⊹ jack abbot makes you ride him while you finish fighting
warnings: 18+ minors dni! unprotected piv, established relationship, multiple positions ( spooning, prone, cowgirl ) fingering, dirty talk, overstimulation, biting, jack jealousy-bating, jack provoking overandover again, angry sex!!!! lots of name-calling, hair pulling/tugging, light spanking, literally them using sex to take out frustration ⊹ notes: ANDDDDD POST BYE !!!!!! queued her
pettiness was your strong suit. it was – in fact – one of the reasons why jack had fallen for you in the first place, back when it had been aimed at anyone but him. he’d found it utterly delightful, his little menace that could hold grudges like a steel trap. it’d turned on him now.
you’d folded into the far side of the bed, facing the wall, your spine all stiff. you’d stormed in here twenty minutes ago mid-argument and claimed the bed like a fort, and you’d been lobbing grievances over your shoulder ever since, even as jack finished getting ready in the bathroom, even as the water shut off and his footsteps came and went.
“and another thing,” you announced in the direction of the wall. “if it were my work thing, you would not call that a date. you’d call that watching me work. which is what this is. so don’t act like you’re being romantic – ”
“are you done?”
you were, in fact, just getting started. if all went according to plan, you would’ve continued this after the event (you weren’t that petty) and been mad in his ear allllll night long, lullaby-ing him to sleep with a list of all his wrong choices; you would’ve named a problem for every hour in a sweet sing-song voice.
you made your first mistake by glancing over your shoulder at him; shirtless, slacks open and belt dangling, hair still slightly damp, standing in the doorway like he had all the time in the world and no fight to lose.
it was, frankly, a cheap shot to show up looking like that in the middle of an argument you were winning.
he raised a brow, then shook his head before he crossed the room in three long strides and climbed in behind you. his fingers went straight to the hem of the t-shirt you’d put on after finishing your makeup and pulled it over your head. you made a sound of protest, but lifted yourself up just slightly to let him do it. answer enough, you supposed.
he tossed it aside, and his hands were immediately on you, sliding down your ribs until one hand settled on your hip, fingers splaying, while the other dipped lower, cupping the curve of your ass and giving it a squeeze that made you inhale sharply.
“still mad?” he asked, leaning in for his mouth to brush against your shoulder blade. his hand kneaded at your hip, moving to the soft inside of your thigh.
“yes,” you said, but it came out weaker than before. “jack – ”
your words stopped as his hand moved from your hip to your breast, gathering the weight under his palms before his thumb came up to brush against your hardened peak.
“hello? cat got your tongue?” he said through a snort, pulling you flush against him, chin going into the curve of your neck. he ground his hips against you then, letting out a low breath through his mouth. he pushed a fist into the mattress by your ribs, caging you in. “what d’you wanna talk about?”
“i’m serious, jack,” you said, trying to force your voice even. “you wouldn’t call it a date.”
he hummed, fingers shamelessly sliding down as he said, “come on, baby. if you wanna keep talkin’ about this, you gotta do better than that.”
“do better – ” you let your neck turn back to face him, and he immediately tilted his head down, his tongue peeking out as he tried to bite back a grin. “ – my points are good enough.”
he ducked and caught your mouth, teeth nipping at your lip the same second his fingers slid under the lace. he smiled into the kiss, fingers running down your folds. you pulled away immediately, going to face the wall again.
“did this happen when you called me a smug asshole?” he circled the pad of his finger once over your clit, causing you to shudder slightly against him. “or when you decided i’m a liar?”
“jackass,” you muttered.
“real creative.” he shifted behind you, other hand going to shove his slacks further down his hips, freeing his cock. he pulled back slightly, and wrapped his hand around himself, stroking once – twice – before pressing the head of it to the curve of your ass. he exhaled once through his nose, intertwining his fingers through yours and moving them around him.
“i’ve been like this for the last twenty minutes,” he supplied casually, then groaned when your fingers instinctively moved around him.
“i’m still mad at you,” you said, but you were already moving your hand because you did also want him inside you. it’d been too long.
he rocked himself into your hand. “yeah – okay. let’s fix that, too, while we fix this.”
he moved to his side, lining himself up between your thighs before fitting himself in between. his fingers slid down your underwear again, fingers grazing over your folds before pressing down on your clit.
his fingers continued circling, while two others slid lower, the hard line of his cock pressing heavy against your ass each time he rocked forward.
“can’t call this a date,” you muttered, even as your breathing picked up.
“no?” he murmured. “this won’t do?” he nodded absentmindedly behind you, then his fingers came up just to slide down your underwear over the curve of your hips and down your thighs until the lace was sitting at your knees.
“two weeks – missed this,” he muttered, more to himself than you, and immediately pressed back into you, sliding his cock fully between your thighs now, the head of him dragging through your folds with every roll of his hips.
“also, it is a date – i’m takin’ you – ” he said, angling his hips so his head notched against your entrance. “ – as my date.”
“it’s not.” you pushed your hips back against him.
he tutted softly, hand holding the base of him as he pressed his tip against you, just enough to make you feel the pressure of the stretch starting, then pulled back.
“impatient,” he murmured, doing it again.
“we don’t have time,” you shot back. “just put it in – ”
“yes, ma’am,” he breathed out, amused, and angled himself to sink into you with one slow, sharp push. his entire body went rigid the second he bottomed out, a groan rumbling in his chest as the stretch hit you.
a broken sound came out of your throat before you could swallow it, after two weeks of nothing. your walls instinctively clenched around him, and his grip on your hip went bruising-tight.
“fuck, been so empty haven’t you?” his forehead dropped to your shoulder blade. “sorry, sweetheart. forgot you just needed me like this.”
you tried to glare, albeit at the wall, but your hips pushed back to take the last inch of him. “shut up.”
he just laughed softly, already pulling back to go again. “i know i’ve been thinkin’ about this every night.”
your teeth grit together to hold back the moan, your fingers twisted into the sheets as your body clenched around him on instinct, spine arching even while you fought to stay rigid.
“so mad at me – shit, huh?” his fingers came up with some tremor to your shoulders, pulling you into him even further as he slid in. “just ‘cause you missed this, baby? should’ve asked hours ago instead of arguin’ with me about tonight.”
your hips moved back to bury him to the hilt, causing his palm to tighten on your shoulder with a groan. “no, i missed you,” you said sharply. “you, asshole.”
his breath shuddered, and you felt him nod against your skin. “makin’ such sweet words sound so mean.”
he punctuated his words by moving his hand down to your spine and shoving you forward, forcing your chest flat against the mattress. he followed you down, pinning you completely – chest-to-back, hips locked tight against your ass – prone. his knee nudged yours wider, letting him sink even deeper on the next stroke.
he blew out a sharp, deliberate breath into your ear. “can’t run that mouth so easy when i’ve got you like this, can you?”
“are you trying to shut me – ” you started, words coming out into the pillow.
“huh?” he dipped his head to the side to meet your smushed face, brows rising in amusement. his forearms came up to rest at the curve of the back of your neck. “sayin’ something?”
you twisted just enough to glare at him over your shoulder, still trying to form the argument – something about obligations and dates and missing him so much – but the words stayed half-formed when he pointedly drove in particularly deep and your breath left you in a sharp, broken sound.
he watched your face with a small, smug smile, not slowing.
“yeahhh, that’s what i thought,” he muttered and kept fucking you. his mouth brushed the shell of your ear. “poor thing, can’t even finish a sentence. needed this, huh?”
“i did not – ”
“mhm, lying now, too – ” his forearm flexed, fingers coming out to absentmindedly brush your hair out of your face. “thought i was the liar.”
“don’t touch me,” you muttered, turning your face into the pillow again.
“stop squeezing me so tight then,” he said through a rough pant, thrusting up once meanly.
“i’m not kidding – ” you said, firmer now. “it was a – fuck – shit thing for you to do.”
“mhm.”
“i’m not being unreasonable.” you had to grit your teeth together when one of his palm came down to knead the side of your hips. “a date is you and me – your being a shit boyfriend when i haven’t – ”
your words cut off with a sharp gasp as he rolled the two of you in one irritated motion, keeping himself buried as he put you on top. his hands clamped hard on your hips, pushing you down until you were seated fully on his cock.
the sudden shift punched the air from your lungs, and before you could steady yourself, he was already driving up into you.
“jesus, you just can’t let up,” he muttered, eyes locked on where you were taking him. “wanna look at you ride me while you keep running that mouth.”
“getting tired, old man?” you raised a brow.
he shook his head softly, fingers reaching out to rub over your clit.
“old man, shit boyfriend – m’fucking you and letting you argue.” he pressed a harder circle, pausing only to come down on your ass in a sharp slap suddenly, making you gasp. “giving you everything you need at once, and i’m a shit boyfriend.”
he reached out to press his palm flat just below your navel.
“can’t take me on a date – ” you used his chest to pull yourself up, then come down, “ – though.”
his eyes flicked up to your face with a small, strained smirk as his fingers pressed down firmer on your stomach.
“it is a date,” he said, as he drove up hard to meet you on the next downward slide. his other palm flexed on your hip to keep you down as he pushed up even further. “fuckin’ – nice event. you. me. dressed up.” he took in a sharp breath through gritted teeth as your nails dug into his chest. “sounds like a damn date to me.”
“it’s work,” you shot back. “you’re just calling it a date so you don’t have to feel bad about cancelling.”
“i didn’t cancel – anything.” his hand came up to push into your hair, pulling your face closer. “i invited you. you want me to leave you home, huh?” his jaw was tight as he tugged your hair back slightly. “things happen. plans change.”
“i don’t want to watch you work, i want to spend time with you,” you managed, surprised by how even your voice came out, considering.
“christ – ” he used the grip on your hair to keep you close, foreheads nearly touching. “actin’ like i signed us up for a week in the desert. it’s dinner. you don’t wanna go?”
he leaned to press your forehead against his. “don’t. imagine alllll the women who’ll try to talk to me, huh?”
“asshole,” you breathed out, nails digging into his shoulders now as you lifted and dropped again. “asshole.”
he snorted through his nose, tugging once on your hair before letting go, leaning back down onto the pillow. “keep ‘em coming, baby. keep punishin’ me for havin’ a job while you’re sittin’ on my cock.”
his hand went to your thigh, spreading on wider so he could push up even deeper.
“you want time with me?” he muttered. “this is time. right now. i’m in you. you’re on me, and you’re still finding ways to be pissed.”
he tilted his chin to catch your lips between his teeth. “you want me to yourself at dinner? i’ll fuck you in the bathroom if you want that, too.”
“this isn’t the same and you know it.”
“isn’t it?” he sat up further, both arms going around your back so your chests were flush. “because from where i’m at, i’ve got my girl riding me, calling me names, and still taking inch like she’s been starving for it. feels pretty damn close to spending time together.”
“principle – ” you tried to say, words cutting off as your hands got distracted to tug at the short hairs at the nape of his neck harshly.
“principle’s pretty shit when i can feel you’re close,” he murmured, mouth brushing yours.
“yeahhh,” he breathed out, feeling you clench on him as your thighs started to shake. “we’ve got ten minutes and if you wanna finish this fight, you finish it on my cock.”
“won’t make it better,” you said through gritted teeth, trying to push through the building pressure – chasing it, pushing it away. “you still – jack – made this whole thing about you – ”
your sentence broke off into a sharp, helpless moan as the orgasm crashed into you. jack didn’t let up, if anything he held you down tighter, hips rutting up against you as you came.
his eyes were trained to your face, pupils thoroughly darkened. “aw, i’m sorry,” he cooed, fingers coming up to brush the hair off your face. “you were in the middle of tellin’ me off. don’t let me interrupt you.”
you opened your mouth to keep going, voice still shaky, and jack’s arms slid up your back to pull you down flush against his chest, crushing you into him so your face was buried in his chest.
“please finish what you were saying,” he muttered against your ear, one forearm caging you in. he let out a soft snort when you only whimpered, then added, “i’ll help. you were saying i was making this whole thing about myself.”
“you always – always do this. make everything about you and then act like i’m being difficult,” you – well, lied.
jack groaned low at your words, only spurred on even more.
“i do? y’really think so?” he mused, almost conversationally. his hand slipped between you, fingers finding your clit and pressing there, holding the pressure while driving up in one-timed strokes that made you gasp. “i make everything about me?”
“you do – ” you started, but the words dissolved when he pressed his palm flat against your lower belly, the pressure from both angles sudden and overwhelming, making everything tighten impossibly.
you groaned into his neck, and he tilted his face to the side to press his lips along your hairline.
“yeahhh, clearly i do.” he pressed a kiss to your ear, almost tender. “it’ll make me feel better to know you’re sittin’ all mad throughout the dinner you don’t wanna go to filled with me.”
You’d been presenting a case to Dr. Abbot, standing next to where he sat at one of the computers in the hub when Santos had ambushed you. The two of you had been jokingly asking the question back and forth for the past week. It shouldn’t have been funny, but when you’re running on 6 hours of sleep, Red Bull, and all the craziness that a major metropolitan ED has to offer, it seemed hilarious.
Your mouth had opened before your exhausted brain had a chance to apply a filter, but your hand had slapped over your lips as soon as your answer had snuck out. To your surprise, Abbot seemed to have suffered the same fate.
Santos made a strangled noise, clearly not having seen him around your body or expected him to answer. She scurried off without another word, leaving you and Dr. Abbot to stare at each other, wide eyed and blushing.
“I…” Your words failed you. What the hell were you supposed to say to him now?
He cleared his throat, a hand scrubbing over his face. Both of you were at a loss for words.
Desperately, you tried not to think about Dr. Abbot appreciating tits. You were definitely not thinking about his big hands and strong fingers kneading and squeezing breasts. How his lips might look sucking marks onto your skin were most certainly not on your mind.
The next 30 minutes passed in a blur, and if someone were to ask you how exactly you ended up in Jack Abbot’s house, sitting on his lap with both of your tops on the floor, you wouldn’t have a good answer. But here you both were, groping each other's chests while your tongues tangled.
Your hands smoothed over the skin of his pecs, letting your nails scrap over the skin. Given that he was so pale, thin red lines appeared instantly. He shivered beneath you.
His fingers were rolling your nipples, tugging slightly and smiling into the kiss when you pressed further into him.
“God,” he pulled back from your mouth, leaning back to get a good look at you. “These are fucking incredible.”
Jack’s head dipped down to kiss gently over the skin before he was latching his lips around your nipple. He sucked and you keened. Your hips rolled against his when his teeth teased the bud into a firm peak.
“Fuck,” you bit down on your lip to muffle your more obscene noises, but your hand wove into his curls to hold him in place.
“S’that good?” He swapped, moving to give your other breast the same treatment.
“So good,” you tugged at his hair, not enough to pull him away, but just enough to feel him groan into your skin. He thrust up against you, grinding the trapped length of his erection right between your legs.
“Can’t wait to watch these bounce when you ride me,” he released your breast to admire his work. Your nipples were tight and hard, shining with his saliva in the low light of the sunrise. He looked downright starving as he watched them shift with every breath you took.
You smiled, tugging gently at his hair again before sliding out of his lap to stand in front of him. Your thumbs hooked in the waistband of your pants and underwear. “Then what are you waiting for?”
i'll never stop talking about trinity santos genuinely a god-tier character. craves connection and camaraderie but is clueless about how to build it so tries to brute-force it. funniest person in the er. pigeonholed as mean and cynical but is incredibly empathetic and perceptive. generous to a fault. scared the shit out of a child molester. offered to share her home with a guy she just met and thought was kind of annoying, just because he had nowhere else to go. got caught losing the idgaf war and crashed the fuck out. too invested in her situationship. puts her whole pussy into karaoke night. they could never make me hate you
a/n: sorry, y’all the brain worms got to me. had a vision of trying to be playful about the whole doctor role play thing and jack being like. no no you started this, and I’m finishing it. i hope you enjoy it!
credits: gif credits to @/frankslangdons and divider by @robinavitchslut <3
The long night was finally giving way to day, the sun just barely peeking its head over the horizon. It was somewhere around 5AM–in that in-between post-3AM insanity, but pre-morning rush lull. The emergency department was precariously balanced on a knife's edge, one minor inconvenience, or trauma, from tipping back into full on chaos. You were almost at the finish line, the end in sight so long as nothing catastrophic happened.
As it stood, the night had been rough enough–mainly due to the sheer volume of patients you'd seen over the past 11 hours. Food poisoning from a family reunion rolled in shortly after the shift began, followed by alcohol poisoning from a bachelorette party, then a drunken bar fight that continued into the ER, where security had to separate two grown men who were arguing over which sports team had the better logo.
Barely an hour ago, three codes simultaneously racked the department, tying up almost every doctor and nurse and leaving the department in a bit of a frenzy. Two of the codes resolved themselves fairly quickly, but the one you were working on, a pediatric cardiac arrest, lasted nearly two hours. All three patients survived, thankfully, but you were still coming down from the adrenaline rush, your heart still ticking a beat too fast.
The supply closet was a welcome reprieve from the endless chatter and beeping of the ED, the mundane task of restocking crash carts a soothing balm to your overworked mind and muscles. You were still catching your breath as you assessed the carts, taking note of what needed to be refilled and what was already well stocked.
Boots scuffed across the linoleum in the hallway beyond, eventually stopping at the open door. A second later the metallic click of the latch rang through the small closet as the door closed.
You were plucking vials of epinephrine off the shelf in front of you when a familiar presence makes itself at home at your back, large hands falling to your hips with a quick squeeze. A fond smile crossed your lips and you eased into your boyfriend's warm embrace, letting your head fall against his shoulder.
"You did good back there," Jack said, pressing a kiss to your temple and smoothing his hands up and down your sides. His hands were warm, even through your scrubs and undershirt, and you could already feel your heart rate slowing, syncing in time with his.
"So did you, that little girl's lucky she had such a good doctor working on her," you said, turning around in his hold and leaning back against the shelving unit. Every time you saw Jack felt like the first, cheeks heating and butterflies erupting at the sight of him. His hazel eyes were tired, but no less beautiful than they always were; the lines around his eyes a little more pronounced than usual, the night taking its toll in the contours of his face.
Your fingers brushed against his warm skin, tracing the sun-worn lines along his neck, the freckles dotted between them creating the most beautiful constellations. It was hard to believe sometimes that you called this man yours, that he looked at you with such reverence and adoration.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, "Which reminds me, we have a serious problem," you said, schooling your face into a serious expression, eyes hard and lips slightly down turned.
"Oh yeah? And what would that be?" he asked with a wry smile, knowing that he was going to be drawn into one of your shenanigans again. Not that he minded, he usually benefited from them. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips, slow and sweet, his nose brushing your cheek as he deepened the kiss.
You relented for a moment, sinking into the kiss. Your nails scratched through the curls at the base of his neck eliciting a purr-like noise from him. You grinned into the kiss then pushed him back slightly before he could get carried away.
Fixing him with a stern glare, you sighed exaggeratedly, "You're too sexy when you're in doctor mode."
He barked out a laugh that echoed loudly in the too quiet closet and shook his head at you, "That's your serious problem?"
"Yes, I'm serious! It's a problem! I can't be ogling my doctor when I'm supposed to be taking care of patients. It's a real liability issue, could be dangerous for patient care," you said, really trying to sell this problem of yours.
And it was true that he was so fucking hot when he was in the zone, calling out orders, laying out treatment plans–hell, even just watching him teach med students, with that patient but firm tone, correcting where necessary and praising when appropriate, had wetness pooling between your thighs.
The sheer competence in bringing a patient back from the brink of death was astounding. The look he got after a patient was stabilized–the pride, the relief, the hint of fear that crossed his face was breathtaking. It took everything in you some days not to drag him out of the trauma bay and have your way with him. The demons won out the one time he came in with his SWAT team, the combination of seeing him in uniform and the terror of knowing he was shot at commingled in your core and you were on your knees in this very closet in a matter of minutes, sucking the life out of his cock.
But it would never really compromise your ability to care for patients–you both knew that. You were one of the best damn nurses in the entire hospital, and Jack would stake his medical license on your ability to work through damn near any condition. You were his right hand for a reason–and it had nothing to do with your romantic relationship. But it was fun to play sometimes, to rile him up in the way only you could.
"Okay, okay," he said, still laughing, "How do you propose we solve this very, very serious problem?"
You tapped your finger on your chin, taking your time in 'thinking' of a solution.
"Mmm, I was thinking maybe the sexy doctor could make a house call. Y'know, give me a little one-on-one time, get it out of my system. I've been aching real bad, too, think maybe he should take a look," you said finally, peeking up at him from beneath your lashes and biting your lip.
His eyes darkened a fraction, and he stepped forward, closing the little distance that was between you and pressing your front flush to his chest. Goosebumps prickled up and down your arms, warmth spreading through your body and radiating down to your core. You whimpered softly as he shifted his weight, his crotch unintentionally brushing against your cunt.
His voice was low and rough when he spoke, "Oh yeah? Well we can't have that, can we? Where're you aching, baby? Show me."
You swallowed, breath coming out ragged, "Well, Dr. Abbot, it started here," you said, grabbing his hand and guiding it to your lips. His thumb rested on your bottom lip, and he brushed over it lightly before tugging it down, your mouth parting with it. He pressed forward, thumb briefly running along the line of your bottom teeth before settling on your tongue, pushing down gently.
You moaned at the salty taste of his skin, mouth widening and saliva pooling in your mouth, dribbling out of the corners of your mouth at the intrusion. Jack's eyes were trained on the sight, the irises of his eyes almost completely obscured by his blown pupils.
"Fuck, honey, you just love having your mouth filled, don't you?" he asked, pushing his thumb in further until he hit the back of your throat, muscles contracting around the digit, "Doesn't matter if it's my cock or my fingers, just need something to keep that pretty little mouth full, huh?"
You nodded and whimpered around him pitifully, unable to do much more.
He kept his thumb there for another minute, just watching the way your tongue twitched, the rivulets of spit drooling from your lips.
When he finally removed it, his thumb and your chin were thoroughly spit-slick. He wiped at the corners of your mouth, gathering the spit there, then brought the digit up to his lips and sucked it clean.
"Y'taste so good, baby, can't help myself," he said with a devious grin, "where else're you achin'?"
Your breath caught in your throat, your words coming out stuttery, "m' a-aching pretty bad here, t-too, Dr. Abbot," you said, dragging his hand down to your neck, where it sat loosely around your throat. Your fingers curled lightly around his, applying the smallest amount of pressure–just enough to make your breath hitch.
He tightened his grip a fraction more, then tilted your neck to the side, exposing the soft skin there. His other hand pulled your scrub top and undershirt to the side, and his lips latched onto the curve of your neck, biting and sucking at the flesh.
You gasped, hand flying up to bury itself in his hair. Your eyes fluttered closed as little whines and whimpers escaped your lips.
"So sensitive," he whispered against your neck, laving his tongue over the mark he made once more before pulling back and giving you an expectant look. What else?
Dazed and little floaty, you continued guiding his hand down until it cupped your breast. His other hand moved to your other breast, and squeezed the flesh between his large hands. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, though they were buried under layers of scrubs, undershirt, and bra. You could feel the barest hint of pressure where he circled them, enough that they hardened into peaks, taut against your bra.
You moaned and arched into his palms, wishing you could feel the roughness of them against your bare skin.
He chuckled at your desperation, pinning you back against the shelves. One hand remained on your breast, while the other grasped your chin, tilting it up to look him in the eye, "Anywhere else?"
You bit your lip and nodded, sliding the hand on your breast down your body and under the waistband of your scrubs and panties, until his hand was cupping your bare mound, "This is where it aches the most."
His eyes didn't leave yours as his fingers parted your folds, sliding through them with ease. A half-feral groan ripped through his chest, his forehead pressing against yours. His fingers just barely brushed over your clit before sliding back down to your entrance.
You whined and bucked your hips against him, searching for something to grind against.
"Oh, baby," he said, "You really are aching, aren't you? Your pussy's soaking wet and I haven't even done anything."
The tips of his fingers breached your entrance and sat there, unmoving–just the tease of his thick fingers filling your cunt.
"Please, Dr. Abbot, need you to take care of me," you whined, rolling your hips forward, trying to force his fingers deeper.
"And maybe if you're lucky, if you alleviate my aches, I'll sit on your cock later," you said, using all the bravado you could muster up–which, admittedly, wasn't much. You were too far gone, too needy for him to act like you didn't want him just as much as he wanted you.
Jack raised his eyebrow, a dark laugh falling from his lips, "If I'm lucky? Baby, I distinctly remember you beggin' for my cock just the other night," he said, pushing his fingers to the second knuckle and curling them, "had you cryin' on the bed, whining for Jackie's big, fat cock to fill your cute little pussy up, didn't I?"
Your cheeks heated at the memory, the sound of your pathetic mewls and gasps echoing in your ears as you did, indeed, beg for his cock. You slapped a hand over your mouth to avoid those same sounds from spilling out now, as Jack's fingers pushed in to the hilt, the heel of his hand settling on your aching, puffy clit.
His fingers hooked against that soft, spongey spot that had sparks exploding through your body. Your thighs trembled around his hand and your hips ground clumsily against his hand.
"Well, I guess the tables have turned," is all you can come up with as he stroked that spot relentlessly. Jack knew your body like the back of his hand, knew just the right pressure and motions to get you to the finish line in no time. He preferred to take his time, but he never turned down the opportunity to make you cum hard and fast.
Your eyes closed, your body on autopilot as it chased release. The waves were cresting, your orgasm within reach. Just a few more thrusts, a few more rolls of your hips and you would be there.
He sighed, shaking his head at you, "You know, I probably shouldn't make you cum before I've done a proper examination. Can never be too careful about your health, baby," he said, removing his fingers from your pussy before your brain could catch up.
Your eyes shot open, chest heaving as your orgasm receded. A high pitched whine escaped you, "no no, please, Jack, pleeease," you said, gripping his wrist and trying to pull it back toward your cunt to no avail.
You looked up at him with wet eyes, frustrated tears pricking the corner of your eyes, "you're mean," you pouted.
"Shh, sweetheart, trust me, I'm a doctor. We'll get you all sorted out at our appointment later, yeah?"
Your brows furrowed at that, your mind still a little hazy. A question sat at the tip of your tongue, but before you can ask it, he's reaching up for something on the shelf above you, body pressing impossibly close to yours in the process. A second later he's pushing a hospital gown into your hands.
You're still confused, the gown doing little to illuminate his meaning.
"What's the look for, sweetheart? You started this game, don't tell me you want to stop now?" he said with an evil gleam in his eye, "Dr. Abbot will see you for a very, very thorough exam after shift."
There was a muffled commotion outside the door, no doubt another trauma rolling through–no doubt requiring Jack's attention.
"Duty calls, baby, see you out there," he said, giving you one last peck on the lips before he's gone.
The end of shift comes quicker than you anticipated, between a new batch of traumas rolling in and your standard caseload of patients taking up your attention.
You were waiting at central, bag slung over your shoulder, when Jack approached, looking apologetic.
"I think I'm gonna be a little longer, I just want to make sure Emily gets up to peds sooner rather than later. Shouldn't be too long," he said, "I'm sorry, baby."
"No worries, I'll hang around. Mr. Hauser's IV needs to be changed in 20 minutes anyway," you said, a yawn sneaking out halfway through.
He shook his head, "Nah, you don't need to wait around for me, and Lena'll bite my head off if I keep working her nurses overtime," he said, laughing a little nervously, recalling the last time he asked a few nurses to stay late, "Day shift's got it covered. Go home and shower, get something to eat."
"Plus," he said, slipping his finger under the chain of your necklace and tugging you closer, "I want you on my bed, in nothing but that gown when I get home."
You nodded and whispered lowly, "Yes, Dr. Abbot."
You took your time in the shower, the hot water easing the persistent ache in your muscles. After drying off and lotioning your body you slipped into a lacy pair of panties–Jack's favorite, the back cut high enough that your cheeks were practically bare, with a little bow in the center.
You dug around for the gown you'd snuck into your bag, pulling it out and holding it out in front of you. You gnawed on your lip as you considered it. Your intention hadn't been to enter into a full-fledge role play scenario, but you couldn't deny the way your tummy swirled in anticipation.
You slipped the gown over your head, the polyester feeling rough and scratchy against your skin. You left the back untied for easy access–you assumed you wouldn't be wearing it for long, anyways–then sat at the edge of the bed, leaning back on your hands and awaiting Jack's arrival.
You didn't have to wait long for him. About 10 minutes after you've settled on the bed, the door to your bedroom opened, and Jack came strolling through. His hair was damp, and he'd changed out of his scrubs, now wearing a tight black shirt and cargo pants. He stopped at the dresser and pulled out a fresh scrub top, pulling it over his head before turning to address you.
"Good morning, miss, I'm Dr. Abbot. I hear you've been having some aches, is that correct?" he asked, dragging the upholstered chair from your vanity over to the bed and sitting down. He folded his hands between his knees, fixing you with an assessing stare as he waited for you to respond–the picture of professionalism.
"Oh, yes, Dr. Abbot, I've been aching really bad," you said, putting on a whiny affect. And it wasn't untrue, your cunt had been aching since your release was denied two hours ago, your clit throbbing for attention.
"Yeah? Well let's try to fix that, huh? I might have to use some… unconventional methods, but I think we can get you right as rain in no time," he said, hooking his stethoscope in his ears, "I'm going to start with listening to your heart, okay?"
You recoiled before he could reach you, "You are not using that on me. God knows what's on it," you said, nose wrinkling at the thought of the dirty hospital germs that probably coated the stethoscope.
He sighed, breaking character for a minute, "This is my backup, the one that's been sitting untouched in it's case for over a year. That okay?"
His voice was low and reassuring, instantly setting you at ease. You relaxed a bit and nodded.
He tugged your sleeves down, the gown falling around your hips and leaving your chest exposed. One hand settled on your ribs, right under your breast, while the other held the chest piece in place on the left side of your chest. You gasped as the chest piece made contact with your skin, the cold metal causing goosebumps prickle up your arms.
Jack murmured a quick apology before focusing on the sound of your heart. The hand not holding the chest piece stroked the underside your your breast, so close to your aching nipple without actually touching it.
"Your heart rate is elevated. You nervous?" he asked, a suppressed smile pulling at the corner of his lips.
"A-a little, I've just never had a doctor be so… hands on," you played along, biting your lip shyly.
He titled your head up, grasping your chin between his thumb and forefinger, "There's no need to be nervous, honey, I'm gonna take real good care of you," he said, brushing your bottom lip softly.
"Okay, I trust you, Dr. Abbot," you whispered, breath catching as his grip tightened on your chin.
"That's it, that's my good girl," he said, his hungry gaze belying his professional demeanor. He was just as affected as you were, but he was committed to this act.
He started moving the chest piece down your chest until it covered your nipple, the pebbled flesh perking up at the coolness of the metal.
"Good, good, you're so responsive," he said, eyes focused on the hardening bud. Then he flipped the chest piece to the smaller side and traced it around your nipple in slow circles. His thumb flicked over your other nipple, then rolled and pinched it between his fingers, going back and forth between those motions until you were letting out a steady stream of whines and whimpers.
"S-sorry, Dr. Abbot, it just feels s-so good," you moaned, arching further into his grasp. Your thighs rubbed together, your clit begging for any sort of relief and finding none–just the slick slide of your arousal spreading across your inner thighs.
"That's okay, it's important that I hear how your body reacts to me," he said before dipping down and wrapping his lips around your other nipple, sucking and swirling his tongue around it. The duality of sensations–cold metal on one side and molten heat on the other–had you feeling dizzy.
"Feeling good? That ache goin' away yet?" he asked, abandoning the stethoscope and switching sides. He devoured your other nipple, giving it the same sinful attention–licking, nipping, and tugging between his teeth.
You shook your head, "Need more, Dr. Abbot," you whined, hips bucking off the bed at a particularly hard suck.
He released you with a wet pop, his chest heaving and pupils blown wide. You glanced down and saw his cock was hard, straining against the confines of his cargos.
"Yeah? Okay, then, lie back and spread your legs for me, sweetheart."
You did as he said, scooting back until you were lying back on your elbows and your feet were propped up on the mattress. You removed the hospital gown where it had pooled at your middle, leaving you in just your skimpy panties.
The snap of latex gloves rang though the bedroom, and a moment later Jack was on his knees between your legs, spreading your thighs open.
He ran his gloved finger over the soaked gusset and tutted, "I'm afraid these are going to have to come off," he said, slipping a finger under the waistband and tugging them down your legs–then pocketed the scrap of lace.
"That's not very professional, Dr. Abbot," you pouted, "You keep every pretty girl's underwear?"
He chuckled, shaking his head lightly at you, "Only the one's that are a major pain in my ass," he said under his breath.
You gasped and sent him a playful glare–which went completely ignored by him, his attention solely focused on your exposed and dripping cunt laid out in front of him.
"Now I'm going to examine your vagina, is that okay?" he asked, running his hands up and down your thighs.
"Yes, Dr. Abbot, please," you breathed out, the anticipation killing you at this point.
He stretched your thighs open wider and ran two fingers through your folds, spreading your abundant arousal around. The feel of the latex against your wet folds was so different, his fingers gliding through your wetness so smoothly, the roughness of his calloused fingertips obscured by the gloves. The clinical feel of it made your tummy twist in a mix of excitement and anxiousness.
"God, you're so, so wet. That's good," he said, the words thick in his mouth. His thumbs parted your lips, revealing your puffy little clit and tight hole. He was entranced by your pussy, the way your slick dripped down your thighs and your hole clenched around nothing. His thumb swiped over your clit briefly, a flash of contact where you needed it most before fading away. Your hips raised up to chase it, but his hold kept to pinned to the bed.
"Everything looks perfect," he said, running his thumb up and down your vulva, circling around your clit on each pass, "Such a perfect, pretty pussy." He was so close that you could feel his hot breath against your cunt, each exhale sending a tingling zap down your spine.
His thumb slid down a little further and circled around the tight ring of muscle there, applying the barest amount of pressure as he rubbed it. You gasped and squirmed at the unfamiliar touch, your cheeks heating up fiercely.
He chuckled lightly at your reaction and removed his thumb, "We'll check that at the follow up exam," he said, then notched two fingers at your entrance and pushed in slowly, "I'm going to do an internal nerve check now."
The intrusion steals the breath from your lungs, his thick fingers stretching you out so deliciously. For the first time since the storage closet, it felt like there was some real relief to the ache you've been carrying around.
A broken moan ripped through you when he hooked his fingers, expertly finding your g-spot and rubbing against it mercilessly with the pressure that made your toes curl and your vision white out. Your walls clenched hard around him, your greedy cunt sucking him in deeper.
"Good girl, let it all out. Let me hear you," he said, curling his fingers harder and rubbing tight circles against your throbbing clit. The rubbery squeak of his gloves mixed with the wet schlick of your wetness as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, the sound so obscene you felt a little embarrassed.
The coil in your core wound tighter and pinpricks radiated through your body, your orgasm approaching with a vengeance, furious at being previously denied.
"Please, Dr. Abbot, please make me cum, I–fuck, pleeeese I need it," you cried, rocking your hips recklessly against his hand, the movements clumsy and uncoordinated.
He alternated between scissoring his fingers and curling them against your g-spot, "Go ahead, sweetheart, cum for me, you're gonna feel so much better when you cum," he said, the want thick in his voice and his professional tone almost completely abandoned.
He deepened the pressure on your clit, rubbing the nub relentlessly, and with a final crook of his fingers, the coil snapped, your orgasm washing over your in violent waves. You thrashed as the waves of pleasure rolled through you, your veins white hot and burning, toes and fists curling into the sheets. Your mouth hung open in a perpetual 'o', a deafening moan, groan, or some other such mixture of sound reverberating through you.
Jack worked you through it, keeping up the steady pressure until you were a whimpering mess and your hips were retreating from the friction rather than chasing it.
His latex-clad palm was soaked with your release when he pulled away, and he wasted no time licking a thick stripe through your mess, "fuck, honey, I could drink you up," he groaned, his eyes wild as he took in your debauched form, panting and boneless on the bed in front of him.
He shucked the gloves off and gripped your hips, pulling you to the edge of the bed. You squealed at the sudden movement, mind still hazy from the earth shattering orgasm you just had.
"Now–fuck–now I just need to check the elasticity of your vagina," he said, shoving down his pants and boxers in one go. His cock stood proud–long and thick, beads of pre-cum dripping down his shaft. The tip was flushed red and begging for attention.
"I don't give a fuck what you call it Jack, but I need your cock inside me now," you whined, pawing at his shirt, pushing it up his chest until he took over and threw it off. Your hands roamed the newly exposed skin, fingers digging into the firm flesh of his pecs and trailing down the planes of his stomach.
"Okay, baby, 'm gonna take such good care of you, gonna fuck this pussy so good," he said, pushing your legs up to your chest and lining his cock up with your entrance, swiping the tip through your messy folds before pushing into you with one deep thrust.
"Please, Dr. Abbot, I've been aching for your cock all night," you cried, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he split you open, the slight burn giving way to mind-numbing pleasure as he dragged his cock back, leaving just the tip before slamming back in. He set a brutal pace, hips snapping forward harshly, his heavy balls smacking your ass with each punishing thrust.
"Fuck, I'm so full, Dr. Abbot, you're so deep," you moaned, trying to meet his thrusts, but failing half of the time. He was fucking you so hard that you were seeing stars, his cock dragging exquisitely across every nerve in your cunt, each thrust lighting a fire across your oversensitive body.
"That's it, my girl, knew you could take it. Pussy's fuckin' made for me, tight little thing stretches right around me, fuck, squeezes me just right," he groaned, his fingers digging into the flesh where he gripped your thighs.
"J-Jack, fuck–"
"No," he growled, his pace slowing, "That's not my name right now, is it?"
"Dr. Abbot," you corrected quickly, breathlessly, "my pussy was made for you, Dr. Abbot."
"That's right, baby. Fuck, you're such a dirty girl, aren't you? Letting your doctor fuck you stupid," he said, picking the pace back up, doubling his efforts now as he felt how close you were–your pussy contracting wildly around him.
The wet slap of skin against skin echoed throughout the room, intermingled with your wanton moans and Jack's deep grunts.
He shifted forward a bit, forearms bracketing your head, and pushed your legs further up, fucking into you even deeper. His cock rubbed up against the depths of your cunt, and the neatly trimmed patch of curls at the base of his cock brushed against your clit, delivering delicious friction to the sensitive bud.
"Right there, Dr. Abbot, don't stop please, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum," you chanted, eyes squeezing shut as the coil snapped, your back bowing off the bed as your orgasm crashed over you. Fire zipped through your veins, radiating from your core to the tips of your toes and the top of your head. Your cunt pulsed rhythmically around his cock, greedily sucking it back in.
"Fuck, you're so beautiful when you cum," he grunted, eyes now trained on the spot where your bodies connected, a creamy ring coating the base of his cock. The remnants of your orgasm and the way your pussy milked his cock sent him over the edge, his hips stuttering as he emptied his load into you.
He stayed buried in you for a moment, pressing soft kisses to whatever heated bits of flesh he could reach. Your legs wrapped loosely around his hips, not pushing him any deeper but keeping him close. You ran your hands through his sweaty curls, scratching lightly at the nape of his neck every once and a while.
"That wasn't too much, was it? I didn't go too far?" he asked hoarsely, brushing your hair out of your face and caressing your cheek.
You shook your head immediately, "not at all. It was so fucking hot," you said honestly, assuring him that you loved every moment of it.
You laid in comfortable silence for a moment before your cheekiness got the better of you, "I'm not sure if you completely alleviated the ache, though. Might need to go a couple more rounds to make sure it's fully gone," you sighed dramatically.
He huffed a laugh at you, "Like I said, pain in my ass," he said, shaking his head.
You ignored that comment, knowing that he was exactly where he wanted to be.
"Ooooh, maybe next time I can play nurse," you mused, a dopey smile on your face as you teased him, "y'know, I could take your vital signs, assess your symptoms–oh! I could even wear one of those slutty little nurse's dresses."
You wrapped your arms around his neck, and continued, "I mean, I could even give you a sponge bath, you are my old man, after all."
