kee

You sleepily hummed at Vi, not wanting to move your head as it was tucked under Cait’s chin.

“When you were on the phone with your mom that time…” she started, a little hesitantly, “You said she broke your knuckle…?”

You hummed again.

“Which one, baby?”

You moved your left hand from under your head, moving it up from between yours and Cait’s bodies, and back towards Vi. “Middle finger knuckle.”

Vi gently touched your hand, stroking her thumb over the soft skin where your middle finger met your hand. “Here?”

You hummed again, twitching when Vi stroked again.

“I’m sorry, baby, did it hurt?” she asked, her voice etched with concern.

You hummed a ‘no’. “Little ticklish.”

She gently placed a kiss to the skin before taking hold of your hand, resting her arm over you. “Did you like breakfast today?” she enquired quietly.

You gave a gentle bob of your head. “It was really nice. Vander’s nice.”

“I’m glad you like him.”

“He said something this morning.”

“Yeah?”

You hummed.

Vi chuckled softly. “What was it, baby?”

Cait stirred. “Please, both of you…” she grumbled. “It’s late. We’ve had a busy day. And we’ll have another one tomorrow. I love you both, but please, go to sleep.”

You opened your eyes for the first time, looking directly into her frowning face, her eyes still closed. “So, you don’t want to hear about Vander offering to walk me down the aisle?”

“What!” they both cried, instantly awake.

You giggled sleepily. “Yeah. He said if I ever join your marriage, he’d be honoured to walk with me.”

“Is that…” Vi hesitated. “Is that something you’d like?”

“I mean, he’ll have to fight Ambessa over it-”

Cait squeezed you, looking deep into your eyes. “Not the walking, darling.”

You smiled teasingly. “I know.”

A moment passed.

“Well?” Vi asked, a little louder.

You hummed. “That’s not much of a proposal, Vi.”

“Ohhh…” she groaned playfully. “Oh, just you wait, Y/N.”

“We’ll give you the best proposal ever to be made, darling,” Cait vowed.

Vi asked you, “Do you know your ring size?”

Cait put in, “I already have it, Vi.”

“What? How?” you giggled.

“I have my ways, my love.”

Vi nodded behind you. “Good, good. Now, baby – traditional yellow gold? White gold? Silver-?”

“I’m allergic to silver.”

They both nodded.

“Noted,” Cait said quickly. “Platinum? Rose gold?”

“Rose gold? Ew. No – traditional yellow gold, please. And nothing too big! I hate big rings.”

Cait nodded. “The stone?”

“Diamond, obviously. But can you get it ethically sourced? Or even lab grown?”

Vi kissed the back of your head. “Of course we will, baby. Now – the proposal.”

“Nothing in public. Just us. Something small.”

Cait agreed quietly. “Absolutely. What about a wedding?”

“No, no, no,” you tutted playfully. “We’re not engaged yet. No wedding talk until I get that ring.”

Vi chuckled, her bare chest vibrating against your back. “That’s fair.”

“Oh, can I ask something serious?”

“Of course, darling. Shall I turn a lamp on?”

You shook your head. “No, the dark’s nice. And the light will wake us up too much.”

She kissed your forehead. “Alright, sweetheart. What’s your question?”

“Babies.”

You paused, letting the word settle. Neither woman jumped out of bed, pulled away from you, or made a horrified noise, which you took to mean permission to continue.

“How would you both feel about having children? Because I really want to be a mother one day – it doesn’t have to be now! – but we really should discuss this before getting engaged.”

Vi took a deep breath, that sounded pained.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…

She tightened her arm around you. “I love you, Y/N.”

Oh..?

Cait scooted somehow even closer to you. “I love you too, Y/N.” She sounded tearful. “So, so much, darling.”

“Should I not have asked? I’m sorry!” you started crying.

But they both shushed you.

“No, no, sweetheart,” Cait cooed, kissing your soft lips. “It’s alright, it’s okay.”

“We do want kids,” Vi nodded against you.

Cait chuckled softly. “We could just never agree on who would carry. And neither of us are comfortable with commercial surrogacy.”

“Plus, the only person we know who we could really ask to carry for us would be Powder-”

“Which, at her age, is a firm ‘no’ for both of us,” Cait added. “She’s far too young. It wouldn’t be fair of us to ask her to do that for some time, if we ever did.”

You nodded slowly, taking everything in. It was hard to believe you were all asleep only ten minutes ago. “So, if I carried…?”

“Would you want to, darling?” Cait asked seriously. “Or do you feel you’d have to?”

You shook your head. “I want to. I want to be pregnant, I want to carry a baby. If I can, obviously.”

Vi held your hand tighter. “Did your oncologist say you wouldn’t be able to?”

You shook your head. “No. The type of treatments I did shouldn’t have affected my fertility.”

Cait bobbed her head. “Good. Good. We can still get everything checked, though, just to be safe.”

Vi squeezed you. “Definitely. We need to know you’ll be okay. We’re not putting your health at risk. One of us will have to just suck it up and pop out a baby for us all!”

“Thank you for volunteering, Violet.”

“Hey!”

You all chuckled together, before settling down.

“So…” you said softly. “Are we…?”

Cait kissed your lips tenderly. “Planning a future together? Yes. We are.”

Vi nuzzled into the back of your head, burying her face in your hair. “You’re not getting rid of us now, Y/N.”

Vi helped you put your coat on as you all started preparing to leave the restaurant after a lunch with your now-extended family. Cait, Ambessa, and Vander were all busy arguing about who would pay the bill – they were all fighting to pay it, and they had all shot down Powder’s suggestion that they just split the bill either equally or into their respective families’ orders.

Vi rolled her eyes and went over to the squabbling trio in an attempt to ease the argument so you could all leave; Ekko and Powder slipped off to the side to take some photos in front of the elegant living wall at the side of the restaurant; leaving you and Mel to head outside.

“Our families are crazy, aren’t they?” you giggled to Mel, as you headed out the front door of one of the fanciest restaurants in the city.

“Well, obviously,” Mel chuckled back, “But…”

She trailed off and stopped dead, her hand almost stuck to the heavy door.

You paused as you looked back at her. “Mel? You okay?”

“Y/N?”

Your heart froze.

Your stomach twisted, nausea rising swiftly within you.

Your eyes started flickering as you looked at Mel, who was looking over your head, her beautiful face torn apart by a vicious glare, true hatred burning in her eyes.

“Y/N, is that you?”

Your body turned without you wanting to, sending you face-to-face with the redhead you’d never thought you’d see again.

“Maddie.”

Your voice sounded dead, numb.

Your ex-girlfriend smiled at you nervously. Her short ginger bob framed her sweet-looking, freckled face; her body in a figure-hugging wrap-dress. Her shoes and shoulder bag more expensive than anything you’d ever seen her with, but distinctly not her preferred style.

“You look nice,” Maddie complimented, sounding hesitant.

You couldn’t control the words that followed. “I’m not dying of cancer, you mean?”

She flinched. “Y-Yes. I take it you’re well again?”

Your head jerked in a nod. “Remission. Almost two years ago. Not that you’d know that.”

Another flinch. “Yes… Um…” Mel stepping forward to stand protectively at your shoulder drew her attention. “Mel. How… How are you?”

“You don’t get to speak to me after what you did,” she snapped coldly.

Maddie swallowed. “Look, I… Y/N, I know we didn’t end well-”

“End well?” you barked. “You abandoned me when I had cancer!”

The restaurant door opened behind you.

“Sweetheart, are you alright?”

Cait and Vi approached you, standing on your other side to Mel, both their hands touching your arm gently.

Then they froze.

“Cait?” your ex asked. “Vi?”

“Maddie?” they both said in complete surprise.

Your head spun between the three of them. “What? Wait… You all know each other?”

Cait opened her mouth a few times. Vi shifted awkwardly. Maddie wouldn’t look at anyone.

Your stomach twisted again. A pitiful whimper escaped your throat. “No…”

Cait tried to soothe you. “Y/N-”

“When?” you demanded.

None of them answered you.

“When?!” you shouted, uncaring of the attention you were bringing.

They all did a double-take at you; none of them had ever heard you raise your voice like that, except the phone call with your mother weeks ago.

“It ended well-over a year ago,” Vi explained. “Long before we met you.”

“And how long were you… How long, when did it start?”

Cait’s eyes widened; the penny dropped behind her eyes. “Maddie’s your ex, the one who left you.”

You swallowed thickly, forcing down tears. “And she was your last Baby… Wasn’t she?”

Maddie gasped. “Wait, Y/N, are you-?”

“Not anymore,” Vi snapped defensively.

She took a step closer to you…

And you took a step away from everyone.

This couldn’t be happening… This couldn’t be real… The women you loved – the one you were going to marry, and have babies with, and be together forever with – had been with your ex… Probably at the same time as you were with Maddie.

You were trying to breathe, but your lips trembled. You were trying to blink away tears. Your hands shook in front of you, raised in an almost defensive position. “This… This isn’t happening. This isn’t real…” you whimpered.

The restaurant door opened again.

Because of course it would.

Ambessa, Vander, Powder, and Ekko emerged from within, having to step around the scene happening only a few feet in front of the door.

“What has happened?” Ambessa asked, moving around the stand beside Mel. She saw the short redhead. “Oh. I see.”

Maddie visibly curled in on herself.

“Vi?” Vander asked softly, resting his huge hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “What’s going on?”

Maddie just cleared her throat delicately, speaking softly, “Y/N, can we talk? I-In private?”

A pained, hysterical laugh burst from your throat, shocking everyone. Your hands trembled in front of your mouth, your eyes leaking tears.

“T-Talk? Talk? You want t-to talk? After what you d-did?! Oh, fuuuck…” you shook.

“Darling-” Cait tried to calm you, but you erupted.

“No! No, no, no!”

Ambessa’s car suddenly pulled up at the kerb, the driver hopping out, ready to open the door.

The lawyer glanced at the car, then took action. She put her warm hand on your back, nudging you towards the car. “Go with Mel.” She waved at Maddie. “You too, girl. Back seat, do not say a word.” When the redhead obediently hurried towards the black SUV after you and Mel, Ambessa looked at Cait and Vi. “I will handle this. She will be safe with me.”

Before they could try to argue or interject, Ambessa turned and strode towards her car, climbing into the front passenger seat.

The car pulled away, and all the Kiramman-Lanes family could do was watch you drive away.

Cait’s and Vi’s stomach twisted.

Hopefully they would see you soon, so they could explain everything. And everything would be okay…

The car drive was agonisingly awkward and silent. Mel helped you calm your breaths until you eased away from the panic attack you’d been bordering on, letting you squeeze her hand as tightly as you could, instead.

The car slowed to a stop.

“We have arrived,” Ambessa announced, reaching for the handle. Her voice was calm, almost eerily so.

The four of you climbed out of the vehicle, Mel keeping her arm wrapped tightly around your shoulder as she led you forward.

A frown creased Maddie’s brow as she looked up at the skyscraper in front of you all. “Where are we?” she asked timidly, uncertainty creeping in.

“Neutral ground,” was all Ambessa replied.

Maddie hesitated. “It doesn’t look very neutral,” she muttered.

Ambessa’s lips curved faintly. “No,” she said. “It does not. Now, walk.”

The elevator ride up was even more painful than the car ride. The space too small, too quiet; the music playing inside, excessively aggravating.

The numbers ticked up one by one, each number making your pulse jump a little higher.

Maddie shifted in her spot in the corner. “I feel like I’m being kidnapped…”

Ambessa scoffed as she tapped away on her phone with one hand, the other casually tucked into her pocket. “Have any of us unlawfully taken, held, or carried you away, against your will, by force, fraud, or coercion?”

She blinked. “Um… No?”

“Then be quiet.”

“I-I just wanted to talk to Y/N-”

“You will have the opportunity to speak. It seems you have rather a lot of explaining to do, Madeleine.”

“I-It’s just Maddie-”

“Your birth certificate is listed as Madeleine.”

The redhead recoiled. “How… How have you seen my birth certificate?”

But an amused Ambessa just shook her head, a small smirk on her painted lips. 

Maddie went quiet, ducking her head.

The lift doors opened.

The reception desk sat in front of the Medarda golden logo for the company; a woman behind the expensive wood already looking up as you all approached.

“Welcome back, Ms Medarda—” she greeted, standing.

“Clear my afternoon,” was the only thing the tall woman said, leading the three of you around a corner and down the corridor towards her office.

“Yes, ma’am!” She immediately set to work, tapping away on her keyboard, lifting her phone’s handset to her ear.

When you were all in Ambessa’s office, the lawyer closed the heavy wooden door behind her. Your heart was pounding in your chest; Mel still had her arm tightly around your shoulders; and Maddie looked almost nauseated.

“I shouldn’t be here,” she said quietly. “I-I was meeting someone for lunch.”

“One of your clients, I imagine.” Ambessa nodded, slipping off her tailored jacket, and hanging it across the back of her leather office chair. “I am sure you can make your excuses.”

Maddie blushed.

You looked back at her. “You’re a Sugar Baby?” There was no judgement in your voice; you only wanted answers.

Suddenly her out-of-character outfit made more sense – she was dressed for her client’s preferences, not her own style.

“Yes,” she nodded. “Yes, I am.”

“How long have you done this?” you asked, crossing your arms protectively around yourself, but stepping out from under Mel’s arm.

You needed to do this yourself.

Maddie hesitated. “A-A few years.”

Your brow twitched into a frown. “You hesitated.”

“No, I-”

“Yes, you did. How long have you been a Baby?”

She paused for a breath, obviously trying to come up with an answer.

You snapped at her, “You said you wanted to talk, Maddie. So, talk. Were you a Baby when we were dating?”

“Yes,” she answered quickly, ducking her head. “Yes, I was.”

You’d already suspected such a thing since the restaurant. It still hurt, though. You let out a breath. “When did it start? When we were dating; before we were dating…?”

“Before,” Maddie replied.

You nodded through the pain. “Was it… Was it full service? Just online? Just dates?”

She swallowed. “Full service.”

You swallowed the stone in your throat. “When we were together?”

“Yes.”

You bobbed anxiously, pointing a finger at her accusingly. “You never told me that. You never told me you were sleeping with other people whilst we were together. I thought we were monogamous! And you were out there having sex with random people?! How many?!”

Ambessa not-so-discreetly picked up her desk phone’s handset, tapping a few numbers as she held it to her ear. “Ambessa Medarda here. I need an urgent appointment with Doctor Reveck, for today; it is not optional.”

You shuddered uncontrollably, groaning in disgust.

“I’m clean!” Maddie cried defensively. “I’ve never had anything!”

Ambessa tilted the received away from her mouth, cutting across sharply, “You have proven yourself untrustworthy, Madeleine. Y/N will be receiving every test available, and if a single result comes back positive, you will need to seek out legal representation.”

“Cait and Vi…” you said softly.

“I will advise them to get tested too,” Ambessa nodded. She returned to her call. “Yes. … Yes, we will be there in an hour.” She put the phone down.

You groaned. “Fuck!”

Mel blinked. “Wait, angel… You didn’t get tested before your first time with them?”

You scrubbed your eyes. “I didn’t think I had to; she was the last person I was with!” you gestured accusatorily at Maddie.

Your friend gawked. “Y/N! You always need to get tested!”

“Well, it’s not relevant now, is it?!”

“Girls,” Ambessa said firmly. “Calm yourselves down. Agitation will not help the situation.”

You looked back at Maddie. “So, full service. Just women?”

She winced. “Men too.”

That honestly surprised you, knowing her sexuality. But a thought pushed aside your sympathy. “What if you’d gotten pregnant?”

Maddie shifted. “I would have taken care of it.”

You were briefly flummoxed. “How would you have explained that to me, though? You would’ve been bleeding and in pain for weeks – how would you have explained that?”

Ambessa spoke up from her spot of leaning against her desk. “I think we are focusing on the wrong subject, Y/N. If you would like, I can-”

You burst out, “Mom, this isn’t a courtroom; she’s not your witness to cross-examine!”

“I do feel like I’m being interrogated,” Maddie mumbled.

Your head snapped back to her. “So, you were fucking men and women whilst we were together – what were you doing with the money? Because you made out like you were a struggling college student, just like me. We budgeted together; we ate buttered noodles together; neither of us had treats or luxuries.”

Maddie’s fingers started wringing together. “Well, I paid my half of everything, but I put the rest in savings.”

Mel asked, “What about gifts from your clients? Clothes you would need for dates? Not many Sugars would tolerate $20 dresses and cheap shoes if they’re paying hundreds or thousands of dollars for your company.”

“I had a storage locker. I’d keep everything that I wouldn’t be able to explain, in there.”

“Were you even at school?” you asked, struggling to make sense of things. “How did you have the time to go to classes, study and do homework, be with me, and also go on dates? I never noticed anything off with you.”

“No, no, I was doing classes,” she clarified. “I graduated this summer, too.”

“Bully for you,” Mel snarked sarcastically.

“I just wasn’t doing any of the extracurricular things I said I was,” she admitted. “I-I wasn’t in art class, or archery, or study club. Those were the times I was on dates or doing photoshoots in the locker.”

“Shoots in your storage locker?” Mel asked incredulously. Her professional side was offended on the girl’s clients’ behalf, imagining the shoddy photos and crappy videos they must have paid for.

Maddie explained defensively, “I got a big one! And I made one end of it look like a bedroom! I had ring lights and everything!”

She rolled her eyes. “Wow, a true professional,” she snarked.

“Girls, once again, we are straying off topic,” Ambessa guided.

You nodded, bracing yourself to ask the question you weren’t sure you wanted an answer to. “What about Cait and Vi? How did it start with them?”

Maddie nodded back at you, equally preparing herself. “We met on an app. They messaged me, looking for a Baby to share.”

“When?”

“A few months after your diagnosis. They were just regular clients, to begin with. But they asked for exclusivity a couple of months after we met.”

Mel held in a comment. 

You scoffed a little, your eyes starting to tear up. “So, whilst I was literally fighting for my life, you were just swanning off on dates with Cait and Vi? Getting pampered and spoiled, whilst I was curled up on the bathroom floor, puking my guts up all day from treatment, shivering from pain, my veins burning from chemo? I thought you were going to classes, to get your degree so we could have a life together!”

“I was still going to classes! I just… I was also going on dates.”

You dabbed away your tears, desperately not wanting her to see you cry.

“It wasn’t emotional, Y/N; it was a job. It wasn’t like I was in love with them.”

You snapped, “No, you just liked Cait more and tried to drive a wedge between her and Vi.”

All three of them looked at you with wide eyes, shocked by your accusation.

Maddie flinched back from you. “What? How-?”

“They told me, Maddie. Their last Baby – you – started to like Cait more, and stopped wanting to spend time with Vi. Is that why it ended?”

She shifted uncomfortably. “Um, yeah,” she relented. “Yes, that was how it ended. They said I wasn’t the right fit for them.”

“Well, you’re a Top too, so…”

You trailed off, then gasped.

“Oh, gods, what now?” Mel asked rhetorically.

“You’re the reason Cait doesn’t like to be strapped!”

Mel groaned aloud; even Ambessa shifted minutely.

Maddie blinked. “You’ve tried strapping? I thought you were a bottom?”

“I am! But I was drunk once and asked if I could try, and Cait was really cagey about it. It’s because of you, isn’t it?”

She shrugged awkwardly. “I wanted to Top from time to time.”

Ambessa called, “Ladies, once again, off topic.”

You shook your head. “Do you have any idea how much you hurt them both? Especially Vi. The first time I asked her on a solo date, it was like she couldn’t believe I would want to spend one-on-one time with her!”

The redhead didn’t say anything for a few seconds. She blinked at you, her brow furrowing. “You’re in love with them,” she accused.

“We’re together,” you snapped back defensively.

“They’re probably planning a wedding and babies by now,” Mel joked humourlessly. Then she saw your face “Fuck. You are, aren’t you?”

“So what if we are?” you barked.

Mel raised her brows at your tone. “Calm down, Y/N. Just let me know the theme and colours – I’m still going to be your Maid of Honour. But wait a bit before getting pregnant; I’m not ready for Auntie duties yet.”

Ambessa rolled her eyes. “Girls…”

You turned back to Maddie. “Did you break up with me for them? Or was it just the fact that I was dying of cancer?”

She flinched, shifting between her feet. “They were easy.”

You blinked. “Easy?”

She nodded. “It was simple with them. There were no… Complications.”

There was a tense moment. The air hung heavy between you all.

You winced. “And there were complications with me. I was complicated.”

“I didn’t want to look after you anymore!” Maddie admitted in a cry.

The whole room turned cold and angry; even Ambessa had to grip the edge of her desk harder.

“I was 21, Y/N! I wanted to live my life! I had parties to go to, and dates to be on, fun to have! And you were so sick, all the time.”

“I was dying!” you screamed. “I had a 50-50 chance, the whole time! For two years – two fucking years, I fought for my life! And it could come back any moment! For the rest of my life, I will forever have this hanging over me, like-like a Sword of Damocles! I’ll spend the rest of my life knowing it could come back and kill me, but sure, please go on about how my cancer was hard for you!”

“You were constantly throwing up,” she cringed. “And you had that… That thing in your chest-”

You balked. “My chemo port?”

“It was sticking out of you the whole time! It was gross, and weird, and I hated looking at it. You were constantly going to appointments, and needing help with stuff!”

You glared at her. “What, when I asked you to help me shower a handful of times, because I was too weak to stand from the fucking chemo I was on?”

“I-I couldn’t take it, Y/N! I couldn’t take it anymore!”

“So why didn’t you just tell me? Why didn’t you at least warn me you wanted to break up? You abandoned me the day I got home from major surgery! You acted like nothing was wrong, the whole time; then you packed your bags whilst I was in the hospital. You let me believe I was coming home to you, and you were going to look after me and help me get better! I had to move in with Mel for months afterwards because I was too weak to be on my own! And I had to move out of that apartment, too. You know the one: the one you illegally took your name off and left me shafted with, knowing I wouldn’t be able to pay the rent because I couldn’t fucking work and my disability allowance was absolutely dog-shit?”

You pointed to Ambessa. “She wanted to take you to court, you know?”

Maddie paled.

“The only reason you did not get sued into oblivion-”

“Or face up to six months in prison,” Ambessa added.

“-Was because I told her not to. Was because I couldn’t face a legal battle on top of everything else I was already fucking going through.”

Your eyes started to leak tears; you didn’t bother wiping them away this time.

“You…” You had to inhale slowly as your heart started to pound. “Do you have any idea how badly I struggled after you left? Do you care?”

“I-I always cared about you, Y/N-”

“Just not enough to not abandon me whilst I was dying,” you snapped.

In the end, you shook your head. “Is there anything else you want to say?”

Maddie floundered for a moment. “I…” She swallowed thickly. “I really am sorry, Y/N.”

Ambessa straightened up. “Then you can leave. The three of us have an appointment to get to.”

Buy me a coffee! 💜

Despite the late hour, the waiting room had been packed and any glance your way felt like something intrusive and prodding. You had been fully ready to wait the whole night before you could be seen but after your vitals had been taken and triaged, the doctor had pushed you to the front of the line and into the next available room.

So here you sit, the paper beneath you crinkling every time you squirm and try to find a far more comfortable position before giving in entirely and leaning over to your side. You support yourself with your elbow and try to ignore the prodding pain in your backside.

"Good evening, I'm Dr. Abbot, what seems to be the problem?"

Your stomach drops; just your luck that the doctor assigned to help you fish out your newest toy is panty-dropping handsome. A silver fox through and through, he looks downright delectable with those large freckled arms that seem to be bursting through those black scrubs. If it had been any other day, you might've turned on the charm, flirt your way to a dinner date or more.

But it's 1:37 AM, you have a fuzzy, bunnytail plug stuck inside you and you're desperate to just get home without your asshole gaping.

"Um." You glance at the iPad in his hand, hoping that whoever saw you first recorded it in your chart so you wouldn't have to repeat yourself. But the handsome doctor is waiting patiently. "I have something… stuck inside me."

"Ah. I'll see what I can do. Roll over for me, sweetheart."

The night shift always brings on the weirdest cases that after all his years of working, nothing could phase him at this point. Seeing you, looking so uncomfortable and startled on the exam table, ranks so low on said weird cases that he misses the note Crus had left on your chart and went right in on the usual greeting.

"… what seems to be the problem—?"

Butt plug lodged in anus, patient reports mild pain and heavy discomfort.

Jack rereads the sentence a few times before he looks up at you. Pretty albeit shy, your cheeks flushed and your gaze seemingly land anywhere but him. When you listen and roll over onto your stomach, he swallows the instinctive 'good girl' that threatens to spill from his lips.

He tugs on a fresh pair of gloves, strengthening his spine and fortifying the usual mask of professionalism he wears. You're laid out on your stomach now, the blankets of the exam table tugged down to right below your ass. Before he could ask you to lift your hips, you do so on your own, knees spread apart.

Face down, ass up.

He swallows thickly as he gently nudges the seam of the hospital gown apart at your spine. What greets him has heat boiling in his gut: a fuzzy pink, bunny cottontail buttplug nestled right in between your asscheeks.

"Alright, I'm gonna touch you back here, see how deep it's in there before we try extraction," he murmurs. You whimper when he gives an experimental but gentle tug. "Is there any stinging sensation?"

"Nuh-uh," you mumble into the pillow.

Jack swallows again as the cottontail plug gives beneath his grip, his other hand pushing your left asscheek aside. "Let me know if I pull too hard, alright?"

You nod and he sees the way your moves against the pillow.

"Words, please."

Your thighs clench as you fight off the simmering heat that your frustratingly hot doctor starts with those two simple words. "Yes, I will." An honorific sits behind your teeth (daddy? sir? whichever, it seems to fit him regardless of what you use) but you swallow it down.

Meanwhile, Jack tries to ignore the tell-tale sheen between your thighs, keeps his gloved hands where they need to be. His mind races through horrific, bloody accidents of the week prior to keep his other head from wandering. "Good," he mutters.

Silence falls between you two as Jack gently adds medical-grade lubricant, apologizing at the cool temperature of it against your heated skin. After a few rotations of the plug, you clamp your teeth around the hospital gown to stifle any wayward moans.

"Mm—" You whimper anyways and Jack stills. "I'm okay—! Just, uh— is it almost out?"

Jack clears his throat; he's grateful you can't see him or the creeping blush up his neck. "Almost. I gotta take it slow to avoid any possible injuries."

The thought makes you lightheaded but you ground yourself back into reality before your mind can start jumping to worst case scenarios. "That makes sense."

He twists the plug and a flare of arousal blooms in your core, more pleasure than pain now. "So," he clears his throat again, an attempt at normalcy. "What do you do for work?" He mentally pats himself on the back at the inane question, hoping it'll be enough to distract you as he attempts at another tug.

You squeak anyways as your ring of muscles expand at the widest part of the plug. Jack adds more lubricant. "This," you manage to say.

Jack's dick gives a willfull throb but he forces it down with the degloving case from the night before. "O-Oh?"

"I… stream? I'm an adult streamer, oh fuck—!"

Your ass is gaping slightly as Jack inadvertently tugs the whole plug out with little warning, an involuntary reaction from your reveal. "Shit— sorry, sweetheart. Don't move—"

The silicone toy hits the metal tray beside you in a dull thud, the fluffy end of it peeking above the lip of the tray, while you feel his gloved digits gently probe around the ring. "Just making sure there aren't any abrasions, any cuts or irritation before we finish up here." He sees your head nod against the pillows so he continues on with his examination.

Your ass is firm beneath his touch. Pilates, maybe. Or strength training. His jaw clenches as he forces his mind to the present again, resumes the exam before carefully covering you up with the hospital gown again. "You're all good, sweetheart, you can turn onto your back now."

A part of him feels a sick sense of satisfaction at the way you squirm from the easy use of petnames. He's always been a natural flirt, that roguish charm that calms patients enough for him to diagnose, but it's a touch more fun when it works on someone as pretty as you.

"Thank you, Dr. Abbot."

But the gentle cadence of your voice cuts through him and shame trickles in like molasses. When did he turn out to be such a perv? Maybe the night shift is getting to him. He clears his throat, assuming his professional stance, but your smile turns wicked and there's something mischievous in your gaze that he can't quite place.

"Really, I can't thank you enough," you say as you carefully roll over to settle in an upright position. "But, um… is it possible if I can keep the toy?"

He lets out a little laugh and nods. With his hands still gloved, he retrieves a plastic bag from one of the cabinets and places the toy in before handing it to you. "'course you can. Just make sure you prep yourself better next time."

Jack nearly winces at the crass statement but you reward him with a bemused giggle. "Don't worry, I learned my lesson. It's a good thing I'm testing it out first before a stream. It'd be so embarrassing if I got it stuck inside me while I was live," you share and he tries not to look too eager as you share more about your unorthodox occupation.

"Do you… do that often?" The question falls flat and he makes up for it with an embarrassed chuckle, discarding his gloves in the nearby waste basket. "Jesus, tell me if I'm overstepping here."

You laugh again and Jack's positive he isn't as funny as you make him to be but he'd gladly make a fool of himself if he got to hear that sound again. "You're fine. Trust me, I've heard worse."

"What if I want to be the best you've heard?"

Your brow rises up in mild surprise. "Was that a line, Dr. Abbot?"

"Maybe."

"It's not very good."

"It's also 2 AM, sweetheart."

You cross your arms, tilt yout head to the side and it feels like he's being taken apart. "Do you make it a habit to flirt with your patients?"

"Just the pretty ones— oh, yikes. Yeah, that one was bad," he concedes with a light laugh. "I may be a flirt, but you're trouble. Now… think you can behave while I go grab your discharge papers?"

Your smile is saccharine sweet. "Of course."

He chuckles and shakes his head, nudging the door open with his hip before he exits. The rest of the evening goes by routinely: you sign off on a few papers before changing back into your clothes. Dr. Abbot is nowhere to be seen until you're walking towards the exit, your gait a tad bit crooked, and he's leaning against the counter by the nurses' station.

"Thanks again, doctor."

