no daddy, just issues

Your bed pressed into you wrongly. The sheets were fresh, the duvet smelt like a mix of you and Jack, and the pillow under your head cooled your cheek no matter which way you turned. And yet, your spine slotted against a lump, your legs restlessly twitched, and your mind refused to rid itself of the night’s events that happened mere hours before: a small argument that had turned into another fight between you and your partner of five years. 

You hadn’t meant for your voice to rise above a conversational tone, and you winced every time the loudness of Jack’s tone crossed through your ears. It’d been about him taking extra hours at work—the argument—when Shen had it more than covered. And because he’d picked up another shit, your dinner for two had gone down the garbage disposal well before Jack stepped through the front door. Your stomach clenched. 

He had meant well. Him being a doctor showed you that social sacrifices had to be made, but you were slowly growing tired of being the sacrifice every single damn time. 

If it had been a mass casualty or some other event that caused the figurative trauma flood gates to open, you would have understood in a heartbeat. But when Jack hadn’t shown up around forty minutes after 7, you’d called the Pitt’s line just in case, and your heart flipped when Lena—bless her heart—assured you that nothing wrong had happened. 

Well, at least nothing wrong happened at the hospital. But something clearly wrong was happening the longer Jack stayed behind to help set a broken nose or clean out a simple wound. 

“All I ask is for you to come home for once at the correct time,” you hissed, hands gripping the kitchen counter with white knuckles. 

The array of dirty dishes and pans spread along the stove and adjoining countertops, all signs that you’d cooked something up for dinner even though a meal was nowhere to be found. 

Jack huffed. “I said I was sorry, okay? They needed me there—” 

“Don’t lie,” you interrupted with a strangled sob. “Don’t stand there and lie to my face. I called, Jack, and you know what Lena said? She said that tonight had been the quietest at handoff than it ever had been!” 

His head cocked as his eyebrows furrowed. “You called? Why the fuck would you call my work?”

You threw your hands up. “Is it so hard to think that I’d be nervous and scared when you didn’t fucking show up for dinner. God forbid I think another grand emergency happened and you’d be stuck for a while. For fuck’s sake, Jack, it’s like I don’t even cross your mind anymore.” 

“You do cross my mind.” 

“Then why?” You tore your eyes from his frame and down into the sink where the dinner had gone down. “Why would you pick up a shift when they didn’t need you in the first place, and you knew we had dinner plans.” 

You watched his jaw drop, close, drop again. He didn’t know. And now, the two of you were standing at the edge of the grave that belonged to your relationship. If you kept going, you had no clue what would happen, so you stepped back and started walking towards your bedroom. 

Jack started to follow. “Where are you going?” 

“To shower,” you called over your shoulder. “There’s stuff in the fridge if you’re hungry.” 

With that, you flung the door closed, not carrying how loud the slam echoed through the house. 

Behind you, the mattress dipped, and you pinched your eyes shut when Jack’s body heat radiated through your thin sleep shirt. He didn’t even try to roll over and press his body into yours. 

Smart choice you thought as you shifted deeper into the covers, wrapping the edges around your front as a shield. 

The room went quiet around the soft sound of the overhead fan. 

Jack sighed loudly into the air. “Can we talk?” 

Your throat constricted around a thick swallow. “We already talked,” you murmured, “there’s nothing left to say.” 

“You’re still upset though,” he pointed out, and your chest tightened further. He was right; you were still upset, but any fight had been left and drained in the shower along with endless tears. He rolled over, the duvet pulling tight under his body. “And I can’t make you not upset if we don’t talk.”  

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “I don’t want to talk, Jack. I’m tired, and I just want to go to bed.” 

“You said that last night too.” 

Another wash of memories flooded the front of your mind. Last night had also ended in an argument. And the night before that. And the night before that: an endless cycle of going to bed with simmering anger only to wake up and hope that the morning would make everything better, that you and Jack could agree and talk without growing into something that was too big to keep emotions in. 

More shifts. More SWAT missions. More rooftop talks that Robby kept you updated on. More, more, more, yet, Jack never wanted more with you. His more was somewhere outside your home, the one you’d been building for years, the one that used to be the place he couldn’t get away from. 

Now, it seemed as though it was the one place he didn’t want to be. 

You pushed harder into the pillow when he didn’t say anything else and sniffed loudly. A single tear traced the swell of your cheekbone and fell all the way down your neck, disappearing into your shirt. Jack scooted a bit closer, and the blankets, once comforting, felt like a vice around you. 

“I don’t like when you cry,” he whispered, still not touching you at all. 

“And I like it when you’re here for dinner,” you snarked softly. 

“I know.” 

“I don’t think you do, Jack.” You yanked until the duvet gave way a bit under him. “But I’m done talking about this tonight; I’m too tired to keep going.” 

“Okay,” he said, and by his tone, you knew he was giving up too. “Okay.” The blankets tightened again as he rolled over, back turned towards you, almost like he couldn’t stand to even look at you and the way your breath shuddered into your shoulders anymore. “Sleep well.” He paused before adding, “I love you.” 

I love you, but you didn’t feel it, hadn’t felt it in a while. He said the phrase after every argument to the point where it had lost all its meaning to you. Thrown around like a Bandaid on a gaping wound, it did little to pacify the hurt that encompassed your entire being. 

You chewed on your bottom lip, mind waring within if you should say it back. It would ache, because you knew by morning, he’d be back in the Pitt, and you’d be left with the echo of everything he didn’t say. 

“Love you too,” you whispered, the words barely audible even to you to the point you wondered if you imagined saying it. 

Before long, sleep dragged you far down until sunlight reached through the blind slots and caressed your eyelids. Even though you knew the spot next to you would be empty, you turned over anyways, hand reaching for a ghost. 

On the bedside table, you quickly read the small sticky note stuck to the lamp. 

“Good luck today! Love you - J” 

If loving me means letting go and wishing me the best. Well then, I guess, I wish, I wish, I wish you loved me less 

The restaurant around you flickered with warm light and clapped with soft laughter and chatter from each table. Soft tablecloth pinched under your fingertips in one hand while the others wrapped around the stem of a red-filled glass to bring it to your lipstick-stained lips. 

Across from you, Jack’s phone artificially illuminated his face in a way that stood out like a sore thumb. Your own phone had been stashed inside your clutch at the beginning of the evening, a way for you to be present during the date Jack had planned by himself. It wasn’t your anniversary, but the restaurant held fond memories that you kept close to your heart. 

“So, did anything interesting come through today?” you asked after setting your glass back down. 

Jack nodded absentmindedly as his fingers tapped rhythmically on the screen. “Yeah, today was good, honey.” 

You pursed your lips. “Jack?” 

“One second.” 

You looked around the room, eyes scanning the way every couple present seemed to be having the best of times all while you were two bland comments away from crying. The food hadn’t even come out, but that didn’t stop you from glancing toward the exit. 

But Jack had planned the date, so that must have meant he had good intentions, right? 

A grumble fell from his lips. “Fucking—” 

“Do you remember the first time we came here?” you began, still not looking back at him. “And-and we must have gotten a first-day waiter because he kept forgetting what we asked for.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

You gripped the tablecloth a bit more. “Then, when we asked for dessert—” You snorted softly at the memory. “He brought us another entree instead. You swore if you even smelled one more whiff of pasta, you’d burst,” you giggled, but the sound drifted. 

He hadn’t even looked up once. “Got it.” 

“Jack.” 

His hazel eyes lifted from his phone, and he slowly placed the device down. You noted how he left it face up. 

“Yeah?” he asked. “Sorry, the guys are blowing up my phone with a recap of today. Cannot believe I missed a bank heist.” 

A twitch in your eye had you blinking rapidly. “Oh.” 

His lip curled slightly: the first smidge of a smile you’d seen on his face in hours. Your wine-tinged saliva soured around your teeth. You looked back down when his screen lit up, and Jack reached for it instantly and barked out a laugh. 

“Jack.” 

“One second,” he muttered, completely oblivious to the tears glossing your eyes the longer he paid attention to his phone instead of you. 

An ugly feeling surged in the pit of your belly, and it roared viciously, chomping for you to bite back. A simple swallow wouldn’t make it go away. 

“Are we still taking the trip to California next week,” you asked bored, reaching for your glass once again. 

That finally seemed to get Jack’s attention. “What?” 

Your brows pinched. “Califorina? For our anniversary next week. You said we’d go this year since we weren’t able to last year.” 

His tongue ran across his bottom lip. “Oh, yeah, we’re still going.” 

“And you’ve made sure to get the time off, yes?” you pressed. “I already bought the tickets, and they’re non-refundable.” 

In some attempt to convince you, he reached over and took your empty hand into his. “Already got the time off approved, sweetheart. John’s glad to get me out so he can start a mutiny and take over the night shift.” 

You gently squeezed his fingers. “Okay.” 

His mouth stretched into a wide smile, and for a second, you felt whole, like you could be a part of those happy couples who only needed the other to fill their time, until his phone lit up once again, his hand ripping out of yours to grab it. 

“Can we,” you started, but you knew you’d already lost him. 

You thought of trying again, but the waiter suddenly approaching had you clamping your mouth closed. A small thank you flew from your lips when he placed the pasta dish in front of you, but not even the savory smell of alfredo and chicken could fill the growing pit in your stomach. 

For the rest of the evening, Jack barely made any small talk, just edging the line of being attentive and checking out every time you tried to bring something up just for his phone to take all his attention away. 

You tried not to focus on it. The restaurant gave you enough things to look at. However, you couldn’t help but shrink into yourself every time Jack laughed loudly at whatever message came through, bringing unwanted eyes and attention to your table. Your chest rose and fell staggeredly as a panic licked at your nerves, mind immediately going to how they might be perceiving you and Jack. 

Look at that couple you could imagine hearing them whisper over the candle centerpieces. Poor girl; date hasn’t even looked at her once since they got here. I wouldn’t want to be her. 

“Could you maybe put your phone away?” you asked softly, leaning forward so your voice wouldn’t carry far. 

“Yeah, gimme a second,” Jack answered. “Just need to reply to this real fast.” 

A giggle to your right had you looking in that direction only to lock eyes with a woman whose mouth was hidden behind her hand. She probably wasn’t even laughing at you, but your stomach flipped backwards down to your toes at the thought that her amusement was coming from Jack ignoring you. 

“Jack,” you said a bit louder. 

He huffed loudly and placed his phone back down with a loud clunk. “What?” 

For some reason, you now felt bad. This was his first break in weeks, and you were nagging. You tried to smile, but even that felt awkward across your face. 

“Just wanting to talk about our trip,” you stated. “I’m excited to spend two whole weeks with you.” 

As if your stomach couldn’t drop any lower, Jack blanched and coughed into his hand. “Two weeks?” 

Your head dipped in a slow nod. “That’s what we agreed on when we first started discussing our anniversary trip, yes.” 

He ran a hand across his jaw. “I thought it was more of a weekend getaway.” 

“A weekend—Jack . . .” you trailed in full disbelief. “Are you going to tell me that you don’t have the two weeks off from work?” 

“I got Thursday through Sunday.” He sighed into his hand. “Monday is my first day back on nights ‘cause Robby’s back Tuesday morning.” 

Your lower lip trembled. “So, because your husband is coming back, we have to cut our trip—not even early—but by a full ten days?” A scoff fell from your lips. “Unbelievable.” 

Jack’s nose twisted. “That’s not fair. I got off what I could.” 

“No, you probably didn’t even ask for two weeks, because you didn’t even remember what we had agreed on before I just told you.” 

“Please, let’s not argue here,” he begged with big eyes. 

“You just want to argue at home like we always do?” you shot back. “Tell me the truth, Jack, will you even show up to the airport next week, or will you just call me to say you got called in on another SWAT mission?” 

“I promise I will be at the airport,” he said. 

And for a week, you believed him. You believed that, as you packed your suitcase and carry-on, the next four days would be what you two needed. Sure, it wasn’t the full two weeks, but any time spent with Jack alone would be enough. By the time your Uber arrived at the airport, you were basically vibrating with excitement. 

You stepped out onto the curb just as your phone started to ring. Once glance at the contact showed Jack’s picture, and you swiped the answer button without a second thought. 

“Jack!” you cheerfully yelled. “I just got here, but we still have two hours before the flight. Are you already at the gate, or do I need to wait for you—” 

“Honey,” his voice sighed into the speaker, and you froze. “I’m not . . .” 

You gripped your phone tightly. “No. No, no, no, no—” 

“Their medic called out. I was the only option. I can’t—” He inhaled sharply. “I’m not going to make it.” 

Tears pooled at your lashline. “Th-that’s just it then? You’re throwing away our anniversary trip because your buddies need you? Are you sure there’s no one else, or were you looking for an excuse to leave me here alone?” 

For a moment, he didn’t speak. 

The hustle and bustle of the airport didn’t even reach through the ringing in your ears as you waited for his response. You shifted your weight, and behind you, someone honked a horn at a pedestrian. 

“Jack?” you prompted. “Say something. Tell me this is all a joke, and that you’re still coming.” You wiped uselessly at your nose. “Please.” 

“I have to go,” he stated. “Still go on the trip; I’ll see you and pick you up when you get home. I love you.” 

On instinct, you started to reply, “I love you too—” 

He had already hung up before you could respond. 

Still in your hand, your phone swung limply at your side. It buzzed periodically, but you ignored it. Part of you wanted to get another Uber and go home to cry into your bed, and the other part of you wanted to do what he said: go to California by yourself and enjoy the trip. 

You chose the second option. 

For two weeks, you relaxed under the western sun, swam in the Pacific waves, and drank too many fruity drinks by the pool of your hotel. It was almost perfect, and being so close to that word had you crying each night into the too soft pillows where each side swallowed your face, muffling your sobs. You tried your damn hardest to not think about Jack. He didn’t deserve even a moment of your thoughts, but your body ached for his warmth, for his love. 

At the end of the two weeks, you found yourself at the airport, phone back to your ear as it rang under Jack’s contact. Within five rings, he picked up. 

“Hey, sweetheart. How’s California?” he asked. 

You hummed. “It’s been good. Hey, since you said you’d pick me up, I wanted to let you know that I’ll be flying in around 5 tonight. We can get Zio’s and pig out on pizza for dinner?” 

“Well . . . here’s the thing. Gloria’s sending Robby and I to a medical conference in Washington today.” 

Deja vu from two weeks ago hit you right in the chest. “Oh.” 

“I’m really sorry, honey. If I could have stayed I would.” In the background, you heard someone yell his name. “Stay safe. Maybe call Santos to pick you up? Love you!” 

You hung up without saying it back, because how could you? How could you stand there at LAX, crying because your boyfriend, who canceled on the trip you were sure he was going to propose to, only to once again throw you to the side, and still say I love you to him. Even in the depths of your heart, you couldn’t find those words anywhere. 

And that terrified you. 

If loving me means crying on the curb at LAX. Well then, I guess, I wish, I wish, I wish you loved me less 

You stared blankly at the wave of the dining room table’s grain as the clock ticked down. Jack was late . . . again, but this time, you hadn’t wasted your evening on cooking a meal. No, you’d been packing. Every memory, every laugh, every moment spent with him was pushed into your two suitcases that were already seated in the back of your car. 

You thought you could make it work. 

The dinners, the dates, the stolen smiles that made staying feel worth it. But then California happened, and you didn’t think you could take another second of it: being with someone who acted like they didn’t even want you. Six years, and you wanted to cry more than you ever had in that timeframe. 

Across the hall, the front door creaked open. 

“I’m home!” Jack called out, his voice joining the familiar sound of his uneven gate. “Here’s what I’m thinking: you and me down at The Craft tonight for dinner.” 

If only he knew what was waiting for him once he walked through the threshold. His eyes were downcast at his phone when he finally did. 

“How does that sound?” He glanced once, looked back down before fully looking back up when he realized that you were just sitting there. “Sweetheart?” 

“Jack,” you stated back, your voice staying steady with a strong cadence. “We’re not going to have dinner at The Craft.” 

