Nosferatyou

Andrew “Pope” Cody has a very strict routine. He wakes up, has a glass of water with his pre-workout supplements, then runs a few miles before heading back to do a few weight-lifting sets. When he feels like he has let the pent up energy out of his body, he'll shower and then eat a protein heavy breakfast so he can take the rest of his pills. 

Because if he doesn't take his meds, he'll surely go crazy when he's on set. The medication numbs the worser parts of himself. The ones people usually are afraid of.

The ones directors tend to tell him to “tone down” when he's fucking whatever actor or actress they're asking him to for the week. 

They're lucky he even cums. It doesn't feel good. Hasn't since he started working as a porn star. 

But it pays the bills better than robbing people. 

It also keeps him away from his family, since most of his shoots are in Los Angeles. 

So, he deals with the fact sex is muted now. The medication helps him not feel some type of way about it, thankfully, because he doesn't have sex for fun. 

It's all for work. 

That is, until he meets you. 

You're sitting off to the side, legs dangling off a dressing table, laptop resting on your beautiful exposed thighs. 

It's hot on set. You're wearing flimsy little shorts and a halter top that lets Pope see much more than anyone should for a girl your age. 

“Who is she?” He asks one of the producers on set. 

Could you be his newest co-star? 

Why is he…excited over that prospect? 

Pope hasn't felt any kind of attraction in a long while, so if you are, maybe he'll actually get to enjoy himself for once. 

He's curious to know what your pussy feels like. 

Are you a loud performer or a more subtle and shy one? 

Do you actually cum or do you just fake it for the camera? 

He wants to make you cum for real. 

But his desire gets shut down immediately when the producer he asked answers, “oh her? I don't know who she is. Probably one of the director's kids or something. Wannabe producer. Been trying to pitch a script but no one's biting.” 

“Why's that?” Pope doesn't know why he's so curious about you. 

The producer laughs, in that grating kind of way that makes Pope want to knock his teeth out. Especially when the guy goes, “because she wants to make girly porn. As if that shit will sell. Men aren't going to buy into any of that cutesy femme shit.” 

Pope knows there's a female audience for porn. He has a lot of followers online. Plenty of them are women. And he is fully aware of the many comments he has read on his posts where some of his fans wish he would do more work that “catered to the female gaze”. He never understood what that meant. He has worked with plenty of female directors and producers before, but apparently they focus on making sure male audiences are satisfied first and foremost. 

He's never read a script made for a woman's interest before. 

Now, he's even more curious about you. 

So much so, that he's walking over to you before he can stop his legs from doing so. 

You look up and are startled to see Pope. You've never seen him in person before. You didn't know he'd be on this set. Your aunt is one of the directors and she didn't give you much notice on what exactly the production was. 

“Oh, hi.” You put your hand out and introduce yourself. “You must be Pope, right?” 

“Have you seen my work?” He asks, shaking your hand, his lingering in yours for a beat longer than he normally would. 

“Clips here and there.” You seem a little flustered at his question. How cute. 

“I heard you've been trying to pitch a script.” Pope is more direct than he intends.

You're surprised he knows about it. “I am, but it's probably not going to sell much.” 

“Can I see it?” He leans back on the edge of the table next to you, gesturing to your laptop. “My shoot isn't for an hour. Wouldn't mind something to kill the time.” 

“Oh, sure!” You scramble to pull it up. 

Pope glances over your shoulder, seeing how many scripts you have written already. You're sifting through them, parsing out which one you'd want him to see. You decide on one where you had based the main lead on him and hand him your laptop. 

“You can fold it over to use like a tablet.” You show him, your hands brushing against his as you do, your heart skipping a beat when you feel how big his fingers are. 

Pope is so close to you that he nearly leans in and kisses you. He doesn't, but he does take a brief inhale, liking the smell of your perfume mixed with the sweat that's trickling off your neck from your nerves. 

You sit there in silence, his big bicep casually resting on yours as he scrolls through your script. You take out your phone to distract yourself, trying to calm your rapid heartbeat from his proximity. 

You never thought you'd ever get the chance to be near anyone in the industry. You always figured you'd be behind a camera. But Pope is right next to you, so close that you can feel the heat radiating off of him. 

It almost makes you dizzy how hot he is…

Pope is worried his skin is growing too red. He hasn't felt this turned on in years. Reading this script has him needing to resist getting hard, which is usually not the case for him. Most of the time, it's difficult to get hard and he'll end up needing a pill or some help. 

But what you've written is too well-aligned with the fantasies that haunt his mind. 

“What would you consider this?” He asks you when he finishes reading, handing you back your laptop.

“Ah, like a dark romance, I guess?” You had shown him the plot where the main lead, a distant family friend whom the other lead refers to as her uncle, lures her to his private estate for the summer so he can hold her captive until she agrees to be his forever. 

“I like it.” Pope tells you in that flat tone of his that has you questioning whether or not you heard him correctly. 

“Really? You might be the only person who thinks so.” You're elated to hear that but then immediately talk yourself down. “Everyone else I've shown it to thinks that it's too focused on his obsession with her and that it should be the other way around because “why would anyone want to watch a man throw himself at a woman”. Men wouldn't buy it, I guess.” 

You bite your lip after you say that, wishing you hadn't just dumped all of that onto Pope.

You open your mouth to apologize but then Pope goes, “then those men just don't get the appeal. I think it's good and you should make it.” 

“Wow.” You can't stop the big smile that forms on your face. “That's so sweet of you to say, Pope. I hope I get the chance one day.”

Pope wants to tell you that he'd make it happen but they're calling his name to get ready. So, instead, he tells you, “do you want to come over after this and talk more about it?”

You're speechless. No one has ever invited you over to their place before. 

And it's Pope, of all people. 

He never invites people over. 

His house is his sanctuary. 

But he wants you alone. 

He wants to get to know you more. 

He wants to see if your desires truly align with his own. 

“I'll have to check in with my aunt first, since she drove me. But I'd like to.” You reply, reaching your hand up to touch your warm cheek. 

You must look so flustered right now. 

Pope loves the sight of it. Such a shy girl. To think you're on a porn set right now and about to watch him fuck someone else. 

He'll have to put on a good show for you. 

“I'll come find you after, little one.” He calls you what the uncle in your script calls his pseudo-niece and it has your skin flushing with more heat in response. 

Once he's out of your line of sight, you bury your face in your hands, muffling a scream because what was that! 

Did he really just…

You loop him calling you “little one” over and over in your head, wanting to memorize the sound of it for when you touch yourself later. You have to resist touching yourself now while you watch Pope at work. 

You've, of course, seen him naked before. You've watched plenty of clips of his porn online. For research purposes, of course!

But there's something different about seeing him in person. 

About knowing how his hands could feel, how warm his body is, how big he is compared to you that makes watching him pound his huge cock into his co-star all the more enjoyable. 

Then, your heart stops in your chest when he locks eyes with you from across the set when he cums deep inside of her. 

That wasn't in the script. Not in the one he's performing right now, because rarely does male centric porn ever “waste” a cumshot. 

It's in yours, though, because you like the idea of getting filled and you're certain other people do too. 

But for a shoot like this one, they want to see his cum on his co-star somewhere, for the visual. 

Pope couldn't help himself, though. He wanted you to see what he could do to you. He hasn't cum that much in a long time, which might be the only saving grace for the shoot because when he pulls out of his co-star, so much leaks out that they don't have to fake it for the shot. 

All in all a successful shoot so the director yells “cut” and it's done. 

You meet Pope out in the parking lot afterwards, since your aunt didn't seem to care if you wanted to go home with a porn star. She knows he's clean, because he has to be for work, and that you're an adult so she's letting you make your own decisions. Her only warning to you was that you will likely get your heart broken dating a porn star.

But you wave off her concerns because you don't believe he's interested in you. 

Pope just likes your scripts…right? 

That seems to be the case when you come over to his house and he spends the entire time reading through every idea you've written. 

You're both sitting on his couch together. He has on some kind of nature show, the one that follows a pack of lions throughout their day.

You watch one of the lions chase after a gazelle before it pounces on it and the gazelle becomes its next meal. You don't know why watching that has your heart racing so much. 

Maybe it's because you're currently in a lion's den and he's looking to make you his next meal… 

But you're oblivious to it, to Pope resting his hand on your thigh casually as he scrolls through your writing, asking you questions about it here and there like what you're looking to do, etc.

“I'd like to make a truly indie production.” You explain to him your dream shoot. “Like maybe only me and the stars on set. The script just being a loose guideline. Going with the flow, seeing where the scenario takes us naturally. I'd like for it to be organic and less “produced” than the stylized porn available now.” 

“Have you ever thought of starring in it yourself?” Pope poses a question that has you stammering out your reply.

“I-I…um…” You shake your head, the nerves apparent in your voice as you admit, “I don't think I could. I've never…” 

“No one has ever touched you before?” He can hardly believe that. 

In his eyes, anyone would be lucky to have the chance to be near you. He can barely keep his eyes off of you as is. 

“Why would they?” You chew on your cheek after you say that, wishing you didn't let your insecurity slip out so readily so you pretend to shrug it off, “it's not a big deal. I'm not in a rush to experience anything.” 

“Shouldn't you experience the things you want to produce?” Pope doesn't mean to sound so coercive but it definitely doesn't help that his hand slides higher up your thigh as he asks, “wouldn't it be nice to know for your writing?”

“But no one would want to…” The words get caught in your throat when he leans in, his lips so close to your own that you can taste his breath. 

“I'd want to.” His voice is so low, so intoxicating that you almost melt when he says, “if you'd let me, little one.” 

This is all too similar to something you've written before. It's like he's roleplaying your own words back to you. 

You don't know how to react to it…

“I don't think this is a good idea.” You tell Pope as he leans in closer to you, pressing a kiss on your jaw, making your whole body shiver as he trails upwards to the shell of your ear. “Oh god…”

“We don't have to do anything today.” He whispers right into your ear. “But I'd like to see you again.” 

“Why?” You feel so stupid asking that, your insecurity leaking out again. 

Pope cups your face, turning you to look at him, his gaze so intense. “Because I want to know what you look like when you feel good.” 

His thumb swipes over your bottom lip, seeing the way you're trembling, the nerves overtaking you. 

You're so precious, so scared, so perfect for him. He can't get enough of you.

“I'll probably be really bad at it.” You want him to be prepared. “You might not have a good time. I won't know what I'm doing.”

That makes him chuckle lightly. “I've got enough experience for the both of us.” 

“I've never even kissed anyone before.” You admit with your eyes locked on his lips. 

The lips you've watched go down on his co-stars. The lips you've seen leave marks on their skin. The lips you're desperate to kiss right now.

“Do you want to?” He brushes his lips against yours. A simple brush, not a true kiss, but it has your whole body quivering just from that light touch. “I think you do.”

“Will you go slow?” You have to ask because you're so nervous you'll get swept up in him. 

“I'll go at whatever pace you want.” He pulls away and you don't like how disappointed you feel. But then, he pats his lap and gestures, “come here, little one.”

This is truly everything you've dreamt of and he's feeding into it. You stand up, staring down at his lap, trying to figure out how exactly you should sit. 

When you've stalled for long enough, Pope just grabs you by your waist and tugs you down onto him. You're straddling his lap now, his large thighs becoming your new chair. 

Your breath catches in your throat when his lips land on your neck all of a sudden, causing you to grip onto the thin black shirt he's wearing that doesn't leave anything up to the imagination. His chest is flush against yours and he can hear your heartbeat thrumming so quickly, like your heart might burst at any moment. 

Pope smiles against the column of your throat, pressing a kiss there. Just one, right in the center, so he can feel the air get caught before it can reach your lungs. 

“Stay calm.” He instructs, his words warm and oddly gentle. “It'll feel better if you aren't so worked up.” 

“I'm sorry.” You don't know what you're doing… 

You smooth out his shirt, worried you've wrinkled it from how hard you were gripping it for leverage. 

“You can hold onto me, little one.” He takes your hand and places it onto his shoulder. “Lean on me.” 

His other hand splays across the small of your back beneath your shirt, practically engulfing your skin. Every touch is sending signals to your core that you've never felt before. Anxious signals, screaming at you to stop this before you start feeling more than you should. 

“Maybe we should stop.” You say out of concern, your nerves getting in the way. 

“Just one kiss and then we can stop for today, okay?” He already has you on his lap. He can't lose out on this golden opportunity.

One kiss will be enough to convince you. Pope is sure of that, sure of himself and his skill. 

He just needs you to say yes. And to stop squirming on his lap or he might have to do something about how hard he's getting. 

“Okay.” You nod, gripping onto his shoulders like you might fall off his lap if you don't. “Just one kiss.” 

“Atta girl.” He shifts slightly, pulling you closer until there's not an inch of space between the two of you. “Why don't you try?” 

You shake your head immediately. “I'll fuck it up.”

That draws another chuckle from his lips, which you feel very prominently on yours from how close he is to you. “I doubt that. I want to see you try. Then I'll take you home.” 

You take in a deep breath, your chest rubbing against his when you exhale. Pope's eyes drift down to your chest, loving how your top lets him see much more than he'd want anyone else to be able to. He'll have to make sure you only dress like this for him. 

