✧･ﾟPisces Baby ✧･ﾟ

so why does a shiver run down his spine when he pushes into the yard and is immediately greeted by a sticky sweet, "hi, uncle pope!"

you hop off the lounger, your tiny string bikini hanging on for dear life, and wrap him in a hug. you must've been in the pool recently because your swimsuit leaves wet patches on his tee.

he knows he's fucked when you just giggle, "oops, guess you'll have to take that off to let it dry" with a shit-eating grin on your lips.

pope rolls his eyes but strips off his shirt anyway because it absolutely strokes his ego when you ogle his sculpted chest. he carefully studies your expression before asking, "what are you doing here, princess? I thought you'd be somewhere fun on spring break with all your friends."

"this is my 'somewhere fun,'" you reply, all sing-songy. you rake your nails lightly down his chest, obsessed with the way he shivers under your touch, and ask, "like my new manicure?"

"pretty," he replies gruffly, taking your hand in his and examining the array of pastels. "i pay for that?"

"of course," you lilt back. pope had given you one of his credit cards a few months ago when you showed up at the cody house needing somewhere to go. he didn't want you getting caught up pulling jobs for smurf for spending money. then you gesture down to your feet and say, all teasing because you know, "you paid for the matching pedicure, too."

you've caught him a thousand times staring at your cute feet. you're not ashamed that you get massages and pedicures with lotion and smoothing procedures, the works. not when you catch him looking as he swims laps or mows the lawn. you've definitely noticed the bulge that grows in his shorts when you apply sunscreen to the tops of your feet, sure to get it over and between your toes for the sake of thoroughness -- and definitely not just to put on a show for him.

pope smirks at you and pushes you back on the lounger. he sits on the end of it and tugs your foot into his lap. his hands greedily wrap around your right foot so he can really take in the cute colors on each of your toes, thumbs working into the arch just to hear you moan softly under your breath when he hits the tense muscle just right. wIth you getting pliant beneath his hands, pope purrs, "i'm definitely a fan."

he watches your eyes darken in real time, your breaths deepening, as he lifts your foot toward his face, nuzzling your smooth skin with his cheek. "yeah?"

"mhmm," he murmurs as he suddenly licks a broad stripe up the arch, making you gasp and squirm. it's just the right mix of ticklish and surprising to have you wanting more. his right hand travels down your leg from your ankle, brushing over your calf and meandering up your thigh until he reaches the center of your swimsuit bottoms. he can feel the warmth of your wanting pussy before he even slides the fabric to the side and presses his thumb to your clit. "y'know, you really shouldn't wear something this small out here. anyone could see you over the fence."

grin only growing, you remind him, "which means anyone could see my uncle fingering me and getting off because of my feet, you fucking pervert."

"that's right," he replies. absolutely delighted, he pushes two of his fingers slowly inside of you, thrilled beyond belief by how wet you get at the idea of being caught in a position like this. "you just relax and let uncle pope worry about that."

you lean back a bit more, sliding down the lounger, so you can spread your legs and wider and give him better access. when your cunt greedily sucks in his fingers, he twists his wrist so he can apply more pressure to your clit, chasing your pleasure with small circles. at the same time, he wraps his lips around your big toe and sucks it into his mouth. he can still taste some chlorine from the pool, but he just can't bring himself to care as his dick hardens in response.

pope's reaching a state of total bliss when you reach down and slip your hand beneath his basketball shorts to jerk his cock. it's a little clumsy in this position, but anything could get him off right now as he tongues between your toes, going between sucking and nibbling them and just burnishing his face with the arch of your foot. it's nirvana for him. with your pussy drenching his fingers while he sucks your digits like a baby bottle, he ruts up into your hand and whines and gets increasingly desperate. you're obsessed with the sight of him so damn whipped.

so obssed that your walls start to clench down around him, thighs trembling as your moans go high and fast and stupid. you're losing control of your hand around his cock as the pleasure takes over, so pope holds it down with his free hand, fucking your fist with snapping hips.

your toes curl against his tongue when you cum and that's enough to send him over the edge, too. you try to wriggle away as overstimulation makes you sniffle and cry, but andrew pushes his arm forward with you, fingers pumping and curling until his own release is finished, too.

your leg, exhausted, falls into his lap as you both relax into panting breaths. he growls something like "good girl" and you give a placid smile and nod.

"I'm moving you in with me," he announces sternly as you wipe his cum on your nearby towel. "fucking hate that I can only have you when i'm over here."

"what do I get out of it?"

"literally anything, I swear to god."

pope cody was not difficult to please during sex. whatever you liked, he liked too. it was rare for him to ever discover any kinks on his own. but right now, you're splayed out in bed with him. back pressed to his chest as he sat up against the headboard, your feet placed on his knees as he's knuckle-deep in your aching cunt. his chin rests on your shoulder as you two are watching porn on your laptop together, which is conveniently sitting right between your legs. it wasn't one of those stupidly overdone professionally-filmed videos either, it looked like it had been recorded on someone's phone. you were almost in a trance between how hot the video was and the way pope's fingers stretched you out deliciously. soft moans were pouring from your swollen lips, plump and red from making out with your boyfriend every five seconds. this time as you turn your head to kiss him again, your eyes meet his. "i need more, daddy." you mumble against his lips. after hearing it so much in the video, you couldn't help but want to say it to him and see how he'd react.

he pauses for a moment, pulling back just enough to see the need in your gaze. you're confused as to why he pulled away, the frown forming rather quickly on your face. that's when you feel something warm against your back. you'd felt his erection against you since before the video had even started, but this… this could only mean one thing. you pull back now, taking in the grimace on his face as a startled groan escapes his lips. "did you just-" you face forward to pause the video, shutting the laptop and sliding it off the bed. it landed on the floor with a soft thump, something you could worry about later. pope feels himself starting to panic, thinking that you were upset with him for coming too early again. instead, he's met with your curious gaze as you turn around to face him completely. you sit back on your heels between his legs, eyes traveling to the large wet spot in his gray boxers. 

"did i do this to you?" your tone was teasing, running a fingertip over the wet spot. his hips jerk upward in response. "you made a mess, daddy." you lean closer, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. he practically whines when you don't give him anything else. "stop…" he croaks, grabbing your waist, fingertips digging into your skin. "you don't like it?" your pout made him shake his head furiously. "n-no… i like it." he pleads, pulling you closer. you relent, straddling his lap. you intentionally plop yourself down on his bulge. you grind against him, watching as his jaw hangs open. "i'll put it in for you." he pants, warm breath ghosting over your lips. "you're so good to me." you hum, lifting your hips up as he shoves his boxers down far enough for his cock to spring free.

"you gonna- take daddy's cock?" the words don't come out as smoothly as he'd hoped, but that only made it more attractive to you. "yes, please." you smile, capturing his lips in a searing kiss. he lines himself up with your entrance, easing you down on his messy cock while simultaneously licking into your mouth. "you're so big, daddy." you moan in his ear, burying your face in his shoulder as you start to bounce on him like your life depended on it. he's grabbing handfuls of your ass, forcing you to take him deeper with every thrust. the overstimulation had him whimpering endlessly, but he wasn't going to stop until you came. his lips start attacking your neck, the vibrations of his moans traveling right down to the heat in your core. you grab him by the jaw, tongue invading his mouth as you felt yourself getting closer to the edge.

"come on daddy's cock… please, fuck-" he mutters against your mouth, tongue tracing over any inch of skin that was close by. "oh god, 'm so close, daddy." you cry out, forehead resting against his. it was impossible to kiss him at this point as you were just too fucked out. that didn't stop him from kissing at the corners of your mouth, holding you close as he feels himself ready to come for the second time. "y-you'll fill me up, right?" you pleaded, fingernails digging into his shoulders. "yeah… gonna stuff you full, princess." he grunts in response, staring into your eyes as you fall apart around him. he slides his hand down between the two of you, rubbing your clit firmly. he can feel your walls flutter around him as your orgasm comes crashing over you. "'m coming, daddy!" your cries fill the room as you crumble in his arms.

"look so pretty, baby." he murmurs into your hair, rubbing his hand up and down your back as you come down from the high. although, he stiffens a bit at the sound of your chuckle, looking at you with confusion when he sees the giddy smile on your face. "what's so funny?" he faltered. "didn't realize you liked being called daddy so much." you cup his face in your hands, taking in the adorably flustered look on his face. "i like anything you say." he tries to play it off, but you knew that this one in particular affected him more than usual. "mhm, i bet you do." you kiss his cheek, running a hand through his unruly auburn curls.

alex's thoughts 𓈒∘☁︎: yum yum yum yummmmm :D

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His knees were bloody from kneeling, he’s dragged himself into the church, scrapping off layers of skin as repentance, the sins that littered through his life would surely cast him to hell. He couldn’t stop crying, it was hurting his chest, his irregular breathing made his head feel light and dizzy. What penance would he be given for his life’s sins? 

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Andrew shifted from one leg to the other, resting his hands against the ambo as his eyes glanced down at the text splayed out in front of him. He thought for a moment, contemplating the words of the gospel while his parishioners watched on eagerly. Andrew had been doing this for five years, daily masses in front of sometimes hundreds of people and yet he still found himself stuck for words when it came to sermons. His stomach twisted and turned, his back felt warm and sweaty, and yet his face remained stoic. 

“When sin presents itself to us, it’s appealing, almost enticing.” He furrowed his brows, clearing his throat before continuing. “It is more important now than ever to prioritise ourselves and our minds. Turning away from God can sometimes feel like the easier option, it lets us feel in control. Admitting to God that you feel the pull toward sin is hard but he urges us to be vulnerable.”

“In your daily lives, you’ll find yourself collecting emotions, stuffing them all into a box within your soul. You’ll find yourself feeling many things in a day, happy for a moment, then disappointed, or angry. At the end of the day, those sentiments linger. They cause you to sit with yourself and replay the worst parts out in your head, figuring out how you could’ve done it better. It is easy then to decide to turn to sin in that moment, to lash out on the ones we love or to harm ourselves with the little sins. I beg you all to seek God in those moments, close your eyes and speak with him because he is always listening, always caring and always forgiving.”

He stared out at his parishioners and there you were. Tears spilling down your cheeks as you stared up at him, fingers fiddling with the rosary beads on your lap. You weren’t the only one to feel his words so deeply but he seemed to only notice you. 

You had been showing up the past few weeks, attending every evening mass without fail and he remembered you because you were the newest face and possibly the prettiest. You’d sit in the front row, wearing a white mantilla over your head, with your hands constantly clasped in prayer. He’d always watched, hating himself so much that you caught his eye during every mass. 

Andrew felt the pit in his stomach deepen. He opened his mouth to speak, eyes never leaving you and your pretty face, all red from crying. Rubbing his jaw, he looked down at the lectionary. 

“I am also here every day. You don’t need an appointment, I’m always around.” His mouth curved slightly into an awkward smile before dropping again. He avoided your gaze and continued with mass, diligently leading everyone in prayer while his mind seemed to hold focus onto you. 

He continued with the service, struggling with his inner thoughts, mind almost blank until he was standing at the front of the altar, with communion. 

You stepped forward, hands clasped tightly in front of you, almost as if still in prayer. He took a second to take you in, you were sin itself. Enticing enough to cause him to stare. 

“The body of Christ.” He muttered, holding up the small white wafer. 

“Amen.” You replied back, opening your mouth and slightly sticking your tongue out.

He felt his body tingle, his mind faltering as he placed the wafer on your tongue. He swallowed hard, watching as you politely smiled at him. 

“Thank you, father.” You whispered so quietly it was almost hard to catch, before blessing yourself and turning back to your seat. 

He believed you had been sent to test him, to see if he really was devoted to God. As he grew more interested in you, he knew that he was defying God. Mass came to a close and the choir had begun to sing their closing hymn, but Andrew could barely focus on anything but you. How you sat so pretty in the pews, your soft skin, your veil, you were angelic for him.

- 

Exiting through the front of the church, he stayed around for a bit, making himself available to his usuals. He had spotted you, standing alone and staring up at the church spire, in a solemn state. He thought about approaching you but his body went still, and he thought it best not to.

An hour had passed and yet you still lingered around, aimlessly wandering through the adjacent graveyard, stopping by each headstone to read the names carefully. Andrew had finally decided to see if you were okay. 

“Miss?” He called out, walking closer to you. 

“Oh!” You jumped, hands covering your mouth as you looked at him. “Oh, I’m sorry, you scared me, Father.”

“Ah… I’m really sorry.” He wrung his hands together, mouth almost twitching as his eyes looked everywhere but at you. “You’ve been out here for a while. I just wanted to check and make sure you were alright. I noticed you during the gospels... I mean you …uh seemed to connect with them.”

“Oh… yea, they were really insightful Father. I’ve been having a bit of a tough time with my faith but your words were… inspirational.” A sweet smile pulled across your lips, cheeks warming from the interaction. “I was wondering if maybe you had time during the week for confessions or maybe even counselling? You seem like you know exactly what to say.”

He thought he was beginning to admire your devotion but if he was honest, he could hardly look past how beautiful you were.

“I’m always here, come in whenever you’re free and I’ll make time.” He didn’t smile, or reveal any pleasure in his cadence. He didn’t know how to without coming off as disingenuous so his eyes softened as he stared at you.

Your eyes glanced down and spotted the time on your watch. “Oh, I’d best go, thank you for checking up on me Father. I’ll see you at tomorrow’s mass and I’ll make time during the week for a chat!” 

Andrew watched you walk away, before returning home himself. 

Once he’d entered his bedroom, his mind wandered back to you. How you spoke to him, smiled after each sentence and how you said you wanted to see him again, on a more private level. A warmth had begun to radiate his body and before he knew it, he was aroused. His cock strained against his trousers, hot as it throbbed. Dread washed over his entire body as he touched his bulge, almost in shock. 

“No…” He whispered to himself, his own sexuality making him feel sick. He felt disgusting, the way his stomach hurt, his cock already aching to be touched. The mere thought of you was enough. “Forgive me, lord.”

In the corner of his eye, a long mirror leaned against the wall. Turning to face it, he stared at himself and slowly unbuttoned his jeans. The guilt racked him but he still pulled out his throbbing dick and held it firmly in his hand. The mere action of touching it made him buck his hips forward. His immortal soul would hold this sin longer than anyone would remember it but he needed release. Andrew had never been keen on masturbation, thought it something akin to what demons do, it wasn’t morally right but the way his fingers felt on his flesh, it was almost euphoric. He rubbed over the tip gently, letting out a breathy sigh as he watched himself in the mirror. He gently brushed his fingers along his length, shuddering as the feeling washed over his body, his balls tightening. When he closed his eyes, he saw you. 

“Forgive me.” He inaudibly mouthed, stroking it slowly. He swiped his tongue along his bottom lip, pulling it between his lips. He bit down so hard, he felt blood rushing to the surface. His eyes dared not leave the mirror, even as he pumped harder, precum oozing from his slit. Using his thumb, he smeared it over his tip, fucking his hand harder with your pretty face burned into his mind. 

His stomach flexed, biceps tensed as he worked himself harder and faster. He gasped out a whine. “Oh f-fuck, oh my god, fuck.”

Then the image of you at communion spilled into his mind, your mouth open waiting for his cock, your lips wet and your- 

“Sh-shit. Fuck.” He moaned pathetically, his cum squirting onto the mirror. “Oh my god.”

A heavy downpour of fear washed over him, the sinking feeling of reality slamming down as he came down from his high. His breath had been knocked out of his lungs, his chest heaving almost as he tried to collect himself. For a moment, he had forgotten it was sin.  

He rushed to his bed, kneeling beside it with his trousers and underwear around his ankles. 

“Forgive my sins, O my god, forgive my sins,” He whispered quickly, hands clasped and his eyes squeezed tight. “The sins of youth, the sins of age, the sins of my soul, the sins which through fragility, I have committed.”

