summary; pool party at the cody's & pope being pope. also reader and cath are besties bc i said so
warnings; a curse word or two
a/n; pics used in this arent meant to describe the reader, just the vibe and idea i have of her!! all shapes n sizes are loved ova here!! comment to be added to the taglist <3
summary. It's become an open secret that you and Jack are dating but the world grows frustrated when neither of you give the details everyone has been begging for.
word count. 12.3k
content warnings. fluff, smut (light choking, fingering, riding), TMZ and trashy tabloids are used as a plot device here, some slut-shaming, agegap (reader is in her mid 20s, rabbot is in their mid to late 40s) !!
notes. these chapters keep getting longer lol , reader is also really into baseball sorry i make the rules! also there's a 'the bear' reference here again lol , also fluff galore !!!
Sent via form submission, anonymous.
Subject: Singer 'Star' dating both guitarists from NIGHTCRAWLER.
Message: So many eye witnesses have seen Star with an older man the past few months. We all thought it was just some nobody exec or producer (unsurprising; most of these pop girlies are whores) but we got a better look of the silver fox just about a week ago and sources say it's Jack Abbot from NIGHTCRAWLER.
—
Sent via form submission, anonymous.
Subject: Star shared by two older men?
Message: Saw Star out at another after party with two old men, found out it was Robby, frontman for NIGHTCRAWLER, and Jack, the guitarist. She looked super cozy between them. Age gap is weird but I've seen weirder throuples in LA.
✧⋆⋆⋆
Aside from making the front cover of US Weekly about your secret man, more blind items begin to pour in. They haven't been trending but there's enough chatter about your love life that you're being called yet again into another meeting with your PR team.
You're seated in one of the empty conference rooms with Cassie beside you, typing away on her laptop while you roll a pen around on the table. The glass doors swing open slowly and you glance up to see Baran Al-Hashimi, the head of your PR team, enter in a sharp suit and her iPad with Mel, one of the producers and members of your creative team in tow.
"Good morning," Baran greets, each syllable pronounced with such intent that you can't help but stiffen. Shen saunters in with a tray of coffee for everyone while he slurps noisily at his. The two of them are terrifyingly competent. "Let's get started, shall we?"
Everyone scoots their chair in as Baran takes the head of the table where you sit on her left. When she has everyone's attention, she turns her gaze on you.
"You've caused quite a stir," she says lightly. You might've been terrified if it weren't for the fact that she had been the first to look out for you during an almost wardrobe mishap at your first tour. "Since you don't have a dating ban like our other signed artists, no contracts have been broken, yes?" After a collected murmur of assent, she continues on. "In that case, we just need to work together to create a narrative that'll be in our favor."
The projector at the end of the room flicks on and Mel's standing to connect her laptop in as Shen turns off the front lights. A simple presentation takes up the screen.
"Your latest album is a testament to your growth from a young woman to who you are today. The producers and your creative team are in agreement to start adjusting your style to a woman in love," Mel begins as look books of your curated outfits appear. "Your so-called scandal won't be a scandal if we get to spin it into a love story."
Your spine stiffens but you make sure to keep your face neutral. This is exactly what you've been trying to avoid, defining a relationship that Jack may never want to stay in. Mel continues on despite the storm raging in your mind.
"We'll be avoiding any kind of confirmation, the general public will believe what it wants to believe regardless of whatever statement we put out. However, we can play this to our advantage by working in the grey space," she says as she taps to a new slide of multiple grainy photos of you with Jack. To any unknowing gaze, the photos could pass as anybody.
"These photos," you gape as you sit up. "How did these—?"
"We have a contract with some paparazzi. We outbuy anyone before they even think about reaching out to other publications," Baran interrupts. "With our permission, they'll start releasing them in a timely manner to support the narrative you'll be pushing. So now— what is your relation to these men?"
You shift slightly in your seat, visibly uncomfortable, but Cassie nods her head to you with a maternal smile.
"Um— it's just Jack. Jack Abbot," you answer while you relax back in your seat. "The other one is Robby but he just hangs out with us."
Shen releases a low whistle. "Impressive." When multiple sets of eyes glance to him, he gives a careless shrug. "I'm not blind. That man's a silver fox."
Baran allows a tiny smile to tug at the corner of her lips, amused. "We won't be intruding on your relationship any further than allowing you to be seen more in the public eye with him. It'll let everyone talk more about you, create some buzz for the new album."
You blink. "Wait— that's it? We'll just be a bit more public about our… relationship?"
The exec ignores the way you nearly had to spit out the last word. "Yes, that's all. Of course, we do request that you refrain from any more scandalous sightings but anything than that, we encourage it."
"Actually." Cassie politely cuts in. "I thought it'd be interesting if you used the pink limousine photo to be the cover of the EP, have her reclaim that to be a moment of passionate love rather than a careless tryst."
Baran nods in approval, makes a note of it. "I'll let the other creative directors know but I like it. Star, what do you think?"
The idea had initally made you recoil in disgust but Cassie's explanation smooths out the furrow between your brows. "I actually like it, too. Before we release those pap photos, I do want to let Jack know."
"Of course," Baran says. "Let us know of his response by EOD, please."
The sudden deadline is startling but you understand, giving the older woman a nod.
"Perfect. I believe that'll be it for this meeting. If there's anything else you'd like to add later on, email me." With the meeting ending promptly, you sigh as you watch the execs file out while you slump in your chair beside Cassie.
She taps your knee. You loll your head over to gaze at your manager. "You haven't defined anything with Jack, did you?"
You shake your head.
"Mm, alright. Let me know if anything changes."
✧⋆⋆⋆
And nothing really changes. Jack spends the night or you're sleeping over for the weekend on the rare occasion where you aren't being rushed over from one place to the next. Time plays a funny role as you try your best to keep your head above water; water being the metaphorical state of all the rumors that have been piling up about you.
He hadn't turned away from you either when you had asked him if the two of you could go public without confirming anything, just smiled and nodded with an eager glint in his eye.
("Sweetheart, if I ever refuse to kiss you in public where everyone can see you're mine, shoot me because that isn't me.")
You had laughed, told Baran the decision to continue public outings with Jack, and continued the rest of your week without another worry. But your mind ricochets back to that: 'you're mine.' It isn't enough to get Jack to pick up on your swirling thoughts but it's enough that you look distracted most times he comes over.
Because what exactly did he mean? You're his? His what— to own? To fuck? To… love? The thought is chilling — not that you don't have strong feelings for Jack but rather, how readily you seem to be to dive past the edge of the cliff when you aren't even sure he's at the bottom to catch you. And as you stand at the precipice of that metaphorical edge, you know it's a hard landing beneath but at the height of your feelings, the concrete looks like water.
You try to spill these tumultous thoughts as ink onto pages rather than into words. It helps keep the cup from overflowing in your head, lets you keep your head above water when Jack drives you back to his place after he had picked you up from another meeting. Even the monotonous ritual you have of arriving at his front door, jacket and purse set aside on the loveseat upon entrance, and a stolen tangerine in his kitchen to give your hands to do something, is bone chilling; when did you begin to have a routine?
He peels the tangerines for you, feeds you occasionally in comfortable silence, but as you reach for your phone to check what another news outlet has to say, he knows it's time to step in.
Anxiety threatens to creep in but Jack is quick to set your phone aside, distract you with kisses along the back of your neck. When he presses lightly against the small of your back, you bend over without question.
"Let go for me, pretty girl," he coos as he drags your dress up, your cheek pressing against the cool marble counter of his kitchen island. "You did so good today."
You can only offer a pathetic whimper. Each touch from Jack lights a fire within you as sweet nothings fall from his lips. They fall over you like a balm upon your mind as you slowly relax, feeling his ruddy tip glide along your slick folds while he holds your thong aside.
He fucks you slow and deep, his larger body folding over yours as he nips and bites at your neck. Your toes are brushing along the hardwood floors as he holds you up by your waist and keeps you pinned onto the island counter. It isn't brutal or demanding when he coaxes an orgasm out of you although his touch is rough when he pulls your hair back for a searing kiss. Each thrust of his hips is sharp, hits where you need him exactly. It isn't love-making but it feels a hell of a lot like Jack taking care of you.
The thought catapults you into your second climax with him shortly following, plugging you full with his release and a low groan of your name falling from his lips. "Fuck, baby— felt you squeezing me there," he grunts with a few more shallow thrusts until he slowly pulls out. You think that's the end of it but then you hear some rustling behind you, your head tipping back to look over your shoulder— until you feel Jack's tongue dive into your filthy heat with a perverted moan.
"Jack—!"
His chuckles are warm against your sopping cunt as he eats his release out of you, licking you clean while reaching up to hold your hand against the edge of the counter. It's tender enough that a couple of tears slide down your cheeks; you aren't concerned. Jack's fucked you hard enough that he's made you cry before. He doesn't have to know the real reason why your cheeks are tear-stained when he draws out one final orgasm from you.
You exhale, cheek rubbing along the cool marble counter as you catch your breath. A giggle spills past your lips when you feel his stubble grazing along your inner thighs before he showers your ass and cunt with kisses. "Kissing my ass, Daddy?" you tease as you look over your shoulder.
He smacks your ass. "Of course I am. You're my favorite peach."
"Ew, gross—" you giggle as you playfully push his head away. You turn around to lean your back against the counter as he gets to his feet. His hands settle on either side of you, trapping you against the island as he lowers his head for another kiss. It's slow and lazy, stirring something sweet and satisfying in your chest. "Thanks, Jack."
He nudges the tip of his nose against yours. "Anytime, superstar. You looked a little lost in your head there."
You aren't sure how to feel about that, Jack utilizing your pleasure as a distraction but you can't find a reason to be upset over it. "Thanks," you say instead, genuinely. You lean in for another short kiss before he nips at your lower lip.
"You taste like tangerines," he chuckles at your questioning look. "Tastes good."
You roll your eyes but your smile is unmistakable, playfully pushing his shoulder. "Perv. Go shower, old man."
"Join me?"
And who are you to refuse?
✧⋆⋆⋆
GQ: JACK AND ROBBY FROM NIGHTCRAWLER BREAK DOWN THEIR FAMOUS DISCOGRAPHY.
The two men sit at a table looking right at home in front of the camera despite their ten year absence from the public eye. Jack and Robby fidget as they reattach the small mics to the collar of their shirts.
"No more fuzzy mics?" Robby jokes as the camera starts to roll. Behind the camera, the producer prompts them to begin. "Hi, GQ, we're Nightcrawler, and we're here to talk about our past discography."
The cue cards begin and whenever a new song gets lifted, the two men shift easily and move on. "Ghost Of You did a lot better than I expected. Looks like Iris is still the more popular one," Jack chuckles as he hits play on the laptop that's sitting between them. A snippet of the chorus plays as the coordinator behind the camera flips to a new cue card.
"Oh, that's an oldie. High might've been one of our more popular softer songs," Robby reminisces as his higher vocals fill the room. "I remember being worried that we were gonna alienate our main demographics."
"You were a pretty boy back then, Robinavitch—" Jack snorts as he sends his friend a wry grin. "You could've screamed into a mic and the girls swooned."
"You sound jealous, Abbot."
"Course I am, you're still a pretty boy!"
"Oh, fuck off—"
✧⋆⋆⋆
TWITTER—
Pop Base @.PopBase — 2m
STAR drops single 'stupid song' — listen now on Spotify and Apple Music!
✧⋆⋆⋆
After you and Jack agreed to stop hiding the relationship (situationship, Trinity's voice would ring in your ear), you both also agreed to not just simply hard launch it to the world. Ease it in. Maybe both of you could step out of the car at the same time rather than waiting five minutes in between.
Despite the plans to stop hiding, you and Jack are suddenly rocked with packed schedules and endless interviews and fittings. He barely has time to come over now and your texts are few and little in between. But without Jack present to distract your thoughts, you're on twitter more often than you'd like to admit.
✧⋆⋆⋆
@enam3l : oh so she's IN LOVE !!!
@deathreverse : IS THE NEW EP ABOUT HER FALLING IN LOVE???
@pearlessance : the last time she wrote about love was about b*z yall, idk if this is gonna be happy…..
@mariasont : [ screenshot of lyrics from stupid song— I feel right, I feel wrong, I feel totally insane. And I want you more than any stupid song can ever say. ] SHE'S DOWN BAAAAD…. pour one out for a baddie lost to another man.
@.user01 : if the rumors are true, the man in question is jack and i, too, would pour out my lil heart for him. have you seen him???