His eyes go back up to look into yours, that intense gaze of his making you even more nervous than you were already. 

“I don't think I can do this.” You tell him as your hands ball up the fabric of his shirt beneath your fists. “I'm scared. My heart feels like it'll explode.” 

So cute. Pope can't help thinking how adorable you are, so frightened by the prospect of a little kiss. 

“And you want to produce porn?” He smirks at you, nudging your nose with his own playfully. “You need to be able to do this if you want to direct it, little one.” 

“Okay, okay.” You know he's right. 

You have to find the confidence to push forward, to make things happen. 

So, you press your lips against his. You don't do it hard. It's the lightest kiss Pope has ever felt, laced with fear and anxiety. 

Exactly the kind of kiss Pope has been dreaming about. Everyone he has ever kissed before you has been so full of themselves. 

You are the exact opposite. So careful, so worried you'll do it wrong that you barely do it at all. 

Just the gentlest little tap on his lips. 

Now he needs to know how frightened he can make you. 

So, Pope slides his hand up to the back of your head, securing you in place so that the moment you lift your lips away from his, he can press them right back down. 

Your eyes widen, not expecting for him to kiss you back again right away. 

It's not harsh. His lips just stick onto yours, keeping steady right there. Then, when he starts to move them, you start to panic, the blood rushing straight to your head and tension forming in your core. 

You're wriggling in his lap like a scared little mouse caught in a trap. 

Just the way he wants you to be. 

“Easy.” He breathes against your lips. “Don't get scared. Just pay attention to what I'm doing and follow me.” 

He tilts your head a little, angling himself a bit to get a better hold on your lips. You're gasping between each feverish kiss and Pope loves it. 

Loves how inexperienced you are, how easily provoked you are. 

Like when he grinds his hips upwards just as a tease and you moan against his lips unexpectedly, your face heating up in reaction. 

“Oh god, I'm sorry.” You can't believe you're reacting this much. 

“Don't be sorry.” He says, sliding his hand over to cup your jaw. “I like that you feel good. I wanted to see it, remember? I like hearing it too.” 

“It's embarrassing though…” You feel like such a virgin. 

You are one but you feel it a hundred times more because you're in the presence of someone who fucks for a living…

“Is it?” He nips at your bottom lip, liking how you shiver when he does. “I think it's cute.” 

“You think I'm cute?” You don't believe him. 

Not until he says, “I don't “think” it. You are cute, my precious little one.” 

His precious…

Bad thoughts are running through your mind. Of hoping he means it and it's not just part of some roleplay of his. But you know that can't be true. 

What could you offer him that he can't already get? 

Pope can see the warring thoughts in your eyes. So, he leans in and kisses you again, which snaps you out of your own head. Especially when you feel the tip of his tongue flick your bottom lip. 

“Let me in.” He says, his tone sultry. “I want to know what you taste like.” 

Pope smiles when you grab onto him tighter, unable to keep yourself still otherwise. Then, you nod, since you can't bring yourself to say any words. 

His tongue flicks at your lip again and this time, your lips part, allowing him in. You expect him to go slow, to let you adjust to the idea of his tongue in your mouth but he does the exact opposite. 

He just ravages you, his tongue tangling with your own, stealing your every breath away. His kisses get rougher, his movements too. You can't hold in your voice when you feel him grip your ass with his hands and roll his hips against yours, forcing you to feel how hard his cock is beneath you. 

You know how big he is. Porn star big. 

Impossibly big for someone who has never had sex before. 

Big enough that it feels like he's fucking you already. 

“Wait, wait!” You gasp out onto his lips, trying to get him to stop because you don't think you'd be able to live with the embarrassment if you came from this. “Please, Pope, I can't—”

“Are you going to cum, little one?” He smirks at how scared you are of your own orgasm. “It's okay if you do.” 

You shake your head. “No, I can't, not like this…” 

“There's nothing wrong with cumming from this.” He keeps rolling his hips and since your lips aren't plastered to his, you can't stop the moan that leaves your lips. “Let it feel good. Stop resisting.”

“But I shouldn't—” You bury your face in his shoulder, dry heaving as the friction against your clit becomes too much to bear. “I don't want to cum, I don't want to—”

Suddenly, you feel his hand slip into your shorts and without any warning, Pope pinches your clit, rolling it between his fingers until you cum so hard that you see stars in your vision. You're reeling, clinging onto him, your whole body shaking from the sudden surge of pleasure. 

“There you go.” Pope starts rubbing your clit over the fabric of your underwear, making you whimper into his shoulder as another orgasm builds inside of you all too quickly. “Let it happen again.” 

He grabs your face with his free hand, pulling you up so he can kiss you again. 

Kissing him feels very different when his fingertips are playing with your clit. 

You're lightheaded, unable to breathe, so close to cumming that you're nervous you might pass out…

Then, he moves off your clit right when you're about to and you whine uncontrollably before catching yourself. He laughs lightly, almost menacingly, at your reaction to getting teased. 

“Did you want to cum?” He asks you, wanting to hear you admit it. 

You chew on your lip. You shouldn't tell him yes. You shouldn't even be doing this. You should have him take you home like he said he would. 

But you want to cum. 

It's addictive, that wave of pure bliss that he gave you. It was unlike any of the orgasms you've given yourself. 

You want to know what it feels like to be made to cum by Pope. 

So, you tell him the truth, “yes, please make me cum, Pope.” 

“I like a girl who knows what she wants.” He says with a smile that could kill. “Can I make you cum with my mouth?” 

Pope wishes he could take a photo of your shocked expression, all wide eyed and beautifully nervous. 

“I-I've been on set all day. It's probably—” 

“Then take a shower here.” Pope offers, if you're really that nervous. He likes that you didn't say no. 

He likes that you're so easy to convince. 

“Okay…” You can't possibly decline getting eaten out by a porn star. People would think you're crazy to miss out on something like that.

“Mmm, good girl.” He praises you, making your whole body yearn for his affection. “Now, I'll make you cum one more time before you shower.”

“Wait, what—” You squirm when Pope suddenly dips his hand into your underwear and slides a finger inside of you, “Pope, stop—!”

You can't stop gasping when his finger curls at the same time as he starts palming your clit, giving you the friction you were desperate for just moments ago. But now his thick finger is buried inside of you, searching for the spot that makes you cry out his name. 

“Andrew.” He demands, thrusting another finger inside of you. “Call me Andrew when you cum.” 

“Andrew, please, please, not there—” You cry out when he grazes the right place inside of you, your stomach tensing at the feeling, “your fingers are—oh god—”

You're saying his name on repeat into his shoulder when his fingers keep pounding right where you need them to until you're bursting at the seams, cumming all over his lap because he won't let you stop. 

“No, no, I can't cum anymore!” You tug at his arm but he keeps fucking you with his fingers against your wishes, “please, Andrew!”

Pope's too strong. He has you locked on his lap with his other arm wrapped around you, pinning you to him as his fingers ravage your insides until you're squirting so hard that you drench his hand. 

It's only when tears start streaming down your face that Pope finally lets you breathe, pulling his hand away. 

In your daze, you watch him lick his hand clean, grinning so happily at you with your lovely glazed over eyes, so lost in your orgasm. 

Pope leans in for a kiss and for the first time, you lean into it, kissing him back the way he taught you to. You're a bit sloppy with it, but he adjusts you until you're kissing him exactly how he wants you to. 

“Someone's a fast learner.” He compliments you again, which gets you wriggling, your heart racing once more.

You glance down, at how wet you've made his lap, humiliation coursing through you at the sight. 

Pope catches it and says, “do you feel bad for almost ruining my couch?” 

“I'm sorry.” You do feel bad. You've never squirted before in your life. 

You thought that was just something that happened in porn… 

“How sorry?” He wonders aloud. 

“Very sorry…” You definitely wouldn't be able to afford to buy him a new couch.

“Then help me get out of these pants.” He points to his lap. “Take them off before your cum can touch my couch.”

You stare at how daunting of a task this is going to be. But, you listen, grabbing a hold of his belt buckle and undoing it. Then, you unzip his pants. 

“Now get on your knees in front of me and pull them off.” Pope's tone is so commanding that you do it without a second thought, moving to the floor in front of him. He stops you before you can tug at his waistband. “Wait a second, little one. Look up at me.” 

You do, your eyes meeting his. He likes the way you look on your knees. You would look even better with his cock in your mouth. 

He'll shelve that for another time, when he has trained you so well that you'll be begging to put him in your mouth yourself. 

Pope nods, gesturing for you to continue. You tug off his pants by his waistband, leaving him only in his boxer briefs. You notice the spot of precum leaking from where the tip of his hard cock is pushed up against the fabric of his underwear.

You can't help but wonder what he tastes like…

It doesn't look like Pope will have to train you at all because you ask him, “can I try making you feel good with my mouth?” 

“Sure.” He says, reaching over to grab his phone. “If I can film it.” 

“W-What?” You weren't expecting that. 

“If it's your first time sucking cock, we should get it on camera. It'll fund our future film.” Pope knows how much authentic first time content goes for, especially when he's an experienced star and you're just an innocent inexperienced reluctant woman who never thought she'd ever star in a porno. 

“Y-You want to make my film?” You hadn't asked yet if he was interested. 

“If you star in it with me, I will.” Pope doesn't want to do it with anyone else. 

He only wants you. 

“What?” You sound like a broken record at this point.

But he likes how cute you are, all surprised. “You heard me, little one. I'll finance it myself, just be my co-star.” 

“But I don't know a thing about…being filmed…” You know there's a whole learning curve to it, of knowing where the camera is and what angles look best. 

It's something you've never thought about for yourself. You've only considered it in the context of filming others.

“You'll learn. I'll teach you. Like right now.” He hits record on his phone, holding it steady in his hand. “You're going to suck me off for the very first time in your life.”

Pope grabs your hand, putting it back at his waistband, inviting you to take his underwear off. 

You do it, leaving him bare from the waist down. He looks incredible like this, his cock hard and leaking precum. His shirt clings to his upper body beautifully, reminding you that you were just grinding on his lap with his chest pressed flush against yours.  

You feel so small knelt in front of him like this. He hovers over you like a giant, engulfing you completely, consuming you with his eyes locked on yours. 

“Now, do what you think is right. You've watched plenty of videos. You know what to do.” Pope wraps his hand around his cock, pumping it a few times for the camera, before leaving you to do the rest. 

You shake away the nerves so you can lean in, dragging your tongue along the bottom of his shaft until you reach the tip, swirling around it, tasting him for the first time. He chuckles at how stunned you look at how pleasant he tastes. You expected it to be more musky but it wasn't at all. 

It's oddly…sweet. 

“Do you like how I taste?” Pope takes a hold of his cock again, pushing the tip of it against your lips. “Let me feed it to you if you like it so much.” 

You part your lips, letting his cock slip into your mouth. He's so big that your jaw nearly locks up trying to take him. You're careful with your teeth as he slides deeper inside, until he's so far down your throat that you gag. 

“First time and you're already taking me like a porn star. Good girl.” His praise is so addicting that you start to suck on his cock in hopes he'll reward you with more. He does, which makes you so happy, “fuck, just like that, use your tongue too. You're doing great.” 

You alternate between sucking on his cock and using your tongue to lick up and down his shaft. You try to pay attention to what triggers him to groan and focus on doing that. You know you're doing well when Pope puts his hand in your hair and grips it tight.

“God, I want fuck that face. Can I fuck your face?” He wants to use your mouth for his pleasure. 

You nod, not really knowing what that entails. You know it's harsh from the videos you've seen but…you want to know what it feels like for Pope to use you to make himself cum. 

So, you let him fist your hair rather roughly before he pounds his cock into your throat over and over again. You're gagging and crying but to Pope, you've never looked more beautiful. 

He might not be able to post this video. It might just have to stay in his personal collection. Your first time taking his cock in your mouth. 

Your first time swallowing his cum. 

You gulp it down as he coats the back of your throat with his release. 

“That's it, drink it up, don't waste a drop.” He slowly slips his cock out of your mouth and he can't stop himself from smacking your face with it a bit, so the camera can see how big his cock is compared to your face. You make him groan when you eagerly lick along his shaft again, since you assume it would look good on camera. 

“Fuck, get over here.” He ends the video and drags you up onto his lap again. He grabs a hold of your face, looking at you fiercely as he asks, “who the fuck taught you how to suck cock like that?”

“You did.” You say the only correct response. 

Pope lets out a dark chuckle. “Good girl. You're making me very proud.”

You want him to praise you more so you find the confidence to cup his face like he's doing to you and kiss him, applying the right amount of pressure against his lips that causes him to just start grabbing at your flesh, needing to touch you when your tongue flicks at his bottom lip. 

“Oh, I'm going to fuck you.” He's looking forward to seeing how eager you'll be to please him once his cock is deep inside of you. 

"Do you think you'll fit?” You look down, seeing the way his softening cock is still huge, pressing into your lower stomach. 

“Don't worry, you can take it.” He presses his fingertips into your belly, massaging right where your womb must be, which draws out full body shudders from you. “You'll feel it right here and you'll love it.” 