His throat felt tight, tears threatening to spill as he choked out, “My deliberate and grievous sins, the sins I know and the sins I do not know.” Sobs racked through his body; the weight of God’s judgement had now lay on his head. He wept hard, incoherent mumbles of what he thought were prayers filled the room. He felt pathetic, falling for the devil’s tricks and taunts. As he lifted his rosary beads that hung from the end of his bed, he remembered you, holding onto yours so tightly as you watched him. His weeping cock stiffened again, and Andrew didn’t stop his hand when it reached for his flesh.

The next morning, you came to see him. He guided you into a counselling room he had recently set up for his other parishioners. You were both sitting in silence; he had patiently waited for you to start but your eyes stayed fixed on the cross on the wall behind his head. 

“God, hear your child.” He whispered, straightening his posture and resting his hands on his knees. 

You cleared your throat, picking at your nails. “I have been struggling with my faith, and if I am truly faithful to God. The church has never been kind to women or children so I have never felt comfortable in God’s love.”

Andrew simply nodded his head, watching you intently, analysing your face and how it flinched when he nudged himself forward on his chair. 

“You are not alone, many struggle with God, it is a personal fight. I have experienced a struggle with God, my childhood wasn’t easy. I felt God had turned his back on me, had pushed me aside.” He admitted, his body shifting, back relaxing slightly, hands reaching up to rub his face. 

You couldn’t help but stare at him, his hands, his freckled nose, his auburn curls and how they wisped around his ears. “Father, how should I get closer to God?”

“You are doing enough already.” He didn’t smile but his eyes softened. You had never seen him smile before, he was a very stoic man but to see how he looked at you, you felt something dancing over your skin.  

“You do know you’re quite handsome for a priest?” You smiled at him. “Sorry, I just had to tell you.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” He froze, eyes slightly wide.

“Like, you’re really handsome. It’s a compliment, take it.” You shrugged, smile widening as you picked at the lint on your sleeve.

“Well, uh… thank you. You’re really pretty.” He stuttered out, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck, eyes averting from you. 

There’s was a long silence, before you stood up, “I gotta go”

“Let me walk you out.”

You both walked to the door in total silence. Andrew, from behind you, leaned over to open it, his face suddenly very closer to yours. You stared at one another, feeling the heat and the pull, the sound of your own heartbeats pounding in your chest. It was stupid, completely mindless but you leaned up, kissing him. He flinched back but didn’t break way, slowly melting into your mouth. It was gentle, soft as your hands held his face, fingers feeling the stubble on his chin. His tongue slowly slipped into your mouth while his arms wrapped around you. It was foolish but you both were so consumed by it, you didn’t know how to stop. He pressed you against the door, his knee nudging your legs open. Your mind felt like it could’ve exploded, swimming with reasons why this was a terrible idea, why you should stop but Andrew decided for you, pulling away and shaking his head. You didn’t give him a chance to speak, quickly leaving the room and rushing out of the church.

The days that followed were difficult for him. You would show up to every evening mass and he would end his day masturbating, three or four times to the image of you that he had held in his mind. Every day, he had waited to see you in the pews, his gaze never breaking from you. He had grown to enjoy seeing you kneel in prayer, his mind would drift to seeing you knelt in front of him. He’d thought about you pawing at his crotch, begging to suck his dick but he would never let you but the mere idea of you wanting it, made him hard. It was an endless cycle of masturbation and prayer until you showed up again. 

It was a few days later and you had asked for confessions, pleaded actually for Andrew to take away your sins that weighted you down. He led you to the same room, suggesting he leave the door open, but you asked it to be closed, wanting your sins to remain between you and him.

“Bless me father for I have sinned,” You started, your body almost tingling. “it’s been almost three months since my last confession.”

He just stared, rigid and cold as he calculated you. He watched as your fingers splayed on your thighs, how your tongue swiped across your bottom lip. You moved closer, your knee touching his. He was almost afraid of you because of how attracted to you he was.

“Can God forgive all sins?” You whispered. “Father?”

He let out a breathy sigh, his hands shaking as they clenched into fists. “Y-yes. He is all loving; he can forgive whatever sins you tell him.” 

“It must be difficult.” You switched the topic, startling Andrew and yourself. You lifted your head to look at him, tilting it almost teasingly without intent. “I keep thinking about how we left things the other day-”

“N-no.” He stuttered, clearing his throat. He abruptly sobered, resorting to a sterner tone. “No.” 

“Can God forgive the sins you have committed?” Your eyes wandered down to the growing bulge in his trousers.

“I haven’t committed any sins.” He responded gruffly, feeling almost enraged by your accusations. 

You couldn’t help but smile. He had shown himself guilty, allowed his wants and desire to show plainly. You could tell he wanted you, the way his eyes had already darkened, his jaw set firm. You had been watching him too, you were the one who came to his parish, lingering in the graveyards, you had come to this church for answers, only to be confronted with profound sexual desire in the form of a man you could never have. You couldn’t blame anyone but yourself, you were the one who kissed him first. 

“If, by chance, God turned a blind eye, what would you do then father?” You slowly stood from your chair, gathered yourself and walked to the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You had a grip of the door handle before deciding to look back at him one last time, and that was all he needed. Andrew got to his feet rashly, making a charge for you like an angered bull, hands grabbing for your face as he inhaled your lips, kissing you rough and hard. Everything that he’d pent up inside him was spilling out into you, his skin was hot and his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted you here and now, and he didn’t care what you said. He kissed you like you were a life force, drawing power from you, growing more and more frantic.

“Father.” You managed to mutter against his lips, his tongue filling your mouth, all wet and messy. His hands slid down your body, moving to grip your ass as you both stumbled backwards against the door. 

“Forgive me.” He whispered as his lips moved to your neck and chest, kissing like he was starving for you then he abruptly stopped, looking at you with his big green eyes, all glassy like he’d wanted to cry. His lips were almost swollen, and glistening with saliva. His eyes stared into yours, even as he lowered onto his knees. “Forgive me please. Forgive me.” 

“Father-“ 

“Andrew… call me Andrew please.” He leaned in closer to you, whispering as his nose nuzzled your crotch through your dress. “Can I please?”

“Andrew…” you cooed, your fingers sinking into his curls as his hands held your calves, looking up at you with bated breath. 

“Please, forgive me…” He whimpered, pressing open mouth kisses over the fabric. “I’m sorry.”

You held your breath, as he pathetically rubbed his face between your legs. You could feel yourself growing wetter, he could probably feel it seeping through. You wanted to say yes but the fear had already overridden pleasure. 

“W-We shouldn’t.” You gently tugged his hair, wanting him to pull back, wanting this to be over. 

“Please,” He looked up at you, one hand sliding up the inside of your leg while the other palmed at his erection over his trousers. His fingers brushed over your soaked clothed pussy. “You want it, I can feel it. Let me give this to you.”

You had no time to contemplate, he’d already ducked under your dress, licking along your thighs until he met with your aching core. His delicate touch guided your leg over his shoulder, bunching your skirt, your hips bucking toward him, as he slowly pulled down your underwear, revealing your glistening cunt. Hesitantly, he lapped up your juices, letting his tongue lay flat against your folds. 

“Lord, listen to my prayer,” He mumbled into you, his tongue gently licking until he reached your clit. “Forgive all my sins.”

“Oh god-” You gasped, one hand holding his head in place while you covered your mouth with the other, holding back moans as his lips and tongue overwhelmed you.

He sucked on your clit, losing himself in how good you tasted. “Renew your love in my heart-” He continued, slurping as his tongue sunk into your entrance. The light dusting of stubble on his chin brushed against you, the friction making your vision fuzz.

“I don’t wanna cum.” You panted but Andrew didn’t let up, even as you tried to wriggle out of his grasp. “Andrew please, I don’t wanna- “

“I need it.” He gasped out. “Give it to me please baby.”

“P-please!” You yelped as he sucked harder, a mix of your slick and his saliva trickling down your thighs. He groaned into you as you felt the steady incline. “Please…”

He slowly inserted two fingers, curling them slightly as an ache filled your stomach, your walls clenching around his digits. He sucked you and finger fucked you until your legs felt weak, until your mind went fuzzy and your skin tingled. 

“Oh f-fuck Andrew.” You pushed against his face with your last morsel of energy, enough to push you over the edge. Your head fell back against the door, hand clamped over your mouth as you grinded against his open mouth, riding out your orgasm while he drank every last drop from you. 

“Oh, yes.” Andrew grunted, licking you clean. 

You were breathless, chest heaving as Andrew slowly let your leg down, coming back from under your dress to stare up at you, face soaked with doe-like eyes of awe. 

“Can I fuck you now please?” He breathed out, still rubbing himself for some relief. 

You opened your mouth and then shook your head. “No, w-we can’t Andrew.”

“Wh-Why not? Was it not good?” He pushed himself back onto his feet, standing once again. He wiped his mouth and chin with the back of his hand, smearing your cum all over his pretty face. “I thought you enjoyed it.”

“I-I did, of course I did.” You stuttered, panicked almost that you’d hurt his feelings but the cross around your neck felt like it was searing into your skin. The silence was sickening so you stepped forward, lifted your hand to his cheek. It was a bad idea, more so when you decided to kiss him one last time, pressing your soft lips to his. “It… it just isn’t right.”

His eyes that were once filled with an unending lust, a hot uncontrollable passion, were now vacant, almost disorientated. 

“But did I make you feel good? I don’t understand.” He furrowed his brow, shaking his head. 

“You did, I promise...”

“Sometimes I don’t know if God sent you or if it was Satan...”

“Andrew-”

“I’ve turned my back on God, in the hopes to satiate my sexual hunger but it never ends. I wake up and think about you, and I remember my role in this church and I can’t do it anymore. You kissed me that night, I could’ve lived without knowing what you tasted like but you kissed me, and now… I… I can’t live. You come back today, taunting me about… fuck.” His voice broke, eyes welling up with tears as he stared at you. 

You stood, your mouth open like you wanted to say something, like you wanted to make it better for him but you couldn’t. There came a lingering silence, one that made your head pound. Andrew had retreated back into himself, his eyes stayed fixed on the ground. You hesitantly pressed another kiss to the corner of his mouth, wanting him to know that you really wish you could. He didn’t react so you kissed him again and again and you kept kissing him, soft, slow, attentive kisses, around and on his lips until his hands hesitantly held your hips and his eyes fluttered closed. Your lips met his again and he reciprocated, pulling your body closer to his. Each movement felt fluid, like it was supposed to happen this way. Fear and affection, worry and sexuality, all mixing together to reveal something so patient and innocent. You couldn’t stop, even as his tongue slipped into your mouth, sweeping against yours, his moans filling you. 

Neither you or Andrew spoke a word, your lips melting into each other like it was meant to be this way. His hands tickled as they ran up your arms and you broke into a smile, giggling against his lips while his palms held either side of your face. 

You broke away, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. His eyelids were heavy, pupils blown out as this thumb ran across your bottom lip. 

“Can I take my clothes off?” He whispered, messily kissing you. “Please… please.”

“Yea, take ‘em off Andrew…” You nodded your head slowly. 

He slowly stepped back, unbuttoning his clerical shirt with one hand while the other rubbed his cock through his trousers. He was utterly dishevelled, cheeks flushed, hair messy and breath unsteady.

“You’re so...” He muttered, untucking his shirt and pulling it off. “So fucking pretty.”

“Father Cody?” A distant call echoed through the hall.

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part two

tag list <3 (pls let me know if you’d rather only be tagged in certain works aka whitaker etc)

@b3rriesyrup

@pansies-garden

@st4rryskk1es

@beths-shoelaces

There were only two things he wanted in life: you and a baby. 

Maybe multiple babies, but everyone had to start somewhere. And Pope wanted to get started now. But you kept waffling, saying “I don’t know” and “maybe next year.” You’d told him next year about three years ago, and he was done waiting.

Lucky for him, you weren’t on any birth control. That had partially been his doing. You’d complained about side effects from your IUD, so Pope had suggested that you get rid of it, that he didn’t mind wearing condoms if it meant you were more comfortable. And you trusted him wholeheartedly. You’d never have guessed he had ulterior motives.

So here he was now, taking a thumb tack to every single condom you kept in your night stand drawer. He was methodical, poking five holes in each. Pope didn’t want them to break, though, that would alarm you and then he’d have to get Plan B. He wanted them to stay intact, but give just enough room for some of his little swimmers to leak out into you.

By the time he had finished, he only had a few minutes before you were due to arrive home from work, so he settled back on the bed to wait.

That was how you found him, sitting with his back against the headboard, hands folded in his lap and eyes locked on the door.

“Andy,” you set your purse on the dresser, smiling at him as you walked over to give him a kiss. “How was your day?”

Before you could peck him and move on, Pope was grabbing you by the hips and dragging you into his lap. You squeaked against his lips in surprise, laughing as you relaxed in his hold. His hands roamed over you, moving from your tits to your hips to your ass, like he couldn’t figure out what he wanted to grope.

“Miss me?” You were grinning ear to ear as you finally freed your mouth from his, but Pope didn’t stop, dropping his head to kiss and suck at your neck and using his hold on you to rock your core over his. You could feel how hard he was growing already.

Pope had been half hard since he began sabotaging your contraceptives, but seeing you waltz in none the wiser had all of his blood rushing south.

“Need you,” he grunted. Momentarily, he stopped painting your neck in bruises and bites to pull your shirt up and over your head. He quickly popped your bra clasp open after, dragging it down your arms and throwing it across the room.

“You can have me,” your hands dropped down between your bodies, yanking and unbuckling his belt to get his jeans open as fast as possible. “Been thinking about you all day.”

“Yeah?” Pope looked up at you with wide eyes as he guided you up onto your knees to remove your shorts and underwear. Once he had them gone, it struck you that he was still nearly fully clothed, his pants pulled just far down enough to free his length while you were naked. A shiver ran up your spine. Something about your states of undress were much more attractive than it should be.

“Yeah, Andy,” your fingers came to wrap around his cock, stroking over him slowly. Your fingers swiped through the precum leaking from his head. Holding eye contact with him, you brought those fingers to your lips, licking the salty fluid off of them.

Pope groaned before he was frantically yanking your nightstand drawer open and grabbing a condom. You’d seen him put on a condom a million times before, so while he went through the motions, you took your turn to leave your mark on his neck. Working the skin between your teeth, you drunk in every little groan and gasp that came from him as he working the latex down over his length.

You’d been planning on riding him, but before you could pull back and sink down, Pope was lifting you up and off of him, manipulating your body to land face down on the bed.

“Andrew-”

“Want you like this,” his body laid over yours, pressing you down into the mattress before you could push up or protest. His cockhead was running through your folds, trying to catch and push into your hole, but he kept missing. Pope grumbled in frustration, and then his weight shifted off your back.

You looked over your shoulder to find out exactly what he was doing, but you quickly found out when he was jerking your hips up, folding a pilow and propping your hips up on it. His body was back over you once he had you exactly how he wanted.

“Oh fuck-” his head dropped to your shoulder as he finally sank into you. He swore he could feel your wetness on the little bits of skin exposed by the microscopic holes. It was incredible. He’d truly mourned not being able to fuck raw after you’d had your IUD removed, but he knew he’d be able to again once he finally got you pregnant. “Feels good.”

Pope couldn’t help himself. His hips jerked and ground into you, chasing his own pleasure. He needed to cum in you now. He’d give you as many orgasms as you wanted once he was done, but right now his sole focus was finishing as deep inside you as he could. 

“Fuck, Andy,” you were whining and pushing back against each movement he made. He felt so good deep inside you.

Pope’s thrusting picked up in pace. He was already embarrassingly close. You were so warm and tight and perfect around him. He just couldn’t help himself. His pace stuttered, hips slamming into your ass as he pressed as deep inside you as he could get. 