“Oh.” He pocketed his phone and walked over to the table, sitting in the seat he normally did so he could get on your eye level. “Do you want to go somewhere different then? I think I can get a seat for us at—” 

“Jack,” you repeated and finally met his hazel eyes. “We’re not going to dinner . . . period. I—” You sighed and looked up to the ceiling. “I’m leaving.” 

His brows pinched tightly, almost meeting in the middle of his forehead. “You’re-you’re leaving? For a vacation, or is this another one of your work trips?” 

Your face morphed into one of grief and sorrow. “Jack,” your voice broke around his name. “I’m leaving you.” 

He jerked in the seat, and his nose flared as he sucked in a breath. “Is-is this because of California?” he croaked. 

“It’s because of all of it. I’m tired of feeling like I’m going to forever be on the backburner of your life.” 

“That’s not true—” 

“But it is,” you insisted softly. “I’m constantly battling for your attention with the hospital, your phone, your friends. You decide to pick up extra shifts, you decide to come home late, you decide that you can reschedule with me later while you go out doing God knows what. And I’m stuck on the sidelines, and I’m so tired.” 

"I-I didn’t know." Jack frowned. “Please, I-I can’t lose you too.” He stuck out a hand, palm upwards, for you to take. 

Against everything inside you that told you not to, you placed your hand into his. “That’s the thing, Jack. You lost me a long time ago.” 

“No,” he stated, more to himself than to you. “No, I—” With his free hand, he dug around in his pocket before pulling out a small box that took your breath away. “I was going to . . . at dinner.” He popped it open, and your eyes watered at the ring in the middle. “Let me make this right. Let me fix this, please.” 

You gently took your hand out of his and placed it over the box, closing it shut with the softest snap. “There’s nothing to fix. Can’t you see? You’re already thinking of other ways—outside ways—to make me stay when I’m right here in front of you.” 

A sob bubbled from deep in his chest, and he shook his head. “I love you.” 

You pushed up from your seat and stood in front of him, hands settling on both sides of his face. He instantly dug his forehead into your stomach and wrapped his arms around your thighs. Your fingers ran through his salt-and-peppered curls. 

“If you truly love me, you need to let me go, Jack,” you whispered. 

Another sob hiccuped through his body at your words spoken so sweetly to him as if you weren’t breaking his heart into two. “I’m sorry,” he openly wept. “I’m so so so sorry.” 

You stepped back enough to make him look up at you. The smile that plastered itself on your face was watery and crooked, and Jack hated that he was the one to put it there. He should have been making you genuinely smile as he pushed the ring onto your finger under the night sky. 

But here he was, having to watch you drift away from him like sand through open fingers. Jack sat back against the chair as tears slid down his face and flinched when the front door clicked closed. This was it; you weren’t coming back. 

And it was all his fault. 

If loving me means saying, “Babe, I think this is the end.” Well, I guess, I wish, I wish, I wish you loved me less. 

"We've got a residential fire at 720 River Row," Brett heard the speakers cry out overhead just as he walked onto the open floor of his station. 

Instantly, his body tensed. Residential fires had the potential to spread and grow beyond measure, especially in the middle of dry season. One wrong spark, and half of California would light up brighter than a Christmas tree. 

"Let's get it moving!" he barked, already stepping to his open locker to shuck on the heavy standard fire suspenders and jacket with Ct. Brett Richards patched to the front flap. His helmet went on next, and his hair flattened beneath as he strapped it in place. 

The familiar wail of a fire truck overwhelmed his senses, and he wondered how he hadn't gone deaf yet. Twenty years on the service without significant hearing loss must have been a new record. He was closer to losing the ability to hear due to older age than continually getting his eardrums blasted on a daily basis. 

With a grunt, he pulled himself up into the passenger seat, and his body lurched when the truck screeched out of the station, wheels finding grip and purchase of the concrete road. 

"Show station 42 on route. What's the status?" he spoke into the radio. 

"Caller said the oven caught on fire. She had an extinguisher on hand, but with dry season, it needs to be overlooked." 

"Understood." He set the radio back into the holder and groaned. "It's just some oven fire." 

The driver chuckled. "Probably some old lady that fell asleep baking a casserole or something." 

Brett gave him a quick smirk. "Yeah . . . probably." 

However, when the truck pulled onto the small residential street with cars littering both sides, he couldn't help but note that the house where the fire had been wasn't the usual old-lady type, normally covered in overgrown grass and a scary amount of lawn ornaments. 

Brett fucking hated the gnomes. 

Instead, this house had a more modern look to it with a beautiful forest green front door paired with a porch goose dressed up with a yellow rain jacket. He snorted; rain wasn't coming anytime in the near future, that's for sure. 

With a grunt, he heaved himself out of the truck, knees slightly tingling from the height. The sidewalk was also well kept, he noted. No cracks in the foundation, no weeds. Whoever lived here was obviously well able to keep up with lawn maintenance. 

To his right, a low whistle sounded clearly through the bright day. "I take back the old lady comment, cause hot damn." 

Brett side-eyed him before looking at the police officer talking to the homeowner, and then, his driver's comment made sense because there you were. 

Beautiful is what hit his mind first and followed by young. Too young for him. 

Even from far away, Brett couldn't see a wrinkle in sight. His hazel eyes took you in. Your hair gleamed and perfectly framed your worry-pinched face. You were wearing an oversized, flour-dusted shirt and basketball shorts that hung past your knees. As you stood there in the middle of your walkway, you shifted back and forth, feet probably burning on the hot concrete, and Brett felt the urge to go over there and pick you right up. 

Instead, he continued walking until he stopped a few feet away, and your eyes widened when they caught on him, and your stomach somersaulted down to your toes. 

There he was: the hot firefighter you saw with bulging biceps as he cleaned equipment just in the entrance of his station as you walked by with bags of ingredients since the store was close enough to where you lived. 

You hadn't been able to get him out of your mind and especially your dreams that had you waking with a warm sweat and tingling thighs that led to a hand dipped between them. You tried not to stare and keep your eyes on the police officer while he finished writing down your statement, but every fiber of your being wanted to turn its attention to the silver fox. 

The officer gave you a nod before turning away with a small greeting to the firefighter. Now, it was just him and a few more men from his crew. 

He smiled at you and stuck out his hand. "Heard you had a fire here?" 

"Yeah," you responded, trying not to come off as desperate as you savored the way you hand fit snuggly into his. "Set the oven a little too high and a little too long." 

"Guessing whatever you were making got caught in the . . . cross fire?" 

"My poor brownies were the only casualty," you joked back, insides beaming when he barked out a small laugh. 

Brett conjoined his hands at his front. "Well, seeing as there's no active fire, I just need to take a walk through for protocol during dry season and make sure everything's in order." 

"Perfect," you said before taking small steps in the direction of your house. "Follow me?" 

He nodded in response, and his thick heavy boots clomped the whole way up your small steps. 

"Cute goose," he muttered. "Though, I think he looks a little hot in that jacket." 

The corner of your mouth twitched. "I have a different outfit for him during the summer, but I've been too busy baking." Your wrist twisted to get the front door open. "His name's Richard, but I call him a little dick because after I bought him and put the sand in, he tipped over right on my foot." 

"Oh?" Brett said as he stepped through the threshold and into your house. "What a coincidence that I share a name with your . . . uh . . . dick goose." He tapped a finger against his name patch. "Though my first name fortunately happens to be Brett." 

Your eyes gleamed. "Glad to finally put a name to a handsome face." 

Oh, you were flirting Brett caught on, and deep inside his chest, his heart fluttered a bit. 

He did his best to not look around your house, but his hazel eyes almost felt drawn to all the little bits and pieces of your evident life within the walls. Although a little hazy from the fire, he could feel that this house was home. 

"You have a beautiful house," he mentioned while you walked him deeper towards the kitchen. "Matches the gorgeous owner." 

You didn't turn around, not wanting to show how red your cheeks had gotten. "Thank you," you finally managed to squeak out just as your kitchen came into view. 

Brett stepped around you and tsked as the sight. The extinguisher foam covered your countertops and oven, and he knew that'd be a bitch to clean. He bent at the waist and looked inside at the racks, eyes scanning for anything resembling a left-over ember. 

"Mind if I take a look at your smoke detectors? You'll have to replace them because of the smoke." 

You twirled a piece of hair around your finger. "I was meaning to replace them before this . . ." 

Above his head, you had at least three detectors that he counted on his way in, and when he looked up with a craned neck, his eyes narrowed. 

"You know these have been expired for a year, right?" His low, disappointed tone sent a shiver up your spine. 

You sighed loudly. "Guess I haven't had time for those either. I don't think I even own a ladder anymore after my ex took his." 

Brett tried not to focus on the burning feeling of jealousy that simmered. "Did they even go off when the fire caught?" 

"No. I smelled the smoke from my bedroom. Normally, I bake low and slow, but I needed to get these brownies over to the bake sale asap, so I tried a higher degree but forgot that the time should have decreased to," you rambled from the top of your head even if the bake sale was completely fictional, and you'd been baking brownies since you could walk. 

But a girl had to do what a girl had to do to get the sexy firefighter to her house. Screw your social anxiety, but setting brownies on fire seemed easier than going up to him and asking him out. And the best part? It all worked according to plan. 

Brett crossed his arms when he finally looked back at you. "These need to be replaced as soon as possible." 

"Got it," you said, nodding along. "I'll pick up a ladder and new detectors next time I'm in town." 

"And make sure that your oven is at the right temperature and the timer is set accordingly. I think your bake sale would prefer your safety over you being tardy." 

"Yes, sir. I'll make sure to keep an eye on the oven." 

Brett tried not to show how much the sir sent blood from his head and down lower. 

"Good." He bit back the want to place girl at the end. "Pretty girls like you don't need to go up in a house full of flames when it can be avoided." 

He liked the way you tore your eyes away from his and the flush that rushed into your cheeks. Your chest expanded fully in a deep breath, and Brett swore you weren't wearing a bra. He needed to get out and fast before he popped a boner in his pants like a teenager. 

"Guess that's everything then," he sighed. 

You wanted to pout, wanted to ask him to stay longer, but after seeing the sweat pooling down his cheeks, you knew he probably wanted to leave and get out of his jacket. You silently cursed yourself for not turning the air down any cooler or not even having something for him and his guys to drink. 

You cleared your throat. "Thank you for making sure that everything's fine. I can sleep well knowing Dick and I are safe." 

Brett tipped his head. "That's what we're here for." 

The two of you made your way back to the front, and you stopped at the door. "Um, Mr. Richards—" 

"Please, call me Brett, sweetheart." 

"Brett," you echoed, and Brett never wanted anyone else to say his name but you. "Are people allowed to bring food by the station if possible?" 

"Yeah," he said, running a hand along his stubbled jaw. "Lots of people do it. I know the guys really appreciate it when someone does." 

"Okay." Thoughts about bringing him something to eat made you go a bit fuzzy, but a few rapid blinks kept you straight. "Stay safe and cool out there." 

"Will do. And don't forget those detectors," he warned playfully, "or Dick might become barbecue." He stepped out onto the porch and then down the step just as the door clicked shut behind him. 

Brett sighed loudly into the air as he rejoined his group. “Let’s load up and get back to the station.” He pulled back up into the passenger seat and slumped in his chair. “So much for the old lady. “

What he didn’t know is you did the same to your front door, back pressed against the wood as you formulated what to make to take to the station once you got your kitchen cleaned up. Desperate, you looked through the fridge and pantry, and somehow, you noticed you still had the right amount of everything for brownies. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The tin filled with fresh brownies warmed your palms while you carried it in the direction of the firestation. Beneath your sternum, your heart clenched and fluttered wildly like a swarm of butterflies had gotten stuck on the way down to your stomach. In just a few more steps, you’d get to see Brett again. It had only been a few days since your planned oven fire, and you guessed it’d be appropriate to wait until you showed up unannounced, but you couldn’t wait any longer. 

Your ears perked at the sound of boisterous laughter the closer you got. 

Not knowing which way was the entrance, you slowed your steps until you got to the large opening of the station. Inside, you caught two guys standing in a not-quite-there half circle with their backs toward you. Thankfully, your steps didn’t echo in your approach, and you got to take a deep breath to calm your nerves before speaking. 

“Excuse me?” you asked, and tempted like a sirens song, they whirled around with surprised expressions. 

The one in the middle with Donovan plastered to his shirt spoke first. “How can we help you?” 

You slightly raised the tin. “I don’t know if any of you remembered, but my oven caught on fire a few days ago, and I wanted to bring a small thank you gift for responding so quickly.” 

Their eyes widened, and the one with Crawford on his shirt smiled widely. “You were the one with the duck on your porch.”

You went to correct him, but a new voice beat you to it. 

“Goose, Crawford. That thing didn’t even look like a duck,” Brett answered for you. 

Crawford rolled his eyes. “It’s a bird with a beak, Chief. Goose, duck, they’re all the same.” 

Brett raised his eyebrows in a greeting to you. “How can we help you, sweetheart?” 

If the two firefighters looked toward their chief with weird, confused faces, you didn’t notice, too busy locking your eyes with hazel ones that you wanted to drown in. 

“I brought brownies.” You tilted the tin for him to look through the clear, plastic covering. “As a thank you for making sure my house wouldn’t burn down.” You thrust them out for him to take. 

His lips twitched and spread into a smile that made his crows’ feet appear around his eyes. “We will definitely enjoy these.” He took them from your hand, and you tried not to gasp softly when his fingers brushed yours. 

You thought he’d ask you to leave, but Brett Richards was full of surprises. He handed the tin over to Donovan before saying anything else. 

“Why don’t you two take these into the breakroom? I have a few follow up questions to ask . . .” He trailed off, suddenly realizing he didn’t even know your name. 

However, you happily provided it for him, and somehow he smiled even wider. He jerked his head in the direction over his shoulder. 

“You got a second for me?” he asked, and you nodded faster than you should have. “My office is just this way.” 

You kept still when his hand planted in the small of your back to push you along with his long strides you almost failed to keep up with until he stopped right at the door.

“It’s not as pretty as your house,” he warned. 

“I bet it’s not too bad,” you replied after he splayed a hand against the grain while pushing it open for you to slip by. 

The gap wasn’t big enough to give you space when you walked through, your shoulder brushing against his firm chest as you did, and a small flash of him pressed up against your body zapped through you like lightning. 

In the office, he had a small desk and two small chairs in front. You chose the one on the right and sat down, hands nervously brushing over your pants in hopes you hadn’t gotten flour on them. 

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” he asked. 

You shook your head. “A bit too bitter for me, unless you have the most sugary creamer known to man.” 

“Sorry, sweetheart, but I’m all out of that, I fear.” He almost seemed disappointed that he didn’t have what you wanted as he sat in the leather chair behind his desk with a small groan. “Just wanted to ask if you’ve gotten your detectors yet? I know you said something about not having a ladder . . .” 

He watched you visibly brighten, and something told him you’d listened to his words. 

“They just arrived this morning with the rest of my Walmart order. And I even got one of those carbon mo-mono—” 

“Monoxide.” 

“Yeah . . . that! One of those detectors too.” 

He tilted his head slightly. “You didn’t have that one to begin with?” 

Your fingernail found a piece of skin to pick at. How you hated disappointing anyone, especially him. “No. I thought I did, but I guess that just got away from me too.” 

“That’s okay, sugar. As long as you have one now, that’s all that matters. Were you able to find a ladder to get them installed?” 

You looked down at your lap. “I guess that’s why I also came here. I did get a ladder, but I’m worried I won’t be able to get them in correctly. Do you think one of your guys would be willing to come by my house at some point and do it for me?” 

Brett gripped the arm wrests and sank his blunt nails into the leather at the thought of sending someone over to your home, someone getting to spend time with you. It sent jealousy raging through his veins. He blinked slowly to rein in his feelings. 

“Why don’t I just come over,” he settled on. 

“But aren’t you busy? One of those guys called you Chief. I wouldn't want to take any of your time away for something as silly as installing smoke detectors,” you nervously chuckled with a wave of your hand even if you wanted to scream yes. 

He sputtered out a breath. “Nonsense. I’m more than happy to do that for you. Besides, the only ones waiting at home for me are my cats. I think they could wait a little longer for dinner.” 