You meet his eyes and then, quietly, you ask him, “can we…do it a different time?” 

Pope's jaw tenses at your question. “Why?” 

You bite back a nervous sigh, your stomach churning from what you're about to say, “because I don't want this to be a one night stand…”

You let go of his shirt, not wanting to cling onto him when he'll likely kick you out for being so needy.

“I'm sorry.” You shake your head at him, deciding for him that you should leave. “I-I should know better. I'll just head out.”

“Wait.” He wraps his arms around you, keeping you in place. “Who says you get to leave?” 

“Pope—”

"Don't call me that.” He doesn't want you to use his stage name. He wants you to use his real name. 

You're the only one he'll let call him Andrew. 

Which is why he doesn't understand why you can't see how special you are to him. 

Maybe because no one has ever made you feel special before. 

He'll have to change that. 

“Andrew.” You saying his name allows Pope to relax his jaw. Though, he tenses again when you tell him, “I don't think I should stay. I'm going to do something stupid…”

“Like what?” He wants to know what you're running from. 

“Like…” You look down at his slightly swollen lips, at how you wish you could just freely kiss him without the worry that he'll have to kiss someone else for show. 

But you can't want that. 

Your aunt is right. He'll end up breaking your heart.

So you need to push him away now, “I'm going to fall in love with you if we sleep together. I'm already…feeling too much from just…this. I'll fuck it up. I can't keep things casual. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.” 

“Then fall in love with me.” Pope states so nonchalantly that you think he must not have understood you. 

“Andrew, I can't.” You shake your head at him.

“Why not?” 

“Because you'd never…” You don't want to break your heart by saying it out loud but it feels like your heart has already decided to break. 

“Do you want me to fall in love with you?” He asks, again with that flat tone of his that has you feeling like he doesn't understand the weight of his words. 

“You won't.” Your answer isn't what he was looking for. 

“Answer the question.” He's more stern now. 

You pinch your lips together, tears welling your eyes. You should say no, because then you could run from this. From the desire to be his. 

But you can't bring yourself to lie so you confess, “of course I want you to fall in love with me. But you won't—”

“Okay.” Pope hugs you tighter. “Let's fall in love.” 

“What?” You're more astonished than you've been all night. 

“What?” He parrots you. 

“Andrew…don't fuck around with me.” You don't like whatever kind of joke he's making. 

“I'm not fucking around with you. I want to fuck you, though. It doesn't have to be tonight but I'd like you to stay the night regardless.” 

You blink at him. You're unsure if your hearing is fucked or not but did he really just say…

“Are you being serious?” You need a clear answer. 

“Yes, little one.” He leans in to press a kiss on your temple. “I'd like you to stay the night. Sex is optional. I fuck for work. I wouldn't mind not doing it but I want to cuddle at least.” 

“You want to…” You're speechless. 

Pope laughs at how absolutely baffled you are. You turned out to be more fun than he thought possible. 

“Is that bad? Would you not like to cuddle?” 

“Of course I would love to cuddle.” You say it like that's the most obvious thing ever. “But, but…why do you want to cuddle with me?” 

“You gave me a great blowjob.” 

“Andrew!” You smack his chest and he laughs again. “I'm being serious!”

“I am too.” He smirks and you glare at him, making him smile even bigger. “You are so fucking cute. Come here.” 

You're suddenly hauled up into his arms. You have to wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his hips to keep yourself from slipping as Pope carries you past his bedroom and then sets you down in his bathroom. 

“What are we doing here?” 

“Well, you probably shouldn't have your first time in the shower but I want to shower with you.” Pope strips off his shirt, leaving him completely naked now. 

He is used to people ogling him but knowing that you're so noticeably overwhelmed by the sight of him, he actually enjoys being looked at by you. 

“You can touch me if you want.” Pope takes your hand and places it onto his chest. 

You feel his steady heartbeat under your fingertips. It's calming but also worrying because if he felt something for you, shouldn't he…be more nervous? 

It seems like you're the only flustered one, which you don't like. It has you feeling super insecure. But it makes sense that Pope doesn't react much, given his profession.

So, what makes you different enough that he wants to do this with you? 

You can't wrap your head around it, your hand lifting off of him.

Then, out of a need to push him away, you demand something you doubt he'll give you, “I don't want to do this if you're just going to throw me away when you're bored of me.” 

“Is that what you think I'm going to do?” 

You nod, wishing you didn't feel this way.

“Hmmm.” Pope steps closer to you, grabbing a hold of your chin, lifting your face up to look at him since you've been avoiding eye contact this whole time. “How do I show you that I'm serious about you?” 

You shrug. “I don't know…”

“Is there something you want?” He'll give you anything you want. 

“Nothing that isn't super selfish.” You're honest there. Pope likes that you're honest. 

“Tell me.” He wants to know. 

“I want you to only kiss me.” You just spit it out but you don't think he'd actually say yes to this. “And I want to kiss you whenever I want.” 

“So you don't want me to kiss anyone at work?” 

You nod. 

“But I can still fuck them?” Pope finds your conditions interesting. 

“I'm not that selfish. I know what you do for work. I'm not looking to take away your livelihood but…if you only kiss me, I think that would be enough for me.” 

“Alright.” He agrees way too easily for your liking. 

“Andrew, I'm serious.” 

“And I'm serious.” He leans down to press a kiss against your lips. “I won't even go down on anyone else. My lips are all yours.” 

“Really?” You look at his lips, wanting to kiss him again but your nerves stop you. “Are you sure?” 

“Only if you kiss me right now.” Pope needs you to seal the deal. 

You kiss him immediately and he smiles against your lips, loving how visibly excited you are now. You're much more relaxed, which allows him to unbutton your shorts and tug off your bottoms, leaving you bare from the waist down. Then, he tugs off your top, his lips never parting from yours. 

Pope drags you into his shower, turning it on, shielding you from the water until it's warm enough. He presses you up against the tiled wall, his hands roaming your naked body. You're no longer holding back, moaning against his lips when his hands cup your breasts. 

“Just so you know,” Pope leans down to flick one of your nipples with his tongue, “you aren't allowed to wear such a low cut top around anyone but me from now on.” 

“I promise I won't if you keep doing that.” That feels way too good. 

He swirls his tongue over both of your nipples until they're nice and hard then he slides his hands up to tug at them. Before you can react, his mouth is back on yours, his thumbs swiping over your nipples, his thigh spreading your legs apart. You're so shy about how wet you are but Pope grinds his thigh into you, wanting to get you even more wet for him.

“Cum all you want, little one.” He says, pressing a kiss against your cheek. “We'll wash up after so no need to hold back.” 

It's destructive that Pope knows what he's doing. You wonder if he's been this way with anyone else. You can't possibly be the only one swept up in his charms. 

But you are. 

Because Pope hasn't felt desire like this before. 

There's something about how absolutely overwhelmed you are by his actions. He finds it too entertaining. He can't get this from the people in his industry, nor would he want to. 

He has been searching for someone like you. Close enough to understand what he does for work, but far enough away that you haven't been exposed to the sides of him that he's trying so hard to hide. 

Does he need to hide them from you? 

The things you have written have shown him that there's a darkness lurking in your mind that is on the same frequency as the needs in his. 

Shall he test you? 

You feel his hands slide up your chest and wrap around your neck. Pope can feel your breaths quicken, fear suddenly causing your body to tremble in his hold as he squeezes around the delicate column of your neck. 

“Are you scared of me?” He looks at you with the blankest stare you've ever seen. 

And you can't believe how turned on you are. 

Because he's performing your script, albeit with a bit of improv since this scene doesn't happen in a shower. But it's the same concept. 

Hands wrapped around your throat, thigh between your legs, nerves on high alert. 

So, you answer just as you wrote it, your voice the right amount of shaky, “d-do you want me to be?” 

Pope doesn't answer. He doesn't need to. 

He just steps aside, letting the warm water of the shower suddenly hit your face. You shoot your hands up, trying to stop the water from getting into your eyes but then Pope squeezes your throat and you gasp, swallowing water uncontrollably instead. 

“Wait!” You can't push his hand away before it slips between your legs, dipping a finger back inside of you. His thigh keeps your legs apart so you can't resist him adding another one. “Andrew!” 

“Scream my name louder.” He grips you by your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “Let me see how scared you can get.” 

In all his content, you've never heard Pope sound so frightening before. He usually plays the rougher, harsher characters but the producers never let him show this side of himself. The one he developed in prison. 

The one that yearns for the dark. 

Your hands are gripping his shoulders, your nails digging into his flesh as his fingers drive into you over and over again. You cling onto him desperately, trying not to topple over completely but it's so hard to stay still when he's fucking you with his fingers like this. 

The steam is getting to your head. The look in his eyes is heating up your core. The desire he has to see you completely unravel is messing you up inside, more than his fingers already are.

You should've known better than to expect vanilla sex from Pope. 

This is what he truly likes. He only wishes it were his cock getting milked by your tight pussy instead of his fingers. But you need to loosen up a bit or you'll never take him. 

You need to be able to handle him at his worst because the moment he puts his cock inside of you, he'll surely lose all rationality. 

Like he does right now, when you kiss him out of nowhere. 

Pope did promise you that you could kiss him whenever you wanted but he would've never guessed that you would do so while he was abusing your pussy with his fingers. 

And now, he has to fuck you up. 

You moan when Pope kisses you back, his tongue flicking at your lips, his movements rougher and sloppier than before. It helps that the shower washes it all away, making his rather aggressive kisses much more enjoyable since there aren't layers of spit to contend to. 

You cum so much when he curls his fingers just right and he basks in how your pussy clenches to his fingers. “I need you to do that on my cock.” 

“I think I'll die if you fuck me.” You might die right now because his fingers haven't stopped moving inside of you despite your blatantly obvious orgasm. He moves his fingers rapidly side to side until you're close to collapsing, your head so dizzy from cumming so hard all over his hand and thigh. 

You're clinging onto him for dear life and it's only when he thinks you actually might pass out that he slows his fingers and pulls out of you. 

Then you feel a light slap against your cheek. “Stay with me, little one.” 

“I'm…dizzy…” You feel so lightheaded from the steam and the orgasms.

“I've got you.” Pope helps you wash up. 

You find it odd how gentle he's being in the shower now. He's almost too focused on making sure you're taken care of from head to toe.

He even helps dry you off after the shower. He seats you down on his toilet so he can plug in his hair dryer and blow dry your hair for you. 

You feel utterly spoiled, especially when he pulls one of his shirts over your head so you have something to wear and aren't cold while he finishes up with your hair. 

It smells like him. You like that a lot. 

“All done.” He pats your head. “Feeling better?” 

You nod. “Refreshed.” 

“Want some water?” 

“Can I come with you?” You put your hand out then realize what you're doing. 

Were you seriously going to try to hold hands with Pope?

Would he even—

Pope grabs your hand and yanks you to your feet, interlocking his fingers with yours as he walks the two of you out of his bathroom. Your heart is beating out of your chest at the sight of him leading you to his kitchen, hand firmly clamped around yours. 

When you're close enough to him, he picks you up and sets you down on the kitchen counter, legs dangling off like you had them earlier on that dressing table. He likes the look of your bare legs. Maybe he'll have you stay pantless at his place. 

“What do you want to drink?” He opens his fridge, gesturing to the few options he has. 

Protein shakes, water bottles, beer and some juice. Usually he doesn't drink anything besides water. Tonight, he feels like a beer. 

“I'm not old enough to drink.” You hadn't thought about that. 

Pope didn't realize you were that much younger than him. “Do you want one?” 

You shake your head. “I want to be sober when we cuddle.” 

That makes Pope put his beer back in the fridge and grab water instead. “Then we'll both be sober.” 

You don't know why that makes you so happy but the butterflies in your stomach are going nuts. 

He rests his hand on your thigh, massaging it gently as the two of you drink water. You like the casual touching. 

You like Pope, a lot. 

So you set down your half-finished bottle of water then put your hand on his chest. It's bare. He's only wearing underwear. He looks way too good like this. 

It makes you almost frustrated that this sight has been seen by millions…

“Like what you see?” He steps closer to you, tossing his bottle of water aside so he can place both of his hands on your thighs. “You can touch me as much as you want.”

“You aren't tired of being touched?” You're worried that after the shoot, he must not want to do this for much longer. 

But then he says, “I'd never get tired of being touched by you.”

“Have you always been such a flirt?” You chuckle, your hands roaming his bare skin more freely now. “I hope you don't regret this. I might never want to let you go.” 

You say it like a joke but Pope says it back like a promise, “I'm never letting you go.” 

“We just met.” You remind him. 

“You don't believe in love at first sight?” He thought you'd be more of a romantic type than a realistic one, given your aspirations. 

“Love…” You blink up at him. “Are you saying…?”

Pope doesn't hide his truth. “I knew you were special the moment I saw you. I was hoping you'd be one of my co-stars.” 

“I…still can be…” Your skin heats up when you say that, not believing that it actually came out of your mouth. 

“Do you want to make content with me?” Pope wouldn't mind that. 

