Pope remembers when he met you for the first time, June 1st 2012. You were eighteen and bright-eyed, happy, smiling. Precious. Catherine needed time to herself, needed help with little Lena, two years old at the time and you were there. The babysitter. 

            He met you when he went over to talk to Baz about a job and found that Baz and Catherine were out and you were there, holding Lena on your hip. 

            “Hi,” you had said, your expression concerned, drawn together, suspicious, your body put between him and your charge, the door not entirely open. “Can I help you?”

            “I’m looking for my brother, Baz,” he had replied and your eyes had narrowed in that analytical way you have, the one he didn’t know then, but he grew to know. Grew to love. “Where can I find him?”

            “Mr. and Mrs. Blackwell have gone out. They won’t be back for a few hours. Should I take a message?” You were perfectly polite, but all he’d done was shaken his head, angry at the stone wall you’d put up, the impenetrableness of the force which you created. 

            “I’ll be back later,” is all he’d said, storming off, walk rigid like always. He’d been told by his brothers that he didn’t walk like a human and when he’d reached his car, he’d glanced back, noticing the door still open. You were watching him, making sure he left, protective of Lena. Of the girl you were tasked to look after. 

            That was the first time he met you, but it was not when he fell into deep, sickening love, a kind of love that others would call obsession, stalking. That time came later, after you’d been introduced to him by Catherine and Baz and he became Mr. Cody, someone okay to be around Lena. 

            You were always there, watching over Lena, your laugh always echoing, infectious. A college student, he’d been told. One studying science, but no one ever told him what science, only that you were quite good, quite skilled at what you did. What you were studying. He could sometimes see you doing complicated equations while Lena scribbled with crayons. 

            But he did not fall into his love (obsession) until October 27th 2012, a date seared into his memory. He’d been tasked with checking on Lena, a task from Smurf who didn’t like Catherine and he knew that you were watching her, most likely at the park. 

            He’d shown up, lurking in the trees, watching as you played with Lena in the sand, pushed her on the swings, looking for all the world like a young mother or older sister. There was just something about you that made him feel you truly cared for the girl. He watched and he felt something shift inside of him, like the compass in his chest that was always steered to Catherine now steered towards you. 

            You’d looked up at that moment, your body haloed by the sun, attention on him. You had noticed him and waved him over, calling out “Mr. Cody!” Lena had grown excited and he complied, standing there awkwardly, standing there unsure what to do, unsure what to say the way he always was. 

            He did not know intimacy. He did not know love. He knew what had paid for, had been purchased, bought, and expected of him. He did not know what it felt to have someone entirely his to be someone else’s entire. He knew what it was liked to be used, forced and hurt. 

            He knew heartbreak. 

            But you made him want more. You made him want love. Especially because as Lena fell asleep against you, the three of you sitting on a grassy knoll, watching the birds as you explained that Lena liked to do, you had been at peace. You had not been scared of him, ashamed. You had felt comfortable, safe. 

            And you read him like an open book. 

            “You’re in love with Cath,” you had whispered and he remembers that he looked at you with shock, surprise. You had smiled at him, the kind of smile that came from being used to people’s surprise. “You don’t hide it, Mr. Cody,” you continued, the smile turning sad. “I just wish more for both of you.”

            “What do you mean?” he had asked and you sighed, your hand stilling on Lena’s head from where you had been smoothing down her ever-growing dark hair. 

            “I mean that Cath deserves someone who loves her wholly and you deserve to love someone capable of loving you back, Mr. Cody.” He had wished that you would call him Andrew, called him by his name, but it seemed like you were incapable of that, a line drawn between professional and personal. Except for Cath, it seemed. 

            “You call her Cath,” he had said, unsure of how to ask, unsure of what to say and you had looked at him with softened eyes and a smile, one nostalgic. 

            “Because she asked me too,” you’d whispered. “She said that I’m more like Lena’s older sister than her babysitter and that I should call her Cath.” He had wanted to ask you what would happen if he asked you to call him Andrew, but he understood then that he was not Cath. That Cath was Cath and he was Mr. Cody, a line forever drawn. 

            But he didn’t want that line there. He just wanted you. You as his and he as yours. A part of him thought you wanted that too. 

            And then he fell headfirst into loving you, learning your music preferences, your favourite colours and foods and days. It didn’t matter, what you loved he knew about. He just wished that he made it onto that list. 

            When he was arrested in 2013, you were the person he thought of, cared about. Worried for. You visited him once at Folsom, a backpack on your shoulders, your body tense and rigid as you stepped into the visiting room, putting the phone to your ear as he did the same on the other side. 

            “I heard Mr. Blackwell and Deran talking about you being here,” you had said and he’d swallowed hard at your words, at this admission that he mattered enough to you for you to do that. “I thought I’d come by.”

            “Why?” he’d asked, watching as your face shifted, shuttered, eyes darting around, refusing to settle on him. 

            “Because I figured no one else was.” It was true, the truest truth he’d heard since…well, ever and it did not surprise him that it came from you. You seemed honest to a fault. “And Lena wanted me to tell you about her ballet recital.” You had pulled your phone out, putting the screen against the dividing wall so he could watch as his niece toddled around the stage in a glittery blue costume. “Made the costume myself,” you’d told him and he felt his heart pound and pound and pound harder and harder because you were so…perfect. 

            You came every so often for a visit, some update about Lena over the three years he was away, but you mainly wrote him letters, keeping him apprised of her daily life, but never you. It was still a line drawn between you and him and what you could be. 

            But in the walls of Folsom, he pretended that the wall did not exist, spoke of you to the inmates as his wife. His, his, his, his, his. He wanted you to be his. So badly. 

            When he got out, the first person he went to was you, your apartment number burned onto his mind and he stayed in the rental vehicle he’d gotten, watching you through your curtains, watching as you moved around. Alone. 

            Blissfully alone. 

            He knew then, that night, his first of freedom, that you would be his. 

            He just had to wait until the time was right. 

            “Are you crying?!” Lena cries, standing up from the couch, her little face twisted into an expression of shock and disgust, hands on her slim hips. 

            “No,” you lie, looking away, your hands pressing against your eyes, moving from in to out, wiping away your tears. 

            “You so are! Why? That movie’s just weird,” she says and you can hear her grab her glass from the coffee table, small feet making a surprising amount of noise as she stomps to the kitchen. 

            “The Notebook is not weird, you little gremlin!” you call out, your voice teasing despite the thickness still there. The movie reduces you to tears every time, the way that love wins and yet it doesn’t. The way they fight for their happy ending and yet lose it so quickly. 

            “He’s so obsessed with her!” Lena calls out and you roll your eyes, untangling your legs from one another and the fluffy blanket you’ve curled up under, planting your feet flat on the hardwood floor, pushing up to a stand, grabbing the popcorn bucket and your glass, walking through the living room, back towards the kitchen, the movie’s credits still rolling. 

            “And what?” you ask, stepping in, walking to the sink while Lena pulls a bottle of water from the fridge. “What’s wrong with him being obsessed with her like that? I think it’s romantic.”

            “He never moves on,” Lena says, her spare hand held up, index finger of her right hand, the one currently wrapped around the bottle ticking down the reasons, folding each finger. “He, like, falls apart and is all unkempt because she’s gone—”

            “He did survive war too, you know,” you interrupt, but she waves you away, silencing your protests with an enthusiastic wave of her hand. 

            “He builds the house for her,” she says. “And he fights to have her even when she’s marrying someone else!”

            “That doesn’t count!” you exclaim, turning from her to the sink, running some water in your glass, the one that held you cream soda. “She wasn’t in love with him. She loved Noah the whole time too.”

            “Yeah, but,” Lena continues, “she was moving on. And Noah ruined it! Besides! Lon’s way cuter!”

            “You take that back!” you cry, spinning around, eyes wide as they settle on the child who has completely and totally destroyed your faith in humanity. “Ryan Gosling is way hotter than James Marsden! That rain scene, man!” Lena’s laughing so hard that it’s more a cackle, her seven, nearly eight year old body, convulsing with her laughter while you roll your eyes, leaning back against the kitchen counter, hands splayed flat on the cool, smooth granite. 

            “I just,” she says, now that she’s calmed down, “think it’s creepy how in love with her Noah was. You know.”

            “I don’t know,” you muse. “I think it would be romantic to have someone…willing do to anything for you—like the house. I think…ah, man, I think I would want that.”

            “You’re weird,” she says, tone flat and thick black brows drawn together, her expression so stern and serious that it’s now your turn to laugh, the kind of laugh that starts deep in your stomach, rumbling through you. 

            “Yeah,” you tell her, amidst the laughter. “Don’t listen to me, kiddo. Now, go get ready for bed.” She runs past you, up to the stairs, her feet padding on the carpet noisily despite the fact that it’s carpet and she’s no more than 60 pounds soaking wet. 

            You can’t help but laugh again, the sound more of an exhalation than any real laugh, as you run some water in the sink, adding soap, knowing that Mr. Cody prefers his house clean, obsessively so. 

            A part of you wonders what would happen if you didn’t bother to clean, what he would say, but you know there’s no use going down that path, even if you sometimes wish that he would speak to you. Look at you. 

            But that line of thinking leads nowhere. 

            It’s best to just close it down. 

            Pope’s heart is in his throat, pulsing and pounding erratically, his lungs tightening and clenching, constricting and burning. He heard you, those words I think it would romantic to have someone willing to do anything for you…I think I would want that still echoing around him, surrounding him, choking him. 

            He’s been waiting for the right time, the right way and here it is. He just has to show you that he’ll do anything for you. 

            And he can do that.

            The club is loud, music pulsing in the air, almost in a way that you can see, the sound so loud, more noise than music. Your friends are laughing, yelling at each other just to be heard over the music, but you’re quiet, hand turning your glass in circles, a single shot of tequila downed. You’re not much of a drinker, never have been, preferring to stay present in your mind. Preferring to stay present. 

            “YOU OKAY?” Jonathan yells, his voice still just barely audible as you turn to him, shrugging. 

            “IT’S TOO LOUD,” you reply and he nods, looping his arm through yours, his touch gentle and kind, sweet in his way. Jonathan is sweet though and pretty, bright green eyes set in skin the colour of toffee, dark hair curling down his forehead and a smile even and pretty. Not crooked in the slightest. Not like…nope, you won’t go there, not even in your own mind. 

            “Better?” he asks, pushing out of the club, the autumn breeze cool and crisp, tinged with cigarette smoke and car exhaust, yet still better than the sweat and alcohol smell of the club that mingles with mildew and broken leather. 

            “Much,” you tell him, sighing and leaning against the brick wall of the club, your head falling back against it, a buzzing in your jacket pocket. “One sec,” you tell him, walking a ways away, pulling your phone out, noticing LENA in all caps on your screen. “Lena?! What’s wrong?”

            “Uncle Deran fell asleep before he could help with the bedtime routine!” she cries, her voice thick and pained and you sigh, your eyes closing for a minute. The bedtime routine became sacred after Cath left, an open sore, her disappearance still a question of what? Where? Who? When? Lena needs to see her door close, needs to know someone is there, the way Cath isn’t. 

            You wanted a single Saturday night to yourself, with friends. You wanted to have fun, to return to a world that wasn’t full of the Cody’s and the Blackwell’s, but rather the life you could have had if you had never accepted the babysitting gig that your friend, Elizabeth, skipped out on seven years ago. 

            You wanted to forget and be someone young. You wanted to act your age. But you just can’t get that. 

            “Hey, I have to call it a night, Jonathan,” you say, tucking your phone into your pocket after assuring Lena that you’ll be there, just wait for a bit, you’ll be there, always. 

            “What’s wrong?” he asks, hands tucked into his jean pockets, cheeks darkening from the cold. 

            “My…Lena needs my help,” you tell him, your lips twisting into an apologetic smile, but he shrugs, eyebrows rising. 

            “I could give you a lift and then, you know, when you’ve helped her…maybe you and I could grab something to eat or…something,” he says and you can feel something inside of you, some kind of feeling that you don’t entirely know rise as you nod and he smiles, a bright kind of smile. 

            “That sounds good,” you tell him, mind only half here, the other part on Lena and who was supposed to be watching her. 

            Why wasn’t Mr. Cody there?

            Where is he?

            Did Lena lose another person again?

            You fumble with the keys that Mr. Cody gave you, the ones needed for the days that you pick Lena up or for the occasional times that you have to take her somewhere and lock up and unlock it again to come back. 

            They’re slipping through your fingers, chiming and clinking against one another as you finally slot it into the door, unlocking first the deadbolt then the knob, twisting the handle and pushing the door open. You step into a quiet house, still except for the sound of snores coming from the couch. 

            Deran, the fucker. 

            “Deran!” you hiss, closing the door behind you with more force than necessary, delighting in the way he jumps on the couch, hissing shit in a startled voice, head swivelling until he sees you, standing, arms crossed, no doubt a seriously pissed off look on your face. 

            “What are you doing here?” he asks you, blinking, sleep still heavy in his eyes, in his voice. 

            “I’m here because Lena called me, fucking crying because you fell asleep before the bedtime routine could happen,” you hiss, watching as realization dawns on his face, his hand coming up, scrubbing down his face as he murmurs “shit” for a different reason now. “And where the fuck is Mr. Cody? He’s supposed to be here watching Lena.”

            “He left real fast. Said he had to check on some girl,” he answers, his voice becoming more alert as he sits up and you grit your teeth together, turning to dart up the stairs, taking them two at a time, conscious of the fact that Lena’s up there, she’s sad and scared and her routine has been thrown out of order. 

            “Lena!” you call out when you reach the second floor landing, pushing open her partly closed door to see her sitting on her bed, face stained with tears. “Lena,” you whisper, “let’s do the routine, okay?”

            “Okay,” she whispers, standing and walking over to you, her face brightening at your presence. “You look fancy,” she says, “were you out with a boy? And did he look like the love of your life Ryan Gosling.”

            “Oh ha-ha, little one,” you say and she giggles, heading across the hall to the bathroom to rewash her face and brush her teeth, but in truth…Jonathan kinda does look like Ryan Gosling. But even as you think that, you swallow hard because that’s not exactly what you want. You want someone older, you want someone rougher around the edges who never looks at you and is awkward and someone you should never want, but do. Someone with dark auburn curls and hazel eyes…you blink, refocusing on the here and now and the nice boy waiting for you who has never seen the inside of a prison. 

            “Okay,” Lena says, bounding into her room, her face clean and words trailing minty breath. “I’m ready.” She runs across the room, leaping onto her twin bed, disturbing her piles of stuffies, tucking herself in as you cross the room towards her, kneeling down and smoothing the hair back from her face. 

            “I miss, Mommy,” she whispers and you can feel something crack inside of you. Something you’ve kept inside, locked up tight. 

            “She was a good woman,” you whisper, feeling tears in the back of your throat as you press a kiss to Lena’s forehead, tucking her blanket in tight all around her and rising, swallowing hard. Lena really does look like Cath, does carry that bit of her. 

            “She liked you,” Lena says and those words threaten to bring you to your knees. 

            “I liked her too. She was my friend.” Lena nods, satisfied with your answer before snuggling deeper into her blanket, eyes still open, watching as you click off her lamp and walk to the door, pulling it closed while you mouth good night. You know as the door clicks shut, the light flipped off that now she’ll fall asleep. Because she saw you leave. 

            You didn’t disappear in the dead of night. 

            You draw in a deep breath, shaking your head against the onslaught of tears that threaten you, bounding down the stairs preparing to rip Deran a new one, except…the living room is empty. You glance around, seeing nothing of Deran, instead just Mr. Cody standing there in the entrance way, his hazel eyes on you. 

            “Where’s Deran?” you call out, watching as Mr. Cody walks towards you, his presence making your mouth go dry and you swallow hard, his walk like that of a predator. 

            “I sent him home,” he says, his voice husky, rough. Dark, in a way that you like but wish you didn’t. You shouldn’t like him; you can’t like him. You are nothing if not professional. 

            “Well,” you say, nodding once and moving to step past him to the door. “I best let you get on with your night. Lena’s all tucked in, Mr. Cody.” You begin to walk, but he catches your wrist, his fingers calloused and warm against your skin in a way that feels good, feels nice, but no, stop that. You can’t think that way. 

            “It’s late,” he says. 

            “I know,” you answer, keeping your gaze trained straight ahead. “But I have a ride waiting for me outside.”

            “The boy?” he asks, his voice darkening, deepening. Primal in a way, if a sound can really be primal, which, you think it can. 

            “Yeah, Jonathan…why?” you ask, feeling a small bit of fear like ice creeping up your spine, goosebumps spreading along your skin. 

            “I sent him home,” he says and you can feel his breath on the back of your neck and you know his body is far too close, but you also don’t want him to step away and god, you’ve always had that line of professionalism, but this man…since Cath disappeared, he’s been the best with Lena and you never expected to feel anything for him, but…you do. 

            “Why?” you whisper and then he’s tugging on your wrist, turning you around, pulling you against him, his broad chest against yours. 

            “Because it’s late,” he whispers, his words actually rumbling through his chest, echoing into your body. “Because you’re already home.” You swallow hard at his words, at the way he’s just said that this…his home…is yours too. 

            It’s not like you haven’t stayed here before on nights when you’ve been told that no one will be watching Lena and you’re needed for a few days, but calling it home…that’s different. That’s making it seem like he likes you, that he caresfor you. 

            “I’m not home,” you whisper, looking down at the ground where the toes of your shoes are against his. You forgot to take your shoes off in the rush to get to Lena and you never do, but he’s forgotten too. 

            “Eyes on me,” he says, two fingers under your chin, tipping your head up, your gaze landing on him because how could it not? Everyone else is afraid of him, but how can they be, when he’s kind and caring and sweet and he’s quiet. He doesn’t just speak what’s on his mind, he looks at a room and decides what to do from there and god, professionalism. Professionalism, you remind yourself even as his proximity is fraying the last of your control because his lips look reallysoft and kissable. 

            Oh god, it’s hot in here, isn’t it?

            His stare is unrelenting, tracing every part of you as if he expects to find some damage on you, but you’ve been safe all night. 

            “Why were you gone, Mr. Cody?” you whisper, noticing the way his jaw tightens at your words, the way his eyes darken and the grip on your wrist tightens. 

            “Andrew,” he spits out, “call me Andrew.”

            “Why were you gone, Andrew?” you ask and he drags his fingers from under your chin to trace your lips, the digits replaced by his thumb pressing down on your bottom lip, a pressure that has a fevered feeling growing beneath your skin. 

            “I was watching someone,” he whispers, his voice husky, watching every bit of your face for a reaction. For a response. 

            “Who?” you ask, the word just slightly muffled by his thumb digging into your lip. 

            “Who do you think?” he asks and Jesus Christ, has his voice always been this hot, this capable of getting a reaction out of you? And you really need to leave now, really need to get going, but with the way he’s looking at you, the closeness of your bodies, you press your thighs together, hoping he doesn’t notice. 

            But of course he does. 

            Because he’s Andrew fucking Cody. And he notices everything. And really, where does he get off on ruining your professionalism, on breaking that line you’ve built, a tentative wall? Where does he get his attitude? And what deity decided that making your boss look like that was fair?!

            You hate your life right now, but also not because as he presses his body against yours, the hard lines of his body fitting against the soft lines of yours, you realize that everything you’ve imagined is not even close to reality. 

            God did not make everyone equal because Andrew Cody might be the hottest man in the entire world and you are so fired if you don’t end this now. 

            “I have to go!” you blurt out, pulling back and sliding your wrist from his hold, running from him to the front door, but he’s faster than you, putting his body between you and the door. 

            “No,” he says. 

            “Why?” you ask him, swallowing hard feeling both serious lust and fear inside of you, the two warring together and yet working together at the same time too. 

            “Because you said you wanted this,” he whispers and you can feel confusion added to the choking mix of emotions, your throat tight, lungs burning and chest constricting, heart pounding, pounding, pounding almost as odd a beat as “Edge of Seventeen”’s drumbeat. 

            “Wanted what?” You don’t want the answer, you’re slightly afraid of it because you really don’t know what he’s talking about, only that he’s blocking an exit.

            “Someone willing to do anything for you.” His words ring in the room where just yesterday, in the kitchen, you mentioned that to Lena, how you thought Noah was romantic and Jesus! He was there the entire time. 

            “That’s…that’s out of context,” you tell him, blinking fast, trying to see him while also not see him at the same time. 

            “What context did I need?” he whispers, stepping towards you, steps slow and quiet as if he’s afraid that you’re a doe he’s about to startle before he can get off the killing blow and should that idea really turn you on as much as it does? “Because I would do for you anything that Noah did for Allie? You want a house like he fixed for her because I’ll do it, sweetheart. I’ll do anything for you.”

            “What?” you whisper, confusion winning out over fear because those aren’t the words of someone who only wants one thing. Those are the words of someone in love. Those are the words of someone who wants you for more than sex. 

            “Don’t you get it?” he asks and honestly, not really, because this is the most he’s ever spoken to you before. “I’m in love with you. Completely in love with you.”

            “You don’t talk…to me,” you whisper, turning from him, from the words he’s saying that sound pretty and honest but at the same time like lies and you walk, your shoes dragging against the hardwood floor, your steps slightly off-beat towards the kitchen, the tile floor. 

            “What was it that Noah said?” you hear Andrew whisper behind you. “‘So it’s not gonna be easy. It’s going to be really hard; we’re gonna have to work at this every day, but I want to do that because I want you. I want all of you, forever, every day. You and me…every day.’”

            “What did you memorize the movie?” you whisper-yell, spinning around, taking note of his relentless proximity to you. 

            “Maybe,” he whispers and the sheepish expression on his face has you laughing, but not a laugh built of humour, more of someone delirious and surprised and horny, yeah, horny too because he has no right to look that good. 

            You can feel your knees giving way, this night having been too much, too much and you slide down the counter, the handles of the cabinet digging into your spine as you sink down, your head landing in-between your knees. 

            “June first,” you hear him say, his body landing beside yours. “Twenty-twelve. The first day I met you.”

            “What?” you whisper, your head pressing against your left knee as you tilt your head, looking at him. 

            “Yeah,” he says, “I was looking for Baz, but you were there, Lena on your hip, watching me until I disappeared.”