The wink you give him nearly stops his heart, your easy demeanor returning now that you aren't battling the embarrassment of having a butt plug stuck inside you. When the door shuts behind you and the chaos of the emergency department resumes around him, Crus Henderson cackles behind his chart.

"What?" Jack frowns.

The smile Henderson gives him is downright sinister. "You're not slick, old man."

"It's fine." Shen materializes beside him with an obnoxiously loud slurp of his perpetually full iced coffee. "Technically, she isn't your patient anymore. And Crus and I won't tell."

"There's nothing to tell—!"

The two share knowing grins before walking off. "Sure, Abbot. Sure. Wait 'til you're off to look her up though."

Jack splutters. "I'm not going to look her up—"

In the quiet of his bedroom, Jack looks you up.

The sun's already filtering through his window blinds and it feels like some social transgression to be searching up porn during the day. But he's showered and clean with his prosthetic off, tucked under his covers and leaned against his headboard. The cursor's blinking up at him, taunting him. He doesn't even know where to begin but he's got your full name, wonders if it's enough to even catch a trace of you on social media.

He types your name in anyway on instagram and his breath leaves him in a rush when your profile sits at the top of the search results. Your profile pic is innocent enough, smiling brightly, but upon further inspection, your shoulders and collarbone is exposed right where the photo is cut off; an implication that you've got nothing on below the edge of your profile. Once he manages to tear his gaze away, his eyes snag onto the amount of followers you have. Four million. An impressed whistle escapes him as he starts to scroll.

Your photos are still pretty tame, nothing more risque than a bikini shot of you at the beach. To anyone that isn't regularly watching adult streamers, you look like any other influencer of the modern age. Wholesome photos of you are attached as well, displaying your interests and hobbies that has Jack falling deeper and deeper into your orbit.

It's nearly noon when he realized he may have spent the previous hours just looking up your social media sites. One thing that did stick out like a sore thumb (aside from your jaw-dropping photos) had been the lack of use of your real name. He understands the reasoning, knows its for safety especially with the kind of career you're in, but the affectionate nickname you use for yourself and what your subscribers use has a lick of jealousy flaring in his chest.

Dollface. Doll. Dolly.

He scrolls back up before the little monster in his chest grows and a nondescript url catches his eye, the hyperlink sitting pretty beneath your bio. Before he could secondguess himself, he taps it and his phone brings him out of instagram and into his browser app where your website loads on his screen.

While Jack isn't some tech-savvy genius, he's confident enough to say that your page must've been done by a professional. Summer pastels greet him, a variation of your profile pic on instagram (more skin, more sultry—) sitting on the top left of the screen with 'DOLL'S CORNER' splashed on the top of the page and a drop down menu that he decides to explore later.

It's arranged like some sort of blog, your most recent status marked as eight hours ago where you're complaining about some ache. He bites back a smirk before he scrolls down your older posts. There's many videos, ranging from 'get ready with me!'s and 'shopping hauls' with pretty thumbnails, but the one that steals his attention are the ones that are grayed out — almost pixelated with a pink heart-lock graphic in the center.

[ UPGRADE YOUR TIER LEVEL TO ACCESS THIS VIDEO! ♡ ]

His thumb hovers over the lock-graphic before he gives in.

The screen loads and he's taken to a new page, marked by different tiers and different price points.

BESTIES — free! access includes: - get ready with me - weekly vlogs - shopping hauls SWEETHEARTS — weekly subscription. ($) - everything besties has to offer! - short-form lewd content - locked photos from the vault - audios LOVERS — monthly subscription. ($$$) - everything sweethearts and besties has to offer! - midnight live-streams - personalized short-form videos - personalized audios

Jack blinks twice. He continues to scroll before he catches a three-day free trial for all the paid tiers. He bypasses it and taps a single month purchase for access to the LOVERS' vault (after creating a profile and naming it simply with his initials). His dick stirs in his pajamas as the screen loads before it confirms his payment.

All the grayed-out videos are unlocked but rather than an aesthetic thumbnail with pretty collages like your free content, they're blurred out images of you within the video — enough to imply exactly what's going on in each one.

He scrolls on to see another video of you trying on outfits, specifically lingerie. Figuring this is as close as it'll get to dipping his toes in the metaphorical pond of your NSFW content for now, he hits play.

The video starts off with your pretty face adjusting the camera before you settle back on a white rug, surrounded by opened boxes. You greet the camera and it feels like a blow to the gut to see you in your element. If he thought you were pretty in the emergency room, under the garish lighting of the bright fluorescents, you're a goddamn bombshell with perfect makeup and flattering lighting.

As you address the camera, he begins to wonder how exactly you could be an adult streamer when you have content like this until you bring out the haul for the video. White ivory boxes detailed with cream ribbons, baby pink boxes wrapped nicely with ebony lace and tulle. He catches a name on one of the boxes: La Perla.

Jack shifts in his seat, bats away the creeping guilt of watching a young woman try on lingerie, but the charge was confirmed on his card already; it's too late for regret.

(He fears there isn't any regret in the first place.)

Fortunately for his heart (or unfortunately for his twitching cock), you had edited the videos to cut through the actual process of changing into them and rather just show off the full sets.

You didn't seem to have a preference for color, each piece ranging from a monochromatic black to butter yellow lace. Either way, you look gorgeous in all of them and Jack isn't ashamed to admit he's about to blow in his boxers, untouched, at just the sight of you in lingerie.

When the video ends, he replays it but makes it a point to keep his hands out of his pants for now. Instead, he drops a like and a simple comment:

@.swatdoc. — You're magnificent.

Confident in the anonymity of his profile, he puts his phone away to finally catch up on sleep.

Across the city, your phone buzzes with a new notification as you have breakfast on your island counter. Despite the waves of engagement you get on your content, you still keep the notifications on and the newest one brings forth a flutter in your stomach. Compliments are a nickel apiece when it comes to your career but the simplicity of this one and the lack of crudeness that follows steals your attention.

You take a bite of your food as you tap the notif, bringing on the new account profile. While most are kept blank, this man has a profile pic of his back facing a gorgeous sunset. Despite the fact his face is unseen, you recognize those salt and pepper curls.

In the following days, Jack begins to make it a habit to check on your daily statuses. You don't post daily on instagram but you post stories and he enjoys your little activities, likes how everyone seems to be so kind to you. It makes him wonder if your followers are aware of your evening activities, of your content tucked safely away behind a paywall.

Even in the comments section in both the SFW and NSFW side of your content, he realizes you've amassed a loyal following comprised of women that it nearly hides the lewd and desperate remarks from your male subscribers.

@deathreverse : that top is gorggggg!!! ♡

@pearlessance : your makeup is stunning, drop a routine next babes!!

@enam3l: absolutely obsessed w you!! ♡

@mariasont: that shade of pink suits you BEAUTIFULLY

In your last NSFW video, it's you in bed, a thin blanket draped loosely along your frame. There isn't an intro like your lingerie haul, just getting right into it as if the viewer catches you in the middle of the act: your hand sliding beneath the fabric, the camera shaking slightly as you rearrange your position to lay back against the mountain of pillows.

Jack's mimicking the position on his day off, his own back cushioned against his headboard as he watches in rapt attention. His readers are sliding off his nose but he adjusts them as he hits the volume increase button twice. He wants to hear you, addicted to the way you sound so sweet whimpering around your fingers.

Obsessed with the way your moans can sound so goddamn endearing.

He doesn't let the video play on, his hand still sitting obediently above the waist band of his sweatpants as he tries to catch his breath. He scrolls onward instead, stops at a tamer video of you shopping at a boutique.

@.swatdoc. — Gorgeous as always, bunny.

The cursor blinks as he secondguesses the petname. No one's called you anything other than 'doll' or 'dolly' or some iteration of baby or babe. Bunny's innocuous enough, Jack decides, and taps 'comment'. It'll be an inside joke for himself, for the evening you may as well tipped his world upside down when you'd come into the pitt for a stuck bunny buttplug. You get thousands of comments a day, the likelihood of you recognizing him is abysmally low.

The little pep talk he gives himself soothe the minor anxiety spike as he continues to scroll on, amusing himself with the way your bright personality seems to shine through even with the nasty videos that has his cock twitching to life.

He distracts himself with the comments section instead of exiting the video.

@.deathreverse — jesuuus christ, ur so fucking hot

@.deathreverse — let me rip that gorgeous top off you plsplspls

@.pearlessance — let me make your moans my ringtone and i'll never miss a call

The women commenting are far more entertaining to read through, the creativity of it all always taking him aback, despite the usual stab of jealousy. At this point, his parasocial streak of possessiveness is something he's learned to ignore, to let sit beneath a layer of faux indifference.

He's just a fan now among millions, he'll bask in the anonymity your popularity affords him.

You might be obsessed with your most latest subscriber. A Mr. Swatdoc with the silver curls.

Realistically, it may be the hot doctor that had seen you through the most mortifying ordeal of taking out a buttplug at two in the morning but the profile pic doesn't give you much and his profile is blank aside from his chosen screen name (swatdoc) and his age (48).

Regardless, your heart does a funny little twist whenever he appears in your notifications (only on your SFW posts, interestingly enough) whether it's a like or an extra tip but your stomach drops when his newest comment adds a new petname.

Bunny.

You sit up in bed when the notification comes through. Gorgeous as always, bunny. The fucking bunny, cotton-tail buttplug. The same one that Dr. Abbot had all but talked you through it as he gently removed it from your asshole. You glance up to see the damned toy sitting on your dresser right across from your bed, mocking you.

The bed dips beneath as you shift your weight, rolling around in bed as you reread that goddamn nickname over and over again. Bunny.

As your eyes bore into your screen, your phone buzzes.

[@.swatdoc liked your vlog!]

[@.swatdoc commented: Can't get enough of you, bunny.]

A sudden wave of confidence (or perhaps impulsiveness) washes through you and you tap his comment. And in quick succession, you like his comment and tap on his profile. Then his inbox. And finally:

doll : doctor abbot???

Jack drops his phone like it burned him. He sits up, nearly kicks off his blankets in his chaos as his heart falls right out of his ass. He didn't even know there was a messaging system on your website but there it is, that red notification bubble on the top right. He taps it and there's the chatbox.

He contemplates on lying, on playing dumb but he respects you far too much to lie to you. A heavy sigh escapes him as he resettles back into his bed and his cock sheepishly sits limp against his inner thigh.

swatdoc : How did you know it was me?

doll : i'd recognize those silver curls anywhere ♡

Huh. The little heart emoticon blinks up at him, maybe even glows. His cock gives a hopeful twitch.

swatdoc : Let me get this right. You aren't weirded out by me finding your website?

doll : you pulled my buttplug out of my ass, doctor. i think we're even.

swatdoc : Sounds fair.

doll : i do want to ask, strictly as a survey yknow, just to make sure i'm reaching subscriber satisfaction expectations. but is my nsfw stuff not hot enough?

swatdoc : I don't know how to answer that.

doll : you aren't liking any of my nsfw videos…….. am i not your type?

He can imagine it, that wry little grin when you tease the camera, makes him want to fuck it out of you—

swatdoc : Just trying to be respectful. Or as respectful as I can be given the circumstances, sweetheart.

doll : i think you're super respectful, i see the tips you've been leaving….. thank you btw ♡

swatdoc : You're welcome, bunny. doll liked your message!

The activity light near your name goes off and he figures you might've logged off. His thumb drags up the screen to exit the page, sets his phone down and attempt at sleeping. But in the midst of his dark bedroom, there's a stirring in his gut that he can't seem to shake. An itch he needs scratching.

Time fluctuates, slips through his fingers as he finds himself on a popular porn website, the light of his phone illuminating his hazel eyes. He scrolls and scrolls past countless videos, the thumbnails made to entice anyone in his position, and yet frustration starts to grow larger than the lust that's been simmering beneath his heated skin.

None of the actresses look like you.

The thought floors him and he pauses when he finds a woman with a similar body type as you, wears her hair the same way you do. Her moans are a bit too pitchy but he punches the volume down and when his hand slides beneath his sweatpants, he doesn't feel guilt. And when he cums, it's your name spilling from his lips.

"You seeing anyone?"

Jack doesn't look up from the iPad as Robby settles in beside him, ready to take over for day shift as night shift starts to filter out. "What are you talking about?"

"Y'know. Dating? Getting out there? 'cuz Peaches has someone—"

"Not interested, brother, but I thank you for your service." Jack smiles but it's forced, halfway towards a grimace, and places the iPad down with a little too much force. He stomps off to the locker room. Robby and Dana watch his retreating back before they share a look.

"What's his problem?" Dana mutters, her glasses sitting low on the slope of her nose.

Robby chuckles and shakes his head. "No idea."

The truth is— Jack does have a problem. That problem is you.

He thought he'd been good, kept his hands to himself when he gets to his usual routine of stalking your website, and lets his fantasies run wild when he switches over to another porn site to find an actress that looks like you.

But then you had kept texting him, messaging him on your website that the line he's drawn between staying respectful and admiring you from afar against his baseless desire of wanting to fuck you 'til you cry is starting to blur. Of course you have no idea of this line, no clue of the existence of the boundaries Jack's made for himself.

You have no idea that Jack wants more than a physical interaction with you and he has no idea how to ask you out without coming off like a complete pervert.

doll: dr abbot?? swatdoc: You know you can call me Jack, sweetheart. doll: take me out first then i'll feel comfortable enough to call you whatever you want.

Jack nearly shortcircuits at your reply and he fights the urge to hide his phone, shove it in his pocket to deal with later. It'd just look too suspicious and with Shen's eyes on him, he knows he'd blab straight to Lena who'd definitely gossip with Dana. While Dana's known to keep a secret, anything involving him and a potential partner is a surefire way for her to tell Robby.

swatdoc: You mean it, bunny? doll: spending time with you? of course ♡

Jack chuckles and swipes his palm across his stubbly mouth, absolutely incredulous at your gumption.

swatdoc: I meant a date. Not just one night. This old man isn't built for casual. doll: okay old man. take me out to dinner then ♡ it'd give me a chance to redo the first impression you have of me swatdoc: I think it was a perfect first impression, bunny. doll: you saw my ass, of course you thought so!!! swatdoc: I was actually enamored by your charming personality. Your ass was a bonus. doll: … flirt. you're smooth dr abbot. doll: so when's our date? swatdoc: My next day off is in a couple days. How's saturday night looking for you? doll: i'm free !!! gonna come pick me up? swatdoc: If you're comfortable with it, I'd love to. So, saturday at 7? doll: i trust you ♡ and yes, i'll see you then.

He gets a text from you the following day (you'd admitted filching his number from the profile he's made on your website) and after a brief facetime call to prove your identity, he receives your address with a playful tag of: don't be late, dr. abbot.

Saturday's only a couple days away and yet he's fidgeting. He's got a night shift to get his mind off things but even Lena can see he's distracted. While he managed to wave away his colleagues' concerns, he wonders if he's the only one this anxious or nervous for the date.

[ Doll updated her status! ] — 2 secs ago. — Butterflies. ♡

A wave of notifications flood your phone despite the simple status update but you couldn't care less— not when you've got every possible combination of a date outfit laid out on your bed and nothing looks good. You have time, of course, there's nothing stopping you from going out shopping but the extra options might just exacerbate your indecision.

A pitiful whine escapes you as the paralysis of all your options land you flat on your back atop your mattress, clothing wrinkles be damned.

Whether or not the both of you are ready, Saturday evening arrives quickly.

The only information Jack had given you about the date aside from taking you out for a nice, classic dinner was to 'look nice'. As charming and handsome as he is, you resent the fact that he's like every other man his age: allergic to details. Somehow you manage to put on something simple but flattering, a black cocktail dress with a hemline that skims above your knee and a sweetheart neckline that teases your cleavage along with a bold, red pair of stilettos. Pairing it with a matching clutch, you deem yourself ready after a final swipe of lip gloss across your pouty lips.

"Here we go…" you murmur to yourself. Just as you dab at your lower lip with the pad of your ring finger, your doorbell rings. Seven on the dot.

Your heels click against the floor as you open your door to be greeted with Jack in slacks and a navy blue button down… as well as a bouquet of your favorite flowers. You gasp first, greetings momentarily forgotten in favor of taking the offered bouquet for a sweet sniff. Jack's compliments die on his tongue when he truly sees you, nose buried in the petals.

"How'd you know these were my favorite?" You ask as you step back, head tipping to wordlessly invite him in as you seek out a vase.

"I watched your vlogs," he shrugs with a shameless little smile. "I picked up a few details."

Maybe he shouldn't be as stunned as he is now — he's seen you in various states of dressed and undressed at this point — but you've truly left him speechless when you had opened the door, wearing that little black dress that hugs your body perfectly.

He's grateful that you notice the flowers first, cooing and gasping at the curated arrangement rather than noticing his thunderstruck stupor. It gives him a moment to clear his throat, admire the way you smile at the bouquet.

"You look divine," he murmurs as he follows you inside, watches you putter around your open space kitchen to place the flowers in water. And maybe it's his ego that's got him this taken by you; knowing that perhaps only he alone gets to see this side of you, bashful and charming. When you blush at his compliment, he feels like the king of the world.

"You don't look so bad yourself," you tease with a playful wink, taking his offered hand as he leads you out the door.

Jack's a gentleman when he helps you into his car, glancing aside momentarily when your dress rides up upon seating. He's a gentleman when you make it to the fine-dining restaurant ("Heard the new executive chef just received two Michelin stars!" you share excitedly), opening doors for you and keeping a respecful hand at the small of your back. He pulls your chair out for you, too. Perhaps the bar is in hell but you're undoubtedly impressed and giddy, basking in his undivided attention as you wear your heart on your sleeve for the rest of the evening.

"… and they all looked at it like it was something alien. It was a fax machine—!" Jack laughs, regaling you with the infamous July 4 analog nightmare from hell at the pitt. Dessert is lain between you two, half-eaten and momentarily forgotten as the two of you had been lost in conversation. He'd been worried that he might gross you out or bore you with his job as an ER physician but you had asked and prodded for more gory details, nose scrunching adorably when he explained what a degloving was.

"Okay, fax machines are basically obsolete," you counter with a giggle, lips parting as he feeds you a bite of cake. He waits patiently for you to chew before you continue on. "No one uses them anymore!"

Jack shakes his head in mock disappointment before you return the favor and feed him a bite from your own fork. "Sweetheart, these are vital skills!" Something warm flutters in his chest when you reach up to absentmindedly wipe away a bit of frosting from the corner of his lips, your painted nail skimming across his skin with the movement.

"How about this, I'll call you on the off chance I'll ever need to use a fax machine," you say dryly. A chuckle escapes Jack, low and grumbly that it has your thighs clenching together beneath the table.

"Sure. Or call me whenever, I'll always answer."

The ease of his flirting never fails to make you flustered and Jack capitalizes on it whenever he gets the chance. Like clockwork, you giggle and glance aside, a pretty blush on your cheeks as you look anywhere but his eyes. It's a wonderful side of you that he's steadily growing obsessed with. Yes, your online persona in your SFW space is charming and enchanting while you're essentially a succubus — sex incarnate — when the sun drops low.

But this is you, unabashedly you, and Jack can't get enough of it. He wants more than what you probably expect from him, a warm body to occupy his bed (judging from the stories you've shared about past experiences), and he's ready to go above and beyond to prove to you that he's willing to do whatever it takes so that he could call all of you his.

"Hey, how are we doing? Dessert's good?" The head-of-house manager of the restaurant cuts in seamlessly; he seems to have a good sense of when to enter a conversation.

You smile brightly and Jack nods. "It's delicious, thank you. Every dish has been fantastic," you gush.

"Wonderful, that's what I like to hear," the manager crows before he straightens out his tie. "You two are a beautiful couple. Are we celebrating an anniversary?"

Now it's Jack's turn to get bashful. "Uh, no, a first date, actually."

The manager looks taken aback but he bounces back with a low chuckle, two hands on his chest in subtle apology. "If it helps, the chemistry you two have is undeniable. Truly. But anyways, I came by to ask if you two would like to join us in the garden party out back or maybe a nice little kitchen tour?"

Your eyes shimmer with excitement and Jack gives a yes, offering his hand for you to take. The manager smiles and claps once. "Perfect, let me take you to where the magic happens."

After meeting the famed head chefs and even sampling a few of the desserts at the pastry station, you're positively glowing as the two of you step out to where a small get together of other guests mingle by picnic tables. A few guys that may be the line cooks are handing out beer and soda, giving off a more relaxed vibe than the one inside. It's pleasant and when you feel a chill, Jack's draping his jacket along your shoulders without a word.

"Thanks," you hum, eyes fluttering as you take in his warm and musky cologne that seeps in from the collar. He chuckles and places a hand on the bottom of your spine.

"Of course," he murmurs then tips his head to wear the drinks are being passed around. "Did you want any—?"

"No, I think I'm stuffed. Did you…?"

Jack shakes his head and the nerves from before the date nearly come back in full force. You aren't naive, you know what kind of expectations your job gives people whenever you go on dates. While Jack's been a gentleman the entire evening, you can't deny the fact that him being a subscriber to your NSFW content does skew the way he must see you.

The drive back to your place is quiet and calm, your hand folded delicately in his as he drives. He walks you to your door but much to your surprise, he doesn't step past the threshold.

"I had an amazing time," he says first, his lined eyes crinkling as he gives you a warm smile. "I'd really like to see you again."

You nod, leaning against your doorway as you realize his hand has found yours again. Your joined fingers sway slightly. "Me too. I… I really liked tonight."

He smiles wider as if you've erased any doubts he's had. "Good. I'll, um. I'll let you get some rest. I'll call you when I get my next day off, alright?"

"Yeah, sounds good."

"Great." And with a smooth and unhurried motion, he leans in for a kiss to your cheek, chaste and sweet. "By the way, I want you to know I'm all in. I'm not trying to waste your time or make you think I'm here for the physical aspect. I like you, sweetheart. Truly."

And with a final pinch of your chin, he steps away and bids you good night before walking off. Later that night, you realize you haven't stopped smiling until you climb into bed, alone but completely content.

When morning comes, Jack sends you a good morning text before he cleans up around the house, settle in before his shift later that evening. He doesn't check his phone 'til noon and when he does, he sees a text back from you and a notification from your website.

[Doll just posted a video!] — 3 hours ago.

His stomach drops. While he truly has no issue with you continuing your camgirl career, something twists inside him at the thought of you getting off the night before without him. Is it that feeling of missing out or is it the fact that he hadn't been there to fulfill that need of yours?

Regardless, his heart is pounding when he taps the notification. The video loads and a breath of relief leaves him in a rush.

[New video!] Get un-ready with me! — Skincare Routine.

He chuckles and leans against the kitchen counter, turns his phone sideways to see you fill his screen in the same dress from the night before. You must be in your bathroom, he notes, as you relay your steps carefully to your audience.

"I know everyone will be asking but I just came back from a wonderful dinner. Food was absolutely divine, I'm already considering going back soon. But…" A bashful smile curls onto your lips and Jack's beaming. "The company was even better. Anyways— moving onto the foam cleanser…"

Your routine ends after you apply your serums and creams, signing off on the camera. The comments section pop up immediately.

@.mariasont — your skin looks so good but you look GLOWINGGG

@.pearlessance — were you on a date?? that dress is fantastic!!

Jack chuckles when he sees that you've dropped a like on that commenter about a date but nothing more. Fan the rumors without confirming anything, looks like you're a tease in more ways than one.

Unable to help himself, he scrolls down his contacts and taps yours. The phone rings once, twice, then—

"Jack?"

"Hey, sweetheart. Is this a bad time?"

You sound a tad bit out of breath but you reassure him nonetheless. "No, no, you're fine. What's up?"

"Well, I—" He interrupts himself with a shy laugh. "I don't know if it's too soon but I'd like to take you out again. My next day off is next week on Friday."

"Oh!" You sound positively pleased and Jack can picture you biting your lower lip to hide that smile he's obsessed with. "Yeah, I can make that happen. Are we doing dinner?"

"No, I was thinking of visiting the aquarium this time around."

"The aquarium…"

He bites back a grin, can picture the excitement simmering beneath the slight trepidation of your words. "That's right. Unless there's something else—"

"No, it's perfect!" You cut in with a little giggle. "Jack, did you watch all my vlogs?"

"Of course I did. And it truly can't be that much of a hardship to learn how much you love the place when you've got vlogs of you there nearly every month," he teases. "But if it's something you like to do on your own—"

"No, no, it's fine, Jack, I'd love to." He can hear the way your voice softens. "I can't wait."

"Alright, it's a date. I'll see you next Friday, sweetheart."

Friday doesn't come fast enough this time around. You've got an outfit bought and ready to go, a simple skirt with a blouse that you might've picked to match his eyes. Jack's on time yet again, two PM on the dot, and while he still keeps his hands to himself, he basks in the way your hand constantly seeks out the crook of his elbow.

You regale him with fish facts throughout each wing of the aquarium and he watches with besotted eyes when you basically glow at the sight of the jellyfish. Conversation ebbs and flows and he's pressing soft kisses into your hair like he can't quite help himself.

By the time you've both made it back to his car, he helps you in while placing the massive jellyfish plushy he bought you at the gift shop onto your lap. It's silly and absolutely wholesome.

It's made you undeniably horny for him.

You appreciate it though, you see how he's gone above and beyond to show you that he wants a relationship out of this. He doesn't expect you to be 'easier' because of your job as a camgirl nor does he think he's entitled to anything more than a kiss on the cheek because of what you show online.

And it's making you want him so bad that you feel like the pervert in this situation.

At your doorway, he's got a hand on your waist this time and your arms are draped loosely around his neck while still holding onto the jellyfish plush that's dangling behind his back.

"Today was lots of fun," you say first, nearly chest to chest with him. He nods, feeling the way you shiver when his thumb rubs circles against your hip bones. Above the fabric of your shirt.

"It was," he agrees as he basks in the sweet scent of your perfume. This close, you're practically intoxicating. "I enjoyed the little fish facts too, didn't know my date was a lovely encyclopedia—"

Your eyes roll playfully at the teasing jab, exaggerating your movements as you unwind your arms to step out of his embrace. "If you hate me, just say so—"

"Now hold on, I never said it was a bad thing," he chuckles and you let out a quiet squeal when his grip tightens, pulling you back into his arms. "Thought it was cute."

"Sure you do," you tease back and you realize he's pulled you even closer now. His voice is a rumble, low and gravelly as the distance between your lips is beginning to diminish.

"I do." He murmurs, his nose brushing against yours. "This okay?"

You nod, throat bobbing. "More than okay," you whisper.

His gaze drops from your eyes, back to your lips, before they close the distance. Your heart thunders in your chest as your arms tighten around his neck to pull him lower. He goes easily, smiling against your lips. He doesn't deepen it, though, just steals a handful of more feather-light kisses that elicits a string of giggles from you, your foot popping up and your back bending slightly backwards as he dips you and showers you in affection.

Eventually, he reluctantly pulls away but not without giving you one more kiss. "Have a good rest of your evening, sweetheart," he murmurs. "Make sure you lock the door behind you, yeah?"

You nod, sighing dramatically as you lean against the back of your door as he steps out to the hallway. "I will. Can I see you again soon, Jack?"

His poor little heart thunders wildly at your adorable expression, half-pleading and half-fond. "Of course, princess. Maybe we can do something like this again, maybe a museum or that fair?"

You perk up with a nod. "That sounds like fun."

"Good. I'll see you soon, darling."

You sigh dreamily and blow him a kiss before shutting the door. You lean against the paneling and groan into your hands.

In the silence of your apartment, you wail— "Why won't he fuck me?!"

The time between your last date to the aquarium to your next one at the museum, you and Jack continue to text. Whether it's you giving him advice for a dish he's making or asking his opinion on which top would look well for a brunch you're attending with your girlfriends, the conversations never slow nor do they ever bore.

And in between those texts, Jack is happily gorging himself on your content while only getting off on actresses that hold resemblance to you. It's twisted and he knows it's wrong but he pictures your face in the shower sometimes, thinks of the way your teeth sink in your plush lower lip as his hand tugs at his cock.

You, however, hold no qualms as you drive the dildo deep in your cunt on late evenings, whimpering for the camera you've got set up. You always make it a habit to just plead, whine and beg more than you might naturally would with a partner, but when Jack's on your mind, you have nothing to exaggerate; you just get way more vocal as you think of his strong hands on your waist. The way he had commanded that kiss without being overbearing.

That kiss alone had wrung out three orgasms from you without the camera on.

Maybe it should've been enough to tide you over but as you start your usual midnight livestream the evening before your next date with Jack, a new title spills past your lips in the throes of your first climax. It shouldn't be a surprise at how easily the name comes to you, especially with how natural it seemed for Jack to take care of you—

"'m cumming, daddy—!"

The pings on your laptop nearby that you use for monitoring the chats go wild, the bell ringing that signified the amount of tips that just flooded your inbox from the title alone. You slump over as you catch your breath from where you've been riding your suction dildo, whining softly to yourself as the toy slides out of you. Your inner thighs are quivering as you lift your gaze to the laptop screen.

"Thanks for stopping by," you croon to the camera before shutting off the stream.

Across the city, Jack palms at his bulge, mouth slightly agape as he tries not to cum in his sweatpants like a teenager. "Fuck."

"I didn't really take you to be a museum kind of guy."

"I'm not. Not really… My friend's fiancée recommended it to us, thought we might like the new exhibit," Jack shrugs as he keeps you near with a hand around your waist. The new exhibit had garnered a sizable crowd and the last thing he wants is to lose you. Especially since you seem preoccupied with the information pamplet, both hands holding it open to read while relying heavily on Jack's firm hand. He likes it, the thought of you trusting him so readily.

You hum in acknowledgment before peering above the page. "The map says the new Caravaggio exhibit is that way… I think." Jack chuckles and peers over your shoulder, both of his hands firmly on your waist. You hold the pamphlet up higher for him.