As nice as it is to get paid regularly to do bigger porn productions, he knows he could pull the same numbers if he started making videos on his own. Or with you. 

Especially with you. 

“What if you get sick of fucking the same person?” You let your insecurities flood out, sighing. 

“I could ask you that.” He spreads your thighs open with his big hands, settling his hips between them.

You glance down, surprised to see that he's hard. His cock is practically begging to burst out of his underwear. 

“Are you going to get tired of being fucked by me?” He grinds his cock against your bare pussy. You can feel so much warmth radiating off of him despite the layer of fabric between the two of you. 

It has your heart leaping out of your chest when you answer, “I doubt I could ever get bored of you.” 

“I feel the same way about you.” Pope wants to reassure you that he's choosing you. 

He can't help it. He hasn't wanted anyone like this before. 

He would give it all up for you. 

But he knows you're too sweet to let him. “You don't have to stop making porn for me, Andrew.”

“Say my name again.” He likes hearing it from you. 

No one ever calls him Andrew, especially not in porn. And he is grateful for that because now the only memory he has of someone moaning his name is you with your lovely voice. 

“Andrew.” You wrap your arms around his middle, tugging him to you. “I'm serious. Don't throw away your livelihood for me.” 

“I'm not throwing it away. I'm shifting to a new style. You can help me. It would be good filming practice.” 

You can't believe what he's offering you. “You'd let me direct you?” 

“You said you wanted to make an independent production. Doesn't get more independent than just you and me.” He leans down to press a light kiss on your forehead to comfort you, since you're staring back at him so baffled. “I'd like to film with you. Only you.”

“I'm unsure if I'm star material…” You've never even had sex before. 

How can Pope be so sure you won't drag him down? 

Because he made that video of you going down on him earlier, looking like such a beauty that he's sure anyone would get riled up seeing you on camera. 

“Why don't we practice?” 

“How?” It will probably take you forever to get comfortable in front of the camera. 

“I'll teach you everything about sex one step at a time. We'll film the whole thing, leading up to the first time we fuck.” His words have your heart racing unbelievably fast. “We won't fuck until you're ready to film it. Until you know your angles and what you want to show the world.”

“You would…wait that long?” 

“Would that make you happy, little one?” Pope wraps his arms around you, tugging you closer to him. 

You nod. You'd like that a lot. 

So, that's what you and Pope do. 

You help him set up an account on a reputable adult content sharing site. You shouldn't have been shocked how quickly he builds a hefty fanbase willing to buy his personalized content but you are.

He's making so much money. More money than you'd ever need for a simple production like you've been planning. 

And Pope thanks you for his success. 

He has you do all the filming. All your ideas sell very well to his audience, who love the jerk off videos where he's talking about how much he wants to kidnap you and rape you until you're his forever.

It's easy for Pope to make this content because he doesn't have to pretend. He's being completely honest and his fans can feel it through the screen. But he isn't talking to them. 

He's talking to you, his pretty girl behind the camera who he has a vibe strapped to. He doesn't let you cum until the filming is over. He wants you wet and aching for him the moment the camera shuts off. 

It makes for incredibly authentic videos when you're so desperate for him after all the edging. He has gotten a little too good at making you cum on his tongue. 

You cum so well for the camera. You never have to fake it. And everyone who follows Pope wishes they were you. 

You satisfy them by filming from your point of view, letting the world watch your porn star boyfriend eat you out and finger you until you're squirting all over his face, which he licks up in a way that has people begging for more content like that, where they can pretend to be you. 

You've been faceless thus far. You're worried about showing yourself, that it might kill the fantasies of the viewers.

“Let them be envious.” Pope tells you while you're both cuddling in his bed. “I want to be able to see you in those videos too.” 

“You might be the only one who would, Andrew.” You smile at that, though. 

You really like him. He really likes you. And you believe he does because he is always making these kinds of comments. About how he wants the world to know that you're more than just his co-star. 

But you urge him against it. 

It's better for him if people don't know he's dating anyone. 

You know this because you've been deleting all the messages that he's been getting where they complain about you being there. They want Pope content, not you. And if you are there, they want less of you and more of him. Which makes sense, since it is his account. 

Pope can tell you've grown more apprehensive about filming content together. You insist on just filming him. But he doesn't want to film alone anymore. 

He likes filming with you. He likes having you on camera with him.

He would like it even more if he got to fuck you but you're scared to do it. 

Because you've read several comments telling Pope that they'll unsubscribe if he fucks you. A lot of them are sick of you “capitalizing his time and attention”. They miss when he made porn with different people because at least then, they could pretend he belonged to anyone and everyone. 

But he belongs to you. 

And you're starting to feel bad about it. 

You don't want his career to get stunted because of you. Even though you can't possibly leave him. You love him.

These last few months have been incredible. You've learned so much about filming and about your own body. 

You want to have sex with Pope but you're afraid that the moment you do, you'll never be able to let him go. 

You feel selfish for wanting him all to yourself when there's so many people willing to throw ridiculous amounts of money at him as long as he stays “available” in their eyes. 

But you don't know Pope. 

Pope doesn't give a fuck about any of those people. He only cares about you. He has enough money. He doesn't need to make porn anymore. 

If anything, the porn is just an excuse to keep you in his life because he worries you're not as crazy about him as he is about you. 

Any time he tries to initiate sex, you worm your way out of it. He even tells you that you don't have to film your first time but that still doesn't persuade you. 

You don't come over as often anymore. Only when he wants to film content and you don't stay the night. He can't convince you to, either. You always have some kind of excuse.

Your behavior is making him lose his mind.

He misses you when you aren't with him. He tells you this and you believe him but you also keep up the self sabotage because you delude yourself into thinking that he'll get sick of you eventually, especially when you're acting like this. 

Why would he want you when you're being a burden? You keep it up, in hopes he'll finally see that you're not good for him, that you're making his life worse. 

Even though Pope's life feels empty without you… 

So empty that he has to fill the void somehow. 

And he starts when he catches a comment on an old video of his. 

You haven't been over in a week. He missed you so much that he went back to watch a video that he uploaded of you cumming on his tongue for the first time. He likes that video a lot because you're so shy about how hard you came and he chuckles on video. It's such a natural interaction between the two of you. Beautifully intimate, which is why Pope wanted to rewatch it. He figured other people would like the genuine connection you and him have.

But apparently, some people don't like this video at all. 

He clicks on the profile of the person who left a comment saying that they wish Pope would stop making videos with you because they don't like you. He sees all the comments you deleted from his account from this person, since they're only deleted on his end, not theirs. 

They're all hateful, disgusting comments that make his blood boil. 

Pope realizes then that you've been hiding this from him. He doesn't get why.

Don't you know that he'd take care of these people for you? 

These aren't people you need to worry your lovely head about, little one. 

Pope will handle it. 

He'll handle each and every one of them. 

Then, you won't have anything to worry about anymore… 

You find it strange that Pope's house smells like bleach. It never used to smell like bleach. You know he likes to clean but it's been more excessive lately. 

You're concerned so you ask him the next time you come over, “is everything okay, Andrew?” 

“Everything's great.” He's getting through his list quicker than he thought he would. 

Killing people was something he figured would take him a while to get back into the groove of but he's been disposing of bodies left and right without much extra effort. Though, it helps that he feels incredibly motivated to kill, versus before where he was forced to kill for his mother Smurf. 

This is easy. He'd do anything for you. 

The next jerk off video Pope posts is…dark. 

You didn't plan any of the dialogue. Usually you have a light script written up for Pope to follow along with but today, he just improvised. 

He talks about how much he wants to fuck you, that he would do anything for you, including torture and kill people who are bad to you and dispose of their bodies so you don't have to see them ever again. 

As long as you belong to him. 

It's the most fucked up video he has made thus far. 

And it sells like hotcakes. 

People eat it up, loving that he's so crazed in it. He cums hard for the camera too, harder than he has in a long time. 

Though, his audience has no idea it's because Pope was looking at you and that haunted expression on your face that he wishes he could see while he's buried inside of you. 

That frightened expression never leaves your face. 

Because you ask him, “were you being serious in that video?” 

And Pope answers without flinching, “yes.” 

You're laying beside him in bed. You decided to stay the night after editing and posting that video because it's been a while and you've missed sleeping next to him.

But now you're…scared. 

More scared than you've ever been. 

Because you saw what looked like a fingernail in the bathtub. A whole fingernail, caught under the stopper. Like it couldn't get washed away fast enough. 

His bathroom reeked of bleach and other chemicals. 

But you have no reason to believe that Pope would actually kill people…

“That was a pretty creative concept.” You try to make light of it but it falls flat. 

Especially when Pope furrows his brows at you. “Concept?” 

“Yeah, for the video.” You blink up at him, confused. “You were just acting, right?” 

“Do you think I'd cum that hard if I was acting?” He chuckles at your horrified look. “You should know I'd kill for you.”

“Andrew, that's not funny.” 

“It's not a joke, little one.” His grip around your waist tightens because you attempt to wriggle out of his hold but he won't let you. “Where do you think you’re going?” 

“I want to go home.” You tell him because you're actually super freaked out right now.

He has to be joking. There's no way…

You can't be here if he's being serious. 

“You promised you'd stay the night.” Pope has worked so hard these last few weeks for you. He deserves a treat. He wants to fall asleep with you in his arms. 

“Andrew, I want to go home.” You push at his arms but he won't budge. “Andrew, please!”

Pope is tired of this. Of you fighting him and his needs. 

He knows you want him too. 

You'll appreciate what he's done for you someday. 

Even if you're afraid of it right now. 

You shriek when Pope pins you down on the bed, his body weight making it impossible for you to move. You feel how hard his cock is, rubbing up against your lower belly, making it known what he wants to do to you.

“I'm going to fuck you and you're going to enjoy it.” He's done waiting. 

“No!” You shout at him, shoving at his chest. “I want to go home!”

“This is your home!” He shouts back at you, his words silencing you completely as he exclaims, “you loved it here, you loved being with me! Until those stupid motherfuckers put it in your head that you weren't good enough for me. It's okay though. I took care of them. They won't bother you anymore, little one.” 

“You…what?” You're going to pretend you didn't just hear that.

But then Pope makes it very clear what he's done, so you can't avoid it any longer. “I killed anyone I could who said anything mean about you.” 

And now you're left with that shocked look on your face that has his cock throbbing against your belly. 

“Thankfully, a lot of them were local.” He continues detailing what he's done for you. “I cleaned up the vermin. You're welcome.”

“You're…you're sick.” You think back through the last few months.

Has Pope been taking his pills? 

He hasn't. Because why does he need to when you'll accept him as he is? 

You love all of him, don't you? 

Don't you? 

“Andrew, you need to get off of me.” You push at his shoulders but again, he doesn't dare move. 

“Why?” He likes being on top of you. It's one of his favorite places to be. 

“Why?” You repeat back to him, baffled that he doesn't get why you're afraid of him. “You just told me you killed people.”

“So?” He doesn't know what the big deal is.

Pope grew up around killers. He grew up killing people. This isn't anything new to him. Just a part of himself that he revived for your sake. 

You seem ungrateful though…

“You can't just murder people for being mean to me!” You scream at him, pounding your fists against his hard chest. “Get off of me!”

“I can and I will.” He snatches your wrists and holds them above your head. “I'd do it again and again if you needed me to.”

“I don't need you to kill people for me…” You can't move at all. He has you locked down tight right now. 

“That's how I know you're perfect for me.” He leans in, brushing the tip of his nose against yours. “You would never make me do what needs to be done. You care so much about me.” 

You are in complete disbelief. 

Of course you care about Pope but…do you care enough about him to let him murder people? 

People who specifically were rude and nasty to you? 

Do they even deserve to live?

You shake that deadly thought away. No, that's wrong. You shouldn't be happy that Pope killed those assholes for you. 

You shouldn't encourage this behavior. 

You shouldn't feel so…good that he would do that for you. 

This is fucked up, beyond fucked up. 

It's your wildest fantasy come true. 

But some fantasies should stay fantasies…

Because if you indulge in any more darkness, you'll surely never find your way out.

Is that really a bad thing? 

Can't you just…enjoy being his? 

Pope wouldn't do this for just anyone. You're obviously special to him. You are fully aware of that now. 

And it makes you sick how much you like it. 

“Andrew, we can't be together.” You want to see how crazed he can get about you. “I don't want to be with you anymore.” 

Something fucking snaps in Pope when you say that. 

He lets out a low, menacing growl. Like you've triggered the beast in him that he's been trying his whole life to keep caged. 

“You think you get to run from me, little one? You think you have a choice here?” He starts laughing maniacally and your entire body freezes up. “I don't give a fuck what you think. You're mine whether you want to be or not.”

Then, Pope gets off of you. He stands up, at the edge of the bed, and looks at you staring up at him with wide eyes, so full of that delicious fear. 

“I'll give you until I'm done setting up.” He's being generous. You won't get very far. “But just know, the moment I catch you, I'm raping you on camera.”

Your chest tightens. Every breath you take is a struggle. Your body is trembling all over.

The thrill is unlike anything you've ever felt before. 

Pope ignores the fact that you're still laying in bed, stunned. He focuses on getting all the cameras set up. 