            “No way you loved me then,” you whisper, your arms wrapped around your knees, body folded into a self-contained unit. 

            “No,” he agrees. “That came later. October 27th 2012. You invited me over when I was lurking and I fell in love with you because you were the first person not afraid of me and you talked to me. And I didn’t want to live without that. And then…you visited me in prison and wrote me letters…and…you love me too. I know you do.”

            “Mr. Cody,” you whisper, but he shakes his head, eyes darkening again. 

            “Andrew,” he hisses, “call me Andrew.”

            “You’re my boss,” you cry. “I can’t be with you. That breaks every moral and ethical code I have!”

            “But do you love me?” And for once, you fall silent, the answer in you truth, the answer resting on your tongue a lie and you don’t like to lie. 

            “I knew it,” he whispers and then his lips are on yours, his hands pulling you, shifting you, your body coming to rest on his lap, straddling him as he kisses you relentlessly. He kisses like he stares, deep and dark and predatory. It’s not a battle or a conquest, but a claiming, his teeth sinking into your bottom lip, his tongue controlling yours, sliding along it and leaving you breathless, his hands everywhere, hips moving up into yours, the bulge pressing into you, telling you just how much he wants you. 

            “Andrew,” you whisper, pulling back from his lips as best you can, his hand on the back of your head, holding you close to him. “We can’t do this. Lena’s home.”

            “I’m sick of people telling me what I can’t do,” he whispers, voice low and dangerous and so unfairly hot. “Aren’t you, sweetheart?”

            “Andrew…” He’s kissing you again and you don’t want to fight this. You don’t want to stop, you want this closeness, you’ve wanted this for so long, but you need assurances. You need to know that this isn’t going to ruin the babysitting job. “Pause,” you murmur against his lips and he listens, his head falling against yours, forehead pressing against you, eyes on you. 

            “What?” he asks, his voice not curt, but concerned. 

            “What does this mean for me? You’re my boss, Andrew,” you whisper and then he’s shifting again, rising, pulling you with him and shoving your hips into the counter, the granite digging into the small of your back, his body pressing into you, caging you in. 

            “Be Mrs. Cody,” he whispers, one hand tracing your face with a feather-light touch. “Be Lena’s aunt…just,” he pauses, his head falling against your shoulder, “be mine. Please.”

            “I don’t have a ring,” you whisper, “but alright.” And then he’s lifting his head and looking at you, deep and dark and now you understand that expression he’s been giving you for years: love. He does love you. 

            Then his lips are on yours again, tongue sliding along yours as he guides you up the stairs, his hands firm on your hips, guiding even as his lips trail from your mouth to your neck, to the sensitive spot just below your ear, teeth sinking down onto it, your gasp muffled as you bite your tongue, skin fevered. 

            He pushes you down the hall, to the very last door and inside, shutting the door with his foot, hand leaving you. You can hear the lock flip and then Andrew is walking you back to the bed, his hands drifting to the front of your hips, fingers pulling open the button of your cutoffs, undoing the zipper and they drop to the floor. You step out of them and you want him now, want this relentless ache and throb to end, but he’s someone who seems to savour, his mouth trailing over your neck, teeth sinking into the skin every few minutes, tongue lashing out to soothe the bite marks. 

            He pushes you back, your body landing on his bed and he’s rough, but at the same time gentle as he kneels on the ground, sliding your underwear from off your hips, down your legs, set aside. He pauses for a moment, folding your cutoffs and underwear, setting them aside, his room obsessively neat, something you appreciate. 

            “God,” he whispers when he turns back, lifting your legs onto his shoulders, “so pretty.”

            “Andrew,” you whisper and he looks up at you, eyes black with desire. “You’re too dressed up.” He stands, taking his shirt off and god you wish you’d said nothing because who made him look like that? He’s too attractive for his own good. It’s highly unfair. 

            He unzips his jeans, folding them and his shirt, setting them in a pile beside yours, boxers still on, just like your baggy shirt is still on. He kneels again, a coil in your stomach tight, yet not tight enough, your legs on his broad freckled shoulders. He presses a kiss against each side of your arousal slicked inner thighs before, pulling you closer to him, his tongue darting out to lick a stripe from your entrance to your clit, the fucker locking eyes with you the whole time. 

            He knows exactly what he’s doing and where the fuck did he learn to do this? Because the way he circles your clit with his tongue, doing figure eights, his one hand sliding along your thigh, long fingers slipping along them, into the space between. He teases two fingers between your folds, scissoring them apart before plunging both of them inside of you, sinking them up to the knuckle and scissoring you open before pulling them out, knuckles dragging along your walls. 

            “Jesus—Christ!” you cry as he continues to finger you, tongue never stopping its ceaseless rhythm on your clit, little figure 8s which stop every time that he pulls his fingers out, rather his tongue pressing against your clit, against the swelling pearl. “Andrew! Fuck!”

            You can feel his chuckle against your clit, your pussy and you want to hit him, but also not because that coil in your belly is winding tight, tight, tighter and it’s about to burst and his mouth and hands are really unfairly good at what they’re doing right now. You’d hate to mess up his—rhythm. 

            He has four fingers inside of you at this point, all his extremities pumping in and out of you at a faster and faster pace, knuckles dragging down your walls one by one, each finger leaving you at different times, his index finger the last to leave always, the slowest drag against your walls, stimulating every part of you that it touches. 

            It’s not long before he has you coming apart, your orgasm ripping through, that coil snapping as he pushes all four fingers in again, his tongue pressing against your clit. He holds his fingers still while your cunt trembles with aftershocks. 

            “I’ve got you, sweet girl,” he whispers against you, his breath causing you to hiss as he pulls the four fingers out of you, slipping them in his mouth, sucking them clean, eyes locked on yours as he steps out of his boxers, cock hard and the tip leaking, a bead of precum sitting on top, sliding down, a vein bulging. 

            “Andrew,” you whisper, “how’d you get so good?” He comes to sit beside you on the bed, pulling you up, holding you, his lips on yours for a moment and the kiss is sinful and oh so hot because you can taste yourself on his tongue. 

            “When they…” he looks down at his hands for a moment, “when they paid for women to sleep with me, I learned what they liked because I…I never liked anything.”

            “Andy,” you whisper and his head jerks to yours, “what do you like?”

            “You,” he whispers and then his lips are on yours again and your body is flat on the bed, his cock teasing between your folds, kissing against your entrance as his tongue slides along yours and he murmurs, you, you, you into your mouth. 

            He slides his cock from your entrance to your clit like he did his tongue, circling your clit with his tip once before sliding back down and pushing inside, sinking into the hilt with a single thrust. He moans at the feeling of you all around him, a kind of whimper that shouldn’t be as hot as it is, but it is. 

            “You’re okay,” you whisper when he pulls back from the kiss, his eyes closed. “Keep going, Andy. Use me.” And he does, pulling out and slamming himself back in over and over in a brutal rhythm that has your entire body moving with each thrust, his mouth hot on your neck. 

            “You’re so perfect, sweet girl,” he says, his words slightly unclear, but you know what he means, can hear it, the tip of his cock slamming against your cervix. “Gonna fuck a baby into you. Give Lena a cousin, maybe?” He’s hesitant in his words, but you nod and he looks up at you.

            “Go ahead, Andy,” you whisper and his pace picks up, relentless and punishing and delicious, his one hand on your waist, the other resting on your mons, thumb circling your clit, drawing you to orgasm at the same time he does. His release is thick and hot inside of you, cock pulsing and then he’s collapsing beside you, his body pulling yours tight against him and you’re not aware of much, except that he pulls the covers over the two of you and you fall asleep to his kiss against your neck. 

            “Good night, Mrs. Cody.”

            “I knew it!” Lena screams the next morning, taking in the sight of you and Andrew both in the kitchen, making breakfast, your body in his clothes, a ring on your finger that he went out and bought for you. “You’re gonna be my auntie!” And then her stick arms are around you and holding tight. 

            “Yeah, bug,” you whisper, your hand smoothing down her hair, the pancakes in the pan, “I am.”

            “And hopefully,” Andrew chimes in, “you’ll have a cousin soon.”

            “Andrew!” 

            Lena giggles when you hit him with the oven mitt and his response is to press a kiss against your cheek and you feel a contentment you’ve never felt before. 

            Because…wasn’t this what you wanted all along?

            You think it is. 

A/N: first robby story and first fanfic after almost a month of inactivity, kinda nervous 🥹 hope you’ll enjoy! next chapter | series masterlist

Robby has been staring at the glow of his laptop for far longer than necessary. The cursor blinks patiently on an empty screen, indifferent to the quiet war unfolding in front of it.

At last, with the reluctant resolve of a man about to cross a bridge he can’t see the end of, he opens a private browser window. It’s an unnecessary precaution, he knows, there is no one here but him; his apartment is small, comfortably worn, and it only bears the evidence of long shifts and forgotten meals. No nosy friend is going to walk through the front door and go straight for his laptop, no partner is waiting up for him.

The website appears in the search bar before he’s even finished typing the first three letters, something that he indulges in only in nights like these, when exhaustion settles so deep into his bones that it should be enough to knock him unconscious, yet his mind refuses to surrender. Every flutter of his eyes brings back flashes of fluorescent lights and blood-stained gloves, as conversations he should have had differently resound in his mind like distant murmurs. Because the emergency department never really lets him leave when he clocks out, it just follows him quietly like a sad ghost, but no less relentless.

A familiar warmth creeps up the back of his neck as he presses enter. It feels indecent, like being caught hovering over a magazine he wasn’t supposed to read at fourteen, but the silence of the apartment stretches too wide some nights. After all, Pittsburgh can offer any kind of spectacle but little comfort.

After twelve hours deep in the chaos of monitors beeping left and right, the stillness should feel like a relief. But lately, it has begun to feel more like damnation. 

So he exhales slowly and rubs a hand over the salt-and-pepper beard shadowing his jaw, ready to look for a pretty face to jerk off to, which definitely sounds much more exciting in theory than in practice. When the page finally loads, though, his body stills as a subscription prompt blooms across the screen: a sleek black box, impossible to dismiss without making a choice.

Continue with Premium Access.

Monthly Membership.

For a second, Robby just stares. Right, the month-long free trial ended a few days ago, but he was too tired to do something about it and ultimately passed out on the couch, which his back made him pay for dearly the following day.

The language is all teasing confidence, because the site knows exactly why he’s here.

At the very bottom, in text so small it feels almost mocking, runs a single line: you must be over 18.

A dry scoff escapes him. Of course he is of age—embarrassingly, pathetically so, to be lurking on this side of the internet. Still, the cursor hovers uselessly over the button. 

A weary sigh echoes in the dim-lit room, filled with the discomfort of recognizing a routine he’d never intended to develop. Robby has spent enough years telling patients to pay attention to patterns and habits that become dependencies before they realize it. But this isn’t that, he keeps telling himself. No, it’s not. It’s just another way of quieting a mind that has forgotten how to rest on its own.

Sometimes, taking the edge off is enough to trick his body into sleep. 

But tonight, faced with the inescapable choice of creating an account or forgetting the existence of this website forever, Robby feels pathetic enough to hesitate.

The idea of getting himself off to a stranger on the internet has always felt like checking a box rather than satisfying a need: an efficient, predictable matter over in a few minutes—a little depressing when reduced to a chore, yes, but at least it does the trick. Which is probably why his mind keeps traitorously coming back to the same uncomfortable thought. 

It slips through the cracks when he’s tired enough to let his guard down, when a shift has run long, when he catches himself lingering in the hospital parking lot with nowhere in particular to be. 

Sex has never really been the problem, yet somewhere along the way the rest of his life narrowed into work and recovery from work. One shift bleeding into the next, one year folding into another, the hospital full of people who knew him well enough to trust him with their lives, but not to call on a day off just to ask how he was doing. And he makes a conscious effort to ignore the sting. Still, there are moments when the realization catches up to him in brief, unwelcome flashes of clarity. Watching colleagues leave at the end of a shift because someone is waiting at home, passing families in the grocery store… It all makes sitting alone at his kitchen table at three in the morning with nothing but the hum of the refrigerator for company feel like he has somehow failed at life.

Because the truth is that even meticulous, irascible Dr. Robby craves for a connection. 

A partner.

A presence that might soften the long evenings that have become dull routine. Someone to share the silence with after a grueling day in a place where desperation and hope blend together. Someone who wouldn’t mind waiting up when a shift runs late, or falling asleep on the couch while he reheats leftovers neither of them have the energy to eat.

There was a time when Robby assumed the rest would simply happen after finding a stable job, that somewhere between a chest tube insertion and a code gray, he’d stumble into the kind of life everyone else seemed to build without much effort: a marriage, a family, holidays that didn’t have to be traded away to younger colleagues because there was someone expecting him at home.

Instead, medicine kept asking for more, and Robby gave in all the time.

However, he never treated it like a sacrifice, the choice was made gladly at the thought of another patient walking out of the ER because he’d been there to help them. Then the years accumulated without him noticing, marked by new classes of residents, by colleagues retiring and children of coworkers growing old enough to apply to medical school themselves.

Somewhere in the middle of all that, life became something that happened to other people. The losses didn’t help, nor the failed relationships—if he could even call the handful of brief, half-hearted entanglements that followed that. Robby considered them patterns that ended before they had time to become anything real, leaving behind little more than a few shared nights and the uncomfortable irony of having once mistaken convenience for intimacy.

Grief, on the other hand, hollowed out spaces he didn’t even know could be emptied, then quietly settled into them as though it had always belonged there. Some mornings, Robby can almost convince himself he’s learned to live around it. Other days, it feels like thorny branches constricting around his lungs.

Now, when he catches his reflection in the darkened window after another sleepless night, the man looking back seems older than fifty-three: the lines around his eyes have settled too deeply to blame fatigue alone, his beard surrendering to more gray than brown. Proof of the time spent taking care of everyone else that the idea of someone choosing to take care of him feels almost risible.

Perhaps he has simply missed his moment, he finds himself thinking more often than he likes to admit while the city beyond glitters with other people’s lives.

It’s not as though he’s made himself particularly approachable, either. With a temperament that has only grown sharper with age and too many ghosts weighing on his conscience, letting people in has begun to feel like a risk not worth taking. It’s easier to be the brilliant, impatient attending than the man who is haunted by outcomes he couldn’t change. Even if beneath the wrinkles and the barked orders, lies a clear, painful truth: Robby is lonely.

His colleagues have friends, spouses, lovers, children… lives waiting beyond the doors of the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center’s emergency room. But what does Robby have? An apartment big enough to fit a nursery that grows impossibly cold and quiet day by day, and a body too exhausted to even rest properly.

It’s a bleak conclusion, and not a particularly useful one. Dana would tell him to stop catastrophizing, Jack would probably remind him that he’s simply “vintage” and then jokingly suggest a cane with his coffee. Langdon, if he caught him in the right mood, would make some smart-ass remark just to get him to roll his eyes.

And maybe they’d all be right. But it doesn’t make the apartment any less empty.

He’s probably romanticizing this more than it deserves. It isn’t as though subscribing to a cam site is some quiet admission of defeat, nor is it a desperate attempt to fill the void in his chest with something they never promised to provide. Robby is grown enough to not expect companionship from a woman whose job is to make strangers feel wanted for an hour. That particular fantasy belongs to younger men, foolish enough to mistake attention for affection.

A humorless chuckle escapes under his breath, he’s really debating whether a monthly subscription to a pornography website is a worthwhile expense. It’s only a distraction.

The tightness in his shoulders eases a little, replaced by the brittle sort of resolve that comes with lowering one’s expectations. The box disappears almost instantly after he sets a quick profile and links his payment information, and the page refreshes again. What replaces it is a familiar mosaic of little squares competing for his attention all at once. Hands concealing intimate body parts, bare legs crossed, backs turned, coy smiles… and then there are more crude images that leave nothing to the imagination, yet Robby’s gaze drifts across them the way he might eye a dessert menu, already knowing he won’t order anything.

By now, the rhythm is always the same: he scrolls for a while, sometimes he sighs when he realizes he has been staring blankly at the same corner of the screen, only to resume scrolling a moment later, before eventually clicking into a room if someone catches his eye. He stays enough to come and then turns off his laptop, trying with varying degrees of success to sleep.

Names blur, faces too. He rarely returns to the same camgirl twice, because this works better when everyone remains a stranger. Coming back would invite the kind of attachment he has neither the time nor the right to indulge. 

His index finger idly rolls the mouse wheel as a faint grimace pulls at his mouth. Objectively, there is nothing wrong with any of them. He really shouldn’t be this picky with his unkempt stubble and wrinkly forehead. Robby should just settle on one, instead he keeps scrolling, until he mindlessly leads the cursor toward the red x, half-considering closing the site altogether.

But then his hand stills when his eyes mindlessly wander across the page. 

A beautiful woman appears in one of the smaller thumbnails, languidly leaning forward with a clear toy glinting in the light. Robby stares at the image for longer than he should, a warm sensation already coiling tight in his lower belly. It’s not just the pose, nor even the suggestive promise of the scene… it’s your eyes.

Even reduced to a thumbnail no larger than a postage stamp, they catch him off guard: bright, unmistakably alive. There is an ease to your expression that doesn’t look rehearsed, a flicker of amusement lingering at the corners of your mouth as though you’re sharing a joke with the people on the other side of the screen. Your eyes twinkle with playful determination, perhaps even a touch of recklessness, the sort that suggests you know exactly what you’re doing… and you’re enjoying it.

Robby has seen enough of this to know that a camera and a few whiny words can manufacture intimacy, making a smile feel personal and a glance deliberate.

This should be no different.

And yet, Robby doesn’t scroll past. 

His gaze inevitably drops to the title of your stream, and he almost chokes on his breath.

“Can Daddy fuck me better than my toy?”

Robby’s jaw tightens. 

The site is littered with titles like that, he’s scrolled past several of them over the past few weeks without a second thought, if not with the occasional roll of his eyes at those who didn’t sound even remotely sexy in this particular context. “Daddy” has been stripped of any real meaning by repetition until it feels almost cartoonish to him.

So why does it feel like he’s just been strapped into a rollercoaster? 

His eyes drift back to your face.

You look impossibly young—but not enough that the word feels like a mere gimmick. 

His first instinct is to scoff at himself. For God’s sake, you’re talking to thousands of anonymous viewers, the title wasn’t written for him any more than it was for anyone else. It’s marketing, a carefully chosen fantasy designated for horny losers like Robby to take the bait.

Yet for the first time, he doesn’t really mind playing that role.

Swallowing thickly, he clicks on the stream with an abrupt motion before he can think himself out of it.

The sound reaches him first, a breathy moan leaking from the speakers.

“Fuck—ah ’s too big.”

Robby immediately fumbles with the volume out of habit more than embarrassment. The quiet feels too fragile tonight and he isn’t in the mood to have it broken all at once.

His ears burn at the sight as his eyes betray him, lingering on the screen despite his hands clumsily looking for his glasses abandoned somewhere on the desk. Your naked form enthusiastically rides the clear dildo beneath you, your body shifting with an easy confidence that makes his breath hitch. Even if your face is drawn tight with pleasure, the warm glow of the ring light softens your features.

The sight sends a strange jolt of heat through him, quickly followed by a prickling sense of discomfort. Despite the entire performance being part of the principle that keeps the site running, for the first time ever the moment feels faintly exploitative to Robby.

And yet, his lips part in awe.

You are... gorgeous, yes. There is something captivating about the way you move, a rhythm that feels spontaneous, though guided by a cheeky familiarity. The sounds that slip past your lips are sweet and breathy, threaded with bliss in a way that sends an unexpected shiver down his spine. It’s a pleasant respite from the loud, tacky sounds that most camgirls put up for show, sometimes they are so irritating he needs to put them on mute. Yours are genuine enough to feel almost intimate, as though Robby has wandered into a moment not entirely meant for him.

Your body responds to pleasure with a fluid grace, from the slow roll of your hips, to the subtle tension that travels through your thigh with each movement. When your back arches, it’s instinctive, unguarded, and it pushes your breasts forward in a way that feels both vulnerable and mesmerizing. For a fleeting second, the pose appears nearly sculptural, the soft light catching along your delicious curves before you relax again with your breath uneven.

Robby shakes his head lightly, suddenly aware of how intently he has been watching you.

It’s not the obvious lewdness of the performance that holds his attention, but that spark of boldness that reveals itself across your expression, and your confident movements in front of the camera’s gaze.

Beautiful, certainly. But more than that, impossible to ignore.

Your giggle at some message in the chat melts into a gasp as you lower yourself until your folds graze the base of the toy. Your hazy eyes roll back in ecstasy as heat coils violently in your lower belly, prompting you to start bouncing up and down like a hopping bunny, your palms flat on the floor to help your hips roll more easily.

Robby didn’t know how much he needed this. Each gesture, each subtle provocation draws out something unfamiliar in him—shame at how much he’s enjoying this, laced with undeniable arousal. His hand tightens briefly at the edge of the desk, and a low, unbidden hum escapes his throat before he can stop it. His pulse hammers in a way that feels almost worrying. It’s disorienting, intoxicating, and entirely new.

And he’s only just begun.

“I wish you were here to feel how wet I am.” You sigh. “Can you hear it?” Your filthy words pull a sharp huff out of Robby as his focus automatically latches onto the subtle soppy noises complimenting your moans.

Your chest heaves, glossy lips opening in a perfect circle as you look up at the camera with an innocence that only heightens the intensity of the moment. “Are you close, Daddy?” 

Robby can’t even remember the last time his sweatpants have been this unbearably tight, so he unties them hastily, lowering them along with his boxers enough to expose his erection. He wants to touch himself, to lose himself in this perverted fantasy against the nagging thought at the back of his mind insisting that you are probably half his age. 

“That’s it, baby.” You cry out, circling your hips so the toy rubs against your walls. “Please, please wanna feel your cum leaking out of me all night.”

Your dirty mouth and sweet manners have him completely dizzy, and Robby can no longer resist the burning urge to grant his cock some sort of relief. Quiet groans fill the space as he gives his hard and throbbing girth a few experimental strokes. Fully erect, Robby’s cock is imposing, longer and thicker than the large dildo you are bouncing on. 