Pope was used to the sensation of his cum filling up a condom, how the warm heat would spread down his shaft as emptied himself into it. This was different. He could still feel some of that wet heat trapped in the latex, but it was not nearly as much as before. As far as he could tell, his plan had worked perfectly.

He waited until the aftershocks were done and every drop had been wrung out of him by your walls before he pulled out. You hadn’t finished, and he felt guilty, but he also needed to cover his tracks, at least until those two pink lines showed up.

Thankfully, when his cock emerged from your cunt, the holes he’d pricked in it were more visible, but he was pleasantly surprised to see that it had overall held its shape without tearing but had let almost all of his release flood your depth.

He quickly stripped the condom off and threw it in the trashcan beside the bed before he was yanking your hips up.

You squeaked in shock as Pope pulled you up onto your knees. He could see some of his milky white release starting to drip from you. He couldn’t let you see that.

So he buried his face in your cunt. His tongue licked from your clit to your ass, cleaning up any trace of his cum that leaked out of you. It hurt his soul to not push that precious fluid deep inside you, but he had no choice for now.

He focused his efforts on your clit, trying to work you up to an orgasm as fast as possible. The foggier your senses were, the more likely he’d be able to get away with filling you once again, and his already hardening cock was aching for it again.

“Andrew! Fuck!” You were rocking back against his face, panting and moaning. 

Two of his fingers pushed into you, curling down to press into your g-spot as his lips circled your clit. He sucked the little bud into his mouth, flicking his tongue over it. Your thighs were shaking and you buried your face into the mattress as you cried out.

“Cum,” Pope growled, doubling his efforts and intensity. 

You came, fluid squirting out around his fingers as your walls spasmed and clenched around his fingers. He didn’t stop, fighting through your tightening insides and the tremors that wracked your body. You were whimpering, moaning his name, and reaching behind you to try and push him away when you started to come down.

“Oh my god,” he finally backed off, looking down at your slumped form as you tried to catch your breath. “Jesus Christ, Andrew.”

Pope leaned back to open the drawer again. You looked over your shoulder, expression incredulous as you watched him fish out a brand new condom. 

“Again!?” 

“Again.”

Pope was not going to stop until he got what he wanted.

taglist:

A girl your age doesn't know any better. Naive little thing. All you see is the handsome man that stands in front of you, who foots the bill when he takes you out to a nice restaurant or on a shopping spree. You see the way he stares down a guy who looks in your general direction a little too long and the way he walks just a step in front of you in a public setting, clearing a path of safety.

What young girl wouldn't want a man like that?

But what they don't see is the way you don't even flinch when you're riding shotgun in his truck and Andrew sets his pistol in your lap. They don't see the blade he'd bought for you—sharp and small, wedged right between your breasts every time you leave the house without him.

They don't see the way your skin prickles when he teaches you the proper way to shoot a gun, standing in front of the bathroom mirror, pointing the barrel at your reflection.

His hands are at your hips, thumbs resting at the elastic band of your pretty, red panties. Andrew's voice is low and slow in your ear. "Mm. Tuck your elbow in. Squeeze the handle a little harder. Yeah, there you go. Now put your finger on the trigger, baby. Just like that. And when you're ready, you just gotta pull it."

You breathe in slowly, and your finger presses down on the exhale.

The gun clicks.

"Yeah, that's it," he says, sliding his hands lower, beneath the crimson fabric. What he finds is unsurprising to him, of course. Arousal pooling between your thighs, your clit slick and swollen and desperate to be touched. He circles it slowly, tentatively, lovingly. "Again, sweetheart."

Andrew doesn't speak much on the rumors that go around about the two of you. He's sure even his brothers believe some of them.

It's to be expected, really, with that mousy demeanor of yours.

You put your hair up a different way one day and when Craig compliments you on it you get all shy, hiding behind Andrew's shoulder with your cheeks flaming.

He thinks it's real cute. The way you act all timid in front of them, murmuring a thank you with that soft voice of yours, unable to meet Craig's eyes all because he complimented you.

But only an hour later, Pope's undoing the clips in your hair while you look up at him from down on your knees, saying—begging, "Hit me."

And Pope does. Smacks you hard, one good time with his palm against your cheek. The sound is like lightning through the open air. He doesn't do it because he wants to, he does it because of that misty look in your eye, because of the way you moan at the impact.

Because of the way you look up at him through your lashes and smile real wide, giggles falling off your kiss-swollen lips, like there's no place you'd rather be.

He gives you just what you need, fucking your mouth until you're crying for it, burying himself at the back of your throat.

Each little gasp for air you make pushes him closer and closer to release, but what really does him in is the way your hand finds his thigh, tracing a little heart-shape into the denim of his jeans while you choke on his length.

Andrew finishes at the back of your mouth without warning, filling you until his release spills from the corners of your plush lips.

His cock still aches when he pulls himself out of you. Your pretty makeup that you spent all that time doing this morning runs down your cheeks now, and sticky webs of saliva and cum connect his cock to your tongue.

"You look so pretty, swallowing me down like that. My beautiful girl. Say it."

Your eyes are bloodshot and watery but filled with love as you look up at him. "I'm your beautiful girl," you say, smiling wide, sticking out your tongue to show him the mess he's made of you before swallowing hard.

"Yeah you are," he murmurs. "My sweetheart."

You've even got Smurf fooled.

They're having a family meeting one afternoon, planning out the details on how to rob a marijuana dispensary that pays its employees exclusively in cash.

While you're moving around easily in the kitchen, Smurf watches you from the living room with a drink in her hand.

Craig and Deran are bickering, trying to figure out a way to distract the night shift security guards that stand watch at the front entrance.

And then Smurf suddenly says, pointing with the rim of her crystal glass, "Her."

Pope shakes his head. "No. Not happening."

"Think about it," Smurf says. "You go in right as the last employee walks out. She walks up, begging to be let in, and says she'll pay extra. Girl like her? They won't expect anything. Just a pretty sweetheart looking to end her day with a little indica."

His brothers are quiet, looking between you and Pope, toeing the line of choice.

In the end, Andrew lets you choose. Makes it clear that if working a job with them makes you feel uncomfortable in any way, they'll figure something else out. He lays out the risks and the reward and reminds you to be honest about your feelings.

But you agree almost immediately and no amount of talking on Andrew's part sways you. It's over the moment you take his big hand, press his palm to your cheek and say, "I love you, Andrew. Even this part of you. Especially this part."

It melts his heart and fills him with this almost uncomfortable level of tenderness. He would kill for you, die for you—all to keep you here by his side.

The job goes perfectly. Andrew and his brothers are able to slip through the ceiling vents unseen, all because you're batting your eyelashes and making your shy little jokes to the guards out front.

They leave the warehouse with duffel bags full of cash and get away clean and undetected.

You're waiting three blocks away in Pope's truck, sitting casually behind the wheel, coating your lips in that pretty lipgloss while looking in the rearview mirror. But your phone is clutched tight in your hand waiting on a text of confirmation.

Pope makes Deran drop him off so he can set his eyes on you sooner rather than later.

And the moment you see him, your eyes light up in this way he knows all too well. Pope nods, adrenaline high as he lifts the clear plastic mask over his face just enough to set it on the top of his head. "We're good," he says.

The hesitant look on your face turns into a grin, soft giggles flitting off your tongue. You slide back across the cab to make room for Pope behind the wheel. You look past him, to Craig and Deran in the car with no plates full of stolen cash. "We'll see you at home," you tell them.

And maybe they don't understand at first, but Pope does. Of course he does—he can feel the way that wanting, lustful energy buzzes beneath your skin.

He puts the truck in drive and pulls out of the lot, but he doesn't make it two blocks before you're wrapping those sharp, painted nails around his bicep.

Pope just smiles as you kiss his shoulder repeatedly, nuzzling the cords of muscle through the fabric of his black hoodie. It seems like such an innocent, sweet touch. But he knows the truth—knows it's not only sweetness in your heart, it's hunger.

"Hang on, baby," he says, hand resting on the inside of your thigh, squeezing tightly. "Lemme pull over."

He finds a secluded alleyway that offers just enough darkness to remain undetected. And the minute he puts his truck in park, you're climbing into his lap.

Pope welcomes the taste of your hungry tongue. Lets you slide it into his mouth, over his teeth, licking and sucking like your life depends on it. He's already half hard in his jeans, but the second you tilt your hips, grinding yourself down against his bulge, he's done for.

"You look—god, you look so good," you whimper, hands around his neck. You don't squeeze, but rather just rest them there, thumbs feeling the quickening beat of his pulse through his jugular.

"Did such a great job today," Andrew says, fingers flexing hard around your hips. "My perfect girl. Such a sweetheart."

You whimper at the namesake, a term he'd coined just for you, his shy, gentle girl. "Andrew, please."

He knows what you're asking for. And who is he, after all, to deny a girl like you? Someone good and soft and so very desperate.

He reaches beneath you, between your legs to find the buckle of his belt. In one swift movement, he undoes it with a clink, and pushes his jeans and boxers down.

"Wait."

Andrew freezes.

At first he fears he might've done something wrong. Assumed wrong or maybe gone too far or pushed too hard. Like usual. Like usual.

His mind starts to spiral, because who could ever hurt you if not a monster? Sweet girl. Sweet heart.

He's a monster. He's a fucking—

And then you smile, and those invasive thoughts disappear as quickly as they'd manifested.

You bat your eyelashes at him with this innocent look on your face, and tug the plastic mask on the top of his head down.

Pope understands then. Of course he does—because you're his filthy, sweet girl. His.

Your clit pulses and he can feel it against his cock, even through the cotton barrier of your underwear.

Andrew tilts his head, watching you through slightly plastic-obstructed vision. He waits for you to move first.

And you do so by leaning forward and laying a wet, open-mouthed kiss against the mask, right over his lips.

It's the most erotic thing Pope has ever experienced.

Because he knows you want him—the awkward, quiet Andrew.

But right now, you're asking for a different version of him. A much more violent version of him; you want Pope.

The part that thieves and breaks and kills. The very worst of him. And not only do you want it, you're twitching for it. Breath coming out like a sigh, hands clutched tight, pussy aching for him.

And the realization—God. He could die. He could fucking die from how much he loves you.

He takes you right then and there. Pulls your underwear to the side beneath your skirt and sinks his cock into you in one hard, claiming thrust.

Pope holds your wrists together tightly behind your back and makes it hurt, because he knows good and well that's what you want. All the while your tongue laves against the plastic of his mask, breath fogging up the surface, a sick, perverted indulgence that drives him insane.

He circles your clit with his free hand, reveling in the way it throbs beneath his rough hands.

It doesn't take long. It never does. He feels the slick velvet of your center squeeze his cock like a vice. Pope doesn't let up, rubbing your clit until you lean back with your eyes squeezed tightly closed, chasing the release you've needed since the moment he'd asked you to help them on this job.

"Look at me," he demands. It's not a request but an order.

You do, mouth open to make room for the cute moans that echo in the cab of his truck. "I'm gonna—god, please please I'm gonna fucking cum—fuck—"

He doesn't say anything. Just tilts his head and watches you.

It hits a second later, and it's beautiful. The way you fall apart in his lap, thighs shaking, fingers flexing beneath his hold, fighting desperately to keep your brain tethered to the earth.

Andrew fucks you through it. Circles your clit until you're squeezing your thighs together, running from the sensitivity.

He finishes inside you a moment later, cock twitching as his orgasm settles low in his belly. And when he's finished, spasming with the aftershocks, you lift the plastic mask from his face and discard it on the floor of the passenger seat.

You smile and kiss him softly and say, "Let's go home. I'm hungry now."

Andrew knows the two of you will take one step into that house and they'll all know what you've gotten caught up doing. They'll see the mess of his curls and the flush on his face. They'll see your swollen lips and the spit drying at the corners and they'll think, 'Jesus, Pope. You can't get off that poor girl for even ten minutes?'

And he won't say anything, of course. He'll just let them go on believing the rumors, believing that he's the one who's insatiable for the shy girl who's gotten caught up in his gravitational pull.

You snorted into your glass, staring at the screen. The wine gave you a reckless surge of courage, and your thumbs moved before your brain could filter them.

You: you gonna show me how to use it?

His reply came back within seconds.

Jack: Yeah. My place tomorrow?

…

So that’s how you were here. On Jack Abbot’s lap, writhing as his thumb guided a small, buzzy, impossibly effective vibrating bullet directly against your center. His hand was around your hip, holding you steady while his hard length pressed hot against you through the fabric of his sweatpants.

"Told you the other one was overrated." he murmured against your neck, his voice raspy.

You let out a breath, hands clutching his shoulders as you rolled your hips into his palm.

"please—"

it wasn't the first time you'd begged. you'd begged for many, many things in this same position, truth be told. robby behind you, jack below. both of their cocks splitting you open. jack was thick, just like the rest of him—thick fingered, thick bodied, thick cock throbbing and twitching where it stuffed your pussy. robby, on the other hand—long and curved up to the right—enjoyed fucking you in your tight puckered muscle, making you whine and squirm beneath him.

robby laid down over you, crushing you further into jack's chest, who moaned with you at the change in angle. robby’s breath was hot against your ear, his lips pressed into the shell.

"please what, baby? hmmmm?" he groaned, his voice hoarse and cracked, his chest wiry with hair against your slick back.

you brought your hand up to fist in his hair, holding on tight as he pulled his length from you almost to the very tip before thrusting slowly back in.

"oh my god," you heard jack curse, his hands tightening at your hips, his mouth opening in a gasp.

both of them were to the right of you—your face laid down on jack's collarbone, robby's chin hooked over your right shoulder. they were so close. breathing one another's air, enough that you could feel jack’s breath leave him and robby’s cheek shift against the side of your head when he opened his mouth to kiss the crest of your shoulder.

you tightened your grip in the latter's hair.

"wanna see you kisssss—"

jack let out a breathless little laugh, robby chuckling into your shoulder.

"baby, we talked about this—" jack said, his voice hardly more than breath, his chest heaving under yours.

"—but it would be so hottttt," you whined.

robby ignored you. "how's she feel, brother?"

jack's head tipped back into the pillow beneath him, and you watched the rough scruff of his unshaved neck shift as his adam's apple glided up and down, swallowing around the broken gasp he pulled in.

"so god damn good—go a little harder, she squeezes me so fucking tight when you really give it to her, mike."

you barely had time to register the gleam in robby's eyes before he was swinging his hips back again, this time thrusting hard against you, his skin slapping hard, balls clapping right above where jack's cock was buried deep inside.

you squealed and jack groaned loudly. your hand hung on tighter to robby's hair, your other hand digging into jack's shoulder beside your head.

"ohhhh fuck—" you mewled. "so—so deep, robby, oh god—"

"she sounds so pretty when she makes those little noises," jack strained to say, turning to kiss you on the nose. "huh, honey? robby's dick feel good like that? yeah? gimme a kiss."

you tilted your chin, pushing into his lips lazily, your tongue reaching out to lick at his, wet muscles sliding together. when you began to drool out the side of your lips, you brought robby's head down closer, resting your cheek back to jack's chest.

"your turn—" you murmured sleepily, your brain fucked out of any logic.

nothing passed through you but the ecstasy of having these two men and being sandwiched between them and their weight pressing in around you. jack began jerking his hips up into you, making you hiccup and whine, his thrusts getting erratic, his breath heavier.

robby's cock pushed deeper into you too, the pressure of both of them at the same time making you feel so content, so full, so cock drunk.

"please, please," you chanted. "wanna see you kiss so badly—"

"she really does beg so cute, doesn't she?" robby murmured, kissing your shoulder.

"yeah—" the other breathed, a light groan strangling the word as both of them slid in and out of you in tandem—full of jack's cock, then robby's, empty. then again, both of them filing you at the same time. the rhythm made your jaw go slack, your thoughts thinning. it felt so right, with jack below you, robby behind you, both of them too big, too hot, too much. still, you wanted more. wanted this so badly the need burned behind your eyes.