“You have cats?” you asked, voice high-pitched and excited. “Can I see a picture?” 

Brett dug into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “I have three: two bengals and a tabby that decided my house was its property.” He turned his phone around, thankful that he decided to use a more recent picture as his screen saver. 

You softly took the device and held it to your face. “Brett, they’re so cute!” 

“The bengal on the right is Bagel, then the tabby is Marble, and then the other bengal is Swirl.” He laughed at himself. “Real original, right?” 

Your eyes met his over the top of the phone. “I think they’re absolutely precious. I thought about getting a cat until my friend’s ragdoll had to stay over one time, and he licked frosting right out of the bowl for a wedding cake I was making.” You pouted at the memory. “I had to make a whole other batch and it took forever. So, that’s why it’s just me and Dick.”

“I’m sure Dick is glad that he’s the top bird of the house.” 

“When he’s not falling on my feet that is,” you grumbled before settling into the chair after handing Brett his phone. “Are you sure you’re free to come over? I don’t want to keep you up.” 

Brett leaned forward and clasped his hands on top of his desk. “I wouldn’t have offered to do it if I didn’t mean it. Do you have any plans for tonight? I’d sleep better knowing you’re in a house with proper detectors.” 

You tried to not let that go to your head, along with the idea of Brett possibly sleeping over under those same detectors. So, you did your best to keep calm and smile prettily. “I’m all yours.” 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

There was one thing you hadn’t thought through in the grand scheme of things. 

The first time Brett had been in your house just a few days ago, he was hidden beneath a few layers of heavy-duty, fire-resistant clothes that completely drenched his figure and hid him out of sight. But now as you watched him install your detectors in plain clothes, saliva pooled around your tongue, eyes trailing his body while he did one of the most mundane things men could do. 

His shirt wasn’t tight at all, but did it ever stretch over his biceps as he used both hands to twist the detector into the ceiling. His hazel eyes tracked his own movements, and his face tilted slightly at the right angles to see where to screw the thing in. You wondered if he was this tentative with other things, face near inches to the circular object. Your eyes trailed lower to where the swell of his stomach sat against the top of the ladder, and a small pudge pushed over the indent. He had one foot settled on a higher rung where his right knee jutted out and his left stayed straight down, but it was his thighs that kept your attention—his sturdy, thick thighs that you wanted to wear as earmuffs. 

“Hey, sugar? Can you hand me the screwdriver I put on your counter?” he asked, not even taking his eyes off the detector. “I just want it to be secured to the ceiling and not fall off in the night.” 

You stood underneath him with wide eyes, not fully comprehending what he asked you. You were way too busy thinking of his bicep wrapped around your neck than the words coming from his mouth. 

When you didn’t answer, Brett finally looked down and met your slightly ditzy expression. 

“Sweetheart?” he questioned again, and the name seemed to finally pull you out of where your brain went. 

“Oh! The screwdriver.” 

“On the—” 

“Counter,” you finished. “Got it.” 

Turning, your hair swished with the movement, and when you disappeared around the corner, Brett sighed and pinched his eyes shut, head resting against his raised arms. Sure, he might have looked as though he were concentrating on getting the damn thing in the ceiling, but installing detectors was something he could do in his fucking sleep. He didn’t need a damn screwdriver; he just needed you out of the room before his cock swelled to the point you could see the print through his pants. He had already been sporting a half-chub since he walked into your home. The ladder could only do so much to hide it. 

Brett didn’t know how much more he could take of your big eyes and need to do everything he asked with a smile and earnestness in your step. 

Fortunately—more like unfortunately—the one he was working on was the last to install, and he was dragging it out more than he should have. 

“Here you go,” you said, tapping the end of the screwdriver on his hip, and Brett nearly jolted at the surprise. 

When had you come back? 

“Thanks, sugar,” he muttered as he wrapped his big hand around the pink tool he got from your small tool kit. 

You pursed your lips. “I know this is the last one, but would you like to stay for a bit? I have pie from yesterday that hasn’t had a taste tester.” 

“Oh, I shouldn’t be here longer than needed.” 

“B-but, you didn’t even get a brownie that I made for you.” 

He smirked slyly. “Thought those were for the whole station.” 

Your foot twisted into your hardwood flooring. “Yeah they were, but you’re the one who came in and checked. I also have coffee . . .” 

“And the most sugary creamer on earth?” 

“You know it,” you giggled. “Whad’ya say, Chief Richards? Stay for pie?” 

He pretended to think for a moment before nodding his head. “Fine. You’re pulling my arm.” He shoved the detector into the holder and placed two hands on the ladder. “Right on time too, because you are now the owner of a sanctioned working smoke detector-ed home.”  

Your hands clapped together. “Thank you so, so, soooo much again. I still can’t believe they had been expired for a full year.” 

Brett jumped down from the top rung on instinct, not bothering to go down one by one. “Most people remember to look closer at the dates when changing the batteries. I wouldn’t go right to saying it’s a good thing your oven caught fire, but who knows what would have happened if your house went up in flames when you weren’t home.” 

“I think a really hot firefighter would have still come to my rescue,” you said with a wink. 

A beautiful flush filled his cheeks, and he tried to clear his throat, but it came out as more of a half-groan. 

“All right, sweetheart, let’s have your pie before you give this old man a heart attack with your sweetness,” he said and started to usher you towards the kitchen. 

“You’re not that old,” you scoffed. Brett sat in one of the chairs at your dining table while you uncovered the pie. “It’s apple; I hope that’s okay?” 

“More than okay,” he responded. “And I’m at least twenty years your senior, sugar, you don’t have to lie.” 

You hummed, dragging a knife through the crust and filling. “What year were you born?” 

“1975.” He caught the wince on your face. “Oh, don’t give me that. Older than twenty years?” 

“Try twenty three,” you said softly. You used a clean finger to swipe the pie off and onto a plate. 

Brett ran a hand down his face. Fuck. You were younger than his daughter. His hands curled into fists. What kind of sick, pervy old man was he acting like? There was no way he was going to give in to his deep desires now, not when you—

“Brett?” you asked, plate filled with pie outstretched. 

He swallowed thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Sorry; distracted.” 

“Oh.” 

Now he’s made you upset. Double fuck. How dare he? He’d done all this for you: flirty, coming over to your house, letting his jealousy run his mind. This wasn’t your fault. 

The fork you’d given him scraped against the ceramic, and he put a bite in his mouth. He moaned around the metal and let his eyes flutter shut as the flavor of rich spice, apple, cinnamon, and buttery-flaky crust exploded on his tongue. 

“Fuck, sugar, that’s—” 

“Good?” He swore your eyes got bigger with anticipation. 

“That’s the best damn pie I’ve ever tasted. Probably the best damn thing to get in my mouth,” he groaned, already going in for another bite. “This is all homemade right?” 

You giggled again at the way he shoveled the pie into his mouth between his sentences. “Yep. Crust first, cause it always takes the longest. Then the filling. It’s just apples, cinnamon, and honey.” 

“Just apples, cinnamon, and honey my ass,” he grumbled. “This—you should open a bakery.” 

“Really?” Your eyes gleamed. 

“Fucking really. And do it right across the station so I can come by every day. I’d be your best customer if I got to eat this all the time. Probably get too fat to fit in my uniform, but it’d be worth every bite.” 

Your thighs clenched together at the idea of being the one to feed him, to see him every day just because he loved what your hands made. You did your best to stifle the whimper that followed, but the small noise squeaked out loud enough that he looked up at you through his eyebrows just as he put the last bite into his mouth. 

He said nothing while your eyes locked. Instead, he dragged a finger across the plate, tip picking up any crumbs or sticky filling leftover, and popped the digit into his mouth, cheeks hollowing as he sucked. 

“Brett,” you whimpered, tongue peeking out to wet your dry lips. “Can’t do stuff like that.” 

“Like what, sugar? I’m just being the kind guest and finishing the plate you made for me.” He pushed up from the table and stood at full height. “But something’s telling me I haven’t eaten everything yet.” 

In two steps, he towered over you and placed a hand on your chin. His bicep bulged in his sleeve while he applied upward pressure to stand you up, top of your head barely reaching the middle of his throat. His chin dipped. You looked up and noticed how blown his eyes were; pupils almost covering the deepened hazel of his irises. 

His hands rose and cupped your face. You weren’t too sure who moved first, but in the next sharp inhale, his lips met yours, and you melted right into him like butter in a hot pan, hands coming to grip his forearms that you could barely wrap your fingers around. His lips moved against and enveloped yours in hot, heavy lapping motions. 

He bent his knees to get at you with a better angle, and the movement made your hips knock together, drawing moans from both your chests. His hands moved downward, fingers trailing from your neck and tightening around your waist before finding your ass. He squeezed hard, and the feeling had your mouth opening further for more noises to escape. 

Brett found his opening, and his tongue slipped through your teeth. The hot, wet muscle explored your mouth as he took in your taste. If he focused enough, he found a hint of chocolate and coffee. 

“You taste so fucking sweet, sugar,” he moaned out. You took big gasping breaths against his lips. “Need more,” he muttered, more to himself, before taking your lips back against his, tongue diving right back in to swirl and dance against yours. 

You, on the other hand, tasted the remnants of the pie: apple and spice and something completely notable as Brett Richards. You wanted to bottle him, add him to your next dessert. Your hands wandered across his body as he kissed you. Palms flat against his stomach that tensed under your touch. Fingers gripping onto his pecs and feeling the muscle of them under his shirt. 

He pulled back again when oxygen became much too needed, and he rested his forehead against yours. 

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he sighed. “I’m too—” 

“If you say old,” you panted, “I’m going to hit you. Age just makes wine finer, and Brett, you’re the finest man I’ve ever seen.” 

He groaned loudly, the noise echoing in through your open kitchen. His knee buckled slightly, and you stepped up, letting your core slightly brush against the top of his thigh. You whimpered at the pressure, and Brett’s eyes snapped open. 

“Oh, you poor thing,” he tutted before placing his hands back at your waist and turning you around in a fluid motion. You arched into him when the edge of your table dug into your lower back. “What type of guest am I? Making you all needy and not doing anything to help.” 

Without any struggle, he lowered his hands to the plush of your thighs and lifted you onto the table’s surface, legs dangling and spread just enough for him to push between, his thighs barely fitting against yours. The size difference sent a wave of dizziness up to your brain as you noticed how much he swallowed you up. 

His palms rested against your knees, and he bent at the waist to meet your lips again with searing heat and tongue. 

“Brett,” you mumbled against his lips and bucked your hips upward. “Need you.” 

He began to trail open-mouthed kisses along your neck, stopping only to suck and nip at your skin. “I’ll help you, baby.” 

He lowered until his knees hit the small bit of the circular carpet you had under the table legs and his face slotted near your core. He didn’t look away as he hooked his fingers into the waistline of the shorts you were wearing and the hem of your underwear. They both slid down your legs with little resistance, and Brett tossed them to the side. Without the constraints of the fabric, your thighs opened a bit wider on instinct. 

Brett’s throat constricted around an inhale as he stared right at your glistening folds. Almost mesmerized, he ran a shaky finger right down the middle from where your clit peeked through its hood and down to the top of your sopping entrance. Above his head, you keened at the lightest touch, body already begging for more. 

“Easy, sugar. Let me savor this dessert,” he whispered. 

He inhaled deeply, taking in your purest scent, before leaning in. He first dragged his flat tongue along your outer folds, adding to the wetness with his thick saliva. You moaned loudly at the feeling. Your fingers curled around the edge of the table just near his cinnamon sugar curls that you desperately wanted to latch onto as he edged his tongue nearer to where you needed him. 

Stars littered your vision when he finally circled your clit with the stiffened tip of his tongue, your bud rolling with pleasure and heat that had your thighs clenching around his head. Your stomach dipped and tightened, hips softly rocking in small motions to egg him on. 

When you looked down your stomach, his hazel eyes were already looking up at you, the lower half of his face covered by your soft mound as he sucked your clit between his lips. He kissed at her like he kissed you with wanting, languid puckers and tongue. But you needed more of him. 

“Breeetttt,” you breathily moaned. “Please, I need—” 

Your words died in your throat and changed into high-pitched mewls as your walls stretched around the finger he slowly thrusted in. Brett groaned into your pussy at the feeling of your muscles sucking the digit in farther, and the vibrations sent rolling hot pleasure straight to your navel. 

“Ohhh!” you gasped as your thighs tensed. “Feels—fuck!—Feels good!” 

“Yeah?” he asked, pulling back enough to wear his lips gingerly moved against your puffy folds. “Feel how deep I’m inside you? You’re so fucking tight around my finger. I’m going to need to stretch you out with at least three before I can get my cock in you, baby girl.” 

Your hips bucked at his words, and your chest tightened. 

Brett felt the way you clenched down, and in the next thrust, he added his middle finger to the mix. Your whimper that followed due to the filling pressure was music to his ears. He slightly parted the two as he ran his fingertips along your walls, prodding and dragging them to add to your building ecstasy. His wrist twisted so he could start curling them upwards, wanting to find the spot that made you squeal. 

He found it in three tries, and your body tensed and spasmed when he pressed into the spongy spot. 

“Does that feel good, sweetheart?” he asked before licking a hot stripe from where his fingers dipped into you and up to your clit. 

You nodded dumbly. “Yes, siiirrr,” you slurred, tongue heavy in your mouth. “Feels good. Shit!” 

With a glance up, Brett smiled widely at your fucked out expression and tears threatening to spill down your cheeks. The sight made his cock somehow swell even more, and he fought the urge to bring a hand down to rut against. If he was going to cum, he wanted it to be deep inside you. 

He withdrew his fingers from your fluttering hole and swirled them around your soaked, spit-slick, throbbing clit, causing more moans and stutters of your hips. 

“One more finger, baby.” 

He dragged all three through your folds as he stood from the kneeling position to take your lips back into a kiss. You leaned back to accommodate the way he still had to lean over you. In one inward motion, he pushed his fingers back into you, and you pulled away from his lips to whine loudly at the intrusion, tears finally spilling down your cheeks. 

Brett thought you looked so pretty with your glossy eyes and flushed cheeks, and without thinking, he licked up the tear trails, the small tang of salt mixing in with the sweet aftertaste of your arousal. He then kissed you deeply. A moan ripped through your throat. 

You could taste yourself on his tongue. Your lips sucked on the muscle, chasing after it when he tried to look down at his fingers and how you clenched around them. You were still tight, and your walls had eased, but Brett knew you’d be like a vise around his cock. 

“You’re going to feel so good around me, sugar,” he groaned, already envisioning the feeling of your tight warmth squeezing his length. “Already feel so good around my fingers.” 

“Yeah?” you panted, head tipped back and eyes squeezed shut as you focused on the in and out and in and out and in and out of his fingers. “You too.” 

“Are words getting hard, baby? Are you close to cumming just from my fingers?” he cooed and pressed small kisses along your jaw. “I can feel you tightening. Sooner you let go, sooner I can fuck you, sweetness.” 

“Brett!” you yelped with a buck of your hips. “Wanna cum!” 

“I know you do.” He curled his fingers and lightly thumbed at your clit. The reaction in your body was almost instant as you tensed, muscles preparing for the pure onslaught of rushing arousal that was about to snap. “And I want you to cum for me.” His fingers pistoned into your walls. “I want to feel your pussy clench around my fingers.

Your shirt was still on, but like he imagined you had the first time he was over, he could tell you weren’t wearing a bra. So, without warning, he leaned in and bit down on your right nipple hard enough to set off your orgasm. 

In a loud moan that dipped and rose into a higher pitch, your walls clenched rhythmically around his fingers, holding him deep against the spot that made your thighs tense. Your body shuddered and leaned into Brett’s sturdy chest as you came. 

“Oh, good girl,” Brett muttered after unlatching from your nipple and leaving a wet spot on your shirt around the nub. “Cumming so beautifully for me; looking so pretty like I knew you’d be.” His thumb never stopped swiping at your clit to draw the effects of your high for as long as possible. “Can’t wait to fuck you, baby girl.” 