He can’t stop the memory from creeping in: his most recent, humiliating sexual experience. A woman he met at a bar took one look at his dick and promptly looked back into his eyes with disbelief, before climbing out of bed and inventing some poor excuse about not feeling well. The sting of that action lingered far longer than it should have—along with his erection, since his not-so-little friend had apparently decided to take a vacation that day, so Robby was forced to secretly swallow a little blue pill after the woman had expressed her interest to go back to his.

He reckons that you too would be horrified by his size, but for this fleeting moment, he will allow himself to pretend otherwise, wishing to bask into the fantasy of your gaze eyeing him approvingly, your small, teasing smirk meant for him alone. It’s absurd and delusional, and Robby would probably slap himself later, but it feeds a buried, rare warmth in his chest that he ignored for too long. It craves to be seen, for appreciation for the part of himself he is most ashamed of, because even if he had a fair share of good sexual experiences, the difficulties of making it fit and the backhanded compliments were always there.

“See how good I’m taking it? I told you it’d fit!” He almost chokes on his own saliva.

Maybe you could really take him just fine with a little careful preparation.

The tip alert has been going off this whole time, and the doctor thinks he understands now. There is something about you that pulls at his chest; he wants to shower you with everything he has to offer: his focus, his praise, his money, the small gestures that might make you notice him amongst the countless people competing for your attention.

It’s not just lust, or simple curiosity. The thought of being acknowledged and leaving a trace of himself in your world, however fleeting, claws at his chest with dangerous eagerness.

Anticipation churns violently in his belly, urging him closer to the screen. To you.

“Oh God! Daddy, I’m coming, come with me—please, please…” You whimper, your breasts perky and bouncing with every thrust of your hips.

“Shit.” Robby grits out as his orgasm takes him by surprise.

His legs shamelessly part as his cock spurts over the hand he has wrapped around it, lost in the sad illusion that it’s your pussy gripping him so tight. He milks every last drop, soiling part of his belly and pants as well, but his mind is too blinded by pleasure to acknowledge the mess.

Your moans grow louder and higher, and the sight of your cunt stretching so deliciously around the silicone stops Robby from leaving his cock alone. He keeps the strokes going, squirming at the twinge of overstimulation.

“Fuck.” Your hips jerk forward once, body sinking down on the whole length as you curl up on yourself. Your hips twitch and your chest heaves with each gasp while your climax washes over you. Your eyes roll back and Robby’s spent length jerks in interest, it has been far too long since he has felt this good after masturbating.

He should be ashamed of jerking off to a young woman calling him daddy and begging to be filled with his big cock, but frankly he couldn’t care less.

Your eyes squeeze shut at the way your sensitive walls clench around the toy once more, before you tiredly push yourself up on your knees to gently pull it out.

“Look what you’ve done to me.” You sit back on the beige towel you probably laid on the floor before the stream, your legs opening to allow your fingers to spread your folds for the camera. Then you reach for the dildo again, parting your lips enough for your tongue to peek out and give the length a teasing lick. 

“Fucking hell.” Robby mumbles, his eyes jumping back and forth between your stretched lips and your fingers lazily playing with your glistening pussy. You can’t be real.

He frowns at his cock. No, he’s too tired and sensitive for another round; it would require too much time, even if you keep stoking the fire inside him with every little lick.

“Hm, bet you’d love the taste.” Suckling on the tip, you stare directly at the lens, as if to challenge him. 

Robby rubs his stubble, a tired huff escaping his nostrils at the desperate need to wrap his hand back around his length just to come again at the sight of you tasting yourself. You hollow your cheeks one last time, letting the dildo out of your mouth with a resounding pop.

“I had so much fun tonight, guys.” You smile, and Robby swears his heart stutters a little. “I really needed it.”

“Oh!” You perk up. “Look what I got today…” You reach for something off-camera, coming back a few seconds later as you proudly dangle a nipple chain in front of you.

Your eyes flick to the side, presumably reading the chat as texts quickly pour one right after the other. The relentless speed at which they race across the screen is enough to make Robby look away before a headache has the chance to settle in.

You giggle—a refreshing melody that makes him lean back in his chair with a quiet sigh. “Not tonight, you perverts! Your baby girl can only take so much.”

Your baby girl, his mind repeats unhelpfully.

It’s almost impossible to reconcile the two images in his mind: the woman who was eagerly making herself feel good in front of an audience, and the adorable, radiant sweetheart chatting naked with five hundred viewers, as if it were just another Tuesday for you. 

It leaves Robby completely smitten.

“Well, have a good night.” You conclude, offering a casual wave. “See you on Thursday!” A playful blow of a kiss follows, and then the notice that the stream has ended covers the screen, leaving your lovely smile frozen behind it.

Silence abruptly engulfs the room with Robby sitting motionless before the screen where a handful of your recommended videos line the sidebar. He scarcely has time to register the fact that, until now, he has never stayed long enough to watch a stream until the end, before the cursor is already hovering over your username, clicking through to your profile almost on its own accord.

Details about private shows and video requests are listed, along with your regular schedule, so Robby promptly opens the calendar app on his phone and makes a note with careful precision. He perks up once he notices the photo gallery: images of you posing in colorful lingerie that compliments your skin tone, teasingly aware of the camera; a few shots of you naked and on your knees before a full-length mirror, body angled sideways and one arm shielding your chest; and then a picture of you lounging in bed, lips wrapped around a red heart-shaped lollipop.

But there are also videos, which his cardiologist would almost certainly advice against.

Some are very short, like the one where you stand in front of the camera, the only parts visible being your mouth and your torso as you pull your tight top up to let your tits bounce free. Some are a little longer, a taste of what to expect in your streams, like the one where you are in a car—presumably yours—giving a dildo a blowjob. The toy has a suction cup attached to the window on the driver side, and you are enthusiastically sucking it off in the middle of a dark underground parking garage, your chest bare and your hips thrusting desperately into the air to find a bit of stimulation for your pussy. If his breath hitches at the thought of you loving the possibility of getting caught, Robby almost has a heart attack at the next one. Because you are lying on your bed, gasping and writhing as you bully your clit with a pink vibrator, body covered by a long, flimsy cardigan left open, the color suspiciously close to the old Burgh zip-up hoodie he wears at work. 

He decides to close the tab once he realizes he has been looking for familiar signs in the background of the first video.

Without hesitation, Robby subscribes to your account, confirming the payment before his hands hover over the keyboard at the box asking if he wants to send a tip. Money is not something he has in abundance, but decades dedicated to medicine and no one else depending on his paycheck have afforded him a certain comfort. Enough, at least, that the occasional indulgence never requires much deliberation. 

His right palm rests on the desk, fidgeting nervously when his eyes catch the optional box to leave a message alongside the tip.

It would be nothing, just a sentence. But even that feels like a step too far. He could already see how it would unfold: he’d check back later, and then again, pretending not to care, measuring the hours by the absence of a reply. And if you do respond, even briefly, neutral, it would lodge somewhere deep and stubborn inside his chest. Another invisible weight he would carry alone. The thought makes him ache with a stinging, familiar recognition.

Wanting has always been the dangerous part: it turns fleeting moments into promises no one has made.

Shaking his head, Robby lets out a humorless chortle. He can’t believe himself. This is how it starts, isn’t it? Convincing yourself that a few words might change the shape of things, that you can step out of the misery you built your life around just by being sincere enough.

The cursor continues its patient blinking.

Not even an hour ago, you had been another fish in the sea. Another room to wander into before sleep for a quick orgasm. Another name destined to dissolve into the rest by morning. That has always been the appeal of this place: no history, no expectations.

Robby drags a hand down his face.

Christ, in the span of a single night, he’d managed to break every rule he had set for himself.

He stayed until the end. He subscribed. He caught himself searching the screen for scraps of a life that has nothing to do with him. He fucking put the reminder of your next streams in his calendar.

That’s enough.

Robby has spent too many years indulging impulses in the ED, where every instinct tells you to keep going and order one more test, ask one more question, chase one more possibility. Reality, on the other hand, teaches you that there comes a point when doing more isn’t helping anymore, but it’s only delaying the moment you have to let go.

This feels too familiar.

With his jaw clenched, Robby withdraws his hand from the keyboard. The message box disappears with a single click and soon his face is the only thing staring back at him through the black screen.

By Wednesday morning, the startling revelations of the night before have already begun to dissolve beneath the familiar rhythm of the hospital. Ambulances arrive in relentless succession, one of the residents spirals during a thoracotomy and Robby has neither the time nor the gentleness to pull them back together, and Gloria corners him again in the hallway with another quality report tucked beneath her arm, causing Robby to ask whether patient satisfaction might improve if they stopped expecting miracles from a skeleton crew.

He snaps more sharply than he intends to, but then forgets the entire exchange before the end of the shift.

His apartment keeps feeling less like a place to live and more like somewhere to leave his shoes between shifts. Sleep comes reluctantly in fractured stretches interrupted by dreams he never quite remembers and alarms that sound so cheerful it feels almost mocking.

He doesn’t really have the opportunity to think about his stupid slip-up. 

Although the thought of you surfaces once or twice during rare quiet rides in the elevator, the ED has a way of demanding every tiny crumb of his attention. There is always a patient to reassess, another family waiting for answers he can’t always give.

On Thursday night, he is halfway through a documentary about the deep-sea ecosystem—something slow enough that doesn’t require much thinking—when a soft chime causes him to startle.

His phone lights up on the coffee table, a groan rumbling in his ribcage when Robby stretches towards it and his lower back stings. He’s already slipping into the Chief mentality, before he freezes.

It’s not a text desperately asking for his presence at work, nor one of those useless spam emails from random websites he accidentally subscribed to. It’s a calendar alert.

For your stream.

He completely forgot he’d set a reminder.

His thumb hovers over the notification without touching it. 

Deleting it would be the sensible thing to do.

Instead, he lets the documentary continue in the background, the narrator calmly explaining with his British accent the migration patterns of creatures that spend their lives in perpetual darkness while Robby stares at the screen until it goes black again.

He was doing perfectly well. Better, even. The last forty-eight hours returned everything to its rightful order: work, home, sleep—when it came.

Opening that website again would accomplish exactly nothing.

He has spent years building his life around restraint to mistake a passing desire for a reason. Wanting is not the same as needing, curiosity is not permission, and whatever restless pull has taken hold of him tonight is only that, a disturbance. Still, it lingers tightly beneath his breastbone, refusing to ease no matter how deeply he breathes, or how firmly he reminds himself that he has already crossed enough lines as he briefly stood at the edge of something he had no business approaching. That should have been enough to shut down whatever foolish part of him wanted to see you again.

But the ache keeps asking for one more indulgence. He can feel the shape of temptation clearly enough to name it for what it is: pure humiliating desire to feel something other than the dull, disciplined exhaustion that has become part of who he is.

Maybe that’s all this is, of course. The week has been unforgiving: he’s slept poorly, eaten worse, his afternoon spent untangling problems that should have never reached his desk in the first place. For fuck’s sake, he’s over fifty years old, the Chief of one of the busiest emergency departments in the city... He is not the sort of man to be unmoored by a woman he has seen once in his life. You don’t even know of his existence beyond a subscription notification.

And this... well, it doesn’t have to mean anything. Or at least that’s the lie he settles on for tonight. 

Before he has fully decided otherwise, Robby is already reaching for the laptop resting at the other end of the couch.

This time you’re dressed in a snug top and a pair of shorts, looking all pretty and sinful at once as you sit cross-legged on the floor in front of your bed.

There’s a delicate warmth to your presence, that same teasing energy he witnessed two days ago reflecting in the slight tilt of your head. Your effortless grace makes it impossible for Robby to look at you with anything short of admiration dancing in his own eyes.

“Thank you for joining me today.” 

The chat is already alive, and you greet a few viewers whose usernames are marked with colorful emblems. They must be regular donors.

Robby wonders how much they must have spent to earn that kind of attention. For a dangerous moment he considers typing a greeting himself, but the words feel too heavy, still awkward, so he sets on quietly basking a little longer in your presence.

“As I wrote in my Instagram story, tonight I feel like doing a Q&A, nothing too tiring, if you’re all up for it. I’m exhausted.”

You have an Instagram account. Maybe he will follow Santos’ advice and set one too.

The messages slow just enough that Robby can finally make out actual words instead of random blurry spots.

You squint at the screen. “Okay, first of all, whoever keeps spamming the same question in all caps…” Your lips twitch. “I’m not answering it out of principle, just so you know.”

A row of laughing emojis floods the chat.

“See? Actions have consequences.” 

You silently observe the texts for a while.

“Do you actually read all of these messages? Absolutely not. Have you seen yourselves? You type faster than I can think.” You snort. “Which, to be fair, isn’t something I like to do after nine p.m.”

“How am I doing tonight? Thanks for asking, milf_fucker86.” Robby rolls his eyes at the username. “As I mentioned before, I’m drained. It’s one of those weeks where every single day feels like it should’ve been Friday.”

You frown, freezing as you are tucking one leg beneath yourself.

“Actually, tomorrow is Friday.” 

kneel4mommy

Same

real_tom_thanks

girl me too

softboiii69

LMAOOO

“Thank God it’s not just me.” You shake your head with a chuckle before leaning forward to look for more interesting messages.

“What do you do when you’re not streaming?” You sigh. “I recover from streaming.”

A few people protest.

“No, seriously.” You stretch your arms above your head, and Robby tries unsuccessfully to keep his eyes from wandering to your turgid nipples straining against the tight fabric.

“I work, I bother my friends with stupid reels, I spend an embarrassing amount of time convincing myself I’ll start going to the gym next Monday…” A forlorn sigh escapes your nostrils.

kneel4mommy

Which monday?

“Okay, that’s exactly the kind of negativity I don’t need.” You look gravely at the camera, before a small smile brightens your face.

“Favorite book? Oh, don’t do this to me.” You grimace. “I can’t just pick one, it depends on the day. I have, like… categories.” You keep your eyes on the chat as you hum pensively.

“Right now I’m halfway through this novel… It’s about this woman who keeps finding handwritten notes in library books from someone she never meets.” You put your hands in front of you, palms open and pointed at the camera. “Now, I know how that sounds.” Your voice is cautious, but the chat immediately starts teasing anyway.

“Oh my God, it’s not cheesy!” You scoff a laugh, squinting slightly. “Well, okay, no maybe it’s a little cheesy. But the writing is really good! It’s less about romance and more about… hm, I don’t know.”

You look sideways, pursing your lips in thought.

“The weird ways people leave pieces of themselves behind without meaning to.” You speak carefully. “Don’t know if that makes any sense, my brain is too fried to be this profound at this hour.”

“Okay, next question!” You perk up, clapping your hands once, and Robby feels his lips stretch into a smile of his own.

“Dumbest thing you’ve done recently? Oh, that’s easy. I tried baking cookies for my best friend’s birthday party.” The chat fills with hearts.

“Nah, don’t ‘aww’, it was a complete disaster.” You grimace. “I forgot baking soda.” An embarrassing silence fills the room as the chat fills with emojis ranging from confusion to resignation.

“Which apparently is important.”

touched_grass_once

apparently?????

“Listen, they looked fine!” You shrug. “They were just… a little flat.” 

The chat erupts with laughter.

“My apartment smelled like fucking smoke for two days.” You grin sheepishly. “BUT! My best friend still ate one.”

You suddenly burst out laughing. “Yes, froyo_baggings, that’s the same friend who called me crying two months ago because she thought someone had broken into her apartment. For anyone who doesn’t know this story, she rounded the corner, saw a figure standing in the hallway and immediately dialed my number. That person was her. Because she’d bought a full-length mirror that morning.”

You shake your head. “Yes, of course she loved the cookies! It’s the thought that counts after all.”

More questions race past about your job, but you are careful to keep it vague enough to not give out too many details. Though Robby must repeatedly remind himself this is only your online persona, he is hopelessly invested. So much that he completely ignores the small ding from his microwave, where a now cold lasagna sits forgotten. You are so entirely captivating that the impossible thought of meeting someone like you in real life presses against his chest, sharp and tender all at once.

“Where do you live? No.” 

“What’s your real name? Fuck no.”

“Can we see your apartment? The fuck?” Yet you still smile as you say it, enough that it never feels like a full rejection.

“I don’t mind sharing little things about my life, but some things get to stay mine.” Your smile turns tight as you continue, something you decide to hide by biting your bottom lip and focusing back on the questions.

“Dream vacation? You know what’s funny?” You change position, crossing your legs again. “Every time somebody asks me this, they expect me to say something like Greece or the Maldives.” You shake your head.

“Absolutely not.”

The chat explodes with question marks.

“Because if I’m on vacation I don’t want to come back more exhausted than when I left. I can’t stand the heat, and spending an entire week on the beach under the sun would put me directly underground. I prefer somewhere cold.”

byteme

you’re insane

“Am I?” One of your eyebrows lifts skeptically.

No, Robby thinks you are actually one of the sanest people he has ever met.

“You’ve never had tea by the window while it rains outside? You’ve never sat in one of those tiny cafés where you can’t understand a single thing about what everyone around you is saying but somehow that’s the most peaceful place in the world?” 

Your voice softens just a fraction.

“I think I’d like that.” You nod slowly, but the sentimentality does not last for long.

“What’s your favorite organ?” Recoiling, you stare at the camera in horror. “Who raised you people?”

Robby lets out a quiet laugh, an involuntary reaction that he kills on the spot by setting his lips into a thin line. The sound would be ordinary for any other person, but it catches him completely off guard, because he can’t remember the last time he laughed like that, particularly with one one else in the room. 

It’s in that moment that the doctor finally becomes aware of himself and the apartment that continues existing around him without asking anything in return. The clock in the corner of your stream says it’s been almost thirty minutes, and Robby frowns at it as if it has personally offended his whole family. 

It’s not possible. He had meant to stay for ten, fifteen minutes at the absolute most. Again, long enough to let the day loosen its grip from his shoulders, not watching you talk about books and fucking cookies. 

But somewhere along the way he stopped hoping for your clothes to come off. And while his body is no less tense than it was when he opened his laptop, and the stinging behind his eyes lingers as he decided to forgo his glasses this time, the urgency that has driven him here in the first place has receded silently. It’s embarrassing how, instead, Robby has been devouring every single word falling from your lips like a starved man: the detours, the way you gesticulate animatedly when the chat teases you, your soft smiles… 

And now he knows that the same woman whose real name still remains a mystery, whose face is illuminated by a ring light instead of the morning sun, can’t tell a story without accidentally collecting three others along the way. That she loses the thread when something makes her laugh, only to stumble upon it several minutes later. That her fingers play with the little moon-shaped pendant of her necklace whenever she needs to reprimand some of her rowdiest viewers, because there is something about confrontation that evidently makes her nervous—for a second Robby wonders whether anyone else noticed it, or whether it has now become a little secret shared between the two of you. That she wants to visit some cold, faraway place, and Robby realizes he has spent so many years leaving Pittsburgh only for conferences that he’s forgotten people sometimes travel simply because they want to. 

Which destination would you choose? Perhaps somewhere with narrow streets, surrounded by mountains and lush vegetation. The sort of place that holds no expectations.

As though the simple act of looking elsewhere might be enough to dispel the thought, Robby tears his eyes from the screen and looks at the untouched mug on the coffee table. 

His gaze lingers there for a moment too long, before drifting absently to the lone sock lying beneath it, abandoned there when Robby had stretched out on the couch after his shower. Outside, rain has begun tapping softly against the windows, and only when he turns curiously to look at the sky a dull stiffness catches at the base of his neck, making him wince. He rolls one shoulder experimentally, because he’d scarcely moved in the better part of an hour, save for the single time the armrest had begun digging sharply into the bone. 

Lastly, the television. It is now playing a crime documentary about stalkers and obsessions. 

Robby can’t help but feel his stomach churn uncomfortably, because he can’t remember a single thing from the creatures living thousands of feet beneath the ocean’s surface, but can picture with alarming clarity the way your face lights up when you laugh. Your eyes disappear first, then your head automatically ducks as though you’re trying to hide the shape of your mouth—sometimes it’s a hand that covers it—and Robby asks himself what made you so self-conscious about it. Was it a toxic ex? A middle-school bully? But then you always look back at the camera with the same irrepressible grin still lingering at the corners of your mouth.

“Ah!” Robby startles at your loud exclamation, his brown eyes immediately jumping back to the screen. “vibemike wants to know my favorite role play. Okay chat, let’s see how well you know me.”

“Professor and student? That’s hot but not my favorite.” You nod, before your eyebrows raise in surprise. “Repairman and homeowner? Hm, interesting. What do you think? Me opening the door in a sweater and no panties?” You giggle.

Leaning forward, you squint at the chat again as Robby shakes his head at how human beings can sexualize even the most innocent of interactions.

“Strangers at a bar!” You exclaim, straightening up. “That’s something I’ve always wanted to try but I’m pretty sure I’d end up ruining it. I’m sorry, it’s just so funny that I have to flirt with the other person as if I don’t know what they look like naked.”

“Okay, okay. You gave me a lot of good ideas but it’s something I’ve never actually mentioned before.” Your torso lean forward just a little bit, as if to share an important secret.

“Lately I’ve been really into the doctor kink.” You whisper.

Robby’s heart falls to his feet.

“I know.” You giggle. “I just want to be thrown on an examination table and have my handsome doctor force my legs open while reprimanding me about how important it is to have my pussy inspected once in a while.” A tiny sigh escapes your parted lips as you tuck your legs closer to your chest, resting your chin on top of your knees.

“Maybe I’d let him fuck my mouth, you know, for good luck before he goes off to save his other patients.” You wink, already laughing as Robby swallows dryly. 

You wet your lips, before glancing down between your legs. “Well, would you look at that.”

His gaze instinctively drops to the empty space between his knees, tiredly dragging a hand down his flushed face as his bulge is hot under his sweatpants.

“Jesus Christ.” He mumbles.

“No, I’m not wearing a bra, super_sp3rm.” Chuckling, you get up on your knees to give your viewers a nice close-up of your chest, your nipples erect and begging to be worshipped.

With a knowing grin, you keep chatting leisurely, both of your hands rubbing and squeezing your tits until your breath hitches faintly.