You squeaked when he delivered a sharp slap to your thigh, then giggled at the disgruntled look on his face.
"You're just full of it this morning, aren't you?" he asked, eyebrows raised, "Old man, huh?"
taglist: @ficcyyfics @realwhoreforfictionalmen
a/n: thank you for reading!!! likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated <3333
a/n: sorry, y’all the brain worms got to me. had a vision of trying to be playful about the whole doctor role play thing and jack being like. no no you started this, and I’m finishing it. i hope you enjoy it!
credits: gif credits to @/frankslangdons and divider by @robinavitchslut <3
The long night was finally giving way to day, the sun just barely peeking its head over the horizon. It was somewhere around 5AM–in that in-between post-3AM insanity, but pre-morning rush lull. The emergency department was precariously balanced on a knife's edge, one minor inconvenience, or trauma, from tipping back into full on chaos. You were almost at the finish line, the end in sight so long as nothing catastrophic happened.
As it stood, the night had been rough enough–mainly due to the sheer volume of patients you'd seen over the past 11 hours. Food poisoning from a family reunion rolled in shortly after the shift began, followed by alcohol poisoning from a bachelorette party, then a drunken bar fight that continued into the ER, where security had to separate two grown men who were arguing over which sports team had the better logo.
Barely an hour ago, three codes simultaneously racked the department, tying up almost every doctor and nurse and leaving the department in a bit of a frenzy. Two of the codes resolved themselves fairly quickly, but the one you were working on, a pediatric cardiac arrest, lasted nearly two hours. All three patients survived, thankfully, but you were still coming down from the adrenaline rush, your heart still ticking a beat too fast.
The supply closet was a welcome reprieve from the endless chatter and beeping of the ED, the mundane task of restocking crash carts a soothing balm to your overworked mind and muscles. You were still catching your breath as you assessed the carts, taking note of what needed to be refilled and what was already well stocked.
Boots scuffed across the linoleum in the hallway beyond, eventually stopping at the open door. A second later the metallic click of the latch rang through the small closet as the door closed.
You were plucking vials of epinephrine off the shelf in front of you when a familiar presence makes itself at home at your back, large hands falling to your hips with a quick squeeze. A fond smile crossed your lips and you eased into your boyfriend's warm embrace, letting your head fall against his shoulder.
"You did good back there," Jack said, pressing a kiss to your temple and smoothing his hands up and down your sides. His hands were warm, even through your scrubs and undershirt, and you could already feel your heart rate slowing, syncing in time with his.
"So did you, that little girl's lucky she had such a good doctor working on her," you said, turning around in his hold and leaning back against the shelving unit. Every time you saw Jack felt like the first, cheeks heating and butterflies erupting at the sight of him. His hazel eyes were tired, but no less beautiful than they always were; the lines around his eyes a little more pronounced than usual, the night taking its toll in the contours of his face.
Your fingers brushed against his warm skin, tracing the sun-worn lines along his neck, the freckles dotted between them creating the most beautiful constellations. It was hard to believe sometimes that you called this man yours, that he looked at you with such reverence and adoration.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, "Which reminds me, we have a serious problem," you said, schooling your face into a serious expression, eyes hard and lips slightly down turned.
"Oh yeah? And what would that be?" he asked with a wry smile, knowing that he was going to be drawn into one of your shenanigans again. Not that he minded, he usually benefited from them. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips, slow and sweet, his nose brushing your cheek as he deepened the kiss.
You relented for a moment, sinking into the kiss. Your nails scratched through the curls at the base of his neck eliciting a purr-like noise from him. You grinned into the kiss then pushed him back slightly before he could get carried away.
Fixing him with a stern glare, you sighed exaggeratedly, "You're too sexy when you're in doctor mode."
He barked out a laugh that echoed loudly in the too quiet closet and shook his head at you, "That's your serious problem?"
"Yes, I'm serious! It's a problem! I can't be ogling my doctor when I'm supposed to be taking care of patients. It's a real liability issue, could be dangerous for patient care," you said, really trying to sell this problem of yours.
And it was true that he was so fucking hot when he was in the zone, calling out orders, laying out treatment plans–hell, even just watching him teach med students, with that patient but firm tone, correcting where necessary and praising when appropriate, had wetness pooling between your thighs.
The sheer competence in bringing a patient back from the brink of death was astounding. The look he got after a patient was stabilized–the pride, the relief, the hint of fear that crossed his face was breathtaking. It took everything in you some days not to drag him out of the trauma bay and have your way with him. The demons won out the one time he came in with his SWAT team, the combination of seeing him in uniform and the terror of knowing he was shot at commingled in your core and you were on your knees in this very closet in a matter of minutes, sucking the life out of his cock.
But it would never really compromise your ability to care for patients–you both knew that. You were one of the best damn nurses in the entire hospital, and Jack would stake his medical license on your ability to work through damn near any condition. You were his right hand for a reason–and it had nothing to do with your romantic relationship. But it was fun to play sometimes, to rile him up in the way only you could.
"Okay, okay," he said, still laughing, "How do you propose we solve this very, very serious problem?"
You tapped your finger on your chin, taking your time in 'thinking' of a solution.
"Mmm, I was thinking maybe the sexy doctor could make a house call. Y'know, give me a little one-on-one time, get it out of my system. I've been aching real bad, too, think maybe he should take a look," you said finally, peeking up at him from beneath your lashes and biting your lip.
His eyes darkened a fraction, and he stepped forward, closing the little distance that was between you and pressing your front flush to his chest. Goosebumps prickled up and down your arms, warmth spreading through your body and radiating down to your core. You whimpered softly as he shifted his weight, his crotch unintentionally brushing against your cunt.
His voice was low and rough when he spoke, "Oh yeah? Well we can't have that, can we? Where're you aching, baby? Show me."
You swallowed, breath coming out ragged, "Well, Dr. Abbot, it started here," you said, grabbing his hand and guiding it to your lips. His thumb rested on your bottom lip, and he brushed over it lightly before tugging it down, your mouth parting with it. He pressed forward, thumb briefly running along the line of your bottom teeth before settling on your tongue, pushing down gently.
You moaned at the salty taste of his skin, mouth widening and saliva pooling in your mouth, dribbling out of the corners of your mouth at the intrusion. Jack's eyes were trained on the sight, the irises of his eyes almost completely obscured by his blown pupils.
"Fuck, honey, you just love having your mouth filled, don't you?" he asked, pushing his thumb in further until he hit the back of your throat, muscles contracting around the digit, "Doesn't matter if it's my cock or my fingers, just need something to keep that pretty little mouth full, huh?"
You nodded and whimpered around him pitifully, unable to do much more.
He kept his thumb there for another minute, just watching the way your tongue twitched, the rivulets of spit drooling from your lips.
When he finally removed it, his thumb and your chin were thoroughly spit-slick. He wiped at the corners of your mouth, gathering the spit there, then brought the digit up to his lips and sucked it clean.
"Y'taste so good, baby, can't help myself," he said with a devious grin, "where else're you achin'?"
Your breath caught in your throat, your words coming out stuttery, "m' a-aching pretty bad here, t-too, Dr. Abbot," you said, dragging his hand down to your neck, where it sat loosely around your throat. Your fingers curled lightly around his, applying the smallest amount of pressure–just enough to make your breath hitch.
He tightened his grip a fraction more, then tilted your neck to the side, exposing the soft skin there. His other hand pulled your scrub top and undershirt to the side, and his lips latched onto the curve of your neck, biting and sucking at the flesh.
You gasped, hand flying up to bury itself in his hair. Your eyes fluttered closed as little whines and whimpers escaped your lips.
"So sensitive," he whispered against your neck, laving his tongue over the mark he made once more before pulling back and giving you an expectant look. What else?
Dazed and little floaty, you continued guiding his hand down until it cupped your breast. His other hand moved to your other breast, and squeezed the flesh between his large hands. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, though they were buried under layers of scrubs, undershirt, and bra. You could feel the barest hint of pressure where he circled them, enough that they hardened into peaks, taut against your bra.
You moaned and arched into his palms, wishing you could feel the roughness of them against your bare skin.
He chuckled at your desperation, pinning you back against the shelves. One hand remained on your breast, while the other grasped your chin, tilting it up to look him in the eye, "Anywhere else?"
You bit your lip and nodded, sliding the hand on your breast down your body and under the waistband of your scrubs and panties, until his hand was cupping your bare mound, "This is where it aches the most."
His eyes didn't leave yours as his fingers parted your folds, sliding through them with ease. A half-feral groan ripped through his chest, his forehead pressing against yours. His fingers just barely brushed over your clit before sliding back down to your entrance.
You whined and bucked your hips against him, searching for something to grind against.
"Oh, baby," he said, "You really are aching, aren't you? Your pussy's soaking wet and I haven't even done anything."
The tips of his fingers breached your entrance and sat there, unmoving–just the tease of his thick fingers filling your cunt.
"Please, Dr. Abbot, need you to take care of me," you whined, rolling your hips forward, trying to force his fingers deeper.
"And maybe if you're lucky, if you alleviate my aches, I'll sit on your cock later," you said, using all the bravado you could muster up–which, admittedly, wasn't much. You were too far gone, too needy for him to act like you didn't want him just as much as he wanted you.
Jack raised his eyebrow, a dark laugh falling from his lips, "If I'm lucky? Baby, I distinctly remember you beggin' for my cock just the other night," he said, pushing his fingers to the second knuckle and curling them, "had you cryin' on the bed, whining for Jackie's big, fat cock to fill your cute little pussy up, didn't I?"
Your cheeks heated at the memory, the sound of your pathetic mewls and gasps echoing in your ears as you did, indeed, beg for his cock. You slapped a hand over your mouth to avoid those same sounds from spilling out now, as Jack's fingers pushed in to the hilt, the heel of his hand settling on your aching, puffy clit.
His fingers hooked against that soft, spongey spot that had sparks exploding through your body. Your thighs trembled around his hand and your hips ground clumsily against his hand.
"Well, I guess the tables have turned," is all you can come up with as he stroked that spot relentlessly. Jack knew your body like the back of his hand, knew just the right pressure and motions to get you to the finish line in no time. He preferred to take his time, but he never turned down the opportunity to make you cum hard and fast.
Your eyes closed, your body on autopilot as it chased release. The waves were cresting, your orgasm within reach. Just a few more thrusts, a few more rolls of your hips and you would be there.
He sighed, shaking his head at you, "You know, I probably shouldn't make you cum before I've done a proper examination. Can never be too careful about your health, baby," he said, removing his fingers from your pussy before your brain could catch up.
Your eyes shot open, chest heaving as your orgasm receded. A high pitched whine escaped you, "no no, please, Jack, pleeease," you said, gripping his wrist and trying to pull it back toward your cunt to no avail.
You looked up at him with wet eyes, frustrated tears pricking the corner of your eyes, "you're mean," you pouted.
"Shh, sweetheart, trust me, I'm a doctor. We'll get you all sorted out at our appointment later, yeah?"
Your brows furrowed at that, your mind still a little hazy. A question sat at the tip of your tongue, but before you can ask it, he's reaching up for something on the shelf above you, body pressing impossibly close to yours in the process. A second later he's pushing a hospital gown into your hands.
You're still confused, the gown doing little to illuminate his meaning.
"What's the look for, sweetheart? You started this game, don't tell me you want to stop now?" he said with an evil gleam in his eye, "Dr. Abbot will see you for a very, very thorough exam after shift."
There was a muffled commotion outside the door, no doubt another trauma rolling through–no doubt requiring Jack's attention.
"Duty calls, baby, see you out there," he said, giving you one last peck on the lips before he's gone.
The end of shift comes quicker than you anticipated, between a new batch of traumas rolling in and your standard caseload of patients taking up your attention.
You were waiting at central, bag slung over your shoulder, when Jack approached, looking apologetic.
"I think I'm gonna be a little longer, I just want to make sure Emily gets up to peds sooner rather than later. Shouldn't be too long," he said, "I'm sorry, baby."
"No worries, I'll hang around. Mr. Hauser's IV needs to be changed in 20 minutes anyway," you said, a yawn sneaking out halfway through.
He shook his head, "Nah, you don't need to wait around for me, and Lena'll bite my head off if I keep working her nurses overtime," he said, laughing a little nervously, recalling the last time he asked a few nurses to stay late, "Day shift's got it covered. Go home and shower, get something to eat."
"Plus," he said, slipping his finger under the chain of your necklace and tugging you closer, "I want you on my bed, in nothing but that gown when I get home."
You nodded and whispered lowly, "Yes, Dr. Abbot."
You took your time in the shower, the hot water easing the persistent ache in your muscles. After drying off and lotioning your body you slipped into a lacy pair of panties–Jack's favorite, the back cut high enough that your cheeks were practically bare, with a little bow in the center.
You dug around for the gown you'd snuck into your bag, pulling it out and holding it out in front of you. You gnawed on your lip as you considered it. Your intention hadn't been to enter into a full-fledge role play scenario, but you couldn't deny the way your tummy swirled in anticipation.
You slipped the gown over your head, the polyester feeling rough and scratchy against your skin. You left the back untied for easy access–you assumed you wouldn't be wearing it for long, anyways–then sat at the edge of the bed, leaning back on your hands and awaiting Jack's arrival.
You didn't have to wait long for him. About 10 minutes after you've settled on the bed, the door to your bedroom opened, and Jack came strolling through. His hair was damp, and he'd changed out of his scrubs, now wearing a tight black shirt and cargo pants. He stopped at the dresser and pulled out a fresh scrub top, pulling it over his head before turning to address you.
"Good morning, miss, I'm Dr. Abbot. I hear you've been having some aches, is that correct?" he asked, dragging the upholstered chair from your vanity over to the bed and sitting down. He folded his hands between his knees, fixing you with an assessing stare as he waited for you to respond–the picture of professionalism.
"Oh, yes, Dr. Abbot, I've been aching really bad," you said, putting on a whiny affect. And it wasn't untrue, your cunt had been aching since your release was denied two hours ago, your clit throbbing for attention.
"Yeah? Well let's try to fix that, huh? I might have to use some… unconventional methods, but I think we can get you right as rain in no time," he said, hooking his stethoscope in his ears, "I'm going to start with listening to your heart, okay?"
You recoiled before he could reach you, "You are not using that on me. God knows what's on it," you said, nose wrinkling at the thought of the dirty hospital germs that probably coated the stethoscope.
He sighed, breaking character for a minute, "This is my backup, the one that's been sitting untouched in it's case for over a year. That okay?"
His voice was low and reassuring, instantly setting you at ease. You relaxed a bit and nodded.
He tugged your sleeves down, the gown falling around your hips and leaving your chest exposed. One hand settled on your ribs, right under your breast, while the other held the chest piece in place on the left side of your chest. You gasped as the chest piece made contact with your skin, the cold metal causing goosebumps prickle up your arms.
Jack murmured a quick apology before focusing on the sound of your heart. The hand not holding the chest piece stroked the underside your your breast, so close to your aching nipple without actually touching it.
"Your heart rate is elevated. You nervous?" he asked, a suppressed smile pulling at the corner of his lips.
"A-a little, I've just never had a doctor be so… hands on," you played along, biting your lip shyly.
He titled your head up, grasping your chin between his thumb and forefinger, "There's no need to be nervous, honey, I'm gonna take real good care of you," he said, brushing your bottom lip softly.
"Okay, I trust you, Dr. Abbot," you whispered, breath catching as his grip tightened on your chin.
"That's it, that's my good girl," he said, his hungry gaze belying his professional demeanor. He was just as affected as you were, but he was committed to this act.
He started moving the chest piece down your chest until it covered your nipple, the pebbled flesh perking up at the coolness of the metal.
"Good, good, you're so responsive," he said, eyes focused on the hardening bud. Then he flipped the chest piece to the smaller side and traced it around your nipple in slow circles. His thumb flicked over your other nipple, then rolled and pinched it between his fingers, going back and forth between those motions until you were letting out a steady stream of whines and whimpers.
"S-sorry, Dr. Abbot, it just feels s-so good," you moaned, arching further into his grasp. Your thighs rubbed together, your clit begging for any sort of relief and finding none–just the slick slide of your arousal spreading across your inner thighs.
"That's okay, it's important that I hear how your body reacts to me," he said before dipping down and wrapping his lips around your other nipple, sucking and swirling his tongue around it. The duality of sensations–cold metal on one side and molten heat on the other–had you feeling dizzy.
"Feeling good? That ache goin' away yet?" he asked, abandoning the stethoscope and switching sides. He devoured your other nipple, giving it the same sinful attention–licking, nipping, and tugging between his teeth.
You shook your head, "Need more, Dr. Abbot," you whined, hips bucking off the bed at a particularly hard suck.
He released you with a wet pop, his chest heaving and pupils blown wide. You glanced down and saw his cock was hard, straining against the confines of his cargos.
"Yeah? Okay, then, lie back and spread your legs for me, sweetheart."
You did as he said, scooting back until you were lying back on your elbows and your feet were propped up on the mattress. You removed the hospital gown where it had pooled at your middle, leaving you in just your skimpy panties.
The snap of latex gloves rang though the bedroom, and a moment later Jack was on his knees between your legs, spreading your thighs open.
He ran his gloved finger over the soaked gusset and tutted, "I'm afraid these are going to have to come off," he said, slipping a finger under the waistband and tugging them down your legs–then pocketed the scrap of lace.
"That's not very professional, Dr. Abbot," you pouted, "You keep every pretty girl's underwear?"
He chuckled, shaking his head lightly at you, "Only the one's that are a major pain in my ass," he said under his breath.
You gasped and sent him a playful glare–which went completely ignored by him, his attention solely focused on your exposed and dripping cunt laid out in front of him.
"Now I'm going to examine your vagina, is that okay?" he asked, running his hands up and down your thighs.
"Yes, Dr. Abbot, please," you breathed out, the anticipation killing you at this point.
He stretched your thighs open wider and ran two fingers through your folds, spreading your abundant arousal around. The feel of the latex against your wet folds was so different, his fingers gliding through your wetness so smoothly, the roughness of his calloused fingertips obscured by the gloves. The clinical feel of it made your tummy twist in a mix of excitement and anxiousness.
"God, you're so, so wet. That's good," he said, the words thick in his mouth. His thumbs parted your lips, revealing your puffy little clit and tight hole. He was entranced by your pussy, the way your slick dripped down your thighs and your hole clenched around nothing. His thumb swiped over your clit briefly, a flash of contact where you needed it most before fading away. Your hips raised up to chase it, but his hold kept to pinned to the bed.
"Everything looks perfect," he said, running his thumb up and down your vulva, circling around your clit on each pass, "Such a perfect, pretty pussy." He was so close that you could feel his hot breath against your cunt, each exhale sending a tingling zap down your spine.
His thumb slid down a little further and circled around the tight ring of muscle there, applying the barest amount of pressure as he rubbed it. You gasped and squirmed at the unfamiliar touch, your cheeks heating up fiercely.
He chuckled lightly at your reaction and removed his thumb, "We'll check that at the follow up exam," he said, then notched two fingers at your entrance and pushed in slowly, "I'm going to do an internal nerve check now."
The intrusion steals the breath from your lungs, his thick fingers stretching you out so deliciously. For the first time since the storage closet, it felt like there was some real relief to the ache you've been carrying around.
A broken moan ripped through you when he hooked his fingers, expertly finding your g-spot and rubbing against it mercilessly with the pressure that made your toes curl and your vision white out. Your walls clenched hard around him, your greedy cunt sucking him in deeper.
"Good girl, let it all out. Let me hear you," he said, curling his fingers harder and rubbing tight circles against your throbbing clit. The rubbery squeak of his gloves mixed with the wet schlick of your wetness as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, the sound so obscene you felt a little embarrassed.
The coil in your core wound tighter and pinpricks radiated through your body, your orgasm approaching with a vengeance, furious at being previously denied.
"Please, Dr. Abbot, please make me cum, I–fuck, pleeeese I need it," you cried, rocking your hips recklessly against his hand, the movements clumsy and uncoordinated.
He alternated between scissoring his fingers and curling them against your g-spot, "Go ahead, sweetheart, cum for me, you're gonna feel so much better when you cum," he said, the want thick in his voice and his professional tone almost completely abandoned.
He deepened the pressure on your clit, rubbing the nub relentlessly, and with a final crook of his fingers, the coil snapped, your orgasm washing over your in violent waves. You thrashed as the waves of pleasure rolled through you, your veins white hot and burning, toes and fists curling into the sheets. Your mouth hung open in a perpetual 'o', a deafening moan, groan, or some other such mixture of sound reverberating through you.
Jack worked you through it, keeping up the steady pressure until you were a whimpering mess and your hips were retreating from the friction rather than chasing it.
His latex-clad palm was soaked with your release when he pulled away, and he wasted no time licking a thick stripe through your mess, "fuck, honey, I could drink you up," he groaned, his eyes wild as he took in your debauched form, panting and boneless on the bed in front of him.
He shucked the gloves off and gripped your hips, pulling you to the edge of the bed. You squealed at the sudden movement, mind still hazy from the earth shattering orgasm you just had.
"Now–fuck–now I just need to check the elasticity of your vagina," he said, shoving down his pants and boxers in one go. His cock stood proud–long and thick, beads of pre-cum dripping down his shaft. The tip was flushed red and begging for attention.
"I don't give a fuck what you call it Jack, but I need your cock inside me now," you whined, pawing at his shirt, pushing it up his chest until he took over and threw it off. Your hands roamed the newly exposed skin, fingers digging into the firm flesh of his pecs and trailing down the planes of his stomach.
"Okay, baby, 'm gonna take such good care of you, gonna fuck this pussy so good," he said, pushing your legs up to your chest and lining his cock up with your entrance, swiping the tip through your messy folds before pushing into you with one deep thrust.
"Please, Dr. Abbot, I've been aching for your cock all night," you cried, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he split you open, the slight burn giving way to mind-numbing pleasure as he dragged his cock back, leaving just the tip before slamming back in. He set a brutal pace, hips snapping forward harshly, his heavy balls smacking your ass with each punishing thrust.
"Fuck, I'm so full, Dr. Abbot, you're so deep," you moaned, trying to meet his thrusts, but failing half of the time. He was fucking you so hard that you were seeing stars, his cock dragging exquisitely across every nerve in your cunt, each thrust lighting a fire across your oversensitive body.
"That's it, my girl, knew you could take it. Pussy's fuckin' made for me, tight little thing stretches right around me, fuck, squeezes me just right," he groaned, his fingers digging into the flesh where he gripped your thighs.
"J-Jack, fuck–"
"No," he growled, his pace slowing, "That's not my name right now, is it?"
"Dr. Abbot," you corrected quickly, breathlessly, "my pussy was made for you, Dr. Abbot."
"That's right, baby. Fuck, you're such a dirty girl, aren't you? Letting your doctor fuck you stupid," he said, picking the pace back up, doubling his efforts now as he felt how close you were–your pussy contracting wildly around him.
The wet slap of skin against skin echoed throughout the room, intermingled with your wanton moans and Jack's deep grunts.
He shifted forward a bit, forearms bracketing your head, and pushed your legs further up, fucking into you even deeper. His cock rubbed up against the depths of your cunt, and the neatly trimmed patch of curls at the base of his cock brushed against your clit, delivering delicious friction to the sensitive bud.
"Right there, Dr. Abbot, don't stop please, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum," you chanted, eyes squeezing shut as the coil snapped, your back bowing off the bed as your orgasm crashed over you. Fire zipped through your veins, radiating from your core to the tips of your toes and the top of your head. Your cunt pulsed rhythmically around his cock, greedily sucking it back in.
"Fuck, you're so beautiful when you cum," he grunted, eyes now trained on the spot where your bodies connected, a creamy ring coating the base of his cock. The remnants of your orgasm and the way your pussy milked his cock sent him over the edge, his hips stuttering as he emptied his load into you.
He stayed buried in you for a moment, pressing soft kisses to whatever heated bits of flesh he could reach. Your legs wrapped loosely around his hips, not pushing him any deeper but keeping him close. You ran your hands through his sweaty curls, scratching lightly at the nape of his neck every once and a while.
"That wasn't too much, was it? I didn't go too far?" he asked hoarsely, brushing your hair out of your face and caressing your cheek.
You shook your head immediately, "not at all. It was so fucking hot," you said honestly, assuring him that you loved every moment of it.
You laid in comfortable silence for a moment before your cheekiness got the better of you, "I'm not sure if you completely alleviated the ache, though. Might need to go a couple more rounds to make sure it's fully gone," you sighed dramatically.
He huffed a laugh at you, "Like I said, pain in my ass," he said, shaking his head.
You ignored that comment, knowing that he was exactly where he wanted to be.
"Ooooh, maybe next time I can play nurse," you mused, a dopey smile on your face as you teased him, "y'know, I could take your vital signs, assess your symptoms–oh! I could even wear one of those slutty little nurse's dresses."
You wrapped your arms around his neck, and continued, "I mean, I could even give you a sponge bath, you are my old man, after all."
You squeaked when he delivered a sharp slap to your thigh, then giggled at the disgruntled look on his face.
"You're just full of it this morning, aren't you?" he asked, eyebrows raised, "Old man, huh?"
taglist: @ficcyyfics @realwhoreforfictionalmen
a/n: thank you for reading!!! likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated <3333
summary: even after swapping from nights to days, you just can’t seem to escape the inconveniently attractive night shift attending. then a ptmc night out, a sparkly dress, and a not-so-innocent game of never have i ever leads to dr. jack abbot making sure you can never utter the words “never have i ever finished during sex” ever again.
notes: i really hope you guys enjoiy this! it was so much fun to write and i just feel like jack is a little easier to put into silly situations than robby, so here i am torturing the poor man! i'm sorry in advance if the smut is kind of mid, i was fighting tumblr's block limit rule with this fic so i feel like i didn't get indulge as much as i would have liked, but still! i hope you guys love it, and please, please let me know what you think! (p.s. i think i mentioned the title was originally 'unaffected' but i like this one better)
warnings: swearing, alcohol, blushing, italics, jealousy, implied age gap, jack is a yearner, reader wears a "revealing" dress (but description is very vague and there's zero detail about body-type), mildly uncomfortable male encounters, friend!santos, pittlings chaos, garsantos mention, jack gets a little possessive, reader has long enough hair to sweep off her neck, and SMUT (making out, fingering, "panties", a tiny bit of dirty talk, unprotected piv, "good girl", and jack says sweetheart a lot) 18+ only please, mdni.
word count: 18889
Jack Abbot had never thought of himself as a jealous man.
Possessive, maybe. Protective, definitely. But jealous? Never.
He had never really had anything to be jealous of.
Until now.
Now there are far too many things.
Like the pen between your lips—and the way you bite down just hard enough to leave a little dent in the plastic while you read through Dana’s notes.
Or Dana herself, and the way you’re looking at her—soft, sleepy, warm in a way that twists something tight in Jack’s chest. The same way you used to look at him in the quiet hours at the end of a night shift.
Or your scrubs—God, your scrubs—and the way they fit just a little too well tonight. Too tight in all the right places. Distracting in ways that are becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.
Jack has never needed to be jealous of anything before, but now he finds himself jealous of inanimate objects, coworkers you barely glance at, and your goddamn clothes.
So, yeah. Jack Abbot had never thought of himself as a jealous man—until you came along.
“Dr. Abbot,” Dana calls, peering over the top of her glasses. “You’re early.”
Beside her, you glance up from your tablet, meeting his eyes across the ER with that same soft smile.
“Dr. Abbot,” you say, like you can’t quite help yourself.
Jack squares his shoulders and starts toward the nurses’ station, determined not to let Dana and her all-knowing, all-seeing bullshit clock exactly why he’s at work almost two hours earlier than he needs to be.
“Yeah, I’ve got some stuff I didn’t get to wrap up this morning,” he lies.
Princess pops up from behind the desk. “I thought you said you stayed back this morning to make sure everything was sorted?”
Jack’s gaze cuts to her. “Yes. But I forgot something.”
Dana narrows her eyes. “Mhm. What’d you forget?”
“A few notes from the three a.m. GSW,” he replies quickly—too quickly.
It’s weak and he knows it, but there’s nothing else he could think of with Dana watching him like that and your warm, sleepy gaze still lingering from across the desk.
Dana nods slowly, adjusting the chart in her hands. “Right. Two hours early for a few notes.”
Jack just shrugs, avoiding her gaze as he walks past—and he doesn’t look back until he’s safely around the corner, standing in front of his locker. Only then does he risk a glance, just briefly over his shoulder, quick enough to catch a glimpse of you disappearing down the North hall.
God. It’s ridiculous, really. He’s a grown man.
More than that—he's an old man.
Yet here he is staying late at work and coming in early just to see more of you. Because ever since you swapped from nights to days, Jack doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. Sure, he could barely concentrate when you were on shift together, but who knew not having you around would be even worse?
He spends the first half of his shift hating himself for being so hung up on someone so young and so impossibly out of reach—then spends the second half anxiously awaiting your arrival for the day shift.
And it’s only been two weeks.
But the absolute worst part?
He doesn’t even know why you swapped shifts. You never even spoke to him about it. You just told him at four a.m. two Saturdays ago that you were switching to day shift. No reason. No explanation. That was it.
At first he wondered if it was his fault—if maybe you’d simply decided you didn’t like working with him.
But you still greet him every morning and every evening with that same warm smile. You still look to him first whenever someone asks for an attending and he’s still around. You still text him whenever the ER cat shows up outside the ambulance bay—which apparently happens much more often during the day shift.
And Jack still buys a packet of freeze-dried liver treats every Sunday to keep in the cupboard above the break room fridge—because he knows how much you love feeding that cat.
“What’re you doing here?”
Jack’s head whips around at the sound of his friend’s voice.
“I—uh—came in early to fix up a few notes,” he says, turning back to shove his bag into his locker.
Robby’s brows lift. “Two hours for notes?”
Jack sighs, slinging his stethoscope around his neck and shutting his locker before turning to face his fellow attending. “Are you of all people really going to lecture me about not having a life outside of this ER?”
Robby chuckles quietly, lifting both hands out of his pockets in surrender. “I wasn’t judging.”
“Good,” Jack mutters, already starting back toward central. “Anything I need to know?”
Robby falls into step beside him. “North Three’s waiting on a CT for possible appendicitis. Kid in Five came in with chest pain but his labs look clean so far. Dana’s still fighting with bed control about moving the pneumonia admit upstairs.”
They both stop at the nurses’ station, glancing up at the board.
“Otherwise it’s been unusually calm,” Robby adds. “Which probably means you’re about to get slammed.”
Jack gives him a flat look. “Thanks.”
“Anytime.” Robby claps him on the shoulder. “Oh—and that R2 you gave me?”
“What about her?”
Robby shrugs. “She’s great.”
“I know,” Jack says, keeping his voice carefully even.
Robby studies him for a second, eyes narrowing just a fraction, the corner of his mouth threatening to lift. The man might be a disaster when it comes to his own feelings, but he has an uncanny talent for spotting everyone else’s.
“We’re alright out here if you want to catch up on your notes,” he says after a moment, already turning away. “Or go make the rounds. Get some very thorough handovers from the residents.”
Jack keeps his eyes fixed on the board. “I hate you.”
Robby huffs out a quiet laugh. “Then why are you here two hours early?”
Jack exhales sharply and steps forward, pulling one of the tablets from the rack.
“Notes,” he says, a little louder than necessary.
Robby just shakes his head, still smiling faintly as he disappears down the North corridor.
For a moment, Jack doesn’t move. He lingers at the nurses’ station, tablet in hand, pretending to analyse the board while ignoring the incredibly unsubtle looks from Perlah and Princess—both of them watching him with the kind of interest that usually means someone’s about to become the subject of a very entertaining conversation.
Then, with a polite nod to each of them, he clears his throat and steps away, turning toward the break room—trying very hard not to hope he runs into you on the way.
And trying not to be disappointed when he doesn’t.
The break room is empty when he steps inside, the noise of the ER dulling as the door falls shut behind him. He sets his tablet on the table—next to someone’s half-eaten lunch and a discarded Lean Cuisine container—and grabs a clean mug from the cupboard, pouring the last of the coffee pot into it.
Then he drops into the seat furthest from the door, his back to the bulletin board, and taps the tablet awake, pulling up the notes for the three a.m. GSW. The same notes he already finished in detail while staying back this morning—before Robby told him to get the hell out of his ER and get some sleep.
He barely makes it through two lines of the chart before the door swings open again.
“Shit, sorry,” you say quickly, stepping toward the table.
Jack’s pulse does the same stupid thing it always does whenever he sees you, making his chest feel hot and his head a little fuzzy.
“What are you sorry for?” he asks, as if it isn’t obvious.
You’ve already stacked the Lean Cuisine container on top of the half-eaten bowl of something grey and mushy-looking and are halfway to the sink with them.
“I only got, like, a five-minute break today and had to run out for a trauma, then completely forgot about my lunch,” you explain, cheeks flushed as you glance down at the bowl. “This is gross. I’m so sorry.”
Jack shifts in his chair. “I’ve seen worse in here, I promise.”
You glance over your shoulder as you turn on the tap, the corner of your mouth lifting just slightly. “Really?”
He nods. “Really.”
He could almost swear your smile lifts a little higher before you turn back to the sink, scrubbing hurriedly at the bowl of slop that probably shouldn’t be going down the drain anyway.
Jack clears his throat. “But—uh—Lean Cuisine? Really?”
You look back at him again, brows drawn. “What’s wrong with Lean Cuisine?”
“Nothing,” he says lightly. “If you’re trying to survive a very stressful twelve-hour shift on only four hundred calories.”
You huff a quiet laugh, turning back to the sink. “I actually managed to eat lunch today. That’s already a win.”
“It’s mostly sodium and sadness,” he adds, almost absently. “Not much protein.”
You finally turn the tap off and spin around, leaning a hip against the counter. “Alright, Dr. Abbot. When I find the spare time to start meal prepping between my very stressful twelve-hour shifts, I’ll let you know.”
Jack opens his mouth—then closes it again. Because what he wants to say is ridiculous.
But it comes out anyway.
“…I cook.”
You blink.
“You cook?”
Jack clears his throat, suddenly very interested in his coffee mug.
“Yeah. Well.” He shrugs. “I’ve been told I’m reasonably good at it.”
You stare at him for a second, brows knitting slightly as you clearly try to figure out where the hell that came from.
“Well,” you say with a quick smile, “I guess your dinner guests are pretty lucky.”
Before he can respond, you grab the Lean Cuisine packet, toss it in the bin, and step toward the door.
“Sorry again for the mess.”
Then you’re gone—leaving Jack alone with his coffee, his notes, and the growing suspicion that there might actually be something seriously wrong with him.
-
“Is that Dr. Abbot in the break room?” Santos asks, falling into step beside you.
You keep your eyes fixed on your tablet.
“Yep.”
She leans closer, steering you out of the way of a gurney.
“But night shift doesn’t start for like two more hours.”
“I’m aware.”
“So, why is he here?”
You exhale sharply and finally look up from your tablet. “I don’t know, Trin. Maybe because the universe hates me.”
She snorts. “Or maybe because he likes you.”
You roll your eyes, turning toward the South corridor. “Please don’t start.”
“I’m not starting anything,” she insists. “I seriously think that old man has a thing for you.”
“Don’t call him that,” you mutter.
“Okay, fine. I seriously think that hot, older man has a thing for you,” she says, stopping beside you at the South desks. “And we all know how you feel about him, so—”
“No,” you snap. “We don’t all know how I feel about Ja—Dr. Abbot.”
She presses her lips together to keep from laughing.
“Besides,” you go on, dropping into a chair. “I swapped to day shift so I could stop being distracted by my attending and actually focus on being a good doctor—so could you please stop distracting me?”
She leans a hip against the desk, completely ignoring you. “And don’t you think that’s a little strange? I mean, you swapped to day shift—what, two weeks ago?”
You glance at her from the corner of your eye. “And?”
“And,” she says dramatically, “for the past two weeks Dr. Abbot has been staying back every morning and coming in early every afternoon.”
Your gaze slides back to the computer. “So?”
She sighs, exasperated. “It’s not a coincidence.”
“Actually, I think it is,” you argue.
She stares at you for a second, eyes narrowing. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re annoying.”
She rolls her eyes and pushes off the desk. “Whatever. You’re still coming out tomorrow night, right?”
Your fingers hesitate over the keyboard. “Uh—I’m not sure yet.”
“Dr. Ellis is the only person from night shift that’ll be there,” she says.
You let out a quiet sigh of defeat.
“Fine,” you mutter. “I’ll come.”
“Good.” She grins, already turning away. “Come to my place around six. We can get ready and pregame.”
“Why can’t I get ready at home?” you ask.
“Because,” she calls over her shoulder, “I get to pick what you wear.”
And before you can argue, she slips into a patient room, effectively ending the conversation.
“Great,” you mumble, turning back to the computer. “Can’t wait.”
It’s not like you’re not looking forward to finally joining in on a night out now that you’re no longer on the night shift.
You are. You’re just... nervous.
Nervous, perpetually stressed out, and still adjusting to life as a day-walker. And Santos knows that. She probably knows you better than anyone else at PTMC—even though you’ve spent the better part of ten months working opposite shifts.
Which is exactly why she’s pushing you to join this night out. Because she knows you need it. She knows you need to relax, forget about work, and do something other than obsess over the night shift attending who’s had you completely undone since the day you first met.
God.
Jack Abbot. The single most dangerous man in Pittsburgh.
Not only is he stupidly hot, but he’s also annoyingly competent, irritatingly attentive, and has the starring role in every single one of your most inappropriate fantasies.
He’s also the very reason you’re terrified of having to redo your second year of residency, because that man affects your focus so much you literally can’t function. Like three weeks ago, when you walked straight into the glass door of Trauma One because you were too busy watching him take his jacket off.
His damn jacket.
That was the moment you finally decided you needed to swap shifts—because Dr. Shen couldn’t look at you for the rest of the night without bursting into laughter.
Jack Abbot is a liability to your health and wellbeing—which means he is a liability to your career. And even though asking Dr. Robby to swap to day shift was one of the most ridiculously difficult things you’ve done since starting at PTMC, you stand by the fact that it was the right decision.
The smart decision. The professional decision. Even if… it might not be working yet.
Because now you can’t just glance across central anymore and see Jack leaning against the desk, talking through a case with Lena. You can’t have him step up beside you when you’re unsure about something and quietly walk you through it. He’s not the one across from you in the trauma bays. And there isn’t a coffee cup that magically appears in front of you during the three o’clock lull.
Now you just… think about him instead.
But it’s only temporary. You’re sure of it. You just need to get used to the day shift and figure out how to get Jack Abbot out of your head.
Which… you have a sneaking suspicion is what Santos plans on helping you with this weekend.
You’re pretty sure you overheard her the other day telling Whitaker that the only way to get over someone is by getting under someone else. And maybe that’s exactly what you need to do—get under someone else so you can stop thinking about the maddeningly hot man who’s nearly twice your age and most definitely does not have a thing for you. Regardless of what Santos seems to think.
You spend the rest of your shift catching up on charting and trying very hard not to think about Dr. Abbot.
When someone asks for an attending, you call Dr. Robby. When you hear his voice just around the corner, you change paths as quickly and inconspicuously as you can. And when your notes are up to date and night shift starts rolling in, you find Dr. Ellis and give her—and only her—the rundown on your patients.
By the time you shut your locker and sling your bag over your shoulder, the sky outside is dark and there are only a few day shifters left lingering around the nurses’ station.
“Did you drive today?” Whitaker asks, shutting his locker only a moment after you.
“Yeah,” you reply. “Need a ride?”
He nods sheepishly. “That’d be great. Santos left already, said I was taking too long.”
You roll your eyes. “Yeah, I bet it had nothing to do with whatever she and Garcia were whispering about in the stairwell.”
Whitaker winces. “I just hope they’re at Garcia’s tonight.”
You huff a small laugh and hitch your bag higher. “You ready?”
He nods.
You both turn and start back toward central—but just as you reach the nurses’ station, his steps slow.
“Do you need to…?”
He jerks a thumb over his shoulder.