“Brett,” you whimpered, chest heaving against him, hands gripping at his shoulders. You knew he’d probably have crescent nail marks deep in his skin after you let go. “Bedroom.” 

He scooped you up without even thinking. Your bare core sidled up across the rough, scratchy fabric of his pants, and you jerked slightly in overstimulation. Brett said a non-verbal thank you to whoever built your one-story house. He was about to fuck you three ways till Sunday, but the idea of his knees giving out up a flight of stairs would have buried him in embarrassment. 

Knowing exactly where your bedroom was after installing yet another detector on your wall, he kicked the door in gently, and in three large strides, he tossed you onto the bed. Your body hadn’t even had the chance to bounce against the plushness of your duvet before Brett tugged you towards him by your ankles, spine dragging across your mattress, shirt riding up to give him a sliver of your bare breasts. 

Once you got the idea to hook your ankles around his waist, he wasted no time in yanking your shirt clean up over your head. Now, you lied naked in contrast to him being fully clothed, and a jolt of pleasure had your pussy clenching around nothing and your lips pushing into a pout. 

Brett leaned down and ran a thumb across your bottom lip. “Don’t give me that look, baby.” He tapped the side of your thigh with his palm and jerked his head. “Move up and get on your hands and knees for me, sugar.” 

Your torso twisted as you rolled over and began to crawl up the bed. However, the sound of clothes ruffling caught your attention, and you stopped to look over your shoulder as Brett pulled his shirt off and unbuckled his belt. He tossed the accessory to the ground with a heavy clunk before pushing his pants and boxers down in one go. Your mouth went dry before instantly watering as your eyes tracked the way his cock bobbed slightly under the sheer weight of it. 

He was definitely the thickest you’ve ever seen, head already on the verge of purple and smeared in a glinting wetness. He had one prominent vein running along the side, and you were sure he seemed to get thicker at the base before the rest disappeared into a thatch of greying, wiry hair. He gripped himself slightly, running a thumb into the spot between the head and the shaft, and another dribble of pre cum trickled over his knuckles. 

Brett groaned at the feeling of finally getting some pressure around his cock. When you let out the smallest, neediest whine he’d heard from you yet, he looked up and met your eyes over your bare shoulder. 

“What’d I tell you, huh?” he asked. 

He took one step before kneeling at the edge of the mattress. His eyes caught the small bit of drool pooling at the edge of your lip. If he had more time, he would have let you suck at his tip, but he needed to be inside you now. His cock jostled as he placed his hands on your hips and tilted them upwards, his knees knocking against yours to widen your thighs. He shuffled forward until your ass flushed against his pubic bone. 

“Hands and knees,” you whimpered, head already lolling downward. 

A hum rumbled through his chest. “Good; you can listen.” He gripped himself again, positioning the head to slip along your folds before notching it against your entrance. “Ready, sweetness?” 

You nodded against the pillow, but that wasn’t enough for Brett. 

“Use your words, or are you already too dumb to find them?” he grunted. “Haven’t even gotten my cock in you yet.” 

“Please,” you warbled, “please fuck me.” 

“Okay, baby, deep breath for me,” he muttered before slowly pushing his hips inward. A grunt ripped from deep in his throat when his tip slipped through your first ring of tense muscles, and he tried not to tip forward onto your back at the feeling. 

Below him, you felt as though you were already being split wide open, his fingers did little to actually prepare for his size. Your body tensed, and your walls clenched tightly, pausing his movements. 

“Fucking hell, relax for me, sweetheart,” Brett grit through his grinding teeth. “Gripping me like a fucking vice.”

He reached over and down across your hip and slowly started circling your clit to ease himself deeper. After a few moments of gentle stimulation, he felt your walls begin to relax. “There we go. Loosening up so well for me.” 

His hips made a shallow thrust, feeding his cock to your pussy inch by inch. He groaned loudly, and the noise echoed in your bedroom and danced with the pathetic noises slipping through your lips. 

“Biiiggggg,” you panted, tongue peeking through your lips and wetting the pillow case with a small circle of drool. 

“Yeah?” Brett asked. Sweat already beaded at his brow. His body trembled. “‘M not even all the way in yet. Don’t think I can push through—” 

“You can!” you sobbed. “Want it, want it, want it all. Please.” 

His hands tightened around your hips, wanting to leave perfect bruises in the shapes of his fingerprints. “All right, baby. I’ll give it to you.” 

Your breath shuddered as he bullied his cock the rest of the way in through your fluttering walls. You could feel him in your throat. He was so fucking big, and it almost hurt to breathe. Your arms shook where they held you up, your belly tightening with pure pleasure from just being stuffed to the brim. 

Brett sighed in relief when he fully sheathed himself inside, and you choked on a moan because his cock brushed right against your soft spot as his tip kissed your cervix. He continued rubbing at your clit while starting off with small thrusts. A loud squelch sounded from between his cock and your pussy, and his eyes caught the small ring of creamy white already sticking to the hairs at his navel. 

“Baby girl,” he moaned and thrust back in, pushing all the air from your lungs. “Fuck!” 

Your head dropped again so you could see down your stomach, and your thighs tensed at the small bulge of your stomach. You tried your best to balance on one hand to touch it, to squeeze at his cock through your skin, but every time your hand lifted, your other arm wobbled too much. Brett felt the few attempts and paused. 

“Is everything okay, sugar?” he asked, voice filled with concern. 

You nodded. “Can see you.” 

His brows pinched. “You can see me?” he echoed. 

“Stomach.” 

His expression dropped when it hit him. “Oh.” 

He slowly splayed a hand across your stomach and did a small thrust. Right there, in the middle of his palm, he could feel himself dragging through your walls. The thought of him being big enough that he was visible sent a shiver down his and your spines. 

“Oh.” He seated himself inside and pressed upward with his hand. “Damn, fucking—” He sputtered out as you squealed, your insides tightening around his length. “Can feel myself right here. I’m so deep—shit!” 

You tried your best to say something, but your mind went blank, mouth only capable of spitting out whimpers mewls with each jolt of his hips against your ass. Your cheek dug into the plush of the pillow. 

He started to speed up in wet plap, plap, plaps, thighs hitting the backs of yours where your arousal was spreading downward toward your knees. With one particular hard thrust upward, your arms gave out, and your chest now flushed with the bed. 

“Oh, you sweet baby. Can’t even hold yourself up for long,” Brett cooed through his cock reaching depths you didn’t even know could be reached. “Can’t stay put, can’t speak, can’t fucking make sure your smoke detectors are working.” He pulled out, letting his cock slip from your clenching walls. 

Your whine of confusion barely hit his ears before he pushed your hips down onto a pillow he quickly slipped below. Through the hazy and numb fuzz of your brain, you moaned when his weight rested on top of your back, his stomach slotting into the dip of your spine, thick thighs pinning you down.  

He was deliciously heavy everywhere. 

His hips tilted to the side so he could slip back into your soaking pussy. “Is this better for your dumb brain, sugar? Need me to do everything for you? That’s right. You need me to make you safe, make you feel good. Used me to get your house up to date, used my fingers and tongue to get yourself off.”

He pushed upward, and you wailed beneath him at the angle change. You tried to lift your head, but your neck quivered at the weight. 

“Even now,” Brett tutted, “you can’t even hold your head up. But don’t worry, sweetheart, this old man can do it for you.” His freckled arm curled around your neck until your chin rested on the hump of his bicep. “Is that better?” 

You nodded, mouth wide open to take in lungfuls of air. He could even feel a small sliver of your drool drip from the corner of your lips. He smirked against the side of your head. 

“Droolin’ all over me in every place.” His hips languidly moved against you, his cock hitting deep with every single roll. “Mouth, pussy, just a drooly little baby who can’t do anything.” 

With his free hand, Brett reached between you and the duvet that was probably soaking up all your spilled slick that he pushed out of you. The tips of his fingers brushed against your throbbing clit, and he used his thrusts to grind yourself against his fingers. The added pleasure and stimulation was growing to be too much. His hips stuttered slightly when your walls started to clench and keep him buried. 

“Oh, your pussy loves when I play with your clit. She just wants to cum, sweetheart. So fucking tight around my cock.” His thrusts changed into rhythmic, punchy motions. 

“G-gonna!” you managed to squeak out right as your body tensed once and long as you came around him. 

“Fucking—” Brett cursed. 

He did his best to continue keeping a pace to draw out your high and fluttering walls that sucked him in, but he was no match. He thrust in once, twice before his body seized through his own orgasm, cock spurting his release deep inside to mix with the frothy arousal dripping out of you. Having felt like you sucked the life right out his cock, Brett put all his weight on top of you. 

The feeling had you melting right into the sheets, lungs compressing in a breathy sigh of content. 

In the gooey waves of endorphins, Brett rolled you both to the side, his dick slipping from your hole in the motion. However, he was quick to drag his fingers through the mix of you and him that seeped out and push the wet glob right back in. You whined through the tinges of overstimulation, but he quietly hushed you. 

His arms never left your middle as the two of you came down from the high, and he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck while he lightly dragged his fingers up and down the skin of your arm. You gripped onto the arm that was trapped between your body and the bed. 

“Worth it,” you sleepily muttered. 

At the sound of your voice, Brett propped his head up with a bent arm. “What was that, sugar?” 

“I said,” you grumbled as you fought back the urge to sleep, “worth it. Saw you—” Your jaw popped in a yawn. “Saw you at the station; thought you were hot; wanted to say something but I was scared so—” 

His body jerked in a laugh. “Don’t tell me you set your brownies on fire just to get me in your bed.” 

“Stop, drop, and roll, Captain Richards.” You blindly reached for the duvet that had been pushed down to drape it up over both your bodies. “But it worked. Like I said . . . worth it.” 

Brett shook his head before gently kissing your shoulder. “You’re nothing but trouble. Might have to teach you a lesson after you take a nap.” 

“I can take it, old man,” you muttered before letting yourself dip into sleep. 

“We’ll see, sweetheart. We’ll see.”  

You set your coffee down with a small thunk on the long classroom table somewhere in the middle of the lecture room. Your binders and notebooks joined next, placed down more carefully to not tip the cup over, because spilling your caffeinated beverage before 8 am would have been a tragedy in and of itself. Your backpack sat nicely in the seat to your right, and to your left you placed one textbook exactly in the middle. 

One for Jack, and one for Robby; just as you'd been doing since you met them during orientation of your first year. Because where one of them was, the other wasn't too far behind with you, their added third to their duo, falling somewhere in the middle. 

Even though Robby was already an MS4 whereas you and Jack were MS1s, he'd known the curly-haired redhead during childhood and scooped you up right along with him. Now halfway through your second year where Robby wasn't as around as either you or Jack would like, he promised to at least sit with you when he got called in to assist during the few lectures of the ACLS provider course. Today happened to be one of those golden moments where all three of you got to be together again. 

Normally, you liked to be the first one in the room to get a feel for the atmosphere and not be rushed to find a nice seat. Doing so had grouped you and Jack in Gross Anatomy and Histology last year, and you would have liked to keep the streak going, however, as you looked around the room, your eyes caught on a male student sitting front and center with his hands folded. 

You fought the urge to scoff. Who fucking picks front row? 

Taking a seat, your head ducked closer to your backpack, and your hands dug around to find at least one of your good pencils before Jack decided to use them all for himself. 

"Are you looking for something?" the guy's voice echoed from the front. 

You didn't even look up over the desk when you answered. "Just needing to find a pencil." 

He fell quiet for a few moments, and you were sure he was watching you struggle to reach the bottom of your backpack, hoping that he'd stay quiet or at least look away. When you failed to grasp anything pencil-shaped, you straightened back up and squeaked when you came face to face with the guy, jolting at the sheer suddenness of his presence. He was holding a regular number 2 pencil out near your face, sharp end almost between your eyes. If you'd been any closer, your nose would have tapped it. 

"You can have one of mine," he said, more insisting for someone you didn't even know. 

You eyed him carefully. He was taller than you, you noted, and that even if you were still sitting down, he'd probably tower over you the way he was doing as he waited for you to take the yellow pencil. Your lips pursed together. 

"I'll be fine," you answered. "My friends probably have extras." 

"But I'm offering you mine. It'd be rude not to take it." 

Your stomach flipped. This guy probably wasn't going to stab you with the pencil in broad daylight right before class was about to stop, but your mind went sailing right back to last night's news that yet another student had been murdered while studying in the top floor of the library, and a chill raced up your spine. 

"You just go ahead and keep it; I think I'll wait," you muttered, eyes tearing away from him to look at your coffee, the steam rising steadily through the hole in the lid. 

He scoffed loudly. "Well, if you're not going to take my pencil, can I at least get your name," he said as though you had to compensate him for "wasting" his time. 

"Why would I give you my name if I don't even know yours first." You paused before adding with a smirk. "We're not supposed to give out our names to strangers." 

From your peripheral as you turned to look toward the door, you saw him physically contemplate your words. 

"Stephen with a ph," he pushed out, and you swore little droplets of his spit hit the cover of your binder. 

You desperately wanted to drag a sleeve over it for good measure, but that would just open another can of worms. 

His name didn't ring any bells. He certainly wasn't a part of your friend group, and you knew he wasn't the type of guy that Jack would go out of his way to befriend either. 

"Now, tell me your name." 

Your fingernails curled into your palms, mind willing for either Jack or Robby to walk right through the doors in some divine intervention. You were more than capable of telling the guy off, but why would you when either one could do it for you. 

Women in STEM you always told them after you managed to get them to do something for you. 

When you failed to answer and give up your name, Stephen hunched forward and placed both hands on the desk. Sadly, his weight and abruptness made the entire thing shake, and before you could reach out, your coffee tipped over and spilled in the opposite direction, right onto his shoes and pants. Your lip automatically slipped between your teeth in an attempt to not laugh as he yelped and cursed loudly. Yet, when he turned back towards you with fire in his eyes and out stretched hand with the pencil curled between his fingers, your face dropped.

"You bitch," he growled while shoving the pointed end in your direction. "You ruined my shoes!" 

This time, you were the one to scoff. "You shouldn't have shaken the table like that, so really, you ruined your own shoes all by yourself." 

His face flushed red, and his eyes practically bulged out of the sockets; he looked as though he were less than a second away from exploding and going off on you when the door opened wide, reviewing the two you had just been manifesting. 

Your head whipped so hard in their direction that you winced at the twang in your neck, and your chest heaved in a sigh of relief. 

"No, dude, I'm telling you, this class absolutely sucks," Jack loudly announced, hands gripping his backpack straps as he waddled in. "Just be glad we get here early because by 8 all these seats are fill—" 

His words died in his mouth when he finally looked away from Robby and over to where you normally sat, and his expression dropped at the sight of Stephen still towering over you with the pencil in your face. He halted abruptly, causing Robby to follow his line of sight. You tried your best to smile and slightly wave when you met their hazel and deep brown eyes, but the damage had already been done. 

Jack scowled something fierce, and his knuckles turned white. He took no time in resuming his walk over. Robby stayed close behind, height feeling more dramatic than normal. 

"Heeeyyyy," you drew out before pushing up out of the seat. 

Neither said nothing in return, opting to take their normal spots at your sides. Jack's hand planted in the middle of your lower back while Robby slung an arm around your shoulders, large hand squeezing gently when it rested against your upper bicep. 

Jack's chin jerked out at Stephen. "Who're you?" 

Stephen straightened slightly and puffed out his chest like that was going to do anything. "Stephen Miller." 

"Stephen Miller," he echoed before turning to you, his eyes softening. "Do we have a problem here?" 

"I was just trying to be friendly man—" 

"He wasn't talking to you," Robby cut in. His eyes were darker than you'd ever seen them. 

In response you raised your head slightly. "No problem. Just having a conversation." 

"Didn't look like a very friendly one," Jack muttered. "You sure, sweetheart?" 

"Yeah." The corner of your mouth twitched slightly, but you knew both of them could see right through you. "I'm sure." 