"like this—" you said, ignoring their cooing, and you craned your neck, pressing a chaste kiss to robby's lips.

it was hardly a second, your brain too foggy to make it anything more.

"that's it, huh? that's what you want, honey?" robby murmured, voice even hoarser with mirth as he smiled at you.

"yesss!" you whined, kicking your feet into the bed beneath.

"not good enough to have both of us, huh?" he teased. "such a needy little girl."

"be nice, mike—" jack moaned. "she's a good girl."

his praise always effected you—making you flutter around him, and you knew he could feel it, even with the increased fulless from robby deep inside you with him. he cracked a little knowing smile between moans.

"oh, i know she's a good girl, brother," robby said, and his mouth dragged over the back of your shoulder. "no doubt about it. but we've spoiled her. she thinks she can have whatever she wants."

you pouted, the prick of tears in your eyes not from him denying you, but from the utter fullness of their cocks punching in and out of you. from the easy back and forth of them—robby pretending there wasn’t a soft spot in him you could reach with the simplest look. and jack caught it every time and teased him for it.

"enough talking—" jack cursed. "fuck, fuck, she's tightening up on me— think she's gonna come, mike, oh god—"

"please—" you moaned louder, thrashing a little bit out of frustration.

"fuck it—" robby growled.

he leaned down and placed a kiss on the corner of jack's mouth.

they didn't stop entirely when robby pulled his lips away from jack's. their thrusts only softened into shallow rocks, jack's hands tightening on your skin, both his and robby's throbbing lengths still pressed deep enough inside you that every quiet breath made you feel the stretch of both of them. you held yours without meaning to—waiting, feeling both of them still around you.

robby's chest pressed heavier against your back as he breathed through his nose. you felt jack's beneath you, his ribs expanding, pressing against your breasts.

"yes," you whispered, though not wanting to rush them. your mouth brushed jack's skin when you said it, soft against the damp hollow below his collarbone. "more."

"you're right—" jack huffed a little laugh that shook his chest on the way out. "she really is needy."

robby smiled, as if grateful for the lightness, "told y—"

but he couldn't say anything else, because jack's lips were suddenly on his.

a deep, harmonized groan passed between the two of them, and it did something terrible to you. your stomach dropped, your hips jerked. even a little lick of jealousy flamed in you, warming your skin, but they looked good together. so good. exactly as you pictured it. it made you moan and writhe to see their mouths slot against one another, lips parting, tongues sliding, jack's stubbled jaw working under the rough scrape of robby's beard.

"oh my god," you whispered.

when they paused their kissing, a string of spit connected them, shiny and wet.

"d'you feel that?" robby whispered.

"yeah," jack answered, his one hand squeezing your hip while the other came up to robby's hair along with yours. "her pussy is gripping me like a vice—"

"yeah, she really tightened up—fuck, c'mere."

robby's hand went up to jack's hair too, fisting in the messy graying curls. jack's mouth fell open in a guttural groan, and robby's other hand came to the nape of your neck in answer. he pulled you into himself harshly, his tongue sliding against yours as your mouths met.

it was slick and wet and lewd, and just when you began to moan in earnest, their thrusts picked up again. harder now, less patient. jack fucking up into you from beneath, robby driving into you from behind, the bed frame knocking against the wall harshly again and again.

then you felt a second tongue at the corner of your mouth.

you pulled back only enough to welcome it—jack's tongue sliding against yours, robby's flicking against the two of you together.

the room filled with louder moans and the thick slap of skin, the wet drag of mouths, jack's rough little curses disappearing against your lips. robby's hand stayed tight at the back of your neck, holding you there for it, making you take the kiss you had begged for. you gushed around them, pussy fluttering and convulsing in pleasure.

"come for us, baby," robby whispered between kisses. "come for jackie. he wants you to come all over his big cock."

jack groaned under you, his hips jerking up harder, his member punching even deeper.

"I wanna feel it too," robby said. "c'mon now, gave you what you wanted. now I get to feel this perfect little ass take my come."

"just wanted your boyfriends to kiss, huh, baby?" jack cooed, his hand moving up to grip your face, forefinger and thumb squeezing your cheeks. his thumb hooked into the tender hinge of your lips, sliding along your molars to pry your mouth open wider for the two of them.

you cried out around his salty skin, and he pouted in mock pity as he looked at you.

"come on my cock, baby," jack moaned, leaning in to keep licking and nipping at your lips. "know you wanna, come on my cock now—gonna fill you up so good, mmmm—"

"i'm—i'm—i'm coming—oh, god, oh god—"

"yeah, that's it, that's it—oh fuckkk—" robby groaned, his thrusts slamming harder, turning erratic before he froze up, jaw unhinging, breathing hotly against wanton mouth.

jack's opened too, in shock, in awe, and when you looked at him you saw his eyes go wide before they rolled back behind his eyelids.

your orgasm ripped through you, a heady pressure down your spine and tightening your hips, making your legs lock up before it crested you like an ocean wave swelling and crashing. your hand clenched in robby's hair as your mouth fell open around jack's thumb. both of them groaned in tandem, trapping you between them, both buried deep while your body squeezed down, making jack curse and robby bare his teeth.

as the euphoria eased and your body went loose with the oxytocin flooding your blood, the three of you kept kissing—gentle little nips, soft flicks of tongue, spit sliding and glistening at the corners of your mouths, collecting where lips met and parted. jack retreated his thumb from your mouth to gently pet at your cheek, and they let you have as much as you wanted, just like always. spoiled thing, they'd tell you again afterwards, while they washed your hair in the bath and cleaned you up.

but for now, you kissed them as your eyes grew heavier and heavier, your breathing deepening against jack's chest. robby's weight behind you felt heavy and comforting, tucked between two men, utterly spent and completely content.

“Hey Andrew, come on in,” you're biting your lip, shyly, stepping aside.

He clears his throat.

“Yeah. Hi.”

He suppresses a wince as he averts his eyes. Don't look down.

The thought comes automatically, like every other instinct that's kept him alive this long.

He slips his boots off by the door without you asking as he enters your apartment, looking around as you venture into your room. 

He can’t mistake this, mistake your kindness, for anything more than it is. He can't mistake these moments for more than they were. The two of you bumping into each other in the grocery store aisle over a month ago, then finding your way back to each other. Him driving you home afterwards because your apartment happened to be on the way. Then doing it again the next day. And the day after that. 

Hands brushing as you sit close to one another, grabbing dinner every now and then at some shitty diner, conversations stretching from awkward small talk into comfortable silences, into stories about childhood, books, documentaries, little pieces of yourselves offered up.

There was something blossoming there. A companionship that, to Andrew, already felt far more intimate than simple friendship. Something steady, gentle, so unlike what he had in his life before. Something he'd catch himself thinking about when he was lying awake at night.

He'd accepted nothing would come from this a long time ago, content with whatever small pockets of warmth you offered him, occupying that strange, liminal space between friendship and something romantic neither of you had ever been brave enough to name. That was enough. More than enough, really. More than a man like him had any right expecting.

The fantasies that crept in during the late hours of the night, when the insomnia had settled into his ribs, were his burden to carry. They were his to hold - between him, the four walls of his bedroom, and a brain that insisted on imagining what it would feel like to have you beside him, pressed against him. They stayed there, locked away where they belonged, because Andrew knew better than to mistake his longing for possibility.

Still, he cannot help but wonder, as he walks into your apartment, if you felt an inkling of what he felt towards you. 

Last night, the two of you had been leaning against the front of his truck beneath the night sky, paper bags from the local shitty diner resting between you as you ate greasy fries and burgers. There hadn't been much talking, there never needed to be. The silence between you had slowly become its own language, one Andrew found himself looking forward to more than he cared to admit.

“I’ve got tomorrow off, finally,” you'd said eventually, licking the salt from the fries off your fingers

He’d averted his gaze, nodded.

You crumpled the bag in your hand.

“So... you doing anything?”

Andrew had mentally scanned through the list in his head. No jobs with either of his brothers. Nothing J couldn't handle himself. Nobody was expecting him anywhere.

“M’gonna watch this new animal documentary,” he'd answered after a moment. “Clean the house.”

“So an average day in the life of Andrew Cody,” you’d teased. “You know, I was just gonna relax too.”

Your voice had gone quieter after that. You'd started fidgeting with one of the many rings on your fingers, eyes fixed on the ground instead of him.

“Maybe smoke a bit.”

A pause. Then, almost too softly to hear, “Do you smoke?”

“Weed?”

You nodded, looking up, with something that closely resembled hope. His brain immediately shut it down. No, not hope, just boredom.

“Doesn't do much for me,” he grumbled. 

The words had barely left his mouth before he saw it, the almost imperceptible stiffening of your shoulders. The way your expression stayed exactly the same, but something behind your eyes dimmed, like someone had quietly reached inside and turned the light down.

He knew that look. It was the same one he held when somebody disregarded what he was saying, when they ignored his questions. He hated himself for being the reason for it donning your face. 

He lifted a hand up. 

“But it's been a long time,” he added quickly, the words spilling out, an attempt to get the light back in. “Might actually hit this time.”

“So…” you mumbled, still refusing to quite meet his gaze. “Wanna join me?”

Andrew didn't even think about it, didn’t let his brain stall too much.

“Yeah.”

He bumped his shoulder gently against yours, the contact awkward enough that he almost pulled away again. But he willed himself to stay there, pressed against you for a few seconds, taking in your warmth.

“I'll come over.”

It wasn't something he was used to doing. Showing up at somebody's apartment, spending time together for no reason other than wanting to.

But the smile that spread across your face, and the quiet way you leaned your shoulder against his afterwards, made the unfamiliarity feel worth every second.

Now, he feels not an ounce of that unfamiliarity as he looks around your living room. 

Everything is littered with little remnants of you. Quintessentially you.

The blinds are drawn, leaving the living room bathed in a soft darkness, broken only by the warm glow of string lights draped lazily along the wall. Books are stacked in uneven piles on a ledge, little trinkets crowd every available surface, CDs and DVDs spill from a shelf beside a tiny TV. A knitted blanket lies abandoned on the floor where you'd probably left it after reading.

He picks it up, hands moving before his brain can comprehend what’s happening, and starts folding it. Corners fitting against each other. Once, twice.

He feels your eyes on him as you come back into the room, his cheeks warming under your gaze.

“What?” He mumbles, looking up at you as he puts the now folded blanket down.

You're watching him, mirthfully.

“Nothing, you're just too good to me.”

That makes something in Andrew's stomach flip, he's never been good to anyone. Useful, sure. Reliable, maybe, when things went wrong. Someone his brothers called when they needed a body buried or a problem solved.

But good? The word had never belonged to him.

Yet these days, he seemed to hear it from you more often than not.

You walk towards him, with a neatly rolled joint pinched between your fingers.

"There we go," you murmur, holding it out towards him.

Andrew takes it carefully, your fingertips brushing his for the briefest second before you sink down onto the floor in front of the couch.

He follows without thinking.

The two of you settle shoulder to shoulder, backs resting against the couch, your legs stretched lazily out across the rug. 

Andrew places the joint you gave him between his lips. Your eyes flicker down, and stay there. 

Fuck.

“Lighter, please,” he mumbles out.

You shuffle forward to grab the lighter. Then pause, just for half a second. 

Please, please Andrew, pick up what I’m putting down.

You lean closer to him, cupping the outside of the joint, fingers brushing against his skin as you flick the lighter on. Staring at him, you bring it to where the joint is hanging from his mouth. 

You feel his gaze on you, as you light it up. Continue staring into his eyes as you lean back.

The light frames his face so beautifully, casting flickers that highlight the curve of his cheekbone, the sharpness of his jaw, hazel of his eyes.

Andrew really was the prettiest man you’d seen.

He inhales deeply, before holding it in for a few seconds. He finally breaks eye contact with you as he breathes out the smoke away from your face. 

You force your thighs not to clench at the sight of his lips pursed as wisps of smoke escape. 

Fucking hell.

He passes the joint over to you, nodding his head.

You take it from him, and take a deep breath in. But unlike him, you look right at him as you exhale, breathing smoke just past his face. 

He stays still, his eyes flickering down to your lips before settling back on your face. He says nothing.

To you, it's strangely intimate, the fact that your lips are now touching the very place he had only moments ago, where remnants of him still remain. You know what his lips taste like without ever pressing them to yours. An odd sort of closeness in the absent-minded exchange, in the sharing of something so small that somehow feels impossibly significant.

Moments like these had become almost painfully common between the two of you over the past few weeks, quiet little instances suspended in the strange gravity of whatever this was between you, each one humming with a tension neither of you seemed brave enough to break. Andrew was too guarded, too convinced he was reading into things that were never there. You were too shy, too afraid that it was just the fabrication of your hopelessly romantic brain. 

But then Andrew would do something so completely unlike himself; the softness that occasionally crept into his voice when he said your name, his hand hovering over the small of your back as you crossed the street, his shoulder nudging yours just because he could – and hope would bloom all over again.

You continue to pass the joint between the two of you, back and forth. At one point, your head is dangerously close to leaning completely against his shoulder, your movements slower now, lazy and lethargic, few words spoken, but completely at ease.

You look sideways at him, see his shoulders relaxed, his fingers that have finally stopped twitching. You smile.

Under the slight buzz of the weed, your confidence builds. And before your brain can overthink, the words tumble out.

“Can I try something with you Andrew?”

He looks over at you, then nods slowly.

You place the hand free of the joint on his shoulder, and ask your next question quietly.

“M’gonna have to sit in your lap for it to be comfortable. Can I do that?”

His eyes widen imperceptibly, adorably. A second passes, then two. You wait patiently.

“Yeah,” he whispers out, swallowing harshly. “You can.”

Then you get up on your knees, before carefully slinging a leg over his spread out thighs. His hands stay rigidly by his side, like he’s scared to touch you without your permission.

You feel the heat radiating off him, smell his familiar scent; clean, faintly antiseptic from whatever clinical body wash he always uses, mixed with the unique natural musk of him. So incredibly Andrew.

Your balance tips slightly as you begin to sit down. His palm comes out to steady you.

He freezes the second he grips your waist.

“Can I–” He murmurs, his voice barely audible. “Is this okay?”

You nod, settling down against him fully, feeling the coarseness of his jeans against the back of your thighs.

“It is.”

A shy smile tugs at your lips.

“Can I do the thing I wanted to do now?”

He lets out a quiet, almost breathless, “yeah.” His other hand slides slowly down the outside of your thighs, reaching the elastic band of your knee socks. His hands twiddle with the fabric, almost nervous. You shiver at the feel of his fingertips against your bare skin.

You bring the joint up to your lips, inhaling. His eyes are half lidded as they follow your movements, fingers tightening around your waist.

You lean in close, one hand cupping his cheek. His lips parts open.

You exhale gently into his mouth. He inhales, both of your faces mere breaths apart. Once the smoke dissipates, he speaks up.

“Can I–” he breaks off. “Can I ask you somethin’?”. 

You nod, rubbing your thumb on his cheek. His shoulders tense, eyes flickering uncertainly between yours. 

“Do you… like me?”

You tilt your head, heart stuttering. He finally fucking did it, he crossed the line you were praying he’d cross, because you were too shy to. 

“Yes,” you whisper. “I like you very much, Andrew.”

His shoulder sag, jaw relaxing. Both of you move closer towards each other, until your lips brush together, eyes closing. 

“Kiss me, Andrew,” you breathe out. 

And that’s all he needs to hear to finally kiss you.

It’s all encompassing, the taste of him, the press of his mouth, hard, but tender. He whimpers into the kiss. You moan immediately at the sound, sliding your hand into his curls. 

His grip around your waist tightens, moves you further into him until there’s barely any space between you.

Your lips move against each other, sloppily, and you smile against him. 

Andrew can’t quite believe what’s happening.

You’re kissing him.

You.