"You aren't wrong," he muses as he reads over the map. You swallow nervously, you can feel the heat of his body seep against your backless top, the way his voice gets all low and gravelly when he's talking just to you. "It's past the abstract wing. Can you fold that up for me, sweetheart? I wouldn't want you to trip over your feet if you can't see where you're going."

You nod instinctively. "Yes—" You swallow back that title that sits at the back of your throat whenever Jack gets so… passively dominant. "Yeah, of course."

He chuckles and lets his arm fall along your lower back, a hand at the dip of your waist as he leads you towards the exhibit. The entire time as you two parade around the wing, Jack keeps you close. It sparks a light in your core, your inner thighs clenching with need when he unwittingly turns on your desire to be taken care of. But he seems so unbothered by it, humming to himself as his thumb slips beneath your blouse to rub your skin while he reads the information beside the painting.

The two of you are admiring Caravaggio's Narcissus when something comes to mind. "Why'd you call me 'bunny'? In my comments?"

He glances down at you, taken aback by the sudden question. "I… thought it'd be nice to have a nickname of my own for you. It reminded me of our first meeting."

A fond smile curls upon your lips. "Why haven't you called me that since we started dating?"

Something fond crosses over Jack's face, leaves as quickly as it came. His hand squeezes your side. "I didn't think it was appropriate. Thought it might make you uncomfortable if I called you that in public."

"I liked it. Like it. I still do," you trip over your words with a flustered smile. "It's like our own little inside thing. Um—no pun intended."

Jack chuckles and that wide smile he gives you has you pushing against your toes to press your lips to his. He hums fondly, nips at your lower lip. "Alright, I'll keep that in mind, bunny."

You kiss him again.

For the next couple of months, you start to see Jack regularly. Dinner dates (whether it's at the first restaurant he's taken you to or he cooks for you at his place) or movie nights, or even him just coming over to unwind after a long shift. Your posting schedule doesn't shift, only rearranges itself to make room for Jack.

A month in, you'd sat him down and tentatively but firmly told him that you wouldn't be stopping just because of your dates. Jack had accepted it without question, took it as if it was what he expected in the first place.

So you continue your usual schedule. Vlogs and short-form content for your SFW socials and full streams for your NSFW audience. Suggestive photos to tide your subscribers over 'til the next full video.

Jack, on the other hand, looks positively giddy with himself. Sure, he's cumming in his fist nearly every night but he's determined to make sure you know that he wants more with you. Fuck. He sounds like a broken record but he's obsessed; the last thing he wants is his dick to ruin this for his heart.

But his good mood is translated into his night shifts, cracking jokes even with angry patients. It has Shen watching over in confused concern, always taking a double-take when he has the chance. Parker and Crus decide that it's just Jack going through a new wave, a new fixation that's probably tiding him over.

Or a girl— but that's Robby's problem to mull over, not theirs.

They get their chance when Jack's scheduled for a double (something he makes up to you with another extravagant VIP dinner the day before), dropping a hint to their chief that their night-shift attending's been weird all week.

The ambulance bay doors slide open in a 'whoosh' for Dr. Robinavitch, passing by Javadi who's talking to Trinity about making mutuals with some big-shot on her Tiktok and Dennis catching up with Perlah about his weekend, to get to Jack in the locker room.

"So. Shen's said you've been weird."

Jack chuckles lightly, throws his stethescope around his neck, and shuts his locker. "I'm seeing someone."

Robby startles. "Oh. That's— brother, that's great."

"What, didn't think I'd admit it so quickly?" Jack grins and pats his shoulder as he steps around his friend.

"No, not really." Robby follows him out, tugging on both ends of his stethoscope. "I'm happy for you. What's her name?"

"Nah, that's all you're getting out of me, Robinavitch."

The sun's setting as Jack turns the page on the novel he's been reading to you. You're sitting between his legs and your back against his warm chest, stretching out on the gingham blanket you've brought as the two of you find cover beneath the large tree.

Today's date had been completely spontaneous. When his schedule had been unwittingly cleared up, he had driven straight to you to take you out for a late lunch picnic at the small fair that's set up for the weekend. With the sandwiches finished off and you'd run off to buy cotton candy for the both of you to share, Jack had fished out a novel in his back seat to pass the time and enjoy the nice weather.

His hand is absentmindedly rubbing your exposed thigh, the skirt of your sundress riding up just enough for him to explore the smooth skin. His cheek is pressed against the top of your hair while you absentmindedly trace shapes atop his jean-clad thighs.

"Feelin' restless, bunny?"

"Hm?" Jack's question draws you out of your stupor, so content in his arms that it takes him a few attempts to get your attention. "No, just… really cozy."

"Yeah?" He presses a line of kisses down your jaw and neck, eliciting a soft squeal from you. Jack would've continued showering you in kisses but he grunts, reluctantly pulling away to rub at his aching prosthesis.

You frown. He's mentioned losing a limb before, knows that he wears a prosthetic leg, but you've never seen him this uncomfortable. "Jack, we could head home if it's hurting—"

"I'm fine—"

"Jack." He pauses and turns his attention to you, your brows furrowed and your lips in a line. "Come on, we can just take it easy at your place. You said you're more comfortable in your crutches, right?"

"Yeah." You can see when he finally gives in, his shoulders rounding out as he presses a kiss to your shoulder. "Yeah, alright. Let's go."

Once the both of you get to your feet, you hold out your hand. "Gimme the keys, I'll drive to give your leg a break."

"I don't think so."

"Jack."

"Bunny."

It takes a second but he concedes there too, pulling you in by the shoulders for a swift kiss to your lips. "You're lucky you're cute, sweetheart."

Jack's place is almost as familiar as yours now. He watches you saunter around his place, dropping his keys into the dish bowl on the table by the door, place your things on the loveseat before rummaging through his fridge for a beer.

When you reach him where he's seated on his couch, prosthesis set aside to hand him a beer, he gently tugs you onto his lap before popping the tab open for your can first. "Thanks," you hum, taking a sip while he opens his. His arm is strong around your waist and the easy strength he holds for you, the possessive touch he's got whenever you're near... it sparks a flicker of heat inside you and as you turn, straddling his lap to kiss along his jaw. His scruff is rough against your glossy lips but it only has you mewling.

"Bunny…" he groans as his large hand splays along the expanse of your back, supporting your weight while you tip back just enough for him to place his beer behind you on the coffee table. His eyes flutter shut, basking in your sweet kisses, as temptation guides his hand lower to cup your perky ass. It's your moan, drawn out and desperate, that pulls him out of the heat that's settling thick in his head. Reluctantly, his hands rise back up and an indignant whine spills from your throat—

"Jack, why won't you fuck me?"

He nearly chokes on his spit at your question and when he looks up, you look adorably put out, lower lip jutting out. Your gaze is glassy, lips kiss-swollen. His thumb comes up, presses against your mouth to drag down your lip slowly. "Bunny, why do you think I won't fuck you?"

"You— you've only ever kissed me. You've only liked my non-sexual content. You—"

"Baby," he shushes you gently, releases your lip to cradle your jaw. "It's not that I'm uninterested in you. Trust me— I am. I just didn't want you to think this was all some ploy to just get you in bed with me."

Another whine rises up within you. "But it's been months, Jack."

"Sweetheart, I wanted to make sure you know I was serious. It wasn't just for you, but for me, too. Had to make it known to you that I'm here for the long haul," he murmurs and when you nod in understanding, his lips find yours for a kiss that's got you clenching your thighs. Your back arches back when he leans further in, lips parting to let his tongue probe against yours.

"Gonna… mm— fuck me now?" You pant against his mouth, lashes kissing the tops of your cheeks when his lips drag down your neck to mark your collarbone with marks.

His chuckle is raspy against your skin. "I'm gonna make love to you, bunny. Come on—"

"Why not here?" You whimper, giving your hips a slow roll against his. You can feel his bulge, stiff through his jeans, against your panties.

"I'm not having you on my couch, darling. Not for our first time. We can defile the rest of my house later."

You giggle as you reluctantly get to your feet, knees nearly knocking together while Jack goes for his crutches. "Do you promise?"

"I promise," he chuckles, following you into his bedroom. His mouth goes dry, easy dominance deflating momentarily when he watches you crawl onto the center of his bed, your sundress hemline rucked up to reveal the pretty white lace panties you've got on beneath. His eyes follow the fabric, disappearing in between your ass cheeks, before they flit back up when you turn and lean against his headboard.

You're in your doll mindset now, your hands dancing across your body to give him a show. But while your videos are choreographed, almost clinical to a certain degree to entertain an audience, Jack sees the way your hand trembles just before you drag the neckline of your dress down, tempting him to just rip the fabric off you.

But he's a patient man, understands that this is just as much for you as it is for him. He can see the way your arousal heightens with each teasing touch. "Take it off for me, bunny, just for me."

He must've said the right thing because a broken moan spills from your lips, nodding as you cross your arms and drag the hem of your dress up to reveal a matching bralette to your panties. The bed dips beneath his weight when he joins you, settling down onto the mattress just as you toss a leg over to straddle his waist again.

"Ah, shit," he hisses when he glances down, sees the way the fabric of your panties are nearly translucent with your slick. His hand creeps down to rub your swollen clit through the damp fabric, tilting his head back up to watch your reaction. He doesn't shut his eyes when your open mouth drags along his cheek, a poor approximation of a kiss as you shut your eyes to savor the way his fingers deftly tug the panties aside to dip within your folds. A pathetic moan escapes you. "This all for me, bunny?"

"Mhm, yes—"

"She's drippin' just for me, fuck," he chuckles as his middle finger teases your entrance, enamored by the way your hips rock clumsily against your palm. "Mm, look at that."

It's filthy, the way Jack leans back against the headboard with his head ducked down to watch your cunt practically suck in his fingers, his other hand keeping your panties tugged aside for his viewing. "Please, I wanna feel you," you beg, voice hitching high in a way he's never heard before.

"You sound so sweet for me, bunny," he murmurs as he redraws his fingers from you, tasting you with a voracity that makes you even wetter. "You've been so good for me, pretty girl, don't worry… I'll give you what you want."

And while Jack sounds so benevolent, your lips finding his in a grateful kiss before you're scrambling off to lay on your back under his guidance while he undresses next, it's all a facade to conceal the way he's barely able to hold it together now that he's got you: heart, soul, and now body.

He settles on top of you, lips finding your shoulder for a brief moment of sweet affection despite the filth that's fallen from his lips from earlier, and makes a home between your thighs. You might've teased him for picking missionary as your first time, giggle at how insistent he is on keeping things old fashioned despite your unorthodox relationship, but then the tip of his cock prods against your entrance, mouth dropping slightly as your head falls back against the pillows— he's huge.

"Ngh— Jack…" you whimper as the stretch leans more towards pain than pleasure at first, eyes shut as you feel Jack's lips skim across the side of your neck. "S'too big…"

His chest rumbling, he chuckles in your ear, nips at your jugular. "Don't worry, bunny. I can make it fit."

Lust and adoration intertwine in your core as he pushes deeper, your walls adjusting for his girth while your nails dig into his freckled shoulders. After what feels like an eternity, Jack's fully sheathed in you, pressing kisses along your brow and temple.

"So fuckin' tight—" he grunts, attempting a shallow thrust that has you two moaning in unison. "You ready for me, bunny? Gonna start movin'."

You feel absolutely full, can feel Jack in your gut, but you nod, legs hooking around his waist. "Ready," you manage to say, releasing one shoulder to cradle his jaw for a searing kiss. He pulls out and thrusts in without hesitation, his lips parting for his tongue to taste yours. The two of you make out like teenagers, sloppy and uncoordinated, while his cock drives into you slowly, your body shifting higher up the bed until his hand comes up to cradle the top of your head before it hits the headboard.

He swallows your moans with a grunt of his own, tasting your desperation with each rock of his hips. But when his lungs start to burn for oxygen, he reluctantly pulls back only to be rewarded with your vocal cries for more. He's heard your noises before, almost four million people have, but he's never witnessed you like this, so gorgeously needy on his cock, your moans more like broken whimpers and hiccups interlaced with his name. So unbelievably vulnerable, laid out just for him.

It has him driving his cock even deeper into you, eager to hear the way your mouth sounds around his name whenever he hits that specific spot.

"No, no, no— don't get shy on me now, bunny," he coos, dropping a hand to cup your cheek to guide your eyes on him. "You sound so sweet for me, let me hear you…"

His words elicit another gasp of his name as one particular thrust has you seeing stars, the coil in your core tightening as his hand comes down to rub your clit in time with each rock of his hips. He can feel his own climax but he keeps it at bay, laser focused on your own pleasure.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck… Jack—!" You wail as the coil snaps, his cock buried to the hilt before he fucks you slow and deep to carry you through your climax. With you taken care of, he chases after his pleasure next, hips snapping against yours in a brutal pace that has your toes curling in sweet ecstasy.

His forehead drops to rest on yours, breaths mingling while his own moans pitch into a needier grunt, veering into whimpers while he talks you through it. "Feels so fuckin' good, bunny… s'like your pretty cunt was made just for me… oh fuck— she's just sucking me in," he pants.

The string of dirty talk kickstarts something inside you and you feel that familiar tightness in your core, hiccuping moans bubbling past your kiss-swollen lips as he drives his cock deeper. "Jack— 'm… hah— gonna cum—!"

"Yeah?" He huffs, a cocky half-grin in his lips as he drags his scruffy jaw along your cheek. "Gonna give me another, bunny? Come on… gimme one more," he coos while his pace starts to falter, losing its steady rhythm as he gets closer and closer to his own edge.

When you cum for the second time, he's quick to follow right after, your convulsing walls eliciting his own release right into your waiting cunt. A part of him panics — he didn't wear a condom nor did you say anything about being on any kind of contraceptive — but he feels your heels dig into his lower spine to keep him from moving. The concern still sits at the back of his mind but he lets himself get lost in the sensation of finishing inside you, his thrusts slowing to a halt before carefully laying on you.

"Holy shit," you breathe out, a blissful smile on your lips with your eyes fluttering shut. When Jack pulls out, you offer a slight wince but curl onto his chest as he rolls over onto his back. Your head nestles onto his pec, his arm winding around your bare shoulders. When you turn your head to kiss his freckled collarbone, he chuckles and squeezes you gently.

Jack hums wordlessly. Basking in the moment, he lets himself sink into the warmth of you beside him. There really isn't any need to talk for now and the both of you would've been content to let the moment settle in…

Had it not been for your growling stomach.

His laughter cuts through your embarrased whine, rolling over to hide your face into his chest completely. "Don't laugh—" you pout but he just jostles you gently, gets you to look up at him where he can kiss your nose.

"Stay here, I'll clean you up first," he promises and rolls out of bed. Grabbing his crutches, he heads over to his attached bathroom for a warm, dampened towelette. He cleans you between the thighs, gentle and careful as he drops a kiss to your knee. "About earlier—"

"I'm clean," you interject. "I don't have any partners and I'm on the pill."

He nods, relieved as he tosses the towelette into his laundry basket. "I'm clean, too. I haven't… not since my late wife."

Your smile is heartachingly tender. He's spoken about his late wife before, wears the ring on a chain close to his heart, and how he and his therapist have decided that he's in the right place to move on.

"We can both get tested if you want," you offer. "I don't want anyone else but you."

It's an invitation to a conversation he's been waiting on for a month now and he dives right in. The bed dips as he sits at the edge, a warm and calloused hand on your thigh. "I only want you, bunny. That's not ever gonna change." He cups your jaw, warm and possessive in a way that'll never fail to light a fire in your heart. "Can I be yours, sweetheart?"

You nod with a giggle bursting past your lips. "Yes—! Of course, yes," you swoon with your arms around his neck, his hand releasing your jaw in favor to hug you 'round the waist.

"Yeah?" His pretty crows' feet deepen when he smiles at you, chuckling when you nod again with an eager bob of your head as you gently scratch at his scruffy jaw. "Gonna go steady with me, bunny?"

A laugh escapes you, nose scrunching up at his dated language. "Always and forever, old man."

Although the months you've spent with Jack before the both of you made it official had you feeling like cloud nine, the next following weeks could only be properly labeled as the honeymoon phase now that you're officially his girlfriend. With Jack's night shift schedule and your unorthodox posting timelines, the two of you manage to make it work.

Speaking of work, you had been adamant that because he's your boyfriend, you had no plans on stopping the camgirl site and told him so the morning after. Jack had blinked and nodded as if it'd been something he had already expected. His only caveat was that you'd at least make your new relationship status public knowledge to your subscribers whether it's as simple as a status post on your website. You went above and beyond by posting a selfie with Jack's arm around your neck, his bicep smushing your cheeks while you grinned dopily at the camera.

While your followers had fawned over your new man, occasionally posting faceless boyfriend pics of Jack, you made sure to keep his identity secret as your highest priority whenever he'd make some sort of cameo in your SFW videos.

"Babe, you gotta stop jumping in the frame, I'll have to edit you out—!" You laugh in your most current video, holding out the camera high and up just enough to capture your hand crooked around Jack's arm as the two of you walk the aisles of the farmer's market.

He chuckles and dutifully stops ducking his head. "Just move the camera when I kiss your cheek, bunny. And even if my face shows, I thought you could just slap on an emoji or something on my face when your assistant edits them."

The camera captures the way you look up, a playfully deadpan expression on your features. "You wanna put more work on Francine?"

"You're right, I'll behave."

The clip ends there and the views skyrocket, nearly matching your most infamous videos on your NSFW side. It's gotten so popular that Victoria's talking about it during work hours, in awe of the fact that she's mutuals with you despite the fact that she's gone viral on Tiktok herself.

For once the pitt has a handle on chairs and triage, allowing Victoria to show Dennis her newest editing style, inspired by Doll's Corner. He perks up, recognizes the voice through the walls of the apartment he shares with Trinity.

"Oh, I think Santos is also subscribed to her," he grins.

Victoria frowns. "Subscribed…? Her website's free, Dennis."

Trinity walks past before circling back. "What's free?"

"Oh, um— Doll's corner." Victoria holds out her phone, displaying your instagram profile. "She has her own website but Dennis mentioned that you're subscribed to her…?"

"She avoids her SFW content, probably because it'd feed the parasocialism since Doll seems to be exactly her type," he grins, always eager to have something over his lovable but prickly roommate.

"She's not my type, she's just hot—"

"Hold on, what do you mean SFW content? Isn't all her stuff SFW…?" Victoria cuts in, eyes wide as she scrolls up and down the webpage. Trinity snatches the phone and taps the top right menu button of the page, scrolls towards the 'PRICING' tab before offering the phone back.

Dennis interrupts. "She doesn't really advertise her adult content, it's more of a… if-you-know-you-know situation. You're cool with that, right?"

Victoria swallows, goes through the 'free' content of your camgirl side while her mind races with the blurred and suggestive content, before nodding with a wide-eyed grin. "'Course I'm cool with it. Just— I didn't expect it. Yeah, I'm cool. Dennis, are you subscribed—?"

"No, no—" Dennis startles with a flustered laugh. "It's not really my thing, but I know Dr. Ellis had found her account too. She's popular."

The youngest MS4 merely nods and wanders off, looking very scandalized. Dennis and Trinity watch her go before shrugging, unaware that the true reason why Victoria's so shocked is that she had suspected Doll's newest boyfriend might be Dr. Jack Abbot.

Your SFW content views continue to skyrocket (especially the shortform video where you had Jack flex his bicep for the camera before placing a piece of dessert on top, eating right off his freckled arm before he's pulling you out of frame for a kiss).

There's already been a few questions asking if your boyfriend (lovingly dubbed as Mr. Doll by your subscribers) would ever participate in your content. You haven't gotten around to answering them, leaving them untouched as you post your usual photos and videos for your loyal subscribers.

The truth is, you aren't even sure how to bring up the topic to Jack nor would you know how to figure out the logistics of including your boyfriend without jeopardizing his identity. But the problem is solved a week later where you're in your bedroom, filming a toy haul with a new PR package from a sex toy company.

You're in the throes of your orgasm, nothing on but a bunny tail plug nestled in your ass while you ride a massive silicone pink dildo with some device that literally creampies you. You've got your back to the camera, the cute plug front and center, when your knees drop and you bottom out on the toy with a final moan.

You'd been so lost in your 'review' that you didn't realize Jack had come by early, leaning against the doorway with a dark little grin that you've come to associate with 'playtime'.

"Havin' fun, bunny?" he asks, the camera picking up on his voice sounding like velvet over gravel.

Your giggle is breathy and sweet. The camera captures the way your neck arches, looking over your shoulder to meet Jack's eyes who stays firmly out of the shot. "Mhm, I am."

"Did that thing… finish in you?" When you give him another resounding giggle and nod, he shakes his head with a fond chuckle. "I'll give you five minutes to catch your breath before it's my turn, sweetheart."

When you'd given the video to Francine, your assistant, to edit, she had sent over the last clip where Jack had come in and asked if you wanted it out. Deciding that it seems safe enough to keep since he's not even within the frame and that people have heard his voice before, you told Francine to keep it in.

Later that night, you receive an tsunami of positive comments, most of them fawning over the way Mr. Doll seems to adore you even while making content for the rest of your depraved audience.

@.pearlessance: holy shit HIS VOICE???

@.deathreverse: i bet he talks you through it omfg

@.mariasont: i just KNOW your man is fine

@.enam3l: give us one audio file of him cumming PLEASE

You're wrapped up in Jack's arms later that evening, your back settled against his chest as you read over the comments with him. He's got his strong arms around your middle, lazy kisses pressed to your bare shoulder as the cold edge of his readers bump along your jaw.

"You're stealing my fans, Jack."

"No, they like the way I make you flustered, bunny. There's a difference."

"Maybe," you hum as you swap apps to your instagram, scrolling mindlessly before you pause. "Jack?"

"Yeah, sweetheart?"

"Would you… want to be in my cam videos? Just as your voice," you clarify with a shy smile. The curve of his smile is pressed against your neck.

"I'd be honored," he croons. "Maybe you could play with yourself for the camera, let me talk you through your orgasms."

Your cheeks burn, thighs clenching as you rub them together. "Mhm."

"Use your words, bunny."

"I'd like that a lot, sir."

That had been a new revelation. You've called Jack 'daddy' jokingly outside of the bedroom before, just something to steal his attention whenever you're particularly needy (whether it's for something sexual or not). And while he liked it, judging by the fond and flustered grin on his lips, he had sat you down and told you what title actually does it for him.

Sir.

It never did anything for you, thought it might've been too simple or even too formal to ever be used in bed, but it fits Jack perfectly. An older man with his experience and status along with a natural inclination to dominance doesn't need something as desperate as 'daddy' to insert control in the bedroom.

"Good girl," he rasps and takes your chin to turn your head, planting a heated kiss onto your lips. "How about we pick a day for it, hm? Put it on your calendar."

When you nod again, he chuckles and nips at your lower lip. "Can we do it now?"

Despite your eagerness, you and Jack had decided on a Sunday evening the following week, opting for a pre-recorded video rather than a live show.

Like always, you've got your tripod set up at the foot of your bed with you front and center. You have mood lighting set up, nothing too garish and bright and classically 'porno' but rather something warm to get you comfortable. The only difference is Jack seated behind the camera, manspreading like it's his fucking job in those grey sweats you've moaned about a week ago.

"You ready, baby?" Jack's voice is caramel sweet but you know it'll dip lower when he hits the record button. When you give a nod, he reaches up to press the button.

The red light blinks at you but Jack clears his throat. "Eyes on me, bunny."

Your gaze is magnetized to your boyfriend's, feeling deliciously exposed with the way his eyes drink you in. Tonight, you've got on a lingerie set he had bought just for you: a babydoll pink bralette with a matching thong and garters. In the hollow of your neck is a delicate, cursive 'j' on a chain.

"You look gorgeous, sit up for me, sweetheart. Let the camera see your new outfit," he drawls lazily and your eyes drop down to his large hand, gripping his bulge through the sweats.

The camera captures the way you look behind it, your gaze unfocused and your cheeks flustered, but you never disobey sir's words as you sit up on your knees. Your hands dance along the lacy straps, brushing across the sheer panels that hold up your tits. Jack's attention is fixed on you, his teeth digging into his lower lip as he strokes himself through his sweatpants.

"That's it, bunny. Play with those pretty titties for the camera," Jack murmurs.

He continues to take the lead and it's almost alarming at how good he is, how easy it is for you to completely forget you're still filming. He eventually has you propped up against your mountain of pillows, knees bent and thighs spread out.

"Add another finger for me, bunny."

You've already got two in, your middle and your ring finger, while your other hand is groping at your exposed tit. "Sir, I can't—"

"Sure you can, pretty girl. You've taken my cock, haven't you?" Jack chuckles meanly, his hand tugging at his cock now. Your eyes are locked on his length and he capitalizes on it, rubbing his thumb across his tip.

"Yes, but—"

"Come on, bunny, one more. You can do it."

The camera captures the way you whimper, gasping around nothing when you add your index finger into your sopping cunt. Even the lighting catches the shine of your slick against your inner thighs; Jack's got you edging yourself and you're ready to beg.

The stretch burns in the best way, not in the same breadth as Jack's cock, but enough that it has you plunging your fingers so fast that it sounds lewd against the camera.

"Can I cum, sir, please—" You choke out, hand beginning to cramp from the speed and angle you have that Jack notices it immediately. If you've been a bit less preoccupied with your own impending orgasm, you would've noticed that your boyfriend had been staving off his own climax, gripping the base of his length until he's finally given you permission.

Behind the camera, he continues to talk you through it but his voice isn't as measured, it's strained and a tad bit pitchy — his tell-tale sign that he's about to cum soon.

"Cum for me, bunny, let me see you make a mess on yourself," he coaxes and once you take the final fall, he's quick to follow, white ropes of his release painting his thighs and the floor beneath. "So fuckin' hot, Jesus Christ—"

Your cramping hand drops from between your legs as you slump against the pillows completely, legs splayed out for the camera to watch the way your clit throbs from the overstimulation. Jack tucks himself back in and takes the camera, detaches it from the tripod mount to approach your bedside.

"Let's see the mess you made, gorgeous," he murmurs, his voice wrecked as he props a knee up to hover above your overstimulated frame. You giggle up at the camera, taking his free hand (the same one that had been wrapped around his cock moments ago) and gently lick the traces of his release clean off his fingers. He curses under his breath before he affectionately pinches your chin. It elicits a soft laugh from you and the look you give him beyond the camera does something to his chest, a word that tastes something sticky sweet (and maybe starts with the letter 'L'), that he suddenly wishes this part is just for him.

But he moves lower, the camera panning down to where your panties are tugged loosely aside where your puffy, slick cunt is on display. It's lewd and nasty, the way his free hand strokes through your folds before he's bringing up his fingers for a taste. The satisfactory moan he lets out sends a thrill up your spine.

His hand travels to the swell of your thigh, to your hip where he tugs your panties off. The camera jostles as he shoves the soiled, lacy fabric into the back pocket of his pants, before he pulls away.

"I think your fans earned enough of you. Say goodbye, bunny, it's my turn for a taste."

The last thing the camera sees is a wave of your hand before it's set aside roughly, filming your ceiling and capturing the way your giggle melts into a breathy moan before the video and audio cuts.

—

"So when are we meeting the lucky lady?"

The sun sits high as Jack lounges on the roof on a chair that he's brought up a few months back. Robby had brought his own chair a week later, pleased to see his best friend behind the railing this time. The two are relaxing, stealing a few moments of solitude before handoffs are completed.

"Not yet," Jack grunts as he takes a sip of the pressed juice you've packed for him. You've been given a massive PR package of some health brand and he'd been willing to take half of the crate off your hands. "Soon."

Robby gives him a sidelong glance. "Are you ashamed of her or somethin'?"

"No. No, definitely not. I just want to keep her to myself a bit longer before you and Peaches poach her off me." Jack chuckles. "Relax, brother. I'll bring her around soon."

"Alright, I'm holding you to that," Robby chortles before he gets to his feet, back cracking while he stretches. "Go home, Abbot."

Before, Jack would've kneedled, maybe dragged his feet a bit longer to keep from returning to an empty house. He's always craved company, even moreso at the passing of his late wife. But this time, he grabs his backpack and rucks it over his shoulder, offering a casual wave of his hand.

"Ain't gotta tell me twice. I got a pretty girl waiting for me at home."

—

Later that evening, Victoria Javadi's sitting outside on the benches with the rest of day shift, drinking a beer she hopes would taste better after every sip. After turning twenty one, she still didn't see the appeal of drinking beer but after her sneaking suspicion that her night shift attending might be dating the influencer she's admired for so long, she realizes she might need it.

Her thumb punches the 'low' volume button on the side of her phone as she pulls up your tiktok account. Your account has only grown since you've started including your mystery man; the tiktok trends that center around playful pranks or cute videos snipped from longer vlogs with your partner are the ones that hit a million views first.

She takes a deep breath and taps your most recent one, a clip that looks like it had been cut from your last get-ready-with-me vlog, judging by the outfit you have on. You greet the camera as usual, holding out two different purses before leaning this way and that to get all angles of your outfit. Your attention is stolen, however, when the voice of 'Mr. Doll' cuts in from behind the camera.

"You ready, sweetheart?"

You pout, your gaze looking beyond the camera. "I don't know which bag to bring."

"What do you need a bag for?"

"My lip gloss…" you reply sheepishly and a throaty chuckle from Mr. Doll follows, soft and fond.

"The second one, bunny. Come on, let's go."

The video loops and Victoria lets it play before her thumb rewinds the video back herself, listening to that voice before her gasp gets caught in her throat.

Mr. Doll is Jack Abbot.

—

In another apartment across the city, Trinity takes advantage of the empty home and hunkers down in bed. It's a guilty pleasure, she knows, but with the stress of residency along with Garcia's emotional unavailability, she figures a bit of her wage going to one of the most hottest camgirls couldn't be the worst vice in the world.

She scrolls through the paid content of yours with a soft sigh, sinking deeper into her mattress before opting for one of the newer POV content. It's a new series you've started, something that kicked up in popularity from a couple weeks ago when your partner had taken the camera to film you himself after he talked you through your orgasm.