Jack and Robby wanted to press more. Their chests had tightened the minute they saw this boy standing over you with what looked like intent to harm. For all they cared, they'd go straight to the dean and report him for violent tendencies, but the look in your eyes and normal want for no animosity kept them close. However, they did share a knowing glance over your head, something that you missed completely as you began to gather your stuff from their seats. 

The door burst open a beat later, and students began filling the classroom. Stephen finally sulked back to his chair but not without one more heated glare in your direction. 

"What the fuck was that about?" Jack muttered as he slung his backpack down to the ground. 

You rolled your eyes. "I guess my search for a pencil was louder than I thought, so he asked if I wanted one of his. When I said no and that I'd probably just steal one of yours, he got . . . angry? I don't know; it was weird. And then he knocked my coffee over," you retold, the last little bit coming across as more whiny than you would have liked, but you were a second year med student for fucks sake. 

Coffee kept you sane, and that asshole had taken your morning dose away from you. 

"Sorry we didn't get here sooner," Robby stated while getting his papers out, and you fully turned his way. 

This had been the first time in months that you got to see him. Between his countless hours as an R1 over at an ER a few towns over, about a two to three hour drive one way, and dealing with his own personal shit, he'd been gone long enough that a short beard covered his jaw and space between his nose and lips. You couldn't help yourself as you reached up and lightly scratched at it. 

"When did this get here?" you asked, desperately trying to change the conversation. 

His facial hair was soft beneath your fingers, and you felt the way he slightly leaned into your touch. 

"I already gave him shit about it; don't worry, sweetheart," Jack announced loudly. "He leaves us for—what?—three months and comes back with a face blanket?" 

Robby chuckled and leaned away to look at his friend over your shoulder. "Laugh it up, kid. You're just mad because all you can grow is that upper lip caterpillar." 

"Please, let's save the bickering until the clock hits at least ten o'clock," you laughed. 

Jack opened and closed his jaw while he made a talking motion with his hand, to which you lightly smacked hip upside the head before taking a seat. Almost instantly, Jack's left hand found the top of your knee. 

"But seriously," he muttered, leaning closer so his voice didn't carry much, "are you okay, though? That guy . . ." 

You placed your hand on top of his. "He's fine. I doubt he could do much damage with a pencil." 

"You never know," Robby huffed. "I'll be back soon; gotta check in with Professor Barlowe." He leaned down and pressed a very light kiss to your temple, something he'd started doing recently, and then clapped Jack on the shoulder as he passed. 

Your brows furrowed slightly when you noticed the way Jack let his eyes trail Robby, but you kept your thoughts to yourself. The two had always had a stronger bond than you would ever realize, and if they wanted to let you know if anything changed, you'd let them come to you first before asking invasive questions. 

So, instead, you settled on asking about the homework. "Were you able to get it all done? I was up forever." 

Jack pulled out a small stack of papers. "Yeah. I finished them this morning. Had a bit of a late night but managed to get a decent amount of sleep." He smiled widely, crooked teeth on full display. "How about you?" 

"Uh, I don't know if you listen much to the radios but there was another stabbing last night," you murmured. 

His eyebrows rose. "No shit?" 

"Yeah." You swallowed thickly. "Miles Pennington. He was found by the janitors in the library. No one knows who did it since all the cameras have been out since last semester, but he had five stab wounds and thirteen clean incisions." 

"How do you know all this?" he asked, shoulders hunching slightly. 

"My friend works the late night desk. She's the one who called the police and stuff. I'm surprised you didn't know any of this Mr. I have a police scanner and listen to it for fun." 

His head leaned back as he barked out a laugh before he looked back toward you, mischief gleaming in his eyes. "You're trouble; you know that?" 

You let your eyes quickly trail the freckles that dotted his outstretched neck. "Yeah, yeah. Anyway, it kept me up most of the night, because—" You looked around before leaning in closer. "They think all the recent killings are all connected." 

Jack choked on his spit. "What?" 

"Every single one of them had calls from an unknown number on their hand-held mobiles that ranged from five to ten minutes." 

Under the desk, Jack's fingers tightened and curled into a fist. Through the adrenaline high, they'd, once again, forgotten to grab the fucking mobile. 

He hoped he was able to keep a calm expression to hide the way his heart was beating wildly beneath his sternum. However, his breathing must have quickened, because he watched the way your brows furrowed with concern.

"Are you okay?" you asked, scooching forward in your chair to give him a once over. 

"Fine," he managed to get out. "Just . . . I think I forgot one of the questions." 

"Oh, that's okay," you said, hand already sliding your copy of homework over without a second thought. 

Jack's heart clenched at your kindness that he definitely didn't deserve. Not when he was the one to give Miles every single one of those incisions with a scalpel Robby swiped from work. The guy was so close to graduating and becoming a resident, but he just had to go and flirt with you last Christmas, blatantly asking if you had plans to "stay warm" during the break. He had almost killed him then, already envisioning the way the blade would sink deep into his gut, before Robby had given him a look, eyes screaming to be patient. 

He only had to wait until midterms, get him alone, and have Robby make the call and give him what they dubbed "The Test" over a call before he could pin him to the ground. It had been easy with very little struggle, even with his vision clouded with that white opened-mouth mask they'd found in a going-out-of-business Halloween store. Cash payment; no trail, no evidence. 

Jack was already starting to itch again, that vein deep need to spill blood instead of stopping it from flowing, to cause harm instead of protecting. 

You snapped in front of his face, and he blinked rapidly. 

"You're spacing out again," you said. "Do you need to take a break? I doubt we'll get in trouble if we sneak out to get more coffee." 

He shook his head. "No, I'm fine." His finger tapped on your homework. "Thanks for this . . . again." 

Your hand rose and covered your mouth as you giggled. "No problem. I cannot have you flunking this class, Jack Abbot. I don't think I'd survive without you." 

"Nah, you're smart enough," he said after lightly flicking your temple. "You'll probably match your first try with whatever hospital you choose." 

"You think so?" Shyly, you tucked a piece of fallen hair behind your ear. 

Jack met your eye with a ferocity you hadn't seen. "I know so." 

Heat flushed to your cheeks and spread down your neck into your top, and you quickly looked back down at your papers and binder. You took one glance toward the front, eyes locking onto Robby where he stood discussing something with your teacher. 

"Guess I just need to survive the next two years and hope I don't get a phone call myself," you whispered loud enough for Jack to hear over your scratching pencil and the beginnings of the lecture. 

It was almost like you'd been put under a trance every time the lesson began to not miss anything important. Because of this, you missed the way Jack locked eyes with Robby over the tops of the students' heads. His older friend barely glanced in the direction of Stephen, and the slight nod he got sent a pleasured chill racing over his skin. 

Jack couldn't wait to feel the slick of Stephen's blood and organs against his black leather gloves as he cut him up once clean slice at a time. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The phone's cord tangled around your finger as you giggled into the chunky receiver while Robby told you about one of the pranks his attending played on him because he fell asleep in an on-call room. 

"And then, they had the fucking audacity to page me, and I went running before I fell face first into the hub!" 

"And then what?" you laughed breathily, leaning back until your head hit your pillow. 

"Then so many casualties came in after, and I was stuck with the cast on and unable to help! I had to wait hours before they could get it off." 

"Did it teach you not to fall asleep?" you questioned with a smile that he couldn't even see, but Robby could definitely hear it in your voice. 

He smiled as well, lips practically kissing his phone. "For a bit, but then I managed to find an excellent napping place." 

"Did Benton tell you off for it?" 

"Nope." Robby looked down at the paper in his hand, fingers playing the frayed edge. "He actually woke me up with my acceptance papers." 

You sat up straight and gasped loudly. "Michael Strausser Speer Robinavitch! You got accepted into their emergency surgery program, and you didn't fucking tell me in person! You ass!" 

"It just slipped my mind." 

A scoff flew from your lips and echoed in his ear. 

"It just slipped my mind," you mocked, voice dipping into a lower tone that didn't quite match Robby's all the way. "Did you tell Jack?" 

"Yeah," he breathed. 

"And how'd that go?" 

Robby pursed his lips at the memory of Jack screaming at him before kissing him right on the lips. "As well as you could imagine." 

"He just . . . worries about you, I think," you tried to console with your lip between your teeth. "Worried about you several hours away, worried that he won't be able to catch up." 

"Did he tell you about his plans after med school?" 

You nodded on instinct before catching yourself. "Y-yeah, he did. He's brave for it." 

"Only Jack could want to be an Army field medic," Robby grumbled while running a hand across his jaw. "He's insane." 

A low hum rumbled through your chest in agreement. "He wants to help people, but I don't understand why he thinks he needs to do it under active fire." 

For some reason, tears pricked at your eyes, and you rapidly tried to blink them away. To keep them away, you did your best to sniff quietly, but the sound was louder through the phone than you thought. 

Robby frowned, and his brows pinched. "Hey, why're you crying?" 

You chomped down on the inside of your cheek before replying, "I don't want him to get hurt, and he's going to be so alone over there. It breaks my heart every time he wears that stupid Army crewneck he got at the recruitment office." 

He knew exactly which one you were talking about; he pulled the damn thing off Jack's freckled body earlier that morning right after he got back from slicing the kid in the library with blood still crusting at his shoes and at the stretches of skin the robe didn't cover. Robby had licked it all off before taking Jack's cock in his mouth. 

"Did I lose you over there, Robinavitch?" you asked when you could only hear heavy breathing. 

Robby raised his brows and smirked. "Oh, am I simply Robinavitch to you now?" 

"It's what you get for keeping important information from me!" 

"Okay, baby, okay," he mused, laying it heavy on the small pet name. “Have you decided what you’re wanting to do after school? We could always use you over at Sacred.” 

Nervously, you twirled the phone wire around a finger. “Actually . . . I’m thinking about looking into an endo fellowship.” 

Your words hit him right in the stomach. “What?” 

You huffed. “Yeah, I know I said I might go into emergency med, but Robby, I don’t think I can keep up with that life. Seeing all those traumas would fuck me in the head.” 

“So, Jack’s leaving me, and now you’re leaving me?” 

“Don’t put it like that. You’re a big boy; you’ll be fine.” Your eyes glanced around the room before widening when you caught the time. "Fuck, Rob, I gotta go. I'm supposed to meet my roommate for breakfast tomorrow before my 8 am." You paused before adding. "Thanks for talking to me. I've really missed you, ya know?" 

"I've missed you too," he confessed, "a lot." 

"It's not the same without you. I have Jack, but I think I can say we both feel incomplete when you're not here." 

"Feel the same out there," he whispered. "I'll let you go, but I'll give Jack a plan for lunch so we can all meet up, yeah?" 

"Sounds good, Robby. Sleep well," you said before ending the call. 

Your hands raised high above your head, and a soft moan slipped through your lips as you stretched. Needing to use the bathroom one more time, you softly slipped from the bed and padded toward the connected suite. You still had no clue how you managed to get a room with a bathroom, but you were never one to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

However, only a few feet away, your phone screeched a loud shrill into the air. Your cheeks puffed as you blew out air, mind thinking that Robby probably forgot to tell you something important. Your hand curled around the receiver and raised it to your ear. 

"Robby, I swear if you forgot about something again I'll—" 

"Hello?" a distorted voice cut you off, and your stomach dipped ever so slightly at the unfamiliar caller. 

"Um, hi?" 

"Would you like to play a game?" 

You frowned deeply. "No thank you. I think you have the wrong number. Goodbye." 

The phone clicked back into the stand, and you turned away once more, ready to get peeing over so you could get some sleep. Yet again, your phone rang, and you jumped at the noise. This time, you stomped back over and ripped it right out and up to your ear. 

"You shouldn't have done that," the voice tsked. "Because now, if you hang up again, I'll have to kill someone for you." 

Your blood ran ice cold. "How is this?" 

"Uh, uh, uh, I ask the questions here, sweets. And you still haven't answered my first one: would you like to play a game?" 

"Fuck you," you spat. "Is this Stephen from class, because I swear if this is just some elaborate prank, I'm going to report your sorry ass to the dean." 

"Oh, she has a mouth on her," he—because this had to be a man—laughed. "What fun you and I are going to have." 

"I'm not going to play whatever stupid game this is, Stephen." 

"Sorry to tell you, but this isn't Stephen," he growled, and the sound had you shaking slightly. 

Knuckles turning white, you gripped the phone tightly. "Then-then who is this?" 

"Can't tell you that or it'd ruin the surprise!" He sighed and clicked his tongue against his teeth. "Now, I will ask for the last time, do you want to play a game? Or should I start killing your friends? What are their names again? Jack and Michael?" 

"If you hurt them—" 

"You'll do what? You don't even know my name? But I know yours, Y/n." 

Your skin itched, and you whirled around, almost like you swore that you felt someone's eyes on your body. You stepped up to your window and cracked the blinds open with a finger. When no one seemed to be standing outside, you let the slat fall back down. 

"Will you play now?" 

A thick glob of saliva fought back against your attempt to swallow it down. "Fine. I'll play. What are the rules?" 

"If you can answer my questions, I won't kill poor Stephen here." 

In the background, you heard muffled screams and cries that matched the student who had held a pencil to your face. Tears slowly streamed down your face as it fully settled that the man on the other end wasn't playing around, that a life was in your, a mere med student's, hands. 

"Don't hurt him, please," you whimpered. 

"Such big emotions for a stranger. Oh, you're going to be such a good doctor one day." He cleared his throat. "Question one: a twenty-three-year old comes rolling in after being involved in a motorcycle accident. Her BPs seventy-eight over forty, heart rate’s one-forty. She has absent breath sounds on the left, and her trachea’s deviated to the right. What kills her first?” 

“How am I supposed to know that? I’m only a MS2, fucker.” 

“You’re smart enough to know it. All that time spent with that emergency resident, and you can’t remember anything?” 

“Just give me a second!” 

“I fear Stephen doesn’t have ‘a second,’” he taunted, and in the next moment, a pain-filled wail muffled through your phone, causing a sob to rip right from your throat. 

“Okay, okay, just—” You pinched your eyes shut as you tried to think through the question. “Tension pneumothorax,” you settled on before holding your breath. 

“And your treatment to keep him alive?” 

“A-a needle decompression followed by a ch-chest tube.” 

The distorted voice paused on the other line. “Correct. See, I knew you would get it. You’re so smart, Y/n.” 

You unsuccessfully tried to wipe the tears from your cheeks, but your eyes kept replenishing them. “Okay, I answered your fucking questions, now let the guy go.” 

“I’m sorry. Was I not specific? We still have three more to go before I think of letting Stephen here see another sunrise. Next question: A trauma patient arrives talking to you. Five minutes later, they’re confused, then unconscious. What do you suspect is happening?” 

A frustrated groan bubbled through your chest. “I need more information.” 

“If your patient is unconscious, you don’t get more information. Tick, tock, sweets, Stephen’s counting on you.” 

“It-it could be something like an epidural hematoma?” 

“And what would be the classic artery?” 

“The middle meningeal artery.” 

“I’m so proud of you for getting that correct.” 

Instead of feeling elated, you were so close to throwing up that you could taste the tang of bile on your tongue. “What’s the next one?” 

“Feeling confident, are we?” 

“Ask the fucking question.” 

“You’ve got penetrating trauma just left of the sternum. Blood pressure is dropping. Neck veins are distended, and the heart sounds are muffled. What’s the diagnosis, doc?” 

“Cardiac tamponade,” you answered instantly. It had been one of the homework questions from the ACLS provider course you had with Jack. 

“Treatment?” 

“Emergency thoracotomy if they’re crashing. Pericardiocentesis only if it’s the bridge.” 

“I guess you really can stay awake during your classes. Now, for the final question: your last trauma patient just received a massive transfusion after losing too much blood like poor Stephen will if you get this wrong. All seems to go well until the monitor suddenly shows a widening QRS, peaked T waves, and then ventricular tachycardia. What is killing the man on your table?” 

Your stomach dropped to your toes. This should have been the easiest one. You should know this. 

“It’s hypocalcemia,” you stated. 

The line went silent. 

“Did I get it? I got it, you mother fucker,” you growled. 

However, all you got was a click on his tongue. “Wrong.” 

All blood drained straight from your face. “Wha-what? No, I’m certain it’s hypocalcemia. It’s the textbook definition of it.” 