Your lips are pressed against his, warm and impossibly soft, and for a long second his mind simply… stops. Every anxious thought that’s hounded him for weeks, the constant back and forth, the uncertainty of what the two of you were, falls silent beneath the gentle weight of your lips.

He doesn’t break the kiss as he grabs the joint out of your hands, and pushes further into you. One large hand slips up carefully around your back, holding you securely against him as the other reaches for the joint still pinched loosely between your fingers. He eases you backwards gently, pushing himself forward at the same time until you’re leaning back. 

Your mouths separate for only the briefest second as he stretches just far enough to stub the joint out in the ashtray beside you.

Then he's back.

His forehead bumps yours before his lips find you again, harder this time. 

“Andrew, please,” you beg, the sound sweeter than honey in his head. 

His hands come up to splay against your back and waist, engulfing you with their enormity, their broadness, as he kisses you harder, tongue licking into your mouth. His movements are hurried, desperate, and yours too. Your lips move in tandem as you do a slow roll of your hips instinctively.

He immediately lets out a rough groan, “Feels so- fuck.”

“Yeah baby, that feel good?” you moan as you continue to grind against him. Feeling the friction of his pants against your shorts, and his cock, thick and hard against you under all the layers. 

He nods in reply, staring at your face twisted in pleasure, your half-lidded gaze, the slow roll of your groin against his. 

Back and forth. Back and forth. His hands tighten every time you move, trying to hold on to his last thread of control.

It’s almost too much for him.

He tucks his face in your neck. His palm engulfs the side of it as peppers kisses down the line of your throat between soft moans. 

“Fuck– just like that Andrew, so good to me.”

His hips buck up into you as he whines.

The noise sparks something hot up your spine, and you grip him by his curls, tugging to bring his face back up. You slide two fingers and tap his lips. They part instantly, sealing around your fingers instantly, hot and wet and perfect. 

He groans low in his throat as he starts to suck, slow at first, then deeper, his tongue swirling around your fingers. He pulls you harder against him as your hips grind together.

Andrew loves the feeling of their weight in his mouth. He sucks, messy and desperate, as he looks up at you with those wide eyes. Spit begins to pool in the corners of his mouth, before he leans back, slipping your fingers out.

His voice comes out rough, needy. 

“Can you come like this?”

“Yes,” you breathe, voice shaking. “Yes, please–”

He lets out a noise, half moan, half whimper, and shoves your fingers back into his mouth, sucking harder now, obscenely. And you let him, your whole body rocking in time with his hands, faster now. His eyes glance down at those fucking knee socks. He moans. 

Your forehead presses to his. His breath stutters across your lips.

He can feel the heat everywhere, his underwear soaked with his precum, sticking to his cock, and the friction is worse now, slippery. Your clit catches against the seam of his jeans, and you moan loud. 

Your voice breaks as you whine out, “m’close.”

Andrew groans like it hurts to hear you say that. His grip on your hips changes, firmer, rougher. He needs you to finish before he loses control completely. 

He drags you harder against him, grinding up into you with more pressure, more desperation. 

You gasp, thighs trembling, one hand gripping the back of his neck, fingers slipping out his mouth and trailing down to his chest, leaving a wet trail.

Your name leaves his mouth as he stares up at you in reverence. He can’t believe you're here, nothing short of a goddess, him ready to worship at your altar. 

Pleasepleaseplease. 

He doesn't even realise he's begging you to come until you do, writhing in his grasp. 

And Andrew thinks he’s seeing God. 

Your back arches, soft whimpers leaving your mouth as you grind down harder, chasing every last wave of your high. His arms wrap around you like a vice, pressing your bodies together as you shake, melting into him.

“Fuck. Fuck, you’re–” He’s babbling now, his voice strained and low, a wet sound behind his teeth as he rocks up into you once, twice, then stiffens.

His grip tightens painfully on your hips as his eyes close. He lets out a raw, breathy whimper against your mouth as he comes under you, hips stuttering against yours. His jaw is clenched tight, neck taut. His body hums with pleasure, at the release. 

The room falls quiet.

Neither of you say anything, your foreheads resting together as you both pant, trying to steady your breathing.

Andrew slowly opens his eyes, only to see you're already looking at him.

His chest tightens.

You brush a thumb gently across his cheek before leaning forward to press the smallest kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Andrew continues staring at your face, memorising every inch, scared that once you’ve recovered from your orgasm, you’ll leave. 

But when you finally lean back, you don't go very far, your hands still resting lightly against his face.

“Before we start– before anything else, I wanna tell you, I don’t do…. casual or any of the things people my age usually do.”

Andrew stills.

People your age.

Right.

You're younger than him. A grown woman, fully capable of making your own decisions, he knows that. But that won’t stop people. They cast him enough looks already, filled with disgust and fear. For you to be associated with a man like him, an older man, a Cody, he knows it won’t stop the sort of names they'd call you. 

And he can't do that to you, he can't let another woman become collateral damage because she got tangled up with this family.

He has to protect you, he has to–

“Hey,” you say, firmly. Your fingers rub at the crease between his brows, drawing his eyes back to yours. “What’s your pretty brain thinking about?”

There it is, that word. Pretty. He’s never considered himself to be that. Not his face, worn and rough around the edges, and let alone his mind, always cluttered with too much noise, too many memories, too many thoughts that refuse to come out the right way. 

But you always listen when he speaks, as though his words are worth hearing, as though the things rattling around inside his head matter simply because they belong to him. With you, he doesn't feel like he has to fight his own brain just to be understood. Around you, the words have begun coming a little easier.

“M’thinkin’...” he swallows, holding your gaze. “Of how I’m so much older than you.”

He pauses. 

“And how m’not good for you.”

His eyes drift away for only a second before finding yours again.

“They’re right about what they say about the Cody’s, about me, y’know.”

His jaw tightens, 

“We’re not… good men.”

You shake your head immediately, a small pout on your face. Andrew hates it, hates being the reason for it. 

“That’s not true,” you begin. Your thumb strokes slowly across his temple. “Whatever you do for work, that's your business. You’ve been nothing but good to me. Always driving me around, never touching me without asking. Always listening to me. For fucks sake, just when you came in, you folded up the random blanket that was laying around.”

His eyes flick instinctively towards the couch.

You smile.

“That’s not something a bad man does.”

The corner of his mouth twitches a little, the barest semblance of a smile. Something warm and molten pools beneath his ribs, hums quietly. Not butterflies, no; you didn't evoke that sense of unease, or uncertainty, the dizzy anticipation of not knowing whether you'll be caught.

This, this warmth, feels nothing like that. This feels quiet. Like the first barefoot step onto floorboards warmed by the morning sun, like finally returning home after being lost. 

You always knew what to say.

Not because your words magically erased the things he'd lived through, or undid decades of believing the worst about himself, but because somehow you always managed to reach the frightened, aching part of him buried beneath it all – the part that had spent his whole life waiting for somebody to look at him and decide he was worth staying for anyway.

“Whatever we do,” you continue softly, “that’s between us, yeah?”

You brush your nose against his.

“Fuck ‘em all.”

He leans in until there's no space left between you, his forehead resting fully against yours, his eyes closing for just a second. Breathing you in, your warmth. Safety. 

“Youre too good to me,” he mumbles out. “Too pretty…”

You shake your head.  

“No. M'perfect for you.”

Your lips brush against his, your breaths mingling. 

“So, you’re mine, yeah?”

He nods immediately, desperately. 

“M’yours.”

Andrew was finally yours. And you were his.

“Yeah, fine, I’m Frankenstein’s monster if you want to be so specific,” Santos scoffs, sipping on her silly straw. You watch the orange-pink of her drink slink up the plastic spiral onto the lips she meticulously painted grey. It’s admirable, really, the amount of effort she clearly put into tonight’s costume, and the whole party in general. “And you’re dressed as who now? The sexy super-spy cosplay look is really working for you, but the theme was horror characters—”

“Ooh, do you think it’s too much?” you ask anxiously, suddenly self-conscious tugging at the leather harness across your chest with one hand, the other holding an identical red plastic cup with a silly straw poking out. “I used to play a lot of Resident Evil to decompress during my undergrad, and—”

You’re mid-sentence with Trinity Santos when her doorbell rings. It’s more like a screech, really, the way the brrrinnggg of the bell pierces through her surprisingly expansive apartment. You cover your ears as a reflex, careful not to dislodge your carefully placed short black wig and ruin your costume. 

Santos rolls her eyes, “Great, some fucker didn’t read the instructions on the invite.” She turns around and squeezes past a handful of familiar faces on her way to the door. The digital flyer included a code to enter the building, and you now understand it was added specifically so none of us would have to deal with that banshee scream of a doorbell. 

You stick your head out to see who it was behind the door. He’s standing against the light but you recognize that silhouette: Doctor… Jack Abbot?

Not only are you surprised to see him here at all, but as he steps into the apartment, probably surveying the room’s overall demographic of people at least one generation younger, you notice what he’s wearing. Jack enters the party dressed in what looks like a short-sleeved navy blue rookie cop costume with a long-sleeved grey undershirt. His outfit is punctuated with protective elbow and knee pads, tactical holsters, and a black police vest with the white initials “R.P.D.” stenciled across his chest. 

Hold on.

You glance at your own reflection in the full-length mirror next to you, drink in hand, taking stock of your own costume. Before leaving your home you thought this look was so unique, so niche, even Santos couldn’t clock it. Your long, flowy red slip dress that stood in for a cheongsam. The black velvet and onyx choker around your neck. The short black bob covering your long, dark, natural curls. Your black harness, and the tactical holster around your own thigh. 

Next thing you know, he’s right in front of you. You realize he was inching toward the drink table, and you were in the way.

You watch his eyes flit up and down the length of your body. The lines on the outside of his eyes deepened, smirking even before his mouth did. He reaches behind you for a bottle of Red Horse Beer and manages to pop the cap by simply tapping it at an angle against the table. The sight of it sends an anxious flutter from your spine to your finger tips. “Nice costume,” he tells you. “It’s Ada Wong, right? From Resident Evil 4?”

“Doctor Abbot,” you say, almost a little too brightly in excitement and surprise. You didn’t peg him for a survival horror gamer type, though it also kind of makes sense, given what you know about him. He’s standing so close to you, closer than he ever did while guiding your hand through yesterday’s left anterolateral thoracotomy. “I—like yours, too. Leon Kennedy, Resident Evil 2?”

“Damn straight, I’ve had this thing forever,” he smiles, tugging on the edges of his police vest, seemingly sharing in my enthusiasm. “If I’d known you were gonna wear this tonight, we could have coordinated. Our costumes are from two different games, but I could have just ditched the vest and put on a black t-shirt. Would have been a lot lighter.”

He rolls his shoulders back. You recall Leon Kennedy’s fitted black tee that highlighted the contours of his arm muscles. Then you picture Jack in the same shirt, with his arms—those fucking arms—which you noticed ever so slightly whenever he’d cross them over his chest while he’d watch you work. 

Then you snap back into reality, a warm sensation filling your cheeks when you realize your attending physician probably just caught you spacing out.

“...what? Oh, yeah, that would have been cool,” you mutter, gathering yourself. “I’m sorry, I’m just a little surprised to see an Attending physician at a resident’s house party. Aren’t you a little…”

“I hope you’re not saying I’m too old to be here,” Jack interrupts. “Eh, my therapist says I need to be more social, and Ellis invited me. Besides, I kinda like dressing up.”

Yet somehow he always ends up in some type of uniform, you think to yourself. Jack takes a big gulp of beer then makes a sour face. “God, this stuff is strong.”

“Yeah, those bottles should really come with a warning,” you say. “It’s basically malt liquor, and apparently there’s always one bottle that’s way stronger than all the rest. The San Miguel pilsner’s not bad, but I went for the Weng Weng so it doesn’t mess up my lipstick. That one’s a real kicker too, though.” You use your thumb to point over to the giant punch bowl containing the same drink you and Santos are having.

“Ain’t no party like a Filipino party,” Jack remarks, nodding his head over at Nurse Princess, filling another plate full of fried lumpia at the other side of the drink table.

The apartment door opens again—this time, because you notice someone was leaving.

“Laaaame,” you hear Santos nearby, raising her solo cup. “Everybody boo Huckleberry for leaving so soon!”

You notice a few people jeer playfully at Santos’ roommate, Dennis Whitaker, donning an all-white chef costume and clutching an extra-tall toque, as he slings one strap of his backpack on one shoulder and sheepishly walks out of the apartment. 

“What was he dressed as?” Jack asks, leaning over to you. 

“I think he’s supposed to be the chef from Ratatouille,” you chuckle. So much for not being too old.

“What’s that?” Jack says, tilting his head toward you, his face leaning right up to your cheek. 

You realize you’d blurted that last thought out loud.

“Joking, Jack,” you reply with a giggle in defense, though also catching yourself addressing him by his first name. Your gaze lingers for a beat longer than you intend. He wears that Raccoon Police Department vest so well, and even though the natural salt and pepper of his hair didn’t look anything like the character’s wispy, curtain-esque dirty blonde, you can’t resist imagining what would happen if he, dressed like Leon Kennedy, and you, like Ada Wong, acted upon one of your longest-standing fantasies. Imagine if he was thinking the same thing. 

Jack bites his lip, and you lick yours as a reflex. You notice him looking you up and down again, but he’s standing so close now that when he looks down he mainly sees through the top of your satin dress. The air starts to feel hot between you. 

“Excuse meee!” Princess cuts past the two of you, abruptly dissolving the moment, and the space in the room starts to feel normal again. She reaches over Abbot for a bottle of San Miguel. She acknowledges the contents of the red cup in your hand. “Okay, yes hottie, you get into that weng-weng!”

“Do you know what’s in it?” you ask her. You notice Jack in your periphery; he hasn’t left your side. “It doesn’t taste like it’s got any alcohol at all.”

“Yup, that’s where it’ll get you,” Princess replies, the condensation from her beer bottle dripping onto the yellow Beauty and the Beast-esque ball gown she chose for the night. She begins to enumerate the ingredient list, counting with her fingers. “Let me see… vodka, tequila, rum, gin, brandy, scotch or bourbon, orange juice, pineapple juice, Grenadine. I used to make it when I’d throw parties back in nursing school.”

“Whaaa—”

“Yeah girl that’s why they call it weng weng! Cos by the end of the night you’ll be… weng… weng…” Princess gestures as if she were acting delirious. “I dunno, loopy? Like your legs are jelly and you can’t think straight. Have fun!” She takes her beer and walks back toward the couch where a couple of other nurses were hanging out. 

You already can’t think straight, and you know it.

Leaning with one hand on the table, you feel another sudden rush when you feel warm brushing against your finger tips. You know the way this hand feels, even though the only other time you felt it was with gloves on. It has just about the right amount of push, of force, as if it were guiding you through performing a delicate incision on a patient’s vulnerable throat. 

You look up and it’s Jack, staring back almost menacingly, like he wants to say something. He lifts his hand from yours and moves it toward the small of your back, again with the most gentle force. Next thing you know it’s you biting your lip. You lean back toward him, narrowing the gap between you, completely neglecting the fact other people from work are very much in the room. 

“Doesn’t Whitaker also live here?” Jack says, mere inches separating his face from yours. You catch a whiff of his scent, a warming combination of sandalwood, cinnamon, and one other thing you can’t quite pinpoint. “I was wondering if—you wanted to check it out.”

“Oh, Leon, you know I don’t work and tell,” you tease and take the lead.

You knock on Whitaker’s door and pop your head in when no one answers. “Hello?”

His room is dark and empty, and from the minimal light coming in from the hallway you also notice there isn’t much going on in there: a chest of drawers, a single built-in closet, a mirror, and a full size bed. There’s a chair against a wall on which several pairs of scrubs and jeans and socks are stacked in a messy heap. 

You stealthily sneak into the room and flip the light switch on; the garish fluorescence causes you to mutter a guttural “Nope” as you immediately turn it back off and instead switch to a lamp atop the dresser. Jack trails behind you, a little extra bulky from the costume vest on his chest. You shut the door behind him. The music and chatter are much more muffled in this room. 