You frown. “Need to what?”
He hesitates. “Don’t you normally say goodbye to Dr. Abbot?”
Your eyes widen slowly. “Uh—no. Why would you say that?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. I just thought you two were close.”
“We’re not close,” you say, a little too quick.
“Sorry,” he mutters, raising both hands in surrender. “I just—I don’t know. I thought because you were his resident you two were… close.”
“I’m not his resident,” you snap. “I’m just… a resident. I don’t belong to him.”
“Okay,” he says slowly, brows drawing together. “I’m sorry, I just thought—”
“You thought wrong,” you mutter, glancing over your shoulder to make sure no one is listening.
Thankfully, the two nosiest nurses in the ER have already gone home for the day.
“Let’s just go.”
You grab his wrist and walk quickly toward the ambulance bay doors, giving Ellis and Shen a small nod as you pass—completely missing the middle-aged attending who just overheard most of your conversation.
The car ride to Santos and Whitaker’s isn’t long. Whitaker fills most of it anyway—rambling about the shift, about the kid in Five and whether night shift is going to get slammed, about how Dana looked like she was two seconds away from strangling bed control by the end of the day. And every few minutes he circles back around to apologising for making you drive him home.
You wave him off each time.
“It’s fine, Whitaker.”
“Seriously though,” he says as you pull up outside their building. “I really appreciate it.”
He slings his bag over his shoulder and climbs out of the car, pausing on the sidewalk to give you one last wave before heading toward the front door.
The moment the passenger door falls shut, the quiet settles in. You let out a long breath, tipping your head back against the headrest and letting your eyes fall shut for a moment. And immediately—inevitably—your brain drifts straight back to the same place it always does.
Jack Abbot. Of course.
You scrub a hand over your face before shifting the car back into gear and pulling away.
The rest of the night passes the way most nights do—with a quick shower, something vaguely edible scavenged from the fridge, and half-heartedly scrolling through your phone until exhaustion finally drags you to bed.
When your head finally hits the pillow, you tell yourself you’re too tired to think about him. It’s been a long day—long week—and all you need right now is sleep, not fantasies.
But that doesn’t stop your brain from doing it anyway. Because sometime in the early hours of the morning, Jack Abbot shows up in your dreams. Not in the ER. Not standing beside you at the nurses’ station or leaning over a chart.
He’s in a kitchen. Cooking.
Sleeves rolled up to his elbows, moving around the stove with the same quiet confidence he carries through the hospital—like he knows exactly what he’s doing and expects the rest of the world just to trust him.
And in the dream, you do.
You lean against the counter and watch him the way you sometimes watch him in the trauma bays, telling yourself you’re just observing. Just curious. Just learning.
He glances over his shoulder eventually, catching you staring—and says something you can’t quite hear over the soft clatter of the pan. But he’s smiling.
Then the dream shifts the way dreams tend to—logic slipping sideways until suddenly you’re standing much closer than you should be. Close enough to smell whatever he’s cooking. Close enough that when he turns toward you the space between you disappears entirely.
His hand settles at your waist like it belongs there.
Your back meets the edge of the counter.
And when his mouth brushes your neck—
You wake with a sharp inhale, staring up at the ceiling, heart racing.
“Fuck,” you mutter, dragging a hand over your face.
So much for getting him out of your head.
For a while, you just lie there, staring at the ceiling, watching the first pale line of sunlight creep across until it touches the wall opposite your window.
At some point you realise you’re still replaying the dream in your head.
The kitchen. The way his hand had felt at your waist. The warmth of his mouth against your neck.
You groan quietly and drag the blanket over your face.
“Get a fucking grip.”
Then you throw the covers back and force yourself out of bed, heading straight into the kitchen in search of coffee.
Your small apartment is always quiet—but this morning it feels too quiet. Too still as you silently sip your coffee, one hip leaned against the kitchen counter. Which, unfortunately, leaves far too much room for your brain to wander right back to its favourite topic.
Jack Abbot.
After coffee, you take yourself for a long walk around the block, hoping the cool morning air might help clear the remnants of the dream from your head.
It doesn’t.
But by the time you make it back to your apartment, your legs feel loose and your mind feels a little quieter, and for the briefest moment you almost manage to convince yourself that you’re excited about tonight. That you’re going to be able to do what Santos is clearly angling for and go home with an attractive stranger so you can stop draining your vibrator battery with inappropriate thoughts of your attending.
The rest of the day drifts past in a slow blur of small, forgettable things. Laundry. Answering a couple of messages in the group chat. Half-heartedly reviewing a few notes from earlier in the week before deciding you absolutely refuse to think about work on your day off.
Eventually the afternoon light begins to soften and stretch across the floor, which means it’s probably time to start getting ready if you’re actually going to make it to Santos’ place before she decides you’re bailing and comes knocking to drag you there herself.
So you shower, change, pack a bag, and throw it over your shoulder on the way out the door—trying very hard not to feel disappointed that Dr. Ellis is the only person from night shift who’s going to be at the bar tonight.
It really is for the best.
You, alcohol, and Jack Abbot in the same room is a terrible idea.
“Alright, I’m ready,” Santos announces, finally stepping out of the bathroom.
You, Javadi, and Whitaker—who have spent the last twenty minutes on the couch chatting and sipping beer—look up.
“Aw, I wish I could do winged eyeliner like that,” Javadi says. “It just doesn’t suit my eye shape.”
“Don’t look too close,” Santos mutters. “It’s super uneven, but I don’t have time. I still have to fix this one before we go.”
She tips her chin toward where you and Whitaker are sitting on the opposite end of the lounge.
Whitaker’s eyes go wide. “Me?”
Santos scoffs. “Not you, Huckleberry. God, I don’t have enough time in the world to fix whatever’s going on there.”
Whitaker frowns, glancing down at his navy-blue button-up shirt. “What’s wrong with this?”
“Everything,” Santos says, already turning away.
Whitaker lifts his head, glancing between you and Javadi. “Is it really that bad?”
Javadi leans forward, lowering her voice. “There’s nothing wrong with it, Whitaker. You look great.”
You pat his shoulder. “It’s fine, really. She’s just—”
The words die on your tongue as Santos reappears, holding what can only be described as a sparkly scrap of fabric on a hanger.
Javadi tilts her head. “What’s that?”
Santos grins. “A dress.”
Whitaker chokes on his beer. “That’s… not a dress. That’s a glittery napkin.”
“Oh my God.” Javadi snorts. “My mom would kill me just for buying that.”
“I didn’t buy it,” Santos says lightly. “A friend in college gave it to me, but it’s never fit quite right.”
She steps forward, extending the hanger toward you.
“But I know you’ll be able to pull it off,” she adds, her grin sharpening.
You stare at it—glinting in the low evening sun spilling through the windows.
“Santos… this is a work thing,” you mutter.
She rolls her eyes. “It’s not a work thing. It’s just an outing with people from work.”
“Isn’t that the same thing?” Whitaker asks.
Santos sighs. “No, it’s not. And are you forgetting our main objective?”
You blink at her.
“To get you laid.”
Javadi giggles nervously, trying to hide it behind a swig of beer.
“Come on,” Santos says. “Just put it on and if it doesn’t work, we try something else.”
You hesitate, staring at the glittery thing like it might catch fire at any moment. Which, given enough sunlight, it probably could.
“Fine,” you say at last, pushing off the couch. “I’ll try it on, but that does not mean I’m wearing it.”
Santos’ eyes sparkle with excitement. Or maybe it’s just the dress.
“That’s my girl.”
You take the hanger from her and trudge into her room, nudging the door shut behind you. It takes a minute for you to figure out how the glittery napkin is supposed to go on—but once you do, you shed your comfortable clothes and shimmy into the most sparkly piece of fabric you’ve ever worn.
And somehow, the shimmering scrap of nothing turns out to be an actual dress—short, sparkling, and just structured enough to stay where it’s supposed to while still feeling mildly illegal.
With a deep breath, you turn away from the mirror and open the door, stepping back out into the lounge room.
“So?”
For a moment, no one says anything.
Whitaker’s mouth falls open.
Javadi’s eyebrows lift. “Oh.”
Santos, meanwhile, tilts her head appreciatively, one hand on her hip, eyes gleaming as she looks you over from head to toe.
“I knew it,” she says smugly.
Whitaker blinks. “That is not a dress.”
Javadi elbows him. “Stop talking.”
You tug awkwardly at the hem—which doesn’t actually move much because there isn’t very much hem to tug.
“Santos,” you say carefully, “I’m not sure—”
“Relax,” she says. “You look incredible.”
She circles you slowly, like a stylist inspecting her work.
“And you’re definitely going to get laid.”
“I feel like I shouldn’t be here,” Whitaker mutters, his face bright red.
Santos rolls her eyes. “You’re only here because you live here, Huckleberry. Now go grab that bottle of tequila from on top of the fridge—we’re going to need some liquid courage before we head out.”
After two shots of tequila and Santos’ finishing touches to your makeup, you all head out the door. Whitaker calls an Uber, the four of you pile in, and you carefully keep Santos’ leather jacket wrapped around yourself for some semblance of modesty.
You don’t really plan on taking it off for the rest of the night—even if it isn’t that cold.
The ride to the bar isn’t nearly long enough. Javadi spends most of it excitedly talking about how she can finally go out drinking now that she’s twenty-one, which Santos encourages with the enthusiasm of someone who clearly intends to make the most of that milestone.
You mostly just stare out the window. Trying not to think about the dress you shouldn’t have agreed to wear and the night shift attending you definitely shouldn’t be missing right now. Because if someone asked you where you’d rather be tonight—the bar or the ER with Dr. Abbot—your honest answer would be incredibly depressing.
Who would rather be at work than out with their friends on a Saturday night?
“We’re here,” Santos announces, nudging your side a little too hard.
You all thank the driver before climbing out, gathering yourselves on the sidewalk in front of the familiar establishment Santos loves dragging everyone to.
“Relax,” she says, dropping a hand on your shoulder. “You don’t need this.”
She tugs at the leather jacket, pulling it off your shoulders until it’s bunched at your elbows.
“I feel naked,” you mutter. “Like this is some nightmare where I show up to work in my underwear.”
Whitaker snorts. “Not far from it.”
Santos rolls her eyes. “Well, you’re not at work. You’re at a bar. And this is supposed to be fun.”
Right. Fun.
That is the entire point of tonight. Go out. Have a drink. Meet someone who isn’t Jack Abbot. Ideally forget Jack Abbot exists for at least a few hours.
Completely achievable.
Right?
“Fine.”
You draw a deep breath and drop your arms, letting the jacket slide off completely. Santos grins as you sling it over one elbow, trying not to instinctively hold it in front of your body like armour.
“See?” she says. “Much better.”
“Let’s just go inside before I change my mind,” you mutter, already starting toward the door.
Javadi loops her arm through yours. “You look amazing. Seriously.”
You give her a small smile, trying not to feel quite so awkward as Santos leads the way toward the main entrance.
It’s just a bar. Just a normal Saturday night. You’ll be fine after a few more shots of liquid courage.
You glance through the front window as you approach—more out of habit than anything else, your eyes drifting lazily over the crowded room inside.
People. Low lights. Patrons lingering around the bar.
And—
Your brain stalls.
Because there’s a man leaning against the bar with one elbow braced on the countertop, his shoulders broad under a tight black shirt, head tipped slightly as he talks to someone beside him.
A familiar someone.
Dr. Ellis.
And the man—
Oh.
Oh fuck.
Your stomach plummets.
Jack fucking Abbot.
Your feet stop moving, your whole body suddenly forgetting how to function.
Your pulse kicks violently against the inside of your throat as a wave of heat rushes up the back of your neck, sudden and dizzying and sharp enough to make the edges of your vision blur for half a second.
Because he looks—
He looks so good.
Relaxed in a way you’ve never seen at work. One hand curled loosely around a glass as he frowns slightly at something Ellis is saying, that small crease between his brows you know far too well.
And suddenly you are extremely, violently aware that you are standing outside a bar wearing approximately three square inches of glitter.
“Hey,” Javadi says beside you. “What’s—”
“Santos.”
She doesn’t stop.
“Santos,” you say again, your voice almost breaking.
She glances over her shoulder. “Hm?”
“You knew.”
She stops, her hand hovering near the door.
Whitaker glances between the two of you. “What’s happening?”
“Technically,” Santos says slowly, “I didn’t know. I just... suspected.”
“You said Ellis was the only one from night shift who’d be here.”
She winces. “I did, but what I meant is… Ellis is the only one who actually told me she’d be here.”
You stare at her. “So you did know?”
“I knew it was his night off.”
“Santos, I—” You glance back at him through the bar window. “I can’t go in there like this.”
“Like what?” she asks. “Smoking hot?”
“Half naked.”
She rolls her eyes. “Yes, you can.”
“I will actually die.”
“No, you won’t,” she says firmly. “You’re an adult. You can wear whatever you want, talk to whoever you want, and just because your incredibly inconvenient attending crush happens to be inside does not suddenly revoke your civil liberties.”
She pulls the door open.
“Now stop panicking and get in the bar.”
-
“He swore the chest pain had nothing to do with the seven energy drinks he’d had that night,” Ellis says, still rambling about a patient who pissed her off two nights ago, “which was a bold position to take with a heart rate of one-forty.”
Jack snorts softly. “And did you believe him?”
Ellis’ eyes go wide, and she takes a long drink before continuing her rant about night shift patients and the strange confidence people have when explaining why their terrible decisions definitely have nothing to do with the symptoms they’re currently experiencing.
Jack nods along, offering the occasional comment or question where needed, meeting her gaze now and then—but mostly keeping his attention on the door. Waiting. Because he’s not stupid enough to ask anyone if you’re going to be here tonight, but he is naïve enough to hope you will be.
He wasn’t even supposed to be here tonight—his first night off in two weeks.
He was supposed to be at home, cooking something decent for dinner, enjoying the rare luxury of not wearing scrubs, and inevitably indulging in his favourite guilty pleasure—involving nothing but his hand and some very inappropriate thoughts of you.
But he’s not.
He’s here. In a crowded bar, sipping cheap scotch, listening to Ellis complain about the night shift patients and their weird confidence, just… waiting.
For you.
He’d wanted to ask you yesterday if you were coming to the bar tonight—before he agreed to join—but he’d barely seen you before the end of your shift. And you didn’t even say goodbye. Which isn’t unusual, given how chaotic the ER can be, but then he’d overheard your conversation with Whitaker—and something about it made his chest feel too tight.
It wasn’t anger. Not exactly. Not jealousy, either. It was just... wrong. Not because what you said was wrong, but because he hates that it was right. That you don’t belong to him. Even if Robby calls you ‘his R2’ and Whitaker thinks you’re close because you’re his resident—none of it changes the fact that he has no real claim over you.
Which is ridiculous. He knows it.
He shouldn’t feel territorial. He shouldn’t want this. Want you. And yet, his chest still feels too tight—a slow, hot coil of frustration and longing curling up into his throat, and he hates it. Hates hearing it out loud, hates how much it matters, hates that he can’t make it not matter.
“Oh.” Ellis glances over her shoulder. “Looks like Santos and the others are here.”
Jack’s gaze flicks back to the door.
He tries not to react, not to straighten, not to square his shoulders as if he’s bracing for something—but he can already feel his composure slipping.
Santos steps in first, her head turned slightly as she talks to Whitaker, who walks in behind her. Then it’s Javadi, an unusually wide smile on her face as she looks at—
You.
Oh.
Oh fuck.
Jack stops breathing.
His chest burns. His stomach flips. His hand tightens dangerously around his scotch glass.
It’s you. Of course it’s you. You’re perfect.
But then—
That dress.
God.
That dress—short, sparkling, clinging just enough to make every nerve in his body snap awake. It shimmers under the low lights as you move, and he hates himself for noticing every subtle curve, every shift of fabric, as if time itself has slowed just to torture him.
It’s all too much.
He can feel his pulse in his throat, heat burning beneath his skin, blood rushing in the one direction it really, really shouldn’t be right now. In public. In front of his coworkers.
He blinks, finally tearing his gaze away from you.
And that’s when he notices the rest of the bar. All staring. All stunned.
He hates them all.
He hates that they can even look at you. Hates that the universe allows it. Hates that they might see even a fraction of what he sees—and feel a fraction of what he feels.
And he hates, more than anything right now, that you’re not his.
“Dr. Abbot,” Robby says, appearing beside him and slinging an arm across his shoulders. “What’s your poison tonight?”
Jack lifts his drink, knuckles still white around the glass. “Scotch.”
Robby claps his shoulder, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “You might not want to have too many of those.”
Then he slips past both Jack and Ellis and raises a hand to flag down the bartender.
“Alright,” Ellis says, pushing off the bar. “I’m going to go grab a seat before the table gets too crowded.”
Jack nods, but he doesn’t follow. He stays beside the bar, rigid now, eyes fixed on the group of men at a high table just a few feet from the front door. They’re muttering to each other, leaning in, voices low—but nothing about it is subtle. Their gazes are glued to you as you weave through patrons and tables to greet the rest of the PTMC crew gathered in a booth near the back.
One of them—the dumbest looking one, Jack’s already decided—slowly slides off his stool, nodding along while his friends murmur their advice.
Jack glances back at you, now standing beside McKay, sliding your arms into the leather jacket you’d been carrying. Santos grabs your wrist, tilting her head toward the bar as she starts dragging you with her.
And, like a fourteen-year-old boy with a crush, Jack’s pulse starts racing.
“Dr. Abbot,” Santos says, grinning as you both approach the bar. “Fancy seeing you somewhere other than the ER on a Saturday night.”
“I do have a life outside of work, you know,” he says dryly, lifting his drink and looking anywhere but at you.
“Like playing bingo at the senior centre?” Santos asks, resting both forearms on the bar.
You step up on her other side, squinting at the shelves of liquor on the back wall like they’re the most interesting thing in the room.
“Bingo’s on Wednesdays,” he says mildly. “Try to keep up.”
Santos snorts, shaking her head as she reaches for the small leather-bound bar menu. But out of the corner of his eye, Jack sees your head dip—just slightly—and you try to hide a small laugh against your shoulder.
Jack feels it like a punch to the ribs.
Because you’re listening.
And apparently… you think he’s funny.
“Alright,” Santos says, lifting a hand. “I think we need some tequila over here.”
The bartender steps away from where he’d been serving farther down the bar, but his attention quickly drifts past Santos and lands on you. He leans in, resting one palm flat against the bar while he wipes down the counter with a rag that doesn’t really need wiping.
“So,” he says to you, not Santos. “What are you drinking tonight?”
Santos blinks.
“I just told you,” she says flatly. “Tequila.”
The bartender barely glances at her.
Jack’s jaw tightens.
You look briefly confused, glancing between Santos and the bartender.
“Uh—whatever she orders is fine.”
“Yeah. Tequila,” Santos repeats, slower this time.
The bartender laughs like she’s joking—and Jack sets his scotch down slowly. Carefully.
His eyes stay locked on the man now lining up four small glasses in front of you, still completely ignoring Santos. The way he’s watching you is too much. Too close. The faint curl at the corner of his mouth makes Jack want to punch the smirk right off his face.
And by the way you shift a little closer to Santos—pulling your jacket tighter around yourself—he knows you’re uncomfortable.
His hand clenches at his side.
Robby pauses as he walks past, a beer in each hand.
“Easy, tiger,” he mutters. “She can handle herself.”
“I know,” Jack says, voice low. “Doesn’t mean she has to.”
Robby gives him a look—a brief, knowing glance, somewhere between amusement and warning. “Careful.”
Jack doesn’t respond. He just turns back to you and Santos, watching as you each knock back two shots of tequila, your nose scrunching as the burn hits. And he can’t help the small twitch at the corner of his mouth, because the face you make as you set the second glass down is ridiculously cute for someone wearing a dress like that.
“Okay,” Santos says. “I need a vodka soda before I start making bad decisions.”
The bartender nods, already reaching for another glass—and before he can even ask if you’d like another drink, someone else steals your attention.
“Hey,” the guy says, stepping up beside you. “Can I get you another one?”
He leans in, just enough to be heard over the noise—but it’s still too close.
You shift slightly, angling toward him. “Oh. Uh—sure.”
Santos presses her lips together, clearly fighting a smile as she turns back to the bar, suddenly very invested in whatever the bartender is doing. The second he sets the vodka soda in front of her, she scoops it up and drops a few bills on the counter.
She lifts the drink to her lips as she turns away, pausing just long enough to glance at Jack over the rim of the glass.
Her brows lift. “You really gonna let that happen?”
Jack frowns. “What—”
But Santos is already gone, drink in hand, halfway back to the booth where everyone else is.
Where Jack should be headed too—because there’s no reason for him to stay here. No reason for him to linger, to hover, to make sure you’re okay, to stand there glaring at the guy buying you a drink like that’s going to change anything.
It’s not like he can blame him. If Jack thought he had a shot with you, he’d take it too. The difference is, Jack wouldn’t need the dress. Or the drinks. Or the crowd. He’d take that shot with you even when you’re tired and stressed out and covered in blood at the end of a bad shift in the ER. He’d take it any time. Any place.
But Jack doesn’t get that shot.
Because you’re young. You don’t have baggage. And you’re a resident—maybe not his resident, but still a resident.
It’s just too inappropriate.
Jack sets his glass back on the bar a little harder than necessary—and the bartender glances over, brows raised as if silently asking if he’d like another, but Jack just shakes his head.
His eyes flick back to you. To the way you’re smiling now—soft, not uneasy. To the way you seem to have forgotten about keeping your jacket closed, and now the idiot talking to you is looking anywhere but your face.
Then you laugh—light, easy—and something in Jack’s chest tightens again.
He looks away. He can’t keep standing here. He’s not going to stand here and watch you flirt with some idiot at the bar like he has any right to care.
With a deep breath, he forces himself to turn away and start walking back to the table.
Where he should have been five minutes ago. Where he plans on staying for the rest of the night.
Half an hour later, most of PTMC’s day shift staff are gathered in the booth, half still wearing their scrubs after coming straight from the hospital. The volume of conversation builds with the growing collection of empty glasses in the middle of the table, voices overlapping, getting louder with every round—but Jack doesn’t order another scotch. At some point, Ellis sets a beer in front of him, which he nurses until it’s too warm to enjoy.
Every now and then, he makes a point of nodding or laughing or glancing at someone across the table—pretending to follow the conversation, pretending he’s paying attention—when really, all he can focus on is you. You and your smile. And your laugh. And the way your hand settles lightly on a man’s bicep when he says something that makes you blush.
Not the same man as before, either. No—this one is new. This one swooped in when the first one excused himself to take a phone call, and now that one is back at the table with his friends, sulking.
Kind of how Jack is right now, sitting at the table with his friends. Sulking. Glaring. Plotting.
He knows he shouldn’t. He knows it’s none of his business. But he can’t stop himself from trying to come up with an excuse to interrupt you. To get you away from those men and their lingering stares.
Not that he’s any better.
“Abbot.” Robby nudges his side. “Hungry?”
Jack blinks, finally dragging his gaze away from you to where Ellis is standing, looking expectant.
“Hm?”
“Are you hungry?” Ellis asks. “I’m going to order some wings.”
Jack frowns. “Uh—no. I’m good. Thanks.”
Ellis nods once and turns away, heading straight for the bar.
Robby huffs a quiet laugh beside him. “You might want to turn your hearing aids up, old man.”
Jack doesn’t even look at him. “Funny.”
“I’m serious,” Robby says mildly. “You’ve missed, what, three questions in the last five minutes?”
“I heard her,” Jack mutters. “I was just... thinking.”
Robby hums like he doesn’t believe that for a second.
Jack shifts, pushing his chair back as he sets his warm beer on the table. “I’m gonna hit the head.”
Robby’s brows lift, slow and knowing, his gaze flicking briefly toward the bar.
“Mm,” he says. “Sure you are.”
Jack does, in fact, turn toward the bathrooms first—mostly because he needs a second away from all the music and chatter to try and clear his head. To try and stop himself from doing what he really left the booth to do.
He locks himself in the accessible bathroom—not that he needs it, but it’s more private than the men’s—and stands in front of the vanity. He presses his palms into the porcelain sink, shifting his weight forward with a deep, steadying breath.
This is ridiculous, and he knows it.
He’s a grown man. He shouldn’t be acting like this.
This is trivial shit, for God’s sake. Jack is a vet. A seasoned ER doctor.
So why is a goddamn crush undoing him like this?
Why are you undoing him like this?
He lifts his head and stares at his reflection—jaw tight, shoulders rigid—trying to get a grip. Trying to remember that he is a grown ass man, not some idiot who can’t keep his shit together.
His gaze drifts across his face—the day-old stubble, peppered hair—then to the reflection of the bathroom behind him. The graffitied walls, covered in stickers and spray paint, a chaotic collection of late nights and inebriated thoughts. He wonders, briefly, how many people came in here intending to leave something behind.
Then he spots something scrawled in the corner of the mirror in thick black marker.
HESITATE AND SOMEONE ELSE WON’T.
Jack tilts his head.
That’s not exactly... subtle.
But that’s the thing, isn’t it?
He doesn’t hesitate.
Not in the trauma bay. Not out in the field. Not when it matters. Not when someone’s life is on the line and everyone else is waiting for someone to make the call.
So what the hell is this?
This… standing back. Watching. Letting it happen.
Like he doesn’t know what he wants. Like he hasn’t already made up his mind.
He drags a hand over his mouth, shaking his head once—sharp, annoyed.
“Jesus Christ.”
It’s not caution. It’s avoidance.
With another deep breath, Jack reaches for the tap and braces his hands beneath the stream. He scrubs them together—quick and thorough—then turns off the water, grabs a paper towel, and dries his hands with more focus than necessary. He tosses the towel in the bin on his way out the door, his gaze sharpening as he scans the bar—finding you immediately.
You’re still standing where you were, maybe a few steps closer to the back of the room. There’s a new guy in front of you now, closing you in, crowding your space just enough to make Jack’s eyes narrow.
The man’s hand settles at your waist, a little lower than what could be considered innocent. And anyone else watching might think you’re okay with it—but Jack knows you. He sees the small flicker of discomfort that crosses your face, the subtle drop of your shoulder as you try to angle yourself away without seeming rude.
Good thing Jack doesn’t mind being rude.
He’s already moving before he’s fully decided to. Just a few long strides and he’s there—close enough to cut through the space between you and the guy without touching either of you, his presence alone enough to interrupt whatever the hell this is supposed to be.
He looks at you. Just you.
“Hey.”
Your head turns immediately—and the shift in your expression is instant. Relief.
“Oh—hey,” you say, a little breathless.
And then you step into him. Not too close. Not in a way that draws attention or suggests anything—but enough to make Jack’s pulse jump. Enough for him to feel your warmth and the way it settles under his skin.
“Hey, man,” the guy says, holding out a hand. “I’m Trent.”
Jack ignores him.
“You alright?” he asks you.
You nod slowly. “I am now.”
Your fingers curl into the back of his shirt, just for a second—like you didn’t even think about it. Like you just needed something solid to hold onto.
Jack goes still.
Trent clears his throat. “Sorry—uh—who are you?”
You glance at him with a tight smile. “This is my attending.”
Jack likes being called your attending.
Trent frowns. “What?”
“Remember how I said I was a doctor?”
Trent just stares at you.
“Well, Dr. Abbot is my attending,” you go on anyway. “He’s like my supervisor. I’m his resident.”
His resident.
“Right,” Trent mutters, eyeing Jack. “Cool. So—you’re a doctor?”
Jack doesn’t even look at him. His eyes stay fixed on you.
“Are you hungry?” he asks. “Ellis is ordering wings—we can grab a menu.”
“Starving,” you reply, the corner of your mouth lifting slightly as you look up at him.
“Great.” His hand settles at your shoulder, firm but casual. “Let’s get back to the others.”
“Wait,” Trent says. “Are you—”
“It was nice meeting you,” you cut in, flashing him one last tight-lipped smile before Jack steers you away.
He keeps his arm around your shoulders until you’re halfway back to the booth of PTMC doctors and nurses. Only then does he pull back, clasping his hands behind his back like he needs the physical restraint.
“Thanks for that,” you murmur. “He just wouldn’t take a hint.”
Jack nods. “I noticed.”
He doesn’t look at you as he turns back toward the other end of the table, toward his seat beside Robby—because if he did, he might not be able to leave your side. From the corner of his eye, he sees Santos reach for you, already asking what happened as she pulls you into the seat between her and McKay.
And for twenty blissful minutes, Jack feels okay. The most okay he’s felt all night.
Because you’re here, at the table, talking to Santos and McKay—and not some idiot who thinks he deserves a chance with the prettiest girl in the room. In the world, according to Jack.
But only for twenty minutes—because once you finish your drink, Santos drags you back to the bar.
Another shot. Another drink. Another guy.
Jack shifts in his chair, trying to listen to whatever it is Ellis and Mateo are arguing about, but he can’t focus—not when your hand settles lightly on this new guy’s shoulder. And especially not when it slides down his bicep, flirty in a way that makes Jack want to get out of his chair.
He tells himself he’s not going to. That he shouldn’t.
But the second the lights dim and the music gets louder, he pushes out of his seat.
He finds you at the edge of the dancefloor, catching your wrist before you can disappear into the crowd.
“Hey,” he says, voice raised over the music.
Your head whips around, your brows lifting slightly in that soft, expectant way—like you’re waiting for him to say whatever it is that’s so important he had to stop you right here.
Jack clears his throat. “Have you been drinking water?”
You frown. “Um. Not really.”
“You should really drink some water,” he says, tipping his head toward the bar.
You hesitate, glancing back over your shoulder at the man waiting for you to follow him into the crowd.
Then you look back at Jack.
“Uh, yeah. Okay. Water.”
He knows he shouldn’t have done it. He knows it was stupid and petty and jealousy-driven—but he can’t help the flicker of satisfaction when you follow him to the end of the bar with the self-serve water tower.
The music is too loud for conversation—and even if it wasn’t, he’s not sure what he’d say. Not when you’re looking at him like this. A little drunk. A little curious. Your brows drawn, your skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat, your lips wet from the water.
God. This has the be the finest form of torture.
Because here you are—so young and so sweet, so trusting in Jack that he’s just trying to look after you, when all he can think about is the fact that you’re not his. That they think you’re fair game. That every man in this room thinks he has a chance.
And the fact that he’s not going to let them anywhere near you.
-
The third time Jack Abbot appears at your side, he catches your elbow just as you’re about to step out the door with a man named Leo. Not to leave the bar—just for some air—but then Jack says something about Mateo buying a round of shots and guides you back inside.
You don’t mind. Not really. Especially not when a free drink is involved.
So you line up beside your coworkers and sink another shot of tequila with a grimace before Santos drags you back to the dancefloor.
The fourth time Jack Abbot intercepts you, you’re just about to start dancing with a handsome stranger Santos accidentally made you bump into—but before you can even take the man’s hand, Jack pulls you away, insisting you take a seat for a minute and drink more water.
Which, fine. Whatever.
But by the fifth interruption, you’re starting to notice a pattern.
And you’re getting a little annoyed.
“Oh my God,” Santos says, her eyes going wide as the opening notes to ABBA’s Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! start blaring through the speakers. “We have to dance. Come on!”
You barely have time to scoop your drink up off the bar before she’s dragging you onto the dancefloor—into the throng of warm bodies all moving to the beat beneath the single, sparkling disco ball.
The music pulses through the floor beneath your feet, the bass thrumming in your chest as Santos drags you deeper into the crowd. Somewhere between Mateo’s round of shots and your tenth song on the dancefloor, your jacket disappeared—and now your dress catches the light with every movement, glittering under the shifting colours as bodies press in from all sides.
The bar is still pretty full, even if the PTMC booth has already lost a few soldiers. There are still plenty of prospects—plenty of strangers who might offer to take you home and make you forget all about Jack Abbot. Which is still very much the plan.
If only the man himself would stop interrupting every interaction like he’s doing you a favour.
At some point during the second—or maybe third—chorus, Santos subtly steps away and a guy ends up in front of you. You’re not even entirely sure how. One second you’re dancing and screaming the lyrics, the next he’s there—close enough that you can feel the heat of him, his hands hovering like he’s trying to decide where to put them.
You let it happen. Because this is what you want, right?
This is the plan.
He leans in and says something you don’t quite catch over the music, but you laugh anyway—more out of obligation than anything else.
Then his attention shifts.
His eyes flick past you. And just like that—he falters.
It’s subtle, but you feel it. The hesitation. The way his body pulls back a fraction, like something just snapped him out of it.
“Uh—actually,” he mutters, already stepping away. “I—yeah. Sorry.”
Then he’s gone.
You blink, frowning slightly as you glance over your shoulder and—
Of course.
Jack Abbot, standing just beyond the edge of the dancefloor, drink in hand, eyes locked on you with a look that makes your stomach drop.
Not angry. Not exactly.
But intense. Sharp. Focused in a way that feels… deliberate.
You stare at him for a second—frustration flickering across your face—then turn back to Santos, who is still dancing with her vodka soda lifted in the air.
You lean in, raising your voice just enough to be heard over the music. “Your plan isn’t working!”
She turns to face you, frowning. “What do you mean it’s not working?”
You stare at her. “The plan to get me laid? It’s not working.”
“Why not?”
You huff out a laugh, incredulous.
“Because of him,” you say, nodding toward Jack. “Because I let him save me from one bad interaction and now he’s just—hovering. Interrupting. Scaring people off.”
Santos’ mouth twitches.
“I think he thinks he’s being helpful,” you add, shaking your head. “Like he’s doing me a favour or something, but—God, I’m never going to get a stranger to take me home with a hundred-and-ninety-pound war vet glaring over my shoulder every five minutes.”
Santos just looks at you for a second—then smiles. Slow. Knowing.
“And what part of my plan isn’t working?”
You frown. “Are you even listening to me?”
“I said I was going to get you laid,” she says, lifting her drink to her lips. “I never said anything about going home with a stranger.”
It doesn’t land straight away.
You blink at her, still frowning as you try to follow the logic—because that doesn’t make sense, that’s not the plan. If you’re not going home with a stranger, then who—
And then it clicks.
Your stomach drops.
“Wait—Santos,” you start, eyes widening. “You don’t mean—”
Santos just looks at you over the rim of her glass. Calm. Patient. Smiling faintly, like she’s been waiting for this exact moment all night.
You glance toward the side of the dancefloor again—to the man still focused on you in a way that feels far too intentional now. Arms folded, jaw set. He doesn’t even pretend to look away when you meet his stare.
“Actually,” Santos says, her hand closing around your wrist. “I think my plan is working perfectly. Now, come on—” she nods toward the booth where everyone else is, “let’s play a game.”
A game?
Before you can argue or even question it, Santos is dragging you off the dancefloor toward the booth at the back of the bar. The thrum of the music dulls the further you get from the crowd, and by the time you both slide into empty seats at the table, you no longer feel like you need to yell just to be heard.
The PTMC crew has thinned since you were last sitting here. Robby, Dana, and Donnie are gone, and McKay is holding her purse in her lap like she’d been trying to leave when Mateo cornered her with another rant about how no patient actually seems to understand the pain scale.
“Alright,” Santos announces, picking up someone’s abandoned drink and taking a sip like she owns it, “we’re playing a game.”
Whitaker leans forward. “A game?”
“Yes, Huckleberry. A game.” Santos glances around the table with a lazy half-smile. “It’s called Never Have I Ever.”
Mateo snorts. “That’s a middle school sleepover game.”
“Great,” Santos replies. “Then it should be easy for you.”
There’s a ripple of laughter around the table, but no one else seems to object.
“Can I start?” Mohan pipes up beside Santos. “I’ve got a good one.”
Santos nods. “Be my guest.”
You’re not entirely sure when Jack rejoined the table, since he’d been at the edge of the dancefloor just a few minutes ago, but now you’re suddenly very aware of his presence across from you. Like the few people that called it a night have unintentionally left a smaller, more intimate group behind—and now Jack Abbot is almost directly across from you while you play one of the most notorious, tension-raising middle school games of all time.
“Okay,” Mohan says, sitting up a little straighter. “Never have I ever… called in sick when I wasn’t actually sick.”
McKay laughs. Mateo groans. Almost everyone at the table lifts their drinks.
“Really?” Santos says. “That was your good one?”
Mohan shrugs. “I thought—”
“Never mind,” Santos cuts her off. “My turn.”
Her gaze moves slowly around the table before landing on you, the corner of her mouth lifting just slightly.
“Never have I ever,” she starts slowly, “fantasised about someone else sitting at this table.”
Your pulse jumps.
McKay snorts.
Mateo leans forward. “Like, intentionally. Or…?”
Whitaker frowns. “You’ve accidentally fantasised about someone here?”
He shrugs. “Sometimes the wrong people pop up, you know?”
Santos rolls her eyes. “Oh my God. Whatever. Intentional or not.”
Mateo nods once and lifts his drink. Javadi sinks lower in her chair as she lifts hers—and you try not to look around at the rest of the table as you bring your own up to your lips.
Beside you, McKay drops her purse to the ground and straightens, clearly invested now.
“Alright, I’ve got one,” she says, grinning. “Never have I ever… faked it.”
Javadi chokes, Santos snorts, and across from you, Jack huffs out a quiet laugh.
“Never?” Ellis asks, eyes wide. “So you always—”
“Oh, God, no,” McKay laughs. “Definitely not. I just refuse to fake it.”
Laughter moves through the table again, a little louder this time, and everyone takes a second to decide whether or not to raise their drinks.
You lift yours slowly, looking anywhere but at Jack.
“Okay, my turn,” Ellis announces, shifting in her seat. “Never have I ever… hooked up with someone at work.”
The table reacts around you, a mix of laughter and quiet protest, but it all blurs at the edges when you finally glance up—because Jack is already looking at you.
Not surprised. Not amused.
Just… watching.
He doesn’t laugh or say anything. He just lifts his drink, slow and deliberate.
And something sharp twists in your chest.
“What’ve you got, Langdon?” McKay asks, nodding at him across the table.
Langdon strokes his chin thoughtfully for a moment—then sighs.
“Alright, I already know I’m going to get shit for this, but—” He clears his throat. “Never have I ever… had sex in public.”
McKay laughs, loudly, and lifts her drink to her lips without hesitation. Ellis and Santos drink too, while Mohan laughs into her hand and Javadi sinks even lower in her chair.
Across from you, Jack sips his drink again like it’s nothing.
And that sharp twist in your chest doesn’t ease.
Because of course he has. Of course there are other people. Other women.
And you—
You catch Santos’ gaze from the other end of the table—sharp, knowing, daring.
Your grip tightens slightly around your glass.
And before you can talk yourself out of it—
“Okay, my turn,” you say lightly, sitting up a little straighter.
Everyone turns to you, but you keep your eyes fixed on your glass.
“Never have I ever,” you say slowly, “…finished during sex.”
For a second—nothing.
Then the table erupts.
“What—no—” Mateo is already laughing, leaning forward like he thinks you’re joking. “You’re kidding.”
Javadi chokes on her drink, coughing as she turns toward you. “Wait, seriously?”
“Oh my God,” McKay says, half-laughing, half-staring at you like she’s trying to figure out if you’re lying.
Langdon huffs out a quiet, disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. “Well… that’s unfortunate.”
Whitaker just blinks at you, caught somewhere between surprised and confused, like he doesn’t quite know what to do with that information.
Santos doesn’t say anything. She just leans back in her seat, watching you over the rim of her glass with a slow, satisfied smile.
And across from you—
Jack just goes still.
Completely still.
His expression doesn’t change, but something in his eyes does—sharp, dark, focused in a way that makes your stomach flip.
It takes you a minute to remember how to move. How to breathe. How to laugh and sip your drink and keep playing the game that doesn’t stop just because it feels like your heart did.
Eventually, everyone eases off the third-degree on your embarrassingly real confession, and Mateo pipes up next with something ridiculous that makes the table groan. Then Javadi comes out with something surprisingly rebellious—and blushes hard when Mateo flashes her a wink.
And so it goes on.
You know it does.