@.user1: you can tell she got inspired by some dad rock vibes with the demos she's been singing on her livestreams
@.user2: speaking of dad rock, i've been listening to NIGHTCRAWLER's older albums…. ok white boys get itttt
@.user3: went through the credits for nightcrawler's songs, robby's obviously the manwhore between the two but jfc his ballads are so fucking good too
✧⋆⋆⋆
The light of your phone illuminates your face, eyes wide as you adjust the sheet mask you've just placed on. Your neck is aching from how you're laid out on Jack's bed, head propped up a little too high by his pillows, as you doomscroll. The attached bathroom door opens but you don't pay Jack any mind — not even his shirtless state can steal you away from the downspiral that's starting when you see your ex's name pop up just as often as Jack's.
"Darling, you'll ruin your eyes like that," Jack huffs as he sits on his side of the bed, sets his crutches aside while you scroll like you didn't hear him. "Baby?"
You startle slightly, big eyes peeking above the top of your phone. "Yeah?"
"What's got you stressing?" The bed dips and rocks slightly as Jack scoots close enough for his arm to wrap around your frame while you rest your head on his chest. You bring the phone up to show the comments and he tugs on his glasses.
He hums as he scrolls, absentmindedly playing with your hair. "They seem to like it, superstar, I wouldn't worry," he says. He locks your phone and sets it aside. "C'mon, you need the sleep."
You might've gotten annoyed with Jack then, how he takes the reins from you without expecting any refusal, but exhaustion has been weighing down your bones all week and you find yourself nodding. "Let me take off the sheet mask," you hum as you playfully crawl over his body, laughing as he sneaks a squeeze to your ass, and climb off the bed. You complete the rest of your skincare in the bathroom before joining him in the sheets.
The lights shut off and you close your eyes, finding comfort in his embrace before you realize you are annoyed — he didn't give your song a second glance.
✧⋆⋆⋆
Your annoyance didn't last past the night.
Jack wakes you sweetly and lazily, stroking your cheek and jaw until your eyelashes flutter. When your eyes meet his, he leans in for a tender kiss that has your toes curling beneath the sheets. It's a rare thursday where both of you have a free morning, let alone a whole day. Although you figure it's best to start being seen with Jack more, the domesticity that follows whenever the two of you are home is addicting. Sticky sweet kisses are shared when he juices fresh oranges for you, laughter echoing throughout his kitchen as you play some cheesy pop song from the 2000s.
The two of you are lost in your honeymoon-esque bliss in the kitchen that neither you or Jack hear the front door open and shut for Robby to enter the scene.
"Am I interrupting?" He chuckles over the sight of you, wearing nothing but Jack's shirt and a lacy pair of underwear, and his best friend still in just his flannel pajama pants. Robby himself looks like he's already lived through half the day, leather jacket and windswept hair.
You nearly shriek at the sudden new presence of another man only to relax, half-hiding behind Jack who just tugs you forward front and center. "Jesus, Robby," Jack laughs. "That key was for emergencies."
"It's an emergency— I'm hungry." Robby grins as he sets his helmet and bag down to hop onto the bar stool tucked against one side of the kitchen island. The two of you share a smile before Jack circles the space to continue flipping the pancakes while you putter around to make coffee.
"How do you take your coffee, Robby?" you ask as you bring out an extra mug, head tilting slightly over your shoulder to meet the other man's eyes.
"Just black, sweetheart."
You hum in acknowledgment and turn back around, measuring out the ground coffee beans to pour into the filter. Behind your back, Jack sends a curious look to his friend who busies himself on his phone before letting it go. Something splinters in his chest, a dull ache he could ignore if he tries hard enough, when he watches you set the steaming mug by Robby who thanks you with a careless smile.
To your credit, you don't react any differently from what Jack could see. You just pour him a mug, add just the right of cream and sugar before attaching yourself to his side and placing the coffee right where he can reach it. He turns the stove off and moves the pan to the cooler side so he can bend down and kiss your hair.
"Thanks, gorgeous."
You grin and tilt your head up, lips pursed adorably that he plants one kiss there and another on your nose. The two of you miss the way Robby keeps his eyes pointedly on his phone. The plates are set and the three of you eat in comfortable silence, occasionally pockmarked with small talk between Jack and Robby.
"So, what are your plans today?" Robby asks as he leans back, one arm crossed and the other holding his mug.
Jack mimics his movement, leaning back to drape an arm on the back of your chair as you continue to sip at Jack's coffee. "Some shopping in Rodeo before dinner—"
You pat his chest to interrupt him, your eyes locked on your phone. "We need to stop at the recording studio, Jack, I left a couple of notebooks in the booth."
Jack nods, doesn't miss a beat. "Shopping, recording studio, and then dinner."
"Mind if I tag along on your shopping trip? I got a few things to pick up at Van Cleef."
"That works out perfectly! I have a couple pieces I want to get refitted," you perk up, detaching yourself momentarily to lean in and turn your full attention to Robby. Your smile is blinding and it takes almost half a second for either of them to respond.
"I can meet you two there. I have a couple things to drop off, but before I forget—" Robby sends you a smile warmer than you've ever received from him, getting to his feet while he grabs his helmet. "I listened to 'stupid song'. It's pretty good but I gotta ask— this old man got you this lovesick?"
Your cheeks burn, a shy smile following before you attempt to play coy. "Hey—! Technically, I never confirm who my songs are about." The playful eye roll Robby gives you has you giggling, making you miss Jack's approach who comes around to tug you firmly into his side.
"Alright. See you two later."
✧⋆⋆⋆
"I'm stealing a shirt!"
Jack's resounding chuckle from outside of his walk-in closet is answer enough for you and you happily dig into his drawer. You lift your foot up to casually scratch at your opposite calf as you rummage through his clothes, wandering to the opposite side to pick out a long-sleeved button up that you cinch and style with some shorts you had left behind a few days ago.
You aren't sure when Jack started keeping duplicates of your makeup in his bathroom but you never did ask and he never talked about it. You ignore the way your stomach flutters when you lean over the sink, applying eyeliner and mascara.
A knock sounds behind you and you offer with a noncommital hum. In the reflection, Jack leans against the doorway, already dressed and his leg on.
"Almost done, baby?"
You cap the mascara and when you reach for the lip gloss, Jack crosses the distance to gently cradle your cheeks for a kiss. "Jack—" you giggle against his mouth but he shushes you sweetly.
"Let me get my kisses in before you put your lip gloss on, superstar," he chuckles. When he feels you've been thoroughly kissed, he leaves you be and starts to head out. "I'll get the car running."
You sigh dreamily, lovesick as you finally apply your lipgloss.
✧⋆⋆⋆
Jack hasn't let go of your hand since he's parked his ostentatious G-Wagon. The two of you aren't overtly dressed either and with sunglasses on, you and Jack blend well with the rest of the pedestrians that graze along the cobbled stonewalk of Rodeo Drive. Despite that no one's stopped you or Jack for photos or autographs, you aren't naive enough to believe that no one is watching you either.
With Robby on his way, the two of you head into Van Cleef & Arpels and the low lighting is a welcomed reprieve from the Los Angeles sun. The sales associate recognizes you almost immediately before a look of delight leaves their features as quickly as it comes when they see Jack right behind you.
"Welcome, ma'am. Your client advisor is ready to see you now," the pristinely dressed woman says, her tone clipped and professional, yet you catch the bright shimmer in her eyes as the two of you thank her and enter a private show room.
Your shoes are silent against the dark hardwood flooring, your bangles clinking delicately together as you swing your joined hands with Jack as you approach.
"Thank you for coming in. I'm Noelle, how may I assist you today?"
Noelle guides you and Jack towards the leather-wrapped high-top tables. He helps you onto the stool before sitting himself beside you while Noelle circles and opens her gloved hands in gentle accommodation.
"I'm here to get this re-fitted actually," you offer your wrist to her and two bracelets clink together. The one in question had been the Lucky Alhambra bracelet with four motifs and it dangles prettily besides the delicate gold bangle from the Perlée clovers line; you had fallen in love with the bangle immediately and Jack had purchased it for you without a second word.
That had been from your fourth date.
"Oh, such a beautiful piece. May I?" When you nod, she deftly unclasps the chained bracelet before laying it out carefully upon the leather surface to inspect. Jack's arm reaches out casually to rest on the back of your chair and you fight back a shiver when you feel his touch, absentmindedly stroking your spine as he listens to Noelle. You offer your wrist again at her prompting, allowing her to measure out the desired fit before she places it in a spare box with the marked length. Right as she's finishing up, footsteps echo behind you and you look over to see Robby approach.
He cuts an imposing figure, all rough strewn edges in his old band shirt and well-worn Levi's in the boutique. When he stands behind you and Jack, you can catch a whiff of his cologne and a hint of cigarette smoke.
"Mr. Robinavitch," Noelle greets warmly as she hands off your box to another employee. "We have your pieces ready, please feel free to browse while we bring it out for you from the back."
"Please, take your time," he replies with a nod of his head. When it's just the three of you, he looks at you and Jack. "You two heading out then?"
Jack rubs your shoulder. "Depends, did you want to browse too, baby?"
You nod. There was a bracelet that had caught your eye and you're eager to take the time to try it on yourself. Jack helps you down and you loosely take hold of his hand, leading him over to the other show room where the Sweet Hearts bracelet is displayed. It's a dainty rose gold chain with a single carnellian heart motif.
Another client advisor approaches and offers it for you to try on which you gladly accept. The two men watch fondly as you gasp softly at the simplistic beauty of the bracelet. Right as they unclasp the bracelet, your phone rings and you reluctantly step away to answer a phone call from your manager, Cassie.
Once you're out of earshot, Robby turns to the employee. "I'll take it."
Jack glances up in mild surprise. "You got a girl or something?"
Robby's pulling out his wallet with a little chuckle. "No, but you have her and she looked too happy to not get it." He waits for some pushback from his friend; Robby's no stranger to Jack's bouts of possessiveness, having seen enough of it with Iris all those years ago. But Jack just nods. Silent permission.
"Sure. Call it an early birthday gift or somethin'," he allows as the employee walks off to wrap up the bracelet for you. Robby nods as he merely hands over his black credit card without a second to spare, just in time for you to return. "Is everything okay?"
You dip your head with a reassuring smile, tucking yourself back into Jack's side. "Yeah, it was just to confirm our ballgame tickets."
Robby perks up. "You two are going to a game?"
"Eh, it's just a Dodgers game—"
The smack that lands on his chest elicits a playful laugh from Jack, something he anticipates whenever he pokes fun at your local team that you'd defend without hesitation. As native Pittsburgh Pirates fans, both Jack and Robby never fail to tease you about it whenever their team is in town for a game.
"You two have been Angelenos for more than a decade, you better act like it," you wag your finger at them in mock disappointment, a giggle escaping at Robby's exaggerated contrite expression while Jack apologizes with a tight backhug and a kiss to the nape of your neck.
Noelle returns with Robby's items and a new box for you and your eyes widen slightly. "Is this the Sweet Hearts bracelet? Oh, I haven't—"
"I got it for you," Robby interrupts with a little shrug. "Consider it an early birthday gift."
You take the box and thank Noelle for her service, confirming the pick up time for your other bracelet. When she exits, you untangle yourself from Jack to lean up and kiss the other man's cheek. "Thanks, Michael."
Something flashes in his eyes that you miss entirely but Jack does not. His chest feels hollow but it isn't unpleasant, rather it feels like he's waiting for that anvil to drop in his chest whenever you give anyone else a modicum of attention but nothing arrives.
"Don't mention it, sweetheart." Robby exits first, holds the door open for you to step out first just as Jack follows behind. With the signature green box in hand (just as iconic as Tiffany blue in your opinion), you place a hand on Robby's shoulder with another sweet smile of thanks just as Jack leads you out on the sidewalk. The two men give each other a brief hug goodbye before Robby departs in the opposite direction, helmet in hand and his other pieces he'd picked up.
✧⋆⋆⋆
Across the street in a heavily tinted van, a photographer captures a series of photos. Despite the glaring sun, he manages to adjust the aperture to take a still shot of Robby opening the door for you with the gift in hand. Even though Jack can be partially seen right behind you, the man crops it just enough to send it to one tabloid company.
In the next photo, you've got a hand on Robby's chest with Jack right behind. He keeps this one as is and sends it to another tabloid magazine. Within minutes, he receives two hefty checks from two different publications to put out two different stories. He sets his camera down, starts the van, and drives off without a second glance.
✧⋆⋆⋆
The drive to the recording company you signed to is short and you're grateful that there's basement parking, giving you another reprieve from any kind of wandering camera. You aren't sure if your eyes had been playing tricks on you back at Van Cleef, catching a glimpse of a camera pressed against a tinted window of a van. Regardless, you figure it's what you and Jack wanted anyways, fueling the rumors of your dating life without confirming a goddamn thing.