Why would he care if you decide not to run? Makes his life easier if you don't. 

You scramble to your feet when you see him pull out several toys, including a butt plug, so he can clean them and get them ready.

That's when you start to actually panic. 

Because you told Pope you don't want to do any kind of anal play until you've gotten used to sex. 

But it looks like he has stopped giving a fuck about what you want. 

He's going to take both of your virginities, right here, right now. 

Live on camera. 

You shriek when he tries to grab you. You duck under his arms and sprint out of the room. You should've ran sooner. He's so much faster than you are. 

You barely make it to the front door before Pope slams you against it. The wind is knocked out of you immediately which is why you can't fight back when he grabs you by the hair and drags you back towards his bedroom. You have no strength left. Or rather, he is so much stronger than you. 

He tosses you onto the bed without breaking a sweat and he does it again and again, each time you try to get out of it. You're immediately thrown right back down. 

“Stay put.” He commands but you don't listen, making him click his tongue in irritation. “This would be easier if you stopped struggling. I can make you feel really good.” 

“I don't want to.” You shake your head at him, trying again to get off the bed but this time Pope is done with fucking around. 

He grabs you by the throat and holds you down onto the bed. You flail beneath him, kicking at him, screaming at him but the words don't come out. 

The only words that can be heard are his, “you know I could just kill you.”

You still completely at that. He smiles down at you, caressing your face with his free hand. It's not comforting. It's so fucking scary. He's so fucking crazy… 

“What will it be, little one?” He grips your throat with both his hands now, tightening his hold, making you choke for the cameras. “Do you want to die or do you want to get fucked?” 

He lets go of your throat for just a moment so you can tell him, panic in your quiet murmur, “I don't want to die…”

“Good girl.” Pope praises you for making the right choice, giving you a light kiss on the temple. “You're going to let me take your virginity, then?” 

You nod reluctantly. 

“Including your ass?” He wants the camera to catch you consenting to this, even if it's obviously coerced. 

“Please, Andrew, not my—” His hands don't allow another word to leave your lips, gripping your neck so hard that your eyes feel like they might pop out of your skull. 

“Don't be a bad girl.” He shakes his head at you, full of disappointment. “Tell me the right answer.”

He loosens his hold and waits for you to tell him what he wants to hear. 

Heat flashes in his gaze when you answer, “no.” 

“No?” His lips curve into a big smile, a smile so wide that anyone could tell it's an evil one. 

“I don't want this.” You tell him and you're unsure if you're acting or not. It's a little bit of both… “You're going to rape me. I didn't sign up for this.” 

“Oh?” He moves his hands to the side of your head, leaning down until you can feel every word he breathes out on your lips, “what did you sign up for, then?” 

Pope isn't expecting you to cup his face with your hands. Nor is he expecting for you to rest your forehead against his before kissing him on the lips. 

He has missed the feel of your lips on his. 

It feels like it's been too long since the last time the two of you kissed. 

“You.” You whisper to him, so softly so the cameras can't hear it. “I love you, Andrew.” 

“Are you being serious?" He won't let you live if you're fucking with him right now. 

You nod, smiling up at him. “I love everything about you.” 

“I was about to rape you.” He wants you to realize what you almost made him do. 

“I was going to let you.” You nuzzle his nose playfully before telling him, “you still can.”

“Don't push me.” He refuses to let you tempt him any further. 

But you entice him too much. “I want you to, Andrew. Take me like you've always wanted to.” 

His breaths grow heavy, desire clouding his judgment. “We're going to have to cut this part out of the video.” 

“Want to kiss me a little first?” You say with a lovely grin. 

“Fuck.” He finds you so adorable. “I love you so much.” 

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. The two of you lay there, tongues tangled, hips grinding against each other until you're aching for him to fuck you already. 

When Pope can't handle it anymore, he tells you, “we make love for us. Then we fuck for the camera.” 

“I like that idea.” You giggle happily when he tugs off your clothes until you're bare beneath him. “My turn.” 

You strip him and Pope knows then that you're the one for him. Because you're so gentle with him, with every touch. You treat him like he's precious to you. It's all he has ever wanted.

You're beautifully bashful when he starts kissing up and down the length of your body, his hands roaming your skin, wanting to memorize what you feel like. 

“I hope you know the moment we fuck, we're never stopping.” He warns you because he's been waiting for this for too long. He's going to need to have his fill of you. 

“Don't tease me with a good time, Andrew.” You spread your legs for him, dipping your hand between them to show him how wet you are. “Will you touch me? I've missed you.” 

“You have?” Pope hadn't realized how desperate he was to hear you admit it out loud. 

“I'm sorry I was being distant.” You feel really bad about it. 

“It's okay.” He would've suffered as long as you needed him to. “Just don't do it again.” 

“As long as you don't kill any more people.” Your words make him snap up to look at you. 

“But what if they're mean and deserve to die?” He says between gritted teeth and you hold back a laugh.

Pope can be like a vicious puppy sometimes. It's so cute. 

“I don't want the love of my life going to prison over a few internet trolls.”

He grumbles. “Fine. Then I'll take out my frustration on your pussy.”

You gasp when he dives between your legs without warning, his tongue dipping into you immediately. You squirm when the tip of his tongue starts flicking that spot inside of you that has you begging him to stop or you'll burst. 

“Wait, slow down—Andrew!” You push at his head, trying to get him to stop because your orgasm is building too quickly. “Stop! I'm going to cum, I'm going to—”

Your orgasm hits you right then and Pope has a little too much fun licking it up, the sounds surely getting captured on camera. 

“Cum as much as you want, little one.” He says as he thrusts two fingers inside of you, curling them right where his tongue just was, sending shivers through you. “Show me how good I make you feel.” 

You grab a hold of his hair when Pope starts sucking on your clit while his fingers pounds into you. You're trying not to be too vocal. You know the audience doesn't like it. But Pope likes it, so he makes you cum so hard that you can't hold back your voice. 

And he does that over and over again until you're begging and crying for him to give you a break. 

“I can't cum anymore, Andrew.” You won't survive if he makes you cum again. 

You're so overstimulated…

Pope lets out a sigh. “Fine, we'll take a break.” 

Though, a break in his mind really just means he's going to take his time marking every inch of your skin with his teeth. You don't know if this is any better than cumming your brains out. Now you're sensitive all over. Everywhere he touches sends sparks to your core. 

Pope's prepping you to cum hard on his cock. He wants your first time to be so good, you become addicted to fucking him. 

So he has to pull out every trick in the book. 

Edging you until you're dripping wet and aching for something deep inside of you. 

“Finally ready for my cock?” He asks, smirking at the desperation in your eyes.

“Please.” You want him so badly. 

Pope settles his hips against yours. He grabs his cock, dragging it up and down the length of your wet slit, coating himself in your slick. 

“Deep breaths, little one.” He instructs as he pushes the tip of his cock against your entrance. “You're about to take a porn star's cock for your first time. You'll need to relax.” 

Easier said than done because it feels like he's splitting you in two from just the tip of his cock pushing past your entrance. You're gripping onto the sheets for dear life as he slips more of himself into you slowly. 

“Too much.” You cry out, shaking your head, feeling overwhelmed. “You're too big.” 

Your words cause his cock to twitch inside of you which only makes you wriggle even more. It's so intense, the pressure of being pried out like this. 

“Focus on me.” Pope leans down to kiss you, distracting you with his soft lips and loving words. “You're doing so well. Your pussy feels so good.”

“Yeah?” You like that he feels good too. “Do you like my tight virgin pussy?” 

He growls low. “I love it.”

His cock barely fits inside of you. He'll need to fuck you a bit to loosen you up. So, he grabs your hips and looks at you with so much need in his eyes. 

“I'm going to fuck you now.” He gives you a moment to prepare yourself. “Until you're covered in my cum.” 

You shake your head. “I want you to cum inside of me. Pump a baby into me, Andrew.”

The moment you say that, it's like any remaining rationality Pope had left completely crumbles. 

He pins you down by your shoulders and just starts ramming into you. You've never felt such forceful thrusts before that your body doesn't even know how to react. 

You just cum. That's all you can do. 

“Oh god—” You grab a hold of his shoulders, digging your nails into his skin as he pounds you into his mattress. “Too rough, you're being too—!”

His hands slide to your throat and the moment he cuts off your air, you squirt on his cock and he laughs. “Someone likes it rough.” 

You're clawing at him now, drawing blood, unable to handle the orgasms he's pulling out of you. Your vision is going blurry. You can't think straight. 

And you see stars when he whispers in your ear, “how does it feel to get raped for your first time?” 

Your body convulses under him in response and Pope loves how your pussy is clenching around him, milking his cock, begging for his cum. When he finally gives it to you and lets go of your throat, you're gasping for air, cumming your brains out on his cock pumping hot ropes of cum inside of you. You love how warm you feel, completely filled up with his release. 

You don't want it to end. 

You want to be wrung out like this for the rest of your life. 

Pope pulls out of you and you expect it to be over but then you feel three of his fingers replace his cock. You're so sensitive that an orgasm washes over you just from him idly stroking your insides. He's merely resting his fingers inside of you, to keep you plugged up, but you're cumming on them too easily, drenching his hand.

“You're spilling my cum, little one.” He thrusts as much as he can back inside of you. “I need you to hold it in.”

“It's hard…” Especially when he keeps curling his fingers on purpose. 

“Who taught you to cum like a porn star?” He can't even count how many orgasms the cameras must've caught by now. 

“You.” You answer honestly, earning yourself another orgasm when his fingers start fucking you faster. “Andrew!” 

“Don't cum.” He thrusts his fingers deeper inside of you with every stroke. “If you cum, I'm going to rape you.” 

You glance down. Pope is hard again already. Usually it takes longer but when he looks at you, his body is just ready to fuck. 

Especially now that his cock has had a taste of your pussy. 

He can't possibly quit now!

Your whole body tenses in a poor attempt to stop the orgasm that will inevitably shatter you. But Pope is ruthless with his fingers. 

Then he tugs at your perky nipples with his free hand and you burst like a dam, cumming all over his fingers. 

You don't get a second to collect yourself before Pope flips you onto your stomach and pounds every inch of his cock inside of your still spasming pussy. His weight keeps you held down to the bed as he fucks you like an animal desperately needing to breed. He wants you pregnant.

He needs you to have his baby. 

You don't know how many times Pope cums inside of you. The batteries in the cameras all die at a certain point but he doesn't stop fucking you. 

It's a compulsion at a certain point. The moment he's hard again, his cock is buried inside of you. Your pussy has molded to his shape. Your body yearns for his release. 

The two of you don't stop fucking until you take a pregnancy test and it's positive. 

Pope is the most excited he has ever been about anything. 

And you're happy to see him like that. 

So, you'll wait a bit longer before you tell him it's a false positive. You had to figure out how to create a false positive or he would've never let you leave his bed. 

He surely won't once he finds out.

And you're looking forward to it. 

a/n: you know this idea started as one of those crack ideas but then I just ended up writing so much for it, oops! I just fell in love with porn star!pope, he's such a lovely guy (who will be very angry when he finds out you aren't pregnant hehe the next part will be fun ~)

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’d been seeing sammy for awhile, met him at a party in castaic that one of your friends dragged you to. you had whined about it being too far, but her cop boyfriend had been throwing it and she didn’t want to show up alone.

you never considered yourself a badge bunny, not really— until you met sammy. he had been eyeing you from across the room, and eventually, you had come and sat by (on) him. the rest played out with you happily following him home.

it was little lunch dates, walks in your neighbourhood, and usually spending the night at either of your places after work. things didn’t really become official until about a few months ago, when he introduced you to his son. he had nate for the weekend, and you were glued to him ever since.

sammy absolutely adored that you were so taken with nate. he had been afraid that having a kid would scare you off, but to his surprise, you and nate just clicked.

he had still been a baby but you were absolutely enthralled. you gave nate your full 100: attentive when he felt sick, have nonsensical conversation like he was socrates, buying him ice cream, and playing pretend like it was the most important thing in the world.

although you had been in nate’s orbit, you hadn’t known much about or even met tammi. it was your surprise that sammy had so subtly dropped that he had to get nate from tammi, while peppering kisses on your face and waiting for the morning to start.

clinging onto sammy’s bicep, you two had been waiting on a bench in front of the park. he insisted that you didn’t need to come, but you insisted that you’d go to the diner that made nate’s favourite waffles afterward.

tammi’s silver suv had pulled up in front of you, and she was not much of what you expected (not that you really had any expectations). tiredly coming out of the car, her hair was a disheveled bun of blond kinks and her tired eyes were lined haphazardly with black and shimmery purple. she looked absolutely exhausted, then absolutely irritated when her eyes met you.

“you should’ve told me you were bringing your badge bunny.” she spat, shutting the driver door behind her as you two approached the front of the car.