Trinity hasn't had the chance to check it out herself, a bit hesitant considering the POV shots may ick her out if she actually sees a penis when she's been thinking of inserting herself as the viewer on top of you. But curiosity kicks in as she plays the most recent one, heat simmering low in her core as it starts out with you undressing as always, straddling your partner this time as he films you from below.

"I can feel you—" you gasp, your hands braced on the stomach beneath you as it pushes your tits together. Your hips roll, sinfully smooth while the strap of your sheer tanktop drops off one shoulder. It keeps falling, revealing a single breast, but you pay it no mind, too busy dry-humping the body beneath you.

"You're soaked for me, bunny… am I gonna feel you through my boxers?" The man grunts and something tugs at the back of Trinity's mind, a sick sense of deja vu or familiarity. She ignores it, eyes straining to try and focus only on you.

You giggle. "Maybe… can't help it, daddy gets me so wet—" You pause, eyes wide at your little slip.

"'Daddy'?" The familiar male voice repeats and the camera catches the man's hands travel up, sliding between the valley of your breasts to curl around your throat possessively. A ditzy grin spreads across your lips, eyes nearly rolling back as you lean your neck forwards into his palm.. "Is that my name now, bunny? Want me to be your daddy?"

The video plays on but Trinity couldn't focus, not when horror sets in alongside disgust and mortification when her brain finally places where she's heard that voice before. Once it clicks, she gags and pauses the video, tosses her phone across the room as full-body shudders wrack her whole frame.

When Dennis comes home late, it's to find Trinity on the couch, spacing out with a security blanket swaddling her prone frame. Panic sets in and he rushes forward, his fist rubbing her chest out of habit tp see if there's any response to pain—

"Ow, fuckin' quit it—!" Trinity snaps, smacking his hand away as she glares up at him.

He lets out a sigh of relief before crossing his arms. "What the hell happened to you? Was it Garcia—"

"No." A haunted look passes over his roommate's eyes. "Worse. I think I found Dr. Abbot's girlfriend."

—

With your six-month-iversary fast approaching, you and Jack are running out of excuses to keep putting off the inevitable 'meeting of the friends' ceremony. Your own friends are eager to meet the older man that's been starring in most of your content and Robby's starting to threaten break-ins and impromptu dinners if he doesn't get to meet the woman that's made his best friend so happy.

It isn't that you're scared Jack's friends and colleagues won't like you or that he's ashamed of you— it's just the fact that the two of you are becoming grossly codependent, refusing to let the other one out of each other's sight for too long. Inviting friends into your circle would only lessen the amount of time you two have for each other and the two of you would much rather prefer extending your honeymoon period first.

Unfortunately, the decision is taken out of yours and Jack's hands when you wake in the morning to an abnormal amount of bleeding. Your period's supposed to start soon but with the sudden heavy flow and the sharp pain in your abdominal, fear licks up your spine.

Something isn't right.

You carefully bring yourself out of Jack's bed, whimpering at the massive stain you've left, before hobbling over to your phone. What awful timing— your actual doctor boyfriend isn't in to check you out himself but rather he's stuck at the ER working a double.

With the amount of time you've spent with Jack, he's ingrained it into you to always listen to your body, to get help rather than attempting to self-diagnose or to undermine your pain level, so you call 9-1-1 with a shaky voice.

When the operator confirms that an ambulance is on the way, you remember to add one final thing: "Can you take me to PTMC, please?"

—

"Female, mid to late 20s, heavy vaginal bleeding and sharp abdominal pain. Reports of nausea and vomiting with a fever of 102 degrees," the EMT barks out, pushing your gurney through the ambulance bay as the cacophany of the emergency department greets you. When the ambulance had arrived at Jack's place, you'd been barely able to stand upright, chills racking your frame.

Your mind is fuzzy, the fluorescent lights above you spinning like soup while you're pushed into an available room. A couple of nurses trail after a doctor, a penlight flashing in your eyes as said doctor introduces herself.

"Hi, I'm Dr. King, are you taking any kind of birth control or—"

"My IUD," you whimper, eyes squeezing shut as you try to fight through the pain that seems to steadily increase with each passing moment. "Is it—I heard it can be displaced?"

Fast paced conversation erupts around you, swapping differentials and possible diagnoses before scissors are cutting through your pajamas to reveal your bloody panties. A hand presses against your upper abdomen, a gentle palpating movement that tears out a cry of pain from you.

"Order a CT," a doctor barks. "Can't do much until we see what's going on in there."

Dr. King nods and promises to take care of you after you've been pushed some painkillers to tide you over until it's your turn. As you get wheeled off, she notices a delicate cursive 'j' tattooed right above your hip bone.

—

After some time, you're dressed in a hospital gown, waiting for your CT results as the painkillers they've given you keep the pain at bay for the meantime. Your phone sits in your lap, screen on to your text thread with Jack. You know he's somewhere in the department, most likely saving lives, but your texts are unread and it's gnawing at the pit of your stomach.

"Hi," a voice calls out and it's a sweet looking young man, around your age as he rubs in the hand sanitizer. "I'm Dr. Whitaker. We have your CT results and it looks like a displaced IUD. Did anything happen recently or…?"

Your cheeks burn bright red. "Um. Rough sex, I guess?"

Dr. Whitaker's face colors red as well. "Oh—! Um, well, yeah. That'll do it. The CT scans revealed some slight perforation in your uterine lining so we'll go ahead and get that out for you, it'd be a minor procedure so you'll be up and walking in just a few hours."

"Great, thank you," you sigh in quiet relief but as you ponder something, Whitaker sticks around, like he knows you've got a request. "Um, is there a Dr. Abbot in?"

He nods. "Yeah, he's one of my attendings. Has he treated you before?"

"No, actually—"

"Bunny—?!" The curtains slide open and Jack rushes in, concern choking up his syllables when he sees you looking slightly gaunt and exhausted in a hospital gown. Dennis' eyes widen as he steps aside; he's never seen his attending look so disheveled and unkempt. "What happened?"

"Jack, I'm fine, it was my IUD," you explain, looking up while he checks over your vitals. "It… got displaced. I wonder whose fault is that." Your dry tone has Jack looking sheepish and Whitaker looking everywhere but the both of you. It's already taken all of his professionalism to keep from reacting when he recognized you as Trinity's past obsession. She still wouldn't say why she unsubscribed until he realizes the secret boyfriend is Dr. Abbot.

"Sorry, sweetheart," Jack murmurs into your hair as he kisses your forehead. "I'll make sure they'll bump you forward so you can get out of here faster."

You nod and your lower lip juts out, slipping into that sweet mindset that Jack can't get enough of; cotton candy delicate and adorably delectable. "Promise?"

"Yeah, I promise, bunny." His voice takes on that gravelly tone that you've become obsessed with and when you tip your head up, he closes the distance and kisses you briefly.

At that moment, the curtain slides open again. "Whoa— sorry for interrupting, folks." You pull away, fiery cheeks on display, to see another taller doctor enter. "Dr. Whitaker, can you go help Dr. Santos in Central 13? I'm Dr. Robinavitch, you can call me Dr. Robby. You must be the infamous 'Bunny'."

Jack groans and playfully hides his face into the top of your hair as the name registers as your boyfriend's best friend. You smile prettily and offer your hand to shake when Dr. Robby approaches, giving your name instead. The man seems nice but only Jack has the privilege of calling you 'bunny'. "It's nice to meet you, Dr. Robby."

"Just Robby," he insists before he flips through your chart. "Looks like you're up next for the laparascopy. Do I wanna know what happened?"

Your blush deepens. "No, not really. This is an awful first impression."

Robby chuckles, scratches the back of his head. "It's not so bad, all things considered. But now that I finally have both of you here, what do you say to dinner with my partner and I? She's been eager to meet you."

You give Jack a sidelong glance. "Who else did you tell about me?"

"Nearly everyone," Robby cuts in while Jack gives a shrug.

"I didn't give details. I just liked talking about you, sweetheart. That so bad?"

A pleased smile curves upon your lips. "Not at all. I love how obsessed you are with me," you tease. Your boyfriend's eyes roll before patting his friend's chest.

"Alright, come on. Let's get her rolled into the OR so I can take my girl home."

—

As promised, recovery goes by swiftly and a new IUD is put in place. Discharge is expedited when you're dating one of the attendings and soon, Jack's coming into your room with a fresh set of clothes from his locker.

"I liked those panties," you huff as you step into Jack's black sweatpants, leaning against the bed as he kneels down to roll the legs up for you.

When he stands to full height, he helps you into the faded 'ARMY' sweater. "I'll buy you more, bunny." He tugs you in by the waist to steal a few more kisses. "Just glad you're okay. You almost gave me a heart attack when I saw your name on the board."

"Sorry," you pout as Jack sweeps a thumb across your cheekbone. "I tried texting but I—"

"No, baby, you're fine." He hushes you with another soft kiss. "It's good you came in when you did. Come on, I'll take you home."

His arm is thrown around your shoulder as he guides you out through the ambulance bay. The both of you are lost in your own little world, exchanging soft laughter and playful kisses, that you don't see the haunted look in Santos' eyes as she scurries out of the way or Javadi watching in the way someone can't look away from a car crash.

When the ambulance doors shut, Dana leans over the counter to address Robby.

"That the girlfriend?"

"Sure is."

An amused grin curls onto the nurse's lips. "I think I remember her. I see where the nickname 'bunny' comes from."

"What's it mean?"

"I'm not saying a damn thing, Robinavitch."

The living room itself had descended into a sort of controlled chaos. Powder was sitting upside-down on the sofa across from the large one you were seated on, Ekko next to her, his arm resting over her stomach.

“You’re back,” Powder announced.

Cait picked up her own mug of tea, taking both of yours to the kitchen area and placing them in the microwave to heat up. “We weren’t gone long; we were making up your room.”

Vi smiled at you, then paused. She was clearly taking in your more relaxed expression, your at-ease posture. She glanced over to Cait, then back to you, then back to Cait.

From the kitchen, the blue-haired woman gave her Wife a small, secret wink.

Vi immediately understood, her grin widening, which she quickly hid behind her hand.

You, thankfully, missed the entire exchange. Because you were being cornered by Powder.

“Okay,” she declared, shifting into a more upright position against her boyfriend. “Now that you’ve recovered from meeting me-”

“I wasn’t recovering,” you denied.

“You absolutely were.”

Vi put in, “Powder…”

“I’m very overwhelming.”

“That’s so true,” Ekko said.

Powder gasped dramatically. “Traitor.”

A soft laugh escaped you. The nervousness from earlier hadn’t vanished entirely, but it no longer felt overwhelming.

The penthouse suddenly felt familiar again.

The introduction had happened, the scary part was over.

And now, with the initial shock behind you, you could actually focus on getting to know Vi’s little sister and her boyfriend.

Powder, meanwhile, had apparently decided she already liked you. “So, Y/N, Vi’s told us nothing useful about you.”

Vi rolled her eyes.

“Come on, spill. Tell us everything. Dogs or cats? Favourite type of cheese? Favourite ancient philosopher?”

Cait returned with your teas. Sitting down next to you on the sofa, she draped her arm around your waist, sipping her drink that was now the perfect temperature.

You took your tea from her, and inhaled slowly. “Okay… Here goes…”

“So, that went okay…” Vi smirked, climbing into bed beside you.

You stopped scrolling on your phone, your head resting against Cait’s shoulder. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess it did?”

She leant over and kissed you. “I’m proud of you, baby.”

“I went blank.”

“Only because you were surprised,” she refuted, wrapping her arm around your hips under the covers. “When you came back, you were perfect.”

“After Cait made me feel better,” you blushed.

Vi chuckled. “Tell me what she did.”

Your cheeks flushed harder. “Well… You can guess.”

“Oh, I know she made our sweet girl come, but I want to know what she did.”

You swallowed thickly. “She used her fingers.”

“Oooh, did she?” Vi started running her fingertips up your thigh, nudging your sleep shorts higher. “And that made you come?”

“She didn’t squirt, though,” Cait pouted, slipping your phone out of your hands, and putting both your and her phones on the bedside table.

Vi tutted playfully. “Naughty girl. You know you’re supposed to soak our hands.”

“Should we make her do it now, Violet?” Cait asked, shifting next to you and starting to place kisses along your shoulder and neck.

The butch hummed. “I think our girl needs some more practice with the strap. If she’s good and makes me cum, she can have her turn. Otherwise…”

Cait chuckled. “Otherwise she doesn’t get to cum tonight? Oh, I like that.”

You whimpered. “Wait, that’s not fair. I’m still learning!”

Vi slipped out of the bed and headed over to the toy box. Cait slipped her hand around your throat, tugging on your ear lobe with her teeth.

“Well, this will be a good motivation for you, won’t it? Now, come on, darling; time to practice.”

The shopping trip had been your idea, as you were finding that you desperately needed new clothes.

You had planned the afternoon with Mel a week ago, before you knew of Powder’s and Ekko’s visit – or even existence. You’d asked Cait and Vi that morning what you should do about it, as you weren’t sure what the plan was now that you had visitors.

But they had told you to go. Cait was going to work from home for the morning, just to tidy things up so she could have a few days off at such short notice, and Vi was going to take your guests out for the day until Cait was free to join them. You were welcome to tag along after your shopping spree, but the three of you knew you would most likely wait for them all to come home. You would have dinner ready for them when they did, which Cait and Vi were fine with.

Which was how you found yourself standing in the middle of a private dressing room in an expensive lingerie shop while the fitter measured you from various angles.

You glared at yourself in the mirror and sighed dramatically. “I can’t believe I’ve actually put on so much weight that I need new bras,” you grumbled. “Bras are supposed to survive anything!”

Mel looked up from her phone. “What are you talking about, ‘so much weight’?” She looked over your body intensely. “Angel, you don’t look any different.”

You shook your head and cried, “Tell that to everything I own! Tops, jeans, dresses... And now my bras!” You looked down at the peach-coloured garment currently preserving your modesty. “This was my favourite bra, I’ve had it years.”

The assistant smiled at you cheekily. “I can tell.” She tucked her measuring tape into her pocket. “You’ve gone up one band and two cup sizes. I’ll go get some options for you.”

You gawked at the lady as she stepped out of the dressing room, discreetly closing the door behind her.

“A band and two cups?” you gaped, staring down at your chest.

“You’re not pregnant, are you?” your friend joked.

You glared at her. “The straps aren’t real, Mel.”

“Unfortunately for you.” She smirked back at you. “What do Cait and Vi say about your...” her eyes trailed down to your chest, “New offerings?”

You frowned. “Nothing, not one word! The traitors! Two cup sizes is definitely noticeable!”

But she just chuckled. “I wouldn’t expect them to complain about their girlfriend’s growing breasts and bum. You seriously expected them to criticise your body for minute changes when they’re both helplessly in love with you? They might as well complain about their steaks being too juicy. Your ass looks fantastic, by the way.”

“Nothing fits me anymore. I liked my old clothes.”

“You can still wear most of your old clothes, you never really wore anything skin-tight.”

“Not comfortably.”

Mel placed her hand on your arm. “Angel, I’ve never seen you happier or healthier, and we’ve known each other since pre-school.”

You looked back at her face, your eyes feeling a little damp.

“You’re healthy; you’re eating better; you’re not constantly stuck in fight-or-flight; you’re getting better rest… You’re actually able to enjoy your life now. Changes to your body are perfectly normal in those circumstances. Cait and Vi know all this, and I can guarantee that they do not care. At all.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then Mel smiled. “And for what it’s worth, it genuinely isn’t noticeable. I had no idea until you told me.”

You blinked away some tears. “Really?”

“Really.”

The frustration you’d been carrying all afternoon eased. Not completely, as you still needed a lot of new clothes. But perhaps the situation wasn’t quite as catastrophic as you’d been making out.

By the time you returned to the penthouse that evening, you were carrying enough shopping bags to suggest you had personally attempted to stimulate Piltover’s economy.

The afternoon with Mel had been expensive. Not outrageously expensive – at least not by Cait's and Vi's standards – but certainly more expensive than you were accustomed to spending on yourself in one afternoon. There were several new bras and dozens of pairs of underwear in various styles; jeans; tops; dresses and skirts; and various other items Mel had steadily piled into your arms.

The lift finally deposited you at the penthouse floor, and you made your way through the living space, shopping bags bumping gently against your legs. Your home was empty as you crossed through to the bedroom corridor, dropping off all your bags in the main bedroom.

You freshened up in the bathroom, then headed back out to start preparing a lasagne for dinner for everyone.

Soft classical music filled the kitchen when the elevator dinged from the entryway, announcing everyone’s return. Although Vi’s and Powder’s loud and excitable voices did that first.

“Y/N? We’re home!” Vi called.

“In here!” you returned, turning off the heat under the pan of meat sauce that had been slowly simmering away.

Bodies turned the corner from the entryway corridor, and the penthouse suddenly burst with life.

Something you were still getting used to.

“Hi, darling,” Cait cooed softly, coming over to you and kissing the side of your head. She wrapped her arms around you from behind. “Did you have fun with Mel?”

You nodded, scooping out the first meat layer into the dish. “Uh-huh.”

She kissed your neck. “I’m going to change into something more comfortable. I’ll be right back. Okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

Cait noticed your short answers, but didn’t address it immediately. She kissed your shoulder again, stepping away, and heading down the corridor after Powder and Ekko who were announcing that they were going to shower before dinner.

Vi hummed happily, taking her turn to approach you. “Hmm, that buys us a little time. How are you, baby?”

“Good, good,” you said, a little distracted as you placed the dry pasta sheets onto the first layer of meat.

“Smells fantastic,” Vi complimented, wrapping her arms around you from behind. “I don’t mean the food, sweetheart,” she chuckled in your ear.

You smiled softly, your mood lifting little by little. “What did you all get up to?”

Vi started regaling you with the tails of their day and everything they did together. At one point you gave her a small mouthful of grated cheese as you sprinkled some on the layer of cheese sauce, earning a happy moan and a soft squeeze of your waist.

“Cheese tax,” she joked.

Cait came back down the corridor, changed into a soft pyjama set, her makeup removed. “Did you buy the entire shopping centre, darling?” she teased.

You grumbled as you started on the next meat layer. “No. Just a lot of it.”

They both chuckled light-heartedly as Cait started making a pitcher of fruity cocktails for everyone.

“You’re both traitors, you know.”

Your comment made them both freeze.

Cait stepped closer, the empty pitcher still in her hand. “Darling, what do you mean?”

“I’ve gained so much weight, and neither of you said a single word to me about it,” you pouted. “The bra-fitter said I’ve gone up two cups! You just let me walk around like… Like some pregnant elephant, and didn’t point out once how chubby I am now!”

To your horror, Vi started laughing. Not mockingly, or cruelly; just genuinely amused. Beside you both, Cait’s composure didn’t fare much better as she resumed making the drinks.

You looked between them. “Why are you both finding this funny? I’ve gone up a whole dress size! And my bras don’t fit now!”

Cait recovered first. “Because there wasn’t anything to say, my love.”

You stared back, hand frozen in the bag of grated cheese.

Vi’s voice was soft in your ear. “Because bodies change.”

Her answer was so simple.

Cait nodded, pouring some alcohol into the pitcher. “You’ve been eating regularly, and sleeping properly. You’re in a healthy routine; you’re not under as much stress as you were a year ago…” She shrugged lightly. “A small amount of weight gain isn’t particularly remarkable.”

Vi nodded in agreement. “Honestly, I barely noticed.”

The statement earned a look of betrayal.

“You ‘barely’ noticed?” you demanded.

Vi immediately realised her mistake. “No, no-”

“Meaning you did notice.”

She squeezed you a little. “I mean, I noticed your tits bounce a little more when we fuck you, and your ass has a little more jiggle when we spank it-”

“Vi!”

“I noticed you looked happy.”

You paused.

Vi shrugged, resting her chin on your shoulder. “I noticed you have more energy. And I noticed you smile a lot more now.”

Your eyes became wet for the second time that day. You sniffled a little, lifting your chin. “Okay, you’re both forgiven.”

That only made them laugh harder, but you let them.

Your body had changed a little, but that was okay. It was just another part of moving forward.

The next few days passed far more easily than you had expected.

Once the shock of Powder and Ekko’s arrival had worn off and you were more accustomed to their chaotic energy, life in the penthouse settled into a new rhythm. A louder rhythm, certainly, but not an unpleasant one.

Powder seemed physically incapable of existing quietly. She drifted through the penthouse like a small hurricane, somehow managing to be everywhere at once. One morning you came into the kitchen to find Powder perched on the counter, stealing fruit from a bowl while Vi complained that normal people used chairs. Another afternoon you discovered the two sisters engaged in an increasingly ridiculous competition to determine who could balance the most objects on their head.

The current record holder was, apparently, Ekko.

Nobody seemed happy about this.

Evenings were spent together. Sometimes you all watched films. Sometimes you played board games that inevitably devolved into accusations of cheating; Cait informed you that Monopoly had long-since been banded in the Lanes household as games tended to end abruptly in physical fights between players. Once, Powder and Vi spent nearly an hour arguing over a childhood story, each insisting the other had remembered it incorrectly, whilst Ekko supplied increasingly unhelpful commentary from the sidelines.

Through it all, Cait watched with the familiar amusement of someone who had long ago accepted that the sisters were fundamentally incapable of behaving normally around one another.

You found yourself watching, too. Not with the uncomfortable ache you had felt on that first night.

Not anymore.

Instead, you found yourself slowly becoming part of things. Slowly getting more involved, slowly getting a little closer.

Powder made that process surprisingly easy.

She had all the subtlety of a charging rhino and approximately the same respect for personal space, but she was also relentlessly welcoming. Within two days she was treating you as if she’d known you for years, dragging you into conversations, asking questions about your hobbies, and occasionally appearing beside you without warning simply to share whatever thought had most recently entered her head.

Somehow, despite the chaos, it was difficult not to like her.

The biggest surprise, however, was seeing Vi as a sister.

You had only known Vi as a Sugar Mommy, as Cait’s Wife, and only more recently as a girlfriend. This confident, occasionally reckless woman who threw herself into life with both fists swinging.

But around Powder, there were glimpses of something younger. Softer.

She still teased relentlessly, of course. That would never change.

Yet there was also a fierce tenderness there. A protectiveness that seemed instinctive. The sort of love that had been built over years of scraped knees, shared bedrooms, inside jokes, and surviving difficult things together.

It was beautiful to watch. And a little bittersweet, as it only reinforced how fucked up your own upbringing had been. Cait was the sole only-child between the three of you, but you might as well have been too.

Still, you found yourself smiling more often than not.

The penthouse felt fuller.

And you were learning that that was… Good.

It was on the fifth day that Vi’s phone rang shortly after dinner.

She shot up off the sofa, a grin spreading across her face. “Yes! He’s here!”

Powder immediately sat upright. “Hell yeah!”

The two of them practically launched themselves toward the entryway corridor.

You blinked, but didn’t panic. You knew who this was, you knew what was about to happen.

“Vander!” both sisters cried simultaneously.

The voice that answered was deep enough to seem to vibrate through the walls. “Easy there, you little gremlins, I’m here.”

You followed Cait’s lead and stood up off the couch, nervously squeezing her hand as you, her, and Ekko headed a little closer to the entryway.

And you immediately froze.

The man standing in the doorway was enormous. Not merely tall… Enormous.

Standing about 6’3” tall, the man’s broad shoulders filled the space in the corridor. His arms looked like he could break concrete with ease. He had a thick beard threaded with grey and the sort of weathered face that suggested a lifetime of hard work.

Then the giant laughed, and the entire impression changed.

The sound was warm and gentle. Comforting.

Powder was already wrapped under one of his arms, Vi on his other side.

“You took forever,” the elder sister grumbled.

“I just drove three hours, drop the attitude,” he teased, ruffling Powder’s hair, earning immediate protests.

You watched the exchange carefully. The ease between the guardian and his daughters was unmistakable. There was no obligation, no sense of duty. They were a family, plain and simple. The kind of family that genuinely enjoyed being around each other, and loved each other deeply.

Something you were still getting used to.

Eventually Vander's attention shifted toward the three of you standing a little further away. He managed to shrug off the two sisters, playfully ignoring their teasing protests. Vi took his bags and started heading back towards the bedrooms, and Powder ran to the kitchen to get her dad a drink.

“Cait,” he greeted warmly, pulling her into a hug.

“Hello, Vander,” she replied with just as much affection for her father-in-law.

Vander released Cait, then turned to Ekko. They embraced tightly, patting each other’s backs as men often did.

Then his attention turned to you.

Immediately, every nervous instinct in your body activated.

“Well,” he said kindly, “You must be Y/N.”

You swallowed, and spoke politely, “Good evening, sir.”

Beside you, Cait was visibly trying not to smile.

Vander offered his hand; you shook it. Rather, your hand disappeared into his.

“Nice to finally meet you.” His smile widened slightly. “I’ve heard good things.”

By bedtime that evening, it was impossible not to notice how deeply these people loved one another. The way Vander automatically checked that everyone had eaten enough dinner before accepting a plate from Powder. The way Vi and Powder still bickered constantly but gravitated toward him. The way Ekko slipped effortlessly into the family dynamic despite not sharing their surname. The way Cait smiled whenever she watched them.

It wasn’t perfect; no family was.

They interrupted each other, argued, teased mercilessly, created noise wherever they went.

Yet beneath all of it sat something solid, and unshakeable.

Love.

It didn’t need to be earned. It wasn’t withheld as punishment. It wasn’t used a tool to manipulate each other.

It was the kind that existed even when people were annoying, or when they disagreed.

As you sat on the sofa, curled against Cait in what had become your preferred spot since your guests’ arrival, watching another ridiculous argument unfold, you found yourself studying Vander. Watching the way he laughed, the way he listened, the way his eyes softened whenever he looked at his children.

Children. Not biological, not by blood. Yet unquestionably his.

The thought lodged itself somewhere deep in your chest.

Because for the first time, you were seeing a father who didn’t rule through fear, or pain.

He was a parent whose presence made his family feel safer, not smaller. A man who had somehow raised two fiercely loving adults despite everything life had thrown at them. And as Vander reached over to steal a cookie from Vi’s plate – promptly earning a cry of betrayal from his eldest daughter – you found yourself smiling.

Family was… Good.

The penthouse was quiet that morning.

The city beyond the wall-to-ceiling windows was only just beginning to wake, the pale grey light of early morning stretching across the skyline. You padded down the corridor from the bedrooms towards the living area, still rubbing your eyes tiredly.

It was a little earlier than the three of you would normally rise, but you knew that trying to sneak those last 30 minutes would do more harm than good.

You rounded the corner, and jumped in surprise.

Vander sat at the kitchen counter, reading a newspaper as he sipped his black coffee. He looked up when he heard your soft squeak. “Morning, Y/N. Didn’t expect anyone else up this early. Vi said you normally wake up together?”

You recovered, trying to get your heart to slow down. “Good morning, sir-”

He smiled softly, shaking his hand a little. “You don’t need to call me ‘sir’, sweetheart.”

You ducked your head, slightly embarrassed. “Sorry. It’s just…”

“Force of habit?” he asked, his tone a little sad.

You headed into the kitchen area, looking at him from across the counter. “Yes. And yes, we’re normally up together. But I was already awake, and trying to sneak a little longer would make me more tired. So I thought I’d just start breakfast.”

“I was going to take everyone out this morning. My treat? Saves someone cooking, and we can all have what we want?”

You smiled. “Thank you, si—Vander. Thank you, Vander.”

You made a cup of tea, and sat on the stool next to him at the counter.

For a minute, neither of you spoke. But the silence wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable. Just peaceful, both of you enjoying the quiet of the morning.

Eventually, Vander wrapped both hands around his coffee mug and looked at you. “Mind if I ask you something?”

You turned your head. “Sure?”

His expression grew a little more serious. “Vi’s told me about the lawsuit.”

You immediately knew where this conversation was heading.

You nodded slowly. “Oh.”

A brief silence followed.

Then Vander sighed. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” His fingers traced the side of his mug. “But I wanted to tell you something.”

You waited, your heart starting to pound.

Vander shook his head slightly. “I’m a parent. But every time I hear another piece of that story, I just don’t understand how anyone could treat their child that way.”

You looked down at your tea.

The familiar discomfort surfaced immediately: the instinct to minimise, to explain everything away, to make it all sound less awful than it was.

Vander must have recognised the expression because he spoke again before you could. “No. Don’t do that. I’m serious, Y/N.”

You blinked.

His voice remained calm. “When Vi and Powder were little, there were days they drove me absolutely insane.”

That earned the faintest smile. “I can believe that.”

“Well, you should.” His eyes twinkled briefly. “They were menaces. But there was never a day – a second – when I stopped loving them.”

The words landed harder than you expected.

Because they were so simple.

And yet they described something you had never truly experienced. Your parents’ love had always been conditional, if they had ever even loved you at all. After all, you had no positive memories of them.

Vander looked down into his coffee, consciously giving you a break of eye contact. “I don’t care who my kids love. I don’t care if they make mistakes. Lord knows I’ve made enough of those. But they’re my kids. And if somebody hurt them...” his jaw tightened slightly, “I’d do whatever it took to protect them.”

You stared down at your tea, unable to meet his eyes.

Because the kindness in his voice hurt. Not in a bad way, though.

Then Vander’s voice softened even further. “What happened to you wasn’t normal, kid.”

Your eyes suddenly filled with tears. You swallowed harshly, your throat burning. “I know.”

“Good.”

Another pause.

“You deserved better.”

You inhaled sharply. You nodded. “Everyone keeps telling me that.”

“Probably because it’s true.”

A tear escaped before you could stop it, landing in your tea.

You hastily wiped more away; Vander didn’t pretend not to notice.

Eventually you managed a shaky smile. “Thank you.”

He smiled back. “Anytime.”

A comfortable silence settled once more.

You thought that might be the end of it.

