are you provocative, eighteen, british, she / they, i write disturbing things for jack abbot and michael robinavitch, andrew ‘pope’ cody.

dead dove do not eat blog meaning but not limited to: fauxest, icky behaviour, extreme age gaps with themes of obsession, violence (never towards reader) and possessiveness.

all my titles are music, stay around and you’ll see more of that. don’t like? don’t read.

dead dove do not eat. non con. age gap isn’t mentioned. pet names. mdni. rabbot.

jack remembers your first shift well.

there was too many casualties, 120 in 3 hours, with complications nobody saw coming. it was a draining shift. a terrifying one at that.

he remembers the way your eyes went all glossy when somebody died, when you'd messed up- when you felt heartbroken over a loss. jack abbot remembers that night shift well.

his favourite one in months, cleaning up after the day shift was never a good chore to have but it paid well so who was he to complain, with how you hovered.

every time you asked - am i doing this right? — he'd soften, coo at you almost like a child.

jack rejected you after a month of your pining, robby said he couldn’t do this— not with you, with somebody from work. their mistake.

use of ‘daddy’, ‘dad’ and ‘kid’. mdni. fem!reader. age gap (mid 20’s/50’s). dddne. icky. non consensual photo taking. pervy behaviour.

it was supposed to pass for them.

they rejected you, with tight smiles and you were rightfully able to get over it. you weren’t really one to cling onto something that had been shut down.

but, they still wanted you. even if they couldn’t — shouldn’t — have you.

so it started slow, robby was on his phone more during his shift, uncharacteristically like him, and sometimes he’d be on a call. usually to jake, or a friend. or somebody.

you’re exhausted from the pitt, robby and jack are more than happy to let you wind down on their weekend off. female reader.

minors do not interact. age gap not mentioned. smut. pwp. this is hella soft for dddne blog

robby’s mouth is skilled. in back talking, in his humour bantering and then when he’s pushing his tongue right inside of your pussy with nothing but a prayer in his head.

he’s not a religious man—sometimes—but when he has you like this, slack, panting and dazed, he’s sure that you’re the closest he’s ever gotten to god.

jack is brushing a hand down your stomach, mindful to rub at your hip, before his fingertips find your swollen clit. she’s puffy, and albeit a little sore from so much walking, before he massages her. it’s sweet of him, almost.

you whimper a hiccup, eyebrows knitted together with your eyes closed. robby can feel his knees beginning to ache, he shifts a leg over his shoulder and groans when he smells (tastes) your arousal.

“you’re so pretty,” has you smiling when the words fall from jack’s mouth.

your fingers curl in robby’s hair, nudge him forward almost as your hips rock up, jack’s pushing his fingers to your clit in eager circles.

robby’s tongue goes further, as if he’s trying to devour you whole. your first orgasm is soft, gentle even. the second has you whimpering and lastly the third — but not final of the night — has you smiling.

it’s only then, as jack pushes his slick coated fingers into his mouth with a satisfied hum and robby’s pressing sloppy kisses up your stomach, when they feel satisfied.

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