"Hey, Ahmad," you greet the security guard by the main entrace, a lanky man that seems to always be preoccupied with the hidden betting pool he's got below the receptionist's desk. Princess greets you with a sweet smile, nudging you past the doors and into the main floor. She eyes Jack with a knowing grin towards Ahmad who promptly pulls out the sheet on her desk, scrawling down something new. You snort to yourself, your fingers tangled with Jack as you pull him over to the elevators inside.
You hit the button to your usual floor and you're met with a long hallway that sprawls out to your left and right, pockmarked with soundproof doors. "Left are the dance studios," you mention casually to Jack. "Rehearsal spaces and whatnot. They're generally multi-purpose rooms. Rooms to the right are the recording studios and booths."
After passing the entire hall, you stop at the final door at the end. Unlike the producers' private studios that have an attached padlock with a code, yours is unofficially assigned. Everyone aside from your team knows to steer cleer of it, to always keep it available to you. You aren't expecting anyone inside so you nearly startle when you step in to see a familiar figure behind a piano, jotting down chords.
"Christopher?" You beam, releasing Jack's hand to approach the man who stands from the bench to draw you in for a tight hug. His strong arms wind around your waist, eliciting a loud laugh when he lifts you. "What are you doing here? I thought you left!"
"My new space is still being renovated but Gloria let me in to work in here for old times' sake," he answers, his subtle Australian accent throwing Jack for a spin as he finally recognizes the younger man that's still got you in his arms. He looks up to see Jack and with his arm still around your shoulders, he reaches out to shake his hand. "Hi, I'm Christopher. I used to be Star's main producer."
✧⋆⋆⋆
(ONE YEAR AGO) —
US WEEKLY: IS LOVE IN THE AIR?
JUST WEEKS AFTER HER SPLIT WITH BAZ, THE DIRECTOR OF HER MUSIC VIDEO SERIES, STAR WAS SEEN COZYING UP TO Christopher B, THE MAIN PRODUCER OF HER LAST ALBUM 'SPILLED', AT SANTA MONICA PIER. HAS STAR FOUND SOMEONE NEW AFTER HER TUMULTUOUS AND MESSY BREAKUP?
Star and Christopher had been electric in the studio booth, creating hit after hit that ultimately led to her first Grammy win. In her social media posts, the two have not been shy about their friendship. Fans had taken to twitter and deuxmoi, inputting their own theories of the true nature of their relationship. They've always denied it, especially when Star and Barry "Baz" Blackwell had confirmed their dating status. But now that the couple has split, the world is convinced that Star and Christopher are meant to be.
They'd make a power couple in the music industry. With Star's vocals and enchanting lyrics and Christopher' creative beats and addicting melodies, they would take the world by storm.
Read more about Christopher and his accolades below...
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The grainy photo of you and Christopher had been the most talked about rumor for months that it even entered Jack and Robby's circle of friends. Older musicians that's taken a well-deserved break from the limelight who wouldn't even know how to peruse the rumor mill of today's age of artists and celebrities. He remembered seeing you in that photo, tragically beautiful that even the camera had captured your glassy tear-stained eyes and pouty lips while your head rests on Christopher' broad shoulder while sitting at a high-top counter of a balcony in a restaurant.
This had been before he met you six months later at that bar in West Hollywood, looking all the more frustrated at that notebook you've never been away from until now.
"I'm Jack," he replies and a vindictive, petty part of him enjoys the fact that he's a bit taller than Christopher. And older, a sabotaging voice in his head reminds him. That opens the floodgates in his mind now as he starts to tally up the differences between him and Christopher while you (fortunately) detach yourself from both of them to search for your beloved notebook.
He's taller but Christopher has broader shoulders.
Jack's arms are bigger but Christopher' defined muscles are evident even through the shirt he's got on.
The tallying ends there when you return to his side, your touch anchoring him to the present when your hand curls delicately around his forearm. "I got it," you wave the notebook in your free hand before you're smiling at Christopher again. "Feel free to use this space as long as you need to. Just because you quit doesn't mean you aren't welcome."
Christopher's smile is bright when he nods, gives you another parting kiss to your cheek before giving Jack a genuine pat on the shoulder. No bad blood there and it makes Jack's stomach twist at his own immaturity.
"Nice meeting you," he says instead to make up for his own petty thoughts. The smile you give him is reward enough and he's all too eager to gently tug you to the door. "Good luck with what you're working on."
"Thanks. You two have fun," he says with a little knowing grin to which your cheeks burn.
When you two exit, you get sidetracked when you bump into another fellow artist, leaving his side momentarily to catch up with her as he waits patiently in one of the plush seats. His thumb hovers over the screen as he pulls up your instagram profile, momentarily admiring you before he gives in to sick curiosity and scrolls down. Down, down, down.
Until he stops at the handful of photos of Christopher.
These are old, way back to when the two of you had begun working together for your debut album, but the familiarity between you two makes jealousy twist and writhe in his stomach. That poison pushes him to keep scrolling, hates the way his chest tightens at seeing you with a man your age.
"Jack?"
He lifts his head and almost drops his phone when you approach, standing between his knees that he has to set the gadget down to lightly hold the back of your thighs. "Yeah, sweetheart?"
Your nails scratch along his scalp with a lazy hum, admiring his soft silver curls. "I'm ready to go now. Sorry for stopping so much."
A low chuckle escapes him and the irate jealousy that had been simmering dissipates completely beneath your touch. "You're fine, superstar. You want to stop somewhere to eat before we head home?" He kisses your stomach, sets his chin right above your belly button to smile up at you.
"Can we just stop at in n out?" You ask sweetly, nails scratching along his jaw before bending down to capture his lips in a sweet kiss.
"Mm, sure, baby—" he murmurs against your mouth, realizing that this may be the first kiss you've shared in public when the sun's still up. You must've had the same realization because you let out a quiet squeak, pulling away to hide your face into the top of his hair. He chuckles and lightly pats your ass before he gets to his feet. "Come on. Time to feed my girl."
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TMZ — BREAKING NEWS: GREEDY STAR.
NOT ONLY HAS STAR BEEN SEEN WITH JACK ABBOT OUT ON THE STREETS OF LOS ANGELES, BUT IT LOOKS LIKE SHE'S GOT CAUGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF A LOVE TRIANGLE? A SOURCE HAS SENT IN THE PHOTO BELOW OF STAR STEPPING OUT OF A JEWELRY STORE WITH A GIFT IN HAND WITH NO JACK IN SIGHT.
—
US WEEKLY — THREE… ISN'T A CROWD?
STAR WAS SEEN TODAY AT RODEO DRIVE WITH NOT ONE INFAMOUS MUSICIAN… BUT TWO. SHE WAS EXITING VAN CLEEF AT RODEO DRIVE WITH JACK AND ROBBY IN TOW, HOLDING A JEWELRY BOX. LUCKY GIRL!
Anonymous_User01 : can yall PLEASE get a grip??? robby and star are friends, she's obviously dating jack—
Anonymous_User02 replied : that old man is yearning, look at how he looks at her???
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Baran isn't the most pleased when she sees that your first public outing had included Robby, confusing the masses at who exactly you were dating. Although the slut-shaming and the all-around disparaging theories about who you spread your legs for had diminished, the confusion isn't exactly aiding the story she had been pushing for you to tell. To remedy this, you tell her that Jack had acquired a heavily-sought after reservation at a two-Michelin star restaurant in Chicago. A perfect date that fits cleanly with some of your other interview or travel plans that are in the city, Jack tags along.
The photos of you two at LAX go viral, too. With both of you half-attempting to maintain anonymity, many still recognize his silver curls peeking out from under a baseball cap and your smile whenever he lowers his head to press a kiss to the top of your hair. Although you've been taught to make sure to be polite without stopping for autographs in case it'll incite crowding and mobbing, Jack hovers when you drop down to one knee when a little girl and her mother approaches for an autograph in the boarding lobby.
You scrawl your autograph onto the napkin the child brought you. "What's your name, sweetheart?" She whispers it to you, her little hands wringing together shyly behind her back. Your heart bleeds with affection. "Angelica? Oh, that's a pretty name!" You add in her name with a heart before handing the napkin back.
"Thank you," she gasps. Shyness flees her body because she tackles you in a hug, nearly toppling you backwards as your hand comes up to pat her back with a soft laugh. Above you, Jack watches fondly, almost sets his hand out to catch you in case the girl does push you over in her excitement. The two of you share a bit of small talk before her mom calls her over and you smile, allowing Jack to help you to your feet as the little girl reluctantly walks back with a giddy wave.
When it's just you two, you glance to see Jack give you a look you can't decipher. "What?" You ask with a soft laugh, feeling a tad bit self conscious. He gives a shake of his head, draws you in by your shoulders to kiss the crown of your head.
"Nothing, sweetheart. Nothing at all."
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Boarding goes smoothly, the flight is uneventful. But landing is a whole other obstacle when it seems someone might've leaked your flight to the local paparazzi of Chicago. You silently thank Cassie for her quick thinking of calling up a security detail that meets you upon landing, creating a tight perimeter for you and Jack until you make it to the car.
The shouts and bright flashing of the camera is avoidable, due to your sunglasses but mainly because of Jack keeping you close. He doesn't let you go until you make it into the car, carefully helped in before he follows behind you.
"Fucking animals," he growls as he slams the door shut, the bright camera flashes dimmed to a low light with how heavy the tint is in the car. You shake your head.
"It's fine, Jack—"
"No, it's not. Do you deal with this every time you travel?"
The question takes you aback; does Jack… not deal with paparazzi? He's one of the biggest names in music, probably always will be. You blink at him a couple times. "Not… to this extent. It's why Cassie makes sure I have security detail wherever I go. Sorry, do you not—"
"In the beginning, yeah. Honestly, Robby and I basked in it but if we told them to back off, they did… baby, you could've gotten hurt."
You give a shrug, unaware that your carelessness to this seemingly common situation is driving Jack up the wall. "Maybe, but I'm fine. I'm more surprised that you don't get mobbed like this. My boundaries are basically nonexistent to the paps."
The truth is, you know why you get hounded more than Jack— or rather, why young women in the industry gets talked over, ignored, mocked whenever they make attempts at maintaining a line or a boundary against paparazzi or the media while men are obeyed without question. But it's a never ending argument and it isn't something you have the bandwidth to discuss after still seeing spots in your vision from all the camera flashes.
"That's not fair," he says anyways as the car continues to drive down the highways. "I know I haven't been present in the public eye since we took that hiatus, but…"
You two sit in silence for a few more minutes and you figure that may be the end of the conversation but he squeezes your hand. He's taken to holding your hand in car rides like these ever since you've been given the go-ahead to make this public.
"I remember Iris once mentioned that the paparazzi were vultures," he says quietly. "By then, we were inseparable and I never got to see that side of it all since I never really let her out of my sight when we were in public like that."
"How could you know? The world's always a little kinder to men, Jack." And there isn't any malice there, nor any trace of resentment, but a sad acceptance as he gives your hand another squeeze. He's spoken about Iris before; you've always revered their relationship, never shied away about the topic of her and only avoided it in the early part of your trysts with Jack to spare his feelings. When he realized you aren't running every time he brings up his late wife, he had felt more comfortable bringing her up with you from that point on.
He grunts in obvious discontent but the conversation ends there when the car stops at the curb of the hotel you two are staying at. There isn't any paparazzi this time around and that relieves the both of you. At least no one knows where you two are staying.
Checking in and your luggage being brought up for you goes smoothly and with the entire day finally settling in, all you're searching for is a hot shower and a warm bed.
But that all goes out the window when his hands find your waist, creeping up your shirt to grope your tits above your bra.
"Jack," you hum but his lips are already on you the moment the door shuts. "Jack— I smell like plane! Let me freshen up." You giggle as he retaliates with a playful groan and a bite to your neck. The older musician sighs dramatically as he releases you to place the 'do not disturb' placard on the outside before he locks it. Meanwhile, you casually strip, leaving a trail of your clothing that leads to the bathroom which you promptly shut.
He's shameless when he leans against the door, knocking lightly. "Baby, don't tease."
Through the door, you can hear how wrecked he is but you bite back a giggle, prancing barefoot to the shower to start up the hot water while making sure the shower chair you requested is in. When the water's hot and ready, you unlock the door and you know you have seconds until Jack is on you.
You're barely opening the shower door when he enters, gently pulling you in and crowding you against the glass to devour you with a searing kiss. His hand finds your wrists, holds them in one grip before lifting it above your head. "Mm, baby… what am I gonna do with you?" He murmurs against your mouth, kissing along your jaw as his free hand explores your chest. Your back arches off the glass, chasing his touch.