Then Vander gently nudged your elbow with his, a mischievous glint appeared in his eyes.

One that looked remarkably familiar.

Oh no, you thought, that’s where Vi gets it from.

“You know…” he said casually.

You immediately became suspicious. “What?”

“If you ever decide to join Cait’s and Vi’s marriage, I’d be honoured to walk you down the aisle.”

You nearly inhaled your tea.

Buy me a coffee! 💜

Ambessa hadn’t needed a favourable judge to get that thrown out. The landlord had been forced to pay you compensation, and also cover the costs of the storage unit you’d moved your belongings into, in addition to being struck off the legal register for landlords.

Your former workplace was proving move difficult. They were refusing to acknowledge that they had done anything wrong by firing you after Christopher caused a scene in the office, and thus were dragging everything out as long as possible. Ambessa was still wholly confident she would win; it was only a question of when.

The case against your family was growing ever messier. There were witness statements to collect, records to obtain, documents to review, meetings to attend. It wasn't the dramatic, explosive process you had imagined when you’d told Ambessa to burn your family. Instead, it was painstaking and methodical, consisting largely of paperwork and patience.

For the most part, you tried not to think about it.

Ambessa thought about it enough for all of you.

Life inside the penthouse settled into a familiar rhythm. Cait and Vi went to work; you followed your daily routine, which was now starting to include some kinky side quests; evenings were spent together. Weekends were shared between dates, lazy mornings, and whatever spontaneous adventures you all decided you absolutely had to embark upon. And, of course, endless sex.

Outwardly, everything was good.

Yet there was one small thing that had been bothering you for weeks. Something you kept telling yourself wasn't important. Something you kept trying to ignore.

Every now and then, usually during play or whenever Cait and Vi were in particularly mischievous moods, they would encourage you to be bratty again. They’d obviously noticed that you had slowed down your tantrums and efforts in being demanding.

At first, you had tried because you knew they enjoyed it. Then you had continued trying because you assumed you simply needed practice.

After all, perhaps it was like confidence and would grow with time. Perhaps it would eventually feel natural.

Instead, every attempt left you feeling vaguely ridiculous and out of sorts. You would make a demanding comment and immediately feel like you were waiting for reassurance that you did it right. You would try to be cheeky, but found yourself wondering whether you’d delivered the line correctly.

Half the time you felt less like a brat and more like an actress who couldn’t quite commit to the role because you found the script utterly absurd.

The worst part was that Cait and Vi always seemed delighted. Which only made you feel guiltier.

Because if they liked it, shouldn't you be trying harder to make your girlfriends happy? After everything they’d done for you, why couldn’t you just do this for them? ‘Oh no, your beautiful, wonderful girlfriends want you to demand attention and gifts, which they always provide – hope awful it is for you!’

The issue finally came to a head on a Thursday evening.

Dinner had been finished for nearly an hour. The three of you were sprawled across the giant living room sofa, enjoying the comfortable sort of relaxation that came from full bellies and warm hearts.

You stretched across the sofa whilst Cait massaged your feet. Vi sat between you, absently rubbing her hand over your shins as she scrolled on her phone.

The conversation drifted lazily between topics until Vi suddenly grinned.

“You’ve been awfully well-behaved lately, sweetheart,” she teased.

You frowned a little, confused. “What do you mean?”

“It means,” she smirked, lightly squeezing your leg, “That you haven’t demanded something from either of us in over a week.”

You laughed, despite yourself. “Sorry to disappoint?”

“Vi’s right,” Cait spoke up, pressing her thumbs into the ball of your foot, earning a groan and making your leg twitch. “You haven’t insisted on any treats, anything new and exciting for yourself, or even that we focus on you for an evening.”

Normally, this was where you would play along. Make some exaggerated demand, pretend to be outraged, to give them what they were looking for.

Instead, you hesitated. Something in your chest tightened.

Your smile faded slightly. And before you could talk yourself out of it, you said, “I don’t want to brat anymore.”

The words landed softly, yet both Cait and Vi immediately went still.

You shifted uncomfortably, suddenly wishing you’d chosen a better way to begin this conversation.

Cait moved her hands to rest on your ankles. “What brought that on, darling?”

You fiddled with the sleeve of your (Cait’s) jumper. The familiar urge to backtrack surfaced immediately, to minimise, to laugh it off.

But you forced yourself to continue. “I’ve been trying for weeks.” The words came out in a rush. “Ever since we talked about it a while ago. I’ve been trying to do it properly because I know you both enjoy it, but…” You sighed heavily, knowing you were in too deep to go back now. “I don’t like it,” you confessed.

Silence.

You stared at your lap. “It doesn’t feel like me. I kept waiting for it to click. I thought maybe it was one of those things where I’d eventually get comfortable if I kept practicing. But every time I do it, I just feel like I’m pretending.”

When you finally looked up, both women were watching you carefully. Not with annoyance, or disappointment, but with concern.

“I feel stupid saying it out loud,” you continued. “Because it’s not exactly a huge problem, especially with everything else going on. But every time I try to act bratty or demanding for you, all I can think is ‘this isn’t me, I’m playing a character’. And I don’t like it.”

There was a beat.

Cait gently squeezed your shins, smiling softly at you. “Thank you for telling us, darling.”

Vi nodded. “Seriously, baby, well done for letting us know how you felt.”

You frowned, your heart pounding. “You… You aren’t disappointed?”

The pink-haired woman looked genuinely baffled. “Why would we be disappointed?”

“Because you like it.”

“We like you.”

The answer came without hesitation.

Vi shifted closer, resting a hand on your knee. “If you’re doing something you don’t like just because you think it’s what we want, then we want to know. We need to know that, Y/N.”

Cait nodded in agreement. “The goal has never been for you to perform a version of yourself that feels unnatural. Even when we were talking on the app.”

“We’ve always wanted you to be yourself,” Vi explained. 

You felt something loosen inside you, as if a weight you’d been carrying for weeks was lifted. “You really don’t mind?” you asked, your voice soft and small. Relieved.

“Sweetheart,” Cait started gently.

Her tone of voice meant she was about to explain something so simple, yet so devastating to you.

You braced yourself.

“You spent your entire childhood being forcibly moulded into what other people wanted you to be; we’re not interested in continuing that pattern.”

Your eyes stung unexpectedly, your bottom lip suddenly trembling.

Vi squeezed your knees. “We don’t want you to pretend for us, sweetheart.”

The knot in your chest finally dissolved. And for the first time in weeks, you realised you didn’t have to keep trying to be a version of yourself that simply wasn’t there.

Cait and Vi didn’t want a brat; they wanted you.

And that, it turned out, was more than enough.

The date night had been lovely.

Simple, relaxed, exactly the sort of evening the three of you enjoyed most. You had wandered through the city without much of a plan, stopped for a pizza, lingered over dessert longer than necessary, and spent most of the evening talking about nothing particularly important. By the time you returned to the penthouse, you felt pleasantly tired, your arm linked through Cait’s in the elevator while Vi leant against the opposite wall, just watching her two girls hungrily.

You couldn’t wait to get on your knees for them.

The elevator doors opened.

Vi stepped inside first, then stopped.

The change was so sudden that you nearly walked into her. “Vi? What-?”

The butch raised a hand.

Your stomach tightened.

Two pairs of unfamiliar shoes sat neatly near the coat rack: one pair of trainers, one pair of knee-high boots.

Vi’s posture changed instantly. The hungry energy vanished, replaced by something alert and cautious. “What the hell,” she whispered, clenching her fists.

Then she began moving into the apartment.

Your pulse quickened as you curled into Cait. Logically, you knew the building’s security was excellent. The penthouse wasn’t exactly easy to break into.

That didn’t stop your imagination from immediately supplying worst-case scenarios.

Vi disappeared around the corner toward the living area.

There was a pause.

Then…

“Oh, you gotta be kidding me.”

The tension vanished from her voice so quickly that you blinked.

A second later, a delighted yell erupted from the living room. “VI!” a young female voice cried.

You couldn’t see what was happening, but you heard bodies crash into one another, a winded grunt from Vi, and then the sound of someone falling.

“What the fuck! Powder!”

Cait visibly relaxed, let out a small sigh, and took your hand as she led you around the corner.

You entered the living space and saw Vi sprawled on the floor, a young woman with bright blue hair in space buns on the floor next to her, who was laughing so hard she could barely breathe.

The resemblance was obvious. 

“You’re crushing me!” the blue-haired girl laughed.

Vi just squeezed her harder. “You love it.”

“I literally don’t!”

“Whatever, liar.”

Vi finally managed to disentangle herself enough to grab the girl in a headlock, playfully ruffling her hair, messing up her buns.

She immediately shrieked. “Vi, stop it! Assault! Ekko!”

A young man rose from the sofa, clearly trying – and failing – not to laugh. The second pair of shoes suddenly made sense.

“Don’t look at me, Pow,” he said. “I told you jumping on people was a bad greeting strategy.”

“It was a great greeting strategy,” Powder argued, still struggling against her sister’s impossible strength.

“You nearly killed her. She could have cracked her head open!”

“Oh please, this is Vi we’re talking about.”

“Missed you too, sis.”

The elder sister finally released the younger, stood up, and pulled her into a proper hug.

The teasing vanished immediately.

You watched the change happen.

One second they were wrestling; the next, they were simply holding onto each other, almost breathing each other in.

Vi’s eyes closed. “Hey, kid.”

Powder’s smile softened. “Hey. You totally forgot we were coming, didn’t you?”

Vi immediately groaned. “Shut up.”

Powder burst out laughing. “You forgot about us!”

Cait stepped in, chuckling softly. “We did indeed forget, Powder. My apologies.”

“You’re both awful!” she accused.

Vi released her sister, and as the girl turned, she saw you for the first time. “Oh! Hey.”

“Powder, this is Y/N,” Vi introduced you proudly. “Our girlfriend.”

The room buzzed with energy.

Vi and Powder slipped into their sisterly dynamic so naturally that it was almost startling. Within minutes they were talking over each other, arguing about things that clearly weren't real arguments, shoving each other whenever one made a particularly ridiculous comment.

At one point Powder stole Vi's drink. Vi licked Powder’s doughnut in return. The resulting scuffle nearly knocked over a lamp.

Cait and Ekko watched the entire thing with the long-suffering affection of people who had clearly witnessed this exact performance hundreds of times before. Occasionally Cait would interject with a dry comment, whilst Ekko would light-heartedly encourage the chaos.

You found yourself watching all of them quietly. Listening, observing. Feeling increasingly strange and out of place. Not because anyone had done anything wrong.

Because they hadn't.

That was the problem.

Everything about the interactions felt effortless, and completely natural. That special sort of closeness that came from years of love and familiarity.

The sort of closeness you had never experienced.

You never behaved like this with Christopher, even before your parents’ and pastor’s abuse got worse. You had grown up in a house with incredibly strict rules; not only because you were children and children ‘should be seen and not heard’, but because you were a little girl, which naturally made you more sinful and wicked than your golden-child brother.

You couldn't remember joking with Christopher. You never wrestled in the living room. You never had playful arguments that weren't really arguments.

You never felt safe enough to be ridiculous.

The realisation settled heavily in your chest.

“Sweetheart?”

You blinked.

Vi, Powder, and Ekko were all still talking, laughing, catching up.

But Cait had noticed.

The two of you sat in one corner of the large sofa, Cait’s arm draped around your waist as you rested against her. She held a mug of tea in her free hand, and you had one in yours.

Concern softened her expression. “Are you alright, darling? You’re very quiet.”

The question was soft enough that the others couldn't hear.

You immediately nodded numbly, your face fixed in a blank expression.

Her eyebrow rose, a clear indication that she wasn’t fooled.

You looked away, blinking your dry eyes a few times.

Across the room, Powder had acquired a cushion and was threatening violence with it. Vi was threatening violence right back. Ekko looked deeply resigned but still amused.

The entire scene felt absurdly… Normal.

And somehow that made your chest hurt more.

“I…” you hesitated.

The words felt childish and embarrassing.

Yet the feeling refused to leave.

You whispered to her, “I didn’t know family could be like this.”

Cait’s face softened instantly. She followed your somewhat blank gaze toward the pair of sisters currently arguing over absolutely nothing.

Understanding dawned immediately.

“Oh.”

“Yeah…”

The single word carried far more meaning than you intended.

Cait squeezed you gently. “Are you alright?”

You swallowed, nodding, blinking a few times. “Yeah. Yeah. Um…”

She lightly kissed your shoulder. “Come on. Let’s take a moment.”

Cait put her tea down and scooted off the sofa, though even that action looked flawlessly elegant. She gestured you to put your own tea down, which you did.

She took your hand, pulling you up. To the squabbling trio, she called, “We’ll go make up your room.”

She didn’t get a response as the three of them kept up their shenanigans, but neither of you minded.

Cait led you down the corridor towards the bedrooms. “Let’s get the sheets and towels.”

You grabbed the necessary items and then headed back to a guest bedroom you hadn’t really been in before. The room was nicely decorated, but neutral. Still luxurious, obviously.

Still, there were things to do: fresh sheets; clean towels; check the bathroom’s supplies; light a candle and turn on a low lamp.

Small, simple tasks.

Exactly the sort of tasks Cait suspected you needed right now.

The moment you slipped away from the chaos of the living room, the difference was immediate. The distant sound of Vi’s and Powder’s voices still carried down the hallway, punctuated by occasional laughter and what sounded suspiciously like another argument over absolutely nothing, but it was muted here. Softer.

Neither of you spoke whilst you set about making up the room ready for its guests.

Cait kept her eyes on you as you moved methodically around the room, folding blankets, smoothing creases, arranging things that didn’t particularly need arranging.

You tended to do that when you were overwhelmed. Kept your hands busy. Gave your mind something simple to focus on.

After several minutes, Cait handed you one corner of a fitted sheet; you accepted it automatically. Together, you stretched it across the mattress.

The familiar domestic routine was grounding. The complete opposite of the madness in the living room.

“They seem nice,” your comment came suddenly. Your eyes remained fixed on the sheet as you concentrated on tucking the corner beneath the mattress.

Cait smiled gently. “They are.”

There was a pause.

“Very… Loud.”

She laughed softly. “Yes.”

“Boisterous.”

“True.”

You nodded thoughtfully, as though confirming an observation. Then silence settled once more.

They continued making the bed. Pillows. Duvet. Blankets.

Outside, Vi’s voice suddenly echoed down the hallway. “That was my shoulder!”

Powder’s delighted laughter followed.

Cait closed her eyes briefly. “At least nobody is bleeding.”

“Yet,” you offered.

She nodded. “Yet.”

A few more minutes passed.

Then you spoke again. This time, your voice was even quieter. “How long are they staying?”

The question immediately revealed more than the words themselves.

Cait paused in the fluffing of a pillow.

Not because the question was strange. But because she understood what you were really asking.

How long would the penthouse be different? How long would there be unfamiliar people in your safe space? How long did you have to adjust? How long until things felt normal again?

“In the past it’s been about 10 days,” Cait explained gently. “Perhaps two weeks. It depends on the rest of their summer plans.”

You nodded slowly, absorbing the information. “Okay.”

Cait set the pillow down and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. “Hey,” she said softly, holding her hand out for you to take.

You walked over, standing between her legs. She squeezed your legs between her thighs, wrapping her arms around your waist.

“Remember what we said yesterday? You don’t have to pretend around anyone. Okay?”

You twisted your fingers together. “I didn’t know they were coming.”

“No, sweetheart. We’re sorry. We completely forgot, with everything that’s going on.”

“It’s my first time meeting… Someone.”

Someone in their lives.

The evening made much more sense to Cait now. It wasn’t only the loud sibling dynamic, or the unexpected guests.

This was your first time meeting any member of either of their families. Not just in general, but as their partner. No warning, no preparation, no time to mentally rehearse, no opportunity to ask questions beforehand.

You had all simply walked through the front door and found yourselves face-to-face with someone important. To Cait and Vi, it was normal. It was simply Vi’s little sister and her boyfriend. It was Powder and Ekko. So simple, so easy.

To you…

Cait leant her head down, kissing your twisting fingers. “Are you nervous?”

You nodded.

“A reasonable amount?”

You shook your head.

She smiled kindly. “That’s fair.”

“I don’t even know why.”

Her voice was gentle, “Yes, you do.”

You thought about it, then sighed. “I want them to like me.”

“They already do.”

You looked unconvinced. “They met me an hour ago, and Vi’s taken up all their focus. I don’t think we’ve said more than three sentences to each other.”

“Do you think Vi doesn’t realise that?”

You paused. Your eyes widened a little.

Vi was keeping Powder’s and Ekko’s attention off of you, to give you time to adjust. Because she knew you’d be overwhelmed.

You fucking loved these women.

Your head surged down and captured Cait’s in a hungry kiss. She smirked against your lips, but returned your attention, sliding her hands down over your hips. You were moaning hungrily against her mouth, desperately getting as close to her as you could.

She pulled away. “Not in here, baby. Let’s go.”

Cait stood, taking your hand, and leading you out of the room. She looked down the corridor, checking to see no-one saw you both, then quickly led you into the main bedroom you all shared.

She hurried you inside, locking the door behind her.

“On the bed, baby. Skirt up.”

You perched on the end of the bed, hurriedly pulling off your panties – a soft peach colour, chosen that morning by Vi – as Cait rolled up the right sleeve of her blouse.

“We’re going to be quick, alright, darling? We’re already being so rude by staying away from our guests.”

Cait cupped your jaw with her left hand, suddenly sliding her middle- and ring-fingers of her right hand into your mouth. You started sucking on her digits without thinking, your body reacting purely from muscle memory.

She grinned cockily down at you. “You can do that for me, can’t you, baby? Be quick?”

You nodded eagerly, moaning softly around her long and slender digits as they slid past your lips.

“Yes? You’re going to cum on my fingers like a good girl?”

You whined, eyes flickering as you nodded again.

“Good.”

She abruptly pulled her fingers out of your mouth, pressed your tongue down with her left thumb, and spat onto your tongue. You groaned wildly, your hips bucking as she slid her spit-slicked fingers inside you.

“You really need this, don’t you?” she teased, keeping your tongue down and out, uncaring as both of your saliva started leaking down your chin.

“Yes, Mommy,” you mumbled as best you could, already starting to pant as your pleasure built.

Cait’s fingers didn’t start slow, didn’t ease inside you, didn’t let you get used to her. She immediately started a hard and fast rhythm, her palm slapping against your clit, the wet sloshing sound filling the room.

She chuckled. “It’s a good thing we had this room sound-proofed years ago,” she mocked. “Such a dirty girl. You didn’t need any warming up, did you? You were just ready to take my fingers like a good little slut.”

You nodded, gasping as her long digits hit your g-spot. She spat on your tongue again, then released your mouth, commanding you to swallow.

You obeyed, moaning out, “I’m always ready, Mommy.”

“Yes, you are,” she agreed, sliding her left hand into the hair at the base of your skull. She held you tightly, tilting your head back. She looked down, watching her fingers slosh in and out of you. “This needy little pussy needs constant attention, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, Mommy,” you whined, grinding your hips against her hand in a matching rhythm. “I always want you and Daddy. Always.”

“Why, baby?” she probed, running her nose up your cheek.

You let out a long breath, feeling your orgasm cresting. “Because I love you. I love you so fucking much.”

“We love you too, sweetheart. This is it for us all, do you understand that?” She met your gaze with intense focus. “You’re ours; we’re yours. We’re a three now, yes?”

You nodded desperately, your bottom lip trembling with emotion and your rising pleasure. “Yes. Yes, Cait. Yes.”

“Forever?”

“Forever,” you sobbed quietly.

She kissed you. “Then come, baby.”

You had no choice but to obey the woman you loved. Pleasure burst through your pussy, clenching down on her fingers, and she swallowed your moans into her hungry mouth. Your hips stuttered against her hand, but she kept up her movements, dragging out your pleasure.

“Oh, you didn’t squirt,” she pouted theatrically. “That’s alright; Daddy can help with that later.”

“I love you,” you wept.

She smiled back at you. “I love you too, Y/N.” She placed a gentle kiss to your flushed forehead. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up. We need to get back out there.”

Chapter 24

Buy me a coffee! 💜

“I need a favor.”

Jack was used to you asking him for help, had been for the two years since you moved into the apartment directly across from his.

He didn’t mind offering you a lending hand when he saw you struggling to carry your boxes from your small run down car, it wasn’t an inconvenience to collect your mail if you ever had to leave town for a few days, and he really couldn’t complain about having to remind you to get your laundry from the unit down below because it held him accountable too.

It was such a common occurrence, you asking him for a favor, that he wasn’t too surprised to find you at his door. He only gave a soft sigh as you pushed past him to enter his apartment, offering you a lot more patience than he did the newbies at the hospital.

You were always sweet, maybe a little bossy at times, but it gave him some amusement in his otherwise strict routine.

Plus it was admittedly nice to feel needed.

You came to him when your apartment had a leak or your air conditioning went out, knocked on his door whenever it was raining and you’d forgotten an umbrella after locking yourself out, and you even sometimes popped over just to get his opinion on what you should wear out on a random night.

Everybody was always telling Jack he needed a hobby that didn’t involve putting his life on the line, so he rarely told you no and tried his best to brush off Robby whenever he asked what was keeping him so busy lately.

It would be hard enough to explain the dynamic he had with his much younger neighbor but even more so considering you were now standing in the middle of his apartment with a frustrated look on your face, hands on your hips as you tapped your bunny slipper covered foot.

“What is it now?” His voice was gruff and disinterested but you knew well enough that he would do whatever you asked and he was well aware of that too. Still, it helped him just a little to pretend to contemplate it for a second or two first.

“I need you to have sex with me.”

You said it like it was as simple as asking him to come over and check your water pressure, falling out of your mouth casually and landing heavily in the quiet room.

There was no need to pretend this time as he fell into a bewildered silence, raising an eyebrow in your direction and letting his eyes track you as you dramatically sighed and went to flop down on his couch. You’d demanded about a year ago that he got some pillows for it, along with a few other interior design suggestions.

He’d picked up four after his shift that night.

“Please say something.” You were turned around on the couch so you could face him over the back of it, arms crossed as you rested your chin ontop of them.

“I have nothing to say to that.” He shook his head immediately, that stern expression he used on an unruly patient or Robby when he got a little too pushy.

This just made you sigh again, loud and exaggerated as you turned back around to fully lay flat on his couch.

“Why are you even asking me that?” He didn’t want to pry because he knew you well enough by now to know you’d just be encouraged by that but his curiosity got the best of him, circling around to sit across from you on one of the living room chairs.

You didn’t sit up but you turned your head to the side to look at him, a slight frown on your face that he didn’t think was particularly genuine. Your personality was always something Jack admired, not getting a lot of time in his own life to be so bold with his emotions and carefree in the way he spoke and behaved.

He was serious and guarded where you were a walking billboard for spontaneity, coming to him crying about random problems after only half a week of living in the building.

It was mostly endearing but there was the more critical part of him that wondered how lonely you must be to be making friends and finding comfort with some random guy across the hallway, a much older one at that.

Jack knew he had a bit of a hero complex but it typically manifested in a more extreme way, quite literally jumping into battle to save lives or operating on them in their lowest moments. This dynamic with you was a new form of care taking and there’d been a handful of times he’d doubted his own motives.

“Because I have a date next week and I am a complete lost cause when it comes to all things intimacy.” You still had a theatrical flare to your voice, not facing him anymore and instead rambling straight up to his ceiling with your hands gesturing wildly.

He tensed up for two reasons now, one being the mention of a date and the other was your implication you didn’t have any experience.

“But you’ve had sex before.” It came out slowly and half like a question, half like an assumption.

There wasn’t any real reason for him to think that other than his own social expectations. You were gorgeous, one of the prettiest women he’d seen in a very long time, and had a naturally magnetic energy to you that even he couldn’t resist most of the time, platonically but also selfishly deep down, a little more than that.

He’d seen you go on a handful of dates in the last year or two, all guys your age that didn’t seem to know how to pick up a check let alone please you properly.

That’s where Jack’s problem stemmed from.

There had been almost no ulterior motive the first year he had known you, genuinely trying to be helpful and to be a good neighbor. He would get upset when his coworkers would call him anti social or make digs at how unfriendly he was because he hadn’t always been like that and he figured helping out the girl next door was a good first step to getting that part of himself back.

You’d told him after a few months that you had no family on this side of the country, completely starting fresh at a new company you’d applied to on a whim.

It was completely innocent.

Yes, you were undoubtedly beautiful in a way that made his head spin for a second when he first saw you. You had been standing near your car and fighting with a box, both by tugging at it and saying less than kind words in its direction like it could understand you.

Jack had hesitated for a handful of seconds before making his way over and offering to help, feeling this weird pull in his chest when you blinked up at him in surprise and eagerly thanked him.

Once you were in his life, you never left. And he made space for you effortlessly because, quite frankly, he had plenty of it to offer up.

About seven months ago was the first time he had ever seen you with a guy.

He’d been coming home from a long and rare day shift (covering for Robby so he could attend Jake’s graduation), dragging his leg behind him and praying nobody stopped him on the way to his apartment so he could crawl into bed for a few short hours before he had to do it all over again for his own shift.

The only distraction he would have allowed was you but you were clearly busy, standing in the hallway as he got off the elevator and touching the rather small bicep of a guy your age.

Jack hesitated, considered getting right back on the elevator before it could close on him, and then slowly walked to his door.

He had hoped you wouldn’t acknowledge him because his throat was already weirdly tight as he eyed you and the way you stared up at the man (boy, if Jack had to really label it) with that soft and curious expression you always had.

“Jack.” Your voice was full of excitement and he faltered, his key left in his doors lock as he turned to give you an attempt at a polite smile. “Covering somebody again?”

If this had been any other day then Jack would have invited you into his apartment to talk instead of lingering in the hallway. He would have ignored his exhaustion to pair his black coffee with the hot chocolate flavor you liked that he kept in his bottom drawer, complained to you about being tired and listened to you scold him for working too much when he didn’t need to.

But you were in a pretty dress that was clearly on its way to dinner and your date was giving Jack that possessive stare that guys fresh out of college thought was intimidating.

So instead he simply nodded his head and continued to unlock his door.

“This is Asher.” You continued abruptly as he turned his door handled, leaving it cracked as he stopped to look at you again.

He gave you a once over to make sure everything was okay, wondering why you were still insisting on talking to him when you were so clearly meant to be going somewhere else. You didn’t look too uncomfortable but you were watching him back just as intensely so he mentally stored the name and face of the guy anyways, just in case something happened.

“Ashton.” Your date finally spoke and his voice was annoyed and laced with immature bitterness, although slightly valid considering you had forgotten his name.

Your eyes widened, still boring into Jacks, and he smiled a little before giving you a small wave and heading inside.

Jack realized quickly after that encounter that his intentions were a lot less innocent than he had initially thought they were. He’d closed his door before immediately pressing his back against it, listening to the sound of your small heels leaving the hallway as you apologized to your date with a clenched jaw and a pain in his stomach.

The next few dates after that just confirmed what he had already realized from the first one.

He was attracted to you.

Maybe even liked you.

You talked to Jack about almost everything going on in your life, even things he definitely would not have cared about if it came from anybody else, but you never once brought up the dates. At first he had worried you had somehow noticed his weird demeanor that day in the hallway but Jack wasn’t very expressive in general so he figured you must keep that part of your life private for other reasons.

The attraction part was easy to accept mostly, he was only a man and you were clearly gorgeous. Although the age gap was something Jack couldn’t get himself to look past.

You were barely in your early twenties, over half his age younger and overly obviously so. You radiated youth, from your appearance and the way you spoke down to your hobbies and interests.

You were clearly a very young girl and he had felt like a pervert from the moment he saw you outside of that car for the way his body warmed. Jack hadn’t felt much attraction to anybody at all since his wife died, at first out of a lingering loyalty to her that barely faded and then just due to his busyness and his own mental blocks.

That was not a problem when it came to you and he had to give a genuine effort when he was around you to act normal.

You’d come over in tiny sleep shorts or a tight tank top that showed your hardened nipples through the thin fabric, join him for morning yoga in downright sinful leggings and he even was attracted to the stupid bunny slippers you wore.

But you were a young girl and he was a disciplined old man so he barely looked twice in your direction when you were bending over to get mail and he never once touched you, setting boundaries for himself and keeping them.

Which was why it was so hard for him when you slowly shook your head to his question about having sex before.

“What about those guys?” His eyebrows furrowed as he looked at you and you sighed like you were embarrassed, a rare emotion to see from you.

“We barely kissed.” You shrugged and finally sat up from your dramatic position on the couch. “Please Jack, I don’t have anyone else to ask.”

“I’m not sleeping with you.” He said immediately, slightly offended you were seemingly only asking him because you had no other options.

You looked completely dejected now but Jack knew there was no way he could possibly accept this request, for too many reasons but especially because of his own moral code. He also didn’t want to ruin what you’d had going on, enjoying your company on his hard nights and finding himself finally letting somebody in after so many years alone.

“Okay so no sex.” You say softly and you stand up when he does, following him as he walks into the kitchen and leaning against the counter to watch him set the coffee machine settings. “But can’t you show me little things.”

He sends you a sharp look that you return with a gentle pleading smile, bouncing in place a little like you think your cuteness is the answer to everything.

And it just might be because Jack sighs softly and turns his full attention back to you.

“Like what?” He knows him asking for specifics will give you hope and he can see it immediately on your face, brightening and taking a step closer to him that makes him tense.

“Maybe just telling me what guys like?” You suggest softly and the words coming from your mouth make him almost groan, keeping his face flat and emotionless as you speak. “And some kissing lessons.”

“You know how to kiss.” He shook his head at you and went to turn back to his coffee but your hand wrapped around his wrist to stop him, successfully keeping his attention on you. He realized that it might be the first time you’d ever actually touched him, skin against skin. “I’ve seen it.”

His posture tightens as he reminds himself of that fact, easily recalling the vivid memory of leaving his apartment to head to work and finding you coming home from a date and making out with a guy against your door.