You can hear it—voices overlapping, laughter breaking out again, someone arguing over what counts, someone else swearing they’re being misrepresented—but it all feels… distant.
Like it’s happening a few steps away from you instead of right here at the table. Because now, all you can focus on is Jack. On the way he’s hardly moved. Hardly spoken. Hardly looked away from you.
At some point, he mutters his own confession with a small smirk and everyone laughs—but you don’t catch the words. You’re too aware of everything else to hear them. Too aware of your pulse pounding in your ears, the thrum of the music beneath your feet, the way Jack’s jaw ticks every time you glance back at him.
Another round starts. Then another.
Someone groans. Someone laughs too loud. Santos says something that earns a chorus of reactions—but it all slips past you, unimportant, forgettable.
Time stretches. Blurs.
Your drink empties, refills, empties again.
People shift in their seats. Someone stands. Someone leaves.
Then suddenly—
“You ready?”
You blink.
Santos is standing beside you, brows raised.
“Ready?” you echo.
She nods toward the door. “Time to go. Most of us have to work tomorrow.”
You glance around at the empty table. “Oh.”
Santos is already halfway to the door by the time you gather your things and catch up to her. You’re still pulling your jacket on as you step outside, bracing against the cool night air that nips at every inch of exposed skin—which, in this dress, is a lot of skin.
“The Uber’s just around the corner,” Whitaker says.
“Great,” Mohan mutters, hugging her jacket tighter. “I’m freezing.”
You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or just the heat lingering beneath your skin from the way Jack had been watching you earlier, but you’re not nearly as cold as you should be.
“You sure you don’t mind if I stay over tonight?” Javadi asks, glancing between Santos and Whitaker.
Santos shrugs. “As long as you don’t mind the couch—and Dr. Shamsi isn’t going to have us arrested for kidnapping.”
Javadi lets out an awkward laugh. “Uh—no. It’s totally fine. I told my dad.”
“Are you working tomorrow?” Whitaker asks.
Javadi shakes her head. “Day off. You?”
Whitaker sighs. “Yeah.”
“So am I,” Santos adds. “And if I don’t get at least five hours sleep, I cannot be responsible for other people’s lives.”
“That’s reassuring,” Jack mutters, almost startling you as he steps out of the bar.
He buries his hands in his pockets, hardly sparing you a glance as he steps closer to the group. There’s a faint hitch in his step—something you recognise from the waning hours of a night shift, when he’s been on his feet for too long and starts to favour one leg.
“This is us,” Whitaker announces, nodding toward the car pulling up at the curb.
Mohan hurries forward first, yanking the door open and climbing into the back seat—and Javadi is next, flashing you a smile before she ducks in beside her. You step forward—then hesitate. Whitaker is already holding the front passenger door open, and Santos is standing at the curb, about to join the others in the back.
“Wait.” Your pulse jumps. “There’s too many—”
“You’re with Dr. Abbot,” Santos says lightly, her mouth twitching like she’s trying not to smile.
Your stomach drops.
“I—I’m what?”
Santos shrugs. “Javadi’s staying over and Mohan’s place is on the way to ours. Just makes sense.”
Then she climbs into the car, shuts the door, and rolls the window down.
“See you tomorrow!”
There’s a chorus of goodbyes from the others before the car pulls away from the curb—and the cool, quiet night settles in too quickly. The only sound is the dull thrum of music from the bar, and the pounding of your pulse in your ears.
For a second, you don’t turn around. You can’t. Not now that you’re alone with him.
Then—
“I’m this way,” he says, voice low and rough and maddeningly hot.
You nod, but don’t dare look at him as you start following the line of parked cars up the street.
The night air feels sharper now, cooler the further you get from the bar—and it makes you pull into yourself, arms folded tightly while your jacket barely does anything to help.
Jack keeps an easy pace beside you, not crowding you, not touching you, but close enough that you’re aware of him anyway. Of the space he takes up at your side. Of the way he adjusts slightly so you’re walking on the inside of the path, further from the curb, without making a thing of it.
Neither of you says anything.
It’s not awkward. It’s just… quiet in a way that feels heavy, like the silence is holding onto everything that happened inside instead of letting it go.
Your heels click unevenly against the pavement, catching slightly every few steps, and you’re suddenly, painfully aware of everything—the way your dress shifts as you move, the cool air against your skin, the way your pulse hasn’t quite settled.
You feel too sober. Too aware.
When his car finally comes into view, he moves ahead of you just slightly—just enough to reach the passenger door first and hold it open.
God. He’s so annoyingly considerate.
You give him a small, tight smile before climbing into the passenger seat.
The car is still warm, still holding onto the heat from earlier in the day, and it smells like him in a way that’s subtle but unmistakable—clean, familiar, something faintly sharp beneath it that you can’t quite place but instantly recognise. The seat gives slightly beneath you, softer than you expect, and for a second you just sit there, hands hovering like you’re not entirely sure where to put them.
It’s his.
All of it.
The way everything is exactly where it should be, nothing out of place. The faint scuff on the console. A pair of sunglasses tucked neatly into the centre compartment. His backpack thrown into the back seat like he’d discarded it in a hurry and never thought about it again.
The sound of the driver’s side door opening almost startles you.
You drop your hands into your lap, shifting slightly and smoothing your dress down over your thighs like that might ground you somehow.
The car immediately feels smaller when Jack climbs in. More intimate. Closer in a way that’s almost stifling.
You keep your eyes fixed out the windshield.
Waiting.
For the engine to start. For the car to move.
But nothing happens.
The silence stretches, thick and suffocating, settling into every inch of the space between you.
And then—
“You can’t say shit like that around me.”
You blink, finally turning toward him—and regretting it immediately. He’s so irritatingly handsome, so annoyingly gorgeous in a way that makes you want to be stupid and reckless and climb across the console into his lap.
“Say what?” you ask, your voice embarrassingly thin.
He looks at you—not fully, just turning his head slightly.
“You know what,” he says, his voice low and rough with something that sounds a little too close to control slipping.
And you do.
You know exactly what he means.
But before you can say anything else, he turns the key and the engine rumbles to life. The radio crackles a little before some late-night news station fills the silence—and he doesn’t move to turn it off, doesn’t even turn it down. He just drives.
The radio reporter’s voice hums through the car like white noise, talking about something you’re not really listening to as you try to focus on keeping your breathing even.
You can still hear his voice.
You can’t say shit like that around me.
The way he said it. Low. Controlled. Like it cost him something to keep it that way.
Your fingers shift slightly in your lap, smoothing over the fabric of your dress again without thinking, and your mind starts turning his words over before you can stop it—pulling at them, testing them, trying to make them mean something that makes sense.
Because what does that even mean?
You glance at him, quick, like you might catch something you missed—but he’s focused on the road, jaw set, one hand loose on the wheel like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just change everything with eight little words.
You look away again.
No. He didn’t mean it like that.
He’s just—he’s your attending. He’s responsible. Of course he’d say something. Of course he’d—
Except he didn’t say it like that.
Your stomach tightens as your thoughts circle back, slower this time, more deliberate.
The way he kept pulling you away from people tonight. The way he’d been watching you. The way he didn’t laugh, didn’t joke, didn’t let it go.
The way he said it.
Around me.
Not here. Not in front of people.
Around me.
Your breath catches slightly, and you shift in your seat, suddenly very aware of the space between you—of how close he is, of how easy it would be to just turn your head, lean in and—
No.
No, that’s not—
You swallow, gaze fixed stubbornly ahead.
You’re just reading into it. You have to be.
Because the alternative—
Your pulse jumps.
God. The alternative is too much to even consider.
But the thought lingers anyway.
It settles in the back of your mind, quieter now, but heavier—pulling at everything he said, everything he did, everything you might have missed until now. The words circle back, sharper this time—until—
The car stops—and you blink.
For a moment, you don’t move. You can’t.
Then Jack clears his throat.
“Oh—uh—thanks,” you mutter, reaching for your seatbelt buckle.
He nods once. “Anytime.”
You push your door open before you can think too hard about it, stepping out into the cool night air that hits a little harder this time. Your heart is still beating in your throat, your pulse still too loud, your thoughts are still circling those eight words—eight little words that feel like they weigh far more than they should.
You hesitate—one hand on the door, the other gripping your keys in your jacket pocket.
God.
This is stupid.
This is reckless.
This is—
“Do you—” You clear your throat, the words catching slightly before you force them out. “Do you want to come up?”
He stares at you for a second, then lets out a short, disbelieving breath, like he’s not quite sure he heard you right.
“You can’t be serious.”
Heat rushes up your neck, quick and unwelcome, and for a second you just stand there, wishing you could take it back—rewind a few seconds and keep your mouth shut.
What the hell were you thinking?
“Yeah,” you say, a little too quickly. “No, that was—that was stupid.”
You turn away before he can say anything else, pushing the door shut harder than you mean to as you step back onto the sidewalk. You don’t look back. You refuse to. You just keep walking toward the lobby door, drawing your keys from your pocket and fumbling through them to find the right one.
It takes longer than it should, but eventually you find the lobby key and wriggle it into the lock.
This door has never been your friend. It’s old, a little rusted, and the lock has always been janky—but now your hands are shaking, and this stupid old door seems to think that’s funny, because it won’t budge.
You jiggle the key and try again, but nothing changes.
Then—
“Here.”
His voice is low. Close.
Your hand stills as he steps in behind you, not touching, but close enough that you can feel the heat of him at your back—the solid line of his chest just shy of pressing into you as he reaches past your shoulder.
His fingers brush yours as he takes the key—and the lock turns easily this time.
Of course it does. Traitorous fucking door.
His arm lingers there for a second longer than it needs to—then he pushes the door open.
You don’t even glance at him as you step inside, already turning back to grab your key before the door swings shut—but he’s still holding it, barely a step behind you.
He tilts his head slightly, nodding toward the lobby. “Go.”
It’s quiet. Controlled.
Not a suggestion.
Your breath catches, just for a second, and you hesitate—long enough to feel it, whatever this is, tightening between you—
Then you turn and keep walking.
And he follows.
He follows you across the lobby, up the fire stairs, down the corridor, all the way to your apartment door. He stands a little closer than necessary as you unlock it—almost like he doesn’t think you know how doors work now—but the key turns smoothly this time.
You push the door open and step inside.
The apartment is quiet, dim, and you shrug out of your jacket without thinking. You can feel him watching you as you drape it over the arm of the sofa, and it’s a little... thrilling. Dangerous. Because Jack Abbot is in your goddamn apartment right now, looking at you like he’s a man on the edge—
And you’re daring him to jump.
“Drink?” you offer, keeping your voice light—innocent.
He clears his throat. “Water, please.”
You can’t help the small smirk on your lips as you brush past him, a little closer than necessary.
“So polite,” you murmur.
He doesn’t move, doesn’t shift—but you can feel him there, tense just beneath the surface.
You open the fridge and bend over to grab a bottle of water, letting your dress ride up the backs of your thighs in a way that’s totally unnecessary. Jack clears his throat again, just a little too sharp, and when you glance back toward him, he’s turned away completely.
You press your lips together to keep from smiling too wide as you straighten again.
“Here,” you say, stepping toward him and holding the water out.
He turns hesitantly, taking it. “Thank you.”
Your eyes catch his, a slow smile tugging at your lips before you bite the corner gently, just enough for him to notice. He looks away quickly, jaw tightening as he focuses on uncapping the water bottle.
You brush past him again, still a little too close, and move toward the sofa, dropping onto it and leaning forward to take off your shoes.
Jack takes a long swig of water, then clears his throat for the third time.
“Are you working tomorrow?” he asks.
You glance up, still leaned forward, and it’s hard not to notice the way his eyes dip from your face.
“Isn’t that something you should already know?”
The corner of his mouth twitches, like he can’t quite help himself.
“You’re impossible. You know that?”
Heat rushes up your neck at the way he says it—short, sharp, loaded—and you bite back a grin, letting your eyes glint just a little as you straighten.
“Am I?” you murmur, tilting your head just slightly. “Only one way to find out.”
He freezes for a second, shoulders tight, hand curling slightly around the water bottle—and it crackles softly under his grip. His breath hitches, just barely.
“I should go,” he mutters, voice low and clipped.
He takes a step toward the door—and you shoot up from the sofa, heartbeat racing.
“Wait—uh—before you go,” you say, stepping toward him, “could you help me with something?”
He hesitates, turning slowly, as if every second in here is costing him something.
You move until you’re almost between him and the door, looking up at him through your lashes.
“Could you help me out of my dress?”
The second the words leave your lips, you forget how to breathe.
Jack’s jaw tightens, his shoulders coiling ever so slightly. His fingers twitch around the bottle, just a whisper of movement, as if holding himself together by force. His eyes catch yours, dark and sharp, taking in the faint scrunch between your brows, the small pout on your lips, the way you’re offering him something he never thought he’d be allowed to have.
He nods once—careful, controlled—but the tension radiating off him is almost unbearable.
Your stomach flips.
Without a word, you turn, sweeping your hair out of the way while your pulse hammers in your ears.
You feel him shift, his warmth, and the ghost of his touch at the nape of your neck. And that first, tiny contact sends a shock straight through you—hot, sharp, impossible to ignore.
He pauses, just a heartbeat, and you catch the tiniest hitch in his breath.
Then he moves again, slow, deliberate, dragging the zipper down almost painfully slow, his knuckles grazing your skin—warm, rough, controlled, just enough to make your heart pound in your throat.
“How do you do it?” you whisper, voice catching slightly. “How are you always so… unaffected by everything?”
“Unaffected?” he murmurs, almost tasting the word, as if testing it against himself.
His knuckles brush the small of your back, pausing where the zipper ends—but he doesn’t stop. His fingertips graze your skin, deliberate, teasing, tracing the line of your spine upward again, slow enough that it drags your breath with it, sharp enough that heat blooms through every nerve.
“You have no idea,” he whispers, voice low and rough, almost breaking, “how much you affect me.”
Your breath catches, sharp and sudden. Everything in your chest pulls tight, something hot and dizzying blooming low as his words sink in.
You turn before you can stop yourself—and he’s closer now. Close enough that you can feel the warmth of him, the shift of his breath, the space between you narrowing into something fragile and dangerous.
For a second, neither of you move.
And then his hand finds your neck—
Not rough, not rushed—just firm enough to anchor you there, thumb pressing under your jaw like he needs to feel that this is real, that you’re real. His other hand tightens where it still holds the loosened fabric of your dress at your back, fingers curling into it like restraint is slipping through his grip.
He hesitates, just for a breath. Like he’s giving himself one last chance to walk away.
Then he kisses you.
It’s not tentative. There’s nothing careful about it. It lands like something he’s been holding back for too long, all that control finally snapping under the weight of you standing here, asking for him, looking at him like that.
His mouth is warm and certain against yours, a sharp inhale breaking through you as you lean into him without thinking, your hands finding him just as quickly—his stomach, his chest—anything to hold onto as the world tilts. He makes a low sound, barely there, but you feel it more than you hear it, the vibration settling deep in your chest as his grip tightens.
You melt before you can stop yourself.
Your head tilts back, giving him more, and he takes it immediately, deepening the kiss with that same quiet intensity that steals the breath right out of you. His thumb shifts along your jaw, not lingering, just enough to guide you where he wants you, and the control of it—God, the way he still tries to control it after everything, after all that restraint—makes something in your stomach flip hard.
His hand at your back slips under the loosened zipper, fingers pressing into your bare skin now, warm and steady, but there’s tension in it. You can feel it in the way his grip flexes, like he’s still trying—still—to hold the line even as he pulls you closer.
It doesn’t work.
Not when you press into him like this, not when your fingers curl tighter in his shirt, not when you kiss him back without hesitation, without thinking about consequences or lines or anything except how he feels against you.
He exhales against your mouth, sharp, like you’ve just undone him, and for a second the kiss falters—not because he’s pulling away, but because he’s trying to.
You feel it. The conflict. The split second where he almost stops.
Your hand slides up to his jaw, fingers catching there, holding him in place before he can even try.
“Don’t,” you whisper, barely pulling back, your lips brushing his as you speak.
And something in him gives.
You see it in the way his eyes darken, in the way his hand tightens at your back, pulling you flush against him this time, the last inch of space gone like it was never allowed to exist in the first place.
When he kisses you again, it’s deeper.
Less restrained.
Like he’s finally stopped pretending this isn’t exactly what he wants.
It’s different now—harder, hungrier, like something in him has shifted for good. His hand slides from your jaw to your waist, gripping tight as he steps into you, crowding you back without breaking the kiss, without giving you a second to think.
Your back meets the door with a soft thud.
He doesn’t stop.
If anything, it only makes him sharper, more certain, his mouth moving against yours with a kind of urgency that steals the air right out of your lungs. You barely get a breath before he takes it again, and you let him—God, you let him—tilting into him, giving him everything he reaches for.
His hand tightens at your waist, then slips lower, dragging you flush against him again, like he needs to feel exactly how close he can get before he loses control completely.
And you can feel it—how close he is.
It’s in the way his grip flexes, in the way his breath turns uneven against your mouth, in the way the kiss keeps deepening like he can’t quite stop himself from taking more.
Your fingers find his shirt again, pulling him closer, and he breaks the kiss just long enough to drag in a breath, his forehead almost brushing yours, like he’s trying—one last time—to get a handle on this.
He doesn’t.
His hands are on you again, immediate, sliding up your sides, pushing the straps of your dress from your shoulders in one smooth, decisive motion. The fabric gives easily, slipping under his hands like it was never meant to stay there in the first place—and it falls to the floor, pooling at your feet.
His breath catches, and his gaze drops—just for a second, but it’s enough.
“Tell me to stop,” he says, voice low, rough—nothing steady about it now.
You meet his eyes, chest rising and falling fast, heat still sparking under your skin.
“Bedroom,” you murmur.
For a second, he just looks at you.
Something in his expression shifts—tightens—like that word landed exactly where it shouldn’t. His gaze searches yours for a moment, checking for hesitation, for doubt.
But he doesn’t find any.
He nods once—and you turn, already moving toward the bedroom. You can feel him right behind you, close enough that his hand finds your waist again before you’ve even taken two steps, steady, grounding, like he’s not about to let you get too far ahead of him.
It’s barely a walk.
More like being guided—pulled—across the apartment toward your room, your pulse loud in your ears, every step charged with the knowledge of what you’ve just set in motion.
The door barely makes it closed before he’s on you again.
Not rushed—never rushed—but certain, like the decision has already been made and there’s no point pretending otherwise. His hands find you first, steady at your waist, turning you back toward him before you can take another step into the room.
Your breath catches as you look up at him. There’s something in his expression you’ve never seen before. It’s not soft, not gentle—just stripped of whatever distance he’d been holding onto all night.
Gone.
His gaze drags over you, slow and deliberate, and this time there’s nothing in the way of it—nothing to hide behind, nothing to buffer it—and the heat in it settles low in your stomach, heavy and immediate.
“Still want this?” he asks, voice rough, quieter now—but it lands heavier here.
You don’t answer. You just step into him.
And it’s all the permission he needs.
His hand tightens at your waist as he pulls you back into him, and the kiss this time is slower, deeper in a way that feels intentional—like he’s choosing it, not chasing it. His mouth moves against yours with a kind of controlled hunger, every shift measured, every breath deliberate, like he’s letting himself feel it fully instead of fighting it.
Your fingers curl into his shirt, and he exhales against your mouth, something unsteady finally breaking through.
His grip shifts—firmer now—guiding you back a step, then another, not hurried, not careless, but unrelenting all the same. You feel the edge of the bed behind your knees before you fully register moving at all, your focus too caught in the way he’s kissing you, the way his hand anchors you like he’s not about to let this get away from him.
His mouth breaks from yours just long enough to draw in a breath, his forehead pressing briefly to yours.
Not hesitation. Control.
Or what little he has left of it.
“Last chance,” he murmurs, quieter now.
You drop back onto the bed, gaze locked on his, breath still uneven.
“I’m not the one holding back.”
You barely have time to move up the mattress before he’s there, crowding over you, hands braced on either side as he follows you down. The mattress dips under his weight, the space between you gone in an instant—replaced by the solid heat of him, the firm press of his hips against yours.
His mouth finds yours again, hot and insistent, teeth catching your bottom lip just enough to pull a soft sound from you—but it’s different now. Slower. Not restrained, but deliberate. Curious, almost.
Like he’s learning you.
The way you react. The way you move under him. The way you give.
Your hands slide up his chest, fingertips digging in as heat coils low in your stomach—but they don’t stay there long. He shifts his weight slightly, steady, controlled, one hand lifting off the mattress to catch your wrist.
His fingers close around it—not tight, not forceful—just certain, guiding.
He lifts your hand above your head.
“Jack,” you whisper. “I—”
He shushes you.
“Let me do this, okay?” His voice is rough, thick with something unsteady beneath it—something that makes your stomach knot. “I’ve got you.”
And you believe him.
His hand slides down your body, slow and sure, brushing over your chest, your waist, the curve of your hip—each touch deliberate, like he’s taking his time even now, even like this. His fingers hook at the inside of your thigh, grip firm as he nudges your leg wider.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Good girl.”
The words go straight through you.
You can already feel the damp heat between your legs, the slick fabric pressed close, but the way he says it—the way his voice drops—makes your hips shift up instinctively, chasing something you can’t quite reach.
Chasing him.
And he notices. Of course he does.
You only just catch the faint lift at the corner of his mouth before his lips are back on yours, swallowing the breath from you as your back arches, pressing yourself up into him without thinking. Your fingers curl into the sheets above your head, tension pulling tight through your body as everything narrows down to where he’s touching you—where he isn’t touching you.
His hand drags back up your thigh, slower this time. Intentional. And when his fingers finally press against you through the thin fabric, you gasp.
He takes the sound from you immediately, mouth moving against yours, deeper now, like he’s feeding off it, like every reaction just pushes him further. His fingers start to move—slow, circling, testing—while his mouth leaves yours to trail along your jaw, your cheek, the side of your neck.
With your mouth free, the sounds slip out before you can stop them.
Soft. Unsteady. Needy.
And he loves it.
You feel it in the way his breath shifts, in the way his grip tightens just slightly, in the way his hips rock—slow, controlled, a subtle pressure of denim that’s more suggestion than friction.
“Jack—” your voice catches, breaking on his name. “Please. I want—”
“Tell me, sweetheart,” he murmurs, mouth brushing your shoulder, voice low and coaxing.
“More,” you manage, breath shaking. “Need more.”
He groans against your skin, the sound low and rough, his body settling heavier over yours like any space between you is something he can’t stand.
Then his hand shifts.
Your breath catches as his fingers slide beneath the damp fabric, dragging through your wet heat in one slow, deliberate stroke.
Your whole body jolts. “Fuck—Jack—”
The reaction pulls something from him—a sharp inhale against your neck, his mouth pressing there like he needs to ground himself for a second before he loses it completely.
You’ve never felt like this before. Never this hot, this open, this aware of every inch of your own body.
And you’ve never wanted anyone like this before.
“God,” he murmurs, voice thick, lips tracing back up your throat. “You’re so wet for me, sweetheart.”
All you can do is nod, whimpering softly, your hips lifting without permission, chasing him, asking for more without the words—and he gives it to you. Of course he does.
His finger slides inside you, slow at first, letting you feel it—the stretch, the heat—before he pushes deeper, and the sound that breaks from you is swallowed instantly as his mouth finds yours again, your back arching beneath him as he starts to move. Not fast. Never fast. He sets a rhythm instead, steady and controlled, curling his finger just enough to make your breath catch, just enough to make your hips move against him again.
And when you press into it, when your body starts to chase that feeling properly, he adds another finger, the stretch pulling a broken sound from your throat as your hands tighten in the sheets and your body rolls beneath him, helpless to it now, completely caught in the slow, deliberate way he works you open.
Every movement is intentional. Every curl hits deeper, sharper, building something tight and aching low in your stomach that makes your whole body tremble, your breath coming out in uneven gasps as you press into his hand, chasing, needing.
Then his thumb finds your clit, and the contact is immediate—devastating.
You cry out, sharp and breathless, your whole body tightening as he starts slow, deliberate circles that send heat spiralling through you, your hips lifting again, desperate now, unable to stay still under him.
You can’t answer—not when his mouth is everywhere, your throat, your jaw, the corner of your mouth, like he can’t decide where he wants you most before he finds your lips again, and this time the kiss is different again. Hungrier. Messier. His tongue presses into your mouth just as his fingers push deeper, his thumb working harder, more deliberate now, and the moan that tears from you is swallowed whole.
“Please,” you whimper against his mouth, breath breaking. “Please, I—need you.”
He lifts his head, dark eyes searching yours, brows pulling together just slightly.
“You sure?”
You stare at him, trying not to whimper as your whole body clenches around his stilled fingers, the sudden stillness almost worse than anything he was doing before.
“Never have I ever finished during sex, remember?” you manage, breathless but steady enough to land. “You gonna fix that, or what?”
Something feral flickers across his face.
And then it’s gone—replaced by something heavier. Something decided.
He kisses you again before you can catch your breath, all teeth and tongue, the restraint he’s been clinging to snapping clean in half as he groans into your mouth, the sound dragged straight from his chest. You feel the loss of his fingers immediately, your body protesting it, but it’s replaced just as quickly by the slow, deliberate roll of his hips, the friction of denim against your soaked panties making you gasp against him.
“Fuck,” he breathes, like he can’t quite believe it.
He pulls back just enough to shift, bracing himself on one arm while the other moves to his belt, not rushed but far from steady now. There’s a hitch in his breath, a tension in the way his fingers work at it, shoving his jeans and briefs down just enough to free himself, and your gaze drops before you can stop it.
He’s already hard—fully, heavily—flushed and slick at the tip, and the sight of it sends a sharp pulse of heat straight through you, your mouth going dry even as your body reacts in the complete opposite way.
“Fuck—” he chokes, the word breaking out of him. “I haven’t been this hard in—” His eyes flick back up to yours, dark and molten, and whatever he was going to say changes. “—ever.”
It hits you low and deep, twisting something tight in your stomach that makes your hips shift under him without thinking. You finally let go of the sheets, your hands finding him, sliding up to wrap around his neck as you pull him back down, needing him closer, needing him everywhere.
Your legs come up around his waist, drawing him in, urging him forward, and his breath stutters as he presses in, his swollen tip dragging against the damp fabric between you. The contact is just enough to make your head fall back, a broken sound slipping from your throat as he tries—tries—to hold himself up, one arm braced, the other moving between you.
You can feel the strain in him now, the way everything is slipping in real time, in the slight shake of his arm, in the uneven rhythm of his breathing as his hand hooks into the waistband of your panties.
“I’ll buy you new ones,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice rough, almost distracted, like the thought barely registers before it’s gone. “Promise.”
And then the fabric gives.
The sound of it tearing—sharp, sudden—goes straight through you, your breath catching hard as he pulls the fabric out of the way, the last barrier gone in an instant.
It shouldn’t be as hot as it is.
But it is.
Jack Abbot—controlled, composed, always holding the line—losing it enough to rip your panties off you?
Fuck.
He sinks into you in one steady thrust, and both of you gasp at the stretch—the sudden, overwhelming closeness, the way want crashes hot and heavy between you. Your pulse hammers in your ears, that dizzy edge of fear and urgency tangling together until all you can think is him—here, now, inside you.
For a moment, you just breathe—pant, really—eyes squeezed shut, hands locked on his shoulders as your body clenches around him, like you’re trying to keep him right there, like you never want to let him go. He drops his head to your neck, breath hot against your damp skin, and you feel the way it shakes out of him.
“You—fuck—you’re so tight, sweetheart,” he pants, voice rough and muffled where his mouth presses into you. “I’m not gonna last—”
“Then don’t,” you murmur, your voice softer but no less certain. “Just fuck me. Please, Jack.”
A groan tears out of him, low and wrecked, and you feel it through his chest as he shifts above you, hips pulling back, his cock dragging against your walls in a way that makes your stomach coil tight, sparks chasing across your skin. You suck in a sharp breath, your grip tightening on him—and before you can brace, he drives forward again, deeper this time.
“Fuck—” you cry out, the sound breaking loose without warning. “Jack—”
He doesn’t stop. His hips roll back again, slower now, controlled in a way that almost makes it worse, his head lifting so he can look at you, really look at you, like he’s checking, like he needs to see it.
The anticipation coils tighter in your chest, sharp and electric, lighting up every nerve in your body until it almost hurts.
“Mhm,” you manage, breath unsteady, nodding as your arms wind tighter around his neck, pulling him closer, needing him closer, like it still isn’t enough.
For a second—just a second—you’re distracted by something stupid, the feel of his shirt between you, the barrier of it, the way you want it gone, want skin on skin, want to see him, feel him, all of him—
And then he thrusts forward again. Harder again. And the thought disappears completely.
Your body jolts beneath him, every movement knocking the breath from your lungs, and the sound that leaves you is loud—too loud—echoing back off the walls in a way that would make you self-conscious any other time.
But not now.
Right now, you don’t care who hears. Not when it feels like this.
His name spills from your lips in broken gasps, tangled with raw cries, and he answers with a rough sound against your shoulder, biting it back as his hips drive into you at a relentless pace. He’s barely holding himself up now, his weight pressing into you in a way that feels like too much and somehow still not enough, the strain in him obvious in every uneven breath, every sharp exhale against your skin.
His hand drags down your side, back to your thigh, fingers digging in as he pushes your leg wider, and the shift—small as it is—hits something deeper, sharper, your vision flashing white as your head tips back and the knot in your belly pulls tight. His grip slides to your hip, anchoring you there, holding you in place so every thrust lands exactly where it needs to, deep and unrelenting, the sound of it filling the room, wet and rhythmic and impossible to ignore beneath the broken sounds you’re both making.
And then his hand moves between you.
You feel it immediately—the change, the focus—as his fingers find your clit in the slick mess between your bodies, steady despite everything else, despite the way he’s losing himself in every way. Your back arches, breath catching sharp as his touch turns deliberate, circling, pressing, coaxing, sending jolts of sensation straight through you until it’s too much, not enough, everything all at once.
“Jack—” you whine, the sound falling apart as soon as it leaves you. “Fuck, I—”
“I know, sweetheart,” he mutters against your jaw, voice wrecked. “Come on my cock, yeah?”
Your hips lift to meet him without thinking, chasing the rhythm he’s set, chasing the pressure, the friction, the way he’s working you with a precision that feels almost cruel now. His hand doesn’t falter, his fingers moving with intent, building and building, every touch sending sharp bursts of pleasure up your spine as the tension in your stomach pulls tighter, tighter, until it feels like it might snap.
It’s never felt like this before. You’ve never felt like this before.
Your whole body tightens, back arching, legs trembling around him as your hips grind up against his, desperate, chasing something you can’t hold onto. He keeps hitting that same spot, again and again, relentless, his pace rougher now, less controlled, while his fingers stay locked on you, steady, practiced, pushing you right to the edge and holding you there.
You cry out, the sound raw, breaking from your chest as everything finally tips.
The release hits all at once—sharp, overwhelming, tearing through you in a rush that steals your breath and leaves nothing behind but heat and tension snapping loose. Your body locks up around him, tightening, pulsing, your hands gripping at him as your legs shake, your hips still moving against his like you can’t stop, like you don’t want to.
“Fuck,” he groans, burying his face in your neck, his voice wrecked as he keeps moving inside you—slower now, but deeper, like he’s chasing every last pulse of you, like he doesn’t want to miss a second of it. “That’s it. That’s my girl.”
His rhythm falters, hips stuttering, and then he loses it completely—a broken sound tearing from him as he drives into you one last time, deep and hard, spilling inside you as his whole body tenses, shuddering above yours.
You feel it—every part of it—the way he comes undone, the way he clings to you through it, like he needs something to hold onto just as much as you do. Your bodies keep moving together, slower now, instinctive, chasing the last fading edges of it as your breathing stays uneven, your chests rising and falling in sync, skin slick and overheated where you’re pressed together.
It takes a moment to come back down—a long one.
But eventually, the tension drains from him and he collapses almost fully above you, face buried into your shoulder, his weight heavy and grounding as he exhales, slow and spent. It makes it a little harder to breathe—but you don’t mind.
Not when you can feel his heartbeat against your chest, strong and real, still racing like yours.
-
For the first time in two weeks, Jack Abbot isn’t stupidly early for his shift. He couldn’t be, really. Because he’d woken up late this morning, limbs tangled with yours in warm sheets that smelled so much like you it made his head spin—and that had thrown off everything else he needed to get done today.
If it was up to him, he wouldn’t have left at all—but he had to. He had police paperwork to finish, a neighbour’s cat to feed, and sleep he should’ve caught up on before being back in charge of an entire emergency department for twelve hours. But on the bright side? He knows you have a swing shift today, which means he doesn’t need to be early to see you, because you’re going to be stuck at PTMC until at least ten p.m. tonight.
With him.
And he really shouldn’t be looking forward to that as much as he is.
“Afternoon, Dr. Abbot,” Dana says, glancing over the top of her glasses. “Wasn’t sure we’d see you today. Aren’t you usually here by now?”
“I’m on time,” Jack mutters. “I’m a busy man.”
Dana hums, the corner of her mouth lifting slightly as her eyes drop back down to the tablet in her hands.
Jack tries not to appear too conspicuous as he scans the department, glancing toward the trauma bays and South corridor as he passes the nurses’ station. He shouldn’t be this anxious to see you again—not in the apprehensive kind of way, but in the way that makes it feel like his lungs won’t quite fill until you’re near him again.
“She’s not here,” Dana says without looking up from her chart. “Wasn’t feeling well, so Ellis came in early.”
Jack spots Ellis across central, exiting one of the rooms with Santos at her side, and he opens his mouth to say something—defend himself, maybe, lie about what or who he was looking for—but he hesitates, unsure what he could say that wouldn’t incriminate him further.
So instead, he just drops his head and keeps walking, fumbling for his phone in his pocket.
He’d seen you this morning. Just this morning. You were sleepy, had a headache, so he got you water and Tylenol and kissed you before he left—but you hadn’t said anything about feeling so unwell you were going to call in sick.
Jack doesn’t stop until he reaches the lockers, then turns back to survey the ED one last time before leaning a shoulder against the wall and pulling up his text thread with you. He hadn’t texted you today because he knew he’d see you tonight and didn’t want to seem… overbearing. Even now, he’s not sure if he should—but he feels off in a way he hasn’t in years, like he’s waiting on something he can’t control and it’s making him feel sick.
What if last night hadn’t meant what he thought it did? What if you regretted it? What if it was just—
“Hey, kid,” Dana calls from the nurses’ station. “Big night?”
Jack’s head snaps up—and there you are.
The relief hits before he can stop it, sharp and instant, loosening something in his chest he hadn’t realised was wound so tight. He swallows it down just as quickly, his expression settling before anyone can clock it.
“You don’t know the half of it,” you mutter.
Dana huffs a short laugh. “I have a feeling I don’t want to know.”
Jack can’t help but watch as you cross the floor toward him, your backpack hanging from one shoulder while the other hand presses two fingers to your temple, like you could massage the headache away. There’s a smug little smile on your lips when you reach him, slowing your steps until you pause just beside him—not too close, but enough to make his breath catch.
You glance down at his phone, at the open message thread where his thumb is hovering, and your smirk curves a little higher.
“Miss me?”
Jack locks his phone and tucks it back into his pocket.
“Thought you were sick.”
You lift one shoulder. “A little hungover, so Ellis swapped with me.”
For a second, neither of you move. He just looks at you—and you look right back, like you both know exactly what’s changed, even if neither of you is about to say it out loud. Not here. Not now.
“And I missed the night shift attending,” you say finally.
Then—before he can respond, before he’s even fully processed what you said—you lean in and press a quick kiss to his cheek. Only brief. Barely anything.
But it feels like everything.
And just like that, Jack Abbot is done pretending he isn’t yours.
summary: med school had gotten boring to jack abbot and michael "robby" robinavitch. in an attempt to liven things up, they settle on two things: serial killings and making you theirs no matter what.
tags: ghostface!medstudent!rabbot x reader, possessive!boyfriends!rabbot, med school scream au, dark!rabbot, ooc rabbot, no age gaps!, violence, medical inaccuracies, murder, improper use of medical tools, morally gray reader (idk fam she finds out but doesn't turn them in), 5.6k words of pure smut (threesome, coercion/slight dubcon, degradation, blood kink, fingering, piv-unprotected sex, blow job [when in Paris], sloppy seconds, overstimulation), small time skip at the end NSFW 18+ MDNI
notes: I feel like I am very qualified to write this as someone who has scream in their top 4 on letterboxd and has written stuilly x reader fan fiction before, so I am well versed, I also love horror and have been wanting to write a few more darker fics on the side (still throwing around the idea of a saw inspired jack abbot fic), MY TAG LIST IS CLOSED, please enjoy!
word count: 14.9k (making this the longest one shot I've ever written)
You set your coffee down with a small thunk on the long classroom table somewhere in the middle of the lecture room. Your binders and notebooks joined next, placed down more carefully to not tip the cup over, because spilling your caffeinated beverage before 8 am would have been a tragedy in and of itself. Your backpack sat nicely in the seat to your right, and to your left you placed one textbook exactly in the middle.
One for Jack, and one for Robby; just as you'd been doing since you met them during orientation of your first year. Because where one of them was, the other wasn't too far behind with you, their added third to their duo, falling somewhere in the middle.
Even though Robby was already an MS4 whereas you and Jack were MS1s, he'd known the curly-haired redhead during childhood and scooped you up right along with him. Now halfway through your second year where Robby wasn't as around as either you or Jack would like, he promised to at least sit with you when he got called in to assist during the few lectures of the ACLS provider course. Today happened to be one of those golden moments where all three of you got to be together again.
Normally, you liked to be the first one in the room to get a feel for the atmosphere and not be rushed to find a nice seat. Doing so had grouped you and Jack in Gross Anatomy and Histology last year, and you would have liked to keep the streak going, however, as you looked around the room, your eyes caught on a male student sitting front and center with his hands folded.
You fought the urge to scoff. Who fucking picks front row?
Taking a seat, your head ducked closer to your backpack, and your hands dug around to find at least one of your good pencils before Jack decided to use them all for himself.
"Are you looking for something?" the guy's voice echoed from the front.
You didn't even look up over the desk when you answered. "Just needing to find a pencil."
He fell quiet for a few moments, and you were sure he was watching you struggle to reach the bottom of your backpack, hoping that he'd stay quiet or at least look away. When you failed to grasp anything pencil-shaped, you straightened back up and squeaked when you came face to face with the guy, jolting at the sheer suddenness of his presence. He was holding a regular number 2 pencil out near your face, sharp end almost between your eyes. If you'd been any closer, your nose would have tapped it.
"You can have one of mine," he said, more insisting for someone you didn't even know.
You eyed him carefully. He was taller than you, you noted, and that even if you were still sitting down, he'd probably tower over you the way he was doing as he waited for you to take the yellow pencil. Your lips pursed together.
"I'll be fine," you answered. "My friends probably have extras."
"But I'm offering you mine. It'd be rude not to take it."
Your stomach flipped. This guy probably wasn't going to stab you with the pencil in broad daylight right before class was about to stop, but your mind went sailing right back to last night's news that yet another student had been murdered while studying in the top floor of the library, and a chill raced up your spine.
"You just go ahead and keep it; I think I'll wait," you muttered, eyes tearing away from him to look at your coffee, the steam rising steadily through the hole in the lid.
He scoffed loudly. "Well, if you're not going to take my pencil, can I at least get your name," he said as though you had to compensate him for "wasting" his time.
"Why would I give you my name if I don't even know yours first." You paused before adding with a smirk. "We're not supposed to give out our names to strangers."
From your peripheral as you turned to look toward the door, you saw him physically contemplate your words.
"Stephen with a ph," he pushed out, and you swore little droplets of his spit hit the cover of your binder.
You desperately wanted to drag a sleeve over it for good measure, but that would just open another can of worms.
His name didn't ring any bells. He certainly wasn't a part of your friend group, and you knew he wasn't the type of guy that Jack would go out of his way to befriend either.
"Now, tell me your name."