"Touch me," you whine and he indulges immediately, kissing you down your neck and collarbone. Your moans flood the bathroom and Jack doesn't hesitate to latch his lips around a pert nipple, tongue lashing against the hard nub while his middle and ring finger strokes your folds. You lift a leg up to take him deeper and soon you're writhing, your lust for Jack always taking him off guard. It's the worst time to be overthinking things, wondering what exactly you see in a washed up old man like him when he's two knuckles deep inside and playing you like an instrument.
"Daddy—!"
The title rocks him out of his haze and his gaze pierces yours, releasing your wrists to cradle your jaw instead. "Yeah? Am I taking too long, baby?" That patronizing, condescending tone… it has you fucking dripping. You can only offer a tiny whimper which he responds with a mean chuckle, his hand lazily pumping his fingers that drags against your walls. Not enough friction.
"God, yesyesyes— please, I need you—"
And to his credit, Jack gives you exactly what you need. He swallows your desperate moans when he removes his fingers to gently push you down to your knees. You've done this before, you know what he needs— you help remove his prosthesis and despite that carnal lust that's rushing through your veins, it's something intimate that he doesn't dare put a name to.
In the rush of the waterfall shower, he's settled into his chair and you're eagerly climbing onto his lap. It's a tad awkward, reaching between to guide his stiffening length into your dripping cunt, but once he's sheathed inside you, you ride him without wasting a second.
It reminds him of that phrase you've muttered the first time he took you to bed, when your age gap had been a slight weight on his conscience: old enough to know what I'm doing, you promised, but young enough to do it well.
His hand travels up your skin slick from the spray of the water, warm and heated beneath his touch. The way his fingers splay out is possessive and your neck bares instinctively. With an indulgent pass across your tits, his hand presses around your neck in the correct positioning, safely squeezing while your eyes roll back in bliss.
"That's it, pretty girl… take what you need," he croons as he tugs you down to kiss along your gasping mouth, smirking against your wet skin when he feels your walls convulse around his cock. "Gonna cum for me, sweetheart? Come on, baby…"
He continues to utter sweet nothings against your mouth as you fall apart on his cock, his own orgasm following after that he doesn't hesitate to finish inside you. As you slump against his chest, he holds you close with a throaty chuckle, his rough hands stroking up and down your spine.
"I got you, sweetheart. I got you."
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Even when high-profile guests have been to The Bear before, you and Jack still garner looks when you two are dropped off by the driver. He steps out first, looking dashing in slacks and a tight button-up that you haven't really been able to keep your hands off of. Your hand slips into his as he helps you out, shielding the way your black cocktail dress rides up as your heels land on the sidewalk. A couple of flashes appear from your peripheral view but you don't shy away from it, just smiling as Jack steps slightly in front of you to give you room to adjust your neckline and hemline.
"Thanks," you hum and he nods, straightening out his shirt before he's offering his arm to you. Your hand slides into the crook of his elbow while holding your clutch against your thigh. A few fans call out your name and you turn instinctively, giving a shy wave before you're entering the restaurant.
The soft ambience of the establishment soothes your raw nerves and with the small party of three in front of you, it lets you gather yourself and pull on the persona of a famous person and not a slightly harried woman in her twenties. There's a subdued hum of conversation from all the other guests already seated, a few shouts and calls from the kitchen whenever the door swings open each time a waiter walks in and out.
"Ah, Mr. Abbot and Miss Star," the maitre d' greets with a personable smile. Despite his sharp suit, his scruffy beard and his bright smile is warm and genuine. "Welcome to The Bear, my name's Richie. You're the, uh… seven o'clock, yes?"
Jack confirms with a nod, dropping your arm so he can wrap his around your waist. "That's right. Are we late?"
"No, no. Right on time, actually—" Richie looks over his shoulder, gives the space a quick scan. You aren't sure what he sees but he must've seen something correct because he taps something on the screen and steps from the podium. "Perfect. If you two will follow me?"
You nod and walk alongside Jack, ignoring the way a few looks follow you both as Richie leads you two to a booth in the far corner of the restaurant for some privacy. It's intimate, illuminated with a candle in the center.
"Gary will be around shortly with drinks."
The evening continues on without a hitch and for a moment, you let yourself enjoy the date with Jack. You try not to think about the fact that this is even happening because of your team's approval, to push a narrative that's meant to promote your upcoming EP. But then you backtrack your own thoughts because it isn't like you're dragging Jack to this restaurant; he likes hanging out with you, enjoys your presence outside of the bedroom… and yet uncertainty poisons your mind as you take another sip of your wine.
"Hey."
Jack reaches across the table to take your hand, running his thumb across your soft skin. Your lashes flutter as you lift your gaze from the tablecloth to him. "Yeah?"
"You alright? You look a little bit lost in your head there…" His crows' feet deepen slightly as he offers you a little smile, his voice soft as though there isn't an audience to perform for. You let yourself have this much at least, this only certainty in the gray space you've found yourself in with Jack.
"Yeah— yeah, I'm okay," you assure him with a smile of your own, lacing your fingers with his. He nods and lifts your hand to kiss your knuckles before his attention snags onto the sweet hearts bracelet dangling off your wrist.
He admires it for a moment. "Robby got good taste."
It feels like a test but you answer as honestly as you can. "It's a red heart bracelet that cost him a thousand dollars. It's an easy choice."
Jack chuckles, mildly pleased and yet a bit unsure as to why jealousy hasn't creeped in yet.
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PEOPLE MAGAZINE — SPOTTED! JACK ABBOT AND STAR COZYING IT UP AT A CANDLELIT DINNER AT MICHELIN STAR RESTAURANT.
STAR SHOWS HER TRUE COLORS AS A CONNOISSEUR FOR FINE DINING WHEN FANS SPOT HER WITH OLDER BEAU, JACK ABBOT, AT THE BEAR IN CHICAGO FOR A ROMANTIC DINNER. MANY WONDER IF FAME HAS CHANGED HER. HOW DID OUR SWEET NATION'S POPSTAR GO FROM IN N OUT COMFORT FOOD TO A MEAL THAT COULD'VE FED HUNDREDS?
IT LOOKS LIKE FAME GOT TO HER IN THE END. EAT THE RICH, RIGHT FOLKS?
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PAGE SIX — JACK ABBOT AND STAR, CONFIRMED?
A SOURCE SHARES THEIR OWN EXPERIENCE MEETING THE COUPLE AT THE BEAR. THEY LOOK 'SORDIDLY IN LOVE' DESPITE NOT RELEASING A CONFIRMING STATEMENT OF THE STATUS OF THEIR RELATIONSHIP.
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TMZ — IS STAR THE NEW IRIS? SEE JACK ABBOT'S DATING HISTORY.
THE TWO WERE SPOTTED AT A ROMANTIC CANDLELIT DINNER IN CHICAGO, SHARING BITES OF DESSERTS AND SUBTLE KISSES.
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THE CUT — DOES STAR HAVE A THING FOR OLDER MEN?
IT LOOKS LIKE JACK ABBOT AND STAR HAVE NO PLANS ON CONCEALING THEIR BUDDING RELATIONSHIP WHEN THEY WERE SEEN AT A RESTAURANT THIS PAST WEEKEND. LOOKING BACK UPON HER LAST RELATIONSHIP WITH BARRY 'BAZ' BLACKWELL, ANOTHER OLDER MAN, MANY SOURCES WONDER IF THIS IS JUST A PATTERN.
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After getting back to Los Angeles a few days later, the two of you are thrust back into your work. Jack and Robby nearly lock themselves in their studio for peak brainstorming sessions while you finish up the dance routines and blocking for your headlining performance at a music festival that's coming up soon.
The packed schedules keep you from seeing Jack but that doesn't stop the news articles and online publications from posting their own hot takes of you two from your date in Chicago. Some of them make you wrinkle your nose at the gigantic leaps but the others just have you skimming past the empty prose, vainly zooming in on the photos taken of you and Jack.
The two of you look good together at least. When a certain name jumps out at you from the screen, you decide to lock your phone and throw yourself back into songwriting.
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Across the city, Robby's sprawled out on the length of the leather couch as Jack hunches over his guitar, grumbling under his breath while re-tuning it again. It's a testament to the years they've worked together that Robby knows better than to interrupt.
Except he comes across a recent article that has him sitting up.
"She dated Barry 'Baz' Blackwell?" Robby blurts out.
Jack frowns as his fingers still against the chords. "The… music video director?"
Robby nods, taps a few things on his screen before handing it over. Jack takes it and he's met with an old article, dated from before he's even met you. It must be early in the relationship, you and Baz. It's a photo of you in the street, dressed down and looking completely at ease while you're hand in hand with the director. It's old, your hair is different here, and yet a wave of jealousy that detonates in Jack's chest nearly has him tossing Robby's phone aside.
Instead he scrolls on, finds another article posted a few months after the last one he went through. This time his chest tightens in heartache. The article has a few blown up photos of you, captured through the glass of a cafe where you've been crying, sweater paws covering your eyes while your lips are down-turned in the way he's seen before when you try to hold back tears.
It's the public breakup, the one that had pushed you to finish the album that had won you your first Grammy.
He doesn't even get through the article before he looks up at Robby, hands his phone back. "Why'd you bring him up?"
His friend pauses and the hesitance there has Jack on edge. "It's fuckin' stupid, you know this—"
"Robby."
"The magazines are making her look like she just goes after older men."
His breath leaves him in a quiet rush. "Jesus."
"Yeah. It's just a stupid article. Don't think about it too much." Jack nods and Robby turns back to his phone but his gaze is elsewhere, his thumb hovering above the screen. "Have you two made it official?"
Jack strums harshly. "Not really our priority right now. Haven't seen her since we landed from Chicago."
"Got it." The abrupt ending nearly topples Jack's concentration, wonders why his best friend won't push the way he usually does, but when he looks up from his guitar, Robby's scrawling away lyrics in his notebook.
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"Missed you."
You look up at Jack as he guides you through the crowded floors of the baseball stadium to your field level seats. The simple two words set off a round of butterflies in your gut and you don't bother hiding your smile. With a ballcap on, you tilt your head up a little higher to meet his eyes.
"Missed you more," you reply as he lets you step down the stairs first until you stop at the row right above the dugout. He pinches your hip lightly, eliciting a sharp squeak from you.
"I doubt it, sweetheart," he chuckles as the two of you take your seats. It's an impressive viewpoint, just a few seats away from behind homeplate. The game's just about to start and you're already surrounded with bigwig CEOs and the few rare fans that splurged on such pricey seats.
"Hey." An unknown voice makes itself known behind you and Jack and when the two of you turn around, you're greeted with a balding man and a young boy beside him, around the age of six. "I'm a huge fan of Nightcrawler, it's amazing to meet you. I'm Dan and this is my boy— Neil. Neil's a huge fan of you, Star."
The man is genuine and your smile matches his; you love meeting fans, true fans that aren't seeking out a quick story to sell. "Nice to meet you two." Jack shares the same sentiment, offering a firm handshake before you offer to sign something of Neil's.
After the ceremonial first pitch, the game begins and you and Jack, unsurprisingly, lock in. As a native Angeleno, you're a die hard fan with Jack tagging along for the ride. Media training is nearly forgotten when you're cheering with the fans and booing at bad calls, huffing when your favorite player hits a popout fly ball that ends the inning too soon.
The entire time, you miss the way Jack steals looks at you.
After an inning, you sigh and slump against your seat, catching his gaze before he promptly looks away. "What?"
He chuckles, the sound sticky sweet, lodging deep in your heart. "Nothing, sweetheart. You're just adorable."
Your cheeks burn but you lean in for a kiss anyways which Jack mirrors before the bills of your caps bump into one another. Another low, amused laugh escapes him and the sound is so husky smooth that a shiver zips down your spine. Jack doesn't hesitate to reach up, removez his hat to place it on backwards. Tufts of silver curls escape in the gap between the hat and the strap and it's so boyishly cute that when you kiss him, it's borderline indecent.
Unfortunately, Jack breaks the kiss and the look he gives you, the way his dark gaze drops to your kiss-bitten lips, tempts you to drag him out of his seat and into the closest bathroom. "Behave," he says instead and the way you nod so sweetly, so pliantly nearly has him groaning lowly.
He rewards you with another kiss to your nose before turning your attention back to the ongoing game. fixing his hat to wear it forwards once more. He chuckles and kisses the top of your hat, feeling the pressure of his lips there. You're just as excitable as before but you're happily tucked in his arms now— you've taken to ignoring the little voice in the back of your head (the one that sounds like Trinity) asking what exactly this is with Jack.
With the game slowly approaching the ninth inning, the sun has set and the lights are on illuminating the field. But it doesn't stop the camera from roving around, capturing families and friends onto the big screen.