“hey, don’t call her that.” sammy rolled his eyes. “and it was a last minute thing.”

with hesitation, you stuck your hand out and introduced yourself, “hi, tammi, so nice to meet you.”

she scanned you up and down and shook her head with a sarcastic chuckle, “let’s get this over with.”

rounding the car, sammy led you to the passenger size with a reassuring grin and a hand on your lower back. tammi, with a glare at you, swung the door open and reached for the carseat.

she cooed at nate and sammy slipped in a hey, bud. you stood off to the side, unsure where to put yourself. fiddling with your jacket sleeves, you watched the two argue about the carseat as sammy rested nate on his hip.

“are you bringing her around nate?” she scolded, hand on her hip, voice attempting a whisper but failing.

“she is my girlfriend, so of course i am.” sammy said definitively, fixing the tiny collar of nate’s shirt.

“well, i don’t want your little girlfriend around our son.” tammi snapped.

although you were only a few feet away, they acted like you weren’t even there. it felt like when adults would fight in front of you. standing wide-eyed and half-guilty, you thought you should say or do something, even though you weren’t involved.

“you should’ve thought about that before you cheated on me and had that man play nate’s stepdad.” sammy responded before heading to your direction.

tammi scowled as sammy handed nate to you. he trekked back to her to get another word in about you and his home and how it wasn’t tammi’s business anymore.

when rested in your arms, nate’s eyes met yours with a smile and a giggle. your bewildered face switched to bliss as you bounced him on your hip.

“hello, nate, you want some waffles?” you teased, pinching his cheeks lightly. he babbled, hands playing with your hoop earrings— the inexpensive ones you made sure to wear around him. “yeah? we can get you some waffles from tony. you remember tony?”

as sammy and tammi’s argument came to a wavering finish, nate’s eyes stayed on you, arms dancing in the wind. with the crinkle in his eyes, a word that you shouldn’t have been there for slipped through his mouth, “mama.”

your face dropped, eyes darting to tammi, who grew even more furious.

“did he just say his first word?” sammy asked, an amused smile on his face as he looked at tammi’s anger.

Pope had to learn how to sleep with one eye open a long time before going to prison. His home had never been safe and, even as a child, he was always a light sleeper simply because it was a survival mechanism he developed to survive growing up under Smurf’s thumb. So he wakes instantly to the weight shifting on his chest, entire body locking in place as he tries to figure out what is happening. It’s not you, he can hear you snoring like a truck to the side — Pope would always be surprised that such a delicate woman could make so much noise while unconscious —, and the weight is too light and too concentrated to be a person. 

He opens his eyes slowly, just a little, not wanting to let the intruder know he is awake; the element of surprise always does wonders for him— attacking fast and hard before your opponent can understand what is happening is what has saved Pope’s life time and time again. On top of him there is a small pile of black fur. The thing is moving, little arms stretched over Pope’s pecks, tiny claws opening and closing, tugging at the cotton of his shirt. The animal blinks, slowly, and Pope can only tell that its eyes are open when the moonlight coming through the window hits it just right. 

The Tasmanian Devil. You told him the cat’s name had been Tweety at first, because he was tiny and seemed kind— He grew up into what you call a ‘terrorist’ with a sweet voice and fond smile, so you renamed him. Tweety to Tasmanian Devil. Sweet to sour. 

You did the opposite with him. He was Pope when he first met you— Angry, violent, unstable. You’d taken one look at him and started calling him Andy. A new name, a new identity, a facet of his personality that has always been there but has never been allowed to shine through. Sour to sweet.

The cat never seemed to like Pope very much. And it’s fine, Pope doesn’t like the thing either. He has never owned a pet, Smurf never allowed animals inside the house— Julia had made that mistake once, when they were eleven and an old mutt followed them from school. Pope didn’t see what happened, Smurf had dragged both Julia and the dog outside when she finally came home, but he had held his sister in the aftermath, arms around her shoulders as she cried and cried and cried. 

Pope never saw the dog again. 

Tec. Tec. Tec. The rhythmic sound of the devil ruining his shirt, its attack slow and coordinated as it keeps digging its claws into his shirt and tugging harshly. It doesn’t hurt— The thing can’t even do that properly, it seems. Pope pokes you on the shoulder twice and is only rewarded with the revving engine sound of your snores. You go quiet by the third poke but you don’t say anything, clearly awake enough to understand something is happening but not enough to realize it is him. 

“Honey?” Pope calls out. The devil stops moving on top of him for a moment at the rumbling of his chest before it restarts the assault. “Your devil is trying to kill me.” 

You slowly turn around then, hair mussed with sleep and eyes squinting. The cat doesn’t seem bothered by the movement, still clawing at Pope’s chest. 

“He likes you.” You say, and Pope frowns at how big you’re smiling. “Just wants to make some biscuits on those big titties of yours.”

You’re making fun of him. Pope is getting attacked and you’re making fun of him. 

“Wh—”

“Pet him.” You cut him off. Your own hand comes up to scratch behind the cat’s ear. The thing vibrates, then, a soft crooning noise taking over the silence of the bedroom. 

“It’s clawing at me.” Pope says, his hands still firmly by his sides. 

“He’s making biscuits.” You say again, just a little more forcefully but he can tell you’re having way too much fun. “Cats only do that when they like you and feel safe. When they’re kittens they do that while they’re nursing to help get the milk out.”

“I don’t have any milk.”

You snort. “Don’t I know it.” 

Pope’s face flushes, the reminder of how much attention you’d given his nipples earlier that evening crawling to the forefront of his mind. He raises a hand, carefully, patting his index finger on the top of the devil’s forehead. It keeps crooning, still making biscuits on his chest. 

The devil feels safe with him. It’s an odd feeling, but not an uncomfortable one— No one ever feels safe with him. People fear him, and he protects his family with his teeth and bare knuckles, but they don’t feel safe around him. You do, he thinks. He never asked, afraid of the answer, but you shield behind him whenever his brothers get too physical with each other, and you climb on his lap and hide your face on his neck whenever you’re watching a scary movie. 

He likes that. It makes him feel useful in a different way. When he protects his family he feels dirty, like a crazed guard dog that is going to be put down the second he is no longer useful. With you, he feels like he matters, like he belongs in your bed and in your house and in your heart. 

The devil headbuts his finger and you giggle, pressing a kiss to Pope’s bicep. 

“He likes scritches.” 

So Pope follows through, gently scratching behind the cat’s ear like you’d done before. His nails are shorter than yours, always trimmed down to the point where he’s one wrong angle away from bleeding, but the cat doesn’t seem to mind. The cat crawls a little closer to his neck, a loud mrrrp sound escaping it. 

“He hates me.” Pope says, heart thundering at the noise but you just snuggle closer, your leg thrown over his thigh. 

“He’s happy, Andy.” Your eyes are drooping, sleep is about to drag you back. “He would’ve bitten your finger clean off if he hated you.” 

The cat stands, its little paws digging on his chest and the softness of his stomach. It twists twice before it plops back down on his chest, fluffy tail swiping over Pope’s face. It’s uncomfortable and so unsanitary that any other day Pope might’ve jumped out of bed but he remains as still as he can, the cat’s purring being drowned down by your snoring, his fingers running along the cat’s spine. 

He doesn’t say it but, with the Tasmanian Devil’s weight on his chest, your leg over his and your cold hands gripping his bicep like a lifeline, Andy feels safe too.

“Shit! Shit!”

You flapped your hand madly to rid it of the sting the pruning had shears caused. You paused to examine it; blood was blooming along a thin, short slash mark, but it wouldn’t need more than a bandaid. Still, you thought grumpily, just another way to make your arduous valentines-carnation journey more unpleasant. God, you hated the stupid holiday.

It was against your wishes that your school’s chapter of the AMWA decided on doing a flower gram for the annual fundraiser, but alas, you were outvoted. And, stuck with no other option than to do what you do, you embraced the campaign one hundred percent. You were never good at half-assing things.

You had your pride, but it also left you with the responsibility of gathering one thousand red carnations and organizing a campus-wide exchange, ensuring delivery of flowers to the intended recipients.

It had taken you longer than you expected to find a place to sell you that many flowers wholesale. Then, of course, once you got your hands on them, there were the flowers themselves. They were obviously cut rather roughly, made for the hands of experienced florists to turn them into beautiful bouquets, but that was a far cry from you. You were an overworked, overtired year two medical student, desperate for this to go well and somewhat in over your head.

So you found yourself, a week from the fourteenth, sitting on the floor of your apartment, surrounded with heaps of stems, working feverishly into the night in a hope that all would be trimmed and somewhat presentable to be delivered by the deadline. As the clock struck twelve, you became a little more rushed, and a little less careful, as evidenced by your bleeding hand.

Still swearing like a sailor, you carefully stepped out of your petal nest and creaked your way towards the bathroom, joints snapping along the way. Your roommate, Chelsea, was brushing her teeth at the sink with a ginormous volume propped up on the faucet in front of her. As you ruffled through the drawers, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You looked exhausted, if the bags under your eyes were anything to go by, and flyaways framed your droopy face in an odd crown. Chelsea didn’t look much better, a lawyer in training. You often lamented together about your inexplicable choice to put yourselves through more expensive and rigorous schooling.

“What’d you do?” asked Chelsea, muffled over the buzz of her toothbrush.

“Just a nick,” you said, finally locating and retrieving a box of Disney bandaids. “What the hell are you still doing up, Chels?”

Chelsea spit into the basin and turned on the tap, eyes not leaving the pages.

“I’m not up, I’m not up, I just wanted to finish this chapter,” she said. “What are you doing up? Can’t those fucking flowers wait another day? V-day isn’t until next Monday.”

“Yes, well, I have other commitments, believe it or not,” you said, slapping an iron man bandage on your finger.

“Actually, I don’t really,” said Chelsea, grabbing the floss. “You spent the whole weekend volunteering at a clinic, like a goddamn hero. And I know Jack asked you to come to his little friend’s housewarming party with him.”

You had been teased one too many times about Jack for your face to immediately heat like it used to, and you rolled your eyes.

“Not with him, just — you know, with him,” you said exasperatedly. “As a group thing.”

“You are so determined not to see that man’s crush on you,” said Chelsea. 

Tired of your friend’s repeated attempts to make you see something that you were sure wasn’t there, you regurgitated your own repeated defenses.

“If he liked me, he would have asked me out ages ago,” you said. “I mean I’ve known the guy since our year one cadaver lab.”

“Aw, he’s just shy,” said Chelsea sweetly. “Cut him some slack!”

You huffed slightly and stalked back to your post on the living room floor.

“Goodnight, meddler!”

“Goodnight sweetums.”

What bothered you most about Chelsea’s pestering was that she acted as though you wouldn’t take the chance if offered to you. Well, the idea scared you slightly. You had never had a real relationship, never even a true fling, only messy, intoxicated hookups in bars and trucks. You were far too busy with school and work to be fussed much about boys.

Jack, though, you had to admit, was special. He was just as steadfast as you, however less fiery. He got good grades, and worked hard to achieve them. You’d never known him to drink or smoke more than the occasional party, similar to yourself, and he was often joining you in your role of designated driver. He understood your overzealous nature, though he didn’t copy it, and he never once dampened your spark. On the contrary, he seemed to admire it.

And he was just oh so pretty. Dark auburn curls, and a crooked smile, and let’s face it, pecs for days. You’d never really gotten over the group beach day your friends forced you to attend over break; he had glistened in the sun like a statue carved by Michelangelo.

But with all of that, he still seemed unaware of his own beauty. He blushed and stuttered when people flirted with him. You knew it spread all the way down his pale, freckled chest because there were a few lifeguards who had taken a liking to him that same day.

You picked up your shears again and resumed your chopping with a little more force.

Silly though it seemed, sure though you were that Jack held nothing more than friendly intentions for you, you had thought through the scenario on several occasions. If he asked you out, would you say yes? Surely he could only prove to be a distraction? But it was Jack, so perhaps not… 

God, this was all Valentine’s Day’s fault. The stupid holiday had everyone feeling overly susceptible to harmful, heteronormative ideals blasting out at you from every advertisement, sign, decoration, and rom com displayed. You needed to ground yourself. The facts were that Jack was not going to ask you out, and you would never be tempted to say yes.

In the end, you only made it some halfway through your carnations before you were practically falling asleep right there on the rug, and you forced yourself to bed. After class the next morning, bright and early, you took up your station at the flower booth, placed in the very middle of the quad, with students rushing to and fro in a constant buzz.

You were bundled up against the wind, with two sweaters, a coat, a scarf, a wooly hat, and matching mittens that made it exceedingly difficult to set up your signs. They instructed the public that it was two dollars per carnation, five dollars if you wanted a fancy ribbon. Luckily, the ribbon responsibility fell to your co-organizer, Janice. One less thing to worry about, though you would have swapped her for the flowers any day.

“Need some help?” said a familiar voice.

You looked up, braced for the harsh wind, but found it blocked by Jack’s solid body. You couldn’t help but smile in return; his was warming you from the inside out.

“Thanks, Jack,” you sighed, sitting down at last while he fiddled with the plastic legs of your sign. “What are you doing out here?”

“Can’t I just want to visit you?” said Jack, and you told yourself the pink in his cheeks was from the cold.

“I guess,” you said, working hard to combat your widening smile.

“Can I sit?”

“Um, sure,” you said, waving a gloved hand. “Liz is never on time, anyways.”