Your fingernails curled into your palms, mind willing for either Jack or Robby to walk right through the doors in some divine intervention. You were more than capable of telling the guy off, but why would you when either one could do it for you.
Women in STEM you always told them after you managed to get them to do something for you.
When you failed to answer and give up your name, Stephen hunched forward and placed both hands on the desk. Sadly, his weight and abruptness made the entire thing shake, and before you could reach out, your coffee tipped over and spilled in the opposite direction, right onto his shoes and pants. Your lip automatically slipped between your teeth in an attempt to not laugh as he yelped and cursed loudly. Yet, when he turned back towards you with fire in his eyes and out stretched hand with the pencil curled between his fingers, your face dropped.
"You bitch," he growled while shoving the pointed end in your direction. "You ruined my shoes!"
This time, you were the one to scoff. "You shouldn't have shaken the table like that, so really, you ruined your own shoes all by yourself."
His face flushed red, and his eyes practically bulged out of the sockets; he looked as though he were less than a second away from exploding and going off on you when the door opened wide, reviewing the two you had just been manifesting.
Your head whipped so hard in their direction that you winced at the twang in your neck, and your chest heaved in a sigh of relief.
"No, dude, I'm telling you, this class absolutely sucks," Jack loudly announced, hands gripping his backpack straps as he waddled in. "Just be glad we get here early because by 8 all these seats are fill—"
His words died in his mouth when he finally looked away from Robby and over to where you normally sat, and his expression dropped at the sight of Stephen still towering over you with the pencil in your face. He halted abruptly, causing Robby to follow his line of sight. You tried your best to smile and slightly wave when you met their hazel and deep brown eyes, but the damage had already been done.
Jack scowled something fierce, and his knuckles turned white. He took no time in resuming his walk over. Robby stayed close behind, height feeling more dramatic than normal.
"Heeeyyyy," you drew out before pushing up out of the seat.
Neither said nothing in return, opting to take their normal spots at your sides. Jack's hand planted in the middle of your lower back while Robby slung an arm around your shoulders, large hand squeezing gently when it rested against your upper bicep.
Jack's chin jerked out at Stephen. "Who're you?"
Stephen straightened slightly and puffed out his chest like that was going to do anything. "Stephen Miller."
"Stephen Miller," he echoed before turning to you, his eyes softening. "Do we have a problem here?"
"I was just trying to be friendly man—"
"He wasn't talking to you," Robby cut in. His eyes were darker than you'd ever seen them.
In response you raised your head slightly. "No problem. Just having a conversation."
"Didn't look like a very friendly one," Jack muttered. "You sure, sweetheart?"
"Yeah." The corner of your mouth twitched slightly, but you knew both of them could see right through you. "I'm sure."
Jack and Robby wanted to press more. Their chests had tightened the minute they saw this boy standing over you with what looked like intent to harm. For all they cared, they'd go straight to the dean and report him for violent tendencies, but the look in your eyes and normal want for no animosity kept them close. However, they did share a knowing glance over your head, something that you missed completely as you began to gather your stuff from their seats.
The door burst open a beat later, and students began filling the classroom. Stephen finally sulked back to his chair but not without one more heated glare in your direction.
"What the fuck was that about?" Jack muttered as he slung his backpack down to the ground.
You rolled your eyes. "I guess my search for a pencil was louder than I thought, so he asked if I wanted one of his. When I said no and that I'd probably just steal one of yours, he got . . . angry? I don't know; it was weird. And then he knocked my coffee over," you retold, the last little bit coming across as more whiny than you would have liked, but you were a second year med student for fucks sake.
Coffee kept you sane, and that asshole had taken your morning dose away from you.
"Sorry we didn't get here sooner," Robby stated while getting his papers out, and you fully turned his way.
This had been the first time in months that you got to see him. Between his countless hours as an R1 over at an ER a few towns over, about a two to three hour drive one way, and dealing with his own personal shit, he'd been gone long enough that a short beard covered his jaw and space between his nose and lips. You couldn't help yourself as you reached up and lightly scratched at it.
"When did this get here?" you asked, desperately trying to change the conversation.
His facial hair was soft beneath your fingers, and you felt the way he slightly leaned into your touch.
"I already gave him shit about it; don't worry, sweetheart," Jack announced loudly. "He leaves us for—what?—three months and comes back with a face blanket?"
Robby chuckled and leaned away to look at his friend over your shoulder. "Laugh it up, kid. You're just mad because all you can grow is that upper lip caterpillar."
"Please, let's save the bickering until the clock hits at least ten o'clock," you laughed.
Jack opened and closed his jaw while he made a talking motion with his hand, to which you lightly smacked hip upside the head before taking a seat. Almost instantly, Jack's left hand found the top of your knee.
"But seriously," he muttered, leaning closer so his voice didn't carry much, "are you okay, though? That guy . . ."
You placed your hand on top of his. "He's fine. I doubt he could do much damage with a pencil."
"You never know," Robby huffed. "I'll be back soon; gotta check in with Professor Barlowe." He leaned down and pressed a very light kiss to your temple, something he'd started doing recently, and then clapped Jack on the shoulder as he passed.
Your brows furrowed slightly when you noticed the way Jack let his eyes trail Robby, but you kept your thoughts to yourself. The two had always had a stronger bond than you would ever realize, and if they wanted to let you know if anything changed, you'd let them come to you first before asking invasive questions.
So, instead, you settled on asking about the homework. "Were you able to get it all done? I was up forever."
Jack pulled out a small stack of papers. "Yeah. I finished them this morning. Had a bit of a late night but managed to get a decent amount of sleep." He smiled widely, crooked teeth on full display. "How about you?"
"Uh, I don't know if you listen much to the radios but there was another stabbing last night," you murmured.
His eyebrows rose. "No shit?"
"Yeah." You swallowed thickly. "Miles Pennington. He was found by the janitors in the library. No one knows who did it since all the cameras have been out since last semester, but he had five stab wounds and thirteen clean incisions."
"How do you know all this?" he asked, shoulders hunching slightly.
"My friend works the late night desk. She's the one who called the police and stuff. I'm surprised you didn't know any of this Mr. I have a police scanner and listen to it for fun."
His head leaned back as he barked out a laugh before he looked back toward you, mischief gleaming in his eyes. "You're trouble; you know that?"
You let your eyes quickly trail the freckles that dotted his outstretched neck. "Yeah, yeah. Anyway, it kept me up most of the night, because—" You looked around before leaning in closer. "They think all the recent killings are all connected."
Jack choked on his spit. "What?"
"Every single one of them had calls from an unknown number on their hand-held mobiles that ranged from five to ten minutes."
Under the desk, Jack's fingers tightened and curled into a fist. Through the adrenaline high, they'd, once again, forgotten to grab the fucking mobile.
He hoped he was able to keep a calm expression to hide the way his heart was beating wildly beneath his sternum. However, his breathing must have quickened, because he watched the way your brows furrowed with concern.
"Are you okay?" you asked, scooching forward in your chair to give him a once over.
"Fine," he managed to get out. "Just . . . I think I forgot one of the questions."
"Oh, that's okay," you said, hand already sliding your copy of homework over without a second thought.
Jack's heart clenched at your kindness that he definitely didn't deserve. Not when he was the one to give Miles every single one of those incisions with a scalpel Robby swiped from work. The guy was so close to graduating and becoming a resident, but he just had to go and flirt with you last Christmas, blatantly asking if you had plans to "stay warm" during the break. He had almost killed him then, already envisioning the way the blade would sink deep into his gut, before Robby had given him a look, eyes screaming to be patient.
He only had to wait until midterms, get him alone, and have Robby make the call and give him what they dubbed "The Test" over a call before he could pin him to the ground. It had been easy with very little struggle, even with his vision clouded with that white opened-mouth mask they'd found in a going-out-of-business Halloween store. Cash payment; no trail, no evidence.
Jack was already starting to itch again, that vein deep need to spill blood instead of stopping it from flowing, to cause harm instead of protecting.
You snapped in front of his face, and he blinked rapidly.
"You're spacing out again," you said. "Do you need to take a break? I doubt we'll get in trouble if we sneak out to get more coffee."
He shook his head. "No, I'm fine." His finger tapped on your homework. "Thanks for this . . . again."
Your hand rose and covered your mouth as you giggled. "No problem. I cannot have you flunking this class, Jack Abbot. I don't think I'd survive without you."
"Nah, you're smart enough," he said after lightly flicking your temple. "You'll probably match your first try with whatever hospital you choose."
"You think so?" Shyly, you tucked a piece of fallen hair behind your ear.
Jack met your eye with a ferocity you hadn't seen. "I know so."
Heat flushed to your cheeks and spread down your neck into your top, and you quickly looked back down at your papers and binder. You took one glance toward the front, eyes locking onto Robby where he stood discussing something with your teacher.
"Guess I just need to survive the next two years and hope I don't get a phone call myself," you whispered loud enough for Jack to hear over your scratching pencil and the beginnings of the lecture.
It was almost like you'd been put under a trance every time the lesson began to not miss anything important. Because of this, you missed the way Jack locked eyes with Robby over the tops of the students' heads. His older friend barely glanced in the direction of Stephen, and the slight nod he got sent a pleasured chill racing over his skin.
Jack couldn't wait to feel the slick of Stephen's blood and organs against his black leather gloves as he cut him up once clean slice at a time.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
The phone's cord tangled around your finger as you giggled into the chunky receiver while Robby told you about one of the pranks his attending played on him because he fell asleep in an on-call room.
"And then, they had the fucking audacity to page me, and I went running before I fell face first into the hub!"
"And then what?" you laughed breathily, leaning back until your head hit your pillow.
"Then so many casualties came in after, and I was stuck with the cast on and unable to help! I had to wait hours before they could get it off."
"Did it teach you not to fall asleep?" you questioned with a smile that he couldn't even see, but Robby could definitely hear it in your voice.
He smiled as well, lips practically kissing his phone. "For a bit, but then I managed to find an excellent napping place."
"Did Benton tell you off for it?"
"Nope." Robby looked down at the paper in his hand, fingers playing the frayed edge. "He actually woke me up with my acceptance papers."
You sat up straight and gasped loudly. "Michael Strausser Speer Robinavitch! You got accepted into their emergency surgery program, and you didn't fucking tell me in person! You ass!"
"It just slipped my mind."
A scoff flew from your lips and echoed in his ear.
"It just slipped my mind," you mocked, voice dipping into a lower tone that didn't quite match Robby's all the way. "Did you tell Jack?"
"Yeah," he breathed.
"And how'd that go?"
Robby pursed his lips at the memory of Jack screaming at him before kissing him right on the lips. "As well as you could imagine."
"He just . . . worries about you, I think," you tried to console with your lip between your teeth. "Worried about you several hours away, worried that he won't be able to catch up."
"Did he tell you about his plans after med school?"
You nodded on instinct before catching yourself. "Y-yeah, he did. He's brave for it."
"Only Jack could want to be an Army field medic," Robby grumbled while running a hand across his jaw. "He's insane."
A low hum rumbled through your chest in agreement. "He wants to help people, but I don't understand why he thinks he needs to do it under active fire."
For some reason, tears pricked at your eyes, and you rapidly tried to blink them away. To keep them away, you did your best to sniff quietly, but the sound was louder through the phone than you thought.
Robby frowned, and his brows pinched. "Hey, why're you crying?"
You chomped down on the inside of your cheek before replying, "I don't want him to get hurt, and he's going to be so alone over there. It breaks my heart every time he wears that stupid Army crewneck he got at the recruitment office."
He knew exactly which one you were talking about; he pulled the damn thing off Jack's freckled body earlier that morning right after he got back from slicing the kid in the library with blood still crusting at his shoes and at the stretches of skin the robe didn't cover. Robby had licked it all off before taking Jack's cock in his mouth.
"Did I lose you over there, Robinavitch?" you asked when you could only hear heavy breathing.
Robby raised his brows and smirked. "Oh, am I simply Robinavitch to you now?"
"It's what you get for keeping important information from me!"
"Okay, baby, okay," he mused, laying it heavy on the small pet name. “Have you decided what you’re wanting to do after school? We could always use you over at Sacred.”
Nervously, you twirled the phone wire around a finger. “Actually . . . I’m thinking about looking into an endo fellowship.”
Your words hit him right in the stomach. “What?”
You huffed. “Yeah, I know I said I might go into emergency med, but Robby, I don’t think I can keep up with that life. Seeing all those traumas would fuck me in the head.”
“So, Jack’s leaving me, and now you’re leaving me?”
“Don’t put it like that. You’re a big boy; you’ll be fine.” Your eyes glanced around the room before widening when you caught the time. "Fuck, Rob, I gotta go. I'm supposed to meet my roommate for breakfast tomorrow before my 8 am." You paused before adding. "Thanks for talking to me. I've really missed you, ya know?"
"I've missed you too," he confessed, "a lot."
"It's not the same without you. I have Jack, but I think I can say we both feel incomplete when you're not here."
"Feel the same out there," he whispered. "I'll let you go, but I'll give Jack a plan for lunch so we can all meet up, yeah?"
"Sounds good, Robby. Sleep well," you said before ending the call.
Your hands raised high above your head, and a soft moan slipped through your lips as you stretched. Needing to use the bathroom one more time, you softly slipped from the bed and padded toward the connected suite. You still had no clue how you managed to get a room with a bathroom, but you were never one to look a gift horse in the mouth.
However, only a few feet away, your phone screeched a loud shrill into the air. Your cheeks puffed as you blew out air, mind thinking that Robby probably forgot to tell you something important. Your hand curled around the receiver and raised it to your ear.
"Robby, I swear if you forgot about something again I'll—"
"Hello?" a distorted voice cut you off, and your stomach dipped ever so slightly at the unfamiliar caller.
"Um, hi?"
"Would you like to play a game?"
You frowned deeply. "No thank you. I think you have the wrong number. Goodbye."
The phone clicked back into the stand, and you turned away once more, ready to get peeing over so you could get some sleep. Yet again, your phone rang, and you jumped at the noise. This time, you stomped back over and ripped it right out and up to your ear.
"You shouldn't have done that," the voice tsked. "Because now, if you hang up again, I'll have to kill someone for you."
Your blood ran ice cold. "How is this?"
"Uh, uh, uh, I ask the questions here, sweets. And you still haven't answered my first one: would you like to play a game?"
"Fuck you," you spat. "Is this Stephen from class, because I swear if this is just some elaborate prank, I'm going to report your sorry ass to the dean."
"Oh, she has a mouth on her," he—because this had to be a man—laughed. "What fun you and I are going to have."
"I'm not going to play whatever stupid game this is, Stephen."
"Sorry to tell you, but this isn't Stephen," he growled, and the sound had you shaking slightly.
Knuckles turning white, you gripped the phone tightly. "Then-then who is this?"
"Can't tell you that or it'd ruin the surprise!" He sighed and clicked his tongue against his teeth. "Now, I will ask for the last time, do you want to play a game? Or should I start killing your friends? What are their names again? Jack and Michael?"
"If you hurt them—"
"You'll do what? You don't even know my name? But I know yours, Y/n."
Your skin itched, and you whirled around, almost like you swore that you felt someone's eyes on your body. You stepped up to your window and cracked the blinds open with a finger. When no one seemed to be standing outside, you let the slat fall back down.
"Will you play now?"
A thick glob of saliva fought back against your attempt to swallow it down. "Fine. I'll play. What are the rules?"
"If you can answer my questions, I won't kill poor Stephen here."
In the background, you heard muffled screams and cries that matched the student who had held a pencil to your face. Tears slowly streamed down your face as it fully settled that the man on the other end wasn't playing around, that a life was in your, a mere med student's, hands.
"Don't hurt him, please," you whimpered.
"Such big emotions for a stranger. Oh, you're going to be such a good doctor one day." He cleared his throat. "Question one: a twenty-three-year old comes rolling in after being involved in a motorcycle accident. Her BPs seventy-eight over forty, heart rate’s one-forty. She has absent breath sounds on the left, and her trachea’s deviated to the right. What kills her first?”
“How am I supposed to know that? I’m only a MS2, fucker.”
“You’re smart enough to know it. All that time spent with that emergency resident, and you can’t remember anything?”
“Just give me a second!”
“I fear Stephen doesn’t have ‘a second,’” he taunted, and in the next moment, a pain-filled wail muffled through your phone, causing a sob to rip right from your throat.
“Okay, okay, just—” You pinched your eyes shut as you tried to think through the question. “Tension pneumothorax,” you settled on before holding your breath.
“And your treatment to keep him alive?”
“A-a needle decompression followed by a ch-chest tube.”
The distorted voice paused on the other line. “Correct. See, I knew you would get it. You’re so smart, Y/n.”
You unsuccessfully tried to wipe the tears from your cheeks, but your eyes kept replenishing them. “Okay, I answered your fucking questions, now let the guy go.”
“I’m sorry. Was I not specific? We still have three more to go before I think of letting Stephen here see another sunrise. Next question: A trauma patient arrives talking to you. Five minutes later, they’re confused, then unconscious. What do you suspect is happening?”
A frustrated groan bubbled through your chest. “I need more information.”
“If your patient is unconscious, you don’t get more information. Tick, tock, sweets, Stephen’s counting on you.”
“It-it could be something like an epidural hematoma?”
“And what would be the classic artery?”
“The middle meningeal artery.”
“I’m so proud of you for getting that correct.”
Instead of feeling elated, you were so close to throwing up that you could taste the tang of bile on your tongue. “What’s the next one?”
“Feeling confident, are we?”
“Ask the fucking question.”
“You’ve got penetrating trauma just left of the sternum. Blood pressure is dropping. Neck veins are distended, and the heart sounds are muffled. What’s the diagnosis, doc?”
“Cardiac tamponade,” you answered instantly. It had been one of the homework questions from the ACLS provider course you had with Jack.
“Treatment?”
“Emergency thoracotomy if they’re crashing. Pericardiocentesis only if it’s the bridge.”
“I guess you really can stay awake during your classes. Now, for the final question: your last trauma patient just received a massive transfusion after losing too much blood like poor Stephen will if you get this wrong. All seems to go well until the monitor suddenly shows a widening QRS, peaked T waves, and then ventricular tachycardia. What is killing the man on your table?”
Your stomach dropped to your toes. This should have been the easiest one. You should know this.
“It’s hypocalcemia,” you stated.
The line went silent.
“Did I get it? I got it, you mother fucker,” you growled.
However, all you got was a click on his tongue. “Wrong.”
All blood drained straight from your face. “Wha-what? No, I’m certain it’s hypocalcemia. It’s the textbook definition of it.”
“The diagnosis you’re looking for is actually hyperkalemia. You would have needed to administer potassium instead. Well, the calcium would have been the protocol, but it wasn’t the answer I asked for.”
“N-no,” you stuttered out with another sob wracking your body. “Please don’t hurt him. Let him go.”
“I gave him a fighting chance like all good doctors do. But sometimes, in the real world, we can’t all save our patients. Say goodbye to Stephen. He’ll be missed in class.”
Your throat constricted in a gag as wet slashing sounds echoed through your phone speaker. You should have turned it off, but you stayed frozen to the middle of your room, mind fuzzy and close to dissociation as Stephen’s wails rattled and echoed in your brain. He gave a particularly loud screech that followed almost a ripping sound, something you’d heard before from medical tapes used in surgical classes, the tell-tale noise of someone wrongly cutting through skin and tendons.
In a few moments, he quieted before the line went fully quiet, save for the heavy, distorted breathing from the assailant. All you could manage to do was whimper and tremble.
“Thanks for playing, sweets. Better luck next time.”
The drawl of the dial tone echoed in your ear until the receiver slipped from your hand and landed in a loud thunk against your carpet. Your knees almost buckled as you tried to make your way back to your bed, bathroom break far forgotten. It didn’t even cross your mind as you sat shaking on the comforter, hands clenching the blanket.
All you could hear were Stephen’s moans and cries, and if you could get past those, the man’s words rang freely.
Say goodbye to Stephen. He’ll be missed in class.
The killer was in the ACLS provider course. One of your classmates just murdered Stephen and probably all the other guys too.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
“What’s so important that we had to meet before your first class, baby? Thought you had plans with your roommate,” Robby’s voice sounded behind you, and you flinched violently at the suddenness. “Woah, it’s just me.”
Your red-rimmed wide eyes looked up at him from the empty space at the small coffee table in the on-campus cafe, and his cocky smirk dropped as he took in the paleness and horror that had been plastered on your face since that phone call late last night. Robby grabbed the top of the chair and dragged it out to sit. His knees bumped against yours while his hands gently rested on your cheeks, fingers tilting your chin in order for him to look you over, ever the doctor.
“What’s wrong?” he questioned. You sleepily watched his eyes flicker down your face in an obvious fashion. “What happened?”
You jerked out of his hold and looked back down to the table. “Let’s just wait for Jack.”
Almost as if he were waiting for you to say his name, Jack plopped down into the seat opposite of Robby, the three of you making a triangle around the table. He too was wearing a smile that dropped just as quickly as Robby’s had moments earlier. At least he didn’t start going full doctor on you, but his concern was evident in his pinched expression.
“What’s wrong?” Jack asked, eyes glancing over toward Robby.
“That’s what I asked,” the brunette responded without looking away from your shaking form.
“I-I wanted to tell you both before the n-news got out,” you stuttered between shaking breaths.
Jack leaned forward and placed both his hands on the table. “What news? I think you’re scaring us a bit, sweetheart.”
“Stephen wa-was murdered,” you squeaked, “last night, right after I finished talking to Robby.” Your pointer finger picked at your thumb, loose skin catching with every scrape.
“Did your friend have to call in another one in the library?” Jack asked.
You shook your head. “No. I did.”
“You did?” Robby echoed, and his concern morphed into confusion. “Was he murdered in the girls’ dorms?”
Another shake of your head. “No.” Tears welled in your lashline, and you squeezed your eyes tight as another wave of Stephen’s cries rang through your memory.
Jack licked his lips and leaned back in the chair. “Well, didn’t you say the killer calls his victims? So, unless you’re a ghost, you should have been far away from whatever happened.”
“You two don’t understand!” you screeched, not caring if a few people turned their heads toward you. “He called me. I had to listen to-to—” Bile burned up your throat as you slapped two hands over your mouth in case it decided to spew between your teeth.
“Jeez,” Robby muttered as he dragged a hand down his jaw. “You had to listen to him getting . . . ya’ know.”
“Murdered,” Jack filled in casually, like he wasn’t concerned at all about what you’d just confessed. Although, he did do a good job at looking a bit surprised. “But why would he call you?”
“I don’t know,” you whimpered, arms coming to wrap around your middle as you hunched in on yourself. “One minute, I thought I was talking to Robby, and the next I thought it might be Stephen because of the pencil incident, but then I tried to hang up again, and . . .” you trailed off right as you remembered what the distorted voice had told you.
“And what?” Jack pressed.
“He said if I hung up and didn’t play his game, he’d kill you two.”
From the corner of his eye, Jack looked over at Robby for the briefest moment before scooting his chair closer to you to wrap you in a hug. Your pliant, shivering body went willingly right into his embrace, and he couldn’t help the smirk that stretched onto his face.
Everything was going to plan better than they had expected. Sure, calling you hadn’t been their first line of action, but looking at you now, so scared, so terrified that they were in danger, made them feel like they should have called you first. Robby initially had been the one who wanted to call and hear your panicked little whimpers, but he’d been the last caller. At least Jack had the decency to record everything, and Robby didn’t remember the last time they had both cum so hard while fucking as they played your delicious sounding cries, its echos joining the perfect symphony of their moans. It was almost as good as having you there with them, but they had to get you willing.
And right now, you seemed on the verge of being just that. They’d planted the seed of doubt in your mind that they weren’t untouchable, that they might be the next victims.
Jack ran a hand up and down your back in soothing motions, and you pressed into his chest, eyes meeting Robby’s worried-looking brown hues across the table.
“Did you already give your statement?” he asked.
“Yeah; last night,” you sighed. “My roommate found me crying, and she was the one to call. Everything happened so quickly.”
Jack pressed his cheek into the top of your head. “Did you recognize the voice?”
“No. It was all distorted.” You tensed suddenly. “But he did say something weird.”
Robby eyed Jack wearily. “Yeah?”
You nodded. “He said that Stephen would be missed in class, but—I mean, wouldn’t that imply that the killer was in the same class as us?”
Jack mouthed a quiet fuck and closed his eyes. He hadn’t meant to say that; he needed himself as far from the scene and victim as possible. Robby normally got away with it since he was supposed to be three hours away while Jack made sure his alibi of being in his dorm room stayed air-tight.
“Did you tell that to the police?”
The corner of your lip turned downward. “I-I think? I don’t know; I can’t remember.” Your words started to slur into a whine, and a single tear slipped down your cheek in frustration.
“That’s okay, sweetheart,” Jack cooed, hand never stopping in soothing circles while he held you. “Tell you what. Why don’t you and I go down to the station after class if you’re feeling up to it.”
Your stomach gurgled at the thought of having to retell what you went through for the sake of adding one more detail, and you swallowed thickly even if your mouth had gone dry.
“I don’t think I want to go to class. Seeing the empty seat . . .” If you thought about it for long enough, you knew you’d start crying all over again. “Can we just stay here? Or go to the fountain outside?” You’d been looking at Robby, but you pulled back from Jack enough to look him in the face. However, when neither of them answered right away, your stomach sank. “Oh.”
Robby cupped a hand at his neck, a familiar thing you’d seen him do for a year straight when he got stressed or nervous.
“Jack and I promised that we’d help out with an advanced simulator today for the fourth year students after you two’s first lecture.”
That was utter bullshit; they hadn’t been asked at all, but they needed to get away from you for a couple of hours to really let you sink into helplessness and paranoia. The longer you went without them with the thought that any moment they might be stabbed and sliced, the more you’d run into their willing arms no matter how they decided to break the news about their late-night activities.
You pulled fully out of Jack’s embrace, and the freckled boy had to stop himself from bringing you right back in, hands already itching to grab onto your arms. But he pulled himself together; he would have all night with you once they got you right where they wanted.
“Will I at least see you both before Robby has to go back tonight?” you asked, finger going back to pick at your thumb, face wincing when a spark of pain shot up your digit. You looked down in time to see blood well under the flap of skin.
“Of course. I’ll be at Jack’s dorm after I finish up with the final night class,” Robby said and finally smiled. He leaned over and softly pinched your cheek. “I wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye to my favorite girl.”
A rush of pleasure crept up to his chest at the sight of your heated cheeks, and somehow, evening couldn't come soon enough. After you stood and left, probably headed toward your dorm to try to get some sleep, Jack turned towards Robby with a flick of his head.
“Tonight?” he asked, lips stretching into a wide smirk.
Robby didn’t even look his way, eyes still planted on your figure. “Tonight.”
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Three raps of your knuckles against the wood door and a muffled Come in! from Jack had you pushing the creaky thing open and stepping right into his dorm. You eyed the small piles of clothes that you tried not to step on as you made your way toward his bed. Jack was leaned back against his headboard with a sleepy look on his face and pajamas on his body: a pair of much-too big sweats (that you guessed probably belonged to Robby) and that fucking Army crewneck.
“Would it kill you to clean once in a while?” you asked while taking a seat right at the edge of the mattress.
“There’s a system to it. Left side of the room is for clean clothes, and the right is for dirty,” he responded with a shit-eating smirk.
You rolled your eyes and turned to face him as much as you could without lying stomach down on the bed. “You’re such a boy.”
“At least my room’s not dripping in makeup,” he shot back, face scrunching in disgust. “It’s almost like I can smell it from here.”
“No, that’s your hairspray.” You reached out to ruffle his curls, but his hand darted out and wrapped around your wrist before it could get any further.
Jack pulled slightly, and you followed, knees digging into the comforter so he could bring you closer. “You know better than to touch the curls.”
“Then don’t make fun of my makeup,” you muttered before ripping your hand out of his hold. Using your hands, you pushed yourself further up the bed and mirrored Jack with your shoulder against his and back against the headboard. “How’d that simulator thing go?”
His lip curled. “As well as it could be. Fuck, I hope we’re not going to turn out to be like those stuck up know-it-all assholes. They think they know every damn answer.”
You nudged him slightly. “As long as we study and actually know the answers, we can act as asshole-y as we want to.”
He ran a hand through his hair and scoffed. “That’s the thing. We asked the question for the mock-up ER, and one of the guys in there—total douche—didn’t even know the protocol for hyperkalemia.”
“It’s potassium instead of calcium,” you rattled off mindlessly before pausing.
Jack turned slightly. “Yeah. How the fuck did you know that?”
Your eyes locked onto your feet. “It-it was one the question I got wrong before Stephen—” Your mouth quivered. “Fuck, it’s all my fault.”
“Don’t say that.”
“But it’s true, Jack,” you muttered. “I killed him.” Panic began to lick at the edges of your mind, and your chest started heaving in pants. “I killed him. I killed him.”
Jack pushed up off the headboard and hovered halfway over, hands raising like he didn’t know where he could touch you without sending you over the edge. “You gotta breathe, or you’re going to pass out on me.”
His words were like he was talking underwater, and you couldn’t even process what he was telling you to do. This was not a part of their plan, but Jack had to make due with what he could before Robby got back from killing one more student, a guy who had looked at you way too long in your pharmacology class. Before he could really think things through, Jack cupped your face, leaned in, and kissed you deeply.
The feeling of his lips broke you out of whatever hysteria threatened to take over, and you found yourself mimicking his movements as you kissed him back, lips moving against the other while your hands found purchase in his crewneck. Your eyes fluttered shut before snapping back open when Robby popped in your mind. You pulled back instantly and wiped your lips as though that would get rid of what just happened.
Jack took in your debauched look, you clearly liking that he kissed you, but the worried look you had sent his heart racing the wrong way.
Had they read you wrong the entire time?
“Jack,” you breathed. “We can’t.”
He cocked his head. “Why can’t we?”
“Robby.”
“What about him, sweetheart.”
You looked at him earnestly. “Aren’t you two . . .” You left words unsaid in case you were the one to get this wrong.
Jack almost looked bashful as he replied. “You’re always too damn smart. Catching onto things before we could even tell you.” He leaned back in though and pressed another kiss to the side of your mouth. “We are . . . together, but—” He dragged his eyes over your body with a heated look. “But we want you too.”
His words had you blinking rapidly. “What?” you laughed out, but one look from him said that he wasn’t joking around. “Are-are you serious?”
He clicked his tongue against his cheek. “Deadly.”
You weren’t too sure who moved first, but you met his mouth once more halfway. You moaned loudly at the feeling of his lips and teeth mushing against yours. His hands rose and planted on your hips, fingers curling into the small pudge against bone and pulling you into him, hips dragging along the blankets until you were seated on his lap. Your knees dug into the mattress on both sides of his thick thighs as you held onto his face.
Jack shivered with glee at the feeling of your grinding weight on top of him, cock already stiff below Robby’s pair of sweatpants hugging his legs. He bucked up slightly into your dampening core, and your jaw dropped enough for him to slide his wet tongue right into your hot mouth. He languidly licked around your teeth before playing with the tip of your tongue. You couldn’t help but think that if he was this into your mouth, you wanted to imagine what it’d feel like against your clit. At the vivid picture popping into your imagination, you ground down harder against his bulge.
Jack being large wasn’t surprising; not with the amount of tight pants he liked to wear, but you never imagined yourself being able to feel it nestled against your clit through your thin pajamas. As you continued to rock back and forth, he let go in order to play with the hem of your shirt before lifting it over your head and tossing it to the ground. His eyes widened slightly when he realized you’d foregone the bra.
“Fuck,” he muttered after pulling back to really look at them, hands rising to cup your breasts.
With his pointer fingers and thumbs, he pinched your nipples into soft peaks, drawing a higher-pitched whine from behind your teeth. By now, your underwear were soaked with slick arousal. Without warning, he leaned in right as your back arched and took one bud into his mouth. His cheeks hollowed, and a loud sucking noise squeaked out of his lips. You jerked at the feeling and sank your hands into his hair.
“Jack,” you breathily sighed.
“That’s me, sweetheart,” he retorted after letting your nipple go with a wet pop just to do the same to your other one.
You normally weren’t one to cum just from stimulation to your breasts, but the hazy feeling from grinding on Jack’s cock and his lips and tongue circling your nipples started to well in your stomach. Your jaw dropped again as a loud moan shuddered out of you after he bit down on the sensitive peak before running a soothing, wet stripe over it. He pulled back again to lightly blow on the heated flesh, and his cooled breath made goosebumps race up your skin.
He dropped a hand to play with the waistline of shorts, and you lifted your hips to allow him to get your sleep shorts and underwear off in one go. They quickly joined your shirt at the floor, and his hand had just started to trail between your thighs when his bedside phone gave off a loud shrill into the air. Jack acted as though he didn’t hear it, lips still suckling away at your chest.
“Aren’t you going to get that?” you panted between the grinds of your hips.
“Just let it ring,” he responded, but the sound had already ripped your attention away from between your legs.
With a smile, you reached over and picked up the phone, mind too full with pleasure to even think of the last time you picked up a phone without knowing who was on the other line. Really, you should have been more careful, but with Jack under your naked body, all caution was out the window.
“Jack’s busy right now,” you giggled into the phone, “but I can give him a message—”
“Hi, baby.”
Your hips stilled, and your blood froze at the sound of the distorted voice. A dizzying feeling replaced the warmth of pleasure in your system, and you could barely get out a response that wasn’t a small, terrified noise.
“Has Jack left you that speechless already?” he continued, voice sounding louder than it had last night over the phone. If you really thought about it, it felt as though he was right next to your ear. “Go on, baby. You were looking so pretty getting messy over him. I was really enjoying the show,” he growled, voice suddenly right over your shoulder instead of through the speaker.
You dropped the phone and whipped around right off Jack’s lap, and panic seized your chest, because right by the door, a tall man draped in black fabric and a hollowed-eyed white mask stared back at you. You started to scramble as a small scream ripped up your throat, but Jack was quicker. He grabbed your hips and brought you back to this lap, this time facing the masked intruder. His arms wrapped around your middle and held you through your struggles and tears.
“Jack, what the fuck!” you sobbed, hands wrenching and nails scratching at his arms. “Let me go! We’re going to die! Let me go, please!”
Instead of doing what you demanded, Jack tucked his chin onto your shoulder as the man started stalking toward the bed. With each step, your struggles grew. By now, Jack’s arms were littered with bleeding stripes from your desperation to get away, but that only added to his pleasure, cock never failing to fade into softness against your back. Your chest heaved and tightened the closer the man got before he stopped at the foot of the bed.
You watched with wide eyes as he raised a small box to where his lips would be under the mask before his empty gloved hand suddenly lifted the stretched-chin until the mask slipped from his face, and Robby’s dark brown eyes locked on yours.
His lips curled into a devilish smirk. “Surprise, baby.”
For a split second, you thought you’d pass out, suddenly overwhelmed with everything in a dizzy sensation.
“What?” you sputtered.
Jack hummed over your shoulder and ran a finger down your tear-streaked cheek. He pouted when you met his eye from the corner of yours.
“Aw, sweets, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Not enjoying our little surprise?” he taunted before a chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Awww, Mikey, look at her. The poor thing’s shaking.”
Robby let the voice modulator fall to the floor with a dulled thunk that kept your heart racing against your ribcage. In a desperate attempt to keep a distance between you and Robby, you tried to fling yourself to the side, but Jack just tightened his arms around you more.
“Not so fast,” he said. “Not when we haven’t gotten to the best part yet.” One arm let go so his hand could grip your chin to keep you facing Robby. “Go on and spread her legs for me.”
Without hesitation, Robby kneeled at the edge of the mattress and crawled until he reached where your feet planted against the comforter. His brown eyes, the hues almost black with lust, watched you intently as he placed his gloved hands on your naked knees. Yet, when he tried to part them, you swung a foot and connected it right between his legs, drawing a grunt from deep in his lungs.
He shuddered, his hand reaching down to palm himself over the long black robes he wore. His chest was rising and falling rapidly as he fought to get air back in his lungs. As his hand pressed down harder, he groaned, looking up at you through his eyelashes. The inky blackness of his pupils swallowed the brown of his irises entirely.
The motherfucker liked that.
Jack’s hand slid down from your jaw and wrapped around the front of your throat, and his fingers squeezed lightly against the sides of your neck, sending a fuzzy wave to your brain, and your breath hitched, body stilling in his grasp. His lips softly grazed your ear as he whispered, “Be a good girl and stay still for us. You’ll like it, I promise.”
He jerked his chin out towards Robby, and you could only watch him finally grip your knees. In one fluid motion, he wrenched your legs apart, revealing your glistening cunt to both of them. Robby hummed lowly in amusement.
“You’re so wet for us, baby,” he mused and lowered his face until he was inches away from your core.
An embarrassed heat flooded your face and neck when he inhaled sharply. If you bucked your hips to get him to move back, you’d just shove his nose right into your folds, and if you withdrew them, you’d grind right into Jack’s cock. You were stuck, and neither seemed to be concerned with how you felt.
“Please let me go,” you pleaded with a whimper and squeezed-shut eyes. “I won’t tell anyone.”
Jack tutted against your ear. “It’s not that we don’t believe you, sweets, but . . .”
“We’ve already waited this long to have you like this,” Robby finished his sentence, finally pulling back from between your legs to look down at you as he ripped the gloves off. “We can’t let you go after we’ve worked so hard to get you right where we want.”
“You fucking murdered people,” you spat, body beginning to shift unconsciously as a result of your fear . . . or something closer to simmering arousal that you didn’t even want to admit to. “And now you think I’m just going to sit here and enjoy this?”
“Well, yeah,” Jack smacked his lips. “Cause even though you’re putting on a big show of being brave even if you’re terrified—” He reached down and ran a fingertip through your cunt from hole to clit before holding it up to the light to show just how wet it was. “Your body is still begging for us.”
You shivered against him. “It’s not—I’m not begging.”
Jack sighed loudly. “That’s okay; we know you will once we get started.” His hazel eyes met Robby’s gaze. “Go right ahead, Mikey.”
“Robby, please don’t,” you whispered as he leaned back down, bare fingers coming to grip at the soft insides of your thighs. “Don’t do this. I—”
You bit down on your lip to stifle the first moan that threatened to burst out as Robby’s tongue began to lick at your puffy folds, fingers curling into Jack’s freckled forearms and thighs jolting at the feeling. He held them down. His tongue moved inward and stiffened into a point to drag upward to your throbbing clit, the texture of his tastebuds adding to the buzzy stimulation. He toyed with you, going from circular motions to biting down gently with his front teeth. As he tilted his face to get a better angle, his beard rubbed against your inner thighs, and the scratchiness of it added to the burning pleasure from your core.
If he continued, he’d leave a lasting reminder of beard burn for you to remember this night.
Above, you refused to look down at him, lip staying between your teeth as he tried to break you. Jack was having none of it, and the hand around your throat pressed harder into your pulse points, cutting off your circulation to flood your brain with a hazy feeling that made the pleasure from Robby’s ministrations grow tenfold.
It was only when he licked around your sopping entrance that a keel ripped from your throat, and the sound was like music to their ears.
“Good job, sweetheart,” Jack muttered as he let go to allow oxygen to rush back in. “That’s what we want to hear. Keep going, Mikey. I wanna hear more.”
“Just keep her steady,” Robby responded against you, and his words sent vibrations tingling through your cunt, drawing out another heady moan. He continued to go back and forth from your clit to your hole before the first finger breached the tight entrance. “Oh, fuck, she’s tight,” he groaned, cock throbbing as he imagined sinking deep into you.
“Yeah?” Jack breathed. “Saved yourself just for us, sweets?”
“No,” you moaned out, hips slightly rocking to alleviate the stretch. “Nooooo shit!”
Robby sucked your clit as he began to pump his finger in and out, your innermost muscles clenching in uncontrollable spasms around the digit. Slowly, he felt you begin to loosen and suck him back in. Your head tilted back against Jack’s shoulder when he curled his finger upward, expertly finding your soft spot. Your back arched, and your hips raised into Robby’s face, making his nose catch against your clit.