"And now for the kiss cam—!" The commentator announces as the crew on the field smooth out the dirt track in between bases. You chuckle as you turn your attention to the giant screen, cooing and awwing alongside Jack when the camera stops at an older couple, giggling when it lands on what looks like a first date of a young couple.
But genuine surprise is written all over your face when you and Jack fill the big screen. Your cheeks burn as he chuckles, a blush on his own features as the crowd around you cheers and chants for him to go in for the kiss.
When his eyes meet yours, you give him a little nod. His smile widens, pretty crows' feet deepening as he repeats the similar movement of placing his hat backwards so he can lean in for a proper kiss.
This one is far more chaste than the last, but just as sweet that it has you smiling against his lips. When you part first, the crowd bursts into 'awwws'.
Later that evening, only positive articles and comments could be seen when you scroll through your social media.
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BREAKING NEWS — ABBOT MADE IT TO FIRST BASE!
AT LAST NIGHT'S DODGERS GAME, MUSICIANS JACK ABBOT AND STAR ATTENDED AND PUT ON A LITTLE SHOW FOR THE CROWD. THEY MADE IT ON THE KISS CAM AND SHOWED OFF A LITTLE LOVING. IS THIS THEM FINALLY MAKING IT OFFICIAL?
—
BUZZFEED PRESENTS: THE PUPPY INTERVIEW, FEAT. STAR!
You sit in the center of a room, dressed comfortably with your attention on the puppies crawling over your lap. The producers behind the camera see their chance, diving in to slip in a question that you haven't answered outright.
"So is Jack Abbot officially your boyfriend?"
You lift a baby rottweiler, nose brushing against the pup's with an outlandish baby voice: "No comment," you sing-song without making eye contact with the camera.
—
HOT ONES VERSUS: STAR VS TRINITY SANTOS
Trinity picks the card up between you two as you try not to pant like a goddamn dog in heat. The two of you are halfway through the row of impossibly hot wings. When your best friend had asked you to tag along for the press tour of her newest film (the same one you had a song in the soundtrack), you didn't think it would result in you dying with your tongue on fire.
"Truth or dare," Trinity manages to say in between pants. "Answer the question truthfully or eat a death wing: are you and Jack Abbot officially together?"
You maintain eye contact when you grab the next wing and take a brutal bite.
"Jesus—!" Trinity cackles.
—
SETH MEYER AND JACK ABBOT GO DAY DRINKING
Seth is settled behind the bar, smiling widely as he brings out a bottle of tequila and two shotglasses. The bar they're filming in is empty but the light filtering in through the open windows proves that it truly is daytime. It takes a few minutes of conversation to break the ice, discussing new music and the woes of being an older generation with the media, before Seth pours them both a glass.
"So. Dating life… little birdy tells me that you've got a sweetheart," Seth grins as he nudges a shot closer to Jack. A wide smile curves onto his lips, crows feet deepening as he shakes his head. The entire crew is in agreement; Jack Abbot is smitten.
"I plead the fifth."
"Oh come on," Seth laughs. "We saw the photos, the dates… are you two together?"
Jack maintains eye contact when he downs his shot.
—
TWITTER —
PINK LIMOS IS COMING! @.starsbabey — 2m
im not even kidding i just saw star and jack at wholefoods arguing about MATCHA….. something something about not the right consistency. yall i fear they're MARRIED
JACKSTARS GF @.nitecrawlers — 4m
im getting tired of all these official interviews teasing us about JACKSTAR and its just them denying their relationship like???
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The bulbs of the cameras flashing outside are still somehow able to be seen through the tinted windows. It's a bit startling, kicking up the anxiety levels as the car finally rolls to a stop. Your hands are clammy but you fight the urge to wipe them on the velvet dress that's draped artfully onto your frame. Emma, your stylist, would have your head if you ruin her masterpiece. After all, it's her first time styling you for a high profile event rather than Heather, your main stylist who's currently on maternity leave.
"Hey," Jack murmurs beside you in a sharp tuxedo, cutting sharp angles that emphasize his broad shoulders. His hand finds yours and to his credit, doesn't seem to cringe away from your sweaty nerves. "It's just a benefit gala. After we get past the horde, there won't be anymore cameras inside and we'd be home free."
You nod and you see a shadow move outside the window; it has to be your bodyguard, awaiting for the knock from either you or Jack to give the go ahead and open the door. "Yeah, I know. I'll be fine." You take a deep breath and give a nod. "I'm ready."
Jack maintains eye contact for another beat, as if to make sure of it himself, before he knocks twice against the glass. Your bodyguard waits a beat before he opens the door and the roar of the paparazzi calling for yours and Jack's name nearly bowls you over. Fortunately, Jack steps out first and you duck slightly as you step out of the vehicle.
"Star, over here—"
"… us a smile, sweetheart!"
"Look this way—"
But in the midst of the paparazzi are fans of yours, adorning your merch and holding out posters or albums for you to sign. To your slight relief, they're far closer to you than the paparazzi and you release Jack's hand to stop and sign a few items. While your fans beam at you, the cameramen pounce.
Within seconds, you're swarmed and Jack is nowhere to be seen.
You look up and when only strange men and camera flashes, you're proud of yourself of how steady your voice is when you call for him. None can be said the same for Jack who nearly bellows out your name — not your stage name — and strong arms a few men out of his way. When he cuts through the masses, he looks positively livid and the nerves that had been dialed up to eleven since you've been in the car knocks down a few levels. Relief tentatively seeps through your bones as you give a half-hearted goodbye to fans, immediately reaching out which Jack goes for.
"Hey, hey, hey, get the fuck out of my way—" Jack growls as he shoves one last man, his hand enveloping yours and tucking you close. He stands slightly in front, a human shield against the crowd.
One of the camera men had enough gall to try and placate your lover. "Come on, Jack, she's fine, it's alright—"
"Fuck off," he hisses instead, uncaring of the media as you cling to his arm.
With your heart beating at a slower pace, you tug carefully at his suit. "I'm fine, it's okay, I'm fine."
But Jack just nearly hauls you up the steps and into the hotel lobby where security immediately shuts behind the two of you. You hadn't realized how loud the red carpet had been until you're both inside in the silence of the lobby. Your heels click against marble floors as Jack slowly walks you further in.
You can hear the bustling conversations spilling from the open, double doors of the ballroom venue down the hall, but Jack doesn't bring you inside just yet.
"Baby, you're shaking."
Jack gently rubs at both of your exposed arms and you realize he's correct when you look down at your hands. "I think I'm still rattled," you admit quietly and he nods sympathetically, lets his hands travel down to take yours and give a little squeeze. You can still see adrenaline coursing through him, frustration and anger from the event outside that you reach up to cradle his scruffy jaw. "I'm okay."
"The hell you are—"
"Where've you two been?"
Another familiar voice calls out and when you look, it's Robby exiting the ballroom with a touch of confusion and concern. He looks sharp in a suede black tuxedo, his bowtie neat against his collar. "Got swarmed by the paps outside," Jack grunts as his best friend approaches. Your lover still looks a tad bit jittery which he finally acknowledges as he reluctantly lets go of your hands to shake out. "Can you stay with her for a sec? I'm getting her some water."
"'Course," Robby nods and brings a warm hand to your mid-back once he's close enough. The smile he gives you feels like home and your heart rate is finally lowering to something less anxiety-ridden. Jack gives you a careful kiss to your hairline before he stalks off, anger still rolling off of him in waves.
Maybe it's because Jack isn't around that you let yourself fall apart a little, panic seizing your lungs just enough to take a shaky breath — you didn't want him to worry, maybe kick up his protectiveness another level when he'd already looked so livid outside. Robby hears it immediately and turns around to face you, slightly hunkering down to meet your eye level as he holds your cheek.
"Whoa, you alright, sweetheart?"
His sweet concern makes you nod but your lip quivers and you're quick to lift a hand to brush a finger beneath your waterline. Fortunately, no tears fall. "I'm okay. Jack lost me for a second outside and it was scary to just be surrounded," you share quietly. Robby lets out a low, disapproving grunt and soon he's carefully drawing you into his arms.
"Jesus, no wonder he looks pissed," he mutters against the side of your head as you hug Robby back. He squeezes you once before releasing you, but not without letting go of your hands. "You look beautiful, by the way. Don't know what you see in Jack, but he's one lucky son of a bitch."
The sudden compliment shakes a genuine laugh out of you, a smile blooming as you lightly swat his chest. "Flatterer," you tease but Robby catches your wrist and kisses the back of your hand. It silences you as he hums, looking absolutely shameless as he admires your dress.
"You're wearing the bracelet," he murmurs as he releases your hand, his gaze caught upon the red carnellian heart pendant that dangles from your wrist.
"It's pretty," you shrug and before he might've asked to elaborate, Jack returns with an ice-cold bottle of Pellegrino's. He opens the top off, handing it you while he takes your opposite side. "Thanks, baby."
"Don't mention it," he murmurs before taking the half-empty bottle to hand to the employee nearby to dispose. "You ready to go in?"
When you nod, you enter the benefit gala with Jack on your left and Robby on your right. For the entire evening, neither of the men ever leave your side.
thank you so much for reading! as always, likes and reblogs and comments are highly appreciated!
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Reader who cooks for Andrew Pope Cody not as a way to manipulate him with a sense of false care the way Smurf does. When Smurf cooks for her family it’s not out of genuine love and a desire to nurture her loved ones bodies. It is a way to remind them that she provides for them so the least they can do is fall in line for her.
Reader cooks for Pope as a love language. She’s into caring for those she loves. What better way to show that love than by making homemade Italian wedding soup, lasagna, and garlic bread for dinner for no special occasion.
Pope who shovels in the meals even having seconds even when he claims he’s not got much of an appetite.
Reader who learns new recipes and Pope who is happy to try them out
Reader who cooks dinner for Pope and his brothers no one telling Smurf about the dinners. She’d see Reader as competition even more so than she already does.
Pope who has to up his exercise game to combat the extra servings of chili and spaghetti
Pope who feels cared for in the most domestic lovely way possible.
Pope who learns to cook something beyond sandwiches just so he can return the favor for his girlfriend.
cw: inaccurate hospital work probably, shy!fem!reader, mentions of death/blood obviously, yeaner!jack borderline obsessed jack, mentions of his late wife, misunderstanding, reader talks to dead bodies, very isolated reader who’s only friends with trinity cuz i love her…
wordcount:: 6.1k
No doctor in the PTMC liked you—not because of what could be considered as your creepy and quiet demeanor. But because they saw you at the worst point of their career, a time when the hours training and exercises failed them and someone else had paid for it with their life. You’d been everywhere, on every floor and in every department; in every room and operating room, you never left alone though.
No one was safe from your clipboard as you collected signatures along with the recently deceased. You worked indiscriminately with doctors of all expertise from chief attendings to brand new med students, everyone made mistakes and you were there for all of them.
The ED was probably your most visited department, it was where death came up right to the doors and knocked. It was rare anything that went up from the ED ever came back down to you. However that didn't stop you from being met by only frowns or wary looks from the doctors when the elevators doors opened. You didn’t care much; couldn’t care much. No matter what your personality was—they’d never greet you with warmness, how could they? Your presence was an announcement that one of their patients wouldn’t be leaving the hospital feeling better. Your footsteps were the final bell tolls to a patient’s last breath. You didn’t expect warmth because you were the reaper’s cold shadow—whenever death went you followed closely behind.
That was doctors though, the nurses liked you well enough. They enjoyed the calm silence you brought after a coding patient. While the doctors tried to grieve and say a few words begging for forgiveness for their egos, you cleaned the body with a quiet respect. You always said thank you if they helped and told them to go take a walk if they couldn’t. You knew not everyone could bear this weight, the weight you carried on your own. Sometimes you felt like Atlas, holding up the entire world. You felt like it was your sole burden to carry, one that weighted on your shoulders—just heavy enough to make you doubt—but your mind wouldn't let you falter and you carried on regardless because in truth, you wouldn't wish this burden on anyone else. Yes, the ED nurses liked you just fine because they saw the tenseness of you shoulders went they closed the curtain on you and a body, especially Dana.
So when you showed up early for the 8am morning rush on July 4th, Dana and Lena welcomed you with open arms.
“Hey kid, how you holding up?” The blonde woman smiled giving you a hug, you shrugged. Same old, same old.
Lena smiled and looked over her glasses; you had never found yourself on the nightshift so you had never worked directly with her but she loved you all the same. “Well if it isn’t Persephone?” She gently asked as the shorter woman gave you a side hug. The ginger often joked you were softhearted Persephone—Queen of the Underworld alongside Hades. Your lips just curled up as you sat in one of the spinning chairs, much nicer than the one stool in the morgue.