He took the empty seat next to you, then shoved his red hands in his pockets. You allowed yourself exactly three seconds to admire his curls in the breeze, before you forced your head forward to face the front. 

“So how’s it going out here?” he asked.

“Oh, it’s great,” you drawled sarcastically. “Yeah, I really love freezing my ass off so that people can come up and ask me dumb questions and never buy a flower. Do they not see the signs?”

Jack chuckled.

“Well, you know, charity and all.”

You hummed noncommittally.

“I just love how everyone who voted for the stupid idea magically became swamped when it came to organizing the damn thing,” you grumbled. “I should have done that.”

“You couldn’t possibly have,” said Jack, matter of factly.

“Yeah, you’re right,” you sighed. “Jesus, sometimes it’s exhausting being the way I am.”

“You’re better for it,” said Jack, so genuinely you had to avert your eyes.

You were distracted momentarily when a group of giggling freshmen approached the table, and one in the middle sheepishly asked for a carnation. They twittered away excitedly, and you slumped back with your stiff legs crossed. You shook your head. Jack looked fondly after them.

“I feel like I know how that one will turn out,” you said glumly, scribbling on your clipboard.

“Oh, come on, don’t you remember what it was like to be out on your own for the first time?” said Jack. “The first crush, or girlfriend you’d had when you didn’t need to ask your parent’s permission to go out?”

Your lips turned slightly down.

“Not really,” you said honestly. “I’ve never had many crushes. And when I did, they were never all consuming like that, never strong enough to pull me away from a night of studying.”

You glanced Jack’s way and found that he was already watching you, though upon being caught, he turned quickly to a lone dead leaf on the ground, crushing it with his shoe.

“So… do you — what are your Valentine’s plans?”

You could practically hear Chelsea in your head, but you shook her off.

“Well, I’m going to wander around res all day, delivering love carnations from a wagon,” you said in a monotonous voice, “and then I’m probably gonna go to the library and study for Ratliff’s. Which reminds me, I need to book a study room. Though I hardly think they’ll be in high demand on Valentine’s Day.”

“Yeah, right,” said Jack, scratching his cheek. “No, yeah, I should probably do the same. Um… mind if I join you? Next week, I mean?”

You’re brow furrowed, and you stared at the side of Jack’s curly head.

“You want to study the names and properties of medications with me… in the library… on Valentine’s Day?”

The ear you could see was quickly reddening. He coughed.

“Uh, yeah. I mean, I feel like no one else’ll be around — all my friends have dates, at least.”

“You don’t have a date?” you asked, accidentally aloud, and it was your turn to avert your eyes.

“No,” he said hurriedly. “Not unless you count all the alone time I spend with the Principles of Pharmacology.”

You chuckled lightly, heart picking up a bit. Spending the most romantic day of the year, alone, in a secluded library with a gorgeous guy sounded almost too good to be true. A little dangerous, even. But, you firmly reminded yourself, he was right. No one else would be around anyways, and you could quiz each other. And when your friends woke up the next morning with hangovers, you’d be waking up with a productive night of studying under your belt.

“Okay,” you said, and he grinned at you. “Sounds fun. I can stop by the library later today.”

“That’s okay, I’ll do it!” said Jack happily. “I’m headed that way anyway.”

“Alright,” you said, heart fluttering madly. “Oh, here comes Liz.”

Your friend and peer, with a head of curls not dissimilar to Jack’s but in a shade of darkest brown, was dragging her feet in your direction. There was an iced coffee in her hand, and sleep in her eyes. Jack immediately jumped up from her folding chair, and all she could offer him with her mouth around the straw was a nod of thanks.

“Liz, what the hell are you wearing?” you said sharply.

“A hoodie,” she said.

You shook your head, then began removing your jacket.

“Here you go,” you said, shoving it into Liz’s hands without waiting for permission.

“Babe, I don’t want —”

“Just take it, you stubborn asshole,” you said, sure that she would be moaning about the cold in ten minutes time, and wishing to avoid that all together.

Sighing like you were doing her a great disservice, she set down her drink and shrugged the coat over her shoulders.

Before you could make another move, another jacket was now being shoved, this time to you. Jack was standing in the courtyard in nothing but a crew with your university’s logo on it, no gloves, no hat, no scarf. You blinked.

“That’s okay, Jack.”

“But you’ll be cold without a coat.”

“I’ve got two sweaters on, I’ll be fine.”

“Please just take it, I’ll be inside anyways —”

“Yeah, don’t be a stubborn asshole,” quipped Liz with a grin around her straw.

Sending her a glare, and Jack a shy smile, you pulled on his puffy coat. You were suddenly overwhelmed with the scent of him, and it was all you could do not to stick your nose into the collar and inhale deeply. Only when it was zipped all the way up did Jack look satisfied.

“Thank you,” you said in a small voice.

“No problem,” said Jack. He wasn’t shivering, but his cheeks were turning rather pink again. “Um, I’ll see you Thursday, for the patho study group?”

You nodded, and he smiled again, and disappeared into the crowd. You could feel Liz’s eyes on you, but were spared a confrontation by the approach of a student.

It was a pretty good day for the booth. You got to see Chelsea come to order some flowers for her girlfriend, Tara, then saw Tara later that day to do just the same for Chelsea. There were a couple guys you recognized and were sure they were only sending flowers to dates to increase their chances of sex. A young, and rather brazen girl, who boldly addressed a red carnation to a professor, which technically there was no rule against, though you made a mental note to ask your advisor about it later.

You left around two for a class, and when you got back, Liz was happily reporting the day’s haul as close to five hundred dollars raised. All in all, it wasn’t so bad. The booth did pretty well, and you actually got some studying done at the table.

As the week progressed, flower sales steadily grew and your locked tin box of money was filling up. It meant great things for the association, and helped you accept that maybe, despite the injuries to your fingers and lower back, the hours slaved over the flowers were worth it.

You also kept getting preoccupied by your not-date with Jack, which was drawing ever nearer. You didn’t dare breathe a word of it to any of your friends, especially your despicable roommate, who already had a thirty minute freakout when you walked through the door wearing his coat. You knew that if you confided in her, she’d go overboard and get in your head.

At the Thursday study group, the combination of handing back said coat to its original owner, plus his confirmation of the study room number for Monday, caused some more suspicious looks. Fortunately, Chelsea didn’t tend to run in the same circles, being of a different major, so you were subjected to her preaching.

On Monday, after class, you were needed back at the apartment to help her pick out the perfect Valentine’s outfit. Then the two of you parted ways on the street. Chelsea off to her date, and you off to the library.

You got to the room before Jack did. You compulsively checked the sign up sheet outside the door, but you weren’t surprised to see it, and the rest of the library, almost totally empty that night.

You set up your books, index cards, notebooks, and pencil case, while trying hard not to pick over your outfit. After hours of agonizing, far more agonizing than Chelsea had spared, you had rested on your regular jeans and a zip up hoodie. Cute, comfy, and most importantly, casual. Still, your mind was running over hundreds of scenarios in which Jack in some way, shape, or form, disapproved of this outfit. Ridiculous, you reminded yourself.

You tried to focus on pharm. Which main infections are treated by Penicillin G? You tapped your pencil against your notebook, thinking. Strep, definitely, and meningitis… but beyond that you were drawing a blank. You glanced out of the window, but you couldn’t see anyone else in the library.

Focus. Strep, meningitis, pneumonia, gonorrhea…

Maybe he changed his mind, and he found a date last minute. There might be a message waiting on your machine back at the apartment right that second.

You rested your forehead in your hand, hunching over your notes, trying not to glance at the door every five seconds. Strep, meningitis, pneumonia…

But you know what? Screw him if he was going to bail. Kinda shitty, not too crazy, though, for friends. Acquaintances, even. Maybe you were never really as close as you had thought, maybe you were reading into everything because of your stupid, school girl crush. No matter. Since he was just your friend-slash-acquaintance, it wasn’t that big of a blow. You weren’t about to miss out on your studying. It didn’t bother you…

Suddenly, the door burst open, and in came Jack. He was slightly winded, as though he had been running, the tips of his ears and nose pink with cold. He looked a little anxious, and he straightened up awkwardly, with one hand on the silver handle, and one bent behind his back.

“Sorry I’m late!” he panted. “I — I got… caught up…”

He trailed off, looking worried. You glanced at your watch: it was only two minutes past your agreed upon meeting time.

“You’re not late,” you dismissed, “I just get everywhere early.”

“I know! That’s why I wanted to — um, I just didn’t account for…”

He trailed off strangely again, and stepped into the room. He kept his back squarely to the wall, shuffling inside like a crab so as not to reveal to you whatever he was attempting to conceal. As you took him in, you realized he was dressed nicely, definitely nicer than you. He wore jeans, but not his usual, everyday jean with the holes and fading — these were dark wash, and they looked new. On his top he wore a button down, nothing too dressy, but certainly a step up from the usual college attire of t-shirts and hoodies.

This display made you confused; insecure though you now were that your fears of underdressing seemed to be true, you couldn’t help but enjoy his appearance. Most of the time you saw each other, it was under a haze of exhaustion and stress. This was new.

You fiddled with the sleeve of your sweatshirt, unsure whether or not to break the brief silence. Eventually, you decided you should.

“So — do you wanna sit? I can quiz you,” you said briskly, defaulting to your comfortable business tone. “I was just going over antibiotics, but I also wanted to review muscarinic agonists and antagonists.”

He didn’t budge. In fact, it appeared as though his body was tensing more every second. His face turned from pink to deep ruby red, spreading past his cheeks, down his neck, and you knew, despite not being able to see, down his chest. Just that thought had you heating up a bit too.

“Right,” he said. “Yes.”

Unable to handle the tension, you blurted out the first thing on your mind.

“Are you gonna show me what’s behind your back, or are you gonna stand like this all night?”

You hadn’t thought it possible, but his blush deepened even more, and you regretted the bluntness of your words. He visibly swallowed, staring at the floor like he would very much like to sink into it.

You looked away too, hoping perhaps to take some pressure off of him. Your eyes landed randomly on a bit of orange peel someone had left behind. You didn’t even have the time to be annoyed that someone had been sneaking snacks in the library, before there was a rustling and movement out of your peripherals.

Your eyes widened as you looked up and were faced with a large, truly gorgeous bouquet. It was clearly professionally done, beautifully spaced with mainly lilies and tulips, and spotted here and there with sage and little tiny daisies.

Unable to tear your eyes away from the bunch, you muttered, “is this for me?”

“Um, yeah,” he said nervously, letting you take the bouquet carefully, like he was desperate not to let any of his skin touch yours. “I — I wanted to get you carnations, but I couldn’t very well order them from you, that would kinda be counterproductive — besides, I know you don’t even like them —”

You finally broke away from the flowers to look into his cherry-red face.

“How do you know that?”

He blinked.

“You said so,” he said sheepishly.

“I did?” you said faintly, racking your brains.

A hand moved to the back of his neck, and he turned to face the ground so much so that all you could see was the top of his head and the tips of his maroon ears.

“At the start of the semester,” he said quietly, so quietly you had to strain your ears. “When the fundraiser was chosen.”

You remembered then, with his prompting. You had been sitting in the library, complaining loudly with Chelsea and some other friends.

“I mean, can we please be practical?” you had spat. “Flowers are messy, they wilt, they die, they’re expensive.”

“Use fake flowers,” supplied Chelsea.

“That would be disgusting,” you said. “I couldn’t possibly expect anyone to pay money for a plastic flower.”

“Okay, use real ones, then,” said Chelsea.

You groaned dramatically, attacking the calculator you were supposed to be using for dosage calculations.

“Why couldn’t we use, like, candy canes, or something? They do that in Mean Girls!”

“Because that was for Christmas, this is Valentine’s Day,” said your friend Bree. “There’s nothing lovey-dovey about candy canes.”

“I’d still rather get a candy cane then a fucking carnation,” you said. “That’s another thing stupid about this! Carnations! They’re such a boring flower. And red? I mean, be original.”

“People don’t want originality, they want classic romance,” said Sarah.

“I think lilies or tulips would be classic!” you argued. “Classic, familiar, but more elegant. I’m telling you, if everyone just did what I said, we’d have no problems left in the world.”

You were shocked that he recalled that. He had been there, but you didn’t think he’d been listening. He was buried in work, reading a textbook; you didn't know he’d even been aware of that conversation. But he had not only been listening, he’d carried the information, such inconsequential information, for almost a month.

You wanted to tell him how much you loved them, see that easy smile spread across his cheeks, but you seemed too shocked to find the words. You just stared between him and the bouquet, speechless, not that he was looking to notice. At your lack of response, he spoke again.

“I know it’s stupid,” he said. “I’m sorry, I mean, you don’t even have like a — like a vase, or anything, to put them in, and what are you gonna do, hold this massive bouquet when you’re trying to study? I probably should have just brought them to your apartment, huh? But then — I guess showing up on the doorstep with a bouquet is a little too forward — or old-fashioned — or maybe this whole idea was old-fashioned —”

You had seen him flustered on many occasions, where he’d blush, look away, and press on. This was different… you hardly recognized this stammering, jittery mess of nerves before you. It was honestly a good look on him.

