is no stranger to how your parents treat you. “What books have you been reading?”

He sits on the bed next to you, as you show him all the new books you’ve bought, and the ones you’ve so far read. You also grab your iPad and show him all your study notes and your progress. You love how supportive he always is with your studies, and how helpful he has been whenever you needed help with an assignment.

“Back in my day we wrote with pen and paper. Nothing this fancy.”

“Under candlelight too?” You tease him. “So what do you think? Am I gonna pass?”

“You’re gonna be the best doctor I’ve ever known.”

“What about Michael?” Jack clicks his teeth and you giggle at his reaction. “Don’t let Mrs Robinavitch hear you say that.”

“I’ll shout it from the rooftop next time I see her.”

“You’ll get me in trouble!” You didn’t need to do anything to get in trouble… but when things don’t go her way, or your dads way, or in a way that it doesn’t benefit Michael, then it was somehow your fault. Jack helps you study for a while, quizzing you on all sorts of medical topics, praises you for each question you answered correctly, which was pretty much all of them. He admired how clever you are, and how passionate you are about this despite it being a profession you didn’t pick for yourself.

“So… any guys I need to worry about?”

You shrug. “Meh. Not really. Most of them are idiots.”

Jack chuckles but stays quiet, waiting for you to say more.

You swallow hard, feeling embarrassed all of a sudden. “I’m still a virgin, Jack. And all the boys here are not for me. They’re childish, love to take drugs and generally just… meh”

He doesn’t look surprised, but instead keeps his warm gaze on you. 

“I’m scared,” you continue. “I don’t want my first time to be with someone who’ll use me or make me feel bad afterward. I want to feel safe… and loved and I don’t think I’ll find it here.” 

“That’s okay, the right guy will come. Don’t rush it, no matter how pressured you feel. Do what’s best for you.”

You meet his eyes, and you blurt out, “I want it to be with someone like you, Jack. Someone I trust.”

He studies your face for a second, definitely not expecting you to have said that. “I uhhhh” Jack wants to respond but for a moment, nothing comes out. 

“I’ve thought about it…. Not like the way you expect. But I want my first time to be…different. With a friend. Not on a drunken night out.”

“Sweetheart there’s an age gap between us. I’ve known you for years…”

“That’s why I trust you Jack. You never once made me uncomfortable. You’re always been so respectful and kind and… I’m not forcing you to do anything. It’s just what I would like to do.”

“You sure?” he asks in a low voice now. “I need you to be certain. Because if that’s what you want then I’m okay with that. I want your first time to be with some you trust too.”

“I’m sure,” you whisper. “I want it to be you. I trust you.”

“I don’t want things between us to change sweetheart. This will affect us for the rest of our life.” 

“I promise it won’t, not for me. I didn’t ask you to come out here just to say this, but the second I saw you today, Jack, I just… knew.”

Jack smiles softly and leans in, his eyes meet yours and for a second he freezes. Once he sees you smile he kisses you with quiet confidence. The kiss was everything you’ve dreamt of. His hands slide to your waist, pulling you closer but never rushing. “Now?” He asks.

“Mhmm, please”. No time like the present.

“You taste good already” he murmurs against your mouth. “Just relax into my touch. Keep telling me how you feel, hmm?”

Clothes come off gradually between kisses, without rushing. He peels away your shirt, then his own, his fingers tracing your skin gently. “Beautiful,” he whispers, pressing his lips to your collarbone. “Tell me if anything feels off.”

You lie back on the bed as he settles between your legs, his body warm above you. He kisses down your neck, your breasts, taking his time until you’re arching into him and breathing faster. You thought about how it would feel to be this intimate with a guy, with someone like Jack, but you didn’t think it was gonna be this good. And certainly not this soon into seeing him, but you truly couldn’t be more content. The emotions you are feeling were different — they are wild, happy. 

“Wanna show me how you play with yourself? So I know how you like it?”

You shake your head, “Just… do what you would normally. Just be gentle… I think.”

His hand slips between your thighs and you moan at the thickness of his fingers flicking against your clit. “Good girl,” he says softly, voice low and reassuring. “You feeling relaxed?”