“Awe. The prodigal son returns.” Lena called out. You leaned back waiting for the rush, spinning idly.“Too soon?.” Lena she winced and you turned in curiosity as a Dr. Langdon meekly approached the hub. You’d only heard about him through stories and rumors, never having met him since he left for his 10 month rehab journey.
He shook his head to the two women, before noticing you in the chair behind them; your blue scrubs and lab coat sticking out in the sea of dark gray and black. He sent an awkward wave and you just stared back, you began thinking about what Trinity would say. “Is Robby around?” He cleared his throat and asked the taller charge nurse tapping his fingers on the desk.
“Uh, he's in with a trauma. But if you hurry back, you can catch some of the pass-ons. They're in North,” Dana replied; Langdon thanked her as he left to go find the chief attending.
You went back to spinning; you really couldn’t be concerned with Pitt politics regarding anyone but Trin. As you spun you’d been met eye contact with someone new, someone unfamiliar in gray scrubs, a new nurse. She was cute; two dark curly strands with a dual braids. So symmetrical. You thought to yourself. She looked at you nervously, you tapped Lena’s arm and pointed to the new presence.
Lena turned around curiously, “Hi, hon. How can we help you.” The red haired woman smiled happily; she was always so nice.
“I'm looking for the charge nurse,” the girl murmured softly.
“Oh, well, you found two of 'em. I'm Lena. This is Dana.” Lena motioned to Dana who turned matching Lena’s welcoming smile as she put down the papers she was holding. “And this sweetheart is our morgue technician, a floor down.” The girl’s eyes widened at the mention of the morgue. You didn’t mind, you were used to it.
“Emma Nolan. Nice to meet you three. Uh, I'm a new grad RN here to shadow,” she stammered, holding her hand out to you. You liked her, she tried. You hoped she found her footing soon you thought as you shook her hand.
Dana walked over to Emma, “Welcome to the Pitt, Emma Nolan. Here, let me put some of your stuff behind the desk, and I'll give you a quick tour.” She began removing all of the extra stuff the girl carried from her fanny pack and glitter pens, before giving the girl on a tour.
You turned back to Lena, watched as they went. “What a cute little lamb.” Lena said happily; you nodded in agreement.
Whittaker stuck his head out of South 15, calling your name. “I got a DNR in here.”
You sighed and Lena smiled at your already tired face while you stood up from the comfy chair, entering the room as the other doctors filled out. You nodded to Whittaker in thanks and he stammered out a good morning while guiding out the medical students. You’d prep the body for the viewing room so the family could see off their loved ones, one last time before they left with you.
By the time you’d made it back to your second home, a floor under, with the elder’s belongings. You had created a story for Ethan Bostick, based off his wife you’d seen as you collected the body from the viewing room.
“Let’s get started, Mr. Bostick.” You spoken softly. You’d taken time to remove and polish the gold ring he wore to who you decided was his highschool sweetheart, Evelyn. Putting it back on with gentle care. “I wonder just how long you were together before she’d been diagnosed.”
You’d seen her altered mental state and heard that she was going to be placed in a care facility. You thought it was sweet how they such stuck together even as they grew old. You’d guessed they’d had children but decided they lived cross country; maybe California or Washington. The thought of them waking up to the news made you so sad that you erased the concept completely.
This was your deep dark secret: how you coped with the isolation of the quiet morgue, you actually talked… a lot actually and used their personal items to create stories for people you would never meet; whomever came to your table. You forged tales from past scars that marred the skin or fables from tattoos they had permanently inked onto their person.
You longed for these people to feel something you had never felt—wanted—even in death, you wanted to know about them and learn from them. You wanted their lives to teach you about your own. You began telling the man lying on your table of stories of your grandparents love. You rambled but Mr. Bostick didn’t mind.
After you’d finished, you’d set Mr. Bostick into the storage unit for preservation for when his family came. A cold breeze came out as you shut the door; you shivered before sitting at the table by the entrance. You began logging the body and belongings and preparing it for the funeral home and mortician. It wasn’t long before receiving a call from the ICU about a body that was being transported down to you.
That kept you busy until a motorcycle accident happened and the driver passed in the ED. It was bloody, an open skull fracture Dana explained once you came up into the trauma room.
You took your time with the man, explaining how you had wanted to get a motorcycle once you got out of medical debt. You cleaned the blood and the chains he wore, noting every tattoo and you thought of a story behind each one. “Brenda” would be for his mother and the eyes of a hawk on his bicep were because hawks are his favorite bird. Were. Were his favorite bird. You always did that.
You mentally scolded yourself as you did whatever you could do to make the entire scene more digestible for whoever was coming for him. No one should have to see a loved one like that, mutilated and beaten by life. You knew better—maybe knew the best of how life loved to kick you while you were down. You mentally wished him luck on his new beginning in death.
“I should get my license first, I think.” You spoke as you rolled the man into the viewing room near the stairs. If you had the time, you’d like to get as much as this gravel out before his family came to see him.
You finished cleaning up the body of a Felicia Golding; a VAE that processed too far to be saved in the OR. You gently brushed through her hair that was frazzled from an OR haircap and complimented her jade necklace. You rambled about the protective qualities of jade that many cultures believed in.
You clicked the storage door closed, hoping that the metal door would continue protect in the same fashion of her choice of accessory. Before you could sit, the phone’s shrill sound rang through the quiet room; almost laughing at you for thinking you'd get a moment to yourself.
You sighed softly picking it up, “Morgue.” You spoke.
Dana’s voice rang through the receiver. “Heya, Perse. I have a sister in North 15 wanting to speak to you about the funeral process about our biker. Mind coming up for spring?” She joked chewing gum. You nodded saying you’d be up in a few.
As the elevator opened, Santos’ green eyes widened as you stepped out. “Woah. Hope you’re not here for me, reaper.” You rolled your eyes and shook your head as you began walking with her to the annex. Not a lot of doctors liked you. But Santos did, maybe she liked that you listened well or that you both were socially inept in terms of other doctors.
“Where to? I’ll be your guide.” She joked putting down a tablet. Ever since you’d gone out with her as her designated driver and gotten lost for 20 minutes, she’d known you had a terrible sense of direction. Not a lot of people knew that about you. Especially not in the PTMC.
“South 15.” You mumbled as she nodded as she led you around the hub with practiced ease.
“Can’t believe Langdon’s back.” Santos groaned as she glanced into one of the glass trauma rooms at the taller male.
She’d told you about her awful first day as you two went to go get drinks after a particular hard shift where you had to log three of her patients. She was intrigued after seeing you so much, by you and your quietness, and asked you to grab a drink with her; joking it was an apology to her. You didn’t mind. You rarely went to go get drinks—and had never went with a coworker before. You liked her, she gossiped well and acknowledged you with something other than disgust.
“And I’m on both the new attending’s and Garcia’s shit list.” The woman ranted as the two of you arrived at a door labeled 15. She could read your shocked expression at her words. “I’ll tell you later, have to catch up on my charting.” She knew you weren't one for speaking but still wanted to take advantage of the kind heart she knew you had deep down.
“Can we finally karaoke today.” She begged, she’d been begging for a while. You always just shook your head—what would you do at a karaoke bar? Sit there and stare at Santos, along with various other strangers, scream badly into a microphone?
But this time you just shrugged, she smiled at that. “Okay. I’m gonna go ask Whittaker.”
You turned to the door opening it and pulling back the curtain, expecting to see a teary eyed sister to the man in the viewing room. Instead you were met with the wide back decorated with a small wound on his shoulder which was covered in dried blood. The owner was a white male in his 50s backed up with his salt and pepper curls that adorned the top of his head.
His head flicked back over his shoulder at you; his grey eyes meeting yours in confusion as you exposed his injured back to the outside world. His brows raised in surprise, causing his wrinkles to fold deeper in on themselves as he finished removing his shirt. A frown graced his face, bashfully trying to hide his pecs behind his shirt as he turned around. He opened his mouth to say something, but when he realized you weren’t a med student or any of his peers he’d come to recognized—no, your pretty face was much better than any of those things—he just shut it and sat on the bed feigning nonchalance.
You brushed him off and looked around for the woman. He raised an eyebrow as you ignored him; he watched your figure as you searched the room. “Looking for someone?” His voice was a husky rasp, one you hadn’t heard before. It scratched that part of your brain just right and made you want to melt. You willed yourself to respond instead.
“I have a family member of a patient waiting on me.” You murmured softly.
“Room was empty.” He spoke as he began opening a pack of medical tape. You bit your lip in confusion; had you misremembered what room? He glanced at your expression, noticing the piece of lip you tried to push down with your teeth.
You refocused on the man in front of you. “What happened to your shoulder?” You wondered gently as he started to separate some pieces of the tape.
“Was shot at while I was volunteering for a SWAT team.” He tried to shrug off your worry but only winced at the tension on his shoulder.
Whatever answer you were expecting; it wasn’t that. Your mouth gasped open but no sound came out. He just let out a wry chuckle at your face. “I’m fine.” He tried to assure as he squeezed out some antiseptic for his wound.
When your face showed no change, he continued. “I'm a doctor here. Doctor Abbot.” He inserted a long Q tip into the medicine and attempted to reach over his shoulder with his other arm to dab the wound. You didn’t react and turned to check out the window for any signs of the woman who wanted to talk to but saw nothing but chaos. You really hated being up here instead of the quietness of the morgue. The man just raised an eyebrow at your silence and pouted. Whoever you were; you were weird.
When you turned back to the quiet of your room, the man’s bicep flexed the stretch showcasing his freckles and perfectly pale skin. You think you would've drooled a little if you were anywhere else but you weren’t just anywhere; you were at work. You internally sighed at the thought.
You watched him as he attempted to clean his wound again, clicking his tongue as he failed. He looked back at the wound—almost as if to check if it was still there—you just stared, waiting for him to ask for help like normal people did. When the stubborn old man didn’t, you just rolled your eyes as you grabbed a pair of blue nitrile gloves and took the Q tip from his hands. His thick fingers brushed against yours and you noticed a ring on his finger. Lucky wife.
“What’re you doing,” he gruffly pouted as you disappeared from his vision. You were pretty and Abbot liked to stare at pretty things like you while he worked. He waited for a response but didn’t hear anything; instead he just felt the gently cotton rub at his back. He pouted even deeper at your lack of conversation. Not only could he not see the pretty girl; but he couldn't hear her either, he crossed his arms to sulk, “you listening?”
If you were you didn’t show it, as you took the gauze and medical tape and began taping his now-clean wound shut. Jack was confused by you. Who you were. Why you were up here. Your scrubs at least told him you had a medical license. But the department to which the color coordinated to eluded him. Jack cursed trying to think back on administrative meetings.
Your fingers ran against his warm skin and freckles as you made sure there were no air bubbles. You patted his shoulders silently signaling you were done. He gruffly thanked you, “did good,” he praised you, grabbing his shirt from the end of the bed. This was a teaching hospital after all.
“Thanks. Normally my patients aren't breathing.”
"What?"
Abbot's brows raised so high at your words they might've hit his hairline. He turned around to look at the woman tending to his shoulder but he was just met with a pale blue curtain; he guffawed at how fast you'd had disappeared.
He'd checked around the room but only made eye contact with Robby who raised an eye brow at his friend's lack of a shirt. For a second, Abbot questioned if he imagined the entire thing; imagined you in his desperation. He huffed as he brushed off the silly thought—he could never have come up with the beautiful combination that was your features—before he realized that through your lack of words; you hadn't even given him your name.
“Mr. Channing meet the group; you five will be together for a while.” You said before beginning on the history of accidental first meetings and the importance of first impressions.
“I don’t think it matters how good my first impressions are though. Once I tell people of my job they seemed turned off pretty quick.” You finished, pushing the body in; admiring the work you had done to pick out every single piece of gravel embedded in his leg. You sighed to the group before shutting the door to the fridge with a resounding pop for the door to close.
The recent blackout announcement didn't exactly have you panicking; you'd just have to log the bodies on paper. It was honestly calming and didn't tire your eyes as much as a screen.
"Maybe try talking to living ones as much as you do the dead ones." You heard a voice call out; you tensed up before turning around. Usually no one came down here other than transport techs and the occasional pathology med student who'd come for a body.
What you were met with was an attractive Dr. Abbot watching you with grey eyes; the teasing glint turning them green. He leaned in the doorway, his age evident with the crows feet which crinkled at the ends of his eyes. He had changed into his black scrubs as you looked him over he chuckled blushing slightly at your stare. "You are a very hard woman to find."