“Jack,” you interrupted him, and he quieted at once. “I love the flowers.”

He let out a harrowed breath, looking at least somewhat relieved. His arm fell, though his hands met behind his back and you were pretty sure they were twisting with anxiety.

“Really? I tried to get anemones, I know you love the ones outside the gym, but they didn’t have any at the shop,” he breathed.

“Is that why you were late?” you asked. “You were getting me flowers?”

He nodded regretfully.

You raised your flowers to get a proper whiff of the dreamy aroma. Then, again, with apparent loss of your filter, “Why?”

He struggled for a second.

“I — I guess I —” he cleared his throat, shuffling his feet. “I didn’t want you to go without flowers on Valentine’s Day, just because you were the only one dedicated enough to run the booth.”

You smiled.

“That’s… very nice,” you said, taken aback. “But I feel like I should tell you, working a booth or not, I’ve never gotten Valentine’s flowers.”

“All the more reason,” he said.

You admired them for a few more minutes, while he admired you outside the scope of your vision, then you asked another question.

“What did you mean, ‘too forward’?”

“Huh?”

“Before, you said showing up on my doorstep would be ‘too forward’,” you explained. “Too forward for what?”

What little color he’d lost upon your assurance that you liked his gift came rushing back at that. You saw him glance at the window and then the door, as though hoping someone would come in and save him from your query. When no one did, he took a deep breath, as though steeling himself.

“I was thinking that maybe — if you had the time, of course, and if you had any interest whatsoever — maybe you might want to… go out? With me?”

Your heart, suspiciously tame up until that point, suddenly made itself known, galloping against your chest with a million times its usual power. You brought your bouquet up towards your face again, partially for the calming scent, partially to hide your face.

Jack Abbot was asking you out. Jack. Abbot. In front of you, hands tied, face red. Asking. You. Out. Chelsea’s voice was once again in your head, now screaming I TOLD YOU SO!

Just as Jack opened his mouth, perhaps to take it all back, you spoke.

“Okay, Jack.”

He took a step closer.

“Okay?”

“Okay, I’ll go out with you. I’d love to go out with you.”

You thought he might have melted right down to the floor, the way the tension left his bones. Finally, that favorite smile of yours spread across his glowing face. You matched it.

“I’d invite you over now,” you said, “but I promised Chelsea I’d be out of the apartment until at least eleven.”

“That’s okay,” he said cheerily. “We should really get some studying done, right?”

“Right,” you said giddily as he unpacked his bag, though you really didn’t want to release your lovely gift to hold a pencil.

As you were figuring out how to balance it in the crook of your nondominant arm, yet another thought struck you. If Chelsea was right… all those times, starting over a year ago, she nudged your shoulder, or sent you a look…

You glanced over at Jack as he pulled out the Principles of Pharmacology, and decided you wouldn’t prod him for a timeline. Because perhaps if you did, you’d have to admit that for as long as he’d been waiting to ask you out, you’d been waiting to say yes.

---

"right there?" you replied, grinning as you dug your thumbs in harder.

"yeah, fuck, honey... my god..."

you paused. you'd thought he was just writhing from having his knots worked out, but his hips were now noticeably rutting into the towel beneath him, causing you to bounce where you were situated on his back. "... are you humping the bed?"

jack's voice came back muffled and breathless. "...yeah, baby."

you rolled your eyes, exasperated. "you're such a fucking pervert, jack. this was supposed to be soothing!"

his head turned to the side then, voice playfully indignant. "my little girl's straddling my ass and oiling me up, sue me for getting a little turned on."

"... fine. turn over," you murmured, sliding off of his body to stand at the edge of the bed.

jack let out a soft groan as he flipped onto his back, the towel sliding slightly beneath him. his dark hazel eyes locked onto yours, half-lidded with the exhaustion-tinged arousal of a middle-aged man who’d been working nonstop for 16 hours.

"you're mean, baby," he said softly, reaching up to brush a thumb along your jaw. "teasing me like this when I'm basically one step from passing out."

the candlelight flickered across his face, casting a golden glow across his features. his bare chest was heaving. his cock was hardening under your gaze against his thigh, the tip flushed pink.

"i think i need more massage, honey," he added pointedly. "my front hurts."

"oh, it does, does it?" you deadpanned, your eyes running down his body. "soo... just like, your chest?"

"mhm. chest... arms..." jack said, voice gravelly and slow, like he was reciting symptoms on a patient chart. "also my shoulders. and maybe... other places." he didn’t look away from you once, even as his breathing deepened just a little more than it should have for someone allegedly relaxing. "gonna come help?"

you exhaled from your nose and straddled him again, the soft cotton of your panties nestled over his dick. grabbing the massage oil, you squeezed a generous amount into your palms. you warmed it between them before working it into his broad chest. when his breathing started to get heavy, you picked up the oil again and squirted some directly where you were sat over his cock.

jack sucked in a sharp breath the second the cool oil hit his bare skin, right over where he was already hard. "jesus, baby," he muttered under his breath, eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment before snapping back open to watch you. "you're really going all out on this massage today, huh?"

"uh huh," you murmured in agreement as your hips started to roll over him, the massage oil seeping into your panties as his hard cock slotted between your pussy lips. your hands continued kneading circles over his broad chest. "feeling relaxed yet?"

jack exhaled shakily, chest rising and falling beneath your hands. his hips twitched upward slightly on their own accord, seeking more friction where you were pressed against him. "relaxed?" he chuckled darkly. "i am anything but relaxed right now. you're sitting on my dick with lavender oil all over me like this is some kind of spa day."

"it is a spa day," you replied matter-of-factly. "ever heard of a happy ending?"

jack's breath hitched as you continued grinding down on him, the heat and friction building with every slow roll of your hips. his voice was deeper now, laced with both amusement and something more primal. "baby, do you even know what it means when a woman says 'happy ending' like this?"

"it means i'm trying to make you cum," you purred, teasing your thumbs over his nipples. "is it working?"

"fuck yes," jack groaned, his back arching slightly into your touch. "you're really good at this spa treatment," he panted with a strained smirk. "best goddamn massage therapist i've ever had."

"yeah?" you replied breathily, rutting the head of his cock against your clit through your panties. "would you recommend me to a friend?"

jack's hand flew up to grip your hip as he grumbled, shaking his head. "never. i'd lock the door and never let anyone else have this treatment." his hips lifted slightly beneath you, chasing the friction as his cock throbbed against your clit. "fuck... baby... you're gonna make me come just like this... grinding on me in your little panties..."

his hands slid down to grip your ass through the thin fabric. "my sweet girl taking such good care of me." jack's breathing turned ragged, the pleasure coiling tighter in his stomach. his eyes locked on your face as his hips moved with yours now, bucking up into your heat. "i'm gonna come, baby, gonna come..."

his body tensed, thighs clenching as the first hot pulse of release shot through him. "jesus fucking christ, honey..." with a low groan that came straight from his chest, he spilled onto your panties, his cum soaking into the white cotton.

chatter ran all around the house, because some reality show was on and you all had been hooting and hollering. he was in the kitchen, attempting to study for a french quiz. you padded in, tanktop and sweats with an empty glass in your hand.

with a smile his way, you turned to open the fridge, “hey, jacky.”

his eyes darted up, shifting in his seat. then, he was relieved it was you and not one of rachel’s more uppity, obnoxious friends. he kept his mouth shut anyway, turning focus back on his book.

there’s always been a soft spot for you. sure, you ran with that group, you were the mastermind behind a few harmless shenanigans. however, he tolerated— even liked you. maybe it was the way you spaced out your drinks, how you kept an eye out for allergies among the group, how you stuck around when someone felt sick. you were more… responsible.

after filling your glass with water, you moved to where jack was sitting and peered over his shoulder. immediately, he felt your presence on his back and your hand stable against the back of his chair.

“doing some reading?” you smirked, eyes moving to scan his face.

“i have a test,” he mumbled before turning to look at you. he was blushing, like really blushing, face hot and cheeks pink. you were leaned only inches above him, after all. face above his and arm around his chair.

“madame fowler?” you raised an eyebrow. slowly, he nodded. you continued, “cool, i have her for french 3.”

“you wanna help me study?” he watched as a grin danced on your mouth, terminating with a bite down on your bottom lip.

shaking your head, “i don’t know a lick of french. you’re on your own, buddy boy.”

with a harsh pat of his back, you made your way out of the kitchen. your pants rode low on your waist, creating a sliver of skin between your top and your sweats. eyes surfacing over your back, jack watched you sway away, shaking his head.

that's kind-of how it began. you'd slink around their house, around school, the neighbourhood, parties, anything to catch his attention. of course, he'd been watching, exhibiting perfect restraint.

when it started to get hot, though, something in him begged to differ.

the abbot pool was another go-to spot for your group. it was another excuse to prance around jack half-naked. this particular friday in may, it was you and naomi who joined rachel in her quest for tan skin. 

jack had been coming home from playing pick-up basketball with his friends. shirt stained in sweat, red curls pushed back, biceps pumped out of his sleeves. if you hadn’t been wearing those huge sunglasses, it would’ve been obvious you were ogling at him. you weren’t sure why you came through the back, though.

he looked right back at you, eyes piercing at that turquoise bikini on your lotion-glazed skin. your head was tilted back, exposing your neck. you had a book in hand, jane austen from what he could see on the cover. It rested over your stomach, both hands on either side. your ankles were crossed, legs glistening in the sun.

he had never really stared at anyone like this. You were blinding in the best way, shiny and beautiful. it was embarrassing how his mouth hung open, embarrassing how his eyes softened at the sight of you, embarrassing how he just stood there like an idiot. he wasn't usually like that, he was known as a classic charmer.

naomi, sitting furthest most from the gate, tilted her head over and caught jack, “gawk much?”

quickly, he adjusted his position, rubbing the back of his neck. “uh, rach, mom wants to know if they’re sleeping over.”

rachel, who had been laying so still for 20 minutes that you thought she was asleep, opened her eyes and scrunched her nose, “yeah… now, buzz off.” she waved her hand in the air, “i can smell you from here.”

jack nodded, looking away and trekking to the house with a sarcastic yeah, sorry. he caught a glimpse of you before going through the patio door.

with a smirk, you closed your book and placed it on the ground. sitting up, you were ready to follow him inside. slipping your t-shirt over your head, your legs fell to face naomi and rachel. you slipped your flip flops on as you stood, prepared to move out.

“don’t even think about it.” naomi spoke, unmoved from her position.

“w-what?” you furrowed your eyebrows at her. turning her head towards you, she lifted her sunglasses. hand over your hip, you gasped defensively, “i was going to get water.”

“mhmm, thirsty as hell,” naomi shook her head sarcastically, “i see the way he stares at you, like he wants to eat you up like the little tart you are.” she laughed, the joke being more for herself than you.

“ew, guys, are you talking about jack?” rachel whined, turning over to face down. her voice muffled in her towel, “that’s disgusting. keep me out of it.”

"need anything?" you raised an eyebrow at naomi before you made your way inside.

"you clearly do."

in the kitchen, jack had been biting into an apple, sifting through the mail on the table. he was still in his workout clothes, dampness slowly fading from his shirt. you shut the door behind you, making your way over to him. his eyes darted up, and you pressed a finger to your lips.

“hey,” he said lowly, cheeks flushed as a slow smile grew on his face. 

you neared him, palm pushing on the cold marble of the counter as your body entered his atmosphere. you nodded your chin up at him, only inches away.

"so." you began.

"so," he nodded back at you.

you saw jack press his lips together and his gaze fall to your mouth. his hand found your waist through the big t-shirt you'd thrown over. your skin was hot, but he didn't seem to mind.

leaning in, he was delicate with you. his mouth grazed over yours, kissing you softly. you giggled into it, not expecting him to be a good kisser. his body went flush against you, like it was meant to be there. it was soft little presses, the push of your head away, then the rebound back into him.

your hands met his chest eventually, patting lightly as you pulled away from him. his eyes eyes grew soft and wimpy, like he'd been available for you if you called.

"'kay, thanks." you whispered with a smile, moving away from him to return to the backyard.

you rendered him speechless, leaving him in the middle of the kitchen without explanation. he stood dumbfounded, embarrassed as he was when he had come home.

later into the evening, the girls had fallen asleep through dirty dancing, but you stayed awake. sneaking away from rachel's bedroom, you shut the door slowly as you spotted the light on in the laundry room.

knowing it was far too late for their parents to be awake, you toed your way over, catching a glipse of jack, who was messing with the dryer settings. in a t-shirt and his flannel pyjama pants, he caught your eye through the doorway and grinned.

"it's late," you said as the dryer started up.

he nodded, a smug, mocking look in his eye, turning to you, "'kay thanks? i don't think a girl has ever said that to me."

you got closer, resting your hands on his shoulders, batting your lashes at him, "well, how else was i supposed to thank you?"

he grinned, pressing his hands on your sides and caging you against the rumbling dryer. your fingers found their way up to his curls, running through just like you daydreamed of.

"i could think of a few things." he mumbled before pressing his lips to yours again.