You hadn’t noticed him at first but he had slammed his door harder than normal, shamefully intentional.

There’d been a pang of guilt when you jumped in surprise and separated from the guy who looked the douchiest out of all of them but it was hard to feel it when you have him a slightly grateful look on his way to the elevator.

You were blinking at him now, almost like you were realizing something, and he looked away in favor of glancing at the clock on the wall.

“Not a kiss that feels good.” Your voice was more serious now, sounding genuinely disheartened by the conversation and the slow unveiling of your inexperience.

He sighed again, just trying to get rid of the tightness in his chest, before shaking his head firmly and fully turning away from you to fill up his coffee mug.

“I’m not doing it.”

—

Jack thought about your offer for the next two weeks. Obsessively.

He waited to hear you bringing somebody else over, someone who had jumped on the golden opportunity to touch you for the first time when he hesitated. You didn’t seem to go on any dates but he supposed you wouldn’t have told him anyways.

The thought of you experiencing sex with some asshole you met off a dating app, nervous and unsure on what to do without guidance, was eating away at him.

Jack was a fixer, he liked to help you, and he had already accepted the fact that he was extremely attracted to you. It wasn’t like he didn’t recognize the jealously in his stomach everytime he saw you with somebody else, a type of anger he hadn’t felt since he was preparing to go into a real life war.

Subdued by age and a calmer reality now but it was still fresh hot anger that he couldn’t shake no matter how much he tried.

You came to him with this problem, not just for pointers and tips but you had actually asked him to be the one to take your virginity.

Virginity.

Jack couldn’t get the concept out of his head and while he hadn’t necessarily considered himself somebody who would care about that type of thing, especially not as he entered his fifties, it did bring a wave of heat over him whenever he thought about it.

You’d never been touched before outside of a few unsatisfactory make out sessions. You, the pretty girl with downright sinful choices of pajamas that consumed his day to day life so easily after he spent such a long time alone.

He thought about it endlessly until it led to him knocking on your door, a rare switch of the usual dynamic that left him feeling a little awkward before you answered.

The sensation went away when you looked up at him, eyes a little wide with confusion as you silently stepped back to let him inside. It was rare for you to be so quiet but maybe you could tell what he was thinking by the look on his face, maybe you were thinking about the same exact thing.

“I’ll help you.” His voice was gruff and flat, waiting until your door closed behind him before he spoke. Your face immediately lit up but he silenced anything you were going to say with a raised hand, your parted lips closing as you waited for him to finish. “But I’m not sleeping with you.”

You pouted a little at the condition but stepped forward after a few seconds, far too close to him for his sanity but he figured you’d be getting a lot closer soon so he forced his breathing to stay level.

Jack used to consider himself quite smooth, still a natural flirt when he joked around with older patients or teased Robby.

But he was completely thrown off of any existing game when it came to you. He didn’t even know he could still feel this way about somebody, the yearning and lustful feeling having been dormant for a long time before you moved in.

“I’ll take whatever you give me.” Your voice was soft now and he’d never heard you like that, maybe a bit of a whine when you impatiently asked him to help you with something, but never so pleading.

You’d shifted even closer as you spoke and he couldn’t help himself now that he practically had permission, his large and rough hand sliding over your waist to rest on the small of your back.

You sucked in a sharp breath at the feeling and he was suddenly aware of how much fun this was going to be if you were that sensitive.

“Not tonight okay?” He replied and his low tone made your eyes soften, nodding eagerly and hesitantly letting your hands land on his chest in balled up fist. “We can talk about it more later and work out some conditions.”

“You’re giving me rules?” You’d collected yourself enough to finally give him some of that familiar attitude, smiling slightly as you stared up at him. He rolled his eyes but let his hand tighten against your back, moving you forward and just trying to test your reaction to the touch.

You lost your smile immediately, shuffling closer until you were pressed against him as your eyes darted all around his face with surprise. It was clear you didn’t expect him to accept at all let alone this easily, despite his two weeks of contemplation, he wasn’t at all hesitate now.

“You need them.” He retorted and his free hand brushed some of your hair behind your ear, the first time you were ever really touching each other being this intimate was sending another wave of affection through him.

A few years ago, Jack couldn’t even get himself to look at another woman, let alone hold one so gently. Even with the slightly out of the ordinary circumstances, he cared for you and you trusted him and that was all that really mattered in his eyes.

“You’re mean.” You’re whispering it and his head tilts at the sound it, overly fond and curious how you can affect him so much just by changing the tone of your voice. “Kiss me atleast.”

It comes out a demand and his eyebrows naturally furrow at the sound of it, knowing immediately that will have to be one of the rules he gives you when you talk them over.

Manners.

He doesn’t respond for a second but you seem to understand before he even needs to scold you, lips parting in realization before they form a small pout and you unclench your fist so your palm is flat on his chest now instead.

“Please give me a kiss Jack.” You sound sweeter now and he would think it was an act, making fun of him for his sudden silent sternness, if it wasn’t for the genuinely pleading look on your face.

The knowledge that you listen so easily, even when he doesn’t actually say it, overrides his senses so much that he actually does bend down to kiss you.

It’s soft at first which you don’t seem to understand, immediately trying to eagerly make out with him like that’s all you really know. He moves one of his hands from your side to hold under your jaw, applying a little bit of pressure near your throat to indicate he wants you to slow down.

You melt against him at the touch but do as he silently communicates and relax a little bit, still moving your mouth a bit sloppily against his but learning to adapt to his slow and easy pace.

Eventually you get the rhythm down perfectly, lips moving together without anything extra added. You asked Jack to teach you so he was going to do exactly that, starting from the basics.

Your face was completely dazed when he pulled back, instinctively shifting forward to try and kiss him again and making a small disappointment noise when his hold near your throat tightened in warning.

“You asked for a kiss.” He said in a low voice, still close to your face so he could perfectly see the way your widened eyes shifted around his features.

He was a bit mesmerized by the way you looked now, so unlike yourself on any other day. It both made his guilt over being perverse grow and also solidified that he didn’t care how wrong it was as long as you kept looking at him like that.

“Get some sleep.” He waited a few seconds before taking the necessary steps away from you, taking a sharp breath as he turned and left your apartment.

His own door had barely closed behind him before there was insistent knocks on it, his head immediately hanging since he knew exactly who it was.

Your eyebrows were furrowed when he pulled the handle to reveal you in the hallway, standing stiffly and glaring up at him but not making any move to come inside. You shifted in place and let out a huff of annoyance as you seemed to search for the right words to convey what you wanted.

“Can you kiss me one more time?” You eventually settled on the blunt question, shifting closer so you were both halfway in his doorway.

While he had a foot inside his apartment still, you had one in the hallway. It left you standing too close for his sanity, feeling it slip almost entirely again when your small hand landed on his forearm and rubbed softly.

“What’s wrong?” He asked softly, sensing your frustration but not knowing where it was stemming from.

He cupped your face with one of his hands, letting the other rest back on your side. You stared up at him as he took a few slow steps forward, backing you up with each one until your back hit the doorframe and took a soft near gasp from your lips.

“Nothing I just…” You trail off as you pout, scanning over his face and then down his chest until you can’t bend your head anymore to look. “I want one more. Please.”

You added it as an afterthought but it was enough for him, pressing his mouth back against yours.

This time, apparently a very quick learner, you were able to meet his pace right away and your mouths moved softly together. Your arms went around his neck so you could fully cling to him as you kissed deeply, heads tilting and quiet pleased noises rumbling in your throat.

You only got louder when his tongue pressed lightly into your mouth, mostly just to test your reaction but unable to stop himself when you were eagerly matching the actions.

It was sloppy and a little too wet, sounds of your tongues tangling together filling the silent hallway and sending a sharp heat down to his gut. He liked how clumsy you were, growing addicted to the way you seemed to have no idea what you were doing but too desperate to stop yourself and ask him for his help.

Jack knew he liked feeling needed but this was a whole different beast, one that came paired with some light shame.

You weren’t innocent and you knew exactly what you needed to about sex but your body was inexperienced and it was getting clearer by the second, your little gasp when he kissed you deeper and the way you tightened your hold on him everytime he went to pull back and attempt to slow down.

You’re red in the face by the time he manages to get you to stop eagerly kissing him, still instinctively shifting closer when he moves back. He gives you a lighthearted sigh, occupied by the softest smile he can manage so he doesn’t actually hurt your feelings when he presses you back against the doorway with the hand that’s still on your hip.

“Time for bed.” He tries to keep his tone light but it comes out more authoritative than he had meant for it to, most likely driven by the way you automatically started to frown as soon as he held you away from him. “We can talk tomorrow.”

You clearly weren’t happy about that but you surprisingly gave him a soft nod, shifting your body until you were out of his entrance and closer to your own.

He watched you and your dazed face, slightly wobbly on your feet, as you disappeared behind your apartment door with a small wave.

-

Jack had started off his day rough the following morning, barely able to sleep after what had happened.

It was a completely split mixture of wanting you so bad it was driving him to literal insanity and feeling disgustingly guilty for even looking in your direction.

He almost considered calling Robby about it but he really didn’t need to hear the lecture that would undoubtedly come his way about the situation. Plus he figured that whatever Robby knew, Dana knew, and if Dana knew then it was only a matter of time before the entire emergency department was gossiping about Jack Abbot and his young neighbor.

The dilemma was so strong that he had almost completely forgotten about the fact he had told you that you’d talk today, although almost intentional.

He was halfway avoiding having to actually sit down and make this arrangement a reality, still having a hard time believing what had happened last night was even real.

He had just started to get changed for work when the knocking on his door started and he knew it was you immediately, standing still and hanging his head for a few seconds like he figured he could just wait you out.

It didn’t take long for his senses to kick back in and he was pulling on a plain black shirt before making his way over to the door, raising his eyebrows at you when he saw how irritated you looked.

You brushed past him immediately and he lingered with his hand on the door knob for a moment before closing it and preparing himself to face whatever wrath you were about to send his direction.

“You didn’t come over.” You immediately accused, finger pointing in his direction as you stood in the middle of his living room with an angry expression. “You didn’t even text me.”

He was already walking closer to you as you spoke and your defenses naturally crumbled at the proximity, especially when his hands were sliding over your ribs to both hold you steady and let him feel your breathing as subtly as possible.

“You can’t just kiss me like that and then ignore me.” You continue on but your tone is a lot softer now that he’s touching you, already getting that dazed edge to it he had heard last night.

“I didn’t mean to ignore you.” He shakes his head and frees a hand to tuck some hair behind your ear, your features have completely softened now at the movement.

Jack wonders for the first time if you might have feelings for him beyond trust and attraction.

For some reason, he hadn’t really considered the possibility before. You were practically his polar opposite and he had nothing in common with any of the boys you went on dates with.

But now, with you blinking up at him like you were hanging on to his every word, he let himself think it might just be likely.

“I figured you changed your mind.” Your words are a little slurred from the insistent pout you have on your face and he sighs again, gently leading you over to sit on his couch.

Your knees brush together as you scoot closer to him the second he’s settled on top of the cushion, your hand wrapping around three of his fingers and squeezing lightly as you wait for him to respond to your fear of being rejected.

“I didn’t but I want to make sure you understand what you’re asking.” His voice is low and nearing stern, the same tone he uses on the new med students who seem a little more cocky than they are willing to learn. He knows that’s not the case with you, knows you’re desperate for any expertise he can offer you, but he still wants you to pay attention and properly understand him. “There’s other ways for you to do this.”

“What, like other guys?” Your eyebrows furrow like the thought confuses you.

His stomach tightens immediately, sick at the thought of it, but he stiffly nods his head.

You’re shifting even closer immediately and he lets out a breath when you’re leaning over his knee nearly, closer to his face than before and scanning over it again.

“I don’t want another guy Jack. I just want it to be you.” You’re whispering now and he can’t stop himself from pressing a light kiss to your mouth, brief but necessary when his brain processes the lack of distance between you. That makes you smile finally and he suddenly feels very stupid for ever questioning you when you’re making a request like this.

“Tell me why.” He mumbles, easily sliding his hands around your middle so he can tug you over more and into his lap. You kiss him again once you’re settled in his lap, still quick like you’re both using it as punctuation during your conversation. “Why me?”

He wants to hear you give a legitimate reason, to undo the hesitance you gave him when you said it was only because you didn’t have anybody else to ask. That’d been weighing on him more than anything else, the thought that you had just settled for your older lonely neighbor who was clearly willing to help you with anything in spite of himself.

Your next kiss was much longer, deeper as you fully sink down in his lap and move your mouth against his desperately. He’d accept that alone as an answer, big palms rubbing over your back and sides so he can keep pulling you impossibly closer.

Your nose is rubbing against his when you pull back, the sounds of your breathing being heavier now making his head spin with the necessary impulsivity to keep making terrible decisions with you.

“You’d make me feel good.” The answer you’d landed on was much more devastating than he was prepared for, his eyes darkening at how confident you sounded in that fact. “I know you would.”

His hands tightened around your soft skin for a second, needing to take a deep breath to ground himself.

It takes a second for him to reply, tucking his face into your neck and inhaling sharply. You smell as sweet as you always do but it’s intoxicating to have it this close after so long, skin soft under his lips as he kisses you softly.

Your breathing gets shaky, arms looping around his neck so you’re practically hugging him. You’re warm on top of him and making the sweetest noises when he moves along your jaw, shifting in his lap to try and get his attention back on your conversation.

“You’ll do it right?” You ask softly, running your hand through his hair and tugging just enough to make him finally look back at your face. His eyes are dark and unfocused as he stares at your pretty features. “Jack?”

“Yeah honey.” He says back after another long silence, voice deeper than he’d ever heard it as he leans in to kiss you again.

You kiss for a long time, wiggling around in his lap when your tongues tangle together and you get to taste him properly again. It’s addicting for both of you, both of your hands running all over the other’s body like you’re trying to learn every part of it you can reach.

Eventually you’re fully rocking against him from your neediness and it takes a second for him to process it, snapped back to focus when he hears the way your whines are getting higher pitched. A near growl leaves his throat as he grabs your hips firmly, thumbs pressing into the bone so he can stop you from moving on top of him like that.

“Jackie.” You whine desperately, kissing him again and successfully distracting him long enough that you can start humping again.

“Stop baby I have work soon.” He scolds in between the sloppy kisses, lips and chin slightly wet from how uncoordinated you still are.

You make another soft noise and he’s confused for half a second before he realizes it’s because of the pet name, smiling softly from his fondness for you as you hide down in his neck for a second.

“You’re hard now, I can feel it.” You’re whispering right against his skin and a shiver runs over him at the lewd words falling from such a pretty mouth, high pitched and almost innocent voice making the sentence sound so much dirtier than it needed to be.

At first Jack doesn’t think you’re right, knowing himself and his body enough to expect he’s not stirring down there even if he wants you so bad it makes him feel insane.

He’s had issues with it for years now, a deadly combination of his age, his traumas, and the carousel of medications he has to be on for a variety of things he wouldn’t disclose to you out of his own pride. That was the reason Jack had stopped trying to hook up with people years ago, giving up on porn entirely when he’d have to spend an hour trying to get hard before he could even attempt to actually get himself off.

It was in the back of his mind when you’d asked him to help you with this but he figured this was about your pleasure, he wouldn’t need to be hard to get you off especially if he stuck to his guns about not actually having sex with you.

He was sucking in a deep breath to explain this to you in less detail, make sure you understood that he wasn’t hard but it had nothing to do with you or his attraction to you, when you gave a particularly deep and slow roll of your hips.

And the effect was completely undeniable.

A shudder ran over him, eyes dropping to his lap that you were still rocking on top of. Your tiny little shorts were so clearly pressing against the tent in his scrub pants, catching on it whenever you lost the energy to move properly as you let out another needy whine and hid back in his neck.

You were completely unaware of his current mental situation, baffled at how easily you’d gotten him to this state from just some sloppy kissing.

You must’ve thought he was ignoring you because you picked up your head to glare at him, a pout on your swollen lips.

“Sorry sweetheart.” He sighed and kissed you gently, rubbing your sides up to your ribs and coming back down right when he felt the swell of your breast against his fingertips. “I really have to go.”

“Let me suck you off.” You requested easily and his breath caught, nearly choking at how simple you made it sound. “I wanna learn and you’re so hard right now Jackie. Please let me do it.”

“That’s not the point of this.” He shook his head immediately and moved you by your hips so you were sat next to him and no longer settled in his lap, clearly upsetting you as you scrambled up on your knees and gripped his bicep so he couldn’t get off the couch yet.

“The point is to teach me things about sex and I’ll need to know this.” You counter, eyebrows furrowing in confusion at why he’s rejecting you.

He finds it a little amusing that you’re so used to him accepting your requests for things that you’re genuinely lost when he doesn’t immediately fold for you. It’s a bratty habit he should have corrected months ago but he can’t find himself caring too much, liking how dependent you’d become on him.

Jack has to contemplate this because he knows you’re right, stomach turning a little at the reminder that you’re going to use whatever he shows you on somebody else down the line.

That selfishly makes him want to cancel this whole thing and leave you completely clueless, hopefully to the point you decide to swear off sex with other men entirely. But he knows how stubborn you are and how stuck you get on something once it catches your attention, figuring you’d get on a dating app and find some idiot in finance to take your virginity as soon as he put an end to this arrangement.

So he lets you slip to your knees off the couch, taking his hesitance to decline again as a positive sign.

“Wait.” He interjects and you freeze, sighing in annoyance as you prepare for him to give another reason you can’t do it. Instead he pulls one of the pillows off the couch and slides in near his feet, your eyes softening as you shift so you’re kneeling on the plush cushion instead of the floor.

“How do I start?” You ask softly, eyeing the bunched up fabric in front of you with interest. He has to stare at the ceiling for a second, slightly losing it at the sight of you kneeling on his floor between his legs. “Do I have to get you ready?”

“No.” He says it gruffly and you tense again, his tone way sharper than he’d meant for it to be. “It’s… I’m ready baby trust me. Just give me a second.”

That calms you down immediately, enough that you rest your head on his knee as you try your best to be patient. His eyes go back to you at the touch and he watches the way you squirm against the pillow, clearly still riled up from the kissing and maybe even the thought of taking him in your mouth.

“Has it been awhile Jack?” Your voice is ridiculous now, clearly teasing him and developing this soft purr that almost irritates him.

His hand goes into your hair at the sound of it, tightening enough that you lift your cheek off his knee and stare up at him with wide eyes.

“Watch it.” He says lowly, using his free hand to untie his scrub pants as you eye the movement with fascination. Your lips part as you stare at his hand and the way his fingers twist the strings, he has half the thought to make you choke on the digits before you try and take anything bigger but your attitude has left him feeling just as impatient. “We’ve got to work on your manners if you want me to teach you.”

That makes you snap back into focus, frowning at his words and shaking your head as you straighten up on your knees.

“I have manners Jack.” You’re clearly trying to convince him, small hands smoothing over his thighs.

He starts to deny it but he’s cut off when you lean forward to nuzzle against him, face pressing right where he’s currently aching under two layers of fabric. His breath catches in his throat and he instinctively tightens the hand that’s in your hair, mumbling out an apology when you make a pained noise but barely loosening it after.

He feels like he needs to keep it there to have any sort of control in this situation, especially given the way you’re almost desperately rubbing your face on his lap.

“Should’ve told me you were this needy.” He half scolds as he shifts his waistband down lower, waiting for you to notice and pick yourself up just long enough to get his pants down.

You don’t give him long at all before you’re back to obsessing over the sight in front of you, eyes fully dazed now that it’s just his boxers separating you from putting your mouth on his hard length.

You’re clearly trying to be patient in an attempt to prove you have any sort of manners, a little pride rippling through him similar to the feeling he got when you had corrected yourself the other night to politely ask him for a kiss.

“You wouldn’t have done anything about it.” You say softly, not accusatory but confident in it like you know it’s true. You lean forward and kiss against the covered bulge, a groan leaving him. “You’re too good of a guy.”

“Clearly not.” He rasped just as you start to lose that faux patience you’re trying so hard to pretend you have, tugging at the waistband of his underwear and smiling softly when he lifts his hips off the couch without arguing. “And you know I never tell you no sweetheart.”

“Yeah?” You’re still trying to talk to him but now you’re completely lost in the sight of him half naked and sitting there with his legs spread in front of you, too desperate to even be intimidated by the size of him. “You would’ve let me do this months ago Jackie?”

He sighs and tightens his hold in your hair again, bringing you forward until he can feel your breath where he’s most sensitive.

Your eyes flicker up to him and the sight is devastating for how deprived he’s been, a pretty young girl like you sitting so nicely on your knees for the first time ever. He can barely even feel that guilt and slightly sick sensation, knowing how perverted it is that he could probably get off just looking at your face and thinking about the way he’s about to corrupt you.

“Stop talking.” He instructs gruffly and you nod eagerly, eyes back on his length and only now looking a little nervous as you swallow before your lips part in anticipation. “You sure you want to do this?”

“Want it so bad.” You don’t hesitate to answer and your voice is a little whinier, swaying forward like you don’t even realize you’re doing it.

Jack lets you move until you’re right there, eyes locked on your face as you give him a nervous look and try to take him in your mouth.

It’s awkward and you’re tense, expression full of hesitation like you’re waiting for him to tell you how to do it properly but he lets himself bask in this for a few seconds.

He knows it’s sick but he finds you the most beautiful like this, confused and desperate to please him without knowing how to. You go between sucking and licking at the tip of his length and while it feels good, no doubt about that especially after how long it’s been, it’s nothing compared to how clearly inexperienced you are.

Finally, he snaps out of his sick fantasies of watching you embarrass yourself trying to please him, and he decides to actually do what you’d asked and teach you something.

“Relax your jaw baby. Just take what you can okay?” His voice is low and gentle, hand loose in your hair but clenching into a tight fist whenever you brush against his sensitive skin with your teeth on accident or try to overachieve and take him deeper.

You do seem to calm down a little now that he’s finally speaking, shoulders slumping and your eyes fluttering shut as you get used to the feeling of him on your tongue.

You’ve barely taken him at all but he’s transfixed by the sight, perfectly content to sit here and cock warm your mouth until you were ready to move him down your throat.

He watches you closely as you pull back to take a few deep breaths, pouting a little at his length and hesitating before you’re touching him with your hand. It’s all experimental, tugging and feeling the skin against your palm while he grunts above you and tries to control himself.

It’s barely sexual on your end considering how fascinated you are by the new experience but he’s halfway losing his mind knowing this is the first time you’re touching somebody like this.

“I gotta go soon sweetheart.” He says and your eyes finally snap back up to him, turning a little red considering you’d been caught just staring at his length as you touched him. “You can play with me all you want after my shift.”

Now you’re full on blushing but you nod your head obediently and lean back in to take him in your mouth again, a little more confident now as you lick around the head and repeat movements whenever it draws a sound out from him.

Jack can barely stand it and he has to put both hands in your hair to keep himself from fucking up into your warm mouth, groaning from the effort it’s taking and considering telling you to get back on the couch before he goes too far with you too early.

You’re clearly just as impatient because you try to take more of him finally and immediately gag at the sensation, pulling back and frowning up at him.

“Help Jackie.” Your voice is whiny and has a little rasp to it now and he kisses his teeth at the sound, petting your hair back out of your face.

“I can’t help with that baby, you’ve just got to practice.” He tries his best to soothe you but you’re clearly frustrated.

“Can’t you just force my head down?” You’re rubbing his thighs as you speak in that ridiculously bratty voice, wiggling around on the pillow like the thought alone is exciting you.

He wants to say no, wants to tell you why it’s such a terrible idea for him to forcefully fuck your throat right before he has to go to work. There’s a million reasons he should be rejecting you right now but that sick voice in the back of his head is struggling to get the words out, especially when you go back to softly kitten licking at his length to keep him hard.

“Fuck you’re nasty.” He gruffs out and your eyes light up at the words, nodding your head and taking him back in your mouth as you keep trying your best to fit him deeper. “You want me in your throat that bad?”

You can’t talk now but your desires are obvious.

He eyes the way you’re shifting on the cushion below you, adjusting his foot the best he can so it’s between your thighs as you kneel. That seems to make you even more desperate, rubbing against him almost feverishly now as you try to focus on having him in your mouth.

There’s no option to do so when he brings his hands back to your hair, silently showing you he accepts your request when he moves his hips off the couch and keeps your face firmly in place so he can push deeper down your throat.

He feels you gag slightly around him but your eyes roll to the back of your head at the same time and you hump against his foot even faster so he can’t find it in himself to stop, thrusting slowly to make sure you don’t end up getting sick or feeling too sore by the time he’s finished.

Jack knows this is far beyond teaching, he’s not even speaking anymore and instead just using your throat to get himself off but you’re even more eager for it than him and he’d never deny you anything you asked for.

“This tiny little throat.” His voice is nearing a growl as he helps move your head up and down his length, reveling in the way you gag and drool around him. “You’re doing so good baby.”

The praise seems to do it for you more than anything else, rubbing your core against his foot so eagerly that you can barely focus on sucking him off. You’re getting too messy to control yourself, mouth slipping off every few thrust before you whine at the loss and immediately take him back in your throat.

Jack takes pity on both of you, both for his own sanity and because he can’t stop thinking about the fact he’ll need to leave as soon as this is done.

You’re clearly upset when he pulls you off, making a loud noise of disagreement that barely sounds like an actual word and frowning at him when he sends you a stern look and wraps his hand around himself instead.

You seem to forget your anger pretty quickly as you watch him touch himself, hips slowed down to a slow rock against his foot as you stare at his length and the way he’s making himself feel good above you.

Jack has to look away when he comes because he feels pretty close to forcing your head back down and making you swallow it, although half positive you’d actually enjoy that more than him judging by how eager you are to try things.

You’re laying your head back on his thigh while he grunts and curses, tightening his fist and going back to staring at your face just for a brief moment so he has a clearer picture to think about.

It’s quiet in the living room afterwards and he feels an odd sense of embarrassment, a rare vulnerability considering you’re still fully clothed and kneeling on the floor. He fixes one of those problems by effortlessly pulling you up by your arms, settling you back against the cushions.

He stands and pulls his pants up while he does so, knowing he’ll have to shower off before he can go to work and get a new pair of scrubs anyways.

There’s a second of hesitation before he goes to get you some water, leaning over your dazed frame and kissing you softly.

“Was it good?” You ask quietly against his mouth, hand tangling in his hair like you don’t want him to go anywhere without answering you first. “You stopped me.”

“You were perfect.” He answers simply and he means it, would probably feel the same if you had accidentally bit him though.

“I wanted to taste you.” You’re pouting again and every time he thinks he gets used to you, you prove him beyond wrong. He sighs and leans further against you on the couch so you’re fully sinking into the cushion below you.

“Next time.”

It comes out before he can stop it and he fully plans to backtrack but your eyes light up at the idea of him letting you do that again so he doesn’t, letting it linger for a few seconds.

“Not when I have to leave you right after. You won’t like it and I don’t want to hurt you.” He’s talking in the stern and no nonsense way he does at work, trying to make sure you understand even though you’re slowly starting to smile as he speaks and he realizes you’re probably not paying any attention.

“You won’t hurt me Jack.” You whisper and it’s so sweet he almost considers calling in so he can stay with you a little longer. “Not in a way I won’t like.”

That makes him scoff out a laugh, a rare sound from him and you look even more pleased at the noise.

“You don’t even know what you like sweetheart.” He says softly and brushes your hair out of your face, letting both his fingertips and eyes trail down your neck until he reaches your collarbones. “But I’ll show you.”

“You’ll show me?” You’re teasing him now, biting your bottom lip to try and hide your smile to no avail.

“Yeah I will.” He smiles too and kisses you again, a little too soft considering what you actually are to each other.

He eventually manages to get off of you long enough to get you some water, watching carefully as you take a few sips and rubbing your knee when you wince at first. He wants to feel guilty for making your throat sore but he can’t, sick enough to admit he just feels the urge to make you take him deeper next time to see if you’ll really let him.

You’re still laying on his couch when he gets out of his brief shower, having changed his pants and taken a few deep breaths while staring in the mirror to try and get ahold of himself. He needs to switch back to reality for atleast a few hours, become the weathered doctor who doesn’t lose his mind over a pretty girl asking for favors.

You set your phone down on your chest, giving him your full attention as he moves towards the door to tug his shoes on.

There’s no indication you plan to leave before he does but he can’t find it in himself to mind the intrusion, going back over to the couch to give you a kiss on the forehead.

“Staying here?” He says in a low voice and you nod eagerly, eyes locked on his.

He lets himself think about his entire way to work, the image of you being there when he gets home from a hard shift. It had been a long time since he had someone to come home to and having you across the hall was already a gift within itself.

Now you’d crossed a line and if he let himself forget the terms and conditions, the fact you were loosely using him just to end up with somebody else as the actual end goal, then he could pretend for a moment that you were the person he got to crawl into bed with when work was tough.

Despite how much he thought about you during his shift, every moment he wasn’t being bombarded with questions or saving somebody’s life on autopilot, you weren’t actually there when he came back.

He knew it before he even opened the door, confirmed by how neatly the pillows on the couch were placed again and the fact your glass of water was rinsed and put away in the dishwasher.

You’d made it look like you were never even there and he knew you still enjoyed his company, maybe enjoyed the newly added sexual dynamic even more, but that didn’t mean you wanted to comfort him after he lost a patient or help soothe him when his leg was bothering him from standing all day.

Jack had to remind himself of the part he was playing in your life currently and try his best to not be disappointed.

It’s two days until he sees you again and he thinks it’s one of the longest spans you’ve gone without talking in almost a year.

He’s just about to start really acting out of character by banging at your front door and asking if you’re avoiding him when he runs into you downstairs, freezing as soon as he enters the lowly lit laundry room to find you leaning against one of the washers and looking extremely bored.

You’re as beautiful as always, casually dressed in nothing but an old band shirt that hangs off your shoulder and a pair of shorts so small he’s pretty sure it’s just boxy underwear.