He pushed off the doorframe stalking towards you in a similar manner to a lion to a gazelle—if you noticed his predatory stare; you didn't respond. If you were being honest, you didn't even know how to response to any attractive older men who came into your space, much less a coworker who looked like he wanted to devour you. He raised an eyebrow at your quietness and tense form as he began again, "Had me going up to pathology and admin." He listed, jokingly complaining. It was true. He’d spent 20 minutes searching for you when he could've been home getting a nap before his shift.
You couldn't help but crack a small smile at that—the idea of him moving up the floors of the elevator when you were just a staircase beneath him. Abbot tilted his head down to admire at the small joy you graced him with. He didn’t think he’s seen anything as radiant since the death of his wife. It was a different radiant than he was used to; like a murmured sunshine that happened when the sun obscured by clouds. He’d clear the entire sky if it meant he could feel your radiance fully. He let out a small teasing laugh. "That's what gets a smile outta you sweetheart? Me suffering?"
You meekly shook your head trying to hide your smiling bashful face as you went back to work but he followed you, like the Earth following the sun, across the room. You sat down trying to straighten out your cluttered desk; you usually never had guest down here, how embarrassing. Abbot chuckled as he leaned his hip against the desk, watching you fumble your files away.
“Can I help you with something, Dr. Abbot?” You murmured softly tilting your head up at him; it was a mistake. The older man just smiled at the sound of your voice as he crossed his arms as he looked down at you. Your eyes flicked to his flexing bicep—it was beyond big, thick even—littered with freckles of varying shades that pushed against his scrub top. When you glanced back at his scruffy face which was marred with the same beautiful pattern, his lips were curled into a wolfish grin as his eyes followed yours. Fuck. You were caught. You looked back down at your papers, a much more boring sight but safer, you needed to finish these.
“Just wanted to thank you for patching up before I bled out.” Abbot murmured down at you, he watched as your hands tried to find something to do. His hands twitched to remove the nervousness from yours; he almost couldn’t believe they were the same hands that touched him so confidently hours ago. His curiosity gnawed at him to know more sides of you, to ask for more of you.
“That’s okay. You already said thank you.”
Abbot frowned at that. You clearly weren’t getting it. He didn’t know why he even tried to beat around the bush with you. “Do you wanna have dinner?” He cleared his throat, as he watched you almost jump at the request.
Your lips pursed in confusion. He almost wished he could take a picture at the cute furrow of your brows and small scrunch of your nose. You glanced at the hand that was snug in the crevice of his crossed arms, his ring peeking back at you. You shook your head at his request. “I have plans after shift,”
He chuckled, placing a hand on the folder you were about to open. You watched as the ring came into your field of vision again, it was just mocking you now. Temptation with a very steep caveat. “Don’t worry. I work tonight. How ‘bout Wednesday night, I’m off.” He tilted his head down, trying to meet your eyes. He was desperately curious about you.
You sighed, finally looking up at him. He perked up once your eyes met his. He liked having your attention on him, you listening to him. “I’m not that kind of girl, Dr. Abbot.” You explained, straightforward and harshly. His eyebrows raised in confusion at your blunt words. He wasn’t expecting that. A straightforward rejection from a timid woman like you. He think he liked you more after that—proved there was more than meets the eye. He wanted to learn about that more.
Sure he’d been on a few dates and slept around since the death of his wife. But he had never been so outwardly rejected especially by someone who held lingering eyes for him. By someone he’d wanted so bad either. “Too old?” He asked with shameful disappointment.
“Too married.” You spat up glaring up at the stubborn old man. No matter how attractive or flirty a man was—you’d never become a home wrecker. For a person as alone as yourself, you’d grip onto your morals that kept you company in the quietness of night and hold tight. You’d begun your report on Mr. Channing, writing with your favorite black ballpoint pen that glided against the page.
Abbot’s eyebrows raised at your comment, and your strong glare. His mouth created a satisfying ‘o’—you scolded yourself for the thought. He squirmed uncomfortably. “I’m not…. I’m…” Now he was the one who was nervous. “She passed away two years ago.” He softly admitted in the quiet of the morgue; he fiddled with his ring.
Your hand froze on the paper mid sentence, processing his words. He could’ve chucked as he watched your brain load, but he didn’t, just waited patiently.
You glanced up at him. He waited. You looked back. He waited. You looked sorry. He broke, letting out a small smile. “‘S alright, sweetheart. You didn’t know. I respect it.”
Your small sigh in relief had him wanting to do it again. “Could make it up to me though.” He teased, you raised an eyebrow at his tone and mischievous expression.
His smirk could’ve been mistaken for young but it was contrasted by his salt and pepper stubble which mainly shown salt in the dim morgue. “Let me treat you to dinner, for my shoulder.” He requested, almost pleading this time.
You bashfully looked down at your hand which had been slowly lost its grip leaving an unsavory line across the receival of body form. You almost groaned at the thought of starting to over. This was insane. Something you’d read in one of your books or something.
“Please.” His voice was closer now, much closer, close enough you could hear the tenor in his voice. You could hear his vocal cords loosen for a lower pitch. It was softer this time too, as soft as the tone he used to praise you earlier.
You pursed your lips together, willing yourself to make the deathly mistake of looking at him again. Fuck. His eyes. His frown. His brows. The entire sculpt was entirely too good to pass up or look away from. But you should’ve because he was crouched to your level, a hand on the desk as he stared at your profile, waiting for your answer. His expression was more puppy dog than an ED doctor and his eyes bore holes into yours. You theorized he’d beat out a five year old if they competed on who could jut out their bottom lip more.
You couldn’t look away and softly scolded. “I hope you don’t normally do this with women, Dr. Abbot.”
“Jack. And is that a yes?” Jack corrected before smiling and standing to his full height. He was already satisfied with what he’d knew the answer would be.
“Don’t be late.”
You spoke curtly; holding your hand out for his phone. He handed it to you from his scrub pocket with no qualms. You thought it was ridiculous. Both his lack of a password and the situation at hand as you opened up his phone. He watched with a smugness of a dog who had been rewarded extra treats as you put your name and number in.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“You’re joking.”
“I wish.”
“You have a date with my nightshift attending.” Trinity gaped at you as she shredded her paper charts after she’d spent her time digitizing them. You had long since finished logging your patients, handoffs to your nightshift counterpart and came up to wait for her. You’d been avoiding the salt and pepper curls you’d occasionally seen roam the ED halls as you claimed a stool next to Trinity.
Before you could protest it wasn't a date, another doctor came to sit down at the end desk, Dr. King, you think. You didn’t have to collect her signature her much. She wore her heart on her sleeve as she carried a prominent frown on her face and sighed as she sat. “What's wrong with you, Malfeasance?” Trinity asked as she picked up her dictaphone to begin her charting. You hit her playfully at the nickname and she just rolled her eyes at your softness, you two complimented each other like that.
“I have to do another deposition.” The blonde softly admitted. The both of you winced. While as a morgue attendant you were almost never named in a deposition, you’d worked with some that were and never spoke of the experience fondly.
Trinity straightened her back and groaned at the thought. “Oh, that sucks. You must have really messed up.” You hit her again when you saw the girls face drop further at your friend’s words. Trinity leaned in, “Dude, I'm joking. You gotta lighten up. It's all just bullshit.” She motioned waving her arm around, dictaphone in hand. You nodded along encouragingly. Based on how little you’ve seen of her you could only guess Dr. King was an amazing doctor.
“God, you know what? Fuck all this. Do you want to go get a drink?” Trinity’s voice groaned. She was getting fed up with it. Probably has since she clocked in. You were honestly impressed she made it this far.
Dr. King looked around for who Trinity was talking to. When she made eye contact with you, you just looked at her. She wasn’t talking to you. “Me?” The doctor murmured out questioningly pointing to herself. You nodded.
Trinity glanced at her, “Yes, you. You--you do go out, don't you?”
“Well, I'm usually with Becca.”
“Well, bring her along.” Trinity shrugged before making eye contact with you, a gleam came to her exhausted emerald eyes. “Can she drive?” You sent her a glare—along with karaoke she’d almost been trying to get you blackout drunk but you’d always used the excuse you were the driver.
“No, and she's with her boyfriend.”
“OK. Becca.” You and Trinity’s eyebrows raised at that. Damn. Respect. You both nodded in understanding. “So it's just you, me, and the reaper.” She motioned to you. You waved at the worrisome blonde and she gave you a half-smile and wave. It was better than you normally got and considering her situation; it wasn’t so bad. “Do you like karaoke?” Santos asked, testing out the plans you two had cooked up to your new found friend.
“You guys do karaoke?” Dr. King perked up at your friend’s words, her hopeful eyes lighting up. A small smile at the thought came to her face.
You glanced at Trinity as she thought on her choice of words. She puckered her lips in thought to phrase it in a way that wasn’t ridiculous. To be fair this entire day has been ridiculous. “Well, what I do is more like primal scream therapy. And she’s never been.” The brunette pointed to you explaining, you shrugged. Dr. King looked at you thoughtfully. She understood it wasn’t your scene but thought it was nice you’d go on Santos’ insistence.
“There's nothing like getting wasted and just absolutely wailing to shake off a shit show like today.” Trinity continued, her face fell as she thought back on the day. Having her R2 year threatened to be repeated, the doctor who terrorized her from her first day back, and her casual relationship become more casual than relationship, yeah she needed this.
The blonde girl nodded in agreement a smile lighting up her demeanor. “I could use a fun night.” She fiddled with her hands on the desk.
“You and me both, sister.” Trinity said straight faced as she went back to soaking in her charts. During then, you’d gotten to know Melissa, Mel for short, and about her. You introduced yourself and listened to her ramble about her sister Becca who had come in today.
You’d nodded along as you listened before two wide hands met both of your shoulders. You tensed and glanced up in curiosity and were met by a smug face and greying eyes that glinted with pleasure down at you. Jack. You relaxed and his smile widened as he felt the knots almost dissipate at his touch. “Thought you had plans.” He accused playfully, you pointed to Santos and she raised her hand at the same time.
“I’m plans.”
“Oh.” Jack nodded in an understanding way. “I actually have a patient for you.” He clapped your shoulders, signaling for you to stand. You raised an eyebrow but did so and he smirked at your wordless obedience as you two began walking.
Once you two were out of earshot, he began to tease again. “Didn’t realize I wasn’t the only ED doctor after you,”
“I thought you had a patient.”
“I do. Just tell me who else you’re seeing outside the ER.” Jack gave you a cocky smile.
You rolled your eyes. “We haven’t even had our date yet and you’re already jealous?” You asked, you weren’t oblivious his arm brushing against yours as you two walked down the hall.
Jack just chuckled as he heard your voice chew him out. He wanted to hear it more, more than anything else in this hospital. He’d note in his mind that you remained quiet unless given a reason to speak—a reason like a begging and jealous man. Yeah. Jack could be that. He’d be that in a heartbeat. "It's a date?" He pointed out happily. You tensed at your own words; realizing you had been caught.
“For your information, Trinity is the only person I hang out with that is medically certified. Now your patient?” You huffed up at him. He just frowned when you wanted to focus on work… at work and clicked his tongue as he led you to a central room.
Jack pulled back the curtain to the central room, revealing an elderly man dead in a wheelchair. You raised an eyebrow to him at the unorthodox presentation. “Had two doctors pick him up in the waiting room. They swear that he’s been here since their shift change.”
“So what?”
“So, he died during the day and is a dayshift patient and you need to take him down to the morgue.”
“Jack.”
“Hm?” He smirked at your deadpans expression.
“I love my job.” You started simply, as you began to commit each wrinkle that creased in confusion when you leaned in. You had begun to see through him, had begun to unravel the mystery of Dr. Jack Abbot—it was much easier when they talked and you had more than what was on their person. You noticed the twinkle in his eyes that reveled in your attention. He called you over just to talk and out of some small petty jealousy.
His breathing paused as your chest met his. In this game of chicken, Jack wasn’t so sure he’d win now; wasn’t sure if he wanted to either. “Don’t make me hate it by being an old man’s escort.” You finished bluntly. The older man's frozen expression turned one into snugness as he registered your words and the irony behind them.
“You talking about me?”
You shrugged innocently. “You said it. Not me. Get a transport tech.” you called out as you turned on your heels, to return to your spot by Trinity. Jack just watched you with an impressed awe as you left. His eyes shamelessly ran over your body as you left—he took mental notes of the jewelry you liked and the casual clothes you wore—and the curve of your ass in your jeans.
Did you know you carried a piece of his heart as you turned the corner? He loved it, every time you let out one of your quips today. Every rose had it's thorns and despite your beauty and timid nature it was clear you weren't afraid to draw blood. He wanted to savor each comeback, keep it in jar he could look back at when the dark nights got too dark.