“Mmmm” you mewl, back acrhing off the mattress as your feelings intensify.

“Sweetheart do you..have condoms?”

You point at the top drawer by your bed. “They hand them out like candy.”

He reaches for a condom rolling it on while keeping his eyes on yours. “We’ll go slow. Breathe with me, okay?”

“Just the tip first,” he coaches, pressing forward inch by inch. You feel the stretch, tight and tense at first and he freezes immediately. “Talk to me bubs, what are you feeling?”

“I feel good, it feels good, more, please”

“Okay you’re doing so well. Relax those muscles… there you go.” He sinks a little deeper, murmuring praise the whole time. “That’s it. You’re so tight around me. Feels incredible. Let me in, baby. I’ve got you.” The fullness is intense, but his voice keeps you steady. He pauses often, kissing you deeply and his thumb circling your clit to keep you relaxed. “Halfway now. You’re taking me so beautifully. How does it feel?”

“Good,” you gasp, digging our nails into his arms, “Don’t stop.”

He rocks forward until he’s fully seated, groaning quietly. “Fuck, you feel perfect. All the way in. Just stay with me… breathe bubs, breathe.” He starts to move in slow, “Feel how I’m sliding in and out? Nice and easy. Your body’s opening up for me. So good… you’re doing amazing. If you want me to stop i’ll do it okay?”

“N-no ppplease don’t”

Pleasure builds gradually and you no longer feel discomfort. His pace stays gentle as he watches your face for every cue. “That’s my girl. Let it build. You’re getting wetter… feel that? Come whenever you need to. I’m right here.”

“I-I-“ Jack kisses the corner of your lips as he feels you clench around him, crying out into his mouth. 

“Yes, just like that. I’ve got you. So perfect.”

Only when you’ve come down, and feels you relax a bit more, “baby can I come now?”

You hum in response and nod.

He thrusts a little deeper but still controlled, until he finishes with a low groan, burying his face in your neck. He pulls out carefully and disposes of the condom, then pulls you into his arms, kissing your forehead. “You were incredible. How do you feel?”

“That was amazing,” you say, head all foggy but feeling so incredibly happy and loved.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs against your neck. 

“Thank you Jack, for making me feel this way. It’s gonna be a fun couple of days.”

“Oh yeah?” He smirks, “what else do you have planned for us?”

“More of this… more of us. Just for a weekend.”

“Anything you need. I’d do it for you.”

⋆ ──── ♡ ──── ⋆

You get home later that evening after the funeral, and you truly and well have gone and fucked up now. You heard your mom’s voice in your mind, reminding you how messed up you are.

“How was work?” Rob asks as he looks up at you from the sofa. 

“I was at the funeral Rob. I told you that?”

“Oh sorry, I have a lot going on, I keep forgetting. How was it?”

“It’s a funeral. What… do you expect?”

“Okay I’m just asking.”

“Is it okay if I have space tonight please… I need to be alone.”

“But I’ve missed you and I really want a cuddle” he says softly, tilting his head at you playfully.

You shake your head in frustration and shut the bedroom door behind you. He doesn’t bother to follow you, and luckily for you, he eventually leaves. You spend the whole night crying at how stupid you are for what you did with Jack. You promised never to kiss him again. You worked so hard on forgetting about your weekend in Stanford, and you both did so incredibly well, working together, being this close with each other and still keeping a boundary. And all it took is a funeral, not even a sip of whiskey to get you to kiss him.

You sob as you sat on the bathroom floor, looking down at the blood that trickled down your thigh. You promised you wouldn’t cope this way, and you’ve been doing so well, until now.  You cry at how broken you are. Your dad’s voice echoes in your mind, telling you that no Robinavitch should be this weak. You cry because your bother who you love very much, can’t fix your parents behaviour or yours. You cry because you indeed are troubled. 

You return to work as normal, putting on a happy face, especially around Jack. He doesn’t bring up what happened, although he constantly checks in on you. He notices how cheerful you are, and wonders what actually have gone in the last 48 hours. Because the sad and broken girl on his sofa few days ago, is much differnet to this one. But what Jack doesn’t know is you’re back to coping, which means back to masking, which means despite your smile, you’re closer to the edge than you ever have been. 