“I wasn’t planning on playing with you tonight.” You gasp as your manicured nails lightly tease your covered nubs. “But my panties are all wet now after thinking about some hot doctor playing with my pussy. What do you think? Should I take care of it?”

The tips have been quite slow... until now. Robby has a feeling this was your wicked plan all along.

A chuckle bursts out of you as you look at the chat. “God, you’re filthy.”

Your teeth chew on your bottom lip as your free hand sinks beneath the fabric of your shorts, starting little circular motions.

“This is all your fault. I just wanted to talk to you guys.” You whine softly. “So this is all you get for tonight.”

Robby is a little disappointed as your pussy stays hidden, but seeing you rubbing yourself under your shorts as your fingers leisurely pull and flick your covered nipples is enough for his heart to pick up its pace in anticipation.

You moan under your breath. “Fuck, ‘s so sensitive.” Your brows furrow in pleasure, before your eyes momentarily fly to the chat. 

“Are you going to come with me, hm?” With your head falling back, your fingers twist your left nipple hard enough for you to cry out. “Oh!” You gasp, back arching and eyes rolling back.

Robby stares in awe at your body shaking, before your hand languidly comes out of your shorts for you to slowly taste your glistening fingers, quietly sucking on each digit as you stare directly at the camera.

“Hm, so good.” Then, with a little impish grin, “Maybe that could be you cleaning me up next time.”

The messages grow increasingly dirtier, but from the way your eyes slowly blink at the camera, Robby knows you must be too tired to continue. A few viewers clearly expected more, so you assure them next week you’ll be back with your usual content.

Robby observes silently, not quite hard but still sated, the promise of more hanging in the air as a faint bitter taste in his mouth lingers at the thought of having to wait four days to see you again.

“Just a little reminder that this week I’ll be available on both Saturday and Sunday for private shows. So hurry up and book your slot!” You wink, completely unaware of how you just undid Robby with a few simple words.

“Just send me an inbox if you’re interested.”

After your stream ends, he quickly opens your profile and decides to type a short, respectful line, easy to ignore, and send a tip.

Thank you for the company.

The moment it’s gone, the action fully settles in. Your inbox must already be crowded with names and small attempts at catching your attention, all blurring together. He is just another stranger passing through, another line you’ll never have the time to read.

The couch creaks softly as he slumps back, wondering why the sole knowledge hadn’t stopped him—that despite knowing how insignificant he might be in a sea of faceless users, he still had let himself indulge in this little attempt at connecting with you.

But when Robby logs in the next day—totally not to check if you had replied—there is a small, red number one sitting at the top of his inbox. His fingers pause over the touchpad, brown eyes blinking once, twice, hardly believing it.

Hey DoctorR! Wow!! Thank you so much for the generous tip 🤍 Were you interested in a private show?

A small smile unconsciously tugs at the corners of his mouth. He is genuinely surprised you answered. Even from behind a screen, your acknowledgment makes his heartbeat flutter dangerously fast, leaving Robby both elated and unnervingly aware of how much he wants to matter to you, despite the stubborn conviction that he is doing this just to entertain himself—and of course to pay you back for the incredible orgasms.

His eyes then flick to the amount he sent, just to make sure he didn’t add too many zeros by mistake. But no, the number is exactly as intended: one hundred dollars. The amount hardly seems like a generous tip; after all, your time is surely worth far more.

His eyes slide over your words again and again, until the weight of your question finally prompts his hands to hastily move against the keyboard at the prospect of a call just between you and him. He sends a quick message confirming his interest in a private show, and caught up in the thrill of what’s to come, sends another twenty dollars.

Before he can log out for tonight, though, your reply appears: another cheerful omg thank you!! followed by another text to let him know your availability for Saturday night. He asks if it’s a problem for you to set the call at eleven—just a precaution since he never actually clocks out at nine—and you reassure him it’s completely fine with you.

Your exchange is straightforward and short, and Robby is oddly comforted by that. He will be paying for your lovely company, so even if he is as dull as the people around him have recently told him, you will at least be compensated.

Perhaps this weekend he won’t be as miserable as usual.

— ⟢ END NOTES: thank you so much for reading 🤍 my masterlist → winteryn's masterlist

🏷️ general robby taglist: @obsessed-oops @bikinibottomspeach @verss88 @macbaetwo @dugiioh @the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf @eliza7up @kittymeowmeow17 @mimi-ro @mmb77 @lrosenblut26

You're a bit nervous to see Pope again. It's been over six months since you've last seen him, something you feel a little bad about but you're sure he appreciates the fact that you took the time to get yourself settled into a new place. 

You're finally feeling ready to put yourself back out there, at least for a good time. 

Especially when it seems like everyone else in your life is having their own fun. 

You don't want to miss out so you decide it would be nice to see someone you've always been comfortable with. 

Andrew “Pope” Cody, a friend you've had for a long time who has seen you through the worst versions of yourself and still somehow managed to stick around. 

You owe a lot to Pope for being the one you could call in the middle of the night to come pick you up to keep you company while you're bawling your eyes out. He never made you feel lesser for having these anxiety attacks. He always took very good care of you. 

Because he has always liked you, a lot. 

So when you text him asking him if he'd like to meet up and do something together, Pope replies instantly, asking what you'd want to do. You tell him that a cup of coffee would be nice and then the two of you could decide from there. 

Usually, how this goes, at least when you and Pope sleep together, is that the two of you either eat something first and then fuck or fuck and then eat something. 

It's routine, simple, easy. 

Nothing like how your day actually ends up going though…

Because the moment you see Pope, your eyes immediately trail the length of his body, staring at the way he has filled in his shirt, his muscles outlined by the soft fabric. 

You have never been more nervous in your life…

You weren't expecting him to be so fit but he did tell you that he took up boxing recently and that he helped move in his older brother, Jack, who plays a lot of tennis. The two of them have been playing together most days, which is why Pope is more muscular than he was the last time you saw him. 

He can tell you're nervous because you don't say anything when you get into his car. 

“Everything alright?” He turns to you for a second before he starts the drive to your favorite cafe.

“You look really good, Andrew.” You blurt out your thoughts, embarrassment making your stomach knot up. 

You open your mouth to try to pad what you just said but then Pope goes, “you look really good too.” 

That has your whole body lighting up because as a subtle flirtation, you decided to wear a shirt Pope let you steal a while back and thin shorts, since you wanted him to know exactly what this meet up was for. 

But now you're feeling more worked up than you were previously and it only gets worse when he parks at the cafe and has his muscular arm around your back as the two of you walk inside. The heat radiating off of him makes you a little dizzy, his hand imprinting its warmth into the side of your hip. 

Has he always been this…big compared to you? 

“What do you want?” He whispers into your ear while the two of you are in line and your heart nearly leaps out of your chest when you feel his hot breath on your skin. 

You mumble your order when the two of you get to the register and Pope whips out a wad of cash from his pocket, setting down enough for your coffee plus tip and then guides you over to where the two of you can wait for your coffee. 

His hand hasn't left your side and he likes that you're letting him keep it there. 

Usually you don't.

It's not that you don't like public displays of affection but you try to keep more of a distance between yourself and someone you're just sleeping with, to lessen any growing attachment. 

But…has Pope ever been “just” someone you're sleeping with?

You've always felt more for Pope than that but you never let yourself feel those feelings until right now. Maybe because you didn't think you deserved him. You still don't think you deserve him. 

And yet, when your eyes lock with his and he leans down to kiss you, why do you kiss him back without minding that the two of you are in the middle of a busy cafe…

Your heart flutters when he moves away from your lips and says, “I missed kissing you.” 

You missed it too. You missed him. 

Something you're unsure if you are going to let yourself feel right now.

When your coffee is ready, Pope asks you if you'd like to come over to his place and meet his older brother, Jack. You remember Pope telling you about his doctor brother moving back into town after years away. 

Jack wanted a change of scenery and the beautiful city of Oceanside has always been a place he was homesick for. Plus, the pay at this hospital is much better than the one back in Pittsburgh. He doesn't have to work the night shift anymore, though he still does. He has a better work-life balance here, which gives him room to pursue other interests.

Like you… 

Because Pope had told Jack all about you. About the kind of sex the two of you have. About how much he wants to be with you but he doesn't want to make you nervous and scare you away. About how you confided in him that you would like to one day try fucking two men at once, though you doubted the opportunity would ever arise. 

Until you get to Pope's place and meet his brother Jack, shaking his hand formally and introducing yourself.

Your heart suddenly pounds in your ears when his hand lingers in yours as he asks, “so what do the two of you plan on doing together today? Can I join?” 

Now, your stomach seriously is in knots and your anxiety starts to peak…

Because this is Pope's older brother. You know for a fact that Pope had to have told Jack about you so Jack definitely knows what he's implying with his words.

And you were not mentally prepared to fuck two men today… 

Which is why you don't answer him and instead ask Pope, "where's your bathroom again?” 

Pope shows you where it is and you lock yourself in there, trying to catch your breath. You have your body leaned up against the door, doing the breathing exercises your therapist taught you, while you eavesdrop on them talking out there. 

“You made her nervous.” Pope scolds Jack. 

“She didn't say no.” Jack says back. “Maybe she's nervous because she wants us both.” 

That is exactly why you're nervous…

It's not an understatement to say you're attracted to Pope. So, of course, you would be attracted to Jack, who is just an older version of Pope. 

Two attractive men…wanting to sleep with you…

You feel like you're going to start hyperventilating. Your anxiety is through the roof and it's getting hard to breathe because you don't want to mess this up but you feel like you already have by acting this way. 

Sometimes, you wish you weren't built like this. That you could just go with the flow and not think so deeply. 

But…you are thinking deeply and you can't help it. 

You're afraid that you'll end up liking this and then what? What will you do then? 

Is it okay to—

You flinch when there's a knock at the door and you hear Pope's voice ask, “are you alright in there?” 

You let out a sigh. 

You can't keep hiding. 

At least, not without explaining yourself a little. 

So, you open the door and look up at Pope and tell him, “I think I just need a moment to myself. Can I borrow your room?” 

Pope nods, leading you back there. Then, before he heads back out to the living room with Jack, he grabs a hold of your shoulders, rubbing them gently before being so sweet to you, “we don't have to do anything today so don't worry about it, okay? I'm just happy to see you.” 

His words have your heart wanting to burst because you were not expecting that at all. 

So, you apologize for behaving this way, “I'm sorry I'm acting all weird. I just…I'm so nervous all of a sudden.” 

“That's okay.” He keeps rubbing your shoulders so gently. “Just let me know if there's anything I can do to make you feel better.” 

Your eyes meet his and then, unconsciously, you drop down to stare at his lips before snapping your eyes back to his. He smiles at that before leaning in, giving you a light kiss that you melt into almost too quickly. 

It's exactly what you needed, so soft and full of care.

“I'll be right out there. Call me if you need anything, okay?” He nuzzles your nose lightly and you nod into it. 

Pope leaves and shuts the door behind him and you don't lock it. You just sit down on his bed then lay back, looking up at the ceiling you've stared up at many times before.

It's different this time, though. There are butterflies flapping around in your tummy. You've never…felt so much before. The nerves are there but there's something more to it.

He lingers on your lips and you miss his kiss already. 

Your heart is still racing in your chest so you need some kind of outlet for the anxious energy. Normally you take a walk, so that's what you'll do. 

You see them both hanging out on the couch when you head out of his room and the moment he hears your footsteps, Pope gets up and walks to you. “Feeling better?”

“I will. I just want to take a walk around for a little. Is that okay?” You don't need to ask permission but it helps you to hear that it doesn't bother him. 

“Why don't we walk to the tennis courts?” Jack suggests. “Pope and I were going to play anyways.”

“I thought you said you wanted to play pickleball.” Pope has been indulging Jack's latest obsession with pickleball. “Now you want to play tennis?” 

“We're definitely playing pickleball.” He says a bit too seriously and you hold in a little laugh because you find that strangely cute how passionate he is. “Maybe we can teach you.” 

You shake your head. “I don't want to learn something new right now. I'm a little overwhelmed as is…”

“Then you can just watch us play.” Jack gets up from the couch, presumably to start getting his gear ready. “Do whatever makes you comfortable, princess.” 

He smiles at the shocked expression on your face when he calls you the nickname you love to hear in bed. You're even more flustered now than you were before. 

So flustered that you barely register Pope cupping your face with his big hands, turning you to look at him. “Does that sound good with you?” 

You nod into his palms. “I think so. I've never seen you play before.” 

“He sucks.” Jack comes back after quickly changing and pats his brother on the shoulder, smirking. “But it'll be entertaining to watch I'm sure.” 

“I do not suck.” Pope glares at Jack, pointing at his prosthetic. “I just don't want to overwork you.” 

You glance down, seeing that Jack is wearing athletic shorts now so his prosthetic leg is visible. You immediately rip your eyes away from him when you can see the faint outline of his cock through the fabric. You shake the image from your mind, but the thought of whether or not he's the same size as Pope stays plastered in your head. 

“I'll get overworked regardless today.” Jack gives you a big smile after he says that and now you’re internally screaming…

Pope rolls his eyes at his brother's direct flirtation then looks back at you. “I'm going to get changed. Don't let him bother you.” 

He leaves then and, of course, Jack can't resist walking up to you. He wants to see the cute look on your face when he gets real close. 

You swallow down the nerves, staring at him as he examines every inch of you. He glances at your shirt and then says, “that's my brother's shirt, isn't it? I have one just like it. It's like you're wearing my clothes too.” 

The nonchalant grin Jack gives you has your heart pounding in your ears louder than ever. He smells different from Pope too. It's nice in its own way but it has you feeling dizzy from how close he is to you. 

“You really are as cute as Pope said.” Jack leans in and your breath gets caught in your throat the moment his lips touch yours and he whispers, “I can't wait to play with you later.” 

He pulls away before he can give you a real kiss. It was just a brush of the lips but now your skin is on fire…

Pope comes back to Jack acting completely unaware of why you look like you've just been jumpscared. “What's going on?” 

“We were just chatting. Right, princess?” Jack flashes that quietly mischievous grin of his at you. 

You nod, not sure what to say back. 

Pope proceeds to grab Jack and drag him into his room, shutting the door behind him. Then, in a low whisper, he tells Jack, “stop messing with her.” 

“I'm not.” Jack lies through his cocky smile. 

“I'm serious, Jack.” Pope doesn't want to scare you off. 

“She let me kiss her.” Jack tells him, which has Pope letting go of his shirt. 

“What?” Pope is surprised to hear that. 

“She wants this. She's just too nervous about it. You can be her comfort and I can be the one who gets her to break out of her shell a little.” He already has a plan formulating in his head for how to make you more comfortable. 

And it starts with making you laugh. 

On the way to the tennis courts, Jack tells you a story about a crazy night shift he had and you can't stop giggling to the point where your stomach is cramping up. You haven't laughed like that in so long. 

Jack is completely unserious and carefree, and it helps get you to relax because you haven't said a word about how his hand has been resting on the small of your back. You've been holding Pope's hand this whole time, squeezing it when you need a bit of comfort. 

It doesn't dawn on you how this might look if someone spotted the three of you until they both leave your side to start playing pickleball. That's when your nerves come back and you start pacing around to release the energy piling up inside of you. 

But then, Jack starts goofing off on the court, messing with Pope, and your laughing fit comes back at full force. 

Jack looks at Pope and then says, “come on, Pope. You have a princess to impress.” 

The glare Pope gives Jack makes you giggle even more. They really are brothers. 

And Pope is much better at pickleball than Jack was leading you to believe. 

The two of them play for what feels like forever, until they're both drenched in sweat. 

You're sweaty too but that's because of the California heat. 

“Let's head back.” Pope can tell you definitely need a cold glass of water. 

He puts his hand out to help you up, since you've been sitting on the sidelines watching them, then proceeds to keep your hand held in his as the three of you walk back. You try not to feel too happy about that. Holding his hand makes the butterflies in your stomach go crazy but not in a bad way. 

You like how nice his calloused palm feels in yours. 

You also like how Jack's hand feels resting on your back, even though the fact that they're both touching you right now has your heart racing. 

Then, Jack leans closer to you and asks, “do you want to shower first or with one of us?” 

And you feel like you might actually explode.

Pope bites back a laugh at how shocked you look at Jack's question because you're just too cute all flustered. It makes it hard for him to not tease you too. 

But, he pulls your hand up to his lips, kissing your knuckles before he says, “let her shower on her own. She's nervous enough already.” 

“Her choice.” Jack looks at you. “What do you want to do, princess?” 

You're stunned into silence because you have no idea what to say. So many things run through your head, like the sight of them both naked with hot water dripping off their skin…

You'd love to see that… 

But you refrain from the desire, opting to just answer, “I'll shower first.” 

“Suit yourself. We could've sat in my shower chair together.” Jack's words have you imagining that very scene.

You can't believe how forward he's being. That's not what you expected when Pope told you about his brother. But it seems like Jack is the type to live life in the moment and doesn't think very far ahead. 

That's why when you're freshly showered and dressed in one of Jack's shirts, since he insisted on it, he makes his move while Pope is in the shower. 

“Come here.” He gestures for you to sit on the couch with him. “Let's chat a little.”

You definitely don't think he wants to chat because the moment you're in front of him, he grabs you by the waist and sits you down on his lap, making you straddle him.

“Jack, I just showered…” You can feel his sweat on your body.

“You can shower again, with me.” He says with that sly smirk of his. 

“I don't think that's a good idea…” You grip onto his shoulders tighter, the nerves getting to you again.

“You know, you could get up anytime.” Jack tells you and you realize then that he doesn't have his hands on you at all. 

You've just been sitting pretty on his lap. And for some reason, you don't scramble to move. 

Maybe it's the look in his eyes, the one you've seen on Pope before. 

Lust. 

“Push me away, princess.” Jack leans in, whispering so close to your lips. “Before I kiss you while my brother is in the shower.” 

“Is Andrew okay with—” His lips are on yours before you can finish your question, kissing you with such heat that your mind goes fuzzy for a second.

Then, when you kiss Jack back, he smiles against your lips and says, “I think you know the answer.” 

Suddenly, his hands are all over your body and he's grinding up against you, pulling a moan from your lips you can't keep in. 

“Good girl.” He tells you before you can be embarrassed about it. “That's it, let go and just feel good.” 

It does feel good. You like the way Jack kisses you. It's hot and passionate, his hands holding you tight against him, his hips rolling up to meet yours, his hard cock rubbing up against you through your shorts and his own. 

He groans when you start grinding on him, your hands moving into his hair, brushing through his silver curls. “I could fuck you right now if you want me to.” 

You shake your head, your lips still on his when you answer, “I want Andrew too.” 

“Greedy girl.” Jack likes that you're honest. 

You're surprised you are. You have no idea what's gotten into you. But it's like the moment Jack kissed you, a switch flipped in your head and you're aching between your legs at the thought of two men having their way with you. 

Who are you to say no to that? 

So, despite the fear pooling in your belly, you close your eyes and just enjoy the feeling of Jack's lips on yours and his hands on your skin until Pope gets out of the shower and sees the two of you making out on the living room couch. 

“Started without me?” His voice pulls the two of you apart. 

You feel flush all over at his accusation but Jack just laughs and goes, “I loosened her up for you. Don't fuck her until I get back.”

Jack then proceeds to lift you up off of him like you weigh nothing and sets you down next to him. He gives you one last heated kiss before he heads to shower. 

And you don't know if the sweat on your skin is his or your own… 

“Was everything alright with Jack?” Pope joins you on the couch, taking your hand in his. “I can tell him to leave you alone.”

He's certain you don't want that from the way he watched you grind on his brother but he has to ask anyway. 

“Is it alright with you?” You want to make sure because you don't want to do this if Pope is uncomfortable with it. 

But it's his brother and he trusts Jack more than anyone in the world. “Yeah, if it makes you feel good, it's alright with me.” 

“Andrew, we don't have to do this.” You're nervous that he's forcing himself to be okay with this. “I'm sorry if I—”

“Look at me, princess.” His words have you snapping to listen instantly. “I want you to feel good. Did my brother make you feel good?”

Pope's hand slips out of yours and your breath hitches when his hand rests on your thigh. 

“I can check how good he made you feel.” His hand starts sliding between your legs. “Can I do that?” 

You bite down on your lip, then you nod.

“Lay back then.” He instructs and you lay down on the couch and watch as he pulls your shorts off, leaving you completely bare from the waist down. “I've missed looking at your pretty pussy, princess.” 

You choke back a whimper when his finger grazes your clit before drawing a line down your slit. His touch is so featherlike that your body can't handle it. 

You want more than just that light touch… 

“Use your words, princess.” Pope climbs on top of you because he wants to kiss you. “What do you want?” 

“Please touch me.” 

“Ask politely.” He demands in that stern tone of his that has you getting wetter between your legs. 

“Will you please touch me?” You tense up from how shy you get after saying that but the smile on Pope's face has you relaxing a bit. 

Just a bit, because you gasp when his finger slides into you for just a split second before he drags it up along the length of your pussy to swirl around your clit. 

“Who's a good little princess?” He asks, dipping just the tip of his finger into you again before pulling back out. 

“I am.” You'll be so good if he keeps touching you like this. 

“You really are. You're so wet for us.” Pope slips his whole finger inside of you right then and you arch your back in response, driving him deeper. “Are you aching for more?” 

“Yes.” You're practically pleading for him to stop stalling with that single word but much like his brother, Pope enjoys the worked up expression on your face. 

So he's patient and slow, feeling around for that spot you like so much, watching you squirm when he purposefully avoids it. 

It isn't until you're panting that he finally adds another finger and starts kissing you. 

His tongue feels so good on yours. His fingers feel so good inside of you. 

You're drowning in absolute bliss. 

“She looks like she wants to cum.” Jack's voice has you glancing over at him. He's rubbing his hair with a towel, drying those beautiful curls of his. 

You like that Pope's hair is still a little damp. You want to grab a hold of it.

And you do, when he pulls away from your lips so he can head down between your legs and flick your clit with his tongue until you're trembling. 

“Please.” You don't know how much more of this edging you can take. “I want to cum so badly.” 