“Do you think anyone noticed us together?” you ask him. He shrugs, one brow and the corner of his lips doing their own dance.

“Wanna know something? I don’t fucking care.” Jack responds. He hikes up your dress until he manages to get one hand up to the delicate sheath of your underwear, which you didn’t notice was already slick with excitement. Your clit begins to throb as he runs one knuckle over it and along one side of your folds. “What’s this now… did you do all this for me?”

You nod quietly, almost guiltily. You’re not very good at hiding your excitement.

Ideally, Jack would be kissing you right now, and you’re waiting for him to make that move. Instead, he continues to play with your wetness, petting your entrance with gentle strokes before sliding one finger inside you.

“Oh, fuck,” is all you manage to say. 

“Do you like this?” Jack presses his face against your cheek, his breath hot on your skin while your back remains against the door. “Do you like it when I fuck you with my finger like this?”

“Mm-hmm,” you reply, feeling his finger hook and pull inside you, and you know you can take more. “I—I like when you fuck me with your finger, mm. Put—can you—want another. Please.”

Right now, with Jack, while he dons yet another uniform that makes you want him even more, you know you can take whatever he gives you. You can take it all.

“Oh you want more? I’ll give you more,” Jack teases before taking his finger out and holding it against your mouth. “But I want to watch you taste yourself first. I want you to know just how sweet you really are.” 

He presses a single damp finger on your lips, which you welcome eagerly into your wanting mouth. You begin to suck deeply on it, allowing him to push it further inside and you give him more of yourself.

“Good girl,” he says, removing his hand and bringing it back to the growing heat between your legs. He leans back toward you. “Are you ready for more now, baby? I want you to know how hard you’re making me right now.”

“I’m ready, Jack,” you nod. “Ready for more. Ready for you to fuck me now.”

“Fuck you?” he laughs. “I’m not going to fuck you right now. Not yet.”

His finger enters you again; this time, he uses two of them, keeping his thumb on your hardened clit. This time, he tugs at your cunt a little harder. The movement reverberates through your body. Any attempts at breathing deeply and relaxing your lower body are interrupted by intense jolts of arousal that cause your hips to squirm. Your eyes close. 

“Uh-uh,” Jack groans. “Eyes on me now.”

You manage to blink them back open, but you’re struggling as you feel him insert a third, then a fourth finger. Unable to form full sentences you let out a deep “Fuuuuuck” on exhale as you hear the sloshing of your wet pussy on the near entirety of his hand. 

“Are you gonna cum for me, Ada?” Jack says, calling you by your character’s name instead of your own. “I want to watch you cum for me—now.”

As you finally release onto him, your eyes maintaining their focus on his maddened gaze, you can feel your face contort as your hips begin to undulate involuntarily, grinding your cunt along his fingertips. Heat rises to the top of your head and you pull off your wig, along with all the bobby pins and wig cap that you’d painstakingly put on earlier in the evening. You feel a trail of your cum ooze down to the leather holster on your shaking leg. 

Jack takes his hand off you and holds it in front of your face. You don’t need to wait for his instructions as you lick yourself off his fingers. 

“Look at you, being such a good fucking girl for me,” Jack remarks before leaning in and finally pressing his lips on yours, hard and sort of sloppy, his tongue, still cold and tasting like beer, in a forceful waltz with your saliva and pussy juice and, perhaps, a hint of Grenadine. 

Burying his face in your mouth, you feel Jack's fingers playing with the loose straps of your dress while he matches your moans. Jack peels the strap over one shoulder, then the next strap over the other. He pulls away briefly, allowing you just enough room to shimmy out of your dress til it lands on the floor.

“Is this… do you… like.. what you see?” You mumble, breathlessly, now standing against the door, arms at your sides wearing nothing but the velvet choker, the harness, the holster, and a black thong whose lace pattern was so soaked in your nectar that it’s now undecipherable. 

“Put your hands behind your back for me,” Jack requests, visually examining every curve and groove of your figure. “You don’t need to be shy with me. Not anymore.” 

So you do what he asks. 

“God, you’re fucking beautiful,” he says, causing your cunt to quiver. “You’re perfect.”

“Thank you,” you reply, craving more of this, more of him. You try to stick one hand under your panties but Jack takes a step toward you and stops you from doing so.

“I didn’t say you could do that.” His tone shifts and is more commanding, almost like a drill sergeant. Maybe the uniform is getting to his head. “Now spread your legs.” 

Again, you oblige. In a way, you’ve always wanted Jack Abbot, and you start to think maybe Jack Abbot wanted you, too. The signs were all there, ever since you got moved to his shift. 

“Wider.” He uses his feet to nudge yours outward, so you do what he says. 

“Now turn around.”

You do as Jack Abbot commands, turning to face the door, taking one step backwards so you could better support yourself on the door when you bend over. Jack uses one finger to caress your pulsating cunt while the other hand unbuckles his pants. You hear the zip fly come down. 

“Just so you know, I can be a little loud,” you tell him, knowing for a fact that you would be screaming out of ecstasy if Jack Abbot started to fuck you from behind. 

“We can do something about that. I’m going to take your panties off now,” Jack’s voice is now softer, less like a whisper but with more of a growl. He lowers the damp, delicate piece of fabric to your feet, and you lift each foot to take it fully off. Then you notice Jack Abbot’s hand come across your face and stuff your mouth with it.

He moves his hands toward your hips and starts to graze your entrance with the tip of his cock. 

“Are you clean? Birth control?” He asks quickly. 

You grow impatient. “Yes and yes. Any other ques—fuuuuck!”

He thrusts deeply into you, almost a little aggressively at first, before he finds his rhythm. You let out a sharp moan, the kind that other people at the party would have definitely heard, if not for what appears to be significant soundproofing in Whitaker’s room. Jack puts his hand over your mouth, starting to hunch over you as you moan into this makeshift muzzle. 

And it feels so fucking good.

Jack Abbot continues to pump into you vigorously, filling you with every inch of his thick, heavy cock that you’ve daydreamed about more than once. You’ve noticed his little swagger when he walks, and now you know why. His free hand, callused and wise, moves from your hips and begins to cup one of your breasts, then toy with your nipple, squeezing and tugging at it, sending new sensations to your brain and your body and your cunt that you’ve never felt before. You can even feel his balls a little as his tip clashes into your G-spot from behind. It adds yet another sensation that makes you cum another time, your leg shaking uncontrollably as you reach back toward him and pull your face away from his hand. 

“Wai—wait, wait, Jack—aah—” Your leg won’t stop shaking. “I think I need a second.”

Jack—every inch of him—pulls out of you, slowly enough that you can’t resist another moan in the end. If anyone was standing outside the door, they definitely would have heard.

He catches you when you nearly collapse on the floor. “You okay?” Jack asks with a soft giggle, almost sweetly.

You nod with a weak “Mm-hmm,” and trudge on toward Whitaker’s bed, your legs like jelly. “I think—we should do the rest over here. Better to ask for forgiveness…”

As Jack walks toward you, you realize he still has the RPD vest on. Below it, you finally see his cock for the first time, still erect, still glossy with your juices. You don’t wait for him to say anything; you lie back across the bed, parallel to the neat row of pillows you decide to spare for the night, and, as if predicting what he’s about to say next, you spread your legs. 

Jack meets you at the edge of the bed. He drops to his knees, which you’re surprised to see he’s able to do with ease. If there was any discomfort in his leg, with his prosthetic, he sure wasn’t showing it. You feel the warmth of his breath on your entrance before he begins to trace circles on your clit, then along the curvature of each fold, then straight along the length of your cunt’s opening. 

His tongue returns to your clit; it’s hard, it’s pulsating, and you know it’s just the tip of the iceberg. Your hands start to claw at his hair, tousling and digging into his short silver waves. He begins to reintroduce two fingers inside, and it’s enough to send you soaring yet another time. 

“No, no, no—,” you begin to protest. 

Jack comes up for air. “What’s wrong? Do you want me to stop?”

“I just want you to fuck me again,” you reply. “Not with your fingers. I want you, inside me. Now.”

Jack smirks, then nods. “I have no problem with that at all.” 

His cock is still hard.

Maybe he was planning to fuck you again anyway. But you can feel the heat from at least one more explosive climax building within you that you want it to be just right. 

Jack climbs on the bed on top of you. He spreads your legs further. 

He proceeds inside you, just like you asked. “Oh fuck, you’re so perfect,” he says as he starts to speed up with his thrusts—not too fast, but just enough that you can still feel the rhythmic depth of each one. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

Jack closes his eyes, starting to breathe only with his mouth. He hunches over you, the layer of sweat on your chest rubbing against the canvas-like surface of his makeshift police vest. 

“No, Jack,” you manage while panting, synchronizing your breath with his. “I want your eyes on me.”

He looks up at you in a crazed gaze. “You’re gonna make me cum if you keep talking to me like that.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Fuuuck. Keep fucking me, Jack.” He feels so fucking good, and you don’t know if there’s any coming back from this. “I want you to cum inside me, Doctor Abbot. I want to feel your cum inside me, Jack.”

So he does what you ask. 

With one final stroke, he moans like he’s gasping for air. You start to feel the warm ooze of Jack’s cum fill you inside. It feels like a reward. 

Jack continues to pant over you, his breath eventually slowing to normal. “I need to roll over,” he says. You nod and make room for him. You start to giggle.

“What?” he asks. 

“I can’t believe you kept it on,” you respond, smiling. “The uniform—it stayed on.”

“Yeah, well, maybe a part of me always wanted to do that.”

“Well, maybe a part of me always wanted to fuck Leon Kennedy.”

“You make a pretty good Ada.”

“That’s the best compliment anyone has ever given me,” you say with a smirk.

It’s quiet for a moment, and you begin to think about how you’ll get your dress back on. How you’ll definitely need to use the bathroom once you’re both done here. 

“You know,” Jack, still lying on the bed, places his hand on your lower back when you sit up. “If we want to keep doing this, we might have to take different shifts.”

“Well, only if we disclose to the hospital that we’re seeing each other, right?”

“Right. But it’s the right thing to do.” 

You turn your gaze back down toward him, admiring the way beads of sweat sat on Jack’s face. “We’ll figure it out.”

Suddenly you start to feel something buzz near your leg. You almost forget you’ve been wearing a phone case as your DIY leg holster for the costume. You hadn’t noticed it going off in the heat of it all. 

You can see the text from Santos on your home screen:

Thank FUCK you guys are done. Just FYI… everyone heard that.

Ah. Fuck.

You’ll figure it out.

"please—"

it wasn't the first time you'd begged. you'd begged for many, many things in this same position, truth be told. robby behind you, jack below. both of their cocks splitting you open. jack was thick, just like the rest of him—thick fingered, thick bodied, thick cock throbbing and twitching where it stuffed your pussy. robby, on the other hand—long and curved up to the right—enjoyed fucking you in your tight puckered muscle, making you whine and squirm beneath him.

robby laid down over you, crushing you further into jack's chest, who moaned with you at the change in angle. robby’s breath was hot against your ear, his lips pressed into the shell.

"please what, baby? hmmmm?" he groaned, his voice hoarse and cracked, his chest wiry with hair against your slick back.

you brought your hand up to fist in his hair, holding on tight as he pulled his length from you almost to the very tip before thrusting slowly back in.

"oh my god," you heard jack curse, his hands tightening at your hips, his mouth opening in a gasp.

both of them were to the right of you—your face laid down on jack's collarbone, robby's chin hooked over your right shoulder. they were so close. breathing one another's air, enough that you could feel jack’s breath leave him and robby’s cheek shift against the side of your head when he opened his mouth to kiss the crest of your shoulder.

you tightened your grip in the latter's hair.

"wanna see you kisssss—"

jack let out a breathless little laugh, robby chuckling into your shoulder.

"baby, we talked about this—" jack said, his voice hardly more than breath, his chest heaving under yours.

"—but it would be so hottttt," you whined.

robby ignored you. "how's she feel, brother?"

jack's head tipped back into the pillow beneath him, and you watched the rough scruff of his unshaved neck shift as his adam's apple glided up and down, swallowing around the broken gasp he pulled in.

"so god damn good—go a little harder, she squeezes me so fucking tight when you really give it to her, mike."

you barely had time to register the gleam in robby's eyes before he was swinging his hips back again, this time thrusting hard against you, his skin slapping hard, balls clapping right above where jack's cock was buried deep inside.

you squealed and jack groaned loudly. your hand hung on tighter to robby's hair, your other hand digging into jack's shoulder beside your head.

"ohhhh fuck—" you mewled. "so—so deep, robby, oh god—"

"she sounds so pretty when she makes those little noises," jack strained to say, turning to kiss you on the nose. "huh, honey? robby's dick feel good like that? yeah? gimme a kiss."

you tilted your chin, pushing into his lips lazily, your tongue reaching out to lick at his, wet muscles sliding together. when you began to drool out the side of your lips, you brought robby's head down closer, resting your cheek back to jack's chest.

"your turn—" you murmured sleepily, your brain fucked out of any logic.

nothing passed through you but the ecstasy of having these two men and being sandwiched between them and their weight pressing in around you. jack began jerking his hips up into you, making you hiccup and whine, his thrusts getting erratic, his breath heavier.

robby's cock pushed deeper into you too, the pressure of both of them at the same time making you feel so content, so full, so cock drunk.

"please, please," you chanted. "wanna see you kiss so badly—"

"she really does beg so cute, doesn't she?" robby murmured, kissing your shoulder.

"yeah—" the other breathed, a light groan strangling the word as both of them slid in and out of you in tandem—full of jack's cock, then robby's, empty. then again, both of them filing you at the same time. the rhythm made your jaw go slack, your thoughts thinning. it felt so right, with jack below you, robby behind you, both of them too big, too hot, too much. still, you wanted more. wanted this so badly the need burned behind your eyes.

"like this—" you said, ignoring their cooing, and you craned your neck, pressing a chaste kiss to robby's lips.

it was hardly a second, your brain too foggy to make it anything more.

"that's it, huh? that's what you want, honey?" robby murmured, voice even hoarser with mirth as he smiled at you.

"yesss!" you whined, kicking your feet into the bed beneath.

"not good enough to have both of us, huh?" he teased. "such a needy little girl."

"be nice, mike—" jack moaned. "she's a good girl."

his praise always effected you—making you flutter around him, and you knew he could feel it, even with the increased fulless from robby deep inside you with him. he cracked a little knowing smile between moans.

"oh, i know she's a good girl, brother," robby said, and his mouth dragged over the back of your shoulder. "no doubt about it. but we've spoiled her. she thinks she can have whatever she wants."

you pouted, the prick of tears in your eyes not from him denying you, but from the utter fullness of their cocks punching in and out of you. from the easy back and forth of them—robby pretending there wasn’t a soft spot in him you could reach with the simplest look. and jack caught it every time and teased him for it.

"enough talking—" jack cursed. "fuck, fuck, she's tightening up on me— think she's gonna come, mike, oh god—"

"please—" you moaned louder, thrashing a little bit out of frustration.

"fuck it—" robby growled.

he leaned down and placed a kiss on the corner of jack's mouth.

they didn't stop entirely when robby pulled his lips away from jack's. their thrusts only softened into shallow rocks, jack's hands tightening on your skin, both his and robby's throbbing lengths still pressed deep enough inside you that every quiet breath made you feel the stretch of both of them. you held yours without meaning to—waiting, feeling both of them still around you.

robby's chest pressed heavier against your back as he breathed through his nose. you felt jack's beneath you, his ribs expanding, pressing against your breasts.

"yes," you whispered, though not wanting to rush them. your mouth brushed jack's skin when you said it, soft against the damp hollow below his collarbone. "more."