You don’t look up when he comes in until his leg slightly catches on the step, accustomed enough to the sound of the light dragging he sometimes can’t stop from happening when he’s extra tired.

It’s a relief to find that you don’t have any awkwardness on your face, no sign of being uncomfortable or upset with him.

Then he figures that might just be worse.

He would just about die if he had done anything that made you want to avoid him but the alternative seems to be that you just didn’t want to speak to him and that makes his chest sting.

There’s nothing but silence and the rattling of the old washer as it rocks back and forth on the cement floor, both of you seemingly having decided to not speak to each other first.

(sorry for the brief awkward spacing tumblr says this is too long)

It’s another five minutes of the now awkward stretch of quiet before you clear your throat, turning to face him where he’s fidgeting with his laundry baskets broken handle just to have something to focus on.

“So I went on a date last night.” You say softly, eyebrows raised like you’re genuinely interested in his reaction.

His stomach turns but it’s a relief to have you looking at him again so he takes it, swallowing hard and racking his brain for a response that’s appropriate.

“How’d it go?” He’s asking out of politeness but he’s silently praying you suddenly decide you don’t want to tell him about it. It wouldn’t even make him feel better to hear it had ended terribly, not wanting you to feel any type of negative emotions even if it technically was in his benefit.

He definitely can’t take any sort of mention of you being with another guy physically. He knows it’s coming eventually, it’s the sole purpose behind why he even gets to touch you, but he’s not ready just yet.

You’re quiet again and he really looks at you now, takes in the silent contemplation on your face and the way you tap your fingers on the metal of the washer for a second before pushing off of it entirely.

Then you’re in his space again and it’s like an instinctive move to cup your face, hand on your waist so he can lightly push you back against the machine he’d been in front of. You touch his chest, lightly rubbing in soft circles, and he wants to sigh in relief if that wouldn’t be so painfully obvious.

“Wasn’t a great time.” You whisper and your eyes are on his lips as you speak.

His eyebrows raise and his hand on your body tightens slightly at the same time he uses his thumb to press under your chin and make you tilt your jaw back.

“Why not?” He hates the thought of getting details but he needs to know some idiot from a dating app hadn’t done anything to hurt you.

You don’t answer right away, just standing there and letting your eyes scan over his features on rotation. You finally let out a small breath like you’re about to speak but it never comes, small hands moving to grip his biceps.

“Did he touch you?” He can’t stop himself from asking even though the question makes his voice come out low enough that your eyes flash with surprise for a second, snapping away from his mouth to meet his stare again like you’re looking for something in it.

You shake your head immediately, squeezing his arms and shifting against the vibrating machine.

He’s kissing you then and he tells himself it’s out of relief, the knowledge that you’re still untouched by anybody except for him instantly making this conversation easier.

You’re returning it right away and he’s pleasantly surprised by how quickly you caught on to the type of kissing he likes, his personal preference. He figures he should eventually tell you that not ever guy was going to like your constant licking into his mouth but for now he lets it be, wants you to be trying to please him specifically and not whoever you’d use these lessons with.

It’s ridiculously cute how desperate you get, only needing a few seconds of your tongue inside his mouth before you’re arching off the machine and making soft noises against his lips.

His hands are all over you as soon as he notices the state of you, sliding down to cup your ass with both palms and tug you tighter to his frame.

That makes you out rightly whimper, clumsily trying to hitch a leg around his waist and sighing in relief when he holds your thigh to keep it there. The wet sounds of your mouths fill the small room, body slightly shaking both from need and from the way the washer is vibrating against your back.

“Missed you.” You whimper it out when he pulls back to let you breathe, kissing down your jaw and tightening his grip on the soft curve hidden under your underwear. “Didn’t call me.”

“Were you waiting for me to call baby?” He asks softly, despite how much it had been bothering him, he would never want to make you feel guilty for not reaching out to him after what you’d done.

You don’t answer so he pulls his head out of your neck to look at your face, seeing the soft frown and the hesitation in your eyes.

“Hey.” He breaths out and pushes your hair back to get your attention fully on him, your body softening and completely leaning against his to the point you’d definitely fall if he took a step backwards. “I wanted to give you space. Let you decide when you wanted to continue this, if you did.”

“I don’t want space.” You counter and it’s a little past bratty but he’s so beyond fond of you that he can’t help but let the corners of his mouth turn up at the sound of it. “You’re supposed to take care of me.”

He’s not sure when your dynamic became this way but he feels it as much as you apparently do, knows it’s his duty to make sure you’re always fine and not needing anything he can’t fix. Now there’s the added element of making you feel good, touching you in ways you’re not used to and showing you what pleasure can be like, and he’s not taking it lightly.

“Then I’ll call.” He say softly and your eyes lock on his as you nod in agreement, his hand cupping your cheek so he can keep you still enough to kiss you briefly. “You want me to chase you and I’ll chase you.”

“Right now I just want you to kiss me.” You whisper and he doesn’t need to hear anything else.

You’re back to kissing and it’s feverish now, more tongue than anything and your hands groping each other anywhere you can touch.

He’s lifting you up off the ground just so he can press himself between your legs and swallow the soft needy noises you let out at the feeling, wrapping your legs tightly around his waist so he can’t pull away at all. You’re pressed back against the metal with his hands under your shirt and wrapped around your frame to make sure you don’t fall, thick fingers splayed out against your ribs.

It’s getting hotter in the room and it’s mostly due to the way you’re whining and trying to roll your hips into him, unsuccessful considering how hard he’s got you pinned back to the washer.

“Jack please.” You pant and pull away from his mouth, tucking into his neck and rubbing your soft cheek against his stubble like a needy cat. “Please touch me. Do anything.”

He’s grunting at the request and gently setting you back down on your feet so he can free up a hand, using it to push your shirt up to your neck. He’s not too surprised to find that you’re not wearing anything underneath and your surprised gasp swallows the sound of his low groan.

You’re whining lewdly when he leans down to press kisses against your skin, middle of your breast first to avoid putting his mouth where you really want it. You’re panting, chest rising and falling under his mouth, and tangling a hand in his ash colored curls to try and steer him where you need him.

He wants to smack your hand away and warn you to be patient but he wants you too bad to try and discipline you right now, letting his mouth latch onto to one of your hard nipples so he can hear whatever noise that brings out of you.

It’s loud and intoxicating, his head spinning a little as he keeps sucking and licking your skin, letting your shirt rest on the top of his head so he can use his other hand to roughly grope your other breast and make sure you’re getting equal attention.

“Oh fuck Jack.” You’re whimpering and trying to hump against nothing, back arching as you whine and hold him to your body like he has any plans of getting away from you. “T-that feels so good.”

“Come upstairs.” His voice is so rough it surprises himself, picking his head off your chest and letting your shirt drop so he can kiss you swiftly.

You frown at the loss of contact, rubbing your nose against his and still lightly petting his hair.

“Why not here?” You ask softly and he gives you a disapproving look that makes you sigh and rest your forehead down against his shoulder for a few seconds while you catch your breath. “It’s too far.”

He thinks for a moment before he’s adjusting his stance to pick you up off the ground, abandoning your laundry and his that both likely need to be switched out soon. He’d gladly let it sit and wash it again later if it means getting you up to his apartment as fast as possible.

You make a small surprised noise and cling to him, arms behind his neck and legs wrapped around his middle and he makes his way up the few stairs towards the elevators.

“Jack your leg.” The sight of the steps seems to remind you of his disability and he’d be more irritated by your worry if it didn’t sound so genuine.

You clearly don’t ever think too much about his leg restricting him, never shying away from asking him to lift heavy things or walk with you down to the store. You don’t treat him like he’s fragile or any less of a man for having limitations and he’s always liked that about you, same way he somehow likes your gentle concern even though it would have bothered him if it was anybody else.

“Think I can’t throw you around because of my leg?” He mumbles and you tense in his hold as he walks like you think he might be serious before you’re breathing out a laugh and hiding in his neck.

Jack finally gets back to his apartment, going crazy from the way you’d started to kiss his jaw and whine impatiently in the elevator. Your hands run up and down his arms like you’re marveling at the strength it takes to carry you for as long as he was, making soft needy noises and squirming around.

He can’t even care about the possibility somebody could see him with you, one of the neighbor he’d lived next to for years watching as Jack Abbot carries the much younger girl next door through his entry way as she whines for him to touch her more.

“Calm down baby.” His voice is soft once he gets to his room, setting you down on his bed and taking a few seconds to stare at you as you lay there and pout up at him.

You’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen and his gut twists a little at the observation, a mixture of desperate unfamiliar need and the same guilt from before accompanied by a new layer of it.

He thinks of his wife for the first time in a while. He used to spend every waking second with her on his mind but she had naturally started to fade from his mind once he met you, something he hadn’t even noticed until you’d already been living across the hall for a few months.

You’d came over for the first time and asked him to borrow some ingredients, strolling around his living room and eyeballing the photos on his walls while he poured some sugar into a small tupperware bowl for you to take back to your place. You had turned to him with a curious face and asked him where his wife was, obviously confused considering you’d never heard of her before despite how frequently you and him small talked.

That was the first time Jack noticed how little he’d been thinking of her lately, not just in the painful mourning way he’d been suffering through since she passed but in general too.

Now he was waking up in the morning and anticipating the next time you’d knock on his door, focusing on his health again so he could occupy you on your walks and not picking up too many extra shifts at work just incase you needed something and he wasn’t there.

Jack was thinking about her again now as you laid on his bed but only because he couldn’t remember the last time he had wanted something this bad, trying to compare the feeling of you to how he felt in his marriage and still thinking it fell short.

He had loved his wife, undoubtedly, but he craved you in a way that almost felt inhumane.

“You’re being mean to me.” You say softly to break him out of his trance, having zoned out just staring down at you and the way your chest was rising and falling with every deep breath.

“I’m never mean to you honey.” He whispers back and finally moves to lay down with you, hovering over your frame and running a hand from your waist to your ribs as he kisses you softly. “I take good care of you, don’t I?”

It’s a bit mean to throw your words from earlier back in your face, especially as he lets his mouth trail down your neck. You make a whiny noise and grip his shoulders, nodding your head and shifting under him so your legs are spread further.

“Yes Jack yes, you take care of me.” You’re practically whimpering and he feels almost drunk from how easily you get this needy, pausing his soft kisses to shift up on his knees and tug your shirt over your head.

You’re the prettiest sight he’s ever seen and he can’t help himself from bringing his mouth right back to your chest, drinking in the way you gasp and moan while he’s licking and sucking on your nipples. His other hand is softly groping whichever breast he doesn’t have his mouth on at the moment and your backs arching off his bed, scratching his shoulders through his shirt.

“Please touch me.” You’re begging after only a few minutes of the slow torture and he lets out a sharp breath, shifting so he’s more to the side of you than on top.

You’re quiet when he rubs his hand down your chest and over your stomach, rubbing at the waistband of your underwear for a few seconds just to hear the way you pant before he’s smoothing over your thighs.

Your back is basically against his chest as he hooks your leg over his to make sure yours are nice and spread for him, kissing your neck softly when he rubs your hips above your underwear.

You bare your neck for him easily and he’s selfish in the way he marks you, sucking any part of your warm skin he can reach so you’re left purple and red all over. He wants anybody you see for the next week or two to know you’ve been with somebody else, to see the claim he laid to your body even if he doesn’t let things go as far as you want him to take it.

Jack doesn’t need to be asked twice to touch you, big hand leaving your hip so he can fully palm your core.

Your reaction is just the way he had hoped it would be, sharp gasp leaving your lips as you instantly buck up against his touch. You whine desperately when he goes back to rubbing your thigh instead, giving you a second to work yourself up to the point he wants you to be at.

“Jack.” You don’t even sound like yourself now and it’s intoxicating, so pleading and broken. “Please.”

“Please what?” He’s practically whispering, perfectly calm and the direct opposite of how broken you sound just from him lightly touching you.

He moves you so you’re fully between his legs, back against his chest as he cages himself around you to keep you from moving.

You’re practically shaking, whimpering and moving your hips against nothing with the hopes he’ll cave and end up touching you again. You’re distracting to look at, body bare except for the pathetic excuse of underwear shorts you’d been wearing under your shirt, like you’d just been hoping he would be the one to find you in the laundry mat.

He has half the thought to make fun of you for that, make you tell him exactly what you were thinking when you left your apartment wearing so little, but he doesn’t think you could handle him saying much at all right now especially not something so demeaning.

“I’m going to touch you.” He says gently instead and kisses the side of your head, letting his hand go back to groping your chest just to make sure you stay worked up.

Even though he doubts at this point he even needs to touch you for that to happen.

“Yeah yeah.” You’re nodding in agreement, seemingly pleased at his decision as you relax back against him and let him touch you freely.

His other hands back between your legs now, letting you get used to the feeling of somebody touching you where you’re most sensitive. He’s just rubbing back and forth, listening to the way you pant and pulling back whenever you start to try and shift against his hand on your own.

“You’re wet just from that?” His voice is a little mean now but you don’t seem to mind, trying to clamp your thighs around his hand but being stopped by the sharp swat he sends to your skin. You wince but move your foot back to the other side of his leg so yours stay open, pouting softly at the silent punishment. “Answer me when I ask you something.”

“I’m always wet around you.” You admit with an embarrassed tone lacing your words, squirming like you wish you could hide yourself from the way he’s staring down at your body. “Want you so bad.”

“I want you too.” He kisses the side of your head, still rubbing you with just enough pressure to make you feel the friction but not to actually get off. “Gonna make you feel so good, you’ve just got to be patient.”

“Stop being scared to hurt me.” Your voice is shaky but as firm as possible, trying to show him you’re a big girl and can handle a little bit of the roughness he’s so clearly holding back.

It’s obvious in the way he was grabbing your throat your first kiss, moving your body around easily whenever he needed to, and scolding you just enough for you to be able to catch the mean tone seeping in accidentally.

Jack clearly has a darker side to him that he’s not letting you see and it’s obviously frustrating you, wanting to be taken seriously.

“I’ll hurt you if that’s what you want sweetheart but not for your first time.” His words don’t leave any room for argument so you don’t even try, sinking back against his firm chest and letting out a deep breath when he shifts behind you and presses himself forward.

It’s not long before you’re not able to wait anymore and he lets you scramble to tug down your underwear, keeping his fingers lightly rubbing between your folds and watching as you struggle to get the fabric past his insistent hand.

Eventually he lets you pull them off and then he’s right back to touching you, bare this time. You both suck in a breath at the contact and you’re practically laying down from how far you’d slid down his chest, spreading your legs as wide as they can go and whimpering while he touches you.

“Do you touch yourself like this baby?” He can’t help the curiosity, the image of you in your bed trying to get yourself off stuck in his mind now.

You shake your head and frown, trying to twist your neck to look at him but being stopped when he uses his free hand to roughly grip your chin and make you keep your eyes on the way he’s touching you, thumb on your sensitive clit now while you roll your hips the best you can.

“No I…” You can barely think let alone speak, clearly struggling as you make a pained and desperate noise. “I get nervous.”

Jack sighs and collects some of your wetness on his middle finger before finally pressing it against the tightness of your hole, not pushing in just yet but teasing it with light pressure and letting you get used to the feeling.

“When you’re with somebody, they should always be this gentle with you at first.” He’s saying softly, remembering that he’s supposed to be actually teaching you something and not just getting you off because he desperately wants to.

You frown deeply as he starts to talk and he doesn’t really understand why, thinks maybe you’re still being pouty that he won’t get rougher with you.

He tries to distract you by finally pressing a finger inside of you and it seems to work for a second, another gasp leaving you as you instinctively clench around the intrusion. He groans, his length throbbing against your back at the thought of being fully inside you instead of just a finger.

“Fuck you’re tight.” He rasps and buries his face in your hair for a few seconds to try and collect himself enough to keep teaching you something, anything at all so he doesn’t keep letting himself think this is something it isn’t. “They’ll have to really get you stretched before anything okay? You need to remember that baby.”

It bothers him so much he can barely focus, the thought of somebody not taking their time with you. He doesn’t want to picture you with another man in general but especially not in a way that hurts you, leaves you too sore the next morning with nobody to take care of you.

He’s so distracted by his own thoughts that he doesn’t notice your face stiffening at first, body a little tenser against him even though you’re still softly squirming to try and get him to put his finger deeper inside you.

“Jack stop.”

He does so immediately and goes to pull out of you before you’re making a panicked noise and closing your thighs around his hand. He lets you this time, pauses all movements just to wait for whatever it is that you need.

“N-no don’t stop that, god please don’t stop that.” Your voice is breathier now like the thought of him taking his hand away from you makes your chest tighten. “Just… stop talking about anyone else.”

It takes him a few seconds to register that and then his hands moving again, enough for you to relax and spread your legs back open.

You’re both quiet now as he adds another finger, lingering in the weight of your request and what it could mean if anything. He’s half sure you only asked because it was pulling you out of the moment, maybe making you nervous to think about doing this again with actual stakes, but the way you desperately tried to stop him from pulling away lets him pretend it was for another reason.

He’s selfish in the way he touches you now, thick fingers moving in and out of you while you cry and whine, gripping at his forearm whenever it feels like too much. He likes the way your nails dig into his arm when you think you might be close, thighs clenching and shifting when his thumb gently circles your swollen clit and how your lips part in breathy cries of his name.

He especially likes that.

You come with moans of his name filling the room and nobody else’s after you’d specifically asked him to stop mentioning other guys. Jack knows it’s selfish, even a little sick and perverted, but he could probably finish just from hearing that.

He’s throbbing against your back and he’s sure you’d be able to feel it if you were able to focus on anything after coming, body shaking a little as you pant endlessly and fall limb in his hold.

There’s a lot of softness that comes after, kissing the side of your head and being gentle in the way he cleans you up. It’s torture to be between your legs and getting to fully appreciate the sight of you for the first time without be able to touch you more but he doesn’t want to overstimulate you so early on.

He does let himself think about that vividly though, kissing against your thighs and picturing when he’s going to be able to put his mouth on you.

You’re quiet above him, eyes a little tired but still overly soft as you run your fingers through his hair and watch him wipe you down.

Then he’s back ontop of you and kissing you softly, shifting your back so you’re laying back against the pillows and not sitting up. It’s soft and bordering on romantic which makes his chest tighten, hoping you have no plans to leave his bed anytime soon.

“You okay?” He asks quietly against your mouth and he can feel you smiling, still touching his hair with one hand and letting the other drift down to the back of his neck.

“Felt so good.” You whisper back and your voice is a little hoarse from all the whining you’d been doing, nose bumping against his and then rubbing on his stubble for a few seconds. “Can I take a nap here?”

“You can do anything you want.” He says immediately, no hesitation as he gets up to get you one of his shirts and help you get comfortable, jumping at the opportunity to keep you with him just like he wanted.

Jack typically has a hard time sleeping through the night in general so he definitely never naps, needing to be truly past the brink of exhaustion to ever rest.

Yet he finds it to be the most simple thing in the world to crawl into his bed with you after taking off his leg, kissing you for a few more minutes before he’s wrapping you in his arms and tugging you back against his chest. He’s rubbing your stomach softly, hand under the shirt he’s given you, listening intently until he hears your breathing even out and then drifting to sleep right after you.

—

It’s one of the highlights of his decade to get to wake up with you still there, warm and making soft tired noises when you feel him start to stir.

His room is dark now other than the slight illumination coming from the moon outside of his window, casting just enough light for him to be able to watch your eyes flutter open.

You give him a soft sleepy smile and instinctively lean in to give him a kiss.

It’s easy to pretend that you are more than whatever this is when you act like this, mouths moving together sensually as if you have nowhere else you’d want to be.

Jack groans softly when your tongue pushes into his mouth, meeting it eagerly with his own and moving so hes hovering over you. Your hands are on his back, spreading your legs below him to let him slot between them.

He feels like a teenager again from how quickly he gets hard, your soft body under his putting him under some sort of spell. His hips shift and you let out a needy whine, scratching his shoulders lightly like you’re trying to encourage him.

You’re still making out slowly when he starts to thrust down against you, slow rolls of his hips to give you just enough friction to start to get desperate.

You’re tugging at his shirt fabric and he takes only a second to sit up and pull it over his head, back on you immediately and kissing you even more frantically. He’s moving your own shirt up towards your ribs but neither one of you wants to stop long enough to take it off, only able to when you need a quick second to take a breath.

It’s the first time you’ve both been nearly undressed together and he feels the effects of it instantly, your chest pressing against his when he lays back over you. Your skin is soft and hot to the touch, those now familiar soft whines leaving you when he lets his hand knead at your chest again.

“Jack please.” You’re whimpering and he finally stops kissing you in favor of sucking at your neck, bringing those marks from earlier back to the surface. “Can’t you just fuck me?”

He groans at the words and has to tuck his face in your shoulder, still rocking his hips against you even though they stuttered when you said that in that whiny voice of yours.

“Trust me, I want to fuck you so bad I can’t even think.” It leaves his mouth before he can stop it, not wanting to reject you again without making sure you know how badly he wants you.

“Then do it.” You’re begging now and he picks his head up to look at you, eyes wide and a little frustrated like you know he’s going to say no. You gasp when he thrusts down even harder, biting your lip as you stare at each other desperately. “Please Jack? Want you inside me.”

“I can’t baby.” He growls and kisses you to give himself a second to think without you arguing.

You’re quick to forget you were trying to convince him of something because you’re kissing him back deeply, angling your head so his tongue can get further and further inside your mouth.

He has that sick and perverted thought again that he’s coincidentally training you to be the perfect girl for him, kissing in a way he likes and not knowing how else to do it. Jack is selfish and wants everything you do to be for him, wants your body to instinctively move and react how he taught you regardless of who gets you next.

The thought of somebody else makes him want to forget his morals and fuck you like you’re begging him, be the one to take your virginity and fill you up for the first time.

He starts to reason with himself that it would actually be a good thing because Jack would never let himself hurt you in a way you didn’t like, he’d make sure you felt good around him and came so hard you weren’t able to see straight.

There’s nobody else who could fuck you like he could so he’s almost convinced himself that it’s a good idea when your phone rings on the nightstand.

You both stop, you’re completely tense under him and he sighs as he kisses you one more time and rolls off of you.

He lays there on his back as you sit up to grab your phone, screen a little too bright in the dark room and causing you to wince. He stares at your pretty face under the light as you open it up and answer it, not thinking much about the interruption despite the small disappointment he feels.

His hand is on your bare knee and rubbing your skin is soft circles, soothing both you and himself by keeping the contact.

“Hello?” Your voice is as soft and sweet as always, a little confused sounding which makes his eyebrows raise. “Oh Carter.”

Jack tenses up at the sound of a males name leaving your lips, his hand freezing and falling still on your knee. You’re avoiding looking at him as you listen to whoever it is speak on the other line, a deep voice bleeding through the speakers just enough for him to hear but not enough to make out the words.

“Tonight?” Your eyes go to the small digital clock on Jacks side of the bed, having to glance over his body in the process. You meet his eyes just for a second before they’re darting away again and it makes the pit in his stomach grow in understanding. “Of course I didn’t forget. I’ll be ready by nine.”

You’re hanging up after a quiet goodbye and now it’s suffocatingly silent in the room.

You’re still sitting up with your legs crossed under you, avoiding looking at him like you’re not still wearing his shirt and covered in marks he’d given to you. He waits for a minute before he’s sitting up and running a hand over his face, on the opposite side of the bed from you and facing the wall so you can’t see his expression when he finally gets himself to speak.

“You’ve got a date tonight?” He rasps out, trying his best to sound unaffected even though it comes out low and tight.

“I forgot.” You whisper back and you sound further away now, a glance over his shoulder confirms that you’d stood up off the bed and are searching for the shirt you’d shown up in so you can swap out of his. “He’s taking me to some art show downtown.”

Jack stares at you as you move around the room, eyes scanning over your body when you pull his shirt over your head and neatly fold it before putting it on his dresser. It feels really final to watch you change back into your own clothes, turning to meet his eyes and letting out a soft sigh when you see he’s already watching you closely.

He hopes it doesn’t show on his face, doesn’t want to be too obvious that he’s probably about two seconds away from throwing up.

“Carter.” He says simply and now you really stiffen.

You stand there for a few seconds like you’re waiting for something, eyes a little expectant and then full on disappointed when he scoffs and moves to put his leg back on so he can stand up and get out of the room that’s suddenly suffocating.

You leave his apartment and all the warmth goes with you.

He stands in his dark kitchen with regret sitting heavy on his chest, wishing he had stopped you and asked you to stay with him instead.

He isn’t sure if it’s the fear of rejection or his own guilt that stopped him but he knew he couldn’t ask you to do that. You deserved better than him and his baggage, his late hours at work and his dangerous hobbies that he needed to keep himself busy with to not think about the things that sent him spiraling.

He couldn’t imagine forcing you into a life where you had to explain him to your friends and family, ignore the curious and judging looks from his own when they realized just how young you were.

Jack knew you were lonely, it was obvious considering how much time you willingly spent with him and it was bad enough he’d taken advantage of your desperation for connection and nearly slept with you.

He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he stopped you from enjoying your youth, having a fun late night in the city surrounded by artsy people your age and not stuck on his couch watching old reruns because he’s too tired after work to properly take you out.

Jack hates himself for thinking all this and then still obsessively wanting you.

So much so that he purposely lingers near his truck right around the time you’d told your date you’d be ready. In his defense, he did actually need a few things from the corner store, so he sat in the parking lot and waited until he saw you come down.

Your date met you at the entrance of the lobby but didn’t take your purse from you or the jacket you were holding, smiled at you politely but couldn’t be bothered to open the door of his car or even wait for you to get in before he did.

It made Jack sick to his stomach all over again, jaw clenched as he sat in the dark interior of his truck and watched you drive off with some asshole only an hour after he’d had you sleeping next to him, panting under him and begging him to fuck you.

Jack decides right then that it all needs to stop, not just the sex lessons but helping you in general. He can’t be that person for you without wanting more, he’s selfish and possessive over somebody that was never supposed to be his and he knows it’s not fair to you.

So he doesn’t answer any of your texts that night, stays quiet in his living room whenever you knock on his door and waits until he hears you leave for work before he goes to check the mail.

He feels terrible for avoiding you but keeps trying to convince himself it’s in your best interest.

Jack is half asleep when the silent treatment finally breaks.

He’d fallen asleep on his couch accidentally, a beer can too many on the table in front of him and the same movie he’d been watching beforehand starting to roll credits. He should have been in bed sleeping after pulling a double at work but he couldn’t stand being in there lately, tossing and turning and trying to catch the faint scent of you lingering on his pillows.

There was a second of confusion, not sure why he had waken up in the first place, until the sharp knocks on his door made him flinch.

He was standing up on autopilot to open it, wincing at how stiff and sore his leg felt from falling asleep with it still on.

Any thought of his pain was gone the second he opened his door and saw your face, tears on your cheeks and your eyebrows furrowed in frustration.

“I need to talk to you.” You said immediately and he ushered you into his apartment, not necessarily wanting to be in an enclosed space with you but recognizing your tearful voice was far too loud to have a conversation in the hallway.

“What’s wrong?” He said softly and takes a few steps towards you on instinct, cradling your cheek and staring down at you when you nuzzle against his touch. “Why are you crying?”

“Because you’re an asshole.” You seem to remember that you’re mad at him because you step away from his touch, pushing his arm back down to his side and storming further into his apartment.

He stands there completely frozen as you toss your purse onto the chair near the couch, your eyes scanning over the beer cans and the obvious indent of where he’d been sleeping.

Then you’re back to looking at him and he knows what he probably looks like to you. The exhaustion is obvious on his face, clothes a little baggier than normal from a lack of taking care of himself and a constant awkward shifting on his leg to keep pressure off of it.

“Why aren’t you talking to me?” Your voice cracks a little and he deflates, taking a few steps closer again even though he doesn’t think you want him to touch you. “Did I do something wrong?”

“What?” His face faces in disbelief at the idea you could ever do anything wrong in general, especially to him. “Of course you didn’t sweetheart.”

“Then why?” Your words are louder now and they linger in the tense air, face pained as you wait for him to answer.

He sighs and runs a hand over his stubble that desperately needs some maintenance, wishes he had the time to plan out everything he wanted to say to you so he doesn’t accidentally fuck it up more than he already had.

“I just… I can’t do it anymore.” He lets his hands fall to his sides with a loud defeated clap and shrugs his shoulders. “I can’t watch you go out with these idiots knowing they can’t take care of you.”

He hopes what he’s trying to say is an obvious to you as it is to him, not able to bring himself to actually voice the fact that he has feelings for you beyond helping out a neighbor.

“You didn’t stop me.” You sound devastated, head shaking like you don’t believe anything he’s saying to you.

You’re not crying anymore thankfully but you look so hurt and disappointed that it makes him physically ache, moving to grab your arm softly and guide you to sit down on the couch with him.

“I waited for you to stop me and you didn’t.” You continue once you’re sitting beside him, legs pressed together in a small amount of addicting content. “Isn’t it obvious by now that I only want to be with you?”

The words hit him so hard that he doesn’t even have time to process them, eyebrows furrowing as the need for more information pushes him to speak.

“Why would that be obvious? The entire point of this was for you to be ready for other people.”

You look a little embarrassed at his sound logic, staring down at your lap where your hands are fiddling with your fingers. He sighs and takes one of them in his, squeezing it softly until you let your gaze drift back up to his.

“I don’t want other people.” You whisper, staring at him with a small amount of hope in your eyes like you’re just waiting for him to understand. “And I don’t want you to be with anyone else either. I just figured… you wouldn’t cross that line without a good reason.”

Jack thinks it’s a little juvenile of a plan but he also knows you’re not wrong. He would have never touched you without the feeling of helping you out with something, no matter how much he had wanted you since the second you moved in.

That little lie was all he needed to get himself through the shame and guilt, the ability to pretend it was for a greater cause and not because he was sick and desperate for a girl half his age.