A wave of pleasure washed over you. Your once tense muscles had relaxed as endorphins fought to replace your terror, leaving you close to putty and pliant between them. Your legs widened instinctively when Robby added a second finger.
“Oh—fuck!” you wailed out when both fingertips rubbed along your walls, slick gushing out with each thrust. “Robby!”
“There we go,” Jack gleefully said, voice filled with nothing but content as he felt your body drape against him, all fight draining the closer they got you to cumming. “I told you that you were going to like it.”
Somehow, Robby managed to get his fingers to reach further, and stars dotted your vision by how deep you could feel him. You didn’t want to imagine how deeper he could get with his cock—wait.
You were giving in. You couldn’t; this was wrong. They killed people. You needed to get away fast.
“Robby!” you parroted and followed with a moan as your lower belly simmered with something that was about to snap. “Gonna cum! Wanna cum!”
Finally, you looked downward and met his lidded gaze through his eyebrows, lower face hidden behind your soft mound as he continued to lick and suck and graze your bundle of nerves with his teeth. He was close to sending you right over the edge, but there was one thing they both wanted to hear.
They wanted you to beg for it.
Jack finally unwrapped his arms from your middle to start palming at your breasts again. “C’mon, sweets. Mikey’ll make you cum, but you need to ask nicely for it first. Just say the magic words and—” He pinched and pulled and twisted your nipples, and a cry ripped right out of you, “—he’ll give it to you.”
Your eyes burned with unshed tears, and somewhere deep, the need to push back flickered before being doused with a rush of arousal. Robby added a third finger and quickened his thrusts, causing a squelching noise to fill the room.
Finally, after feeling the heat about to boil over in your core, you whimpered out the smallest, “Please.”
Robby groaned against you, and bit down hard on your clit while curling upwards with stiff fingers. You came instantly, walls clenching rhythmically while Robby kept his pace steady to draw out your high for as long as possible. He watched the way your thighs shook and the way your arched beautifully, stomach curved out high as Jack continued to pull and grab at your breasts.
You all but collapsed back against Jack’s chest when Robby finally pulled away, your sticky arousal coating his lips and chin and also the three fingers that he stuck in his mouth. He held eye contact with you as he swirled his tongue between the slots. Jack huffed behind you.
“I want a taste,” he demanded, and Robby quickly leaned over you, robes draping across your heaving chest, and kissed Jack.
The loud slurping noises coming from over your head made you groan when your hole clenched around nothing.
“Tastes good,” Jack muttered before licking across Robby’s lips. “Tastes so fucking good, sweetheart,” he addressed you even if he was currently occupied. He bit down, and Robby whined as a metallic tang filled their shared saliva.
You lied there, and for a moment, your mind caught up to the situation at hand. Robby and Jack were the murderer—murderers? One to make the call, and the other to kill the student. Through the initial shockwaves of your orgasm, your stomach dipped, and you pushed up slightly, hoping they were both too into the other to miss the way you tried to inch across the bed. Jack pulled away suddenly and reached across, hands planting on both sides of your hips. Air rushed from your lungs at the sheer amount of his strength as he flipped you in one fluid motion and put you on your stomach.
“No, fuck you,” you whined against the covers. “I’ve never—”
Jack’s hands maneuvered you like a personal doll: knees pushing into the mattress and hips high in the air. He used his knees to knock yours wider to fit behind. You tried to push up on two hands, but he sent you right back down with a strong enough push between your shoulder blades. He held you down and pulled down the waistline of his sweatpants just enough to pull his cock out, lips parting in a hiss at the cold air enveloping his heated flesh. He sighed when he got a hand around himself, and the tip spurted out a line of precum. He used his palm to spread it across his length before he notched it at your entrance.
Your body tensed at just the feeling of the large head already barely fitting even if Robby had managed to get three fingers in you.
“Wait,” you said and gripped the comforter. “No, no, please wait, please, Jack, I’m a virgin, wait—”
As though your pleas fell on deaf ears, Jack slowly started to sink into you. He shuddered when your warmth sucked in the first inch like your cunt needed him even if you thought you didn’t.
“Fuck, sweets,” he hissed. “Robby said you were tight, but fucking—can’t believe I get to be your first.”
You gasped at the stretch and intrusion, and he kept feeding himself into you even after the first bit of resistance. You’d mold perfectly around him soon enough. Your inner thighs shook and tensed as he pushed in further, and sweat collected at your brow line as your body heated under the pressure. You shut your eyes tight, but that only made it difficult to concentrate on anything but the feeling of Jack’s massive cock bullying its way into you.
Jack pulled back slightly, and the drag of the head along your walls had you gasping for air.
“Too much for you?” Jack cooed as your whimpers hit his ears. “Shhhh, it’s okay, sweetheart, you can take it; I know you can.” He slowly pushed back in. “Take a deep breath for me, yeah? Big streeetch,” he drew out until the entirety of his length sat inside you.
Your chest heaved as much as it could into the mattress, and your jaw dropped to take in lungfuls of air. You felt too full, like one wrong move and Jack would rip you in half. It only got worse when he started to thrust, and his tip started tapping against your cervix with no more room to push into.
“J-Jack, f-fuck,” you stuttered, and tears once again streamed down your cheeks. “Please—fuck!”
He rocked his hips against yours to the point that his balls slapped against your ass with every thrust. “You feel how deep I am inside you?” he grunted while his hands tightened around your hips. “Fucking taking all of me. Such a needy girl for my cock.”
You bit down on the comforter, muffling your whines in an attempt to keep how much he was affecting you to yourself.
“Oh, sweets, that won’t do,” Jack tutted and sank a hand into your roots, fingers curling around the strands and yanking your head upward with a yelp. Your hands scrambled to get under you to relieve some of the pressure, but Jack didn’t stop thrusting, and the motion had your breasts swinging in the air. “Mikey, give her mouth something to do.”
You eyes widened because under Jack’s fucking, you somehow completely forgot about Robby. But now as he shrugged off the robe and unbuckled his pants to get his cock out, you started sobbing once more.
“Please don’t do this. I loved you two,” you weakly confessed, mind warring against your needy body, but all that did was make Jack angle his hips on an upward thrust to hit that spot that made you wail.
Robby fisted his cock while he raised your chin up, and his eyes softened for a split second. “You’ll just have to learn to love this version of us, baby, because we love you just like this.”
His words hit you in the pit of your stomach, and suddenly his words broke something inside you.
This was Jack and Robby, your two best friends who’d do anything for you. You couldn’t keep fighting against them if you tried.
Your jaw chomped shut hard enough that your teeth clicked together, but both of them were one step ahead. Jack let go of your hair and snaked a hand between your thighs to start circling his fingertips against your clit as he continued to fuck into you at a slowed pace, really wanting to draw this all out.
You couldn’t help the moan that flowed freely at the double stimulation attacking your cunt, and your jaw unhinged enough to let Robby slip the tip of his cock between your teeth. Instantly, the salty tang of his precum coated your mouth. He held the sides of your face and pushed in deeper.
“Another deep breath, baby,” he groaned before he thrust into your mouth, giving you barely any warning to brace for his cock to fill your mouth.
Your throat constricted in a gag, but a flick of Jack’s fingers around your bud paired with a harsh thrust pushed you forward until your nose right into Robby’s navel, his wiry happy trail filling your senses with his deep musky scent. Above you, Robby arched into the feeling and groaned into the air. You were now filled on both ends as you desperately tried to breathe in through your mouth.
Robby’s cock nestled against your tongue and a few inches down your throat. He was definitely longer than Jack, but the redhead had a much thicker girth than the brunette. Jack planted both his hands on your shoulders and pulled you back until Robby almost slipped right out. You sputtered and coughed from the lack of air, and a string of saliva wiggled down from your mouth to the bed.
In just a breath later, they resumed, and you moved upwards and backwards on them like a pig on a spit. You felt dizzy between the white-hot pleasure Jack gave your cunt and the fuzziness that took over when Robby slipped down your throat. Both men moaned and grunted when you seemed to clench down on them at the same time.
“Fuck, you weren’t kidding when you said she was—shit—so fucking tight,” Jack moaned when your walls spasmed around him, nearly cumming from the feeling. “You any close, sweets? Wanna feel you cum on my cock.” His words went straight to your body, and your pussy tightened. “Oh, you like when I talk to you? Is that right?”
You whined in response and nodded. .
His fingers picked up against your throbbing clit to meet his thrusts, and your stomach flipped with the onslaught of never-ending ecstasy flowing through your lower half. He could tell you were close when you started leaking around him, inner thighs sticky and wet enough to transfer onto his when he pushed into you with wet plap, plap, plap, plaps.
At your front, Robby continued lazily thrusting into your mouth with jerky motions, knowing that once Jack filled you, he’d have his turn to sink deep into your pussy. His head leaned back when he managed to make you gag, and your throat constricted and caught his tip. His large hand basically covered the back of your head. He kept you tucked against his navel even when you tried to jolt back to get more air. His soul thrummed at your panic, and he wondered if you could feel him get harder between your teeth.
“Uh, uh, uh, uh,” sputtered around Robby with every draw and snap of Jack’s hips.
“Just give in, sweetheart,” Jack whispered into your ear after slotting his stomach into the dip of your back. “Let us know that we’re making you feel so good.” Using two fingers, he pinched at your clit just as his hips began to stutter, a tell-tail sign that he was about to cum as well. “Fucking—shit—give it to me.”
With a muffled cry, your body shook as your second orgasm ripped right through your body. Jack could barely fuck into you with how hard you were clamping down on him as your cunt wept and dribbled onto the bed.
“Good—fucking—girl,” he punched out with three forceful thrusts. His hands planted back onto your hips, and his fingers curled white-knuckled into the skin so hard that you knew you’d have his fingerprints bruised into you by morning. His lower stomach pulsed when you began to whimper from overstimulation, and the sound had his cock throbbing. “Fuck, gonna fill you up, sweets. Gonna cum, gonna—fucking shit!”
He thrusted hard once, twice, three times before he stilled, cock spurting release into your fluttering hole. He had squeezed his eyes shut, but he peaked through his eyelids to see Robby lean over with a hand between your legs. The air knocked right out of Jack’s lungs when your cunt clamped down on him again near the end, and he guessed that Robby had rubbed right against your clit. Jack’s chest heaved through his high.
“Good job, sweetheart,” he muttered, giving little rocks of his hips to prolong his own pleasure, dick already softening just a bit. “You took me so well; so well.”
His hands loosened from your shoulders, and without any strength left in your wobbly arms, you fell right back into the bed, body twitching in the aftershocks. A whimper climbed from deep in your chest when he finally pulled out. Your hole clenched and pushed out a thick glob of the mix of your rapidly cooling slick and his cum from your walls.
You felt his finger drag along your folds to catch it just to push the mess right back in, drawing a mewl from your lips. Too tired and fucked out to care about what they did next, you let your hips lower until they rested against the bed. You heard some shuffling through the haze, and the next moment, your body flipped over. Each of your limbs tingled with warmth, and you let out the smallest giggle.
You enjoyed that more than you’d ever admit to it.
“What’s so funny, baby?” Robby asked as he took off the rest of his clothes just as Jack was taking off his crewneck but leaving his sweats still on.
Your eyes fluttered shut. “Think it’s funny that you said you loved me, but you killed people,” you slurred.
Jack and Robby shared a look before the taller took his place near your feet.
“Stephen deserved it, baby,” Robby darkly muttered. “And all those boys who came before him.”
Jack ran a soothing hand up and down your leg. “You’re our girl. We couldn’t let them live after how they acted towards you.”
Like he did earlier, Robby parted your legs, leaning down for half a heartbeat to press a small kiss to your twitching clit before trailing open-mouthed kissed up your stomach until he reached your lips. As though all fight drained out of you with the last climax, you matched his advances and kissed him back, legs absentmindedly parting to let him hover over you.
You were the one to break the kiss when he rutted his cock through your sopping, overly-sentivie folds. Your breath hitched high in your throat before breaking to give way to a shuddering moan. You tried to push him off, but his lips stayed glued to your neck.
He reached down and positioned his cock head to your entrance, and he slipped in with no resistance, the added lubrication of Jack’s spend and your relaxed muscles adding to his eased thrusting. The back of your head pushed deep into the mattress, and you swore you could feel Robby all the way up into your throat. Through lidded eyes, you caught the sight of Jack already hard again in his hand, his hazel eyes watching intently as Robby started to fuck you.
“Hnnngggg,” you moaned through your teeth. Robby’s tip hit your cervix with each forward movement. “Oh my—fucking—please, Robby!”
“Only took two orgasms to get you begging, hm?” Jack asked, and he reached over to pet at your face while simultaneously fucking up into his hand. His fingers traced your lips before he plunged them into your mouth. His breath stuttered when you started softly sucking on his digits.
“Whatever you’re doing up there,” Robby grunted, hips snapping into the heat of your walls, “she likes it. Her cunt’s clenching—shit—around me like a fucking vice, man.”
Your high-pitched whine came out all muffled through Jack’s fingers. Without someone holding your hips down, you began to meet Robby’s thrusts in shallow grinds. Where Jack’s cock stretched you out to the point of bliss, you wanted Robby’s length to stay buried deep to constantly rub against your walls. He must have understood what you wanted, because he stopped with the full thrusts and ground against your hips. The thatch of hair at the base of his cock rubbed deliciously against your swollen clit, and you whined at the added stimulation.
After having climaxed twice so fast, it didn’t take long before you started to writhe under Robby’s frame, close to cumming without needing much.
“Gonna—” You gagged when Jack pushed his fingers in farther. “Gonna,” you warbled.
“Gonna cum already for us, baby?” Robby grunted. “Well, when you do, I wanna hear you cry my name, okay? Want your pretty mouth to spit it out.”
You nodded shakily and tried to respond, but Jack’s fingers were too deep for anything eligible to come out. After thrusting them a bit more and getting them slick with your saliva, Jack pulled them out of your mouth. You squealed loudly when his fingers rubbed between your clit and where Robby was rutting into you.
“Ooohhhh,” you breathed. “Jack! Feels good!”
“Yeah? Does it feel better when I do this?” Suddenly, the pressure inside your walls exploded as Jack nudged his pointer finger into your hole, digit brushing against Robby’s cock to make you feel fuller than you ever had. “I bet that feels really good for you, sweetheart. Got your hole all nice and filled to the brim.”
He tried to angle his wrist as best he could to press upward, and your thighs tried to close around his hand, but Robby’s hips kept them spread wide open. Needing to alleviate the pressure, you dug your feet into Robby’s lower back and arched into his chest. In one more movement to grind against Jack’s hand and Robby’s cock, you came instantly in a soundless scream.
Robby folded over as your walls suddenly clamped down on him without warning. Your chest shook in a deep sob as the pleasure almost became too much. But through the shivers and pinpricks of euphoria, you remembered what Robby had asked.
“Michael!” you screamed, hips jolting uncontrollably against him. “Micahel! Michael!”
Like some Pavlovian effect, Robby groaned loudly with stuttering hips, cock spurting with hot waves of cum deep inside and fusing his and Jack’s cum to your cunt. No matter who you else might fuck in life, they’d always know that their cum was in you first.
“Such a good baby,” Robby spat, mind barely keeping up with the feeling of your warmth entrapping his cock. “So smart for remembering. Fucking love it when you say my name. Fucking love you.”
Your eyes had squeezed shut yet again right before you felt splatters across your face and heard a plethora of curses and moans from Jack above you. Some of his cum painted across your eyes, and you could only lie there and take his spend to your face.
For a moment, you ceased to exist on the bed, mind floating blissfully somewhere else as you stewed in the slowing waves of your probably final orgasm. It wasn’t until you felt a warm, wet towel against your face did you open your eyes again. You blinked rapidly to clear them of the gloss that had taken over, and Jack cooed softly as he wiped his drying cum from your cheeks.
“There she is,” he whispered. “There’s our girl. You did so well for us, sweetheart. Can’t believe we got to finally do this with the girl we love.”
There it was again: their declarations of love.
You wondered if it was all a ploy, but with their soft touches and slow roll of your pliant body to settle between them as sleep licked at your body, something settled inside your chest. Sure, they’d killed people, but they’d been right about what they said. Stephen deserved it, deserved what they did to him along with all the other boys who’d made you uncomfortable before meeting their ultimate demise.
They’d done it all for you . . . because they loved you.
Your lip twitched into a soft smile as you relaxed into the blanket Jack tossed over the three of you.
“I love you both, too.”
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Morning light was the first thing to cause your closed eyelids to glow as your body slowly woke up. Instead of gently being lolled from your sleep, you became instantly aware of where you were and more importantly who you were between. Sometime after falling asleep, you’d managed to tuck yourself under Robby’s chin while Jack clung to your back, their shared heat making the bed feel like a furnace. You shifted. One leg slipping from between Jack’s, and your hips tilting away from Robby’s.
Yet, you’d barely moved a few inches when Jack was the second to wake up. He muttered something sleepily before tightening his arms around your middle.
“Don’t go,” he slurred, voice still thick with sleep.
“I need to pee,” you whispered back, but all you really wanted was to retreat to the bathroom to wrap your mind around what had happened last night: their confessions, them fucking you, you confessing your love for both of them. If you stayed any longer, the dream of last night might become reality, and you weren’t ready to face the possibility that you might become their next victim.
Robby shuffled slightly at your front and nuzzled his cheek into the top of your head. “Pee here. Pretty sure Jack’s into that,” he sighed, almost like he was seconds away from falling back asleep, however, his eyes shot open when Jack whacked him in the face with a spare pillow.
“I don’t have a piss kink,” the redhead groaned, not even opening his hazel eyes. “I just think it’s hot.”
“Then it constitutes as a piss kink, kid.”
Jack pushed up with one arm while rapidly blinking the sleep away. “Can we not kink shame your boyfriend, please? We get one morning with her between us, and you start spouting bullshit nonsense.”
“Guys,” you whined. “Enough.” Your head tilted down until your forehead connected with Robby’s chest. “Let’s just get this all over with.”
Jack paused with another pillow mid-way in the air, fingers letting go to let it drop down to the bed. He slightly curled around your shoulder and tried to meet your eye. “Get over with what?”
Robby twirled a piece of your hair around a finger. “What’s going on in that head, baby?”
“I already know what will happen next. You’re going to tell me that last night was a fluke, and I’m about to show up on the news as another dead body,” you spat. “So, please, make it painless and get on with it.”
Over your head, Robby and Jack shared a look of concern before Jack plastered himself along your back.
“No, sweetheart, no,” he cooed. “That’s like the exact opposite of what’s going to happen. We weren’t lying when we said we loved you.”
You shook your head and closed your eyes. You didn’t believe them. How could you after all they’ve done?
“Listen, baby,” Robby started as he pushed back to make you look at him, “Jack and I love you so much, and the thought of us never being able to have you pushed us over the edge. It’s like an itch we can’t scratch unless we get rid of the problems.”
“And the problems were all those boys who either thought they had a chance or made you uncomfortable by thinking you wanted them back,” Jack growled, and the noise went right to your core. “We fucking love you so much, and it was agony to see them hurt you, so we hurt them in return—like, take them out entirely.”
“No one messes with you unless they want to mess with us,” Robby stated. “But we’d never hurt you, baby. I think we’d both rather kill the other if we ever did.”
They both waited in silence for you to answer, and for a moment, they thought that you were able to push away, grab your clothes, and run out the door with how heavy you were breathing. But then, they both noticed the way your thighs shifted together, and it dawned on them that you were into this—them killing men just for you.
“You really mean that?” you finally asked, voice meek and scared for them to laugh and yell psych!
“We’d let you kill us if we didn’t, sweetheart” Jack said, voice steady and strong. “Our hearts beat only for the other and you.” He placed a kiss on your bare shoulder before lightly biting into your skin.
Robby inhaled sharply. “We’ll stop . . . if you want us to. No more games, no more murders—”
“Unless you want us to,” Jack added. “Say the word, and you’ll have a heart on a platter if you wish.”
A loud groan rumbled through your chest, and your hips jutted back against Jack’s front. “You two can’t say stuff like that.”
“Why not?” Robby asked, and you could hear the smirk in his words.
“Becasuse—” You squeaked when Jack suddenly palmed at your breasts under the covers. “Because it makes me feel . . .”
“Good?” Jack filled in, but you shook your head.
“Loved. It makes me feel loved, and it’s fucking crazy to say that, because you’re willing to murder people if I ask for it.”
Your thighs parted when you felt Robby try to prod between them, and a lazy sigh exhaled from your lips as he slowly started to circle your clit through your puffy folds that were still slick from last night’s activities.
“We’re willing to do a lot more than murder,” he muttered, lips pressing into every inch of your face. “But we have you now, and unless anyone thinks they can get through us, we won’t need to put any more bodies in the ground.”
“Promise?” you asked with a pant catching the end of the word.
“Promise,” Jack grunted, hips bucking into your ass.
“Promise,” Robby echoed.
“Okay, okay,” you said. “I was also telling the truth when I said that I loved you both. Just wanting to make it clear that this goes both ways.”
“Good,” Jack said as he placed two hands on both sides of your hips. “Now, flip on your front. I wanna feel your cunt cum on my cock again.”
· · ─ ·✶· ─ ·
Night was not the best place to be hanging around a parking lot in the middle of Pittsburgh. Unfortunately for Brendon Park, he found himself doing just that around an hour after his shift ended at 9 pm, eyes narrowed at his slashed tires on his brand new Porsche. Someone had done this, and all he needed to do was wait for the stupid tow truck and security officer to come help him out. He could have left it for the morning and gotten an uber, but Park was a proud man.
And yet, what did they say about pride? It commeth before the downfall.
He was so busy huffing and puffing while stalking back and forth along his car that he failed to hear the twin footsteps rapidly approaching behind him. He didn’t even know he wasn’t alone until a white-hot pain in his side froze him in his tracks. His torso twisted, but that just dug the scalpel in deeper. He stumbled to get away, but all he was met with was another parallel stab to his other side.
Automatically, Park applied pressure over the blood already soaking through his scrub top. He looked down and hissed before looking for his assailant. He squinted into the dark, and his breath hitched when twin robed figures stepped out into the small bit of light coming from a close to burning out lamp. It was almost like the two were from a slasher movie in the 90s with their hollowed-eyed halloween masks and glittering robes that donned their bodies, keeping Park from knowing who had just stabbed him twice.
“What the fuck?” he hissed as he backed up into his Porsche’s driver door, hand trying to grip the handle but failing because of his blood’s slickness. “I’ll give you money or whatever the fuck you want but stay right over there or I swear I’ll call the cops.”
One of them tilted his head, and Park felt the dead eyes stare right through his soul.
He watched as the other—the taller one—raised a box to where his mouth would be behind the mask.
“You wanna know what we want, Brendon Park?” he asked, voice distorted through the modulator.
“I’ll give it to you,” Park grunted, the pain blooming up his sides and into his chest. They must have hit one of his kidneys and possibly an organ with how fast the anguish was spreading, making it hard to breathe in and out.
The taller looked down at the shorter, and their eyes met before they nodded. Park’s eyes widened when they both produced longer knives than the shorter ones they stabbed him with. The modulator rose again, and what he said next sent a chill right through Park’s stomach.
“We want to see what your insides look like.”
Without a beat, the two robed figures pounced on him, and in just a few minutes, Park slunked down to the concrete, leaving a painted bloodied smear across his car’s door. With satisfaction pumping through their veins, the two watched as he took his last wheezing breath before dying in a puddle consisting of almost all his blood. His body wouldn’t be found until the morning with stab wounds littering his body. His fault for parking away from everyone else in fear of his car getting scratched.
Only when the two were sure they were the only breathing beings in the lot, they ripped off the masks, and Jack huffed loudly.
“Murder was so much easier in med school when I wasn’t missing a fucking leg,” he grumbled while shifting his weight onto his real leg. He ran a hand through his sweat-soaked salt-and-pepper curls.
“Tell me about it,” Robby answered. “If he were any shorter, my knees would have given out if I had to bend down.” He kicked at Park’s leg and smirked when the body recoiled slightly. “But man did that feel good.”
“I’m kinda glad he decided to go off on her. Last mistake he’d ever make, but nothing beats the rush of this.”
The memory of Park berating you in the middle of their ER flashed through their minds. They'd seen the way you flinched under his words in a way they hadn't seen in decades. They'd wanted to kill him right then and their, but Robby and Jack weren't ones to break their promises, however, the next time all three of you had the day off, you told them what you wanted between moans as Robby sandwiched you between his and Jack's chest.
"I want him gone," you had whimpered out, forehead pressing into Jack's collar bone while Robby rocked you back and forth on his cock.
"Want who gone, sweets?" Jack questioned before grunting loudly when his tip notched against your clit.
"Park—shit—I want him gone."
You wanted them to kill Park, and they were never ones to disappoint.
Robby went to say something, but the shrill of his iPhone had him digging and floundering through the drapes of robes. When he managed to bunch the fabric, he reached into his pocket and took out his phone, answering it without a second glance.
“Hello? Michael Robinavitch speaking.”
“Do you want to play a game?” a voice answered from the speaker, and the two glanced at each other with devilish, knowing smiles.
“Depends on what type of game it is, sweetheart,” Jack responded, crossing his arms against his chest.
“I wanna know how much it’ll take to make you two scream.” Your small laugh followed, you not being able to take this as seriously as the two had back in school.
Robby brought his phone up closer to his mouth. “I don’t know the exact answer, but I think you can start with being naked and face down on the bed by the time we get back.”
“I think that can be arranged. Get home soon, or I might have to play the game myself.”
𑣲⋆｡˚ rabbot love taking you at the same time p link
jack is grasping your hips from below you with an iron rip as your boobs press against his chest, dragging against him with each harsh thrust. he's looking straight up at your face, and you gaze down at him with bleary eyes, already so fucked out :(
he pouts sympathetically at the dumb look on your face and brushes some of the hair that had fallen in front of your eyes when your head lulled forward. you make sensual eye contact while he caresses your face in his big hand, gazing at you adoringly.
it would've been so romantic
if not for the absolute brute robby was, pounding into you from behind, with a harsh grunt from each thurst.
no wonder you were so dumb already, your poor pussy was struggling to fit both of their big cocks at the same time :(
robby readjusts and hikes his leg up to give him more momentum, gripping onto your shoulders to drag you right back down their lengths when you tried to squirm away.
the new angle caused you to let out a shocked squeal and then a defeated whimper when you realised robby wouldn't let up. jack tuts, "aw robby's being mean isn't he baby?"
you let out a dumb nod, making eye contact with jack again while they both plough into you. robby ignores the comment and just keeps going, and jacks hands drag up your body to squeeze the plush planes of your boobs, still holding eye contact while teasing your nipples.
you were a mess, bless your soul, spasming, drooling, your hole leaking. but they loved it. they revel in knowing they ruin you so good your brain can't function anymore and all you can think about is dick.
rabbot love ruining their girl at the same time ᥫ᭡.
jack abbot who is in love with you. and that’s okay! because you already knew! you knew that he looked for you in the crowded pitt, regardless of the incoming, his heart demanded you by his side. you knew that he needed you pulled flush against his chest before he could fall asleep at night. you knew that he would hold onto you forever and never let you go.
jack abbot who is in love with michael robinavitch. and that’s also okay! you just don’t know about it. but yknow, they’ve been friends for a really really long time, it’s only natural to develop some sort of attachment to a person after knowing them for that long. it was a sort of comfort, being in love with robby, a reminder of better times, when the two attendings were not weighed down by the patients they saw pass through the hospital. it’s really not his fault he’s in love, he just doesn’t plan on doing anything about it.
michael robinavitch who is in love with you. which is once again, l okay! it’s just, that’s the reason why he has the two of you watch over his house whilst he’s on sabbatical. he assumed knew that the two of you would fuck, he just hoped it would be in his bed. for comfort of course! the guest room is not nearly as nice as his own, and he practically insisted you two stay in his bed. you just don’t know about the camera that he has in his smoke detector, he got it by accident okay!!!, and you just don’t know how closely he watches your face on his too big ipad when you come around jacks cock.
michael robinavitch who is completely in love with jack abbot. which is once again, you guessed it! completely okay!!! he just didn’t realize that fact until he was checking in on the two of you through his camera app and saw you riding jack. he should have closed out of the app when he noticed that he couldn’t even see you, hips down covered by a thin sheet and the above by your unruly hair. he could only see jack. jack, with his head thrown back. jack with hands clenching and unclenching. jack with his face screwed up in pleasure. and jack, with his nose buried in robby’s pillow when he finally came. it’s not his fault he’s saw that. but he does plan on doing something about it, and he leaves after he finished dragging his hand up and down his cock.
I requested this one from myself because I needed vampire!Titus lol. lowkey want to make this into a longer fic because the idea of being his little blood pet is so yummy and there's so much fun vampire lore to pick and choose
all normal vampire sex fic warnings apply
check the notes at the end for my thoughts and thanks
18+
Being Titus’s little pet meant always being within arms reach. Anytime he was hungry or horny or just wanted to be entertained, you needed to be there.
It wasn’t a big ask for you to constantly be near him. To you, Titus was the most wonderful man in the world. He gave you everything, he took care of your every need. The only thing you had to do was obey his every command.
You were always so happy to sit or kneel or suck when he ordered you to. Hearing him call you his good little girl, running his hands through your hair and stroking over your stuffed cheeks.
You were knelt, naked between Titus’s legs, hands tucked obediently beneath your thighs and lips wrapped around his cock. Your head bobbed up and down the shaft at a leisurely pace while he sat comfortably in the armchair in his bedroom, sipping at his whiskey.
“So good for me,” through the wicked smirk stretching across Titus’s face, you could see the sharp white fangs poking into his lower lip. Your neck itched, longing for them to pierce the skin and drink deep. “Look so pretty on your knees for me.”
The sound your lips made as they pulled off of him was obscene. You gave his tip little kitten lips as you looked up at him through your lashes.
“Please daddy,” Titus grasped the base of his cock as you begged. He slapped it against your cheek while you gave him your best puppy dog eyes. “Want to feel you bite me.”
“Yeah?” He chuckled at your desperation. “Want me to drain you dry?”
“Yes,” you groaned, nuzzling your face against his cock.
“What else do you want, sweet thing?”
“Want you to stuff me full while you empty my veins,” your tongue licked him from base to tip, making sure to let it linger around his sensitive tip. Titus took a heavy breath, his normally brown irises flashing red.
“You greedy little minx,” his hand tangled in your hair, pulling your head back and away from his cock. “Insatiable little blood slut.”
“Only for you,” the pain in your scalp from his tight grip was delicious, radiating a dizzying pleasure down your spine.
“That’s right,” Titus gave one sharp yank before letting go on your hair. “Get up here. If you’re that needy, you can ride me.”
You scrambled up, climbing into his lap as fast as you could. Thank Satan you were already naked and dripping, not having to do anything besides spread your legs over his and line his tip up with your achingly empty cunt.
Before you could slide him home, right where his cock belonged, Titus’s hand closed around your neck. He squeezed tightly, cocking one eyebrow up at you.
“What do you say?”
“Thank you, daddy,” you croaked out around his tight grip.
“That’s my good girl,” he released his hold, sliding his hand up to grip your jaw between his thick fingers.
You finally slid down. The stretch burned slightly, but it was a familiar, welcome pain that you’d come to crave. No matter how many times Titus fucked you, you never seemed to get used to just how thick he was. He said it was because you were made for him, made to be a tight, delicious, obedient little pet for him, and you had to agree. You were so good, and in return for your compliance, Titus rewarded you with more pleasure than your silly little human mind could comprehend.
You were so good, in fact, that you always remembered to follow his rules, even when you were overwhelmed by the sheer size of him. You kept your eyes locked on Titus’s as you seated your ass flush against his thighs, letting your mouth drop and every little gasp and sigh spill from your lips, exactly as he had trained you to do.
“Is that what you needed?”
You shook your head, trying to keep yourself from grinding against him. When you rode him, Titus didn’t allow you to move until he’d gotten a taste of your blood.
“Need more,” your head tilted to the side as much as his grip would allow. You bared your neck to him. It was covered in small, silvery little dots; scars left from his feeding that even the healing properties of his venom couldn’t erase. Not that you wanted them to, though. Both of you loved him. They marked you as his more than any collar ever could. “Need you to bite me, daddy.”
“Hmmm,” Titus’s hand, the unoccupied one, dragged over the wide array of scars on your skin. The faint scratch of his nails over the marks had you twitching in his lap. Since becoming his, your entire neck had become an erogenous zone, more sensitive even than your breasts. “I’m not sure I’m feeling all that hungry.”
“No, no please,” you knew he was teasing, that he could never pass up a chance to dig his teeth into you, but you couldn’t stop the panic that rose in your stomach and the tears that flooded from your eyes at the thought that he might not bite you. Titus had ruined you, and now you couldn’t cum without his venom coursing through your veins. You needed his teeth piercing through your flesh, you needed to feel the whoosh of your blood leaving you and entering him with every exquisite suck. “Please, daddy. I want – I need it! So badly, please–”
“Ok, ok,” Titus released your jaw, one hand tangling in your hair again and the other settling on your hip. “No need to cry, little one. You know daddy can’t ever get enough of your sweet blood.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” your tears of sadness turned to tears of happiness as Titus brought you in by his hold on your hair. You were trembling in anticipation as his breath brushed over your neck.
A whimper escaped you at the first stroke of his tongue over a spot just below the corner of your jaw. Titus nosed around the spot, searching for the perfect spot.
When he found it, his mouth began to water, flooding with his supernatural saliva. That saliva carried his venom – an addicting substance packed with healing properties along with chemicals that doubled as an aphrodisiac and muscle relaxant. It always made you fuzzy and needy, leaving you craving more and more.
You weren’t sure where you preferred it most, though. Flushing through your veins gave you the highest dose of toe-curling pleasure, but when Titus spit it into your mouth, your tongue would get all tingly and just the simplest touch of his against yours would have you shaking and soaking your panties. And don’t even get you started on just how overwhelming it was when he smeared it all over between your legs. How your clit would throb and your walls would tighten to the point Titus could barely push his cock in once he was done feasting on your wetness. Or when Titus used it to open your ass up for him, making your back channel just as sensitive as your cunt before he took you from behind–
That familiar heat softening the telltale prick of pain of his fangs sinking into your neck drew you back to the present. A strangled moan was wrenched from you, mingling with the wet sucking sound of Titus beginning to drink from you. Every mouthful of blood he pulled from you was replaced by more and more of his venom that seeped in and clouded your mind.
Your eyes rolled back as your body began to spasm within his hold. Titus groaned into your neck as your walls clenched tightly around him, your orgasm washing over you. Stars burst behind your eyelids while you wailed and shook and let loose cry after cry of daddy.
Titus held you steady, keeping himself buried deep within you and your body still even as your hips unconsciously twitched. Through the haze of your climax, you were trying to rut against him, craving the friction of his cock scraping over your walls.
When Titus had drunk his fill, he pulled back, dipping his fingers into the blood that welled from the twin puncture marks. He dragged those bloody fingers over your pebbled nipples, smearing the fluid over them. Your whole body jerked at the stimulation, struggling in his hold, but Titus didn’t stop. He left more and more blood smears over your breasts, greedily watching how they rose and fell with every rapid gasp you made for air while you came down.
Once he was satisfied with how he had covered your chest in your blood, he once again collected blood on two of his fingers. The flow had slowed to just a trickle now, the compounds in his saliva working to clot and heal the wounds, but there was still enough for Titus to scoop up. He fed his fingers through your parted lips.
You let out another obscene moan when the coppery taste of your own blood filled your mouth. Instinctively, your lips sealed over his two fingers, sucking and licking the fluid from his calloused skin until they were spotless, albeit wet from your saliva.
Titus pulled them from your lips once he was satisfied, dropping them down to circle your clit. The aftershocks of your previous orgasm still periodically jolted through you, and the overstimulation had you keening immediately.
“Taste so good,” Titus licked his lips, running his tongue over his teeth to collect every sweet morsel of your blood still coating his mouth. “So sweet.”
He began to move your body over his, guiding you by the hand he still had glued to your hip. You mewled and whined as every rock of his hips against yours buried him deep within you. His tongue moved back to your neck, licking up what little blood was still leaking from his teeth marks and giving you one last little dose of his venom in the process.
Your vision was blurry through your half closed lids, but you could make out the mess on his face that he hadn’t quite managed to clean off. Through the haze wiping your mind clean of anything that wasn’t Titus Titus Titus, you leaned forward into him. Your movements were jerky and uncoordinated, but you managed to slump into him, nosing against his jaw. His faint silver stubble scratched over your skin as you slowly lapped up the blood that had dripped down his chin.
“Yeah? Gonna clean me up?” Titus’s hand moved so that he could grasp both of your hips. He started bouncing you, sliding you up and down his cock. His thumb moved down to keep rubbing over your clit while he used you like his own little toy. “What a good little girl for me.”
Your mind was a mess, every coherent thought chased away by the residual venom in your system and the overwhelming pleasure of his cock slamming deep into your cunt. You couldn’t string the words together to respond to him, so you just kept licking at his face.
Titus was groaning and panting as he used you, relishing in how tightly you clenched around him as he worked you towards a second orgasm and himself to his first.
“Daddy,” you mumbled, little ah’s jolting out of your mouth as Titus slammed you down onto him even harder.
“Am I making you feel good, little pet?”
“Mmhmm,” you’d managed to clean his face up as best as your fucked out little mind could manage, and now you were licking at his mouth. Titus opened his lips, allowing your tongue to tangle with his. He swallowed every little whine you let out as more of his venom seeped into you.
You were close, right on the edge of falling apart. The final straw was your tongue scraping over one of his fangs, the skin tearing and flooding both of your mouths with blood.
You came, your legs trembling and your toes curling. You could feel it sapping the strength from every muscle in your body as your walls contracted and clenched around his length. The orgasm smothered you until you could feel nothing but the mind numbing pleasure of your release.
You were too far gone to actively kiss him anymore, but that didn’t stop Titus. He came when you squeezed him tight, his hips jerking up into you as he greedily drank down every drop of the blood that was swapped back forth between your mouths. The blood leaked down your chins, mixed with saliva from both of you, dripping between your bodies. It splattered across your naked body, joining the blood already smeared over your skin, and speckled Titus’s white button down.
Titus held you down on him as he came, the heat from his cum seeped into you, only adding to the pleasantly warm fuzziness that wrapped your brain in cotton as you came down.
“My sweet little girl,” Titus’s hand cradled your face when his orgasm had finally finished. You were nearly limp on his lap, all soft and mindless and covered in blood. Titus had never seen anything more beautiful.
You truly were his perfect little pet.
jesus fucking christ
sorry this is late. im allergic to deadlines and ive got very bad inattentive adhd and when faced with an issue or problem or project I have to solve/complete, my solution is avoidance. please never let me try to do something like this again it killed me but its done, go me. consider this my official announcement that I am NOT participating in kinktober
ANYWAYS thank you guys so much for loving what I write. I started this little 14 day thing with just under 1000 followers and now TWO WEEKS LATER ive got over 1600
I love doing this and ive got many many horny ideas I can't wait to share with you all. im even going to start dabbling in rabbot (obligatory fuck noah wyle) and writing even more breeding kink
summary. The lines between you and Jack and Robby are beginning to blur.
word count. 15.3k
content warnings. fluff, smut (threesome, spitting, unprotected sex because they fuck like rockstars), (slight) infidelity, 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. this is a long one so brace yourself!
The video shakes as though the person filming is rushing to get a better view, peeking through heads of balding men to catch a glimpse. Despite the shoddy footage, there's no mistaking the fuming voice of Jack Abbot. The video pivots away from their attempts of catching you in the throng of paparazzi to Jack, his handsome lined face screwing in anger as he bodily shoves and pushes the other men out of the way.
The comments below are a collection of fans angry for your defense and other swooning over Jack's protectiveness.
The internet is buzzing with Jack's latest stint against the paparazzi. While your fans (and a specific subset of your followers that's named themselves JACKSTAR enthusiasts) have taken over swooning of how protective he is, it also launched a new online discourse of how predatory and dangerous the tabloids can be. It brings into light of how privacy is more of a privilege than a right when it comes to celebrities — particularly famous women — and how safety is no longer promised even in public spaces.