"you're right—" jack huffed a little laugh that shook his chest on the way out. "she really is needy."

robby smiled, as if grateful for the lightness, "told y—"

but he couldn't say anything else, because jack's lips were suddenly on his.

a deep, harmonized groan passed between the two of them, and it did something terrible to you. your stomach dropped, your hips jerked. even a little lick of jealousy flamed in you, warming your skin, but they looked good together. so good. exactly as you pictured it. it made you moan and writhe to see their mouths slot against one another, lips parting, tongues sliding, jack's stubbled jaw working under the rough scrape of robby's beard.

"oh my god," you whispered.

when they paused their kissing, a string of spit connected them, shiny and wet.

"d'you feel that?" robby whispered.

"yeah," jack answered, his one hand squeezing your hip while the other came up to robby's hair along with yours. "her pussy is gripping me like a vice—"

"yeah, she really tightened up—fuck, c'mere."

robby's hand went up to jack's hair too, fisting in the messy graying curls. jack's mouth fell open in a guttural groan, and robby's other hand came to the nape of your neck in answer. he pulled you into himself harshly, his tongue sliding against yours as your mouths met.

it was slick and wet and lewd, and just when you began to moan in earnest, their thrusts picked up again. harder now, less patient. jack fucking up into you from beneath, robby driving into you from behind, the bed frame knocking against the wall harshly again and again.

then you felt a second tongue at the corner of your mouth.

you pulled back only enough to welcome it—jack's tongue sliding against yours, robby's flicking against the two of you together.

the room filled with louder moans and the thick slap of skin, the wet drag of mouths, jack's rough little curses disappearing against your lips. robby's hand stayed tight at the back of your neck, holding you there for it, making you take the kiss you had begged for. you gushed around them, pussy fluttering and convulsing in pleasure.

"come for us, baby," robby whispered between kisses. "come for jackie. he wants you to come all over his big cock."

jack groaned under you, his hips jerking up harder, his member punching even deeper.

"I wanna feel it too," robby said. "c'mon now, gave you what you wanted. now I get to feel this perfect little ass take my come."

"just wanted your boyfriends to kiss, huh, baby?" jack cooed, his hand moving up to grip your face, forefinger and thumb squeezing your cheeks. his thumb hooked into the tender hinge of your lips, sliding along your molars to pry your mouth open wider for the two of them.

you cried out around his salty skin, and he pouted in mock pity as he looked at you.

"come on my cock, baby," jack moaned, leaning in to keep licking and nipping at your lips. "know you wanna, come on my cock now—gonna fill you up so good, mmmm—"

"i'm—i'm—i'm coming—oh, god, oh god—"

"yeah, that's it, that's it—oh fuckkk—" robby groaned, his thrusts slamming harder, turning erratic before he froze up, jaw unhinging, breathing hotly against wanton mouth.

jack's opened too, in shock, in awe, and when you looked at him you saw his eyes go wide before they rolled back behind his eyelids.

your orgasm ripped through you, a heady pressure down your spine and tightening your hips, making your legs lock up before it crested you like an ocean wave swelling and crashing. your hand clenched in robby's hair as your mouth fell open around jack's thumb. both of them groaned in tandem, trapping you between them, both buried deep while your body squeezed down, making jack curse and robby bare his teeth.

as the euphoria eased and your body went loose with the oxytocin flooding your blood, the three of you kept kissing—gentle little nips, soft flicks of tongue, spit sliding and glistening at the corners of your mouths, collecting where lips met and parted. jack retreated his thumb from your mouth to gently pet at your cheek, and they let you have as much as you wanted, just like always. spoiled thing, they'd tell you again afterwards, while they washed your hair in the bath and cleaned you up.

but for now, you kissed them as your eyes grew heavier and heavier, your breathing deepening against jack's chest. robby's weight behind you felt heavy and comforting, tucked between two men, utterly spent and completely content.

you lean down to place a kiss to the head of him, then another. then another and another while giggling as you think about how cute his pink tip is. you hear him sigh impatiently and you blink up at him through bleary eyes. "s-sorry *hic* soryy jackie- 's jus sooo pretty."

he runs a hand through his silver curls before reaching down to try and haul you off your knees. his arms grip under your armpits like how a parent picks up a toddler. " 's alright baby you don't have to. lets just go to sleep alright?"

but you squirm out of his hold and firmly plant yourself on your knees. pouting all serious now. "no! i can do it *hic* promise!" after a second of scanning your face for doubt, jack nods and settles back into the couch when all he finds is determination.

you wrap your manicured hand around his pretty cock, a lopsided grin forms on your face when you hears jack's breath catch. you prop your elbow on one of his spread knees and rest your cheek against your fist as you stroke him way too slowly due to time meaning nothing to you in your buzzed state of mind.

you don't even realize you're eye lids drooping until jack thrusts up into your hand with a rough, "cmon baby." you jolt upright instantly, swallowing down a drunken yawn before forcing yourself to focus on the task at hand. sweetly saying "sorry jackie."

you bend forward to lick him, a long stripe from base to tip that has you smacking your lips with a "mmmm tastes good." jack huffs a laugh thats snuffed out by a groan when you take him in your mouth.

one languid suck of his length has you feeling dizzy. but not the usual kind of dizziness that blooms from pleasure, the intoxicated kind. when you bob back up the world spins, you mumble jacks name weakly before your hands shoot out to grab at his thick thighs.

he straightens instantly, cursing as he grips your biceps, hard cock still standing at attention inches from your face. "no more." he grunts with a grimace on his wrinkled face, looking like he's about to try and move you from your spot again.

but he's so hard! and you told him you wanted to do this. and you still do. you love making him feel good and getting drunk was not going to stop you from doing so. you start to whine and shimmy out of his hold. " 'm jus too dizzy. *hic* help me please?" your lower lip wobbles and tears brim at your waterline. jack gives you a doting smile and strokes your hair, not being able to say no to you. "course i can sweetheart."

thinking he's gonna fuck your face, you form an 'o' and go to take him back in your mouth. you squeak in surprise when jack grips your hair and gently tugs you back to look up at him. he chides "nuh uh baby. dont wan't you gettin' nauseous." before you can even argue he lays his thumb on your tongue and drags it outwards. "lemme do all the work. stick that tongue out. good girl- just like that."

you giggle at the praise, shifting on your knees so he has a better view of you all glossy eyed and pliant for him. jack takes himself in his vein covered hand and starts to leisurely stroke. watching him touch himself has your cheeks heating and thighs squirming. "jackiee" you whine, for nothing in particular.

but he just shakes his head as his movements speed up, grunting as he twists his wrist at the tip. "don't worry baby. just sit there and look pretty- fuck- y'so pretty sweetheart." after however long -you're so wasted you couldn't say- his jaw clenches and his thighs tense and you can tell he's getting close.

you see his aged face pinch as he squeezes the thick base with his hand while staring at you wide eyed for him. your hands start to feel real useless. so you reach out to grip his balls to help! he groans loudly as you start to massage them in your soft palm.

"fuck- just like that- doin so good-" his praises have you sober the tiniest bit, enough to lean forward and dribble some spit onto his glistening tip. jack throws his head back in a broken moan before gluing his blown out eyes back to yours. "gonna cum- tongue out f'me. now."

you obey him, instantly rewarded by the sound of jack cumming, groaning your name along with a string of lewd praises. "oooh fuck- fuck baby- so good. you're so good-" he tilts his hips forward as his hand jerks himself rapidly, his salty release spraying you from your extended tongue, to your smudged mascara covered cheeks, to the tip of your nose. he only collapses when you're entirely painted in his cum, slowly blinking down at you. his chuckle at your huge grin and sticky face is weak and satisfied.

you stick your tongue out to start to lick up his release but he stops you by successfully picking you up and dropping you on the couch. "leave it." he demands as he makes his way down your body to spread your legs with his large palms.

sometimes you and dennis liked sneaking off to the fields when your respective families were peacefully in dreamland, not having a clue of what you two were up to. dennis would push his dads pick-up truck far enough from his house so nobody could here the engine rumble. he’d park outside of your house and watch you with hearts eyes as you slipped out the front door. he always thought you looked beautiful no matter what; he didn’t care if your curls were messy, if your clothes were lazy, if you were barefaced. only beauty in his eyes. you were out the house in a oversized jacket and a pair of old shorts—he knows that you hate those shorts, but they must’ve been the only thing you could find as a replacement for your pjs. but he didn’t care. he loved all of your clothes.

when you met eyes, the smile on your faces was uncontrollable. you put a pep in your step and dashed to the truck, swung the door open and hopped inside. “hi, denny,” you murmured softly, looking over to the round-eyed boy with a matching sense of adoration coursing in your energy. “h-hi.” he stammered. of course, he did. even after knowing you for most of his life, he still got nervous. “c’mon, let’s go. we have to be fast or they’ll notice,” you said, placing your hand on his thigh and giving it a light squeeze. the pressure, your touch, and the sweetness of your voice makes dennis’ dick twitch in his sweatpants. he nodded and says “you’re right. can’t be out for too long.”

the short trip is mostly quiet. it never seemed like dennis and you had much to talk about when you were alone with each other. just the comfortable silence of the shared company. it was like you ran out things to talk about…or the things you had to say were to embarrassing to speak out loud. you would’ve talked about how good he made you feel the other day, but the words only get caught in your throat. dennis would bring up how badly he wanted to touch you and have all of you as his, but he’d just smile at you instead, letting the blush completely overpower the paleness of his cheeks. when you got to your destination, it’s like a sense of relief washed over you both. the tension was soon to be released and let out into the night sky.

like the gentleman he is, dennis hopped out the truck first and opens the door for you. your hand clasped into his as you stepped out into the grass. you dragged him behind you, walking to a spot to settle down for the evening. dennis could hear his heart beat in his ears. it’s not like you’ve never done this before, but the excitement was always overwhelming. he never knew how your moments would end. the newness was one of his favorite things about being with you. living in the lively town of broken bow was predictable. he had the same tasks of the farm, the same shit from his brothers at the same time everyday, he went to church at the same time on the same sunday—his weeks felt like groundhogs day. a never ending repetitive cycle. but you made life different. a staple that he wasn’t losing his damn mind. your lives together was spontaneous and thrilling. knowing that you guys could get in trouble at any minute was scary, but it was part of the fun. and at least he could get in trouble with you.

the grass was plush underneath your body. natures cushion kept you comfortable for the time being. you looked up at the starry sky, pretending like you haven’t snuck away for one reason. dennis looks at you like you’re the stars themselves, lashes fluttering at the way you glow. “you’re the most beautiful girl i’ve ever seen…” he whispered, lifting a hand to stroke your cheekbone. his physical sentiment is slightly hesitant, but your hand cradles his as an act of encouragement. “you don’t be mean that,” you huff out a soft laugh, still not looking him in the eyes. dennis hates that. “look at me,” he ordered, but it comes out as a gentle ask. you give in, letting out a sigh as you turn your head toward him. “i mean it more than anything in the world. i swear.”

getting between you legs, he kissed you passionately. he got better at kissing every time you guys committed the act—at least you think so. dennis was the first boy you’ve ever kissed, touched, loved. all of him was normal to you. how it was supposed to be. dennis panted into your mouth, mumbling your name every time he pulled away and joined again. your fingers had a life of their own, traveling up and down his broad shoulders, up his shirt and raking his soft tummy. he whimpers at the sensation. “th-that—feels nice,” he said between the kisses, gripping onto your thighs and wrapping them around his torso so you’re slotted together. “i-it does? you want more?” you asked with excitement. you were always ready to make him feel good however you could.

“let’s..lets do this first, okay? c-can take off your shorts?” he always asked despite you telling him he didn’t have to. you nodded softly, lifting your hips so he could remove your bottoms. you winced when the cool night air hit the wet patch of arousal. “you okay?” dennis asked, big hands going up and down your thighs to sooth whatever was wrong. “yea, just a little cold.”

“don’t worry, this’ll warm you up,” he smiled, bordering along a sense of confidence. unfortunately, he hadn’t savored it before he needed to awkwardly shimmey out of his pants, but at least he got to hear your giggle.

finally, the two of you were bottomless out in the open. it would’ve been a lie if you said you weren’t terrified of being caught, but denny kissed the thoughts away. he was back between your legs, kissing you breathless as he grinds slowly against your clothed-cunt. the contact made you both gasp in unison, holding onto each other for dear life before dennis hardly got started. then, he rolled his hips again. he was already wet, sticky pre-cum seeping through his boxers and making it easier for him to work. dennis whimpered softly with you, head falling into the crook of your neck as he built up a rhythm that had you both making loud noises of pure pleasure. dennis tried his hardest to not swear, but he can’t think of any other words that’ll express how good he feels between your legs. against your sex. “shit—oh, g-god!” he gasped into your neck, hips rolling against your rapidly. he was going too fast, but it was the perfect speed for the pent up desire you and dennis have kept in for a time too long for comfortability. you had a problem with forming coherent words when you and dennis had your moments together. all you did was whimper and moan. you were slight jealous of den’s ability of expressing himself during it, even if he was using forbidden words.

you were close, he was close. dennis had been holding back for you. he hated coming too early. it felt mean. why would dennis want to be mean to you? so he kept it to himself for as long as he could before moaning out a loud, “m’close—fuck—so close.” you wrapped your arms around his neck and pull his impossibly close, mumbling words of agreement. maybe they were word, but dennis understood and that’s all that mattered. you both came together, sounds of love being let out for anyone to here, but no one else heard as far as you guys are concerned. they were just for each other to hear.

You had met Jack Abbot at the local coffee shop. He’d waltzed in still wearing his scrubs after his shift. In typically fashion, he’d ordered a black coffee with three sugars. He’s not used to seeing the coffee shop be this crowded. 

Usually, when he gets off of his shift, it’s a dead zone in here with a few early morning runners or early birds. Normally, in any situation like this, he’d just walk out of the door and head home, but he really just wants a moment to sit down and not stand on his leg. 

Plus, he wants to actually enjoy his coffee while it’s hot. Not sip on it when it’s reheated. 

He spots an open chair at the table with you and weighs his options. He could go and ask, and you’d say yes. Or he’d ask and you’d flat out tell him no, and he would smile and be on his way. 

One look at your pretty face makes option one sound more tempting. He strolls over in your directions, a visible lack of confidence in the walk paired with the dull ache of being on the prosthetic all day.

You look up from your notebook just as Jack stops at your table. 

“Hi, do you mind if I sit here? All the other tables are pretty crowded…”

You glance around at the other tables before shooting Jack a smile that he can only describe as dazzling. “Yeah, of course. Take a seat.”

You reach over to slide your bag from the seat just as Jack sits down. You start to sketch on your notebook again while Jack sips on his coffee and looks out the window. It’s a peaceful calm with only the quiet murmurs of the other customers, along with the sound of the espresso machine. 

Jack looks down and catches sight of your drawing. “You’re really good at that.”

He immediately cringes at the sentence. The long shift has left his cognitive prowess at a minimal. 

You chuckle, “Thank you. I could do a sketch of you, if you’d like.” 

Of course, he agrees. Anything to keep some form of conversation going with you. Throughout the coffee, you both introduce yourselves to each other before starting to get to know each other more. 

Jack becomes enamored with you almost instantly. He hasn’t been this interested in someone since his wife. When you present the sketch to him, it leaves him stunned. It’s amazing all of the small details about him that you were able to capture. 

From that point, you and Jack make the little meetings a recurring thing. He doesn’t stick around longer than he has to for handoffs. He tells Robby what he needs to know and dips out of the hospital to walk to the cafe. 

You’re always sitting in the same spot, waiting with your coffee order. You even buy his coffee—which Jack immediately shuts down because you shouldn’t be spending your money on him. 

But it’s perfectly fine if he spends his money on you. You both talk for hours. Jack’s pain in his leg fades away with the conversation, and he doesn’t even remember how tired he is.

It’s not quite unexpected when you end up back at his apartment, your hand tangled in his silver curls. He pauses to mention his leg to you, which obviously doesn’t bother you. 