Later that morning, you go back home to find Rob in bed. You want to tell him what you did but can’t find the right words, so you sit on the toilet seat and stare at the floor. 

“Morning sweetheart.” He stretches his arms as he walks into the bathroom and lets out a loud yawn. “What happened to your leg?”

You look down at your thigh and freeze. The scars are right here, evenly spaced out, sore and red, and you forgot to hide them. “I cut myself.”

“Oh no” he tuts innocently, not realising what you’ve meant. “I’ll get you a plaster once I’ve brushed my teeth.” 

“I want to break up.” Your mind doesn’t register what your lips have said. 

“What?” 

“I can’t do this anymore. I’m a shit girlfriend.” You convinced yourself you were but in fact he was the terrible boyfriend. Who forgets their girlfriend’s birthday? Who buys his lactose intolerant girlfriend, cow milk?

“You’re just stressed! You’re not thinking clearly!”

“Don’t make this any more difficult than it has to be. I’m done.”

“But why!”

“Because Rob! Because I’m messed up in the head okay!” You yell and shock is suddenly all over his face. “I’m fucked in the head and I’m destined to be alone, so leave me alone!” 

“You’re a bitch” he spits out and you start laughing hysterically at his words.

It was the only thing he’s ever said to you that you truly believed. 

⋆ ──── ♡ ──── ⋆

Flashback

“Michael is bringing is friend over tonight, so be on your best behaviour!” Your mom clicks her fingers at you as she prepares the food in the kitchen. 

You look up from the sofa, “I’m always on my best behaviour…. Do you need help with anything?”

“No, just make sure the dining room is tidy.”

“Already done it.”

Not even a thank you comes out of her mouth. “Wear something nice. His friend is a resident doctor too!”

“It’s not like I’m gonna marry him.”

“Oh please” your mom lets out a small laugh. “I’ve seen his pictures, he’s so handsome”

You ignore her and turn on the TV, Matilda your favourite movie starts playing. 

“Turn it down!” She yells at you after a few minutes. “Not the time to watch a movie when you should be helping!”

“I just asked you if you needed a hand…”

“You shouldn’t ask, you should do it anyway! Come, those dishes won’t clean themselves.”

You opt for silence once again as you help her around the kitchen, but everything you do apparently isn’t done correctly. She finally tells you to go get changed in preparation for this guy that’s coming over and you once again obey. You stay in your room for as long as possible, lying on the bed staring at the ceiling. There was no reason for why you did this, it was yet another habit. You opted to wear your denim dungarees and a top. Not a dress like she asked of you. 

The door bell rings and you then hear your mom yell your name, but you ignore her. The familiar chatter of hello and introductions fill the hallway and eventually, you brace yourself for meeting Michael and his friend. You find them in the kitchen, already being fed snacks and God knows what else.

“This is an amazing spread, Mrs Robinavitch.”

“Oh please” she says in an unfamiliar voice. Is she putting on a posh voice? “Call me Maureen. Ah there she is!” 

“Hi” you wave at the guy. Michael rushes to your side and gives you a big hug. 

“Missed you, bugs,” he gives you a kiss on the top of your head. 

“Missed you too Mikey.” You truly have missed having him around, because when things got difficult with Maureen, he sometimes had your back. “Jack, this is my little sister.”

“Hi” Jack shakes your hand, “very nice to meet you.”

Your mom wasn’t lying about calling him handsome, because he truly was. His curls were a mixture of auburn brown and ginger, and he had the most beautiful green eyes. “Nice to meet you Jack.” 

“Right let’s give you the grand tour!”

“Mom what the hell for!” Robby protests, “Jack doesn’t need to see anything. We’ll sit in the garden.” 

You join them around the table outside in the garden, and the moment they start chatting, you purposely zone out. The conversation doesn’t interest you, and you truly would prefer to be elsewhere. Somewhere where your dad isn’t gloating about how hard he worked, or your mom reminding you once again she came from a big family and had to take care of her siblings. You notice how Jack isn’t also as talkative, but maybe he wasn’t interested too. Or nervous?