One commenter had cried out 'and what if jack wasnt there??? would yall be fine if she was mowed down by all those men???'
#BodyguardJack was trending for a few days, too — something that Robby had a fun time teasing him about during meetings with higher-ups regarding their tour and album. But the trends always comes and goes, something inane always replacing the last with how short the general public's attention span is when it comes to pop culture.
It isn't long until Coachella is a week away and with you as headliner, your fans take over the internet yet again. Outfit ideas and dance challenges to your songs flood the trends alongside theories if you'll be performing your newest single or anything else from your upcoming album. You've traveled out a bit earlier to rehearse with your dancers in the Indio heat, making sure the entire space is planned out accordingly for your entire set.
Jack and Robby head out a few days after you, renting out a massive mansion for the week. While your team had rented out your own place, it's an open secret that you'd be staying with the two men right after the night you perform. Asking Cassie to acquire for you two extra VIP passes with backstage clearance had been an interesting conversation to say the least.
"I already got the VIP packages sent to Trinity and Samira," Cassie says when you nab her right after the final meeting before Coachella. You shake your head, a sheepish smile curling upon your painted lips. When she catches the tell-tale shimmer in your eyes, she braces herself the same way when her son's about to ask her something she might have to say 'no' to. "What is it…?"
"Can you get me two more? With backstage clearance?"
"Two—" Cassie raises a brow and you can see her guessing who it's for. At this point, Jack is an open secret, an unspoken addition to wherever you may go. Robby's a new addition but your manager just nods, merely accepts it and pulls out her phone to send out a few emails. "Consider it done, kid. Now go, I bet you aren't even done packing."
The day before the festival finds you lounging in the wide space layout of the house your team has rented for you and your immediate team (stylists, Cassie, and a couple of personal assistants), trying to keep a relaxed headspace. You're sprawled out on your stomach on the plush couch, facing the floor to ceiling glass walls that overlook the spacious backyard and pool. Even with the AC blasting, you squirm a bit in the warm temperature threatening to seep in.
"We'll be back for more ice," Cassie calls over her shoulder, two PAs in tow as she twirls the keys around a finger. You let out a vague noise of understanding before you continue to scroll, legs kicking casually behind you.
⋆⋆⋆✧⋆⋆⋆
mona! @enam3l — 3h
she has to perform stupid song right??? like why else would she drop it as a single RIGHT before coachella
pearla! @pearlessance — 12h
fingers crossed she performs a song on the new album
maria! @mariasont — 1h
DID ANYONE SEE THAT ONE ACTOR GUSH ABOUT STAR???
⤷ jackstar enthusiast @.jackscrawler replies:
dude you're gonna have to be more specific than that… WHICH ONE
⤷ maria! @.mariasont replies:
Nick Barker!!! he's in that new movie that 'stupid song' is featured in
⋆⋆⋆✧⋆⋆⋆
Your eyes widen at the mention of Nick gushing about you, scrolling deeper in the timeline before the referenced interview finally resurfaces. It's a red carpet interview of Nick's at his movie premiere, The Happy Ending. He's not that much older than you but he's got his big break as a teenager, moving audiences with his range and performance. It's no question that he's Hollywood's current Golden Boy, warm brown eyes and a smile that can stop any heart in its tracks.
While he may not be your type (perhaps younger than the men you're currently going for), you're still heavily flattered as the video plays.
The crowd is enthusiastic, their cheers bleeding through the questions the interviewer had painstakingly prepped beforehand. To Nick's credit, he playfully shushes the crowd before he's leaning his head in to hear the question better.
"Nick, fans have raved about how willing you are to cross boundaries as admirer to admiree, sharing book recommendations and song recommendations like you're 'one of the girlies' as your fanbase would say," the interviewer chuckles with Nick agrees with a bright laugh of his own, nodding in agreement. "How do you feel about Star's fanbase claiming you as their 'mascot' when you had flooded your IG stories playing her music?"
"Oh, I love it," he laughs, leaning up again to full height to showcase his big grin. "We were so stoked that she and her team agreed to write us a song for the movie, she's insanely talented. Not to mention, drop dead gorgeous."
Your cheeks burn hotly, teeth sinking into your lower lip as he feeds your ego. You can't be blamed; you're still a public figure at the end of the day and any publicity (especially good publicity) is welcomed.
The interviewer is pleasantly surprised. "Sounds like you got a crush there, Nick."
Nick starts to step away, politely ushered on by his team, but he throws in one last line before he leaves with a half-smirk. "I think the whole world does."
The video loops and you swipe out of it, a pleased little smile dancing upon your lips. You ride this little ego boost all the way to dinner, sharing a few texts with Jack as he preps to drive out later with Robby.
You're in the midst of cleaning up the chipotle bowls that one of the PAs had bought for the entire team, calling out your good nights as the rest of them disperse. When one of the harried PAs (something Ogilvie?) tries to take over, you wave him away with a little grin.
"I got this, you did a lot already," you smile. He still looks unsure but you continue to clean anyways. It isn't until your phone rings and you answer with a prompt: "Hey, baby—" that Ogilvie gets the hint and makes himself scarce.
You can hear the wind blowing in the background, some faint classic rock bleeding into the call when Jack answers back. "Hey, gorgeous. We're on our way. Not much traffic on the 10, at least."
"That's good. We just had dinner, gonna have an early night in."
Jack hums. "You have morning rehearsals?"
"Yeah, I have one of the longer sets, I wanna be out of the way for the other artists to rehearse when they come in later."
"So considerate," Jack chuckles teasingly but you roll your eyes goodheartedly even if he can't see it. "I'll let you get settled in then. What time will you be getting up? Robby and I can drop by with breakfast."
Your smile is blinding and even in the emptiness of the living space, you attempt to bite it back. It feels so silly like this, giggling over sweet acts of service like you're still in high school. You're grateful no one can see you like this.
"That'd be perfect, baby, thank you."
"It's nothing. Go get some beauty sleep, sweetheart. Good night."
"Good night."
⋆⋆⋆✧⋆⋆⋆
Although you won't be on stage until 9 PM at the latest, you know that you can't properly prepare by sleeping in. Your work ethic's been praised by many in the industry, constantly pushing yourself to get to the best you can be.
You're up by 8 AM, grateful that there's a small home gym in the airbnb that Cassie had picked out. You burn a bit of cardio, not enough to tire you out but enough to wake you and snap your mindset into a productive work day. Even if this work day culminates to nothing but performing to about one hundred thousand people.
The doorbell rings before the door swings open just as you hop out of the shower, wearing cut off shorts and one of NIGHTCRAWLER's faded merch tees cut up to look like a crop top. It's Joy, the other PA, that opens the door with a blank expression to greet Jack and Robby holding bags of breakfast from the brunch place a few streets away.
"She's inside," Joy says before returning back to her phone. Meanwhile, Ogilvie looks positively starstruck. His fellow PA barely hides her disdain; after months of working with you, he still hasn't seem to shake that he'll also be meeting other celebrities of your caliber.
Jack and Robby share an amused grin as they enter, catching you step down the stairs as you towel dry your hair. "Good morning, princess," Robby greets first with a little grin. Jack sets the food down in the large dining room, passing by his friend to catch you in a hug as you rush to him.
"Morning, sweetheart," Jack hums against your lips when you kiss him without hesitation. Behind you, Ogilvie gapes but Joy sharply nudges him in the ribs. You signed an NDA, dumbass, she mouths to him.
When you get your fill, you turn to Robby and give him a chaste kiss on the cheek before your attention turns to the food. "You guys brought so much food," you laugh before waving over the PAs and your style team that just arrived. "Come eat, everyone. NIGHTCRAWLER brought breakfast."
Cassie passes by, already looking a tad stressed but her expression smooths over with a smile and it tells you it's something to do with her shitty ex-husband. She shakes her head at your questioning look, just nudges you to eat with everyone else.
Despite Jack nearby, you keep your hands to yourself as you eat, allowing him to take you in in a more professional capacity. He's seen you outside of work, glimpses of you writing and producing in the filmed documentaries he's seen of your rise to fame. And while you aren't exactly working, seeing this side of you with your team is eye-opening and his heart beats a little faster for it.
⋆⋆⋆✧⋆⋆⋆
Cassie watches you carefully as you change into something loose and comfortable for rehearsals. The stages are already set up with most audio-visual equipment as well as any other needed hardware or machinery needed for performances. You look 'bummy' as you've often called it between schedules, comforting but not presentable with your undone hair and the oversized glasses sitting on your nose. Soundcheck begins as you run through your setlist for the night, halfheartedly doing the choreo for the more upbeat songs to conserve energy in the heat.
You talk clearly but politely whenever something doesn't happen the way you wish.
"Can we drop the bass a bit for this part?"
"Bring my mic up a little louder, please."
"The space here is too cramped for me and the dancers, can we get a mic stand so I can just belt out the rest?"
Jack and Robby's appearance had been something Cassie was prepping for. While to others and to her pay grade, her responsibilities begin and end with just hustling you over from event to event, interviews and other packed schedules when truly, she's taken more responsibility for you since you had gotten signed. The age gap between you and Cassie isn't large enough to be considered your mother but it is for a protective older sister. While she knows she has no business sticking her nose in who you're dating, she knows it will be if those men start to pull you away from your career.
But as she watches you and Jack (as he also gazes upon you), she wonders exactly why her alarm bells aren't ringing as loudly as it did with Baz. Jack seems to support your career, doesn't hold you back from responsibilities, but Cassie's also starting to wonder where you end and Jack begins in this unnamed relationship.
"Thanks, everyone!"
Your voice concluding the rehearsal snaps her out of her thoughts and she pushes forward, handing you your lemon water. All concerns about Jack is forgotten as she gently nags you on the importance of staying hydrated.
⋆⋆⋆✧⋆⋆⋆
Despite years of being a singer and performing for crowds, the jitters never really go away. The sun has finally set on Indio and you can taste the anticipation in the air as the final act before you finishes up. The raucous applause for them shifts into a chant for your name and you loosen a shaky breath.
You're dressed in something cute and short, flowing with a linen-like material that gives you the appearance of a fairy or something otherworldly. Jack's seen the fittings, seen you bemoan the different meetings because something keeps snagging during choreos or you can't change out of it quick enough for the next song, but he hasn't seen the final result.
The cheers are getting louder now as you hear the faint pre-recorded videos playing on the giant screens counting down the beginning of your performance. Your name is echoed throughout the dessert now, a pounding drum that matches the beat of your heart. When the platform beneath your feet jolts slightly, you take a deep breath and readjust your in-ears before the platform rises.
Lights are the first thing you see, blindingly bright and merciless in the way your eyes takes a second to adjust before you see the massive crowd packing forward to barricade. You hold up your bejeweled mic and greet the crowd before the music kicks in.
Like always, your body adapts before your mind can. The choreography is something you can perform in your sleep, moving on auto-pilot that it isn't a priority for your mind to focus on. Instead, you let yourself loose and sing your heart out to the crowd, feeding off the building energy as you start your setlist with your most popular singles.
It isn't long until you realize you're almost out of breath, your body begging for a single moment as you coast the adrenaline of performing. Fortunately, you know you've got a short break coming up where you can talk to the crowd.
STAR'S BABY BOY @.babystarsss — 1m
SHE LOOKS SO GOOD OMFGGGG
pearla! @.pearlessance — 1m
JACK AND ROBBY ARE IN VIP !!!!
mona! @.enam3l — 1m
I JUST SAW JACK BOPPING HIS HEAD TO 'MY WAY' OMFG HE LOVES OUR PETTY QUEEN
⋆⋆⋆✧⋆⋆⋆
The night grows later but the energy doesn't wane for a single moment. Despite the touch-ups between songs, you're glowing beneath the bright lights as you circle the stage to settle behind a piano.
"Thank you for all the love," you speak into the propped up mic, flushed and beaming. The camera zooms into your face while you smile, letting the crowd scream a bit before you continue. "I thought I'd perform my new song for you guys."
The instrumentation kicks in but your piano takes center stage, your sweet voice crooning over the massive wave of cheers and screams. When it gets to the chorus, the crowd in VIP blatantly turns to Jack for his reaction.
⋆⋆⋆✧⋆⋆⋆
JACKSTAR SUPREMACY @.jackstarsbabe — 1m
JACK REACTING TO 'STUPID SONG' ( video attached. )
In the shaky, vertical video, the fan captures Jack and Robby leaning against the barricade in the cordoned off section of VIP, the bright lights glinting against his silver curls. His crows' feet deepens with his smile, head bobbing to the beat as your voice plays in the background: "… You should feel how I feel when somebody says your name, I'm a car speeding down the boulevard without a brake. And I want you more than any stupid song could ever say. I'm a heart made of wax and I'm melting in the sun. I'm a thread on your shirt that is coming undone. I feel right, I feel wrong, I feel totally insane. And I want you more than any stupid song could ever say…"
⋆⋆⋆✧⋆⋆⋆
The crowd explodes in raucous applause at the end of 'stupid song' but you don't waste a second moving into your next song. Honeybee. The crowd falls into a quiet hush when the slow instrumental begins, entranced by the delicate verses.
Your eyes fall shut and the camera catches the way your lower lip quivers as you sing. "God, I love the way you look at me." The strings follow suit, your backup singers providing quiet support while your voice echoes throughout the desert in heartbreaking longing.
"Shooting stars, racing cars… everything I own feels like ours."
Lights begin to blossom in dainty pinpricks throughout the crowd, fans turning on their camera flashes to wave in sweet unison as you reach the final chorus. You hit each chord, pressing down on the damper pedal to sustain it, as you sing.
"And it's too hard to describe this, in a way that feels honest, but even when I'm quiet, I love you, baby. I promise. And I hope I never see what your face looks like goin'. A face I swear that I could spend my whole life knowing. Here's to hopin'."
The choir takes over now, sending out the final chorus as you back away from the propped mic to focus on playing the rest of the song on the piano. It ends in a quiet flourish and after a beat of silence, the entire crowd erupts in deafening applause.
A shaky laugh escapes you, not expecting the massive reaction. The camera catches the slight shimmer in your eyes, sparkling with unshed tears which you quickly bat your lashes to keep them from falling.
"Wow," you laugh softly, climbing off the piano bench to walk center stage with the mic. You attach it to the mic stand, looking in utter awe of the amassed crowd. "That was Honeybee, one of the songs on the upcoming EP… I thought I could play a little more extra songs for you guys, what do you think?"
The resounding 'YES' from the crowd elicits another surprised giggle from you. With a nod to your band, you start up your next song, a bit more fast-paced. Although you love choreo and the whole spectacle of it all, there's something freeing being able to sing your heart out without a routine to follow. Like a performance in your bedroom with just an audience of one.
"I'm a zombie in my body, I'm a train off of the track. I feel dirty, I feel rotton, and the colors are all flat."
By the second verse, the crowd is trying to sing along, cheering alongside the rest while the lyrics play on the left and right screens flanking the stage.
"I'm a sad shell of a woman, and I've got maggots for brains. But that's just the thing that happens when my baby goes way!"
On the final chorus, the instrumentals fall away except for the electric guitar, your band hitting the power chords as you sing to the crowd.
"What can I do," you sing out with a bright smile, "but think of you? But think of you."
⋆⋆⋆✧⋆⋆⋆
STAR @ COACHELLA @.starbitches — 3m
NEW SONG ALERT NEW SONG ALERT NEW SONG ALERT
JACKSTAR ENTHUSIAST @.babestarry — 10m
hold on….. these lyrics…… girl are U OK?!??! IM A SAD SHELL OF A WOMAN??? WHAT DID JACK DO TO YOU???
⋆⋆⋆✧⋆⋆⋆
"We got time for one more song," you announce to the crowd with a little breathless laugh, stepping away from the mic to bend down for the water set by the speakers. You let the crowd cheer a bit longer, whining for more, while you take a sip. Movement from your periphery steals your attention for a single moment and when you glance over, you see Jack and Robby standing beside Cassie. The smile on Jack's face nearly floors you but there's a shine in Robby's eye you can't quite place.
"I know, I know but I wanna end on a good note so I think… I'll do one last song from the new EP before we have to go." You turn your band, positively beaming. "You guys ready?"
⋆⋆⋆✧⋆⋆⋆
JACKSTAR ENTHUSIAST @.babestarry — 2m
ONE NIGHT I WAS BORED IN BED AND STALKED YOU ON THE INTERNET??? STAR'S JUST LIKE US
STAR @ COACHELLA @.starbitches — 3m
IF YOU LET ME STAY THE NIGHT, I MIGHT HAVE TO STAY FOREVERRRRR
STAR'S BABY @.starlubot — 5m
THE MOST ALIVE I'VE EVER BEEN, KISS ME AND I MIGHT DROP DEAD
⋆⋆⋆✧⋆⋆⋆
You end the final song with a massive bow, fans cheering endlessly even after you give a last wave and exit to the side. Cassie greets you first as usual, handing you an ice cold bottle of water which you chug gratefully. Behind her stands Jack who you melt into with a breathless laugh, skin buzzing with the remnants of your adrenaline that always comes after a full set.
"You were fucking beautiful out there," he murmurs in your ear, possessive hands settling nicely against your hips. You giggle and let him pepper kisses along your hairline before he gently pulls away to hand you off to Robby, much to your surprise. "I think he might be a bigger fan than I am, sweetheart. Robby's been singing along beside me."
You laugh, thinking Jack to be teasing but the bashful grin upon the frontman's features surprises you. "Really?"
He shrugs. "I like them," he says simply before he lets out a playful 'oof' when you latch onto him for a sudden hug. He laughs and strokes the back of your head when he hugs back. "Alright, I think we're monopolizing you. Your friends are coming."
Dutifully, Jack and Robby step aside just as Trinity tackles you in a hug that nearly knocks you over. Robby's hand is warm against the base of your spine when he offers support, keeping you from tipping over.
"Holy shit!" Trinity gasps as Samira follows for a far more calmer hug. Nicole, a childhood friend of yours that had flown in from New York last minute, swoops in for a hug as well while Trinity continues her string of positive expletives about your performance. "Those last three songs were insane, by the way. Didn't know you were performing those."
You shrug, both arms linked with Samira on your left and Nicole on your right, as a playful smile dances on your lips. "That's what a surprise is, Trin. Your reaction alone is why I kept that hush-hush!"
Nicole laughs and you rest your head onto her shoulder. Long distance friendships are something you despise but getting to see her is always a little sweeter each time. "Trinity's complaints aside," she hums. "You did amazing and I'm so grateful you flew me out to see you. You know Matt offered—"
"Nicole," you interrupt with an exaggerated, scandalized frown. Meanwhile, your team seamlessly enters the fold of you and your friends to remove your in-ear and mic packs, gently dabbing away your sweat. "I invited you out, I'm not gonna make your fiancé pay for your ticket."
She chuckles and nods, presses a sisterly kiss to your temple. "Thanks anyways, babe. Alright, I'll let you get out of that sweaty costume. Is that party still happening?"
Trinity interjects with a sharp grin. "Of course the after party's still happening." She whirls on her heels, points a finger to Jack and Robby who've kept to themselves while you catch up with your friends. "You two are coming, right?"
Jack meets your gaze but doesn't wait for permission, just gives you a half-smirk. "Oh, we'll be there."
⋆⋆⋆✧⋆⋆⋆
By the time you've changed out of your performance outfit, face clean of makeup before reapplying a thin layer of skin-tint and an excessive amount of glitter packed on your eyelids, the after-party at the airbnb you've been staying at is in full swing. It's Antoine that takes you to the house this time around, having sent Robby and Jack and your friends ahead to join the festivities.
"There she is!" Someone cheers from the stairs once you enter and you bask in the attention. You giggle and laugh alongside the many guests that filter in and out of the backyard as well, a few people already swimming in the lit-up pool while red solo cups are passed around. One is pressed into your hand and when you take a sip, you gag at the bitter taste of beer.
"Don't do that to yourself," Jack chuckles, seemingly appearing out of nowhere as he plucks the cup from your hand. "Come on, Robby's in your kitchen playing bartender. If you're sweet enough, he might make you a drink."
⋆⋆⋆✧⋆⋆⋆
The view that greets you is something you wish you could've snapped on your phone, immortalizing the moment. Your friends are circled around the island counter, Robby behind the opposite side with a table full of alcohol separating the two. He had pushed the horde of top-shelf liquor bottles aside to make room for himself, the bottle of bombay teetering precariously at the edge. Trinity and Dove are wrapped around each other, arms tangled as they playfully boo at Robby who's attempting some bartender trick he might've seen in a movie while Nicole and Samira occasionally move bottles out of the way with amused laughter.
"There's the guest of honor!" Dove screams excitedly, detangling herself from Trinity's side to tug you into the fold. Everyone looks a touch past tipsy now, where everything has a blur around every movement without getting dizzy and the alcohol doesn't burn going down. Where the touches linger and no one questions it.
When Robby looks at you for a second too long, no one calls him out on it.
Instead, you take the offered shot from Trinity, something radioactive green but terrifyingly sweet going down. You take a few more and soon, you're leaning into Jack's arms to keep from stumbling.
"Let's get some water in you, pretty girl," Jack chuckles but he's got a lazy grin on and something tells you he's only a couple shots behind from where you're at now. You giggle and nod, stepping out of Jack's hold to where you stumble into Robby's. He's firm beneath your hand where you grip his forearm for balance.
The room spins but the party doesn't shift from the kitchen. Instead, Jack manages to wrangle you into one of the bar stools. He stands on your left, Robby on your right, and between both men, they keep you from falling entirely.
"Fuuuck, she's gone. Babe, drink some water," Dove giggles as she slides over another glass of water your way. You try to refuse it but Robby's lifting the glass, bringing it up to your lips. Jack's hand settles at the small of your back, pinning you gently in place so you have no choice but to lift your head up towards Robby, mouth parting obediently.
"Christ," he says under his breath, carefully tipping the glass for you to drink from as your sweet, doe eyes bat your pretty lashes at him. He lowers the glass when your pink-stained lips slowly shut, taking the hint that you've gotten your fill.
"Good girl," Jack hums in your ear and when you break eye contact with Robby to look at him instead, the frontman looses a quiet huff of slight relief. He might do anything to get you to look at him like that again. He takes the glass from Robby to drink the rest, clearing the haze in his head. He'd rather make sure someone is sober enough to watch over you and your friends. But as he takes a cursory glance towards the small group of friends, it looks like Samira and Nicole have taken it upon themselves to make sure Dove and Trinity don't overdo it.
When he looks back down at you, a soft chuckle escapes him; you haven't looked away from him since those two little words. His possessive touch burns when he cradles your jaw, drops his head to kiss your lips in a way that'd be borderline indecent. "Drink more water for me, sweetheart," he murmurs against your lips.
You're so obedient like this, so pliant as you turn back to Robby with an expectant smile. "Want me to help you, princess?" Robby asks quietly, bringing a fresh bottle of water to your lips before you can even say yes. You drink up and the cloudiness that blurred the edges of the evening begins to dissipate, the dizziness ebbing away as the chaotic surroundings sharpen into something less foggy.
It doesn't lessen the heat simmering beneath your skin for both men.
The thought itself is sobering and your cheeks burn, your eyes flitting between Robby and Jack before you force your gaze to turn forward to your friends. Fortunately, they all seem preoccupied; Dove and Trinity are lost in their own world (again), Samira and Nicole are discussing possible wedding venues.
Suddenly, a familiar song blares from the music being played outside on the patio where the party had shifted into something of a pool party. It tears your friends out of their own bubbles and soon multiple hands are tugging you away from Robby and Jack.
"It's our song, it's our song—!" Dove shrieks as she tugs your entire group to the makeshift dance floor by the pool. The sobering thought of wanting Jack and Robby is left on the back burner as you let yourself throw your hands up, dancing along with your friends and singing without a care in the world.
But as the party dwindles down and guests start to filter out, your closest friends (along with Jack and Robby) migrate back to the wrecked living room. It almost looks like a movie set after a eager, red solo cups and streamers strewn about, couch cushions used as pillows as all of you stretch out wherever. Dove is tucked between Trinity's legs, her back against the other girl's chest as Trinity leans against the coffee table. Samira and Nicole are sharing a loveseat, your childhood friend's legs tossed along Samira's lap.
Meanwhile, you're sat on Jack's lap on the couch while Robby's got his head on your lap. Everyone's still a little buzzed, talking about nothing and everything in between.
"That's our uber," Nicole hums as she gently pats Samira. "Come on, my lovelies. You guys can stay at my hotel suite."
You huff, kicking a foot out to poke your friend's thigh. "You guys can stay here, this place is huge—"
"No, absolutely not." Nicole chuckles and there's a glimmer in her eyes you can't quite place. Her gaze shifts to both men before shaking her head. "Matt booked me a giant suite here and it'd go to waste if it's just me in there."
It's a flimsy excuse but you can't find it in you to fight her on it. You walk them out anyways, Jack and Robby trailing behind you as you help everyone into the massive UberX. You notice the way Dove and Trinity are holding hands and you will your brain to commit it to memory, something to interrogate your best friend with the next day.
The silence of the house when the three of you return to it is thick with tension that's been brimming since they pinned you between them at that kitchen bar stool. It's spilling over now, heady with electricity that's got nowhere to go. Your fingers twitch by your hips as Robby locks the door behind him, Jack trailing behind you like a shadow. You wait with bated breath when his chest brushes against your back, his stomach settling nicely into the slightest curve of the bottom of your spine.
"You want something, don't you, sweetheart?"
You allow a hum to sound from your lips, acting coy not to tease them but out of self preservation in case what you think is about to happen isn't. It just riles up Robby though, shaking his head as he rubs the back of his neck as you've seen him done before.
Jack refuses to drag this out any longer than it has been and tugs you by your hips, closing any distance between your back and his front as he hooks his chin over your shoulder. His hand drags up your stomach, between the valley of your breasts, to gently grip your jaw so you have no room to look at anything but Robby.
The older man is tense in front of you, dark eyes drinking you in the same way he helped hold that glass of water from you earlier except — there isn't anything guarding the delicious sheen of arousal in his gaze. As if Jack's given permission that he had no right to give in the first place.
"Look at him, baby. I've seen the way you look at him…" Jack croons in your ear and the stab of guilt in your gut dissipates with need when your replied whimper earns you a warm chuckle from your lover. He turns his head to kiss your temple. "It's alright, baby. You're not the first person in this room to want him."
Surprise lights you up and when you try to turn your head to look at him. "What—"
"What, you think the old rumors about me and Robby are all horseshit? It was the nineties, sweetheart. We'd be the odd ones out if we were the only bandmates that never fucked," Jack laughs and you melt in his arms. All notion of infidelity leave your mind as you turn your gaze back to Robby whose got a wry grin on his lips. "So go on— be honest with yourself. You want him, don't you? Ever since he got you that pretty bracelet."
Jack walks you forward, passing you to Robby whose warm hands feel like sin when they glide beneath the sides of your top, settling onto your bare skin. "Jack," Robby mutters but even his walls are crumbling when he's face with you, soft and pliant, doe-eyed and still so eager to please.
"It's alright, sweetheart," Jack murmurs, pinning you between them as he glides his lips along the curve of your neck. "I know you're still mine, hm? Don't worry, Robby and I are good at sharing."
Now that leaves a trail of fire every time Jack's lips passes against your feverish skin, a kernel of doubt sitting at the base of your heart. Who else have they shared?
Robby doesn't hesitate to tug your chin up for his mouth to cover yours, erasing any lingering thoughts as his scruffy beard tickles your skin. The sudden kiss has you gasping and the older musician doesn't hesitate, his tongue passing through yours for a sweet taste that has him groaning. This snaps you into the present, pushing up against your toes to wrap your arms loosely around Robby's broad shoulders to kiss him back just as hungrily.
Jack's resounding chuckle behind you is permission enough to let Robby pull you up and into his arms, your legs hooking around the taller man's waist as he devours you. When the heat behind you disappears, you break the kiss with a little whine, looking over your shoulder to see your lover settle into the loveseat with a heady gaze that has you dripping.
"Keep going, sweetheart," he murmurs, legs spread so tantalizingly that a part of you also wants to sit in the space between to take whatever he gives you.
You suddenly gasp when Robby's hand slithers up the dress you're wearing, squealing when the sound of fabric tearing fills the room. Your inner thighs clench when Robby removes the dainty scrap of fabric from between your legs to toss over to Jack who catches it with ease. "Mikey—!" You protest with a sweet giggle.
"Gotta give him something sweet if I get to have you to myself for a bit longer," Robby mutters as he reaches up to drag your face back to his, just in time for you to catch a glimpse of Jack stroking his length with your panties before you're kissing Robby again.
He walks you over to the couch across Jack, sets you on his lap to face your lover. Robby has no shame in manhandling you in the position he wants as he brings your legs to bracket his knees, spreading them to force your thighs apart. His calloused hands glide up your smooth thighs, fingertips skimming along the inside before he's dragging your dress up to expose your dripping cunt.
"Fuck," Jack hisses and you look up through your lashes to see him pick up the pace, the baby pink underwear tangled with his fingers as he jerks off his cock at the sight of you.
"Liking the view, Abbot?" Robby teases as he hauls you a bit higher, pressing hungry, open-mouthed kisses along your neck while the pads of his fingers run up and down your dripping folds. When he spreads your pussy lips apart with his index and middle finger, Jack nearly cums. It's almost obscene, really, how fucking wet you are and Robby's fingers haven't even entered you yet.
You're writhing and moaning, humping Robby's hand for any kind of friction until the man finally gives in. "Keep your eyes on your boyfriend for me, princess," Robby murmurs in your ear, fucking you nice and slow with his index and middle finger. His jaw tenses. "Fuck, you're tight— how're you gonna get me to fit, hm?" He laughs meanly in your ear when he feels your wall clench around him. When he picks up the pace, embarrassment settles in at how loud his fingers sound slamming into you, squelching and dripping until your toes are curling and you're cumming without warning.
"Mm, Jack—!"
Robby nips at your jugular, harsh and quick. "That's not nice, screaming another man's name while I got my fingers in you," he tsks and an apology spills out of you but he removes his fingers, grips your jaw to pull you in for a searing kiss. He swallows down your 'sorry's, uncaring of the whimpers that escape next when he smears your own release along your neck and jaw. "S'alright, baby, I think I've got an idea on how you can make it up to me."
"H-How?" And don't you look perfect like this, Robby thinks to himself. Your lashes glitter with unshed tears, lips swollen from how hard you've bitten down on them as if it could hold back the way Jack spills from your mouth. Your eyes are fixed on him, eager to please.
Jack answers for Robby. "Ride him, sweetheart. Show him how good you are bouncing on an old man's cock."
Your cheeks burn in hot humiliation but your cunt throbs in anticipation.
"Oh," Jack shakes his head in faux disappointment. "Don't worry, baby. Daddy won't be mad if you cum on Robby's cock. He just can't finish in you, yeah? That's mine."
Robby's chuckle is warm against your shoulder as his hands grip your waist, prompting you to lift yourself just high enough for him to align his cock against your waiting cunt. Just the tip is enough to make your breath hitch, prodding your entrance as you begin to lower yourself. "Mm, fuckfuckfuck—" You whine as you take all of Robby. He's not as long but he's girthier than Jack, something your body is begging time to adjust to.
"You can take it," Jack murmurs and your eyes fly open to watch how your lover's eyes are fixed on your cunt swallowing up his best friend's cock. "Come on, sweetheart. Think you can give me a good show?"
You nod before anything else, bracing yourself against Robby as you begin to rock your hips back and forth. The slight pain from the stretch dissipates into pleasure, elevating each time you rise and fall on Robby's length. It's not long until you lose yourself to it, head thrown back against the older musician's shoulder as he possessively splays his hand out on your stomach, guiding your hips as you chase your pleasure. Robby and Jack continue to talk you through it, an addictive monologue as your mind goes fuzzy. You become lost in your desire, barely noticing the way Robby brings your arm around his head, his own dropping down to lave open-mouthed kisses to your collarbone, down your chest before his lips latch onto your tit.
"Mikey…!" You cry out but he doesn't budge, his tongue flicking against your pert nub while you feel him suck. He grunts against your tit, his beard scratching along your sensitive skin before he catches the nipple between his teeth.
Eventually, that familiar taut knot in your core tightens, Jack catching onto the micro-expressions he's memorized when he knows you're close. "Go ahead, baby, give Robby your first orgasm," he croons. You notice his hand gripping the base of his cock, edging away his own climax as he watches the way you fall apart almost instantaneously.
"Christ," Robby hisses in your ear as he staves off his climax too, fingertips digging deep into your hips as he feels your walls convulse around his cock. In the cloud of your orgasm, you barely notice Jack stand, Robby carefully sliding out of you. The sudden loss makes you whimper as you're brought up to your feet. It feels like you're a step behind both men, pleasantly surprised as Jack pulls you in for a deep kiss. You melt into it and just as you're kissing back, he's breaking away for Robby to take over.
While Jack kisses like he's thirsty for your kiss, Robby kisses you like he's starving. His mouth devours yours, distracting you in the way your lover undresses you until you're standing nude between them. Their hands all over you, two mouths latched on either side of your neck, and you're unsure where Jack ends and Robby begins.
"You want her mouth?" Jack murmurs and it's like you're just a toy between them, a playmate that'll take whatever they give because if you had to be honest with yourself—you'd let them do whatever they wish.
"Fuck, yes." Robby mutters as he pulls away from your skin to lift your face to him by a pinch to your chin. His thumb drags your lower lip, down your mouth parting. "Look at you, so fuckin' pretty for us. Open wider for me, princess."
Your jaw drops, an instinctive, obedient action that elicits a pleased laugh from your other side. Jack, perhaps?
Robby looks at you — or rather, your mouth — a second more before he's spitting, the action taking you off guard that it's utter instinct that has you swallowing his saliva. When you open your mouth again, as if to ask for more, you're rewarded with a low moan and another heady kiss. Soon another set of lips join and all three of you are kissing, wet and sloppy and messy that has you dripping between your thighs.
Your hands are wandering as much as theirs, too, curious touch seeking out both of their bulges that draw out twin moans from both men. You break the kiss first, peeking down to slide your hands down their pants while the two of them devour each other.
A couple seconds pass, Robby and Jack swapping spit while you watch, entranced in a way that you can't look away even if you wanted to. You pump their lengths lazily once and that draws them back to you, matching gazes of lust packed with a look of desire that has you whimpering.
"Think I wanna share her mouth with you," Robby mutters as he traces the corner of your mouth, barking out a laugh when your lips patch onto his thumb to suck desperately.
"Yes, please—" you beg around his thumb, your gaze casting between them both.
"Another time," Jack grunts as he shifts you onto the low reclining armchair. You sit on your knees. "Right now, I need your cunt and Robby wants your mouth. Hands and knees for me, sweetheart."
A thrill shoots down your spine and you nearly scramble to get into position, resting your hands against the back of the reclined armchair and sticking your ass out. Jack settles behind you, his hands dancing along your ass, and Robby stands in front, stroking his cock lazily as he draws his precum along your cheek and chin.
Robby doesn't hesitate to feed his cock into your waiting mouth once Jack gives him a nod from above you, Your eyelashes flutter, jaw aching slightly as you take all you can before one of your hands rise up to stroke the length your mouth can't reach. Behind you, Jack's tip glides along your dripping folds, eliciting a muffled whine from you before he's pushing in.
"Thought Robby loosened you for me, baby," Jack mutters meanly, bullying his cock into your waiting cunt until both men are completely sheathed within you. "S'like she's just sucking me in—"
"I'd fuck her mouth every day if I were you, shit—" Robby curses above you and the view nearly makes you lightheaded, his slight protruding stomach, the happy trail leading down to where you've got your mouth wrapped around his cock, the scruffy beard and dark eyes fixed on your glassy ones. "That's it, baby, choke on it."
Ever one to please, you bob your head, pulling back your mouth to swirl your tongue around his tip while Jack begins to move behind you. The drag of his cock against your walls has your eyes rolling back and the curse that falls from Robby's lips is something you barely register. At this point, your mouth is open, loose and pliant for Robby to fuck while Jack punches out sweet, staccato moans from behind you.
"Mm— ngh…!" You gag around Robby's cock, drool and precum smearing along your chin as your lover's hand fixes around your hips like you're a toy he's pulling up and down his length. You've gone mindless like this, drifting higher and higher with ecstasy as the room's filled with your broken moans and both men's breathy grunts of your name.
"Fuck, I'm close," Robby mutters as he gathers your hair in one grip, holding it up and out of the way so he can watch the way his cock plunges in and out of your kiss-swollen lips. You're ruined between them both, makeup running and mascara a dark smear with a touch of glitter that shimmers when the light catches your blotchy face just right. Your lipstick is nonexistent but Robby likes to think it's your makeup that's smeared along the length of his cock.
Jack grunts behind, his pace stuttering just enough for his cock to slam into the spot you need him most. "She is, too."
Taking pity for you, Robby pulls his length out, lets his heavy tip rest on your cheek and lips as you catch your breath with a wet gag. You don't stop there, though, moaning around his ruddy head as you let your tongue loll out to glide along the underside of his cock. With a sharp thrust from Jack, you shriek in sweet euphoria.
"God, yesyesyes, there—! Fuck, daddy, don't stop—!" You scream and Jack bullies his tip right where you beg for it, catapulting you over the edge just as Robby shoves his cock back into your waiting mouth.
Your hands nearly give as Robby's cock slides back out of your mouth, smearing his cum along your cheek and neck as he coaxes out his orgasm to your face lost in desperate ecstasy. Jack finishes seconds later and a blissful smile curls along your lips when he shoves his spend deep inside your walls.
Eventually, it all becomes too much and your upper body stumbles, your hands sliding out from beneath to lay out ass up, face down on the reclined armchair. Someone chuckles lowly, something soft and endearing as you rub your cheek against the leather upholstery that you're sprawled on.
A stubbly kiss lands on your spine and you lean into it with a soft hum. "Holy shit," you breathe out in contentment, offering a quiet whimper when you feel Jack slowly pull out, a mix of both of your releases spilling out of you.
"I'll get something to clean her off," someone says. Robby, maybe? You're too content from where you're at, unwilling to move unless someone does it for you. Jack knows this better than anyone because your boneless body is carefully shifted, rolled onto your back where feather-light kisses are peppered along your hairline.
"Can you get up for me, sweetheart? You're about to fall asleep in that armchair and you're gonna regret it in the morning," Jack murmurs against your hair. Footsteps steal your attention and you peek towards the source to see Robby approach, holding a couple damp washcloths.
He sits onto the armrest right as Jack helps you sit up. His large hand cradles your jaw, tilts your head up so he can wipe his own cum off your face with a feather-light touch. He doesn't meet your eyes, focused on clearing up your face.
"Hi," you say, voice wrecked and raw but no less tender.
Robby's eyes meet yours and he lets out a low chuckle. "Hi there, pretty girl. Think you're up for a shower or do you want to head straight to bed?"
Between your legs, Jack gently pries your knees apart to clean you up there too, hushing you gently when you wince at the rough drag against the sensitive skin there.
"Bed," you decide and Robby nods, sets aside the cloths before he's lifting you up to bring you the guest bedroom just a few paces away. He's tucking you in as Jack sits at the foot of the bed, removing his leg, but as he walks off, you tug at his hand. "Mikey, where are you going?"
Robby pauses, juts a thumb over his shoulder but your little pout keeps him fixed to where he stands.
"Will you stay? The bed's big for all three of us."
"I—" Robby looks over to Jack who's already joining you beneath the covers, pulling you closer to make room on the other side of your body. Jack shrugs, glances back down at you.
"Think you can say 'no' to her?" Jack mouths to him. A beat passes and Robby lets out a quick sigh, something fond passing over his eyes before he's sliding into the other side of the bed. You're in the middle, happily bracketed by both men.
You're the first to fall asleep and after a silent conversation is had above your head, Jack and Robby follow.
⋆⋆⋆✧⋆⋆⋆
Morning comes with a dull soreness between your thighs and a tightness in your jaw.