It’s not too long after that when he has bent over his counter, clawing at the granite and drooling because of the intense drag of his dick through your warm walls. 

You lose count of how many times that Jack makes you cum that day. He has you in so many positions that it makes your head spin just thinking about it. 

You aren’t surprised that he would be good at making you feel good. Jack has the look of someone who values their partner’s pleasure written all over him. 

However, what is surprising is the fact that when you take a pregnancy test two weeks later, it comes back positive.

You take three more…and surprise, surprise, they all come back positive. 

-

Telling Jack that you’re pregnant is a job within itself. You didn’t exactly have his number to call him. You both had never traded numbers. You and Jack liked the intimacy of having those moments in the coffee shop together before you returned back to your lives.

However as you sit across from him, you swallow nervously as you sip at your green tea. Jack notices that it’s not your usual sugary confection. 

“Hey, is something wrong?”

On his end, he’s mentally preparing himself to hear you say that you don’t want to see him anymore. Maybe, you felt like he was too old. Honestly, he was pushing fifty and he wondered if he was some kind of creep because he liked you. 

“I’m pregnant.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you take a sip of your tea, burning your tongue in the process.

Jack’s ears rings, and this time it isn’t from the tinnitus that he developed after serving two tours. 

“Pregnant?”

You nod, chewing on your lip, “Yeah, I took four tests, they all came back positive. And before you give me that look because I’m aware that tests can come back with false positives, I already went to my primary, and she confirmed it. 

You try not to be insulted when you see the next questioning look that crosses his face. 

“Yes, it’s yours. I’ve only had sex with you, Jack,” you spit out, biting back the sting of tears. The hormones and stress of the situation has you emotion out of this world.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to imply anything. I just wanted to be sure. What are you thinking? Obviously, this is your body, so I’ll respect whatever option that you choose,” Jack states, though some part of him secretly craves this. 

“I don’t know. I haven’t had much time to think it over. I just wanted to let you know, so that maybe we could figure out together,” you explain, your wide eyes gazing over at him. 

That look alone lets Jack know how scary this must all be for you. He reaches across the table, “Sweetheart, whatever you decide, I’ll be here to support you through it.”

-

You decide to keep the baby, which Jack is elated by. From the moment that you both agree to keep it, Jack is by your side every step of the way. 

When you have an appointment, he’s driving you there and even picking you up food on the way there. He’s constantly texting you while you’re at work, checking on you and the baby. Don’t even mention that you didn’t pack lunch, Jack is immediately sending food your way.

He’s on top of your prenatals and vitamins. He’ll text during the morning, reminding you to take them. 

As your pregnancy progresses, Jack falls more and more in the love with the idea of being a father. He imagines a chunky baby with curly hair laying on his chest. 

When your bump starts to show, Jack is over the moon. To him, it signifies that your baby is healthy and growing. He wants to remain respectful, but there’s a part of him that craves to touch your bump.

You catch him eyeing your stomach one day and chuckle, “Jack, you can touch my stomach. This is your baby too.” You only have to tell him once before he’s spreading his large hand across your bump. 

You try to ignore the way that your body reacts to feeling his hands on you. You and Jack had agreed to keep things platonic for the sake of the baby. Who knows why you both thought that would be a good idea? 

Before you know it, you’re riding Jack on your couch, fingers clutching at his shoulders. He looks down at your growing belly and your breasts, which have increased in size. He’s in awe at you truly. 

He grabs your hips in his, “You’re so gorgeous like this, honey. Growing my baby and letting me fuck you full still.” He moves his hands up to grasp at your sensitive breasts, “And these. It makes me even harder knowing that these are gonna fill with milk for our baby.” 

The combination of his words, along with the added stimulation of his fingers rolling across your nipples has you cumming loudly. 

You and Jack swear that this is the last time. 

But it’s not. You have sex in his truck after one of your appointments. You have sex when you go to pick out the baby crib and paint for the nursery. You even have sex late at night because you were horny and craving Jack. 

It doesn’t take long for Jack to ask you to be his girlfriend after that. There isn’t anything that he wouldn’t do for you or the baby. If you’re craving some ridiculous concoction, he’s all on board for getting it. If he isn’t available, best believe he’s sending Robby in his place. 

As your bump grows more and more, so does the pain and fatigue. Jack is there to massage your aching back and feet. In fact, he even hires a masseuse who specializes in massages for pregnant women to come massage your back and stomach. 

When you can’t see your feet and need to shave, Jack is elated to be the one doing it. He might as well be a barber with how much care and dedication he puts into shaving you.

When you need a pregnancy pillow, consider it bought. The baby’s nursery. Already done. Jack and Robby spent a full day building and organizing to your desire. 

“What about right here, honey?” Jack asks, as he moves the dresser with Robby for the third time.

You frown, “No, it looks wrong there. Can we try moving it there, please?” 

Both men move the dresser, but you can see the sweat and how tired they are. Before either of them know it, you’re pouting and sniffling, and then you’re just full-blown crying. 

“I’m sorry. I’m working you both so hard and being difficult,” you state, sobbing and rubbing at your eyes.

Jack’s expression softens, “Hey, baby, you’re not being difficult. You’re doing what feels best for our baby. We don’t have a problem with that. Right, Robby?”

“Right. Whatever will be best for my niece or nephew, consider it done,” Robby answer.

You wipe at your eyes, “Are you both sure?”

“Of course we are. Now, why don’t you go rest. There’s watermelon in the fridge,” Jack said.

“Okay, thank you both. Love you,” you said, pressing your lips to Jack’s. You waltz out of the room without realizing what you’ve said to Jack. 

His jaw is dropped, but then the goofy smile crosses his lips. “Love you too, baby,” he mutters, before turning back to Robby. 

“You’re far, gone, brother,” Robby comments, smiling at seeing Jack so happy.

“M’right where I wanna be,” Jack answers, before navigating to the dresser again.

-

When you and Jack find out that the gender of the baby is a boy, he cries. Not some cute cry, but fully sobs in the room. Your OBGYN zooms in your baby boy as he sleeps peacefully. 

Jack turns to you, “That’s our baby boy in there.” 

He’d always imagined what it would be like to have a son. His mind goes to all of the different ways that he and his son will bond together. He thinks of all the things he wants to teach him. 

He thinks that he couldn’t get more happier than this moment, but then he feels his baby boy start kicking and he’s over the moon. 

“Let daddy feel you kick one more time, buddy,” Jack mutters against your bump. In response, your son kicks lightly. 

Jack laughs, “Ooo, that’s a strong one, buddy. You’re gonna give your old man a run for his money.” 

You curl your fingers in his hair, “You both get to have your little boys day out.”

Most of the time, Jack finds himself talking to your son, even while your sleeping. You’ll get random texts from him during the day asking how you and his baby boy are doing. 

The excitement never dies down. 

On July 17th at 9:15 PM, Koda Jackson Abbot, makes his grand entrance into the world weight 8lbs and 6 ounces. Jack is in pure awe at seeing the doctor holding his little boy. He’s in even more awe when he gets to cut the umbilical cord. 

Koda is set upon your chest and Jack can’t help but take in the sight of his baby. You smile up at him with tears in your eyes. Jack presses a kiss to your forehead, “I love you, baby. Thank you for giving me this.”

He follows behind the nurses when they go to clean Koda up. He eagerly scoops Koda into his arms when it’s time for skin-to-skin.

Fatherhood suits Jack Abbot quite nicely.

-

Jack’s an amazing father. You never have to doubt that. He makes sure that you and Koda are good. He’s attentive and caring. During your healing process, Jack takes extra special care of you, especially when making sure that you have enough rest. 

Things go great for you both. 

Until they don’t. 

Jack falls into some old destructive habits. He spends more time rushing into work, especially when he’s not needed. He doesn’t know why he does it, but it just happens. Your relationship starts to get rocky. You both try to make it work, but it just falls through. 

Jack knows that he’s to blame. 

Even with you both not being together, you still co-parent effortlessly. You both agreed that you would never let any of your problems affect Koda. He was always yours and Jack’s #1 priority. 

The schedule that you both craft is good. All mentions of your past relationship is put on the back burner, but that doesn’t mean that Jack doesn’t miss you. He still yearns for those quiet and intimate moments that you shared.

He misses holding you and sharing kisses. But he respects your boundaries. 

Two years pass by of peace with co-parenting. But that doesn’t stop Jack from subtly flirting with you. You catch him checking you out more times than you can count. 

“Is this a new dress?” He asks, eyes running up and down your figure. 

You roll your eyes playfully, “Yes, Jackson, this is a new dress. Let’s keep our eyes to our self.” 

Jack shrugs, “A man can’t appreciate how beautiful the mother of his child looks?”

That was another thing, Jack didn’t play none of that calling you his baby mama. You were always to be referred to as the mother of his child. Even when you would jokingly refer to him as your “baby daddy,” he never took it to heart. 

You lean across the counter while staring at him, “Hey, are you free to take Koda this Saturday?”

“Yeah, I am. You got big plans with the girls?”

You bite at your lip, “Actually, I have a date.” 

Jack almost breaks his neck with how fast he turns to look at you. He tries in vain to steel his expression, “Oh? I didn’t realize that you were dating again.”

Quite frankly, he wasn’t expecting you to date anyone else. He’d been dropping hints here and there about getting back together. Plus, in his head, you would always be his. 

“It’s nothing too serious. Just a date with this guy that I work with,” You reply. 

“Has he met Koda?” Jack questions, failing to hide the jealously in his voice. 

“Of course not, Jack. You know I wouldn’t disrespect you like that.” 

He sighs, “Yeah, honey, I’ll take Koda Saturday. Have fun on your date.”

You’re surprised at how well that he takes the news. You were expecting him to have a much bigger reaction. 

Little do you know, Jack’s already planning on how he’ll ruin your date. He’ll let you have this little illusion of choice, but honestly, you’re always going to be his. 

-

On Saturday, when you drop Koda off at Jack’s house, the man doesn’t hide that he’s ogling you. 

He grabs Koda as you pass him to Jack. Koda smiles happily, auburn curls flopping in his face, “Daddy!”

Jack smiles in return before pressing a kiss to Koda’s chubby cheek, “Hey, buddy. I missed you so much. You ready to have fun?”

“Mhmm, daddy we play trucks,” Koda states. He was in his truck phase, and neither Jack nor Robby were making it better as they kept buying him toys to add to his collection. 

“We sure are, buddy. We’re gonna have so much fun!” Jack lightly bounces him in his arms before looking at you.

“You look beautiful, sweetheart,” He tells you, trailing his eyes down your figure. You can’t help the heat that pinches at your skin. 

“Thanks, Jack. Also, thanks again for doing this.” 

“S’no problem, honey. Now go have fun.”

You smile and lean forward to kiss Koda’s cheek, “Bye baby. Mommy will be back to get you tomorrow. Be good for daddy okay?” You ruffle your hand through his curls which resemble yours, but with Jack’s ginger color.

“Otay mommy. I love you.”

“I love you too, baby bear.” You kiss Koda’s cheek one last time. 

“No kiss for daddy?” Jack teases, even though he’s dead serious. 

You roll your eyes before leaning in to press a kiss to his jaw. Both Jack and Koda watch as you walk to your car before getting in and driving off. 

Jack looks down at his son, “Hey Koda, you want to do me a favor, and I’ll buy you a new truck?”

-

The date with Oliver, your coworker, is going surprisingly well. However, you’d be lying if you didn’t say that your mind was wandering to Jack. Though you tried not to, your mind instantly went to comparing Oliver to Jack. 

You take another sip of wine as you try to redirect your thoughts. 

Before you can respond to Oliver’s question, your phone buzzes on the table. You flip it over and see Jack’s name. Your stomach drops. Jack wouldn’t be calling you unless it was a dire emergency. 

You look up at Oliver, “I’m sorry. It’s my kid’s dad.” 

“Don’t apologize. You should take it. It could be an emergency,” Oliver said. 

Clicking on the answer button, you hold the phone up to your ear, “Hello?”

“Hey, honey, Koda’s been crying for you for the past hour. I tried to get him settled down, but he’s inconsolable,” Jack answers. 

“Okay, can you put him on the line?”

You hear the brief shuffle of the phone as Jack passes it to Koda. 

Koda sniffles, “Mama…”

“Oh my baby. What’s wrong?”

“I miss you, mama. I want you to come back to me and daddy,” Koda responds, before he sniffles again. 

Your heart clenches at hearing his little sniffles and sobs, “Hey, I’ll be right there in a bit, baby bear, okay? Just be a big boy for daddy and I’ll be there soon.”

“Otay, mama. I love you.”

“I love you too, baby.” You hang up the phone as you look back at Oliver with a tight-lipped smile. 

Before you can explain, he smiles, “Hey, don’t apologize. Your son comes first always. We have plenty more time to go on another date.”

“Thank you, Oliver.” 

-

It feels like you’re speeding as you rush back to Jack’s house. Which is honestly a little crazy on your part. When you make it there and park in the driveway, Jack opens the door on the first knock. 

Koda reaches out for you as you grab him in your arms. “Hey, baby bear, are you okay?”

“Mhmm, I just missed you mommy.”

“I missed you too,” You said, kissing the crown of his head. You, Jack, and Koda all walk back into the house together as you all sit on the couch together. Jack turns on Little Bear, which happens to be one of Koda’s favorite shows. Pretty soon, Koda is asleep with his cheek pressed to your chest in the same way that he used to do when he was a baby. 

“I can take him,” Jack suggests. 

You seamlessly pass Koda over to him. You both watch as your baby boy snuggles further into Jack’s arms as he carries him to his room. Jack pushes Koda’s curls back before kissing his cheek. 

“Night buddy. Daddy loves you.”

He walks back into the living room where you’re sitting. He plops back into the couch with you casually. 

“So how was the date?” Jack asks.

“It was good. He was really nice,” You answer, trying to keep the conversation light. You figure that Jack doesn’t want to hear the ins and outs of your date with the other man. 

You don’t even know that he paid Dennis to spy on you and Oliver from across the restaurant. 

Jack hums, “Are you planning on going on another date with him?”

“I don’t know, maybe? He’s really nice and I like him. Isn’t this a bit awkward to be talking about with you?”

Jack shrugs, “Not at all. I think it’s important for us to have healthy communication with each other. That includes me asking about the man that’s taking out the mother of my child.”

“Do you ever think about dating other people?” You ignore the bitterness that you feel at Jack dating other women, or even just the thought of him sleeping with other women makes you sick. It’s hypocritical of you, but it still doesn’t ease the sting.

“Nope, I have my eye on one woman only. I’m just waiting on her to come to her senses.”

You laugh, “We tried, remember? We couldn’t make it work.”

“But that was the past, we can make it work this time. I’m in therapy and I’ve been setting boundaries with work. I love you, sweetheart. I love you and I love our little boy. Just give us a shot again.” 

Just as before, you get lost in those hazel puppy eyes. 

Jack always has a way of getting what he wants. That includes you. One minute, you’re both talking on the couch and the next minute, he has your legs pressed to your chest as he bullies his way inside of you. 

You moan loudly as you clutch at him. Jack leans down, “Shhh…don’t wake our baby up. Be a good girl for me and keep quiet.”

You wonder how the man expects you to be quiet when he’s rearranging your insides. 

You’re so lost in the pleasure of it all that you’re right where Jack wants you. He reaches a hand down to start playing with your clit, “M’never gonna let you go, honey. You, me, and Koda, we can be one big happy family. Maybe…we’ll have a little girl.”

Somewhere in your brain, the rational part of you fights against his words. Jack spots the hesitation in your gaze, which causes him to press himself deeper inside of you as he slots his lips against yours. 

You’re so lost in your orgasm that you don’t even pay attention to the warm spurts of Jack’s cum painting your walls. 

Oh well. 

You’ll just have to plan for the next baby, but by that point, you’ll be married.

End.

-

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