“I never said you couldn't cum, princess.” Pope rolls his tongue over your clit, sending you reeling but not close enough to the edge to cum. 

“I'm so close.” You whimper out, not caring anymore how you might look or sound. “Please don't stop, please keep going.” 

“She's so cute when she begs.” Jack nudges you to let him slide in behind you on the couch, pulling your back against his chest. 

He slips his hands under your shirt, technically his shirt that you're wearing, and exposes your chest to the air, your nipples peaking in response. 

“Can I help make you cum, princess?” Jack asks as he slides his hands from your sides to cup your breasts. 

“Yes, please.” You don't know why you plead to him but it just slips out… 

And when his thumbs roll over your nipples at the same time Pope seals his lips around your clit, stars flood your vision and you cum so hard that your whole body shakes, your orgasm sending waves and waves of shock through your system. You're gasping for air, lightheaded from the feeling.

“Deep breaths, pretty girl.” Jack nips at your ear, his voice so soft and sweet. “You're okay. That must've felt so good, right?” 

You nod, the pleasure overwhelming you. It's been so long since you've cum and you definitely haven't cum that hard in a while.

“Should we make it happen again?” Pope starts slowly fucking you with his fingers again. “Do you want to cum again?”

“I don't know if…” You're unsure if you'll survive another hit of pleasure like that…

“We can take a break.” Pope goes to slide his fingers out of you but you snatch his wrist before he can, which draws a laugh from Jack. 

“Looks like she doesn't want you to stop, Pope.” Jack chuckles against the nape of your neck. “Tell him what you want. Do you want my brother to make you cum with his fingers?” 

You nod but Pope doesn't move until the words leave your lips. “Please make me cum again, Andrew.” 

“What a good girl, asking for what you want.” Jack rewards you by pinching your nipples, sending such a jolt through you as Pope finds a pace with his fingers that leaves you squirming in their hold. 

Then, when he curls them just right, you unravel completely, squirting with every thrust of his fingers until you feel like you might pass out. He pops his fingers out of you then before giving your pussy a light smack that has you cumming again so quickly. 

“Do that again.” Jack tells his brother. “I think she liked it.” 

Pope gauges your reaction as he slaps your wet pussy again, seeing the way your eyes roll back in response. “Does that feel good, princess?” 

“Too good.” You don't know if you should let him keep doing that. 

It might ruin you… 

“And here I thought you liked it when I was gentle.” Pope leans down, his tongue trailing along the length of your slit before dipping into you slowly. 

Every stroke of his tongue is so light, like you're something delicate he doesn't want to break. 

But you need more than just this and he knows it. 

You're aching for him to slide his cock inside of you… 

Jack tilts your head up, seeing the lust in your eyes, smiling. “That's the face of someone who's needy for cock. Do you want my brother's cock buried inside of you?” 

You nod then turn to look at Pope. “Please, Andrew.” 

“When did you get so polite? Is it because my brother is here? Usually you're more demanding.” Pope teases you with his words and you feel so flushed from it, heat rising through your skin. 

That heat remains when you watch him strip off his pants and you get a view of the cock you're always so desperate for. 

But he doesn't want to give it to you right away. 

So, he grabs your underwear and slips it back on, surprising you. Jack seems surprised as well, until he watches Pope rub your slick all over the fabric before gliding his cock against it. 

Everything clicks for him and he's menacing with his laugh now. “Oh, you're going to get edged to death, princess.” 

“Wait, what?!” You yelp when Jack pins your wrists behind your back with one hand while he holds your head steady with the other, forcing you to watch Pope rub his cock against your pussy through the wet fabric, dipping it in and out of it. 

“When did you get so horny? You're practically drooling all over my cock.” Pope slips just the tip inside of you but pulls out before you can enjoy it, drawing such a whimper of desperation from your lips, which he smiles at. “Do you want more, princess?” 

“Please fuck me, Andrew.” You want him so bad…

“Hmm…” He slides more of his cock inside of you before pulling back out and you whine in response. “Do you think I should fuck her, Jack? I'll let you pick.” 

You can feel Jack shake his head behind you. “I don't think so. She's too adorable all needy like this. I want to enjoy it a little longer.” 

“You heard the man.” Pope smirks at you before sliding his cock along the length of your pussy, teasing your clit over and over again with the tip of it. 

“Please.” You look up at Jack. “Please let Andrew fuck me.” 

That causes Jack to laugh hysterically. “Beg again, princess.” 

“Please, Jack. I want Andrew to fuck me. Let him fuck me.” You lean in closer to him, your lips nearly touching his when you tell him, “I'll let you fuck me too if you do.” 

“We're bartering now? I like this.” Jack grabs you by the chin, turning you to face him more. “What else can I get if I let you have my brother's cock?” 

“Whatever you want.” You're so clouded by your desire that you don't care what he asks of you. “Please just let him fuck me.” 

“What do you want, Pope? Tell her and she'll give it to you.” Jack prompts and Pope swallows nervously for the first time this entire session. 

Because the words that leave his lips have your heart pounding. “I want her to be ours.” 

“W-What do you mean?” You don't get what he's implying. 

Is he saying that they want you to be…

No, there's no way. 

Why would they both want you—

“I want to fuck you more than just today.” Pope says firmly. “I want to fuck you from now on. I want to do more than that…”

You turn to face him and you're not ready to feel his lips press against yours, kissing you with all the affection he can't put into words. And when Jack loosens his grip on your wrists, you move out of his hold to cup Pope's face, pulling him in closer, kissing him harder. 

“Do you really…” You're scared to say the words aloud. 

“I want to be your boyfriend.” Pope nibbles on your bottom lip after he says that, then trails a line of kisses down to your neck. “I want to be with you.” 

Jack scoops your attention away by turning you to face him again, saying, “can I be your boyfriend too?” 

“T-Too?” You're stunned to hear that. 

Jack nuzzles your nose, grinning. “A princess like you deserves two men to spoil you rotten.” 

“So, can I be your boyfriend?” Pope looks up at you, waiting for your answer.

“Can I?” Jack chimes in too. 

And you find the strength to push yourself to say, “yes.” 

To allow yourself to be given the affection you've always desired and more. 

“Our princess is so precious.” Jack kisses your cheek. “I think she deserves a kiss, doesn't she?” 

“I know just where to kiss our princess.” Pope lines his cock up with your entrance before thrusting the entire length of it inside of you in one go, the tip of his cock pressing up so deep inside of you, you might actually burst from that single motion. “Do you like it when I kiss you here?”

You nod but then Pope shakes his head at you. 

“Say “I like it when my boyfriend kisses my womb with his cock” or I won't move.” He stills inside of you, his cock throbbing, making you ache for more. 

“I-I like it when my boyfriend—” You can't get the rest of the words out because Pope starts grinding his cock deeper, causing your head to spin. “Oh god, Andrew, I'm going to cum if you keep—”

“Just cum on your boyfriend's cock, princess.” Jack coaxes you to let go completely. “Like you will on mine in a bit.” 

You moan so loudly that you have to clamp your hands over your mouth when Pope starts pounding into you, fucking you exactly how you always like it. Jack moves your hands away and slips his fingers into your mouth instead to silence you. 

“Suck them on like it's your boyfriend's cock.” He instructs and you listen instantly. “That's a good girl. You're going to suck my cock so well.” 

“Can I?” You say with his fingers in your mouth and he pulls them out immediately.

“Wait a second, Pope.” Jack has his brother slow his thrusts. “She wants me in her mouth. Flip her over.” 

Pope pulls out of you and you bite back a whine from the loss but then you're on your knees in a second. And without Jack having to say anything, you're already tugging off his pants for him while Pope realigns himself behind you. 

“Put my brother in your mouth and then I'll feed you my cock too.” Pope tells you as he rubs your back, the action so soothing like his words. “You can do it, princess. Let me see how good you can suck off your new boyfriend.” 

Jack watches you eagerly sink your mouth down onto his cock, taking him nearly to the base in one go. “Fuck, that's incredible. Look at you go, swallowing me up so easily.”

He grabs a fistful of your hair, groaning at you humming around his cock in response. 

“I'm going to fuck this pretty little mouth the moment my brother's back inside of you. Get ready, princess.” Jack's warning barely preps you for Pope ramming the entirety of his cock inside of you from behind. 

You're squirting immediately, your knees buckling, your lower belly getting pounded into oblivion by how deep his cock is thrusting inside of you. It doesn't help that you're dazed from Jack fucking your mouth just as deeply, stuffing himself as far down your throat as he can.

It all feels better than you could've imagined. 

You could get used to this… 

“Please tell me I can cum inside of you.” Pope is certain you're still on birth control but he wants to be sure. 

You nod around Jack's cock so he answers for you, “she wants you to cum, Pope.” 

So, he does, spilling so much of his cum inside of you that he's fucking it deeper with every additional thrust. You're drooling by the time Jack pulls your mouth off his cock and Pope pulls out of you. 

“Come ride your new boyfriend.” He pats his lap and you straddle him but he turns you around so your back is against him. “You've got to put on a show for your other boyfriend, princess.” 

You slip off your shirt then, allowing yourself to be completely bare when you sink yourself down on Jack's cock, moaning when he hilts. Him and his brother are similar in size and they both fill you up wonderfully. 

You start grinding down on Jack's cock, burying him further inside of you until you're desperately bouncing on it, wanting to cum already. 

Then you do cum, when Jack smacks your swollen clit. You cum way harder than you should've and he chuckles into your ear. 

“You really like that, don't you? You like it when your clit gets abused?” Jack rubs it gently before slapping it all of a sudden again, making you tighten up around his cock. “Keep milking my cock. You're doing so well. Isn't she, Pope? Aren't you proud of our princess?”

“So proud.” Pope's hand slides to your lower belly, pressing his fingers into your flesh, massaging right above your womb where Jack's cock is pushing up against. “Our princess is going to cum real nice right now for us. Right?” 

You nod and then when Jack's hands come up to play with your breasts and Pope slides his free hand to roll your clit between his fingers, you burst entirely, your orgasm rolling through you immediately. 

“She's too pretty when she's fucked out of her mind.” Jack says, giving your neck a kiss. “I'm glad I get to have a piece of this beauty.”

“She's all ours.” Pope tilts your chin towards him before he kisses you and you're grabbing onto him, kissing him back. 

Jack takes that moment to grab a hold of your hips and starts grinding his hips upwards, fucking you harder until you're moaning against his brother's lips. 

“Move, Pope.” Jack gestures for his brother to get up so he can pull you off of his lap and throw you down onto the couch, ramming his cock back inside of you the moment he's on top of you. He revels in the way your toes curl and your eyes roll back. “I'm going to cum so deep inside my girlfriend right now.”

“Please, Jack.” You want it, just like you wanted Pope's release. “Fill me up too.” 

He grabs a hold of your face before smashing his lips against yours, grunting with every harsh thrust of his hips until you feel that warmth fill your lower belly. 

A warmth you never want to be without from now on…

“Did that feel good?” Jack asks, kissing you lightly on the forehead. 

You nod, then turn to look at Pope. “Can we do it again?” 

Pope lets out a beautiful laugh and then says, “we can do it as much as you want.”

“Anything for our princess.” Jack gives you a warm hug, pulling you up to straddle his lap again, still seated inside of you, surprisingly hard still too… 

You bury your face against his shoulder, mumbling, “are you both sure you want me?” 

And in sync, they both say, “yes.” 

Jack likes the way you smile against him. He lifts your head up so he can lean in and kiss you with the same amount of affection that Pope has when he kisses you. 

“Let's take this one day at a time and see where it goes.” Jack tells you with so much kindness in his tone. 

“Is that alright with you?” Pope sits back down next to his brother, pulling you to look at him. 

You nod and that's when he leans in to kiss you too and you smile against his lips.

Then, you say as a little tease, “are you going to fuck me now or are you going to let your brother go first since he's still inside of me?” 

That makes Pope laugh harder than he has all night, a sound that is so beautiful to hear that it has you giggling too and Jack can't hold in his chuckle either. 

This seems like the start of a very fun relationship with two men who will make it their life's mission to have you laughing your days away, filled with more than just happiness. 

How wonderful does that sound? 

a/n: oh I am so mushy, I swear being in a happy relationship has me wanting to write such cutesy mush, I love it!!! also the title of this fic is based on the song blooming days by exo-cbx ❀

I think this would be fun to add onto in the future whenever I want to revisit a softer, more heartwarming relationship with jack and pope ~ 

You pulled over your vehicle and sighed, getting your license out of your purse and registration from your glove box.

“Good morning, ma’am. My name is Officer Sherman, this is my FTO Officer Bryant.” The young officer explained and you looked up.

“Officer Bryant?” You asked, “Like Sammy Bryant?”

“In the flesh.. how do we know each other- oh.” Sammy said coming to a stop, “Sherman, go wait in the car. I’ll handle this.”

“They made you a field training officer?” You asked with a laugh, “No fucking way.”

Sherman looked between the two of you and headed back to the car.

“You look good.” Sammy said, rocking on his feet and you shoot him a look.

“That’s all you have to say?” You snapped, “Not an ‘I’m sorry’ nothing?”

“I am sorry, but I wasn’t expecting to see you today. I’ve been wanting to apologize and find you for a bit actually.” Sammy explained, “I saw you blocked me on everything.”

“Didn’t wanna risk seeing you and Tammi. Bad enough we lived in the same city.” You mumbled.

“Just me. Tammi and I are going through a divorce at the moment.” He admitted, “She uh.. left me for her yoga teacher.”

“No way.” You said with a laugh and then immediately covered your mouth, “I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh.”

“No it’s okay. I mean it’s kinda a funny situation.” He admitted, “But how are you? I heard you graduated.”

“I did.” You said with a smile, “I graduated with my BSN so now I’m a nurse at the local hospital. The three-twelve hour shifts are a little killer, but I’ll survive.” You joked, “I see you graduated from the training phase.”

“Yea I almost didn’t. Tammi and I had just gotten married and I wasn’t focusing on work. My FTO either told me to quit or learn how to balance my personal life.” Sammy admitted, “But I am glad I stuck with it.”

“You were always gonna be a good cop Sammy, you just needed to grow up.” You said with a smile.

“Yea, I know.” He said, “Um listen I’m gonna give you a warning today. But, what are you doing tonight? Can I take you out to dinner?” He asked.

You bite your lip and nod, “Yea, you can. Um I moved to a nicer apartment.” You explained. “Here what’s your number?”

Sammy wrote down his number on a little business card, “Text me your information.”

You nod, “Thanks Sammy.”

“I’m sorry again. You didn’t deserve that and I was a douchebag for thinking I could have my cake and eat it too. I’m not a hot shot and never was.” He said with a sigh.

“It’s okay Sammy. Just thank you for acknowledging it.” You said and you noticed Sammy look a little uncomfortable.

“Could you just confirm something for me?” He asked, “Is it true you were pregnant and got an abortion?”

“What? No. Who told you that?” You asked, confused.

“Tammi. But I’m thinking it was a tactic to fuck with my head.” He admitted, “So that I would stay with her.”

“Oh 100%. No if I was pregnant, I would’ve came to you and explained it.” You said and he nodded.

“Thanks.” He said, “So tonight, 8:00?” He asked.

“Yea what are you thinking?” You asked, “Like a club or something?”

“Um I was actually thinking maybe ice cream and a walk on the beach?” He asked, “I just want it to be us.”

You paused, just looking up at him. What happened to the Sammy Bryant who hated going out to dinner and preferred greasy burgers and clubbing till 3 am? Speaking of old Sammy, you also noticed he grew his hair out.

“Hey, are you okay?” Sammy asked, snapping you out of your gaze.

“You grew your hair out.” You blurted out.

“Yea I did not long after Tammi and I got engaged. I got a lot more compliments on it.” He explained, “Do you like it?”

“I love it. It suits you. You look grown up.” You said with a smile.

“Thanks.” He said, blushing a bit, “Listen, I gotta get going. I’m just gonna give you a warning.” He explained.

“Thanks Sammy.” You said with a smile, “It was great seeing you.”

“Same to you, I’ll see you at 8 tonight.” He said with a smile.

“At 8.” You repeated, watching him leave back to his squad car.

Maybe Sammy Bryant had changed after all.

———————————————————————————

That night around 7:00, you started getting ready for your date. Was this even a date? Were you gonna get laid again?

Were you ready to get laid by Sammy Bryant again?

You decided to call you friend, Roopa while you got ready.

“Hey girl! What’s up?” She asked as she picked up.

“You are gonna kill me.” You said with a sigh.

“Why? What did you do?” She asked as you looked around in your closet.

“Sammy pulled me over today.” You said, “He asked me out to ice cream tonight and I said yes.”

“NO! I thought he was still married. Is he not?” Roopa asked as you pulled out a cropped black top.

“Apparently they are separated and going through a divorce.” You said, looking for your jeans.

“Are you sure? Or is Sammy lying?” She asked and you paused.

You hadn’t even considered that Sammy was lying. He wasn’t wearing his wedding ring when you saw him today.

“He wasn’t wearing a ring.” You said, “I think he was serious.”

“I’m checking his Facebook right now and it’s giving bachelor.” She said as you found your jeans, “Are you two gonna have sex?”

“I don’t know, I want to. But maybe I shouldn’t?” You asked.

“Make him work for you!” She said and you could hear her clapping to make sure you were listening, “Don’t fold.”

“I won’t!” You laughed as you started to get dressed, “Listen I’ll talk to you in a bit.”

“Bye! You better tell me how it goes!” She said before hanging up.

You finished getting dressed and moved to the bathroom to get ready, “Shit I never texted Sammy my address.” You mumbled and grabbed your phone.

‘Hey here’s my address. Sorry for the delay.’ You said and shared your location with him.

‘All good. I’ll be there soon.’ He texted and started typing again, ‘Mind if I come up?’

You sent back a quick thumbs up, ‘Meet you in the lobby.’ You texted back and went back to getting ready.

———————————————————————————

Soon 8 pm rolled around and you took the elevator down to meet Sammy in the lobby. You had on panda nikes with ripped black jeans and a cropped black top paired a cropped jacket. As the elevator door opened, you saw Sammy talking with the receptionist, holding a bouquet of flowers. He had on a black long sleeve button up with a white shirt underneath and jeans. You could clearly see he was concealed carrying.

Sammy finished up his conversation and headed over, “You look stunning.” He said with a smile, “I bought you Lillies and roses.” He said and passed you the bouquet.

“Thank you.” You said with a smile, “Come on, I’ll show you my apartment.”

The two of you take the elevator, the ride starting quiet.

“This is nice.” He said, “I just moved back into a studio and I like the small space.”

“Back to square one?” You asked and he nodded.

“A bit better than my first apartment. Remember that place?” He asked with a laugh and you shake your head.

“God yes. How could I forget? I fell out of the shower because a cockroach crawled up my leg.” You said with a laugh, “Remember the noise complaints?”

He laughed, “I was an asshole tenant.” He said, “I don’t think I got my deposit back after one of my friends put a hole in my wall.” He said.

“Which one? Phillip or Ethan?” You asked.

“Phillip.” He said, “Got too drunk.. and he and Ethan were fake fighting and Phillip put a hole in my wall.” He said simply.

“No way!” You laughed, “You talk to either of them anymore?”

“Oh absolutely not, Tammi made them cut me off.” He said, “Plus both live lives that I don’t want apart of.” He said simply.

“Fair.” You said as the elevator stopped at your floor. The two of you headed to your apartment and you unlocked the door, letting him inside.

He stepped inside and looked around a bit, “This is nice.” He said with a smile.

“It’s not much but it’s mine.” You said with a smile as you put the flowers into water.

Sammy walked to a photo wall you had made and he chuckled, “you kept this photo?” He asked pointing towards one on the wall. It was his police graduation party one of his friends threw him. He had beer in one hand and his arm around you, the two of you smiled at the camera.

“Of course I did. We were friends in that photo.” You said with a smile.

“More than friends that night.” He whispered and looked over at you, “You can’t deny you don’t think about that night.”

He was right. You thought about that night way more than you wanted to admit.

He had gotten his first big paycheck that day and insisted he wanted to treat you after his party. So he booked a night at Intercontinental and ordered room service for the two of you. The rest of the night, you two just made love and whispered empty promises to each other.

You really thought he had changed. You really hoped he would change.

“It was a fun night.” You said softly and Sammy sighed.

“I’m sorry again. For fucking this all up.” He said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“It’s in the past.” You mumbled and Sammy nodded.

“Come on, I found this really nice Italian restaurant that I think you’ll love.” He said, offering his arm.

“You know the way right to my heart.” You joked and took his arm.

“I still got that charm.” He said with a laugh as the two of you headed to his car.

———————————————————————————

The two of you soon made it to the Italian place, it was nice and quiet when the two of you arrived.

“How’d you find this place?” You asked as he took out your chair for you.

“Sherman, my trainee doesn’t shut up about this place.” He said, looking past you. Sherman sat happily at the bar and waved, just out of view from you.

“Damnit.” Sammy muttered and sat across from you.

“Are you okay?” You asked looking over at him and he shook his head smiling.

“I’m okay, don’t worry about it.” He said, looking over the menu.

“So do you wanna split a bottle of wine?” You asked and you could see him shift.

“I actually don’t drink anymore.” He explained, “I quit not long after Tammi and I got married.”

“Oh wow.” You said, trying to hide the shock in your voice.

The Sammy Bryant who was known to do keg stands and the beer bong champion in college? The one who was practically a functioning alcoholic all through college.

He nodded and took a sip of water, “I found myself turning to the bottle more than anything and my FTO caught me drunk on the job and about beat my ass. I’m lucky I didn’t lose my job.” He admitted, “So I went clean and turned to exercise as a way to manage my stress.”

“Good for you! Wow.” You said with a smile, “That’s amazing Sammy.”

“Thanks. It’s really nothing thought.” He admitted, “But enough about me, how are you? How’s nursing? How’s the hospital life?”

“I’m good. Some days, I don’t love my job. But that comes with the territory right?” You asked and laughed, “But seriously it’s so rewarding.”

“I bet. Any patients give you any trouble?” He asked as the waiter brought out breadsticks.