“The diagnosis you’re looking for is actually hyperkalemia. You would have needed to administer potassium instead. Well, the calcium would have been the protocol, but it wasn’t the answer I asked for.” 

“N-no,” you stuttered out with another sob wracking your body. “Please don’t hurt him. Let him go.” 

“I gave him a fighting chance like all good doctors do. But sometimes, in the real world, we can’t all save our patients. Say goodbye to Stephen. He’ll be missed in class.” 

Your throat constricted in a gag as wet slashing sounds echoed through your phone speaker. You should have turned it off, but you stayed frozen to the middle of your room, mind fuzzy and close to dissociation as Stephen’s wails rattled and echoed in your brain. He gave a particularly loud screech that followed almost a ripping sound, something you’d heard before from medical tapes used in surgical classes, the tell-tale noise of someone wrongly cutting through skin and tendons. 

In a few moments, he quieted before the line went fully quiet, save for the heavy, distorted breathing from the assailant. All you could manage to do was whimper and tremble. 

“Thanks for playing, sweets. Better luck next time.” 

The drawl of the dial tone echoed in your ear until the receiver slipped from your hand and landed in a loud thunk against your carpet. Your knees almost buckled as you tried to make your way back to your bed, bathroom break far forgotten. It didn’t even cross your mind as you sat shaking on the comforter, hands clenching the blanket. 

All you could hear were Stephen’s moans and cries, and if you could get past those, the man’s words rang freely. 

Say goodbye to Stephen. He’ll be missed in class.

The killer was in the ACLS provider course. One of your classmates just murdered Stephen and probably all the other guys too. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

“What’s so important that we had to meet before your first class, baby? Thought you had plans with your roommate,” Robby’s voice sounded behind you, and you flinched violently at the suddenness. “Woah, it’s just me.” 

Your red-rimmed wide eyes looked up at him from the empty space at the small coffee table in the on-campus cafe, and his cocky smirk dropped as he took in the paleness and horror that had been plastered on your face since that phone call late last night. Robby grabbed the top of the chair and dragged it out to sit. His knees bumped against yours while his hands gently rested on your cheeks, fingers tilting your chin in order for him to look you over, ever the doctor. 

“What’s wrong?” he questioned. You sleepily watched his eyes flicker down your face in an obvious fashion. “What happened?” 

You jerked out of his hold and looked back down to the table. “Let’s just wait for Jack.” 

Almost as if he were waiting for you to say his name, Jack plopped down into the seat opposite of Robby, the three of you making a triangle around the table. He too was wearing a smile that dropped just as quickly as Robby’s had moments earlier. At least he didn’t start going full doctor on you, but his concern was evident in his pinched expression. 

“What’s wrong?” Jack asked, eyes glancing over toward Robby. 

“That’s what I asked,” the brunette responded without looking away from your shaking form. 

“I-I wanted to tell you both before the n-news got out,” you stuttered between shaking breaths. 

Jack leaned forward and placed both his hands on the table. “What news? I think you’re scaring us a bit, sweetheart.” 

“Stephen wa-was murdered,” you squeaked, “last night, right after I finished talking to Robby.” Your pointer finger picked at your thumb, loose skin catching with every scrape. 

“Did your friend have to call in another one in the library?” Jack asked. 

You shook your head. “No. I did.” 

“You did?” Robby echoed, and his concern morphed into confusion. “Was he murdered in the girls’ dorms?” 

Another shake of your head. “No.” Tears welled in your lashline, and you squeezed your eyes tight as another wave of Stephen’s cries rang through your memory. 

Jack licked his lips and leaned back in the chair. “Well, didn’t you say the killer calls his victims? So, unless you’re a ghost, you should have been far away from whatever happened.” 

“You two don’t understand!” you screeched, not caring if a few people turned their heads toward you. “He called me. I had to listen to-to—” Bile burned up your throat as you slapped two hands over your mouth in case it decided to spew between your teeth. 

“Jeez,” Robby muttered as he dragged a hand down his jaw. “You had to listen to him getting . . . ya’ know.” 

“Murdered,” Jack filled in casually, like he wasn’t concerned at all about what you’d just confessed. Although, he did do a good job at looking a bit surprised. “But why would he call you?” 

“I don’t know,” you whimpered, arms coming to wrap around your middle as you hunched in on yourself. “One minute, I thought I was talking to Robby, and the next I thought it might be Stephen because of the pencil incident, but then I tried to hang up again, and . . .” you trailed off right as you remembered what the distorted voice had told you. 

“And what?” Jack pressed. 

 “He said if I hung up and didn’t play his game, he’d kill you two.” 

From the corner of his eye, Jack looked over at Robby for the briefest moment before scooting his chair closer to you to wrap you in a hug. Your pliant, shivering body went willingly right into his embrace, and he couldn’t help the smirk that stretched onto his face. 

Everything was going to plan better than they had expected. Sure, calling you hadn’t been their first line of action, but looking at you now, so scared, so terrified that they were in danger, made them feel like they should have called you first. Robby initially had been the one who wanted to call and hear your panicked little whimpers, but he’d been the last caller. At least Jack had the decency to record everything, and Robby didn’t remember the last time they had both cum so hard while fucking as they played your delicious sounding cries, its echos joining the perfect symphony of their moans. It was almost as good as having you there with them, but they had to get you willing. 

And right now, you seemed on the verge of being just that. They’d planted the seed of doubt in your mind that they weren’t untouchable, that they might be the next victims. 

Jack ran a hand up and down your back in soothing motions, and you pressed into his chest, eyes meeting Robby’s worried-looking brown hues across the table. 

“Did you already give your statement?” he asked. 

“Yeah; last night,” you sighed. “My roommate found me crying, and she was the one to call. Everything happened so quickly.” 

Jack pressed his cheek into the top of your head. “Did you recognize the voice?” 

“No. It was all distorted.” You tensed suddenly. “But he did say something weird.” 

Robby eyed Jack wearily. “Yeah?” 

You nodded. “He said that Stephen would be missed in class, but—I mean, wouldn’t that imply that the killer was in the same class as us?” 

Jack mouthed a quiet fuck and closed his eyes. He hadn’t meant to say that; he needed himself as far from the scene and victim as possible. Robby normally got away with it since he was supposed to be three hours away while Jack made sure his alibi of being in his dorm room stayed air-tight. 

“Did you tell that to the police?” 

The corner of your lip turned downward. “I-I think? I don’t know; I can’t remember.” Your words started to slur into a whine, and a single tear slipped down your cheek in frustration. 

“That’s okay, sweetheart,” Jack cooed, hand never stopping in soothing circles while he held you. “Tell you what. Why don’t you and I go down to the station after class if you’re feeling up to it.” 

Your stomach gurgled at the thought of having to retell what you went through for the sake of adding one more detail, and you swallowed thickly even if your mouth had gone dry. 

“I don’t think I want to go to class. Seeing the empty seat . . .” If you thought about it for long enough, you knew you’d start crying all over again. “Can we just stay here? Or go to the fountain outside?” You’d been looking at Robby, but you pulled back from Jack enough to look him in the face. However, when neither of them answered right away, your stomach sank. “Oh.” 

Robby cupped a hand at his neck, a familiar thing you’d seen him do for a year straight when he got stressed or nervous. 

“Jack and I promised that we’d help out with an advanced simulator today for the fourth year students after you two’s first lecture.” 

That was utter bullshit; they hadn’t been asked at all, but they needed to get away from you for a couple of hours to really let you sink into helplessness and paranoia. The longer you went without them with the thought that any moment they might be stabbed and sliced, the more you’d run into their willing arms no matter how they decided to break the news about their late-night activities. 

You pulled fully out of Jack’s embrace, and the freckled boy had to stop himself from bringing you right back in, hands already itching to grab onto your arms. But he pulled himself together; he would have all night with you once they got you right where they wanted. 

“Will I at least see you both before Robby has to go back tonight?” you asked, finger going back to pick at your thumb, face wincing when a spark of pain shot up your digit. You looked down in time to see blood well under the flap of skin. 

“Of course. I’ll be at Jack’s dorm after I finish up with the final night class,” Robby said and finally smiled. He leaned over and softly pinched your cheek. “I wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye to my favorite girl.” 

A rush of pleasure crept up to his chest at the sight of your heated cheeks, and somehow, evening couldn't come soon enough. After you stood and left, probably headed toward your dorm to try to get some sleep, Jack turned towards Robby with a flick of his head. 

“Tonight?” he asked, lips stretching into a wide smirk. 

Robby didn’t even look his way, eyes still planted on your figure. “Tonight.” 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Three raps of your knuckles against the wood door and a muffled Come in! from Jack had you pushing the creaky thing open and stepping right into his dorm. You eyed the small piles of clothes that you tried not to step on as you made your way toward his bed. Jack was leaned back against his headboard with a sleepy look on his face and pajamas on his body: a pair of much-too big sweats (that you guessed probably belonged to Robby) and that fucking Army crewneck. 

“Would it kill you to clean once in a while?” you asked while taking a seat right at the edge of the mattress. 

“There’s a system to it. Left side of the room is for clean clothes, and the right is for dirty,” he responded with a shit-eating smirk. 

You rolled your eyes and turned to face him as much as you could without lying stomach down on the bed. “You’re such a boy.” 

“At least my room’s not dripping in makeup,” he shot back, face scrunching in disgust. “It’s almost like I can smell it from here.” 

“No, that’s your hairspray.” You reached out to ruffle his curls, but his hand darted out and wrapped around your wrist before it could get any further. 

Jack pulled slightly, and you followed, knees digging into the comforter so he could bring you closer. “You know better than to touch the curls.” 

“Then don’t make fun of my makeup,” you muttered before ripping your hand out of his hold. Using your hands, you pushed yourself further up the bed and mirrored Jack with your shoulder against his and back against the headboard. “How’d that simulator thing go?” 

His lip curled. “As well as it could be. Fuck, I hope we’re not going to turn out to be like those stuck up know-it-all assholes. They think they know every damn answer.” 

You nudged him slightly. “As long as we study and actually know the answers, we can act as asshole-y as we want to.” 

He ran a hand through his hair and scoffed. “That’s the thing. We asked the question for the mock-up ER, and one of the guys in there—total douche—didn’t even know the protocol for hyperkalemia.” 

“It’s potassium instead of calcium,” you rattled off mindlessly before pausing. 

Jack turned slightly. “Yeah. How the fuck did you know that?” 

Your eyes locked onto your feet. “It-it was one the question I got wrong before Stephen—” Your mouth quivered. “Fuck, it’s all my fault.” 

“Don’t say that.” 

“But it’s true, Jack,” you muttered. “I killed him.” Panic began to lick at the edges of your mind, and your chest started heaving in pants. “I killed him. I killed him.” 

Jack pushed up off the headboard and hovered halfway over, hands raising like he didn’t know where he could touch you without sending you over the edge. “You gotta breathe, or you’re going to pass out on me.” 

His words were like he was talking underwater, and you couldn’t even process what he was telling you to do. This was not a part of their plan, but Jack had to make due with what he could before Robby got back from killing one more student, a guy who had looked at you way too long in your pharmacology class. Before he could really think things through, Jack cupped your face, leaned in, and kissed you deeply. 

The feeling of his lips broke you out of whatever hysteria threatened to take over, and you found yourself mimicking his movements as you kissed him back, lips moving against the other while your hands found purchase in his crewneck. Your eyes fluttered shut before snapping back open when Robby popped in your mind. You pulled back instantly and wiped your lips as though that would get rid of what just happened. 

Jack took in your debauched look, you clearly liking that he kissed you, but the worried look you had sent his heart racing the wrong way. 

Had they read you wrong the entire time? 

“Jack,” you breathed. “We can’t.” 

He cocked his head. “Why can’t we?” 

“Robby.” 

“What about him, sweetheart.” 

You looked at him earnestly. “Aren’t you two . . .” You left words unsaid in case you were the one to get this wrong. 

Jack almost looked bashful as he replied. “You’re always too damn smart. Catching onto things before we could even tell you.” He leaned back in though and pressed another kiss to the side of your mouth. “We are . . . together, but—” He dragged his eyes over your body with a heated look. “But we want you too.” 

His words had you blinking rapidly. “What?” you laughed out, but one look from him said that he wasn’t joking around. “Are-are you serious?” 

He clicked his tongue against his cheek. “Deadly.” 

You weren’t too sure who moved first, but you met his mouth once more halfway. You moaned loudly at the feeling of his lips and teeth mushing against yours. His hands rose and planted on your hips, fingers curling into the small pudge against bone and pulling you into him, hips dragging along the blankets until you were seated on his lap. Your knees dug into the mattress on both sides of his thick thighs as you held onto his face.

Jack shivered with glee at the feeling of your grinding weight on top of him, cock already stiff below Robby’s pair of sweatpants hugging his legs. He bucked up slightly into your dampening core, and your jaw dropped enough for him to slide his wet tongue right into your hot mouth. He languidly licked around your teeth before playing with the tip of your tongue. You couldn’t help but think that if he was this into your mouth, you wanted to imagine what it’d feel like against your clit. At the vivid picture popping into your imagination, you ground down harder against his bulge.

Jack being large wasn’t surprising; not with the amount of tight pants he liked to wear, but you never imagined yourself being able to feel it nestled against your clit through your thin pajamas. As you continued to rock back and forth, he let go in order to play with the hem of your shirt before lifting it over your head and tossing it to the ground. His eyes widened slightly when he realized you’d foregone the bra. 

“Fuck,” he muttered after pulling back to really look at them, hands rising to cup your breasts. 

With his pointer fingers and thumbs, he pinched your nipples into soft peaks, drawing a higher-pitched whine from behind your teeth. By now, your underwear were soaked with slick arousal. Without warning, he leaned in right as your back arched and took one bud into his mouth. His cheeks hollowed, and a loud sucking noise squeaked out of his lips. You jerked at the feeling and sank your hands into his hair. 

“Jack,” you breathily sighed. 

“That’s me, sweetheart,” he retorted after letting your nipple go with a wet pop just to do the same to your other one. 

You normally weren’t one to cum just from stimulation to your breasts, but the hazy feeling from grinding on Jack’s cock and his lips and tongue circling your nipples started to well in your stomach. Your jaw dropped again as a loud moan shuddered out of you after he bit down on the sensitive peak before running a soothing, wet stripe over it. He pulled back again to lightly blow on the heated flesh, and his cooled breath made goosebumps race up your skin. 

He dropped a hand to play with the waistline of shorts, and you lifted your hips to allow him to get your sleep shorts and underwear off in one go. They quickly joined your shirt at the floor, and his hand had just started to trail between your thighs when his bedside phone gave off a loud shrill into the air. Jack acted as though he didn’t hear it, lips still suckling away at your chest. 

“Aren’t you going to get that?” you panted between the grinds of your hips. 

“Just let it ring,” he responded, but the sound had already ripped your attention away from between your legs. 

With a smile, you reached over and picked up the phone, mind too full with pleasure to even think of the last time you picked up a phone without knowing who was on the other line. Really, you should have been more careful, but with Jack under your naked body, all caution was out the window. 

“Jack’s busy right now,” you giggled into the phone, “but I can give him a message—” 

“Hi, baby.” 

Your hips stilled, and your blood froze at the sound of the distorted voice. A dizzying feeling replaced the warmth of pleasure in your system, and you could barely get out a response that wasn’t a small, terrified noise. 

“Has Jack left you that speechless already?” he continued, voice sounding louder than it had last night over the phone. If you really thought about it, it felt as though he was right next to your ear. “Go on, baby. You were looking so pretty getting messy over him. I was really enjoying the show,” he growled, voice suddenly right over your shoulder instead of through the speaker. 

You dropped the phone and whipped around right off Jack’s lap, and panic seized your chest, because right by the door, a tall man draped in black fabric and a hollowed-eyed white mask stared back at you. You started to scramble as a small scream ripped up your throat, but Jack was quicker. He grabbed your hips and brought you back to this lap, this time facing the masked intruder. His arms wrapped around your middle and held you through your struggles and tears. 