"Mmm…" you groan as you try to roll over only to hit a warm chest. The movement kickstarts a domino effect: Jack tugs you in closer to his chest as the both of you lay face to face on your sides, meanwhile Robby's heavy arm that had been laying upon yours and Jack's hips lifts off.
You whine at the removal.
"I'm just getting coffee, darlin'. Stay put before Jack goes looking for you too."
You blink with bleary eyes, feel a soft pressure against your temple before the bed lifts slightly when Robby exits the cuddle pile you dragged both men into. You watch his retreating form exit the bedroom, wearing what looked like his boxers along with Jack's shirt.
When sleep refuses to return, you sigh and kick away the blankets tangled around your legs to reach around Jack who snores into your chest. "Babe—" you giggle when his lips drag along your boob, a playful lick and bite to your nipple.
"Good morning," he hums against the valley of your breasts before your fingers snag onto the shirt you've seen folded in the mess of blankets behind Jack (blanket hog, you huff playfully to yourself). You pull it on, realizing it may be Robby's and steal a kiss from your lover's playful pout when you had covered your tits in front of him. "Hey—"
"Absolutely not, Robby already did a number on my boobs and I really don't want my makeup artist questioning the location of the hickeys you two left on me."
Jack huffs as he sits up against the headboard, lifting an arm for you to settle into. "Are you filming something soon?"
You nod, glancing up in time to see Robby approach with two steaming mugs of coffee. Jack takes one and when you take the other, you frown when Robby's left empty-handed. "Where's yours?"
Robby shakes his head. "Kitchen wasn't stocked with enough coffee for more than two mugs."
A frown mars your lips and you take a sip before handing your mug over. "We can share." You don't give him any room for argument. Instead, you scoot over and give him space to rest against the headboard beside you. "As I was saying, yes— filming for my music video starts in about a week and I'm tired of my makeup artists wiggling their eyebrows at me!"
An amused laugh escapes Jack as he sets his coffee down. The pleased look in his eyes counteracts any kind of apology he may have for you, looking far too happy with himself when his gaze drags down your covered frame for the marks he and Robby had left on you. "That's a shame, you look good with both of our marks, sweetheart,"
You hide your smile against the rim of your mug. "S'not like this is gonna be a common thing, right?"
Jack's arm around you shifts. "What do you mean by that?"
"I don't know, I just— I haven't done anything like that before. Being shared," you admit as you hold the mug upon your lap, the heat from the coffee bleeding through the blankets. Your age has never been a problem when it comes to Jack but in the face of both men, during the morning after a threesome … you're in new territory and coming off as clingy and immature hangs over your head.
"Hey," Robby cuts through your thoughts, gently taking the mug from your hand to tip your chin up. "There's no wrong or right answer to what I'm about to ask you but— did you like it?"
"What?"
"Last night," Robby murmurs, patient as ever. "Did you like having Jack and I last night?"
You nod without hesitating. "I did— did you?"
"Of course," he chuckles, almost incredulously at the insecurity shadowing your gaze. "You did so good for both of us, angel. Took us so well."
Jack nods and takes your hand to bring up to his lips, kissing your knuckles. "We both loved it, sweetheart. I already know Robby's answer but we gotta ask: do you want to do something like that again?"
"I…" Your head swivels, trying to look at both men to gauge their reaction. "Like a regular thing?"
Robby shakes his head, still wearing that fond smile you're growing to love so much. "Not necessarily. Maybe if your schedules allow it or we're all in the mood for it, sure. Call me your unofficial third."
You stare at him slight shock before you turn to Jack. "I'm obviously okay with this but are you?"
"Of course. We've done this before."
That doesn't quite sit right in your stomach but you keep your mouth shut, realizing you don't quite have a leg to stand on. So you hum, buying time as you take the mug back from Robby for another sip to hide the slight hurt. After pulling yourself together, you give both men a nod.
"Sure, I'm okay with this."
⋆⋆⋆✧⋆⋆⋆
You actually aren't quite sure if you are but without the resounding 'no' in your head (it's more of a big question mark), you realize it isn't something to hyperfixate on.
So you take advantage of the handful of free days you have between leaving Indio and filming for your music video in Los Angeles, hitting up little boutiques that dot Santa Monica Boulevard or secondhand bookstores a few miles away from the city. Jack would've loved to tag along but he had signed a contract with Dior, becoming the face of a new men's cologne that he's set to start promoting soon.
(It's divine, the new cologne; you had ridden him for nearly hours when he had came by a couple days ago.)
While you're more than capable of going alone, Robby's taken it upon himself to drive you around. After getting half-baked answers as to why, you've given up on asking and just enjoy his presence. It had been a wonderful surprise to find out you both share similar tastes in books, kickstarting a little book club of two after he had trailed after you in The Last Bookstore, dutifully holding a pile of your chosen picks.
⋆⋆⋆✧⋆⋆⋆
DEUXMOI—
Sent via form submission, anonymous.
Subject: 'STAR' DATING ROBBY?
Message: After seeing both guitarists of NIGHTCRAWLER at Coachella singing along to her music, did something change for her to be spending more time with Robby instead of Jack?
⋆⋆⋆✧⋆⋆⋆
Sent via form submission, anonymous.
Subject: Star swaps boyfriends.
Message: Saw Star and Robby around Santa Monica the past couple of weeks just shopping with no Jack in sight. Are they sharing her or did she swap one for an older model?
⋆⋆⋆✧⋆⋆⋆
US WEEKLY — TROUBLE IN PARADISE?
JUST DAYS AFTER HER COACHELLA PERFORMANCE, SOURCES HAVE SPOTTED STAR AND ROBBY WITHOUT JACK AROUND LOS ANGELES. BUT WHILE THEY LOOK COZY AS EVER, MANY FANS CLAIM THAT JACK AND STAR ARE STILL TOGETHER AFTER OVERHEARING CONVERSATIONS BETWEEN ROBBY AND STAR. WHAT'S THE TRUTH?
⋆⋆⋆✧⋆⋆⋆
You're back to work mode as Cassie and your driver, Antoine, brings you to a soundstage at Warner Brothers to film your music video.
It's a three day schedule and the first day had been shorter than originally planned after a few mishaps with the set designs. Parker Ellis, the director for your music video, had been a dream to work with. Although she isn't the first director you've worked with since your ex-boyfriend, Baz, she's the polar opposite of him. Any hiccup had always gotten him spiraling, taking it out on any poor subordinate in his vicinity. With Parker, she'd merely shrugged and worked out a new storyboard schedule out with the producers to see what you could film in the meantime.
By day two, you're back on schedule. You're fitted in one of the outfits that you'll mainly be in for the majority of the music video and you're wandering part of the set as you wait for the camera to reset, lost in your thoughts.
There's a new cameraderie that's grown between you and Robby, something you've noticed while pointedly ignoring the articles being published about you and him. Before Coachella, he'd been someone you didn't quite know how to get close to, a canyon between your heart and his. Robby had been delegated as your lover's best friend. The threesome had somehow been an unorthodox way of breaking the ice. Since then, Robby had somehow turned into—
"Mikey!" You screech in surprise, bursting into giggles. You had seen them both enter the soundstage but before you could even get a word in, you're suddenly over Robby's shoulder, pounding away at his back with your fists. Jack watches in quiet amusement and a thrill shoots you when you catch a trace of a smirk on his lips. "My wings, they're going to fall!"
Robby takes pity on the outfit your team as poured you into: white and simple — virginal, almost — and draped artfully to highlight your frame in the most flattering light. Your makeup is bare and delicate with a touch of white shimmer in your inner corners. Paired with a set of fluffy white wings, you look like an angel sent from above.
Jack's heart thunders dangerously as you step away from Robby to approach him. His hands find your waist as he places a delicate kiss on your glossy lips, careful to not ruin your makeup. "You look breathtaking, angel."
"That's the point," a new voice interrupts. The three of you turn to see Parker approach, absentmindedly swirling a cup of coffee. "Jack and Robby, pleasure to meet you."
"This is Parker Ellis." You introduce her with a bright smile. "She's the director for my music video."
The two men shake her hand, exchanging pleasantries. "Mind if we stick around?" Jack asks, his hand settling around your waist.
"By all means," Parker says, gestures to the spare seats behind her. "We're shooting indoors for the rest of the day."
They both nod and watch Parker retreat to the camera where a few producers are discussing the storyboard for the storyline created. Being left alone, Robby swoops down to kiss your cheek before Jack does the same to the other.
"How's it going so far, sweetheart?" Jack murmurs, his gaze wandering around the set. There's a metropolis set up in one corner of the soundstage, another is a two-story facade of a mansion with a gorgeous ornate balcony.
You lean into his embrace, enjoying his warmth. "It's been alright, so far. We haven't filmed much but we're waiting for Mateo."
"Mateo? Who's Mateo—"
"I'm here!" A voice sounds from the other end of the studio and the way you perk up has Jack and Robby shift uneasily. "So sorry I'm late, there was traffic at Culver—"
"There's always traffic there," you laugh as you escape Jack's side to go greet the new guy. Both men watch you be pulled into his arms, your smile bright and sweet. "Guys, this is Mateo Diaz, my love interest for the music video. Mateo, this is Jack and Robby."
Mateo's a handsome young actor that's been taking Hollywood by storm, dark curly hair with a neat beard and a smile that had all the young women he passed by swooning.
He's also around your age.
"Hi, I grew up listening to NIGHTCRAWLER, my dad's a huge fan!"
Jack fights back a grimace, shakes his hand nice and firm. "Nice to meet you, Matthew."
Mateo's smile never falters. "It's Mateo."
"Right."
Before you can even dwell on the odd interaction, you're being called to set and Mateo's being ushered into hair and makeup. Jack and Robby are called away to craft services in the meantime, set designers and assistants resetting the scenes for you and your main lead.
Realization kicks in when one of the PAs roll in a giant aquarium, Robby turning to his friend to ask if he recognizes the reference to Baz Luhrman's Romeo + Juliet (he remembered how much you adored DiCaprio in it, recalled how you made Jack watch it over and over again on the projector on your rooftop). But Jack's eyes are on you, standing across the room with Mateo reappearing in costume. The knight costume fits him perfectly, dark curls pushed back by your delicate hand with a bright laugh.
"You're gonna scare away the PAs," Robby mutters under his breath to Jack.
"Don't know what you're talking about." But Jack tears his gaze away from you to tug his phone out, thumbing through emails and social media posts. Majority of it is you, a perfect mirror image of his mind lately. You occupy his waking thoughts, his every moment. He can hear Robby chuckle, see the way the people around steal glances before the lights dim and Parker calls out 'action!'
Your voice echoes out from the large speakers, the first verse of 'stupid song' playing out as you reenact the scene from the movie with Mateo. Although Jack had been adamant on not watching any scene with your male lead, you're enchanting. The shy smiles, the delicate touches and the laughter that plays on top of the sweet instrumentals… Jack can picture himself in Mateo's shoes.
"Cut!"
Drawn out of his thoughts, you pull away from Mateo where you're both supposed to mime a kiss. The camera resets, pulling back just as the lights flicker back on. Your team rushes in to blot your skin, reapply makeup and rearrange a few pieces of your hair.
Filming continues on and Robby excuses himself in between takes, making sure to pull you aside for a proper goodbye. When he kisses your forehead, Jack rubs his chest. That dull thud of frustration that had bloomed with Mateo is nonexistent when the smile you give Robby is a touch sweeter than the rest.
"We're on the last scene," you tell him a few takes later, changed into a long-sleeved burgundy dress. Jack recognizes it to be a rendition or remaking of Olivia Hussey's Juliet outfit from the 1968 version of Romeo and Juliet. He's still lounging in a spare director's chair, knees parted for you to stand between. "Will you stay to take me home? I know Robby had some recording to do."
"Of course," he murmurs, fingertips catching on the sleeve of your dress to lift your hand up. He places a kiss to your exposed wrist. "You're breathtaking, sweetheart. The perfect Juliet."
You flush prettily. "Thanks, Jack… I'm ready to finish this up, though. I'm getting sick of my own song."
He laughs and nods in understanding, enjoying this pocket of intimacy with you despite the busy set. "Like you said, you're almost done. How about we catch some rooftop pizza tonight?"
"That'd be perfect," you sigh dreamily. "Mateo invited me out for drinks at Barney's but I—"
"Barney's? That's…" Jack catches himself. "Why won't you go?"
Your smile shifts a bit, confusion filtering through. "What do you mean? I'd rather have pizza."
"Sweetheart, you don't have to pity your old man. You wanna hang out with kids your age, go ahead. Don't let me stop you."
Your touch grows cold and you step away. "What the hell are you talking about? I want to spend tonight with you, why are you making this weird, Jack?"
His tongue feels heavy, his mind is static and the only thing that he does understand is the frustration building in his gut. But he takes a deep breath and shakes his head, his arm reaching out to tug you back into his chest. "That's not what I mean, baby. I just—" He lets out another quiet sigh. "Never mind. Vitto's pizza, you and me. Alright?"
You hold your guarded expression a second too long but you drop it eventually, nodding and kissing him deeply, lipstick be damned. "Rooftop pizza. It's a date."
"It's a date."
You return back to the final scene, mimicking the church where Romeo and Juliet meet their fatal end. The song had skipped the bridge but Jack figures that part may have been filmed already. Instead, the music starts up at the final chorus. You lip sing as you're laid out on the ivory pillows with Mateo lying prone beside you. The final chords ring out and your eyes shut, the camera panning to Mateo's wrist where it ends on a final zoom in to the heart pendant with your initial engraved sewn into the fabric of his sleeve.
Jack recognizes the reference immediately. A lyric from your debut album: 'let him wear my heart on his sleeve if he's my one true love'. It had been a fantastical album, a whimsical concept that had been executed perfectly that had been aligned with your musical style.
He wonders if you'd let him wear a pendant like that on his sleeve.
⋆⋆⋆✧⋆⋆⋆
Your schedules are starting to ramp up with the upcoming release of your EP. Little by little, your team is dropping teasers and graphic posts to increase the surrounding hype and anticipation of it all. Worldwide, pop-up stores emerge in the major metropolitan cities to sell limited stock of your merch.
All in all, no one can move (online and offline) without seeing your name.
⋆⋆⋆✧⋆⋆⋆
PINK LIMOUSINES COMING! @.starsbabey — 2h
guys should i get tickets for nightcrawler's tour??
JACKSTAR ENTHUSIAST @.jackstarsthird — 4h
i'll buy star's ep for everyone who likes this tweet if i'm right and she comes out as the opener for their tour
⋆⋆⋆✧⋆⋆⋆
While you continue your preparations, Robby takes it upon himself to smooth out any hiccups that's beginning to arise with the upcoming release of their album and their tour to give Jack room to work on the ambassadorship he'd been offered through Dior.
He hadn't been too sure on what entails with an ambassadorship but the liaisons and partners he's met with the fashion house had been highly accommodating, making sure to schedule appearances at shows or galas where it fits between his musical priorities. But the downside that follows means that rooftop pizza dates are becoming rarer and rarer, phone calls and texts are few and far in between.
So maybe the lack of 'you' is the cause of his annoyance and frustration that clings to his every waking moment, the paparazzi shots of you all around Los Angeles with your friends killing his mood every time he checks his texts to see no new messages from you.
He's too old to be playing games but something about you always dials everything he feels to eleven, his mind cloudy with nothing but you until he finds himself lost in his thoughts. So maybe he forces himself to write lyrics when you finally text back, force you to wait the same amount of time he did for just a modicum of your attention.
At the end of the day, he's gritting his teeth as he keeps himself from checking his texts with nothing to show for it. Exhaustion and emotional fatigue has him snapping at you a couple days later, when both of you find a spare hour to call.
"Sorry," he sighs through the phone, rubbing his temple as he lays back on his couch while music plays from his turntable. Even the comforting warbling of Ella Fitzgerald hasn't soothed his raw nerves and poor you had taken the brunt of his shitty mood. "Fuck, I'm sorry, sweetheart. Had a long day."
A quiet huff can be heard from your end, a bit of loud conversation mingling in the background of wherever you are. Jack ignores another stab of annoyance."Must be. You forgot you said you were coming with me to Trinity's dinner at Nobu."
"Shit." He rubs his face with his hand, leans over and starts to rise. "I'm coming, baby, I'm sorry—"
"Jack, it's fine." And that's what did it, really. Your quiet acceptance, the fight leaving your tone so quickly it didn't really settle in properly. He sits back down, the guilt too hard to swallow. "We're both busy. I got used to having you around so often… Maybe we can do Vitto's soon? I have a free day in a couple days."
He's nodding before he can even get the words out. "Yes— yes, that's perfect, angel. I'll even go for the gelato you love so much."
"You hate the gelato," you laugh softly.
"Yeah, but you don't." Something rests easy in his chest now as he lets out a little sigh. "Enjoy your dinner with Trinity, baby. I promise I'll make it up to you."
⋆⋆⋆✧⋆⋆⋆
One of the people in charge for arranging meetings fucked up. Royally. Usually, Jack is more laid back; Robby's the one up in arms at scheduling mishaps like this. But the consequence of an overbooked meeting and recording session had resulted in a thirteen hour work day in the building, pingponging between the conference rooms and the recording booths.
While things usually get settled and smoothed out by end of day, the meeting culminated into more unresolved issues that bled over into another work day. The rooftop pizza with you had been cancelled and there had been an edge to your voice he didn't have the mental bandwidth to unravel and understand.
The bed was cold when he fell asleep in it, colder still when he realized you hadn't reached out since then.
He doesn't see you for another few days; you had been invited to a few movie premieres Nick Barker's starring in. The familiar flicker of jealousy erupts, momentarily tamed to realize that it's the movie 'stupid song' is featured in, only to burst into a near-catastrophic wildfire when he sees live updates of you taking photos with Mateo on the carpet.
The jealousy moves him to call up Robby who sounds just as annoyed.
"I know," his friend says in greeting. "I see it. It's fine, she isn't his date." Jack grunts and a beat passes. "Why weren't you with her?"
"Got busy," Jack grouses.
An incredulous laugh filters through the phone. "If she was mine, she would take priority, Abbot. Don't get too comfortable now."
The line goes dead before Jack can get another word in.
⋆⋆⋆✧⋆⋆⋆
Jack sees you a couple days later on a Friday night at some hotshot producer's party in North Hollywood. The brutalist modern style home is open with security dotting the entrances. With the party in full swing, he maneuvers through the drunk occupants to find you sitting on the armrest of a chair that Robby's sitting on. His hand is sitting on your thigh, your arm loose around his shoulders while you absentmindedly play with his beard. The two of you are chatting it up with a long-retired producer.
He waits for the jealousy to kick in, seeing you so closely entwined with another man. But it just feels like coming home to two of his favorite people.
Jack shakes away the confusion and approaches, ducking down to kiss your cheek. "Sorry I'm late," he murmurs and you startle. At the sight of him, you beam and throw yourself into his arms for a kiss he hasn't realized he's been craving.
He smiles against your mouth, his hands gripping your waist tight. "I missed you too, sweetheart." Before he can say another word, you take his hand and lead him out to the side of the house where there aren't much lingering. When they see the both of you enter the tiny opening (probably meant to house the trash cans), the people give you the space.
Jack doesn't waste a second to pin you against the concrete walls, devouring your mouth in a way that's reminiscent of how Robby had kissed you all those days ago. "Jack—" you giggle and after he's gotten his fill, he reluctantly pulls away to dig out a pack of Marlboro reds. Half empty.
You raise a brow in surprise but you hold no judgment. Instead, you take his lighter and spark up a flame, lifting it to the end of his cigarette that he's got between his teeth. His eyes never leave yours even when you lean away, his lips closing around it to take a drag. The two of you stand in comfortable silence. When you reach out for it, he raises a brow and hands it to you.
"Long week," you shrug as you exhale away from him. He chuckles and nods in agreement. "I did miss you, Jack."
"I did, too. Feels like I haven't seen you in years."
He watches you stare at him and it feels like he's missing something when your face falls. "Yeah. Been too long." When he doesn't reply, something shutters in your gaze.
"You haven't tried seeing me."
"What? What are you talking about, angel—"
You shake your head, steal the cigarette from his hand. "No, you haven't tried seeing me. I know we're both busy, I'm not stupid, but you haven't even reached out once."
"Angel, that's not fair—"
"Did you know Robby had been checking up on me?" Jack stills at the sudden mention of his friend. "He was surprised that you didn't offer to pick me up or drive me here to this party."
The end of the cigarette tip burns orange as you take another long drag. "I'm sorry. You know I am. It's just this ambassadorship and the tour, it's a lot—"
"Jack, what is this?" You gesture to the space between you and him, the cigarette tucked between your index and middle knuckles. "Seriously— I don't know if you want a girlfriend or someone to keep your bed warm. If you just wanted a fuckin' PR stunt, just say so. I can draw up a contract right now—"
"Sweetheart, hold on a sec—" Jack nearly trips over himself to get to you, broad hands cradling your cheek to meet your eyes. His heart splinters at the sight of unshed tears. "Baby, come on. You know that's not true, that's not— you're more than that. I know I've been distant but I swear to god, you're all I want. Yeah?" His thumb swipes away tear. "You're the only one for me."
The hurt that's been cresting in your chest breaks and you let out a quiet sob, pushing forward to hide your face into his neck. "I thought you didn't want me anymore."
"No, baby. Never, hm? You're my everything—"
His phone ringing is loud enough to cut through the moment, the shrill tone driving what feels like a nail through his frontal lobe. "Fuck," he hisses. You pull away and it feels like you're slipping through his fingers.
"It's fine," you sniffle. You take another drag of your stolen cigarette. "You should answer it."
He sighs and pins you back against the side of the house with a warm hand on your hip. His other hand digs out his phone and answers it. While he talks to the Dior representatives on the line, he watches you. Sees the way your eyes shift in and out of focus before you fight back another sniffle. You still aren't okay and this phone call is keeping him hostage. He's nodding and offering empty noises to the rep but he's dragged to attention when he hears the demand.
"What— tonight?! You want me to fly out tonight?" He drops your hip to drag his hand through silver curls. His head falls to rest his forehead against yours, taps the speaker button and holds the phone between both of you. A man with a thick french accent sounds horribly stressed, begging for Jack to fly a day early to get fittings done for the show he's attending. With a little smile, you nod and he sighs in defeat. "I'll be there."
The call ends and he draws you in for another kiss, tinged with desperation and guilt. "Get Robby to drive you home, alright?" When you nod, he knows this conversation isn't even close to a resolution. "When I get back on Monday, I'm going straight to your place. Alright? No bullshit. Even if you're busy for the day, I'll be waiting for you. I promise, angel."
You melt and he sees that you believe him. For now. "Alright. Have a safe flight, baby."
⋆⋆⋆✧⋆⋆⋆
Robby had planned on a lazy Sunday evening. The endless meetings Jack had been stuck in the past few days had resulted in a nice, slow weekend for him. It'd been odd enough, seeing his closest friend plastered all over the front pages without your name tacked onto it. But it's nice; Jack looks good in Dior, schmoozing with other big names at the front row seats for fashion shows he must've hated. Back in Los Angeles, your music video for 'stupid song' had dropped and posters for your upcoming EP paints the streets of Santa Monica Boulevard.
The call back of the heart pendant to an old song of yours had been trending so wildly that your team had put out a charm bracelet for the reference on your merch shop: a simple silver chain with a silver locket pendant.
He settles into his bed with a finger tucked between the pages of a book he's been reading, ready to unwind, when his phone rings on his bedside. He doesn't check the caller ID when he answers. "Hello?"
"Mikey?"
Robby sits up. No one calls him that but you. "Angel? What's going on?"
Music blares on the line and he can hear you jostle the phone, as if you're tucking it between your ear and shoulder. The music dies down and he assumes you stepped outside of a party or club you were attending. "Hi— sorry, I know it's late. But my head is killing me and I wanna go home early."
He's already walking out, sliding into shoes. "It's fine, sweetheart, I'm glad you called me. You drunk?"
"No," you say and he believes it. "I was tipsy earlier but it made my headache worse… Will you come soon?"
"I will, angel, don't worry. Be there in fifteen. Can you wait inside for me?"
"S'too loud," you huff. "It's okay, Frankie's out here with me. He's keeping me company."
A lick of jealousy climbs up the base of his neck as he grabs his keys, throws himself into his Porsche. "Stay on the phone for me, sweetheart."
"Mkay." You chirp and a soft chuckle spills from Robby, unbidden. Someone speaks to you and while he doesn't hear exactly what he says, he hears your reply: "No, Jack's in France. Robby's picking me up."
The fifteen minutes is spent with you happily chattering about your day, how you had spent most of the party situated next to your favorite baseball player (whoso happens to be 'Frankie') before the headache started to kick in. Eventually, his car rolls up to a tiny little dive bar that's spilling with people out onto the sidewalk. You're sitting on a tiny planter, your dress doing very little to cover your frame, while sitting besides a young man that Robby recognizes immediately.
"Frank Langdon, shortstop—" Robby chuckles as he offers the baseball player with a nod after he helps you into the spare carhartt jacket he's brought for you. He zips it up, gently nudges your chin with a playful tap. "Thanks for keeping my girl company."
Frank nods, his baby blues piercing yours with an easy grin. "Not a problem. Tell Jack I said hi, yeah. Good night, kid." He ruffles your hair before entering the party once more.
⋆⋆⋆✧⋆⋆⋆
When Robby drives you home, it feels like he's on autopilot. He doesn't know what to do with you, ever since he's gotten a taste. Even before, when he had gotten you that bracelet that you're still wearing, he's tried to hold you at arm's length. He thought it was to appease Jack's jealousy, holding that unnecessary boundary, but the evening he spent with both of you erased that immediately. He wonders if his brain had known first before anything that you've made a home in his chest, that he'd open the doors of his heart to you rather than take a sledgehammer to the walls.
He follows you to your door when he brings you home, nods absently when you request him to stay, when you offer him a glass of water. His eyes trail along your figure, still in that heartbreakingly gorgeous dress. Time passes as he sits on your couch, waiting for you to return out of the shower.
"Thanks again for picking me up." He hears your voice before he sees you and when he looks up, his heart stops.
You look like everything he had ever wanted and had no right to touch. Irresistible, golden, sitting high on a shelf that only Jack could reach. The thought of his friend burns like firewood in his chest but the immediate guilt that follows extinguishes it before it can spread. He loves Jack, loves him more than he could bring himself to admit. A man that knows his soul as well as his own and yet — the resentment burns like sweet liquor in his throat when his eyes land on you.
He's seen you in your best, soft skin gleaming with a body poured in a dress that does more for his heart than he'd allow himself to dwell, hair and makeup artfully done without a flaw to be seen (or picked apart by vultures with cameras). But tonight, you're comfortable in an old collegiate shirt — all frayed edges and wool-worn hems, skin clean and untouched. Bare and vulnerable and soft to the touch and he's never ached for anything more than to draw you in his arms.
"You're more than I could ever deserve." The words spill out of him before he can wrap it into a joke, something packaged into a playful jab because who was he to demand something—anything—from you?
You startle in surprise as he stands to his feet. "Mikey…"
"You know, you're the only one that's called me that before." He admits quietly, his long strides bringing him closer and closer to you until his palm can rest along your jaw. "I don't know what you did to me but ever since that night, I can't stop thinking about you."
He can't stop now, can't pull back the words that fell from his lips as he gently guides your chin up. His long nose brushes along yours. Drinks up the way your breath hitches, your eyes fluttering shut.
He should stop. Drop your cheek. Walk out the door.
But it's like he's a car speeding down Mulholland drive, like he's watching from the outside.
"Mikey, I think—"
He never did know what you thought because he's kissing you, his lips chastely pressed against yours for a couple beats. Reality rushes in soon after, guilt growing like a parasite in his heart, and as he tries to lean away, he feels the subtlest pressure against his mouth.
You're kissing back.
A low groan rumbles in his chest as he cradles your face for a deeper kiss, tilting his head to better slot your lips together. The world falls away and he could die happy like this—
Until he feels your hands on his chest, giving a push. He breaks away immediately and tries not to close the distance again. Your hands still hover in mid-air, lips forming words you can't speak.
"I— I think you should go," you whisper. Robby nods, steals a glance of you returning to your bedroom, before walking away.
⋆⋆⋆✧⋆⋆⋆
Jack figures something is wrong when you're the one who picks him up at LAX the next morning. The Tom Bradley terminal is chaos and he had barely given you enough of a heads up to go to the PS VIP runway, picking him up there instead rather than the main pickup locations.
"Hey, sweetheart. Missed you." He leans in for a kiss which you reciprocate, albeit distractedly. Your smile is shaky as you pull onto the imperial highway, speeding down before traffic catches you.
"How was Paris?"
The car ride is uneventful and if Jack doesn't let himself dwell, he figures nothing is wrong but he knows you now. He's catalogued every little detail. Knows that the furrow between your brow means something has been weighing on your mind.
But he doesn't push and just lets himself fall into old routines with you, answering your questions and regaling you with his time at the fashion show. It isn't until you've pulled into your private driveway, unlocked the house to allow him in, that he finally asks you.
"What's going on?"
"I kissed Robby," you blurt out. Your eyes are wide, distraught with what looked like guilt as your hands shake by your sides. "Or— he kissed me but I kissed back and— fuck, Jack I'm so so sorry—"
"Hey, hey, hey— shh…" His hands swoop down to take yours, gently squeezing before his touch glides up your arms to hold your face. "Sweetheart, breathe for me."
Your shoulders rise and fall, your sweet gaze looking like a baby bunny cornered. "You're not… mad?"
"No, baby." He says instinctively, his need to comfort you taking over anything else— but he realizes he means it. That stab of jealousy that never really goes away when you're with anyone but him doesn't come. The little monster of envy lays dormant in his chest. "No, I'm not mad. Is this why you've been so antsy?"
You nod and he can feel your muscles relax, loosening from their tense position as you allow him to hug you tightly. "I asked him to pick me up last night from a party… he brought me home and then he kissed me," you say quietly against the collar of his shirt.
"Sweetheart, he had his cock in you just a few weeks ago, I'm not getting jealous over a kiss," he chuckles but the way you tighten your arms around him finally clears things up. "Baby, look at me."
It takes a second but you finally lift your head, a pout sitting upon your lips.
"I am a jealous man, there's no doubt about it, but I meant it when I say Robby and I are good at sharing," he murmurs. "I trust him with you. He's my best friend, but you? You're my girl, angel."
The guilt finally dissipates and the distance between you and Jack disappear when you pull him in for a kiss. He growls against your lips, lifts you in his arms to carry you to bed. He fucks you slow and deep— no. He makes love to you right then and there, promises and silent vows spilling from kiss-bitten lips. His touch is everywhere and you feel shrouded in it, cocooned in his attentive desire even when sleep follows after you come down from the climax.
In the quiet of your bedroom, Jack glances over to your sleeping frame. He drinks in the line of your exposed spine, the way your body rises and falls in slumber, before his attention returns back to his phone.
Unfinished lyrics stare up at him.
Chasing things that I can't replace
Wishing every face that I see was like you
Tell me if I'm slipping away
Might not see the reason to stay but I do
Your tears falling hard on my shoulder
Don't leave, I don't wanna start over
He sends it to Robby.
[Robby] I think I have a melody for this.
[Robby] She told you?
[Jack] I can't lose her, man.
[Robby] You won't. After I kissed her, she told me you were the first person she was going to tell. She's scared of losing you too.
⋆⋆⋆✧⋆⋆⋆
TMZ — JACKSTAR REUNITED
OUT ON THE STREETS OF HOLLYWOOD, OUR FAVORITE COUPLE WAS SEEN AFTER JACK'S DEBUT AT THE DIOR FASHION SHOW IN PARIS.
Fans gush about their willingness to interact with everyone they bump into but one major detail that Star's fans can't stop talking about is the new accessory that Jack has been sporting.
[IMAGE ATTACHED: A zoom in of Jack's grey sleeve, the hand blurry from the movement caught mid-frame. On the seam, a gold pendant is sewn into the fabric. A gold heart pendant with your initial engraved.]
⋆⋆⋆✧⋆⋆⋆
thank you so much for reading! as always, likes and reblogs are appreciated but comments are highly cherished!
tags :: not strictly plus size reader but reader does have curves! (pudge, thick thighs, soft tummy, all the package!) reader is just a big ol marshmallow, both literally and figuratively. wrote this with an age gap in mind but it doesn't really change anything sooo
a/n :: idk who to credit for the divider if anyone knows the creator pls lmk... this is definitely self indulgent, mostly because im on my period and i want to be held by a pudgy old man!
JACK ABBOT WHO :
who after living a life of hell, gets whiplash from time to time from how soft everything about you is.
“breathe jackie...” you'd coo when he'd woke you up from one of his nightmares. your delicate hands running through his curls as he buried his face between your breasts. not a sexual act, more like a desperate need for comfort.
JACK ABBOT WHO :
who loves poking you. your cheeks, tummy, thighs, ass. everything! loves how you laugh while trying to swat his hand away. loves how your body recoils slightly, loves how soft your skin feels against his rough fingers.
JACK ABBOT WHO :
who just as much as he likes poking you, he also likes groping you! specially your boobs. in public, its your ass. he purposely digs his hand into the backocket of your pants, not caring if it looks in appropriate. he gets better leverage from your ass like that! occasionally squeezing your flesh there. and you dont even bat an eye.
in bed, usually after sex or even during tired, quiet evenings, he's obsessed with your breasts. with his head resting on your shoulder, his thick, rough hand is most likely than not kneading at the swell of your breasts. sometimes he even likes rubbing his face over your breasts like a kitty. and he specially loves how you let him, and how you run your fingers through his hair whole doing so.
JACK ABBOT WHO:
who loves seeing you in dresses. or anything tight. the sight of the fabric clinging to your curves makes him instantly hard, even when you're innocently prancing around the house without doing anything remotely seductive.
JACK ABBOT WHO :
who gives you the biggest bear hugs! because as thick as you are, so is he. both of you are so stubby that hugs with him usually (always) get prolonged to soft gentle whispers and jack rocking you side to side. even if it puts more strain on his prosthetic. the position is always the same: his face buried into your neck while your chin rests comfortably against his shoulder. his hands are also always on the back of your head and the swell of your hips.
the embrace is just soo comfortable that you end up falling asleep in his arms once.
JACK ABBOT WHO :
who doesnt stop just at bear hugs, he also sleeps in a very particular way. a head lock. your back pressed against chest, (he always has a hard time ignoring how the swell of your ass feel pressed against his clothed cock) cheek squished against the hard muscle of his bicep while his arm loops around your neck from behind.
you dont mind, you like the feeling of being cradled in your sleep. and he absolutely loves it. specially since it keeps you from escaping his grasp without him having to wake up. also, a little bonus, his free hand is free to wander.
he lost count the amount of times he's made you orgasm from playing with your pussy, then kissed you goodnight in that same position.
JACK ABBOT WHO:
who gets a bit shy when you drool over his thickness. he has to put all his strength in not squirming when you rub his bicep. you just cant help it! they're so thick, and god, his thighs. they're like tree logs!
“jackie you're so cute!” you'd say, as if he couldnt squish you to death with his muscles. and when he lets you please him,( which is usually never because he's a giver not a receiver) you take extra time to trace the roundness of his pecks with your tongue.
he also always melts whenever you run your hands up and down his arms, to ultimately settle your soft hands around his cheeks. you make it seem like an innocent little touch. when in reality its an excuse to feel him up. but whatever dirty thought you had is crushed when he looks at you with those puppy eyes! because to him, you treating him like the most precious thing in the world is enough to have him melting in your arms.
JACK ABBOT WHO :
who definitely bites into your rolls during rough sex.
It’s your first Friday off after a week of doubles and you could not be more excited to go out with Jack and have a couple drinks.
You have the ac blasting in your bedroom, music playing in the background as you set the tone for the night: fun, flirty and definitely a little too drunk.
Jack’s in the shower now and you’re in your robe as you set your hair into place with bobby pins. You’re seconds away from getting your outfit sorted when your phone trills. You lay on the bed to answer a series of Mel’s messages and with your head on the pillow and the warmth sneaking under the bathroom door in your cold room, you don’t exactly know when your eyes shut.
You wake slowly, to Jack’s body pressed to yours, his hands lifting you a little to slide under you. Your eyes struggle to stay open and honestly holding them so makes them burn so you shut them. “Jack, we’re supposed to be getting ready to go out.”
His chuckle is close to your ear, “Sweetheart, you’ve been asleep for the last thirty minutes.” You rub your face into his chest, finding it bare and smooth under you.
If you focus enough, there’s no more music and the lights are off because there’s no more brightness behind your eyes.
“But drinks,” you half heartedly argue, your eyes shutting as Jack’s fingers gently free your hair from the near 100 bobby pins keeping them in place. “We were gonna get so drunk baby.”
He laughs then, words quiet, “You were gonna get so drunk, pretty lady. I was gonna have you kiss on me on the drive home.”
“Win-win,” you breathe with a smile and he nods even though you can’t see it. “You love drunk kisses.”
“I love your drunk kisses,” his hand combs through your hair, separating all the tangles. “They’ve got a sloppy but endearing quality to them.” He yawns then, his own eyes bleary as he blinks it away.
You slap your hand on his shoulder, really it’s just your finger tips grazing his skin. Still, it sends a shiver through him because you feel the goosebumps under your face.
“That’s so not true,” you kiss under his jaw. “They’re not even that sloppy.”
Jack hums, “I’m the one sober enough to tell, my love.”
You yawn, your nose crushing to Jack’s collarbone. “Then no more kisses for you.”
He tuts and swats your bum lightly. “Never said deprive me, just said they’re sloppy.”
“But you love them?”
“They’re the best type.”
You tilt your head up for a kiss, nose butting his in the darkness. “One kiss then,” Jack smiles and tilts his head down. Your lips connect a little disjointedly but Jack rolls with it and you last about six seconds before pulling away and tucking your face under his chin again.
“Love you Jackers,”
He smiles, “Who does?”
He can hear the smile in your voice when you respond, “I love you, Jackers.”
He kisses your forehead, “I love you too, pretty lady.” Jack runs his fingers down the slope of your nose slowly, your eyes hardly fluttering open now. “Still not into that pet name, though.”
You sigh happily when his fingers trail the chub of your cheek, “Night Jackers,” you murmur before sleep takes you fully and with the most contented smile on your face he can’t find it in himself to dislike it anymore.
It doesn’t take long for him to fall asleep too, the warmth of your body wrapped around him and your quiet snores make it easy for him to fall asleep wrapped around you.
This is so random and hyper specific but I feel like you’d fw it sweet cherry. Super sex positive Jack Abbot and his sunshiney gf who he proposes to on a whim (but not really a whim because he’s been thinking about it for months and has a ring ready and waiting) either while you’re having sex or right after while yall are still all sweaty and panting 🙂↕️ and then, being the Gen Z you are, you post a pic of you two all tangled up in bed and blissed out, flashing your rock of a ring for everybody to see!!!! It feels so fitting to me idk why
claire, you are an absolute gift… this is soooooo yum!
it’s in between heaving breaths and happy sighs, jack’s declaration of a future. you on your back and him leaning on his side as he presses kisses along your tits and chest and shoulders and neck. one long, veiny, tanned arm stretching back toward the drawer of his bedstand– jack is still coming down from the high of being inside his favorite girl.
pulling out the little wooden box, he plops it on your chest, shoving his head in your neck and inhaling to catch his breath. “marry me. i want you so… fuckin’ much, if you’ll have me. marry me, baby?”
squealing and crying and he has a hand spread across your tummy and he’s smiling so fucking wide it looks like he’s all teeth. he puts the ring on you, in the dark cozy atmosphere of your shared bedroom, and nips at the skin over your heart to make you giggle again.
you squeeze him in your arms, an aggressive hug that has him laughing in the pure delight of making you so happy & ensuring that you’re next to him for the rest of your lives.
for the picture, you loop your arm around the back of his neck & hold your ring covered hand over your eyes as you smile. jack’s nose touches your cheek, his face still warm with lovemaking and happiness. white, cozy sheets and comforter pulled up just enough for decency <3
m's ero sideblog @my-ero-sideblog - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