“Who hasn’t.” You said with a smile, taking a breadstick “Had a kid try to pinch me because I gave him a shot and he felt like I needed to feel pain too.”

“Yikes. Well I think having a cute nurse would make my experience at the doctors ten times better.” He said with a smirk.

You blushed and tucked your hair behind your ear.

“My names Brad and I’ll be your server tonight. Can I get you guys started on some appetizers?” He asked.

“Do you mind if I just?” Sammy asked, gesturing towards the menu.

“Go for it.” You said with a laugh and Sammy shot you a smile.

“We’ll do the sampler platter. Also we will do the bruschetta.” He said, “And for me? I’ll have the chicken Parmesan. Plus a mango lemonade for the table.”

“I’ll have the three cheese ravioli please.” You said with a smile and the waiter took your menus, leaving you and Sammy to keep chatting.

———————————————————————————

Soon the two of you had finished dinner and Sammy had paid the bill.

“How does ice cream sound?” He asked and you nod.

“It sounds amazing.” You said, standing up.

He offered his hand and you took it, the two of you walking hand in hand out of the restaurant.

“God that food was amazing!” You said with a smile, “Thank you for dinner by the way.”

“No problem, I’m glad you enjoyed it. We’ll have to go again sometime.” He said, gently squeezing your hand.

“Hey Sammy?” You asked, pulling him towards you, “Let’s get ice cream to go.”

“Ice cream to go?” He asked confused, “But like what about the beach? I don’t want this date to end. What did I do wrong?”

Oh my god he was clueless.

You sigh and gently palm him, “Ice cream back at my place.”

“Oh-OH!” Sammy said, getting flustered, “Ice cream back at your place? Yea sounds like.. sounds amazing.” He stammered, leading you to his car.

The two of you soon got in and Sammy turned on the car, trying to hide how much you had gotten to him. Yet you couldn’t seem to keep your hands off of him.

“Come on babe, we haven’t even got dessert..” he laughed quietly and peeled out of the parking lot, “Um do you have a place in mind?”

“Sammy.. just take me home.” You moan, your hand sliding into his boxers.

He accidentally presses the horn and jumps, “Shit! I-I mean yea! Let’s go!” He stammered and started the drive to your apartment.

The drive wasn’t long and the two of you got out and you led Sammy upstairs tightly by the hand. You made it through the lobby and soon to the elevator.

Once those elevator doors were closed, it was Sammy’s turn to crowd you. He picked you up and cornered you in the elevator, kissing down your neck then back up to your jaw.

Your fingers find his curls and gently tug and his lips find his way back to your mouth, gently biting your bottom lip.

Soon the elevator door opens and he gets a better hold on you, “Which way am I going?” He asked between kisses.

“Left! I’m 1231!” You said, giggling as you kiss back.

He carried you all the way to the room as you kiss his neck, “Key baby, I need a key.” He said, trying to find yours.

You press it into his hand and he takes it, fumbling to get it into the keyhole.

“Sammy! Cmon!” You whine, nipping at his neck.

“It won’t fit!” Sammy said and paused. He started to laugh and finally got the key in, “Perfect fit.”

You laughed as Sammy opened the front door and set you down. He closed it right behind him and watched you for a minute.

You tugged off your shirt then sunk to your knees, going to unbuckle Sammy’s pants.

“Wait… get up.” Sammy said with a sigh, “Baby stand up.”

“What? Why?” You asked, confused “I thought you wanted to have sex.”

Sammy swallowed nervously, “I-I do!” He stammered, “But not like this. Not just because I bought you dinner and we can’t keep our hands off each other. If we are having sex, I wanna wait.” He explained and offered his hand, “I don’t want you to feel used and I don’t want you to think I’m only here for sex. I’m here because I want back the one good thing I had in my life.”

You look up at Sammy and take his hand. He helped you to your feet and made sure you were steady.

“I’d like to still spend the night. I can sleep on the couch. But I honestly just wanna cuddle and eat ice cream with you. Let’s save sex for another time okay?” He said.

“Wow Sammy..” You whispered, taken aback. “Yea, I’d love that.”

“Good, I’m gonna go get us ice cream from that corner store you like. Then I’m gonna come right back.” He said, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead.

“Sounds good.” You said, still in shock about what Sammy had just done.

He made sure he had his keys and left, leaving you to sit and think about what just happened.

Did the Sammy Bryant just turn down free pussy?

The same Sammy Bryant who had a sex rating list in college on his door (You were always number one.)

Damn.. Sammy Bryant had changed.

———————————————————————————

After you had finished masturbating, you put on your comfy clothes and the Scary Movie series. Because of course, Sammy had left you so wound up, you craved a release.

It had been 20 minutes since Sammy had left and truthfully you thought he had gone straight home.

A knock echoed through your apartment and you answered the door.

There Sammy stood in an old LA police sweatshirt and basketball shorts. He had a duffle bag and ice cream.

“Sorry, I left my duffle bag at my place. I hope cookie dough is still your favorite.” He said, passing you your ice cream, “Oh I told them to add Oreos to it.”

“Oh you still know me so well!” You said, taking the ice cream.

He stepped in and moved to drop his bag by your bed. He tugged off his sweatshirt, revealing a toned muscular chest.

You couldn’t help but stare as he stretched.

“Staring much? Don’t let your ice cream melt.” He said, grabbing his.

“What did you get?” You asked as he took a bite.

“Brownie and Peanutbutter.” He said, “Wanna try?”

You nod and take a bite from his spoon and gasp, “Damn that’s amazing! I see why you get it!”

“See? I’m so glad you get it. Sherman always tells me I’m crazy for it.” He said, “But Sherman likes black licorice ice cream so his taste buds aren’t valid.”

You gag, “No way. You’re fucking with me!” You replied and Sammy shook his head.

“When you meet him, ask him.” He said and laughed, “Dude’s just overall kinda weird.”

Soon Sammy finished his ice cream and you finished yours.

“Cuddle time?” He asked and you nod, leading him to your bed.

“Are you cool if I just wear boxers?” He asked as you pull back the covers.

“I don’t mind one bit.” You said with a smile and Sammy pulls down his sweats.

He follows suite and gets into bed next to you.

You hit play on the remote and cuddle into his chest, your hand gently rubbing his chest. He rubbed your back and gently kissed your forehead.

“If it’s too soon, you can say no. But, how would you feel about going exclusively?” He asked and you look up at him.

“I’d love that Sammy.” You said with a smile and peck him on the lips.

He smiled and watched the movie, continuing to gently massage your back.

You may not have gotten laid, but at least the man you loved deep in your heart finally admitted his mistakes.

———————————————————————————

Part 3 coming soon.

Who’s a Good Boy?

Bed Mates (Robby and Abbot)

Pitt’s Newest Worker

Let it loose

Roll of the Dice

Watermelon Destruction

Glad to see you back

Is it casual now?

Hidden in Plain Sight

Call me by my name

Don’t quit on me

Always Open

Bob Floyd Masterlist:

Cmere Lover Boy

Crawling Back to You Pt.1

You’re married?

Sammy Bryant:

Cracked Before Shift

Ass Tax

Hook ups and Fuck ups Pt. 1

Hook ups and Fuck ups Pt. 2

Who’s a Good Boy Pt. 1

Who’s a Good Boy Pt. 2

Marry the damn girl Pt. 1

Marry the damn girl Pt. 2

You’re not my type! Pt.1

Kiss to make it better

What’s your Issue?

Grazing and Life Changing

Radio Lovers

In Control (Blurb)

I’ve got your six

Rhett Abbot:

In the works

Titus Danforth:

Fun and Games Pt. 1

Lust and Lace Pt. 2

Baby Bottles and Throttles Pt. 3

Killable or Fuckable Pt. 1

Worth Killing For

Accidentally in Love

Growing Pains

The Redo

Controlling and Demanding

Todd Stevens:

In the Works

Andrew Pope Cody:

Stray Pt. 1

Stray Pt. 2

Baby Steps

Graze Tax

Fatherly Hurdles

These Things Kill

Micheal Robinavitch

Let’s Dance

She’s got to be somebody’s baby

Micheal Robinavitch is gonna rock ya

Phone Operator Imagine

SEALed with a kiss

Violations and Apologies

Bed Mates (Robby and Abbot)

Picture Day

Charlie Reid

Dreaming of a White Christmas

Phillip Graves:

Phillip Graves Imagine

Terry McCandless

Red and Blue Lights

Duffy Nichols

Fornication

Brendon Park ‘The Shark’

My Kind of Shark

“Ooh is that Terry guy texting you?” Gracie cooed, nudging your side, “Look at him, checking up on his girl and shit. He sounds like such a sweetheart.”

The two of you were sitting at a restaurant by the water, sipping mojitos while sharing appetizers. It was a quiet night by the water while a bluegrass band played at a venue nearby.

You blushed and pushed a strand of hair behind your ear, “I really like him. He’s super sweet and he’s just making sure I get home okay.”

“How long have you two been seeing each other again?” Gracie asked, “Cause he’s old enough to not be dragging you around.”

“Two weeks, I think on our next date he’s gonna ask me to be his girlfriend.” You said with a soft smile, “I really like him Gracie.”

“I just hope he’s as sweet as Carter.” Gracie said with a joke.

“Oh I can only hope.” You said with a smile, sipping Mojito.

Soon the two of you paid and headed your separate ways.

“Are you sure you’re okay to drive?” Carter asked as he helped Gracie into the car.

“Yea I’ve only had one, plus with the water and food? I’ll be okay to drive.” You assured, unlocking your car, “I’ll text you guys when I get home!”

You waved, watching Carter and Gracie drive off. Soon you pulled out your phone to text Terry.

‘Hey, I wanted to let you know I’m on my way home! I’ll text you when I get home.’

You put your phone away as you got into your car, buckling yourself in and pulling out of the parking lot. You were also blissfully unaware that Officer McCandless had been watching you from his squad car the entire time, waiting to make his move.

———————————————————————————

As you started your drive home, you noticed a patrol car tailgating you on the bridge.

“Fuck.” You breathed out, checking your mirror,

You weren’t serving, well, at least you didn’t think you were. It was just one drink, what could he possibly want? Were you just an easier target?

The car flipped his lights on and got over the intercom, “Exit the bridge, pull over to the right.” He called out and you sighed.

Terry was never gonna let you live this down.

You pulled down the side road, leading you to a secluded area. You put your car in park and got your license and registration out, already prepared to face the cop.

“License and Registration ma’am.” A familiar voice drawled out as the flash light shined on your face.

“Terry?” You said, trying to shield your eyes, “Is that you?”

“Ma’am I said I need your license and registration.” He repeated, “If I need to repeat myself, I will detain you. Am I clear?”

“Yes sir.” You said, quickly giving him your license and registration.

“Are you aware how fast you were going?” He asked, looking over your license and registration, “Because I clocked you going over two over.”

“Two over? Really Terry?” You laughed nervously, “Come on now.”

“Ma’am out of the car, I need to do a search on you.” He said sternly, opening your door.

“Terry, what? Come on now!” You gasped, getting out of the car.

You had to admit, you were turned on by this. Being roughed housed by a man in uniform was going onto the ‘new turn on list’.

He led you to a fence where he grabbed your wrist and handcuffed you, “We are gonna play a game called ‘No Officer.’ Want me to teach you?” He asked, managing to get your other wrist handcuffed.

“Is this allowed Officer McCandless?” You asked softly, playing along with his game.

He used the toe of his shoes to nudge your ankles so you could open your legs more, “I’m an officer of the law baby,” he breathed out against your neck, “Now are you gonna follow the rules or are you gonna be naughty?”

“I’ll be good.” You whimpered out as started to move his hands down your dress, his finger tips skimming over the tight fabric as he made his way to your ass and slipped his hand between your legs.

“Are you gonna be good?” He asked, “Or am I going to have to give you a ticket for failing to comply? Failing to listen to an officer of the law?”

“Yes officer.” You breathed out, “I’m going to comply. Oh please don’t write me a ticket.”

“Yea? Well you gotta earn getting out of a ticket then sweetheart.” He said, moving the handle of his flashlight to tug down your underwear, “Gotta make sure you aren’t hiding any contraband. Do you have anything on you that could possibly stab me?”

“No Officer.” You breathed out as Terry pulled away from you. He snapped some disposable gloves on and crowded you against the fence.

“I’m going to inspect you know, spread your legs.” He said, spitting on his gloves.

“Yes Officer McCandless, whatever you need to do.” You breathed out. His gloved finger tips skimmed along your sensitive clit causing you to let out a whine as he inspected you. With his other hand, he pushed two of his fingers inside of you, relishing how you clenched around him.

The tight feeling of his fingers inside of you made your body shiver in delight. You rested your forehead on the fence as he continued his ‘inspection’ on your pussy. “Is there anything I can help you with Officer? Make things easier on you?” You moaned out, heat pooling in your stomach as he chased your orgasm.

“Just gotta make sure I sweep the entire area.” He whispered against your neck as he curled his fingers inside of you, his other hand using your juices to stimulate your clit.

“O-Oh Officer McCandless- I-I.” You moaned out, your orgasm coming closer with each thrust of his finger.

“You what?” He snapped against your neck, “You don’t want this ticket do you sweetheart? Scared your poor little boyfriend is gonna find out how bad you were?” He continued, nipping your neck.

“Y-Yes!” You stammered, “H-He can’t find out how bad I’ve been, please officer don’t give me a ticket.”

“Then you know what you need to sweetheart. Since you don’t want Officer McCandless to give you a ticket.” He moaned against your neck, thrusting his fingers harder inside of you.

Your orgasm racked through your body as he pumped his fingers inside of you, like he was making sure he inspected your pussy thoroughly.

He stepped back and pulled out his fingers from your wet pussy, inspecting them in the moonlight.

Meanwhile, you tried to hold yourself up as your body relaxed post orgasm, “O-Officer, will I get a ticket?”

“My findings are inconclusive. I have to do a little more thoroughly.” He said, pulling off his gloves.

“W-What?” You stammered as he tossed his gloves aside, “B-But Officer?”

“No buts, ma’am I need you to move to my squad car.” He said, his voice rough and gravelly.

He un cuffed you from the fence just to handcuff you behind your back. Terry held yourself arm tight as he walked you over to his squad car and bent you over the hood, “Ma’am I’m gonna have to do another thorough investigation.” He warned, his foot spreading your legs again.

“I wanna see your badge so I know you are truly an officer of the law!” You snapped. You heard him pull off his badge and felt his chest press against your back.

“Here’s my badge since you don’t trust me.” He snapped, putting it in your mouth. Your teeth clamped down on the metal as he shoved your head against the hood. With his other free hand, he undid his duty belt then his pants. His erection sprang free as his boxers came down.

You felt his tip tease your wet folds, causing you to moan against his badge. Your clit was swollen to the bud from the constant teasing from his ‘search’ from earlier.

“I just need to-oh fuck-.” He stammered out as he started to bury his erection into your pussy, “I just need to do a deeper investigation.”

You only let out a muffle moan, teeth scrapping against his badge as you took his cock in for the first time. His body was fully pressed against you, helping keep you up. Just from his length he was able to hit your g-spot.

He gripped your handcuffed wrists and slowly started to fuck your post orgasm juices into you again, each thrust coordinated like he knew just exactly how he wanted to fuck you. Not too fast and not too slow.

Meanwhile, your head was cloudy as he thrusted his cock into your tight pussy. Each thrust drew you closer to another orgasm as the position he had you in was pure bliss.

“Fuck baby, so fucking tight and so fucking wet!” He growled, smacking your ass with his free hand.

Your yelp was muffled against his badge and the smack had pulled you from your dazed head space. The sound of skin on skin filled the air and you felt a stinging come from your shoulder. Terry had moved to bite your shoulder as he continued to fuck himself into you.

Your effort to let him know you were close again was lost as the badge muffled your orgasmic moans. You let out a muffled strangled moan as you felt the heat in your stomach pool over as you came on Terry’s cock.

He felt your pussy clench around him as you orgasmed and it caused him to almost come as well, but he quickly pulled out.

“Oh fuck!” He moaned out, jacking himself off. Terry suddenly blew his load on you, his sperm landing all over the back of your dress, “Fuck, I didn’t even think about if you were on the pill.”

You heard him and slowly nodded, indicating to him you were on the pill.

He saw the nod and with two fingers, he wiped his sperm off of your ass and slipped two fingers into your slick vagina, coaxing the sperm into you. Once he felt like it was thoroughly inside, he stepped back and sucked his fingers clean.

“Well ma’am, after thoroughly inspecting you, I can see you aren’t hiding anything. However, I am giving you a court date.” He said, tucking himself back inside of his boxers, “It’ll be at MOMO riverfront park. The dress requirement will be a little black dress with heels. Do you understand?”

You nod as he buckles his duty belt. He soon undid your handcuffs and tucked them back in his duty belt. He looked over the raised red hand mark that was left on your butt cheek and gently kissed it as he pulled up your panties, “Oh so cooperative for me pretty girl.” He cooed in his southern accent as he helped you stand up.

Your head felt cloudy as he worked his badge out of your mouth. You let him walk you to your car, your legs trembling with each step.

“Are you gonna be okay to drive home? You look a little dazed sweetheart.” He asked, pushing a loose piece of hair behind your ear.

“Yes Officer, I’ll be okay.” You said, your mouth dry from the badge.

“Good, good.” He said, “And if you can’t get that stain out, I’ll buy you a new dress and a new set. Deal?”

“Deal?” You said with a weak nod, “When’s my date?”

“Be ready for me at 6pm next Tuesday okay? I’ll pick you up.” He said, giving you back your license and registration.

“But you don’t know where I live?” You asked, confused,

“Oh don’t worry, I have ways of finding out. Now get home safe sugar.” He said, tapping your hood. He turned on his heel and headed back to his squad car.

“I’ll text you when I’m home!” You called out, putting on your seat belt.

———————————————————————————

‘Girl what the hell took you so long getting home? It’s been almost two hours?’

The text from Gracie sat unread as you got ready for bed. You had obviously texted Terry that you made it home first, even though you were pretty sure he followed you home. Then you texted Gracie that you had made it home.

Your ass was sore to the touch from his palm earlier and his cock had stretched you in a way you didn’t think was physically possible. Thankfully, the shower helped coax the pain out of your muscles from being bent over a car.

‘I got stopped by a cop. All I got was a warning.’

You sent the text and crawled into bed. In your mind, you kept replaying that moment.

You hadn’t known about the ‘No Officer’ game with Officer McCandless before tonight.

But you were excited to play it with him again when the time came.

a deep, burning desire that feels nothing like he’s ever experienced.

it’s no secret that robby sleeps around, but that’s just sex, a means to an end, this is something completely different.

this is something more primal, more urgent, dangerous.

and he knows it should make him feel sick that he’s thinking about you this way, i mean you weren’t even born when he graduated medical school, but the need for you that consumes him burns much brighter than his hatred for himself.

but also he likes that.

the way it’s so wrong, so forbidden.

it’s the way that if anyone knew how he thought about you and your shy smile when he had his hand wrapped around his cock, they’d call him a pervert. predatory and disgusting.

they’d chastise him, tar and feather him—and the idea that people could hate him just as much as he hates himself is all the more exciting to him.

at work he’s around you all the time, he’s just making sure you’re doing a good job is all…is what you naively think to yourself.

and his hands always seem to find their way to you, a light squeeze of the shoulder here, he’s just a tactile person.

a hand on the small of your back there, it’s your fault you got in his way in a chaotic trauma room.

or he’d place his hand over yours when he’s showing you how to use the hospital charting program for the first time. when he put both arms either side of you, caging you in and he leant down over you so his face was inches away from yours. when you could feel the warmth of his breath against your neck and he could covertly inhale your sweet scent…well he was just trying to be helpful, right.

robby’s always so helpful it seems.

and then there’s outside of work.

thankfully no one seemed to bat an eye when robby miraculously started showing up on the many staff nights out, where before he would never bother.

that’s when things really started heating up for him.

when he saw you for the first time in your regular clothes, with your hair down and free of the weight of professionalism.

he swore he stopped breathing when he first caught a glimpse of you in that dress that your chest practically spilled out of whenever you moved, it was obscene.

he couldn’t take his eyes off where it ended just short of mid-thigh, in the the hopes that if you moved just slightly too fast he might get to see the way your small, comfortable cotton bikini briefs hugged your cunt perfectly.

and how did he know the type of underwear you wore?

because silly robby accidentally forgot which locker was his one night.

he was tired, he’d been working for 15 hours, he couldn’t be blamed for the mix up.

at least you didn’t blame him when you stood in the door of the locker room and asked him what he was doing, your head tilted and eyes half-lidded due to your own tiredness.

he hurriedly slammed your locker closed once you made your presence known, explaining it all away.

he got the wrong locker, he’s such an idiot, he’s so tired…that’s all.

and you nodded and sweetly smiled, telling him not to worry ‘happens to the best of us’ with a sleepy, breathy laugh that rung in his ears for hours after the fact.

all the while you had no idea that in the time between his mishap and you discovering him that he had pocketed a small folded up piece of fabric, that he had absolutely no idea was the underwear you had changed out of mid-shift on this particularly hot day.

all an innocent little accident…obviously.

and if he went home and pulled those panties straight to his nose well, he couldn’t pass that off as an accident—but what you don’t know can’t hurt you, right?

and if he did it over and over again, day after day, night after night as the scent on them somehow got stronger as it marinated in the fabric…that’s his business.

and speaking of those staff nights out that robby had become so fond of.

he’d pretend to be his grumpy old self because he knows how much you care for everyone, how you just have to make everyone feel better—and he knows he can take advantage of that, and he does.

you ask him to dance in an attempt to cheer him up. he’ll protest and mumble something under his breath along the lines of ‘do i have to’ or ‘gee, can’t a man enjoy his misery in peace’ but it’s all an act, he wants to make you beg for it, beg for him.

and you always do.