“Jack, what the fuck!” you sobbed, hands wrenching and nails scratching at his arms. “Let me go! We’re going to die! Let me go, please!” 

Instead of doing what you demanded, Jack tucked his chin onto your shoulder as the man started stalking toward the bed. With each step, your struggles grew. By now, Jack’s arms were littered with bleeding stripes from your desperation to get away, but that only added to his pleasure, cock never failing to fade into softness against your back. Your chest heaved and tightened the closer the man got before he stopped at the foot of the bed. 

You watched with wide eyes as he raised a small box to where his lips would be under the mask before his empty gloved hand suddenly lifted the stretched-chin until the mask slipped from his face, and Robby’s dark brown eyes locked on yours. 

His lips curled into a devilish smirk. “Surprise, baby.” 

For a split second, you thought you’d pass out, suddenly overwhelmed with everything in a dizzy sensation. 

“What?” you sputtered. 

Jack hummed over your shoulder and ran a finger down your tear-streaked cheek. He pouted when you met his eye from the corner of yours. 

“Aw, sweets, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Not enjoying our little surprise?” he taunted before a chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Awww, Mikey, look at her. The poor thing’s shaking.” 

Robby let the voice modulator fall to the floor with a dulled thunk that kept your heart racing against your ribcage. In a desperate attempt to keep a distance between you and Robby, you tried to fling yourself to the side, but Jack just tightened his arms around you more. 

“Not so fast,” he said. “Not when we haven’t gotten to the best part yet.” One arm let go so his hand could grip your chin to keep you facing Robby. “Go on and spread her legs for me.” 

Without hesitation, Robby kneeled at the edge of the mattress and crawled until he reached where your feet planted against the comforter. His brown eyes, the hues almost black with lust, watched you intently as he placed his gloved hands on your naked knees. Yet, when he tried to part them, you swung a foot and connected it right between his legs, drawing a grunt from deep in his lungs. 

He shuddered, his hand reaching down to palm himself over the long black robes he wore. His chest was rising and falling rapidly as he fought to get air back in his lungs. As his hand pressed down harder, he groaned, looking up at you through his eyelashes. The inky blackness of his pupils swallowed the brown of his irises entirely.

The motherfucker liked that. 

Jack’s hand slid down from your jaw and wrapped around the front of your throat, and his fingers squeezed lightly against the sides of your neck, sending a fuzzy wave to your brain, and your breath hitched, body stilling in his grasp. His lips softly grazed your ear as he whispered, “Be a good girl and stay still for us. You’ll like it, I promise.” 

He jerked his chin out towards Robby, and you could only watch him finally grip your knees. In one fluid motion, he wrenched your legs apart, revealing your glistening cunt to both of them. Robby hummed lowly in amusement. 

“You’re so wet for us, baby,” he mused and lowered his face until he was inches away from your core. 

An embarrassed heat flooded your face and neck when he inhaled sharply. If you bucked your hips to get him to move back, you’d just shove his nose right into your folds, and if you withdrew them, you’d grind right into Jack’s cock. You were stuck, and neither seemed to be concerned with how you felt. 

“Please let me go,” you pleaded with a whimper and squeezed-shut eyes. “I won’t tell anyone.” 

Jack tutted against your ear. “It’s not that we don’t believe you, sweets, but . . .” 

“We’ve already waited this long to have you like this,” Robby finished his sentence, finally pulling back from between your legs to look down at you as he ripped the gloves off. “We can’t let you go after we’ve worked so hard to get you right where we want.” 

“You fucking murdered people,” you spat, body beginning to shift unconsciously as a result of your fear . . . or something closer to simmering arousal that you didn’t even want to admit to. “And now you think I’m just going to sit here and enjoy this?” 

“Well, yeah,” Jack smacked his lips. “Cause even though you’re putting on a big show of being brave even if you’re terrified—” He reached down and ran a fingertip through your cunt from hole to clit before holding it up to the light to show just how wet it was. “Your body is still begging for us.” 

You shivered against him. “It’s not—I’m not begging.” 

Jack sighed loudly. “That’s okay; we know you will once we get started.” His hazel eyes met Robby’s gaze. “Go right ahead, Mikey.” 

“Robby, please don’t,” you whispered as he leaned back down, bare fingers coming to grip at the soft insides of your thighs. “Don’t do this. I—” 

You bit down on your lip to stifle the first moan that threatened to burst out as Robby’s tongue began to lick at your puffy folds, fingers curling into Jack’s freckled forearms and thighs jolting at the feeling. He held them down. His tongue moved inward and stiffened into a point to drag upward to your throbbing clit, the texture of his tastebuds adding to the buzzy stimulation. He toyed with you, going from circular motions to biting down gently with his front teeth. As he tilted his face to get a better angle, his beard rubbed against your inner thighs, and the scratchiness of it added to the burning pleasure from your core. 

If he continued, he’d leave a lasting reminder of beard burn for you to remember this night. 

Above, you refused to look down at him, lip staying between your teeth as he tried to break you. Jack was having none of it, and the hand around your throat pressed harder into your pulse points, cutting off your circulation to flood your brain with a hazy feeling that made the pleasure from Robby’s ministrations grow tenfold. 

It was only when he licked around your sopping entrance that a keel ripped from your throat, and the sound was like music to their ears. 

“Good job, sweetheart,” Jack muttered as he let go to allow oxygen to rush back in. “That’s what we want to hear. Keep going, Mikey. I wanna hear more.” 

“Just keep her steady,” Robby responded against you, and his words sent vibrations tingling through your cunt, drawing out another heady moan. He continued to go back and forth from your clit to your hole before the first finger breached the tight entrance. “Oh, fuck, she’s tight,” he groaned, cock throbbing as he imagined sinking deep into you.

“Yeah?” Jack breathed. “Saved yourself just for us, sweets?” 

“No,” you moaned out, hips slightly rocking to alleviate the stretch. “Nooooo shit!” 

Robby sucked your clit as he began to pump his finger in and out, your innermost muscles clenching in uncontrollable spasms around the digit. Slowly, he felt you begin to loosen and suck him back in. Your head tilted back against Jack’s shoulder when he curled his finger upward, expertly finding your soft spot. Your back arched, and your hips raised into Robby’s face, making his nose catch against your clit. 

A wave of pleasure washed over you. Your once tense muscles had relaxed as endorphins fought to replace your terror, leaving you close to putty and pliant between them. Your legs widened instinctively when Robby added a second finger. 

“Oh—fuck!” you wailed out when both fingertips rubbed along your walls, slick gushing out with each thrust. “Robby!” 

“There we go,” Jack gleefully said, voice filled with nothing but content as he felt your body drape against him, all fight draining the closer they got you to cumming. “I told you that you were going to like it.” 

Somehow, Robby managed to get his fingers to reach further, and stars dotted your vision by how deep you could feel him. You didn’t want to imagine how deeper he could get with his cock—wait. 

You were giving in. You couldn’t; this was wrong. They killed people. You needed to get away fast. 

“Robby!” you parroted and followed with a moan as your lower belly simmered with something that was about to snap. “Gonna cum! Wanna cum!” 

Finally, you looked downward and met his lidded gaze through his eyebrows, lower face hidden behind your soft mound as he continued to lick and suck and graze your bundle of nerves with his teeth. He was close to sending you right over the edge, but there was one thing they both wanted to hear. 

They wanted you to beg for it. 

Jack finally unwrapped his arms from your middle to start palming at your breasts again. “C’mon, sweets. Mikey’ll make you cum, but you need to ask nicely for it first. Just say the magic words and—” He pinched and pulled and twisted your nipples, and a cry ripped right out of you, “—he’ll give it to you.” 

Your eyes burned with unshed tears, and somewhere deep, the need to push back flickered before being doused with a rush of arousal. Robby added a third finger and quickened his thrusts, causing a squelching noise to fill the room. 

Finally, after feeling the heat about to boil over in your core, you whimpered out the smallest, “Please.” 

Robby groaned against you, and bit down hard on your clit while curling upwards with stiff fingers. You came instantly, walls clenching rhythmically while Robby kept his pace steady to draw out your high for as long as possible. He watched the way your thighs shook and the way your arched beautifully, stomach curved out high as Jack continued to pull and grab at your breasts.  

You all but collapsed back against Jack’s chest when Robby finally pulled away, your sticky arousal coating his lips and chin and also the  three fingers that he stuck in his mouth. He held eye contact with you as he swirled his tongue between the slots. Jack huffed behind you. 

“I want a taste,” he demanded, and Robby quickly leaned over you, robes draping across your heaving chest, and kissed Jack. 

The loud slurping noises coming from over your head made you groan when your hole clenched around nothing. 

“Tastes good,” Jack muttered before licking across Robby’s lips. “Tastes so fucking good, sweetheart,” he addressed you even if he was currently occupied. He bit down, and Robby whined as a metallic tang filled their shared saliva. 

You lied there, and for a moment, your mind caught up to the situation at hand. Robby and Jack were the murderer—murderers? One to make the call, and the other to kill the student. Through the initial shockwaves of your orgasm, your stomach dipped, and you pushed up slightly, hoping they were both too into the other to miss the way you tried to inch across the bed. Jack pulled away suddenly and reached across, hands planting on both sides of your hips. Air rushed from your lungs at the sheer amount of his strength as he flipped you in one fluid motion and put you on your stomach. 

“No, fuck you,” you whined against the covers. “I’ve never—” 

Jack’s hands maneuvered you like a personal doll: knees pushing into the mattress and hips high in the air. He used his knees to knock yours wider to fit behind. You tried to push up on two hands, but he sent you right back down with a strong enough push between your shoulder blades. He held you down and pulled down the waistline of his sweatpants just enough to pull his cock out, lips parting in a hiss at the cold air enveloping his heated flesh. He sighed when he got a hand around himself, and the tip spurted out a line of precum. He used his palm to spread it across his length before he notched it at your entrance. 

Your body tensed at just the feeling of the large head already barely fitting even if Robby had managed to get three fingers in you. 

“Wait,” you said and gripped the comforter. “No, no, please wait, please, Jack, I’m a virgin, wait—” 

As though your pleas fell on deaf ears, Jack slowly started to sink into you. He shuddered when your warmth sucked in the first inch like your cunt needed him even if you thought you didn’t. 

“Fuck, sweets,” he hissed. “Robby said you were tight, but fucking—can’t believe I get to be your first.” 

You gasped at the stretch and intrusion, and he kept feeding himself into you even after the first bit of resistance. You’d mold perfectly around him soon enough. Your inner thighs shook and tensed as he pushed in further, and sweat collected at your brow line as your body heated under the pressure. You shut your eyes tight, but that only made it difficult to concentrate on anything but the feeling of Jack’s massive cock bullying its way into you. 

Jack pulled back slightly, and the drag of the head along your walls had you gasping for air. 

“Too much for you?” Jack cooed as your whimpers hit his ears. “Shhhh, it’s okay, sweetheart, you can take it; I know you can.” He slowly pushed back in. “Take a deep breath for me, yeah? Big streeetch,” he drew out until the entirety of his length sat inside you. 

Your chest heaved as much as it could into the mattress, and your jaw dropped to take in lungfuls of air. You felt too full, like one wrong move and Jack would rip you in half. It only got worse when he started to thrust, and his tip started tapping against your cervix with no more room to push into. 

“J-Jack, f-fuck,” you stuttered, and tears once again streamed down your cheeks. “Please—fuck!” 

He rocked his hips against yours to the point that his balls slapped against your ass with every thrust. “You feel how deep I am inside you?” he grunted while his hands tightened around your hips. “Fucking taking all of me. Such a needy girl for my cock.”  

You bit down on the comforter, muffling your whines in an attempt to keep how much he was affecting you to yourself. 

“Oh, sweets, that won’t do,” Jack tutted and sank a hand into your roots, fingers curling around the strands and yanking your head upward with a yelp. Your hands scrambled to get under you to relieve some of the pressure, but Jack didn’t stop thrusting, and the motion had your breasts swinging in the air. “Mikey, give her mouth something to do.” 

You eyes widened because under Jack’s fucking, you somehow completely forgot about Robby. But now as he shrugged off the robe and unbuckled his pants to get his cock out, you started sobbing once more. 

“Please don’t do this. I loved you two,” you weakly confessed, mind warring against your needy body, but all that did was make Jack angle his hips on an upward thrust to hit that spot that made you wail. 

Robby fisted his cock while he raised your chin up, and his eyes softened for a split second. “You’ll just have to learn to love this version of us, baby, because we love you just like this.” 

His words hit you in the pit of your stomach, and suddenly his words broke something inside you.  

This was Jack and Robby, your two best friends who’d do anything for you. You couldn’t keep fighting against them if you tried.  

Your jaw chomped shut hard enough that your teeth clicked together, but both of them were one step ahead. Jack let go of your hair and snaked a hand between your thighs to start circling his fingertips against your clit as he continued to fuck into you at a slowed pace, really wanting to draw this all out. 

You couldn’t help the moan that flowed freely at the double stimulation attacking your cunt, and your jaw unhinged enough to let Robby slip the tip of his cock between your teeth. Instantly, the salty tang of his precum coated your mouth. He held the sides of your face and pushed in deeper. 

“Another deep breath, baby,” he groaned before he thrust into your mouth, giving you barely any warning to brace for his cock to fill your mouth. 

Your throat constricted in a gag, but a flick of Jack’s fingers around your bud paired with a harsh thrust pushed you forward until your nose right into Robby’s navel, his wiry happy trail filling your senses with his deep musky scent. Above you, Robby arched into the feeling and groaned into the air. You were now filled on both ends as you desperately tried to breathe in through your mouth. 

Robby’s cock nestled against your tongue and a few inches down your throat. He was definitely longer than Jack, but the redhead had a much thicker girth than the brunette. Jack planted both his hands on your shoulders and pulled you back until Robby almost slipped right out. You sputtered and coughed from the lack of air, and a string of saliva wiggled down from your mouth to the bed. 

In just a breath later, they resumed, and you moved upwards and backwards on them like a pig on a spit. You felt dizzy between the white-hot pleasure Jack gave your cunt and the fuzziness that took over when Robby slipped down your throat. Both men moaned and grunted when you seemed to clench down on them at the same time. 

“Fuck, you weren’t kidding when you said she was—shit—so fucking tight,” Jack moaned when your walls spasmed around him, nearly cumming from the feeling. “You any close, sweets? Wanna feel you cum on my cock.” His words went straight to your body, and your pussy tightened. “Oh, you like when I talk to you? Is that right?” 

You whined in response and nodded. . 

His fingers picked up against your throbbing clit to meet his thrusts, and your stomach flipped with the onslaught of never-ending ecstasy flowing through your lower half. He could tell you were close when you started leaking around him, inner thighs sticky and wet enough to transfer onto his when he pushed into you with wet plap, plap, plap, plaps. 

At your front, Robby continued lazily thrusting into your mouth with jerky motions, knowing that once Jack filled you, he’d have his turn to sink deep into your pussy. His head leaned back when he managed to make you gag, and your throat constricted and caught his tip. His large hand basically covered the back of your head. He kept you tucked against his navel even when you tried to jolt back to get more air. His soul thrummed at your panic, and he wondered if you could feel him get harder between your teeth. 

“Uh, uh, uh, uh,” sputtered around Robby with every draw and snap of Jack’s hips. 

“Just give in, sweetheart,” Jack whispered into your ear after slotting his stomach into the dip of your back. “Let us know that we’re making you feel so good.” Using two fingers, he pinched at your clit just as his hips began to stutter, a tell-tail sign that he was about to cum as well. “Fucking—shit—give it to me.” 

With a muffled cry, your body shook as your second orgasm ripped right through your body. Jack could barely fuck into you with how hard you were clamping down on him as your cunt wept and dribbled onto the bed. 

“Good—fucking—girl,” he punched out with three forceful thrusts. His hands planted back onto your hips, and his fingers curled white-knuckled into the skin so hard that you knew you’d have his fingerprints bruised into you by morning. His lower stomach pulsed when you began to whimper from overstimulation, and the sound had his cock throbbing. “Fuck, gonna fill you up, sweets. Gonna cum, gonna—fucking shit!” 