Your dad asks you to grab the boys some drinks, and you wonder if Michael’s hands suddenly stopped working? It would be unfortunate given that he’s a doctor. After taking the drinks order you slip away to the kitchen and spend too long staring at the fridge. The footsteps behind you once again snap you out of your haze. 

“Hi” Jack says softly, “do you need a hand?”

“It’s okay I can do it.”

“I don’t mind helping. They keep asking about work and I truly want to not… think about that.”

“Sorry they’re just.. proud of him.”

“Michael tells me you read a lot?”

“He talks about me?” 

“All the time, yeah!” Jack smiles and you can’t help but smile too. “What are you reading at the minute?”

“Im reading two at the moment… sometimes three”

“That’s so cool” 

You’re not sure how to feel about Jack being interested in your books. You wonder if he’s doing it out of sympathy? Or interest?

But Jack was truly interested in what you’re reading, because Michael spoke so highly of you and he couldn’t wait to meet you.

“I can show you? If you want?”

“I’d love that!”

You take him upstairs to your room where you kept all your books, and Jack wonders why they’re not kept downstairs, along with all the other books? 

“Your room is very tidy”

“Mom made me do it… sorry” you aren’t sure what the apology for, but you’re terrified of saying the wrong thing. 

“Bugs is your nickname?”

You nod.

“Do you like it?”

“Not always. I used to not be able to say bugs bunny. I used to call it bubs bunny.”

Jack chuckles, “That’s very cute.”

“Yeah I prefer bubs.”

You show him all the books you’ve collected over the years.

“Do you like classics?” Jack asks as he looks at your book case, picking a few interesting ones. 

“Like Shakespeare?”

“Yeah, or dickens.”

“I love them.. I borrowed it from the library once but my allowance won’t cover the entire collection. But I’m waiting for my birthday to buy it, grandma always gives good money on birthdays.”

Jack doesn’t notice that he’s smiling, but you do. He has small dimples that you admire almost instantly. “Do you read Jack?”

“Not always, I used to. I never have the time to go to the bookstore. Do you think I can borrow a few?”

“Yeah! Take as many as you want!”

“By the way, when’s your birthday?”

“In two weeks.” 

Two weeks later, your family, along with your grandma, and Michael, all come over for your birthday. The doorbell rings and as you open it, you find Jack standing with a present in his hand and some flowers. 

“Jack! Hi!” There was no hiding your excited tone. “I didn’t think you were coming”

“Michael invited me, hope that’s okay?” He steps in and you close the door behind him. “Happy birthday. You look very nice!”

“Thank you! Everyone’s in the lounge, come in.”

When it was time to open presents, your grandma hands you an envelope and you excitedly open it, expecting it to be a full wad of cash so you can finally buy the Shakespeare collection you wanted. But it was a coupon of the book store that you like, that actives when you spend $50. You don’t have $50.

“Here” Jack says excitedly as he hands you the present.

“Oh Jack you didn’t have to get her a present” Maureen says

“It’s her birthday?” Jack doesn’t take his eyes off you as he says it, ignoring her rude comment.

The box is heavy, wrapped in pink wrapping paper with a bow on top and a card that said: happy birthday bubs. You open it and find the entire Shakespeare collection that you told Jack about. As your eyes meet, you have the most shocked expression on your face and Jack shrugs casually. 

For the first time in a long time, you feel loved. And that was a feeling you hold on to, for a long, long time. 

⋆ ──── ♡ ──── ⋆

The annual Robinavitch dinner. The day you’ve dreaded since you last saw your parents. Your mental health has now hit rock bottom, but you’ve masked it so well, so no one knew what’s truly going on. Even Jack, who you told about you and Rob, and he once again supported you like the kind and amazing person he is.

You pull up at the house, just as Jack does too behind you. You grab the flowers you bought your mom, despite you not wanting to. She doesn’t deserve flowers, and it took you a long time to accept that. But it saves an argument so flowers it is.

“Hey beautiful” Jack says as he puts one gentle hand on your back. “You look nice”

“Do you think? Maureen will think otherwise.”

“Fuck what she thinks.” He smirks, “I think you look nice and that’s all that matters.”

“Before we go in… I want to tell you something.”

“Okay…” Jack frowns at your serious tone. 