‘pleaseeee robby, i wanna dance’

or ‘come on old man, you’re really saying no to a pretty girl?’

the way his already aching cock twitches in his pants when you call him ‘old man’ is absolutely obscene, it drives him certifiably insane to hear you call him that.

it’s the dirtiness of it all, he is an old man—compared to you anyway. and the thought of a old, dirty, perverted man like him getting his hands on such a young pretty thing like you has him just about ready to bust.

and then before he has time to fake another protest you’re grabbing him by the hand, using all your strength to try and pull him up off his seat.

but it’s no use, he’s so much bigger than you, an observation that is absolutely not lost of him.

he absolutely towers over you when you do get him up, and you’re dragging him to the dance floor. he’ll pretend not to enjoy it as you dance around him, he’ll stand still acting like it was the worst thing in the world but only for a minute. only to make it seem like this wasn’t actually his plan all along.

and his hands find their way to your waist, just still at first, cautious, afraid you’ll bolt, but then they settle around your back and he’s holding you close to him as you softly sway side to side. somehow whenever you ask robby to dance there’s always a slow song playing.

a song that warrants such closeness, such intimacy.

he splays his fingers out across your back, his hands are so big in comparison to your small frame, so he can reach just midway down your ass if he tries hard enough—which of course he does.

and if he applies just the right amount of pressure he can just about feel the plump give of your ass beneath his finger tips, the way it almost moulds itself around his touch so soft, so pliable, so maliable—so you.

you place your hands on his chest and rest your head against him, fully leaning into him and his grip on you tightens, pulling you impossibly closer.

a better man would be afraid that you’d find yourself too close to him, that you’d discover the aching erection he’d been fighting all night—but robby doesn’t care, he wants you to find it.

he wants to see the shocked look on your face as the thick outline of him grazes your clothed skin, he wants to hear the appalled gasp that might leave your lips.

and maybe you’d call him a ‘dirty old man’ or maybe you’d slap him, either way he’d like that.

but you never do discover his secret, and so he’s back to his old tricks: being head over heels for the girl who’s much too young for him.

this was completely self indulgent, i just love perv!robby so much.

yes i used forgot i already used the word obscene and wrote it again, mind ya business

maybe i’ll do a part 2 where reader discovers his little secret thing for her and you know what maybe she’s into it too.

Companion Piece To:

The Casting Couch - Your first foray into porn starts on a casting couch with Michael “Robby” Robinavitch behind the camera.

The Photo Lab - Jack and Robby review the photographs from your audition on the casting couch.

It’s supposed to be hand job.

That’s it.

A screen test with you and Jack performing, Robby directing behind the camera and Jesse engineering the sound with a boom mic. It’s the way it usually is with an indie company, everyone jumps in, helps out where they can.

This session is meant to get you used to being in front of the camera, but the whole thing goes awry the moment you meet Jack, because the two of you…

You have chemistry that’s off the fucking charts.

The type of chemistry that would blow up the house, and burn down the whole goddamn farm if there wasn’t someone to rein you both in. Which is Robby’s job. He can choose to ride that horse all the way out to the pastures, or he can tether it, letting it work within the perimeters that have been set.

But where’s the fun in that, he thinks as he fixes the lighting, watching Jack run through the scene with you on ‘the casting couch’ they’ve stolen from Dana’s reception area to use on set. You’re wearing Daisy Duke shorts and an ACDC t-shirt, looking like a wet dream of the girl next door. Your hair falls loose across your face like a waterfall, something he knows will play well with their audience in future videos where your partner can wrap it around their fist.

That used to be something he enjoyed back when he was staring in his own movies. He liked the power it gave him, the arch of a woman’s back, the hitch of her breath when he tugged.

He chases that image out of his head, focusing on adjusting the final lamp, stealing away the shadows. Jesse gives him the thumbs up underneath his headphones to confirm he’s completed his sound checks, before he picks up the boom mic. Robby ducks back behind the camera, reviewing the first shot he has lined up. It’s the perfect framing of you and Jack on the couch. He should be able to capture everything he needs without having to detach it from the tripod.

“Alright guys we’re going to start rolling in three, two, one…”

The easiness between the two of you stays, but it slips into something raw, something heated. Transitions like this are Jack’s speciality, it’s why they pair him with the folks they screen test, but you, you match that energy and it creates an intimate atmosphere, one where a viewer can believe this is more than just porn.

“You’re nervous.” Jack remarks, reaching out to tuck an errant strand of hair back behind your ear. Your body language plays to that. Hands tucked underneath your ass as if you’re scared to touch, thighs rubbing together as if you’re excited.

 You make eye contact as you speak, the left side of your mouth tilting up into a mischievous smile. “A little.” You say, nestling your face into his palm as if you’re savouring his touch. “But isn’t everyone the first time?”

Those words they’re like a gut punch. Honest, flirty, they’re enough to capture attention, to hold it because the audience will see that authenticity, in fact they’ll fall in love with it.

“Mostly.” Jack cradles your jaw, his thumb chasing over the outline of your pert mouth, dragging down your lower lip. It’s a naughty little move, meant to draw attention to that filthy pout you have going on. “But you don’t need to worry, you’re very pretty. Our viewers will love you.”

“And what will they love doing with me?” You bat back as his mouth hovers over yours.

Jack’s lips curl into a smile, one that Robby is intimately familiar. He’s enjoying this tête-à-tête. It’s something fresh, something different from the hours of mechanical fucking he undertakes. He can tell the other man wants to run with it, to see where the two of you will take the rest of the scene.

 “Can I show you?” His voice his husky, his whiskey eyes bright with adventure.

“I think you better had…” You whisper, your lips barely brushing his. “Otherwise, my imagination… it runs wild.”

Robby exchanges a glance with Jesse, the two of them trying to hide their own smiles. It’s a filthy promise, and the start of a brand that’s going to launch an income stream that springboards into so many other videos. You’re painting yourself as this insatiably creative woman. One who takes pride in claiming her own sexuality, who owns it.

That sort of woman, she’s catnip in their industry.

Something different that sets their studio apart from the ones that focus on twenty year olds featured in Dad’s Best Friend vids, and Opps I Fucked The Babysitter movies.

“We like a little bit of wildness here, in fact it really gets me going.” Jack takes your hand as he claims your mouth, guiding it to the front of his jeans. You arch into the kiss, your teeth grazing his lower lip, pulling it hard enough to elicit a low moan as you stroke his cock through the denim.

“You’re a big boy.” You tease as your fingers squeeze the very visible erection in his jeans. “You’ll have to get me nice and wet to make sure you fit the next time we’re together.”

Jack huffs a laugh against your mouth. His hand slides down the curve of your throat, fingertips toying with the neckline of your t-shirt, tugging at it. “Why don’t you take this off, show me what you’re working with?”

Your fingers hook underneath the hem, drawing it up along your torso in a slow reveal. It’s meant to be a tease, to prolong the sensuality and Jack, he runs with it, helping to guide it up your body, over that coral pink bra. He stops when the shirt covers your eyes, your mouth the only part of your face visible to him. His palm rests on your throat, his thumb tipping your jaw up to meet his mouth.

“Oh, you like being blindfolded.” He murmurs against your lips. “Maybe that’s something we can explore with some of your future videos. I could tie you up, have my wicked way with you. Maybe, I’ll even invite a friend.”

It’s another upsell, another potential hook for your fanbase to sink their teeth into but Christ, Robby finds it hard not to imagine himself in that role. Jack keeping him steady, while the two of them explore your boundaries.

Your breath hitches at the thought as he pulls the t-shirt off the rest of the way, draping it over the arm of the casting couch. His hands are back on you, smoothing over your skin, chasing over your curves as his mouth skims along the hollow of your throat, teeth grazing your sensitive skin.

“These are beautiful.” He cups your breasts between his hands, thumbs ghosting over your nipples through the bra. He teases them into peaks so that they strain against the lace. It’s a titillation, a maddening one that will keep everyone watching as they wait for the reveal. “I can imagine how good my cock would look like between them.”

His mouth delves lower, his stubble kissing your skin as he seeks out your left nipple. He draws it into his mouth, sucking it through the fabric, making your body arch against his. Your hand threads through his relentless grey curls, gripping them as your head tilts back, hair spilling over your shoulders so Robby can get a clearer shot of the action.

“Maybe we switch it up a little.” Jack murmurs, turning his attention to the other breast, his teeth nipping at that needy little bud through the lace. “Maybe I jerk off all over your tits instead, show our viewers how good you’d look covered in their cum. Would you like that?”

It’s a question, one of consent for you and a heads up for Robby to change his positioning. You respond by reaching behind you and unhooking your bra, it falls away revealing the most perfect, natural tits that Robby has ever seen. “Well lover, I wouldn’t want you to make a mess on my brand-new lingerie, not after I took all that time choosing it especially for you.”

Another hook for the audience, another thing that brings that sense of connection. They all know you didn’t choose it for Jack, you chose it for them, so they could see you take it off.

Jack’s hand moves back to his jeans, but you push it out of the way, taking over. Surprise crosses his features and Robby has to bite back a laugh. He warned the other man that you were a wildcard, he guess he didn’t realise just how much until now.

“I’m supposed to show you what I can do, remember?” You tease, your lips trailing along his throat, mouth sucking on that naughty little spot he didn’t even know existed just underneath the hinge of his jaw. Your clever hands are already unfastening the button and drawing down the zipper. Jack looks completely swept away in the moment, a groan punching out of his chest as you grasp his dick. “It’s no fun if you do it yourself.”

You help him shove his trousers down his hips, they get stuck around his knees but he doesn’t seem to care because you’re kissing him again and his cock jutting out. Red, desperate, leaking. You break apart long enough for you to use your fingertip to scoop a bead of pre-cum from the tip before placing it between those heart shaped lips of yours. You make a pleased sound as you lick it off your finger, as if Jack Abbot is the best thing you’ve ever tasted.

“I know I’m not allowed a blow you right now.” You murmur as your fingers wrap around Jack’s cock, thumb running over the head as more pre-cum spurts from the slit. “But I am very much looking forward to getting your dick in my mouth during our next video.”

That there, that’s the money maker. Those are the words that are going to have their phonelines jammed with people desperate to pre-order the next movie when this video hits the fan club.

You start to stroke, keeping yourself positioned off to Jack’s side so that Robby can focus on the thrust of his hips, on the way you jerk him to the point that his chest is heaving, that flush of pink creeping up his neck staining his freckles.

“Gonna come, Honey.” Jack whispers, tilting his head so that his eyes meet yours. Your free hand caresses his cheek, tracing over the greying stubble that lines his jaw. It’s a soft gesture, from one lover to another, affectionate, warm. It adds another layer to your legacy, another thing for the audience to fall in love with. “Lie down for me so I can do it all over your tits.”

You shimmy down onto the couch as he strips off his pants, his knees straddle your waist, his prosthetic limb tucking in against the couch cushions, keeping the mechanics away from your skin. Your hair fans out across the velvet and Robby shifts the camera closer, lingering over Jack’s shoulder for a POV shot.

You lie there looking up at him, those eyes filled with sin as you play with those tits of yours, plucking at the nipples, keeping them hard. Jack’s ragged breathing fills his ears as he jerks his cock, rough, hard, the desperation of a man who’s teetering on the edge.

“This is the money shot, baby.” You say to the camera. “I don’t want you to hold back.”

Jack climaxes with a feral groan, one that tears from his throat as white hot jets of cum arc across your breasts, covering them like pearls. Robby keeps the camera focused on you, on that cum dripping down your nipples into the valley of your breasts.

It’ll make a great picture, one that they’ve have you sign like a love letter when they send out the fan club package for a personalised touch.

“That’s a wrap.” Robby declares as he ceases recording, withdrawing to his original position by the tripod. Jesse lowers the boom mic, retreating to his audio set up.

Jack shifts his weight off you, his hand taking yours, helping you to sit up as Robby reaches for the baby wipes and the fresh set of towels they keep nearby.

“You did so well.” He praises as he hands them off to you and Jack to clean yourselves up with. “You kept your focus on Jack, and only looked at the camera for the POV shot at the end. It couldn’t gone better.”

“Not hard to do when you’re working with a complete rockstar like this guy.” You nudge Jack with your shoulder as you wipe his cum your tits.

Most people, their overwhelmed in the aftermath of something like this, but you seem fine, taking it in your stride. It’s the difference, he guesses, when it comes to working with someone with life experience.

“Ten out of ten, would come on again.” Jack remarks drily with that trademark smirk of his. “I think we’ve got a star on our hands with this one.”

You grin up at him and for Robby, it feels like the sun is shining on him all over again.

“Yeah.” He says, crossing his arms over his chest as he smiles down at you. “Yeah, I think we have.”

Like My Work? - Tip your friendly fan fic writer here! Or be a sweetheart and drop me comment or reblog.

You were never shocked by the knock on your door, no matter how late or how randomly placed in the middle of a boring week.

The sun would be set, dishes washed and put away in their respective places, and your feet still lingering near the doorway as you waited for the inevitable sound of knuckles against wood.

It had been a few days since the last time you heard it so you knew it was becoming overdue, skin slightly prickling as you waited and waited in your front hallway far too patiently. You felt a bit foolish for standing there for so long, in a slight trance whenever you thought about who was coming.

Thirty minutes of you hovering passed before you were sighing and retreating to your room.

Your feet froze in place when the noise echoed from behind you, making your chest tighten and a surge of adrenaline hit you so hard you felt a bit dizzy when you hurriedly spun back around and made your way to the entry again.

Sammy looked melancholy when you pulled the door open, hand raised in a fist like he was about to knock again. His shoulders deflated when he saw you and you figured it must be in relief considering the way he was surging forward and pulling you in.

You sighed when he tucked his forehead down against your shoulder, instinctively wrapping your arms around him. You rubbed up and down his back softly, your other forearm securely pressed to his side reassuringly as you both swayed from the force of the embrace.

It took awhile for him to let you go, you had to coax him back just enough for you to be able to walk.

He followed you fully into the living room with a distant look on his face, sitting down on the cushion and getting a panicked expression when you made a move to walk away.

“Relax.” You say as softly as you can, pressing your hands against his shoulders to keep him sitting. “Just going to get some water for you.”

He didn’t look too pleased by it but he let out a breath and settled back against the cushions long enough for you to go to the fridge and fill him up a glass.

It was pointless considering he ignored it once you came back, barely getting his fingers around it before he was setting it down on the coffee table in favor of wrapping his hands around your middle and bringing you down to sit in his lap sideways.

You sighed but leaned against his chest and let him tuck against your neck again, breathing you in deeply and holding you so tight you felt a little dizzy.

“Bad day?” You kept your voice quiet but it was enough for him to hear you and pick up his head, eyes full of hurt that was reflecting off the dim lighting in the room.

“Couldn’t have been worse.” He answered honestly and you gave him an empathetic look, running your hand over his jaw and feeling the way he rest against it and shuts his eyes. “I needed to see you.”

“Did you even go home?” Your eyebrows furrow and he looks at you again, the guilt on his face making the answer obvious. “Sammy we talked about that. She goes crazy if you don’t at least stop by.”

You never would shy away from talking about Tammi because there was no point. She was the main thing you thought about when you were with him, his wedding ring currently pressing against your waist and the knowledge of his wife hanging over your head like a weight.

You admittedly had very little empathy for the woman.

You’d gone to high school with both of them but you’d known Sammy a few years before. You were always drawn to him, even before you could even really understand what that meant.

You just wanted to be around him, a young and sweet boy with an adult like patience that you didn’t get to see at home. He was always extra kind to you when you came to school tired or bruised, sharing his lunches and then pressing soft kisses to the side of your mouth once you got a bit older.

He’d been stricken with Tammi the moment he had seen her as you entered high school, fixated on her loud voice and extreme personality.

There was no other option than to watch him fall in love with her and then watch him lose that lightness he always carried trying to keep her happy.

What started as soft complaints on the phone after a shift turned into meeting up on his breaks to have lunch and absorb all his worries silently. Then he started to come over late into the night, something Tammi had forbid a few years ago.

She had tried to pretend to be civil with you when you were teenagers although grimacing at your kindness whenever you greeted her or made an attempt to bond. It was clear she didn’t like that Sammy had a girl best friend and she drew the line firmly once you were all adults.

There was no longer a need to try and seem friendly because Sammy was wrapped around her finger both metaphorically and legally in the form of the metal band she rarely wore.

He had called you a few years back to tell you that he couldn’t be around you anymore unless it was a group setting, absolutely no alcohol could ever be involved and he was definitely not allowed at your house.

It had sent you in a bit of a spiral, wondering if Tammi was just being as insane as she always was or if she had somehow seen deep down into the hidden part of you that had loved Sammy since you were practically children. And if Tammi knew, did that mean he did too?

“I dealt with her all day on the phone.” He was complaining softly and bringing your attention back to the present, still sneaking around and crossing boundaries just enough to make your head spin.

You never talked about it but his big hands would run over your waist, pulling you far too close to be friendly and taking deep breaths of your hair and skin like he was addicted to it.

Sometimes you caught him looking at your lips when you spoke, eyes a little distracted and then embarrassed when you’d clear your throat to try and get his attention.

You tried not to think about how Tammi would react to you being in his lap right now, holding his jaw and leaning down to kiss his cheek softly in comfort as he complained about her for the hundredth time.

“What’s she upset about now?” You know you’re playing into it, feeding the flame that never seems to burn hot enough to actually make him recoil.

He’ll talk about it endlessly and you can tell he really wants to leave her but he always goes back home at the end of the night with his tail between his legs.

“I mentioned your birthday.” He sighed and then gave you a look when he saw the automatic frown. You’d had plans with him for your birthday, beyond excited when he invited you out to dinner but you figured you should have known it was too good to be true. “She didn’t want to come but then she found out she wasn’t even invited and she lost her mind.”

“I don’t want to go at all if she has to be there.” You say immediately and you feel a little guilty for being so selfish with his time but you decide you deserve it considering the way she acts around you.

Admittedly you also just want him all to yourself and you know he won’t give you the same amount of attention if she’s around because it’ll without a doubt piss her off.

“I know sweetheart.” He breathes out and you hate the tone of his voice, the premature disappointment like he knows there’s no solution to the problem already.

And the petnames always break you, another old habit he had abandoned years ago that seems to be making an appearance more and more often lately.

“It’s fine.” You run a hand through his hair and he blinks tiredly up at you. You don’t want to add to his ever growing stress even if your throat feels tight at the let down. “I’ll see if Alex can come instead.”

You felt Sammy tense underneath you and his hands tighten around your middle. You stopped rubbing his hair in favor of sighing and resting harder against his chest, knowing exactly what was on his mind.

Sammy had always been the same way, patient and gentle to a fault. The only thing that really seemed to set him off was sharing you with other people.

He could tolerate your girl friends, he’d easily encourage you to go out and have fun and listen to your recaps the next morning while he drove to work. Guys, however, were a completely different battle.

You remember one of your first ever fights, only starting after you told him and your other friends that you finally had your first boyfriend. It had taken you until your junior year of high school to be over Sammy enough to move on, accepting by then that him and Tammi were more solid than you realized initially.

He’d been quiet the rest of the day and then pulled you to the side before you could walk home, lightly pressing you back against a tree and slightly interrogating you about the boy you were seeing.

It felt like a fresh memory, the butterflies in your stomach when you saw how serious he was and how wanted you felt as he told you that you deserved better. Sammy was jealous, there was no point in denying it and you knew you weren’t being delusional just because you had feelings for him.

He spent the next fifteen years getting the same expression whenever you talked about a guy or brought one to group cookouts, his glare fixated on a hand around your waist or the way you’d softly kiss the guy in thanks when he brought you a drink.

You knew Sammy found the same comfort in you that you got from him but that was the first real time you considered that Sammy might feel something more for you too.

Alex had started at your office a few years ago and just like always, Sammy had gotten that serious expression as soon as you started mentioning him casually. One of your mutuals friends had joked over drinks a month or two ago that you should make a move and Sammy immediately excused himself to stomp his way up to the bar.

Now his big hands were softly kneading into your side like you were a stress ball, staring past you to instead burn holes into your coffee table.

“Don’t do that.” You attempt to scold him but it comes out overly fond, a soft teasing whisper that makes him slightly scoff in amusement.

“I’ll figure it out.” He says a bit sternly and you give him a long disbelieving look. “I mean it. Don’t go out with him.”

“That’s not fair Sammy.” You try to be more serious so he can really understand but you can almost see the way your words fall on deaf ears.

He’s turning his head so he can press soft kisses on your skin, one laid against your cheek and then moving further until his lips are against the side of your mouth. It’s torture for you but you’re a willing participant, letting your eyes close and your body relax so he has no reason to stop.

And he doesn’t, peppering you in affection like he’s trying to erase the memory of Alex himself.

You feel his hands rubbing from your sides to your back, sliding under the hem of your tank top to rest on your shoulder blades like it’s a completely normal way for two friends to be touching.

You’d never deny Sammy anything but especially when it involved him fawning over you like this. You almost wanted to push it further, talk more about Alex and really exaggerate the nature of your relationship just to see how much it took for Sammy to decide he needed to lay a real claim on you.

He wasn’t yours so by default you couldn’t be his, that ring pressing against your hot skin an endless reminder of your situation.

“I know and I’m sorry.” His voice was soft and quiet like he truly meant it and part of you thought that he might.

You didn’t think his selfishness came with any malicious intent but it was still there, still pulling him towards your door after a fight with his wife and making him touch you in that confusing intimate way.

You didn’t go out to dinner with Alex for your birthday, you couldn’t stomach the thought even if Sammy hadn’t been so upset by it.

Instead you ended up sitting across from Tammi, trying to ignore her glare as you did your best to make small talk. You’d invited a few other friends so it felt less like third wheeling but you still had to make a point to not look at Sammy for too long.

She had a perfect view of your face from this angle and you knew exactly what she would see. The way your eyes softened when they met his and the obvious longing in your gaze when it was directed at her husband.

Sammy was staring holes in the side of your face anyways, maybe thinking he was being more subtle about it than he actually was. His ankle was crossing yours under the table every few minutes and you had to routinely send him a small glare to get him to stop.

You took the opportunity for a smoke break as dinner transitioned to drinks, placing your order and making your way outside before anybody could object. You figured you were leaving them to awkward small talk, your other friends barely knowing Sammy and unable to tolerate his wife, but you needed to breathe.

It wasn’t really possible considering the door was pushing open almost as soon as it shut behind you.