He thrusted hard once, twice, three times before he stilled, cock spurting release into your fluttering hole. He had squeezed his eyes shut, but he peaked through his eyelids to see Robby lean over with a hand between your legs. The air knocked right out of Jack’s lungs when your cunt clamped down on him again near the end, and he guessed that Robby had rubbed right against your clit. Jack’s chest heaved through his high. 

“Good job, sweetheart,” he muttered, giving little rocks of his hips to prolong his own pleasure, dick already softening just a bit. “You took me so well; so well.” 

His hands loosened from your shoulders, and without any strength left in your wobbly arms, you fell right back into the bed, body twitching in the aftershocks. A whimper climbed from deep in your chest when he finally pulled out. Your hole clenched and pushed out a thick glob of the mix of your rapidly cooling slick and his cum from your walls. 

You felt his finger drag along your folds to catch it just to push the mess right back in, drawing a mewl from your lips. Too tired and fucked out to care about what they did next, you let your hips lower until they rested against the bed. You heard some shuffling through the haze, and the next moment, your body flipped over. Each of your limbs tingled with warmth, and you let out the smallest giggle. 

You enjoyed that more than you’d ever admit to it. 

“What’s so funny, baby?” Robby asked as he took off the rest of his clothes just as Jack was taking off his crewneck but leaving his sweats still on. 

Your eyes fluttered shut. “Think it’s funny that you said you loved me, but you killed people,” you slurred. 

Jack and Robby shared a look before the taller took his place near your feet. 

“Stephen deserved it, baby,” Robby darkly muttered. “And all those boys who came before him.” 

Jack ran a soothing hand up and down your leg. “You’re our girl. We couldn’t let them live after how they acted towards you.” 

Like he did earlier, Robby parted your legs, leaning down for half a heartbeat to press a small kiss to your twitching clit before trailing open-mouthed kissed up your stomach until he reached your lips. As though all fight drained out of you with the last climax, you matched his advances and kissed him back, legs absentmindedly parting to let him hover over you. 

You were the one to break the kiss when he rutted his cock through your sopping, overly-sentivie folds. Your breath hitched high in your throat before breaking to give way to a shuddering moan. You tried to push him off, but his lips stayed glued to your neck. 

He reached down and positioned his cock head to your entrance, and he slipped in with no resistance, the added lubrication of Jack’s spend and your relaxed muscles adding to his eased thrusting. The back of your head pushed deep into the mattress, and you swore you could feel Robby all the way up into your throat. Through lidded eyes, you caught the sight of Jack already hard again in his hand, his hazel eyes watching intently as Robby started to fuck you. 

“Hnnngggg,” you moaned through your teeth. Robby’s tip hit your cervix with each forward movement. “Oh my—fucking—please, Robby!” 

“Only took two orgasms to get you begging, hm?” Jack asked, and he reached over to pet at your face while simultaneously fucking up into his hand. His fingers traced your lips before he plunged them into your mouth. His breath stuttered when you started softly sucking on his digits. 

“Whatever you’re doing up there,” Robby grunted, hips snapping into the heat of your walls, “she likes it. Her cunt’s clenching—shit—around me like a fucking vice, man.” 

Your high-pitched whine came out all muffled through Jack’s fingers. Without someone holding your hips down, you began to meet Robby’s thrusts in shallow grinds. Where Jack’s cock stretched you out to the point of bliss, you wanted Robby’s length to stay buried deep to constantly rub against your walls. He must have understood what you wanted, because he stopped with the full thrusts and ground against your hips. The thatch of hair at the base of his cock rubbed deliciously against your swollen clit, and you whined at the added stimulation. 

After having climaxed twice so fast, it didn’t take long before you started to writhe under Robby’s frame, close to cumming without needing much. 

“Gonna—” You gagged when Jack pushed his fingers in farther. “Gonna,” you warbled. 

“Gonna cum already for us, baby?” Robby grunted. “Well, when you do, I wanna hear you cry my name, okay? Want your pretty mouth to spit it out.” 

You nodded shakily and tried to respond, but Jack’s fingers were too deep for anything eligible to come out. After thrusting them a bit more and getting them slick with your saliva, Jack pulled them out of your mouth. You squealed loudly when his fingers rubbed between your clit and where Robby was rutting into you. 

“Ooohhhh,” you breathed. “Jack! Feels good!” 

“Yeah? Does it feel better when I do this?” Suddenly, the pressure inside your walls exploded as Jack nudged his pointer finger into your hole, digit brushing against Robby’s cock to make you feel fuller than you ever had. “I bet that feels really good for you, sweetheart. Got your hole all nice and filled to the brim.” 

He tried to angle his wrist as best he could to press upward, and your thighs tried to close around his hand, but Robby’s hips kept them spread wide open. Needing to alleviate the pressure, you dug your feet into Robby’s lower back and arched into his chest. In one more movement to grind against Jack’s hand and Robby’s cock, you came instantly in a soundless scream. 

Robby folded over as your walls suddenly clamped down on him without warning. Your chest shook in a deep sob as the pleasure almost became too much. But through the shivers and pinpricks of euphoria, you remembered what Robby had asked. 

“Michael!” you screamed, hips jolting uncontrollably against him. “Micahel! Michael!” 

Like some Pavlovian effect, Robby groaned loudly with stuttering hips, cock spurting with hot waves of cum deep inside and fusing his and Jack’s cum to your cunt. No matter who you else might fuck in life, they’d always know that their cum was in you first. 

“Such a good baby,” Robby spat, mind barely keeping up with the feeling of your warmth entrapping his cock. “So smart for remembering. Fucking love it when you say my name. Fucking love you.” 

Your eyes had squeezed shut yet again right before you felt splatters across your face and heard a plethora of curses and moans from Jack above you. Some of his cum painted across your eyes, and you could only lie there and take his spend to your face. 

For a moment, you ceased to exist on the bed, mind floating blissfully somewhere else as you stewed in the slowing waves of your probably final orgasm. It wasn’t until you felt a warm, wet towel against your face did you open your eyes again. You blinked rapidly to clear them of the gloss that had taken over, and Jack cooed softly as he wiped his drying cum from your cheeks. 

“There she is,” he whispered. “There’s our girl. You did so well for us, sweetheart. Can’t believe we got to finally do this with the girl we love.” 

There it was again: their declarations of love. 

You wondered if it was all a ploy, but with their soft touches and slow roll of your pliant body to settle between them as sleep licked at your body, something settled inside your chest. Sure, they’d killed people, but they’d been right about what they said. Stephen deserved it, deserved what they did to him along with all the other boys who’d made you uncomfortable before meeting their ultimate demise. 

They’d done it all for you . . . because they loved you. 

Your lip twitched into a soft smile as you relaxed into the blanket Jack tossed over the three of you. 

“I love you both, too.” 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Morning light was the first thing to cause your closed eyelids to glow as your body slowly woke up. Instead of gently being lolled from your sleep, you became instantly aware of where you were and more importantly who you were between. Sometime after falling asleep, you’d managed to tuck yourself under Robby’s chin while Jack clung to your back, their shared heat making the bed feel like a furnace. You shifted. One leg slipping from between Jack’s, and your hips tilting away from Robby’s. 

Yet, you’d barely moved a few inches when Jack was the second to wake up. He muttered something sleepily before tightening his arms around your middle. 

“Don’t go,” he slurred, voice still thick with sleep. 

“I need to pee,” you whispered back, but all you really wanted was to retreat to the bathroom to wrap your mind around what had happened last night: their confessions, them fucking you, you confessing your love for both of them. If you stayed any longer, the dream of last night might become reality, and you weren’t ready to face the possibility that you might become their next victim. 

Robby shuffled slightly at your front and nuzzled his cheek into the top of your head. “Pee here. Pretty sure Jack’s into that,” he sighed, almost like he was seconds away from falling back asleep, however, his eyes shot open when Jack whacked him in the face with a spare pillow. 

“I don’t have a piss kink,” the redhead groaned, not even opening his hazel eyes. “I just think it’s hot.” 

“Then it constitutes as a piss kink, kid.” 

Jack pushed up with one arm while rapidly blinking the sleep away. “Can we not kink shame your boyfriend, please? We get one morning with her between us, and you start spouting bullshit nonsense.” 

“Guys,” you whined. “Enough.” Your head tilted down until your forehead connected with Robby’s chest. “Let’s just get this all over with.” 

Jack paused with another pillow mid-way in the air, fingers letting go to let it drop down to the bed. He slightly curled around your shoulder and tried to meet your eye. “Get over with what?” 

Robby twirled a piece of your hair around a finger. “What’s going on in that head, baby?” 

“I already know what will happen next. You’re going to tell me that last night was a fluke, and I’m about to show up on the news as another dead body,” you spat. “So, please, make it painless and get on with it.” 

Over your head, Robby and Jack shared a look of concern before Jack plastered himself along your back. 

“No, sweetheart, no,” he cooed. “That’s like the exact opposite of what’s going to happen. We weren’t lying when we said we loved you.” 

You shook your head and closed your eyes. You didn’t believe them. How could you after all they’ve done? 

“Listen, baby,” Robby started as he pushed back to make you look at him, “Jack and I love you so much, and the thought of us never being able to have you pushed us over the edge. It’s like an itch we can’t scratch unless we get rid of the problems.” 

“And the problems were all those boys who either thought they had a chance or made you uncomfortable by thinking you wanted them back,” Jack growled, and the noise went right to your core. “We fucking love you so much, and it was agony to see them hurt you, so we hurt them in return—like, take them out entirely.” 

“No one messes with you unless they want to mess with us,” Robby stated. “But we’d never hurt you, baby. I think we’d both rather kill the other if we ever did.” 

They both waited in silence for you to answer, and for a moment, they thought that you were able to push away, grab your clothes, and run out the door with how heavy you were breathing. But then, they both noticed the way your thighs shifted together, and it dawned on them that you were into this—them killing men just for you. 

“You really mean that?” you finally asked, voice meek and scared for them to laugh and yell psych! 

“We’d let you kill us if we didn’t, sweetheart” Jack said, voice steady and strong. “Our hearts beat only for the other and you.” He placed a kiss on your bare shoulder before lightly biting into your skin. 

Robby inhaled sharply. “We’ll stop . . . if you want us to. No more games, no more murders—” 

“Unless you want us to,” Jack added. “Say the word, and you’ll have a heart on a platter if you wish.” 

A loud groan rumbled through your chest, and your hips jutted back against Jack’s front. “You two can’t say stuff like that.” 

“Why not?” Robby asked, and you could hear the smirk in his words. 

“Becasuse—” You squeaked when Jack suddenly palmed at your breasts under the covers. “Because it makes me feel . . .”

“Good?” Jack filled in, but you shook your head. 

“Loved. It makes me feel loved, and it’s fucking crazy to say that, because you’re willing to murder people if I ask for it.” 

Your thighs parted when you felt Robby try to prod between them, and a lazy sigh exhaled from your lips as he slowly started to circle your clit through your puffy folds that were still slick from last night’s activities. 

“We’re willing to do a lot more than murder,” he muttered, lips pressing into every inch of your face. “But we have you now, and unless anyone thinks they can get through us, we won’t need to put any more bodies in the ground.” 

“Promise?” you asked with a pant catching the end of the word. 

“Promise,” Jack grunted, hips bucking into your ass. 

“Promise,” Robby echoed. 

“Okay, okay,” you said. “I was also telling the truth when I said that I loved you both. Just wanting to make it clear that this goes both ways.” 

“Good,” Jack said as he placed two hands on both sides of your hips. “Now, flip on your front. I wanna feel your cunt cum on my cock again.” 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · 

Night was not the best place to be hanging around a parking lot in the middle of Pittsburgh. Unfortunately for Brendon Park, he found himself doing just that around an hour after his shift ended at 9 pm, eyes narrowed at his slashed tires on his brand new Porsche. Someone had done this, and all he needed to do was wait for the stupid tow truck and security officer to come help him out. He could have left it for the morning and gotten an uber, but Park was a proud man. 

And yet, what did they say about pride? It commeth before the downfall. 

He was so busy huffing and puffing while stalking back and forth along his car that he failed to hear the twin footsteps rapidly approaching behind him. He didn’t even know he wasn’t alone until a white-hot pain in his side froze him in his tracks. His torso twisted, but that just dug the scalpel in deeper. He stumbled to get away, but all he was met with was another parallel stab to his other side. 

Automatically, Park applied pressure over the blood already soaking through his scrub top. He looked down and hissed before looking for his assailant. He squinted into the dark, and his breath hitched when twin robed figures stepped out into the small bit of light coming from a close to burning out lamp. It was almost like the two were from a slasher movie in the 90s with their hollowed-eyed halloween masks and glittering robes that donned their bodies, keeping Park from knowing who had just stabbed him twice. 

“What the fuck?” he hissed as he backed up into his Porsche’s driver door, hand trying to grip the handle but failing because of his blood’s slickness. “I’ll give you money or whatever the fuck you want but stay right over there or I swear I’ll call the cops.” 

One of them tilted his head, and Park felt the dead eyes stare right through his soul. 

He watched as the other—the taller one—raised a box to where his mouth would be behind the mask. 

“You wanna know what we want, Brendon Park?” he asked, voice distorted through the modulator. 

“I’ll give it to you,” Park grunted, the pain blooming up his sides and into his chest. They must have hit one of his kidneys and possibly an organ with how fast the anguish was spreading, making it hard to breathe in and out. 

The taller looked down at the shorter, and their eyes met before they nodded. Park’s eyes widened when they both produced longer knives than the shorter ones they stabbed him with. The modulator rose again, and what he said next sent a chill right through Park’s stomach. 

“We want to see what your insides look like.” 

Without a beat, the two robed figures pounced on him, and in just a few minutes, Park slunked down to the concrete, leaving a painted bloodied smear across his car’s door. With satisfaction pumping through their veins, the two watched as he took his last wheezing breath before dying in a puddle consisting of almost all his blood. His body wouldn’t be found until the morning with stab wounds littering his body. His fault for parking away from everyone else in fear of his car getting scratched. 

Only when the two were sure they were the only breathing beings in the lot, they ripped off the masks, and Jack huffed loudly. 

“Murder was so much easier in med school when I wasn’t missing a fucking leg,” he grumbled while shifting his weight onto his real leg. He ran a hand through his sweat-soaked salt-and-pepper curls.

“Tell me about it,” Robby answered. “If he were any shorter, my knees would have given out if I had to bend down.” He kicked at Park’s leg and smirked when the body recoiled slightly. “But man did that feel good.” 

“I’m kinda glad he decided to go off on her. Last mistake he’d ever make, but nothing beats the rush of this.” 

The memory of Park berating you in the middle of their ER flashed through their minds. They'd seen the way you flinched under his words in a way they hadn't seen in decades. They'd wanted to kill him right then and their, but Robby and Jack weren't ones to break their promises, however, the next time all three of you had the day off, you told them what you wanted between moans as Robby sandwiched you between his and Jack's chest.

"I want him gone," you had whimpered out, forehead pressing into Jack's collar bone while Robby rocked you back and forth on his cock.

"Want who gone, sweets?" Jack questioned before grunting loudly when his tip notched against your clit.

"Park—shit—I want him gone."

You wanted them to kill Park, and they were never ones to disappoint.

Robby went to say something, but the shrill of his iPhone had him digging and floundering through the drapes of robes. When he managed to bunch the fabric, he reached into his pocket and took out his phone, answering it without a second glance. 

“Hello? Michael Robinavitch speaking.” 

“Do you want to play a game?” a voice answered from the speaker, and the two glanced at each other with devilish, knowing smiles. 

“Depends on what type of game it is, sweetheart,” Jack responded, crossing his arms against his chest. 

“I wanna know how much it’ll take to make you two scream.” Your small laugh followed, you not being able to take this as seriously as the two had back in school. 

Robby brought his phone up closer to his mouth. “I don’t know the exact answer, but I think you can start with being naked and face down on the bed by the time we get back.” 

“I think that can be arranged. Get home soon, or I might have to play the game myself.”