“I’m leaving. I’ll be telling them all at dinner tonight.”

Jack says, barely an audible whisper, “what?”

“I’ve spoken with HR and I’m taking a sabbatical.”

“Why didn’t you tell me!”

“I am… now.” You say quietly, fighting back tears. It was a rash decision you made overnight, but you staying here in Pittsburgh was not doing your mental health any good. If you were going to be miserable, you might as well do it abroad. “I’m sorry”

“Sweetheart… is it because of Rob?”

“Oh definitely not. I’m glad it ended.”

“Then what…”

“It’s difficult to explain.” Where would you even start? “Let’s go in…”

You turn on your heels and walk toward the door, leaving Jack standing by your car, watching the love of his life announcing her departure, without a planned destination or a return ticket. 

Jack had loved you for a long time, but it didn’t happen when you first met. No. He admired you when he first met you though, your passion for books and your love for staying silent. You two became close when you got older. But he realised he loved you after your weekend in Stanford. As he boarded the plane, his heart was heavy and sad, and he felt empty. At one point he panicked and wanted to get off the plane, and run back to you. That’s when he realised he’s in love with best friend’s little sister. But that was a secret he kept for himself only for many years. He told you he loved you many times, you did too, but he truly meant it just as friends. The first time he’d tell you he loves you, you’d know exactly what he means.

“It’s so nice that you came Jack!” 

“Of course Maureen, I can never turn down any of your invites.”

“How’s my Robby been? Do you think he’s following in Adamson’s foot steps?”

“Oh much better” he blurts out. “So much better. He’s brilliant.”

Jack glances at you, waiting for Maureen to ask about you, but he sees you pinch your skin under the table, so his hands reach over slowly and brush over yours. He leans in and whispers, “Shall I fake an emergency?”

You giggle softly, “there might be an emergency when I tell them I’m leaving.” 

His posture stiffens and he clears his throat once he’s reminded again that you’re leavin. As the conversation continues, someone makes a comment about you, and you snap back at them. Something you didn’t do often, but you’ve reached a stage of not caring. 

“Oh she’s always been sensitive” your mom laughs, “she’s always been like this. Ignore her”

Heat spreads across your face and chest as you sigh angrily. Jack reaches for your hand again but you brush him off, because the last thing you needed is human touch.

“Is she sensitive like this at work?” Your dad asks Jack.

“She’s one of my best residents actually. She shows emotions if that’s what you’re wondering.” Jack says flatly, maintain an angry gaze with him. 

“That’s all thanks to us” your mom smirks, “we did good raising her.”

Jack puts his drink back on the table a bit too loudly, but doesn’t bother to respond. You laugh sarcastically at what she said. All thanks to her? The bitch did nothing to raise you well. She was more interested in getting her nails and hair done while you made yourself lunch at the age of five. All the memories of your childhood come rushing back in at once, and the panic attack hits you out of nowhere. Your skin tingles with anxiety, and no amount of pinching was going to help with the ache in your heart. You excuse yourself, mumbling something inaudible as you slip away from the table but they don’t notice you’re gone. Jack waits a few minutes before he pushes away from the table and follows you upstairs. He finds your bedroom empty so he walks over to your bathroom and knocks on the door. “It’s just me.”

But you don’t respond. 

“Bubs can you let me in please?” He says softly. “Let’s get out of here and leave.”

Silence.

“Hey, I’m gonna come in if you don’t respond.”

Nothing. 

Jack opens the door, and nothing has ever perpared him for the scene in front of himself.

“No” he whispers as he drops to the floor next to you, blood pouring out quickly from a cut, “no, no, no no!! Hey stay with me okay?” He grabs a towel and wraps it around your wrist. “Stay here, with me. Don’t leave okay?” He grabs his phone and dials 911, giving them the location detail. Your pulse is faint but the bleeding was quick.

“Bubs stay with me” his voice breaks, “why did you do this!” He wants to yell for help but he also doesn’t want to leave you. He manages to tourniquet the bleeding, as best as he could, but his eyes are too blurry from the tears. “Please, please no” 

“It’s okay” you whisper, “it’s gonna be okay”

“Hey stay awake okay? C’mon look at me”

“Jack” you mumble, “I don’t want to be a doctor”

“Okay quit, okay? I’ll write your resignation letter. But you have to stay with me. You can’t leave me, I have so much more love to give to you!”