You sighed softly when you saw Sammy coming out into the small dark alley but you didn’t object when his hands were sliding over your sides, back and forth for a few seconds before resting on your lower back and pulling you closer.

“You’re not having a good time.” He said softly, not a question but a statement.

“How could I?” Your eyebrows furrow in frustration as your palms wrap around his biceps. “Your wife is glaring at me everytime I speak at my own birthday dinner and you’re trying to play footsie under the table.”

He frowns and you feel bad for how harsh you’re being, especially when he’s brushing your hair behind your ear and softly kissing your jaw a few times. He knows exactly how to unravel you, lower those walls and keep you melting against him.

“I’m sorry.” His voice is slightly muffled against your skin so he picks his head up and his nose brushes yours. “I just wanted to see you and she wouldn’t let me go without her.”

“It’s fine, she’s actually not being that terrible.” You sigh and it’s the truth. Tammi hadn’t said much of anything which was almost scarier than her making snappy or inappropriate comments. You felt like she was observing you closely, noting your every micro expression. “You’ve got to stop looking at me like that though.”

You didn’t need to clarify because you both knew what you were talking about, the same look he was giving now as his head tilted slowly in amusement.

More than longing, something deeper and heavier. You would have thought you imagined it a few years ago but you knew better now and you were more than aware of the fact Sammy wanted you in some capacity.

“Can’t help it. You look so beautiful tonight.” His voice had dropped and he leaned back down to kiss your skin again, this time a lot closer to your mouth than before.

You sighed and leaned further against him, trying to ignore the heated sensation in your stomach when he lightly guided you backwards so you were against the wall. His hands stayed on your lower back for the most part but he occasionally moved them to rub against your waist and hips, leaving you a little dizzy as he kissed down your neck.

“Sammy.” Your voice was breathy and he hummed against your skin in question. “This is so unfair.”

Normally that was enough to pull him out of it, sober him to the fact that you were getting hurt by his actions. He either didn’t register your complaint or maybe didn’t care, thinking he could make it up to you if he kept going.

You couldn’t deny him this, not when his big hand was rubbing up your back and his mouth was moving softly across your neck towards yours.

You were holding onto him tightly and trying to keep the breathy noises to a minimum, getting harder when he was shuffling even closer and fully pressing you against the brick behind you.

It was brief when his mouth finally pressed against yours, only a fleeting second before he was moving past it to kiss the other side of your face.

He tensed suddenly like he had only just now realized what he was doing so you prepared for the coldness that would hit you when he backed away. Instead, there was suddenly a lot more warmth as he pecked your lips again softly.

He pulled back for a few seconds, chest slightly heaving as he looked down at you in question. You thought he was an idiot for that because you’d never dream of objecting to this, even if it was so risky and stupid to be doing something so damning right outside the building his wife was inside.

“Unfair.” He mumbled, repeating your words as he kissed you lightly again. “Unfair is you wearing this outfit when I can’t touch you.”

His hands tightened against the fabric like he was emphasizing and this time you were less surprised when he kissed you. It lasted a little longer than a brief peck, just enough time for you to move your mouth against his before he was pulling back again.

“You can touch me.” You insisted softly, wondering if you told him what he wanted to hear he’d maybe keep kissing you. “You can always touch me.”

It worked, enough for him to really press against you and let you kiss him back. You’d gone nearly two decades without kissing eachother despite the tension floating over your heads and it was obvious in how filthy it got so quickly.

You were both eager and desperate, gripping anywhere you could reach and refusing to come up for air as you kissed him deeper and deeper.

You made no objections to his tongue smoothing into your mouth, tangling it with your own and savoring the sound he made at the taste of you. You’d never crossed this line despite the little things you did potentially being worse, the intimacy of the way you moved around each other almost comparable to the heat you felt now.

Sammy was insatiable now that you’ve broken the illusion that you were able to be just friends, tugging you closer and closer and licking into your mouth like he was starving.

It took a long few minutes for either of you to pull back and even then, he was still surging forward to kiss you softly like he was afraid to let it end. You understood the fear, stomach twisting at the thought of him gaining some clarity and regretting what you did.

Sammy was a good man despite how it may seem in his desperation and he wasn’t the type to cheat on his wife, no matter how cruel and detached she was.

“We fucked up.” You breathed it out in anticipation, assuming if you got to it before he could then the upcoming rejection would land better on your already damaged heart.

“What?” His eyebrows furrowing surprised you, fully expecting him to agree with you and let you chalk it up as a stupid mistake you could forget. Instead he was shifting closer again so you weren’t able to look away from him even if you wanted to. “No we didn’t. It was my fuck up all those years ago when I married Tammi.”

You had to get some space from him then or you wouldn’t be able to breathe, softly pushing at his chest and being beyond thankful that he easily moved backwards and let you shift away from the brick wall.

“That is so shitty of you to say.” You wanted it to come out more frustrated so he would really let it process but you just sounded tired.

He looked like he wanted to object, maybe apologizing judging by the way his face softened with guilt. Luckily the door was opening then, one of your closest friends stepping out into the alley and giving you a scolding look when she saw the way his fingertips were grazing your waist and the swollenness of your lips.

“You should come in.” She said it softly but you knew she’d be scolding you once you left the restaurant, subject to your Sammy fueled rants for years now. “I’ve got your drink ordered.”

You gave her a thankful smile that didn’t reach your eyes and she turned her stare towards Sammy, hardening as she scanned over his guilty stance, a hand rubbing over his mouth.

“And your wife is looking for you.”

You both tensed up at the obvious call out and you followed quickly behind her when she went back inside so you didn’t have to deal with his reaction to that targeted comment.

It was instinct to avoid Sammy after that even though it tore your heart out of your chest. You figured you might as well get it over with because he clearly had no plans to leave Tammi any time soon and you weren’t going to magically get over him after you spent the majority of your life following him around like a helpless fawn.

His calls went unanswered on your own phone and some others, your friends reaching out to let you know he’d been getting ahold of them too so he could ask where you’ve been.

You ignored the knocks on your door, putting a pillow over your ears and trying to keep your crying quiet enough that he wouldn’t be able to hear you.

There was the obvious defect in your plan, the fact that Sammy knew you better than anybody possibly could.

He stayed away for a few days and you thought it had worked, he’d finally given up and manage to read your silent message that you couldn’t do this with him anymore.

Instead he was sitting on your porch when you got home from work two weeks later.

You were coming home late, you’d stopped at your nearest library and then the liquor store to give you two distractions to get through the night with, so you figured he must have been sitting for a while.

You let out a sigh at the end of your walkway and he was shooting up off the cement, eyes full of that annoyingly sweet hope and hesitation as he stepped aside to let you pass him by.

He was standing behind you as you unlocked the door and you spent the time it took to get your key in the doorknob trying to build up the courage to tell him to go fuck himself, but all you could manage was to lightly hold the door open for him behind you.

You could hear it shutting and locking as you set your bag down in the kitchen, the obvious sound of the glass bottle clicking against the counter making him raise an eyebrow.

“You’re avoiding me.” He spoke softly as you kicked off your shoes, lingering near your doorway and watching your every move as you followed your usual routine after getting home and made yourself comfortable like he wasn’t even there.

“Wow amazing conclusion. Congratulations detective Bryant, you figured it out.” You felt slightly bad for how cold your voice was, so out of character for you that you knew it must be throwing him off.

He proved that when he was moving closer and lightly touching your hips to get you to stop wandering around, your breath hitching as you looked up at him and the pure desperation on his face.

“Please don’t do that, let’s talk about this. I get enough of the passive aggressive shit from-“ He cut himself off with a deep sigh, lips pursing so he didn’t say it even though you typically didn’t avoid the topic.

“From your wife.” You finished it for him, eyes cold as you glared at him. “You can say it Sammy.”

“I just don’t understand. It’s never been an issue before.”

You pushed him away from you at that but he was persistent, following you as you walked closer to the couch and grabbing you again. You felt his fingers digging slightly into your hips as he tugged you backwards against him, your back hitting the softness of his stomach as he crowded your space.

His chin hooked over your shoulder, large fingers splayed across your belly button to keep you in place against him.

You naturally settled backwards, sucking in a deep breath as his familiar scent instinctively calmed your nerves. You were suddenly very aware of how hard the two weeks without him were, the longest you’d gone in a long time being apart from each other.

“You’re an idiot if you think it wasn’t an issue for me.” You’re whispering now, afraid if you speak too long he’s going to be able to pick up on the undeniably heartbreak in your voice.

“Let me fix this.” You can feel him moving his mouth closer and you mentally brace for the impact, still feeling unprepared for how good it feels to have him softly kissing up your neck as he starts to rub your stomach and waistband. “I hate when you’re mad at me. It’s eating me up.”

You let him continue for a few seconds before you’re spinning around, seeing the disappointment and light panic on his face before he realizes you just want to face him, his entire body relaxes as he holds your lower back.

Your hands go to his cheeks, pressing on the soft skin and feeling the light stubble he’d built up in your absence.

“There really isn’t a way you can fix it Sammy.” You say honestly and his face falls, lips parting like he wants to object. “Other than the obvious.”

There’s no need for him to say it, you can tell by the look in his eyes when you add that on that he can’t give you the answer that you want. It feels so far out of the realm of possibility that you don’t even feel disappointment, much less resistance when he’s ignoring your suggestion completely in favor of leaning in to kiss you.

It’s different than the kiss you shared at your birthday dinner, lacking the heat and desperation as you soaked up the small amount of time you had before you got caught.

Now it’s slow and deep, much more like the first kiss you’d always imagined with him.

His hands are so gentle as he rubs up your sides, keeping you tight against him as your mouths move together like you’ve done this a thousand times. You can’t help but mentally compare this kiss to the way you’ve seen him be with Tammi, feeling a bit smug at how obvious the difference is.

There’s no awkwardness between you, no stiff and routine hard press of lips like you’re checking it off a to do list.

He’s clearly wanting, craving almost as he pulls you impossibly closer and tilts his head to make sure the kiss doesn’t stop or lose its rhythm.

You’ve missed him so much and you’re such a fool in love that you don’t even think about stopping him and asking him for real answers.

Instead you’re softly licking into his mouth like the needy teenage version of you that used to fantasy about this, soaking up the soft hum he lets out at the feeling before he’s matching the action. You’re playing with the hairs on the back of his neck as your tongues tangle together and you go with him easily as he backs you up towards the couch.

It takes landing in his lap for you to sober back up, pulling back from the kiss just enough to catch your breath.

His eyebrows pull together when he sees the hesitation on your face so you hide in his neck so he can’t keep looking at you, wanting to spare his feelings even though you can quite literally feel your heart suffocating in your chest.

He’s warm underneath you and smells so overly familiar that you could cry, staying with your chin resting on his shoulder and closing your eyes for a brief moment so you can pretend you’re in a different timeline with him.

Maybe you’re still fifteen and laying in his bed together, holding hands on rides home from the beach when your moms aren’t looking. Or you’re twenty four and it’s the first time him and Tammi break up, his sullen frame taking up space on your couch until you quietly pad out there and insist he come to bed with you instead.

You think about being in your fifties, a reality where he never met Tammi and instead spent the rest of his life with you. It felt like the world you were supposed to be living in, just you and him like it always used to be until the love eventually built up into something real, something that came with growing grey hairs together and building a family.

He seems to know what you’re thinking, possibly going down the same list of all the missed chances. His hand runs through your hair on repeat like he’s trying to soothe you and you don’t understand why until you realize that you’re crying.

You try to go back to avoiding Sammy after that but it’s impossible.

You can’t bring yourself to stay away from him and each late night conversation ends up the same now that you’ve crossed that line, your mouth pressed against his and his hands all over you.

He’s nearly insatiable even though you can tell that he still feels terribly guilty over the entire thing. It’s like he’s just as powerless as you are, unable to keep your distance for each other despite how awful you’re both being.

Currently he’s with you in your kitchen, two months after your birthday and two months of sneaking away to get to have him for a brief moment. He’s completely lost in the taste of you, mouths moving together slowly with his hands under your shirt and tracing patterns on your spine.

His fingers feel calloused but you remember when they were smooth and youthful, remember loving him before the lines on his face appeared or the light ash colored strands of hair you occasionally saw when he was under the sun.

You were growing old with Sammy despite it not being in the way you wanted.

You’re kissing him back because of course you are, holding tight to his biceps and letting yourself get swept up in the way he feels pressed against you. It’s deep and almost filthy if it wasn’t for how romantic it all seems, the lights in the kitchen dim and some slow jazzy song playing from your radio in the living room.

“You have to know by now.” He’s whispering as he kisses down your neck and you sigh at the feeling, closing your eyes and tilting your head to the side to give him full access. “Tell me you know how I feel about you.”

“Sammy.” You’re meant to sound like you’re warning him, not wanting to hear him talk about feelings in these circumstances, but it comes across breathy and wanting.

Clearly he thinks so too because he lets out a low groan, letting his hands leave your shirt until he’s got them pressed against your back pockets. He tugs you closer and you gasp softly at the sudden feeling of him touching you like that, immediately soothed by the way he’s still kissing your skin carefully.

He’s not leaving any marks even though you’re not the one who needs to worry about that.

“You’ve got to go.” You say back and he lets out a frustrated breath even though he clearly knows you’re right judging by the way he stops kissing your neck in favor of resting his forehead against your shoulder.

You’ve been half distracted by his phone vibrating on the counter behind you for the last thirty minutes, no question in your mind about who is relentlessly trying to reach him.

“Did you not go home today after work?” You ask him softly, touching his jaw until he’s picking his head back up to look at you. “You know you have to stop doing that.”

“I can’t take it.” He says back and your shoulders deflate with light frustration. “It’s endless arguing with her.”

“You know I get what she’s like but I’d be pretty pissed too if my husband wasn’t coming home on top of your already long hours.” You’re trying your best to talk some sense into him but it’s easy to he distracted when he’s back to touching you.

He’s rubbing up and down your back, dipping under your shirt again and smiling softly when you shudder at the feeling of his skin on yours. You smack at his forearm when you catch sight of the near smirk and he does his best to school it although the efforts don’t do much.

“It would be different if it was you.” He says quietly and you tense up before he can elaborate, already knowing exactly what he’s trying to say. “If you were my wife.”

“But I’m not your wife.” You snap as soon as the word leaves his mouth and he lets out a frustrated breath.

He’s kissing you again like he thinks that will make you forget the truth of your situation and it nearly does, kissing him back eagerly because you’re never sure when it’s going to be the last time you get to.

You’re interrupted by the phone buzzing again and you pull back to lean against his chest, hiding your face in his neck and trying to ignore how good it feels when he rubs your sides in comfort.

“Go home Sammy.” You whisper and you look up in time to see his face fall, eyebrows furrowing in hurt when you lightly push against his chest to get him to back away from you.

You use the small space between your bodies to leave the kitchen, his footsteps following you into the living room. You let him pull you back, hands on your hips and then your stomach when your backs against his chest.

He kisses the back of your neck and then the side of your head, soft and parting before he’s letting out a deep breath and backing away from you.

You lean against the front window as you watch his headlights pull out of your driveway, blinking a few times before he turns to fully leave your street and head back to his house, back to reality.

The thought plagues you when you get into bed by yourself, daydreaming of the version of your life where he wouldn’t have to leave each night. You let yourself think about having your own ring on your finger, his things on the empty bed side table and his hands on you as you fall asleep.

You know it’s not healthy and, quite frankly, you know it makes you a terrible person.

Your friends tell just as much when you finally break down and tell them everything, crying about the night he kissed you and confessing that you’d spent almost every night with him pressed against you and making promises he can’t keep.

“He’s an asshole.” Cathy is stern with her tone, stirring her coffee in pointless circles and fixing her glare on you and your upset face. “I can’t believe you’re putting up with him still.”

“I think it’s sweet.” Victoria is quicker to be sympathetic although pouting in your direction. “He clearly loves you and just doesn’t know what to do about it.”

The topic of love makes your stomach turn a little and you try not to think about it after you leave your brunch, ignoring his calls for a few hours even though you’re well aware it will end with him knocking on your door.

There’s no surprise when it happens but you try to hold your ground with him, turning your head to the side when he tries to greet you with a kiss. His lips press against your cheek instead and then downturn into a frown.

“Are you mad at me?” He asks softly as you walk to your bedroom, sitting down on the foot of the bed and blinking at him when he stops in your doorway.

“No Sammy.” You breathe out even though you’re not sure that’s true, not really able to put a label on how you feel about him right now. The love that sits heavy on your chest muddies everything else around it. “I’m just tired.”

He’s coming closer and then going down to his knees in front of you, hands on your thighs as he stares up at you almost pleadingly. It’s such a vulnerable position that it makes you a little sick and you grab at his arm to try and tug him back to his feet.

He takes your hand and holds it instead so you can’t pull at him, kissing your knuckles briefly.

“I want to fix this.” He whispers and you feel teary almost immediately. “I can’t lose you because I’m being selfish. I’ll do whatever you want me to do but I can’t leave.”

“I don’t want you to leave.” You say back, voice small and defeated. You wish the statement wasn’t as true as it feels, the thought of not having him at all being so much worse than the twisted relationship you’re stuck in. “But I want that all the time, I want you to just be here. I want to have a home with you Sammy.”

“I love you.” He says it quietly and he’s said it before, in passing or casually when he hangs up the phone, but it lands a lot different now.

Realistically, you’re not at all surprised by the confession. You know Sammy, regardless if you can have him the way you want or not, you know him better than anybody and you knew he wouldn’t be doing something like this if it wasn’t because of something genuine like the same love you have for him.

The kind of love that makes you awful and selfish, devoted in a twisted way and blind to the consequences if it means you can have a few more hours together.

He’s standing up finally but only to gently push you backwards until you’re laying on the bed, climbing over you so he can kiss you softly as you melt against the comforter.

“I love you so much. It should have been you.” He’s murmuring the confessions between kisses that are getting deeper and deeper with each minute that passes. “I’m so sorry that it wasn’t you.”

“I love you Sammy.” You say back and it shocks you how easily it rolls off the tongue, the weight of it feeling a little lighter in your chest now that it’s out there.

He’s kissing you more feverishly after you say it, tongue pressing against yours as you make a soft pleased sound.

He’s holding himself up above you but you wish he wouldn’t, wish he would just press the full extent of his weight down on you until all you could feel was the softness of his stomach and his chest rising and falling. You want to feel his heartbeat racing like yours is and what it’s like to be completely his for a moment.

Sammy’s kisses are feverish and he finally does press against you, pulling your leg to the side so he can slot between them and lower himself down right where you need him.

You’re softly breathing, a bit shy when he starts to take off your clothes and then fully flushed when he’s kissing your chest and whispering how beautiful you are. You’d spent a lot of years imagining what being touched by Sammy would feel like but you hadn’t even came close to the euphoria, the undeniable thought that you were finally complete after being so empty.

He made love to you the first time, it was slow and gentle and nearly bringing you to tears when he told you how beautiful you were and how much he’d wanted this.

You felt good with him, like something had settled in your chest after rattling around for a long time. Everytime he said that he loved you seemed like it was the first, sending a warm rush through your blood that made you shiver.

It was more desperate in the weeks after, kisses turning rough and almost angry when he’d come over smelling like Tammi’s perfume or leave early because she wouldn’t stop calling him.

You felt like it became an outlet between you but you didn’t necessarily mind, a large part of you having fantasized about this version of him too. You liked when he got rougher with you, hands moving you around to his liking and fucking you harder whenever you purposefully brought up his wife to try and get under his skin.

Sammy and you didn’t fight with each other, you would get into tense conversations because you were both hurt, but you’d never fight. This was the closest thing you had to it, bruises on your hips and his back so scratched up he had to avoid taking off his shirt the next week when he went to the beach with Tammi.

He was good to you, always double checking after if it was something you enjoyed. He made you swear over and over again that you actually liked it and weren’t just doing it because he did, only stopping when you got embarrassed and had to bluntly admit that you were really into it.

You were into him, obsessively and all things about him. Tammi had gotten on him to eat more healthy and it nearly made you sick, the thought of him changing in any way outside of his own wants making you dizzy.

And you didn’t feel insecure about how much he loved you back because despite the obvious issue, you knew that he truly did.

His hands were never off you, rubbing your thigh while you watched a movie or kneading your stomach while he kissed the back of your neck at the kitchen counter. He liked to run you warm baths, sitting in the room with you while you soaked just so he could hear about your day at work.

You sometimes wondered how much of this he was doing for Tammi. A part of you accepted that it was probably just as much as he did for you because that was just the type of man he was, but you selfishly let yourself enjoy being spoiled by his affection.

You didn’t go a day without flowers even if he wasn’t able to come and see you, he sent coffee to your work before you even got there, and he’d travel across town on his lunch break just to come and eat with you.

There wasn’t a night that you didn’t cry in bed and wish things were different. You’d stopped talking to your friends about because you were getting paranoid about the possible judgement in their eyes, unable to explain what it felt like to love somebody so much that you’d disregard your character for them.

But you did love Sammy that much.

So much so, that when he was coming over on Christmas Eve with an arm-full of gifts for you, you didn’t hesitate to pull him inside and kiss him until he lost the chill in his cheeks.

He disregarded the boxes in the entryway, lifting you up and bringing you to your bedroom before you could even greet him properly.

“Stay the night.” You breathed against his mouth and he tensed up a little ontop of you, brushing your hair out of your face so he could get a perfect view of your eyes and expression. “Wake up with me on Christmas morning. I’ll make us breakfast and we can open our presents by the tree together.”

You both knew what you were describing, a clear cookie cutter image of a husband and wife in your heads as you spoke.

He was hesitating, looking like he was unable to deny you despite how difficult the circumstances were. You weren’t just asking him to stay with you for the holiday, you were giving him a clear choice between the two of you.

Tammi wouldn’t be able to forgive him not coming home on the night before Christmas and you’d never forgive him for leaving. You were sure of that now, even though you felt so happy just to look at his conflicted face that you weren’t sure where you’d put all that love if he did leave.

You were happy to even be an option to choose from and that understanding almost made you crawl out from under him just to get some space.

Maybe he saw the pain in your eyes at the idea or maybe he came to the conclusion all in his own, but either way, he was leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to your lips before letting one linger on your temple.