From the three times you’d saw him today, it was like flint and steel rubbing against each other. His steel metal heart, that had long since been ignited, knocked against your equally harsh flint words. It created small shavings that oxidized and sparked a deep-seated fire within him.
author’s note: hiiiii everyone!!!! here is my rendition on the morgue technician + the one to patch up jack! according to my research morgues at hospitals are really only for storage until the funeral home + mortician can get to it!! but the PTMC doesn’t actually have a morgue and uses an offsite one! so a lot of this was fictional and based off research! this reader is actually inspired by ducky from ncis…. hehe anyways… the enforcer!reader is almost done I PROMISE ITS NEXT!!!!!!! okay kia out…. 🤤🤤🤤🤤
pope who holds your hips down and eats you out for hours. pulling up for air only to press kisses to your inner thighs, sucking dark marks before diving back in. he’s basically making out with your pussy, moaning into it as his hips buck up into nothing because he’s getting so desperate for you.
pope cody who’s a little shy to intimacy with you at first. not because he didn’t want it, he desperately wanted it but because he was scared of messing things up. (of going too fast, too slow, not having a rhythm, cumming early, anything!)
pope cody who’s a freak—borderline perverted! while he was a little shy at first, after the first three times or so, after you promising him it feels good and he’s doing perfect, he let’s go. he brings every fantasy he’s had of you to life. he’s grabbing, pushing, pulling, bouncing, pinching, rubbing, grunting, moaning, commanding, begging, above, below, everything and everywhere all at once. his hands are on you at every given moment, and when they aren’t he’s imaging they are with his hand on his cock.
pope cody who’s not hard to please during sex. he likes what you like. he gets off to the thought of making you feel good. of knowing he’s the only one who could make you feel this good.
pope cody who’s not too good for public sex. he’ll take you in public restrooms, holding your body up as he stands and bounces you on his cock. he’ll have you ride him in the drivers seat of his truck, parked behind deran’s bar. he only refuses to have you on something dirty or let anyone else see your body. you’re his girl. but he does love teasing you about it. ‘look at you taking it so well, sweetheart. you like the idea of someone catching you like this? all dumbed out on my cock?’
pope cody who always interlaces his finger with yours when slipping it in. he’s obsessed with the feeling of your grip tightening as he pushes himself deeper and deeper inside of you.
pope cody who loves calling you bunny as you bounce on his cock. there y’go. hop on it, bunny. don’t stop. that being said, he’s also such a needy puppy sometimes, thrusting up into you until you fall forward onto his chest. ‘m sorry, bunny. i just need it so bad and you weren’t bouncing fast enough.
author’s note: here’s this little thing while i’m working on all your prompt requests. i’m halfway through writing the first one so be on the lookout for that! and lmk if there are any other characters you want me to write my headcannons for
Coming home with Jack from your shift and talking to him about the 'crazy stuff' that happened to you during the shift, even though he literally is your attending and was with you most of the time during the events you enthusiastically tell him.
"And oh my god, you won't believe what happened."
He's on the bed, already having changed out of his scrubs long ago, while you just stood there in your underwear, hairbrush long forgotten in your hand as you spoke and spoke, which shouldn't be normal considering you just came home from a 12 hour long night shift with maybe one to two hours of overtime on top.
He just looks up at you as he's taking off his prosthetic.
"Robby just... came up to me, and I don't know..Maybe I was just reading the room wrong." You turn around and brush through your messy hair before putting it away and pulling on a shirt over your head.
"What happened?" His lips quirk up into a smile.
"I don't know, I guess-" You sigh and get into your side of the bed. "He slapped my ass at handoff." At that, he turns his head to look at you, brows raised high.
"Robby. He gave you a love tap?" His mouth opens, and he lets out a grunt as he settles back against the headboard, pulling the blanket over his lap.
"I know." Your eyes light up as you see his interest pick up.
"I thought it was you at first. I was standing by the nurses' station, just handed off and then- smack." You clap your hands together.
"I even reached back to pinch your arm. When I turned around, you were talking to a patient, and only he was around."
Jack acts shocked, nodding along as you, his girl, talk about how Robby, his best friend of years, unironically smacked your ass in the middle of the ED while no one was around to watch.
In reality, it was Jack who had put the idea in Robby's head.
"Go ahead, man. See how she reacts. I'm telling you, I see how she looks at you. It's like she's got this curiosity to test her way through it all. She's just curious like that."
"Brother, are you sure? You've got something steady going on, and I don't want to get in between a man and his young girl at his side." Robby looks at him with a slight smirk.
"Come on. If I wasn't okay with it, I wouldn't tell you to go ahead and touch her how you like to get a reaction out of her."
"What do you even want me to do? Shove my hand into her pants in the middle of the hospital?"
"Jesus, just... just give her a love tap, you know? Smack her ass. She likes that. Don't hold back."
Robby wheezes out a laugh, almost brushes it off as he walks off.
Jack didn't know he was actually gonna take a go at it, but clearly now, he had.
"You sure he didn't just do it in a friendly way?"
"Jack, what about smacking my ass is friendly? And no. It wasn't a normal little pat. It stung."
He quirks a brow.
"It did? Want me to see if you've got a brui-"
"You are way too okay with this, Jackie. I'm telling you, Robby-" your voice rises in frustration. Why wasn't he mad that his best friend of all people touched you?
"Yeah, yeah. He smacked you, we get it. Maybe he likes you. Did you consider that?" He cocks his head.
"What? No. He knows about us. He wouldn't make a move." You shake your head, convinced of yourself with no doubt.
"Sweetheart, being together with someone doesn't make someone immediately unavailable." His voice is low and throaty.
"You're saying I'm available?"
He scratches the back of his neck.
"We are available." He shrugs. "If you want."
You blink a few times, hold one hand to your mouth.
"I trust Robby. He's a good man. Know he's a good lover. Really good. We should try it out, if you want, of course."
"It meaning Robby." You add with a sigh.
"It's like he's everywhere already, now you're suggesting we should invite him to our bed?"
"What, you don't like him? Not at all?"
"Well.." you avoid his eyes, scratching at your ear.
"Right. You just say the words, baby. I see how you look at him. I don't mind, trust me. We can try out some new things, keep it fresh and exciting. Don't want to bore you out, baby. That's all."
And rest be assured the next time you end up pleasing your curiosity juuust right, or rather it gets settled just for you by the two attendings fucking into you like some mission to see who cums first.
Best friends and their childish competitions also go all the way through sex, apparently also while staring each other in the eyes intensely.
☼︎ 1.5 k celebration fic for... jack abbot ☼︎ based on this ask ☼︎
summary ☼︎ work has kept you and jack apart for much longer than he cares for. his solution when he gets fed up is to suggest a night of relaxation and an edible gummy that will help you de-stress. oh! and make you super horny. but that's deeefinitely not why he bought it for you though!!
cw ☼︎ MDNI !!!! afab!reader with nickname 'baby', established relationship, light manipulation/coercion by jack, thc edible consumption, reader gets high, thigh riding, hand job, f! and m! orgasms
wc ☼︎ 1.3 k
"and you're sure it'll help me relax jackie?" you blink at your boyfriend who sits opposite you on the couch.
jack nods, an easy smile on his face, "positive baby. you've been too stressed lately, 's not good for ya. the gummy'll help."
"but—" jack shoves the edible in your mouth when you hesitate, tsking condescendingly. "it's medical weed honey. i'm a doctor, medicine is what i do. you trust me don't you?" his raised brow and crossed arms make you feel like there is nothing else you can do but comply and nod. "of course jackie."
he slowly nods as you chew, head going up and down with each work of your jaw. after almost a minute, jack reaches out and grabs your face with a rough command. "swallow."
if he's being honest, jack doesn't actually know if the gummy will help you relax. all he hopes is that it makes you more compliant for him. work has been getting to you lately— long hours, stressful workload and asshole coworkers who pile their shit onto you. the two of you haven't had sex in weeks.
jack's had enough. and he just wants to help! that's why he went to the dispensary to get an edible for you. he's obviously not going to tell you that he hopes it works just like when you get drunk, making you all horny and needy for him. minus the throw up and vodka breath, of course.
and god, does it work like a charm.
it's not even half an hour into the movie the two of you started before jack sees you squirming. he bites back a satisfied chuckle when out of his peripherals he catches you biting your lip and rubbing your thighs together not-so discreetly under the shared blanket. you inch closer and closer to him as the movie fades into the background, all unfocused shapes and colors to you now anyway.
you try to be casual, sliding your arm across his chest and burying your face in his neck, to which jack just hums and wraps his arm around you. you let out a small huff against his skin and he knows its because you're expecting him to make the first move, which up until now he's always done.
what can he say? its real sexy watching you press yourself closer into him with your slow breathing and red eyes.
"comfy baby?" jack muses when you slide yourself over his good leg until you're fully siting on it. instead of giving him an answer, you pull back and your lips part into a small 'o' when you feel the muscles in his thick thigh tense against your pussy that's only covered in tiny sleep shorts. you only manage to grind yourself once before jack grips your hips to stop you.
"whatcha doin?" he asks with a tone that conveys he knows exactly what you're doing. you stick out your bottom lip and grab at his chest, the soft cotton feels mesmerizing under your hyper conscious hands. you slowly blink at him as you wiggle your hips, "feels good jackie. l-let me please?"
is it sex? no. but jack would never pass up the opportunity to watch yourself use any part of him to get off. he gentles his hands at your sides and hums a low "'course baby." a goofy smile lights up your face at his go ahead and you resume rocking your hips against him.
your head tips back and a loud moan spills from your tipped up lips. jacks aged eyes widen, but he doesn't let any other part of him give up his surprise at your display. you've never been so noisy before, and especially not from some light dry humping on a part of jack that's not even sexual. meaning you must be super high, but fuck, if it isn't a pretty sight for jack to watch.
he makes no move to push you for a kiss or anything else in return, in fear of ruining your high or pushing you too far, so he keeps his hands at your hips and gently guides you when you get a little too floaty.
you go on for a few minutes like this, grinding against his thigh with your face cutely scrunched in focus, whimpers falling free from your mouth and the wet patch on his sweatpants slowly spreading beneath you. jack is painfully hard as your mumbles of his name turn barely coherent. the seam of your shorts catching onto your buzzing clit over and over again plus the pressure of his hard thigh makes you even more lightheaded.
jack can tell you need more when your shoulders lift and your hips falter, but he's almost confused when your solution is to take one of your hands and wave it around in front of him. he's not quite sure what you want until you whine between moans, "needa feel youuu- please ja-ack please-!" he curses under his breath and thanks whatever higher powers exist when he realizes you want his cock in your hand.
your eyes stay pinched shut as your sensitive body humps his leg, jack has to grip your wrist a little tighter when you start to flail it around desperately, whining as you do. "one second baby- shh shh don't cry. i know i know…" he coos as he tugs his sweatpants and boxers down in one motion to rest under his heavy balls, his cock springing up and slapping against his belly when freed.
your glossy eyes shoot open and your breath hitches when he wraps your soft palm around his throbbing length. he manages to grow even harder when you sigh in satisfaction at the touch, as if getting your hand on him was the one thing that grounded you in this state.
"feels so-so good jackie." is what you whimper, and jack doesn't know if you're talking about the pace of your hips picking up or the languid strokes of your hand on his cock. but he's groaning all the same anyway.
normally, jack would give you some sort of directions when you touch him, but right now, he's completely satisfied to watch you hiccup as your pussy pulses against him while your thumb rubs the pre-cum on his pink tip as if its some sort of sensory toy.
your hand that clutches his shoulder tightens and he can tell you're close when your moans reach a point of abandon you've never surfaced before. the pretty sounds and the way you look as you grind to chase the perfect friction has jack bucking up into your uncoordinated touch.
the thrust presses him even harder to your sensitive cunt and you shriek as you convulse atop him, riding out your high with a faraway look on your face while squeezing his cock in time with the pleasurable waves that overtake you.
jack's coming seconds after you do, coating your hand in his release while groaning your name along with some quiet praises as to not overstimulate you with too much noise. you keep stroking him even after he's finished and is much too sensitive for you to do so, but he lets you because you let him get you high enough to hump his thigh.
your head lolls side to side as you come down, your mouth parted in euphoria, and only when jack whimpers a bit brokenly do you pause your hand and meet his eyes. you instantly shrink a bit, as if realizing what just happened and start to feel embarrassed, but jack leans forward and kisses you lightly before the thought can kill your buzzy headspace.
"thanks jackie." you say adorably through your yawn, sagging onto his chest and burying your face in his neck. your one hand is still haphazardly wrapped around his softening cock as you kiss his skin once and whisper "missed you."
you're passed out before he can even return the sweet sentiment, and thirty seconds later, jack has the dispensary's website pulled up on his phone to see if they do home deliveries.
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