You give him a small smile, because you love him too, but don’t have the energy to show him how much, “I’m sleepy”

Jack sees the blue lights outside and he carries you in his arms and rushes downstairs. The pressure on his right leg is agonising, but he doesn’t bother to wait for the paramedics to one grab you from him. One of your cousins sees you and Jack and screams in horror. The family all rush over but Jack was already out of the door just as the paramedics open the ambulance doors. He doesn’t wait for anyone, and asks the paramedics to close the door and hit the road.

They don’t love you enough so they don’t deserve to know whether you survived or not. But Jack loves you so much, and he doesn’t leave your side that night, or any other nights until it was time for you to leave.

A few weeks later, you say your goodbyes to everyone at work, including Jack, whose face is a mix of anger, betrayal and love. “At least tell me where you’re heading.”

“You don’t need to know because you don’t need to worry.” You say softly. 

“How can I not” he snaps back, but his anger doesn’t affect you. Because his anger is because of love. 

“I love you, so incredibly much” you brush your hands through his grey curls, “and I’ll be back. I can promise you that”. 

“I’m not saying it back.” His lips are pressed together tightly, as he sniffs back tears.

“That’s okay….I’ll send you regular updates I promise.” 

With a heavy heart, you wave goodbye at everyone, give Jack a kiss on the cheek, walk out of the door, and head home.

A small part of you wishes he runs after you, but as you look over your shoulder, there is no one. 

You’re reminded once again that fairytales don’t exist. 

You are destined to be alone, forever. 

The end. 

⋆ ──── ♡ ──── ⋆

Note: hiiii

Did you really think I was gonna end it this way?

Of course not besties. 

Because I want my girl to be happy. 

But I like teasing people of the internet, so anyway, here’s the actual ending. 

Enjoy!!!!

Sorry again hah. <3

⋆ ──── ♡ ──── ⋆

You’re in the airport staring at an over priced book store. The self help book was staring back at you. “How to fight your own demons” you read the title out loud, “my demons are Maureen and I wish I fought her.” 

A guy next to you laughs and you can’t help but laugh too. You glance over at him, “What the-“

“Hey bubs” Jack smiles. 

“What!” You exclaim loudly and everyone is now looking, “oh my God what!!!!”

“I rang every airport.” Jack says quickly, “I rang so many places. I looked at most flights and eventually took a wild guess. Anyway, eventually I pretended I was you when I rang the airline. We’ve been upgraded by the way.” He smiles.

“What! I thought the airline made a mistake! I didn’t even go to the first class lounge!”

Jack continues “And then the guy on the phone said I sounded like a guy not a girl, and I’m sorry I shouldn’t have but I snapped at him and told him he shouldn’t assume who I am based on my voice. Anyway he apologised and I apologised and he’s probably feeling guilty as we speak and I shouldn’t have done it, I feel terrible already but oh my God-“ Jack takes a deep breath then continues talking, “I love you. I love everything about you. I love how quiet you are. I love that you call it quiet time. I love how much you day dream. I love that you read Shakespeare when you were a teenager. I love that you want to quit being a doctor. I love that you’re so strong”

“Not strong Jack, I have so many scars.” You shake your head and wipe your tears.

“So!” He closes the distance between the two of you, “so what if you have scars! Life’s not been kind on you. Your way of coping isn’t healthy, or good, but we can work on it. Me and you. Together!”

“I’m broken Jack. You’re signing up to be with someone like me.”

“Whoever made you believe that you’re broken deserves hell.”

“I’m sensitive and-“

Jack yells loudly, “fuck that! You have emotions!”

“I’m not sure when I’m coming back.” 

“Me too! Shen’s in charge now. I have no plants I need to water, and I’ve turned off the electricity in my apartment. I have no intention of going back either.”

“You really want to do this? I can’t promise I’m gonna be chatty, or keep up with conversations. My heads a mess and it’s all foggy and-“

“Bubs look at me” he gently lifts your chin up, “I don’t think you understand how happy you make me.”

“Me?”