“Jack.” You sigh when he doesn’t respond for a few seconds, turning so you can face him better and press a soft kiss to the side of his jaw. “Stop thinking.”

“That’s a big ask.” He mumbles back but he gladly turns to give you a real kiss, holding your face in his hand and keeping your mouth against his.

You kiss until you run out of breath, pulling back from him but rubbing your nose against his and letting your small hands grip his forearm desperately.

“Then just be with me for tonight.” You try to reason with him in any way you can, rubbing his arm softly and blinking at him with those big pretty eyes that drive him so crazy.

He stares at you for a moment before he’s standing up off the couch and tugging you along with him, ignoring the little surprised noise you make in favor of lifting you up with his hands on the back of your thighs. You gasp and then giggle softly once he’s got you in the air, arms behind his neck and legs around his middle as he starts to walk you to his room.

“You’re crazy if you think you’re going anywhere after tonight.” He tells you once he gets you settled on his bed, kissing the smile off your face as he climbs over you.

It’s a direct mirror of the other night as you get each other undressed fully this time, kissing the entire time and tasting his tongue deep in your mouth when it starts to get more heated.

“You’re going to be mine.” He says firmly once he’s got you in nothing but your panties, making sure your eyes are locked on his when you hear it. His free hand is all over your body, rubbing from your smooth thigh up to your chest and cupping around your neck for a brief moment while he waits for you to respond. “If I fuck you then you’re mine.”

“I’ve been yours.” You whisper easily, like you didn’t have to put any thought into it.

He falters, hand tightening around your throat on instinct and then releasing the pressure when he sees the way your eyes light up with interest.

“Don’t be nasty baby.” He’s teasing, kissing the corner of your mouth and bringing your leg up so it’s around his waist and he can press himself against you. “Gonna be gentle with you for your first time. You deserve it.”

“I want you to fuck me.” You’re pouting and gripping at him impatiently, running your hand between your bodies to touch his stomach and fidget with the waistband of his boxers. “That’s what I want Jackie.”

“Didn’t ask what you wanted.” He grumbles back, not caring that it comes off a little mean because you whine at the sound of how rough his voice had gotten and he knows you like it.

He’s back to kissing you and it’s filthier than normal, more tongue and spit than anything else.

You’re as vocal as always, whining and begging impatiently when he gets your underwear off and starts to touch you again.

Jack can barely think straight when he’s back inside of you, fingers pushing in easier this time now that you’ve felt the intrusion before and know what to expect. You’re gasping and crying out immediately, unintelligible words that he blocks out in favor of focusing on how you feel when he’s stretches you out.

“Want it so bad.” Your near sob gets through to him and he hisses through clenched teeth at how wrecked you sound already, shushing you softly and kissing your cheeks to try and calm you down.

“I know baby I know.” He’s whispering but you don’t seem to be hearing him, spreading your legs further to try and make space for him to slot back between them instead of using his fingers.

Jack is just as impatient as you but he’s terrified of hurting you too early, although throbbing so hard in his boxers that it’s painful to shift around.

It’s not long before it’s too much prep for both of you and you’re watching him with your chest heaving as he gets himself undressed the rest of the way, leg going on the floor right alongside your underwear that he had slowly pulled down your body before climbing back over you.

Your eyes go down between your bodies where his leg is and he tenses for a second despite knowing you mean well with the concern you have on your face.

“Let me ride you.” You say softly and his chest tightens with that old familiar shame he was still actively working on ridding himself of.

“I can fuck you.” He says gruffly and your eyes flash with regret, pouting a little like you’re worried you’ve hurt his feelings with your thoughtful suggestion. He kisses the expression off your face, a long deep one followed by a few quick pecks to try and ease your mind. “Next time baby.”

He says it both because he knows realistically he has limitations, there will be plenty of nights he’s not able to rail you into his mattress like he wants to, but also because he knows he would die a happy man the second he got to see you bouncing on top of him and desperately trying to get yourself off.

You look like you want to argue but you’re stopped when he’s pushing your legs apart and moving between them, sharp gasp leaving you when you feel his hard length pressing against you finally.

“Fuck Jack.” Your voice is sharp and already a little pained just from the dull sensation of him lining up with your hole, a growl leaving him at the sound of your distress.

“Just relax baby.” He says as softly as he can even though his throat feels tight and raw, kissing you gently to try and get you to calm down enough for him to push in. “You’re too tight sweetheart.”

“I… I can’t.” You let out another sharp cry when he shifts forward, nails digging into his shoulders so deep it makes him wince and lower his head down on your shoulder.

Jack has to use every ounce of self control he can muster to not just fully push himself into you and feel that tight heat he’s getting a taste of, that same sick and selfish part of him that wants you in the first place begging him to just take you already.

Instead he takes a few deep breaths before he’s kissing you with more focus, going back and forth between softly rubbing your side and massaging your inner thigh to try and urge your body to relax and accommodate him.

It’s a torturous ten minutes, especially due to your soft whimpers and the way you cry his name whenever he accidentally moves himself deeper.

Then you’re finally calm enough, bare chest rising and falling with the deep breaths he’d instructed you to take.

“Want you inside Jack.” You’re whining in his ear, clinging to him tightly and almost suffocating him when he immediately takes your queue and pushes in. You tense up again at the brief surge of pain and then let out a satisfied cry when you feel how full you are, clenching around him so ridiculously that he almost needs to pull out to give himself a break despite barely starting.

You’re both too overwhelmed to speak much more once he starts to actually fuck you, deep thrust accompanied by filthy kisses to keep you from waking up the neighbors with how desperately you’re whining for him to keep giving you more.

It’s pure need on both ends, your hips eagerly rocking upwards to try and meet his thrust sloppily while he uses his free hand to roughly push down on your stomach and keep you in place.

“Jackie.” It’s nearly a sob from you now and he can tell you’re close from how much tighter you’d gotten, almost an impossible squeeze for him to keep fucking you through.

He’s grateful you’re so inexperienced because he doesn’t think he’d last long either, not with the way you look as you stare up at him with teary and trusting eyes.

“I know baby you’re doing so good for me.” It’s more of a growl than anything else but he can barely think let alone speak enough to keep encouraging you. “Taking me so well sweetheart.”

“I’m so full Jack.” You whimper and cling to him tighter, nearly pulling him fully down on top of you and knocking him off his balance. “Feels so good.”

You’re stuttering through your sentences and slurring each word, eyes a little dazed in a way that makes him need to squeeze his shut to avoid coming inside you just from that fucked out look you have.

It’s more sweet than heated when you actually do finally reach your peak, holding onto him still and kissing the side of his jaw softly with your face buried in his neck as you squirm and shake your way through your orgasm.

He stays inside of you for as long as he can so you’re not shocked from the sudden feeling of emptiness but you’re squeezing him too tight and he has to pull out as soon as you’re starting to relax. You whimper immediately at the lose and pick your head up to pout at him, eyes panicked like you’re genuinely distressed he didn’t finish inside you.

He shushes you gently and kisses your face over and over, rubbing your side as he lets you fully come back to reality before attempting to clean either of you up or get you dressed.

“Jack.” You’ve got the needy and frustrated tone he loves so much and he knows you’re not dropping it, meeting your eyes with a fond sigh as you glance down at where he’d came instead of inside you.

“Next time.” He promises again and he means it, fully intending to have that conversation with you ahead of time now that he’s got you like this.

Jack isn’t too opposed to the idea of getting you pregnant, not even sure he’s able to with the amount of pills he takes, but he has to push down that thought along with the rest of the sick ones he gets when he looks at your needy eyes.

You smile a little at the loose promise and tuck yourself back into his shoulder, soothing any concern he has about what just happened or how you’re supposed to operate going forward.

He’s undoubtedly the luckiest guy in the world to have you wanting him like this, feeling safe in his arms and desperate for him in the way he’d been for you since the second he laid eyes on you.

though, the apartment has felt a bit off lately. you’ve noticed movie nights have been getting cancelled, Trinity and Dennis stay in their respective rooms more often, and sometimes you hear different voices that don’t belong to your roommates right as you’re about the fall asleep from a long shift. you’ve convinced yourself that the sleep deprivation is driving you insane and those voices were just in your head, maybe they were just remnants of patients in the ER. 

you come out of your bedroom to see Trinity making dinner in the kitchen. she’s got a three course meal laid out on the counter. 

“Woah, who’s the Michelin star dinner for?” you ask, peering over her shoulder as she stirs sauce around. 

“I’m trying something new! Meal prepping, you heard of it?” she bites back. Trinity comes off a bit more defensive than usual. you back away in defeat, she’s probably stressed out over Garcia texting her suddenly, or maybe Dennis pushed her buttons again. 

“Kay, well I’ll see you in a bit.” she turns to look at you and sees that you’re a little more dressed up than usual. your hair is blown out to perfection and your cheeks are extra pink from your blush. 

“Hot date tonight or something?” Trinity smirks at you.

“Wouldn’t you like to know!” you reply with a similar smirking expression. “I bet Huckleberry’s out on a date with Amy right now.” you change the subject quick to avoid her pressing further.

“He hasn’t been home in days and y’know he’s been kinda avoiding me whenever I see him at work! Like he’s practically running away from me.” she says, turning the stove off. 

“And what about you? Still hung up on Garcia? I sure hope all this is actually meal prep and not you trying to win her back over.” you say gesturing to food she’s got out on the countertop.

Trinity rolls her eyes and you take that as your cue to leave. 

Doctor Al-Hashimi is the first of the three attendings to enter the shared apartment space that night. her and Trinity eat dinner together alone in the empty apartment before continuing behind Trinity’s closed door. Dennis comes home later that night with Doctor Robby. he sees multiple sets of plates by the sink but thinks nothing of it. you probably just ate dinner with Trinity before leaving, he assumes. Robby already knows his way around and heads straight to Dennis’ room. 

a few hours later, you and Jack stumble into the apartment giggling. you had spent a few hours out together at a new fancy cocktail bar you saw on tiktok, then at a dive bar Jack suggested since he wanted to end the night with something “old and classic”

“I hope I get to end the night with someone old and classic.” you remember saying as you winked at him. he knows you’re just joking around but he takes your suggestion seriously. 

by the end of the night, you’re stumbling around trying to get to his car, giggling as you hold onto his arm for balance. Jack is practically sober and just happy to see you let loose after a long week. he takes pride in taking care of you and didn’t mind that you were a little tipsy. 

you slip your kitten heels off before Jack has you against the front door kissing you deeply. you moan into his mouth and wrap your arms around his shoulders. you try to pull away from him for a second, 

“Jack, my room, we can’t out here-” he cuts you off with another kiss before slowly kissing down your neck,

“I know pretty, give me a second.” he pulls away and grabs your hand, pulling you towards your bedroom to finish what he’s started.

𝜗ৎ

Jack is wide awake, staring at the walls of your bedroom. you’re passed out curled up against him, snoring softly. he smiles with pride at the sight. if he wasn’t such a night owl, he’s sure he’d be the exact same, especially after the several rounds you put him through. Jack has seen your bedroom a dozen times now. you’ve got a small vanity in the corner, with an overflowing dresser beside it. for a doctor who spends most her week in scrubs, you sure have a lot of clothes, he thinks to himself. there’s film and music posters all over your walls and a small collection of photobooth strips in a wall corner. Jack makes a mental note to make sure you put up the newest addition to the corner of the wall. 

he slowly pulls himself away from you and sits up to put his prosthetic back on. he looks down at you and sees you shuffle around before laying on your other side. as he exits your room, he makes sure to shut the door as softly as possible before turning around to see Doctor Al-Hashimi with the same idea. she’s completely frozen with a glass of water in hand as she stares back at the other attending,

“I was just grabbing some water.” she starts as she breaks the silence. 

“Me too,” Jack replies awkwardly. he walks towards the cabinet to grab a glass and fills it with water. Baran hasn’t moved and doesn't know if she should go back to Trinity’s room or if she should explain herself. “So you and uh- Whittaker?” Jack questions.

“God, no!” Baran whispers in shock. she almost looks offended at the accusation. Jack raises an eyebrow as the response. The door knob to Dennis’ door starts to jiggle, causing Baran and Jack to look over. The tallest of the three attendings emerge from Dennis’ room. 

Robby’s eyes are wide at the sight. two of his attendings (one of which is his best friend) are standing in the kitchen of his secret partner’s apartment. Robby awkwardly shuts the door, 

“So, do you wanna start first or should I?” Jack starts in disbelief

“I was gonna tell you-“ Robby replies. Jack is quick to cut him off.

“Well, why don’t you tell me all about it over breakfast? We can cook it in the kitchen of our resident’s apartment!” Jack whisper yells back. 

“Oh, as if you’re any better. Y’know I thought Ellis was joking when she said you were giving her special treatment but now I’m seeing it’s a lot more than just special!” Robby says gesturing to your bedroom door. Right as Jack is about to reply, Baran lets out a harsh Shh!

The apartment is quiet again. No one moves.

“I suggest that we all go back to bed and we figure this out tomorrow,” Baran says calmly. Robby and Jack stare at each other, still in disbelief. “Or at least I will.” Baran is the first of the three to retreat back into her girlfriend’s room. Jack and Robby stay, both still confused.

“So, how long?” Robby asks, breaking the awkward silence.

“Six months, you?”

“Nine.” 

“Hm,” Jack acknowledges as he puts the glass in the sink. neither of them push on any further questions for the time being. 

“Well, good luck tomorrow morning.” Jack slowly opens the door to your bedroom. Robby lets out a chuckle. 

𝜗ৎ

the morning sun shines through your sheer curtains waking you up. you slowly open your eyes to a small hangover headache and empty bed. Jack liked to wait for you to wake up so the empty bed made you panic slightly. you grab your phone to check if Jack had left you any messages. usually, he’d leave you a goodbye text or let you know he stepped out if he needed to, but there was nothing. however there were dozens of messages from Trinity and Dennis all along the same premise.

wake the fuck up

why is abbot in our living room

how long has this been going on

explain now

you get up in a rush to explain. you knew you were going to have to tell them eventually, you just didn’t think that they would find out because your boyfriend decided to get up early and watch tv. you open your bedroom door to see Trinity and Dennis eating breakfast at the dining table, eyes wide as they stare at you.

“Morning!” a deeper voice says. you whip your head towards the kitchen to see Doctor Robby, Doctor Al-Hashimi, and of course your boyfriend Doctor Jack Abbot all looking at you with big smiles. 

“So which couple wants to start explaining first?” Jack says with a big smirk on his face. couple? you look back at the dining table to find Trinity and Dennis staring at their apparent partners.

what have you walked into?

There were eight cells in ESH. Eight beautiful little boxes built with reinforced doors, observation panels, pressure sensors, thermal cameras, anti-ligature fixtures, shatterproof windows, and enough cameras to make privacy feel like a fairy tale told to a child.

Dex had seen the brochure when one of the guards had left paperwork too close to his cell during intake, and Dex had read it upside down through a reflection in the polished floor.

It was made for “high-risk enhanced detainees” with “special containment protocols” and “behavioural isolation.”

Cute.

The problem was, there were no other enhanced detainees. After all, not every day did somebody with a weird little gift or near-superhuman talent get arrested in New York. Not every day did someone land in Rikers with enough justification of being locked in a concrete aquarium, and half of them were in the supermax across the country, and the other half was in The Raft.  

So it was just Dex. 

Eight cells, seven empty. A whole hallway built for monsters, and only one monster inside it.

It was isolating, sure. But it was fine. There were worse places to be in the world. Maybe. Meh.

Rikers still had a rhythm. Even the ESH had one, if you were trapped long enough to learn it. He learned that the lights dimmed but never went fully off and guards passed every twelve minutes unless the night shift was bored, then every nine. The vents clicked twice before the air shifted temperature. Camera four made the smallest electric whine when it adjusted focus. Guard Velasquez dragged his left foot when he was tired and guard Miller breathed through his mouth and smelled like cheap coffee.

Dex knew all of it, and it helped with the silence creeping in sometimes. 

The silence was the worst part, probably, not the restraints. Not even the meals so bland they felt punitive on a spiritual level. 

This type of silence made his thoughts louder and made the walls seem closer at night, when he lay on the thin mattress with his hands folded over his stomach, staring at the ceiling like the ceiling might someday blink first.

Sometimes he thought about Foggy Nelson, but not in the way people probably wanted him to. He didn’t feel guilty; he did what he thought he had to do. He thought about that chapter in his life like a splinter under skin– impossible to forget without digging too deep and making it worse.

Sometimes he thought about Fisk. Sometimes he thought about his spine. Sometimes he thought about how easy it would be, if someone made one mistake.

Just one.

If someone would just accidentally give him the wrong set of cuffs. If a new guard would just be standing too close to the bars with his badge clipped to the wrong side of his belt.

But no one had made a mistake. Yet. 

Then, in the middle of June, in the middle of the night, the hallway suddenly erupted.

The far door opened with a metallic groan, then another. Buzz. door one. Buzz. door two. Buzz. door three.

Eventually, boots flooded the corridor, and Dex counted twenty guards. Maybe more.

He could hear the metallic clangs of rifles and the plastic bounce of shields as static popping over radios. A guard whispered., “Keep moving,” like whatever they were escorting might change its mind if they hesitated.

Dex sat up.

The lights snapped brighter overhead, white and ugly, turning his cell blind at the edges.

He didn't move to the door. He stayed on the bed, head tilted slightly, listening.

There was a slightly smaller set footsteps beneath all the others.

This one must be the prisoner. It dragged, but not fighting. Perhaps this person was sedated? No. There was a little bit of struggle. Maybe they weren’t sedated enough. Whoever it was kept resisting the pace without ever fully stopping.

Metal clinked as someone cursed under their breath.

Then came a sound like fabric straining, and he could tell it was heavy fabric. Then, he heard thick restraints being adjusted. Not ordinary cuffs, and definitely not a chain.

Dex tilted his head. Interesting.

The procession stopped in front of the cell next to his.

The guards shifted around the door, blocking his view through the narrow panel in his own cell. He caught pieces of you, though nothing whole. He could see a bit of your hair, and the corner of something white and reinforced strapped across your torso. Your rikers-issued shoes were planted firmly against the floor, like you were refusing to be placed anywhere by anyone.

One of the guards knocked twice on Dex’s door with his baton. “Got a neighbor now, Poindexter.”

Dex looked at him.

The guard smiled like he’d said something funny, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. In fact, none of them looked relaxed.  

Tonight, they were not afraid of Dex. They were afraid of you.

The door to Cell Two opened and they moved you inside.

You didn't scream, threaten, or beg, even if you were half-awake.

Weird, Dex thought, people usually did one of the three when they arrived in a place like this.

You were shoved past the threshold in silence, and the guards backed out fast. The door shut with a brutal final sound, locks engaging one after another, heavy and layered and unnecessarily dramatic. A guard gave an all-clear over the radio. Another laughed once, shakily, then stopped abruptly when nobody joined in.

Dex stayed very still as the guards filed out, one by one, until the hallway swallowed their footsteps one by one.

Eight cells, two occupied.

For the first time in five months, Dex was not alone.

He waited for you to make a sound, but he couldn't hear any noise, not even crying from the next cell. You weren’t pacing, like he did on the first night, and you barely even rattled whatever restraints they put on you. Most notable, you didn’t even attempt to make contact through the wall.

Dex stared at the wall between his cell and yours: solid concrete, thick enough that he shouldn't have been able to feel anything through it.

He did, though he didn’t know how to explain it. The only measurable metric was that somehow the room had felt cooler than it had been an hour ago.

He lay back down eventually.

From the other side of the wall, you still said nothing, no sound at all except the occasional shift of fabric and once, very quietly, an exhale through your teeth.

Dex almost smiled. That’s when he saw the window.

At first, he thought the glass had caught the overhead light strangely. ESH windows were narrow, reinforced slits. You could see a suggestion of the sky if you stood at the right angle, but mostly you saw the garden roses and your own reflection staring back like a bad idea.

Tonight, the glass was… clouding.

What?

Dex sat up again.

A thin white film crept across the corner of the window, delicate and pretty. Tiny veins of frost branching outward in lacy patterns, spreading over reinforced glass that had no reason to be cold.

Why was his window frosting up in the middle of summer?

—

For the first couple of days, Dex assumed you were asleep. Or unconscious. Or dead.

It was hard to tell with the wall between you and him. Still, the guards checked on you often enough that he knew you must technically be alive, but they did it through the panel, never through the door unless there were at least six of them and one of them had the long black shock baton they liked pretending it was not a weapon.

Dex had seen criminals arrive angry. During his time in the bureau, he had seen them arrive screaming, pleading, spitting, promising lawsuits, promising revenge, promising innocence. He had seen prisoners break under silence in twelve hours and start telling the ceiling their childhood nicknames.

You did none of that. In fact, you barely moved.

That was the strangest part, not the frost, not even the straitjacket, which was still interesting in a funny way to him, because they had Dex’s hands restrained any time they opened his door like he was going to start flicking femurs through skulls, but you must be special. After all, you had arrived wrapped up like a badly behaved present.

By the second day, he started actively listening for you.

It was pathetic, maybe, but there were very few things to do in Enhanced Supervision Housing besides become intimately familiar with the sound of your own breathing and develop opinions about fluorescent lights, so a new person on the other side of the wall was not nothing.

You shifted sometimes, when he heard a small scrape of fabric against concrete. He could hear the faint clink from whatever additional restraints they had attached to the jacket. Once, your head hit the wall with a dull little thud, and Dex turned his face toward the sound before he could stop himself.

Then… nothing. Nothing but a drag of breath through your nose.

The guards did not like you either, that became obvious pretty quickly.

They liked Dex, in a way. Obviously, they didn’t like him as a person, they were not stupid. But they understood him. They had made a little mental box for him: former FBI agent turned murderer. They had rules: keep your distance, keep his hands restrained, do not let him near anything that he could throw.

You, they did not understand.

They approached your cell like prey approaching a sleeping animal in the wrong enclosure.

On the third morning, one of them brought your breakfast and stood too close to the slot.

Dex heard a soft crackle before the guard even reacted. Then the man swore and stumbled back. “What the fuck—”

“Don’t put your hand in,” another guard snapped.

“I didn’t put my hand in!”

“Then stop whining.”

“She froze my fucking fingers, man!”

Dex sat on his mattress, elbows on his knees, staring at the wall. Interesting.

Your cell stayed silent and the breakfast tray was shoved in with much less dignity after that.

Nobody asked if you were hungry. Nobody asked if you were hurt. Nobody asked if you needed the jacket loosened, even though Dex could hear the shallow and held in breath, clearly struggling for air half the time. It was as if the straps cut across your ribs and you were trying not to give anyone the satisfaction of knowing it bothered you.

By the fourth day, Dex had decided you were either extremely disciplined or extremely broken. Possibly both.

He had also decided that the silence was annoying. This was unfair, because he had hated the silence before you arrived, and now that the silence had another person inside it, he hated it more.

He tried not to care, but that only lasted until evening.

A guard walked past and muttered, “Crazy bitch still hasn’t said a word.”

Dex’s head lifted.

The guard kept walking, probably feeling very brave because there were reinforced doors and rifles between him and the consequences of being stupid.

Dex watched him go. He didn’t say anything, and neither did you.

The night after that, the frost came back, but not just on Dex’s window this time. They were crawling up the walls.

It crept from the seam where the concrete met the floor, thin and white under the dimmed lights. At first, he thought it was moisture, a product of bad ventilation and  Rikers being Rikers. Then the frost branched, crawling in little veins across the wall between your cells.

Dex got up and walked over, putting two fingers against the concrete. It was painfully cold.

On the other side of the wall, you breathed out, and frost thickened under his fingers.

Dex almost knocked. That felt ridiculous.

What was he going to do? Tap his knuckles against reinforced concrete and ask the stranger in the murder-prison next door if she was making the building colder because she was sad?

No. So he went back to bed, but did not sleep.

By day five, the guards had stopped pretending this was normal.

Maintenance came in wearing insulated gloves, and even gave Dex a thicker orange jumpsuit, even though he never minded the cold. They took temperature readings in the hallway, checked the vents, checked the windows. They argued about condensation. One of them said it was probably a system fault, and then immediately shut up when a thin line of ice crawled over his boot.

Dex enjoyed that a lot, actually. It was the first entertainment he’d had in months.

By the fifth night, Dex woke up to snow.

At first, he thought it was dust falling from the ceiling. But then a single cold snowflake landed on his cheek.

Dex blinked.

For a moment, he lay very still, staring up at the ceiling where tiny white flakes drifted down from nowhere. Another landed on his chest. Then another. Soon there were dozens, small, delicate, almost shy.

Dex sat up slowly.

The floor was beginning to powder white. His blanket had caught a fine layer of it. The air was cold enough now that his breath was visible.

He looked toward the wall, and for the first time in five days, he spoke to you. “You doing this, neighbor?”

Nothing but silence.

Dex waited.

The hallway outside was quiet, which meant either the guards had not noticed yet or they were all standing very still pretending they had not noticed yet. Dex watched snow gather on the toes of his prison-issued socks.

Then, from the other side of the wall, there was the faintest shift.

And then your voice, rough from disuse. You sounded almost… bored. “...mmhm.”

Dex’s mouth curved up.  Ah. She speaks. 

He leaned back against the wall, feeling the cold bite through the cotton of his shirt. “Should I be concerned?”

Then, barely louder than before, you said, “Probably.”

Dex laughed once under his breath.

His own sound surprised him, because it sounded wrong in the cell. Too human then he had ever been.

The snow kept drifting down. It should have made him uneasy. It should have made him think about containment failures and emergency protocols and what the guards might do if the whole unit iced over. Instead, Dex sat there with his shoulder pressed to the wall between you, watching winter collect in his lap.

“Good to know,” he said.

You didn’t answer. But a few seconds later, the snow slowed down.

—

After that, Dex learned how to read you. It was not subtle, once he understood what he was looking at.

When you were sad, you were cold so it made sense that in the first month, it snowed almost every day.

You barely spoke during those days, you barely even moved.

The guards asked questions through your door and received nothing but silence. The nurses came by with clipboards, asking if you had eaten, if you were injured, if you needed medical attention, if you understood where you were. You gave them nothing.

Sometimes, actual ice sealed your food slot shut. Snow collected in the corners of Dex’s cell.

His blanket went damp and cold and his breath fogged when he sat up. Even the guards stopped making jokes when they passed Cell Two because nobody wanted to laugh in a place that had started to feel like a morgue.

Dex sat with his back to the wall and listened. That was all there was to do: listen and wait for proof that you were still in there.

Then, eventually, the cold would begin to cease.

The frost on his window would sweat and snow would melt into silver lines down the concrete. The air would warm by a degree, then another, like your body was remembering that it was summer.

And then, and only then, you would speak. “Neighbor?”

His eyes opened in the dark. “What?”

You inhaled, as if you had been thinking about this for days. “Do you think they’d let me have a hairbrush?”

Dex stared at the ceiling. “No.”

You were quiet for the rest of the night, but the cells suddenly became as warm as a hug, as if someone had reminded you that human connections were possible.

Then, the next day, you called out again. “Poindexter, right?”

“Mm,” he replied.

You paused, as if considering whether or not the question was stupid, but said it anyway. “Do you think pigeons know they’re ugly?”

Dex blinked. “I don’t think pigeons care.”

“Good for them.”

Then, a few hours later, after hearing a prison guard during dinner time call you this, you said, “Dex.”

The name came too naturally from your mouth for someone who had never said it before.

He turned his head toward the wall. “What?”

“I have an itch.”

He waited. You said nothing else.

“Okay.” he finally said.

“I’m in a restraint jacket.”

“I figured.”

“It’s under my shoulder blade.”

“That sounds inconvenient.”

“It is,” you sounded very, very annoyed.

The room heated so fast it made the steel bars creak.

Dex smiled into the dark.

You were quiet a moment longer, then said, “They keep calling it that.”

“What?”

“A restraint jacket.”

“That’s what it is.”

“No,” you said. “It’s a straitjacket.They just call it a “fireproof restraint jacket” because that sounds nicer with the taxpayers, and straitjacket makes me sound like I’m supposed to be in a basement eating wallpaper.”

Fireproof, huh?

Dex found your comparison amusing and laughed under his breath. “You’d prefer that?”

The wall warmed. You heard him. He knew you did, because the warmth stayed.

“At least it’s not an inhibitor collar,” you muttered finally.

Dex went still. “They have those?”

“Not anymore,” you said, though Dex didn’t ask for any clarifications that day.

For a while he stared out quietly.

After a moment, you asked, “Are you in one?”

“An inhibitor collar?”

“A straitjacket, genius.”

“No.”

The temperature dropped, but only in a small enough increment. “You’re not in a straitjacket?”

“No.”

“That is so fucked up.”

Dex closed his eyes. “Is it?”

“Yes,” you scoffed, “What makes you so special?”

“I don’t know.”

“This is discrimination.”

Dex, who couldn’t miss if he wanted to, looked around to see nothing in his cell that he could throw or ricochet with. And if he was imagining you right, your hands must be the main conduit to your power. You didn’t need an object to break out if your hands were free. “I don’t think that’s what that is.”

“It is to me.”

After that, you told him your name. You said it at two in the morning, half-muffled through concrete, like it had slipped out by accident.

Dex repeated it once.

The heat that bloomed through the wall felt almost shy.

After that, Dex started sleeping with his shoulder closer to your side of the cell, though he told himself it meant nothing: The bed was narrow and the room was small, that’s all. There were only so many places to put a body inside a box. But every night, somehow, he ended up turning toward you, listening for your breathing through concrete like it was the only sound in Rikers that mattered.

And when you went quiet for a bit too long, Dex would listen in, panic blooming, and it would not calm until you shifted or sighed or muttered something ridiculous about prison oatmeal, and then he could breathe again like an idiot.

That was when he understood the other half of you.

When you were in a good enough mood, your powers weren’t icy anymore. You’d run hot.

The first time it really hit him, Dex woke up sweating with his shirt clinging to his back. The window was fogged over and the snow had vanished completely, and the whole cell felt damp and tropical, like a greenhouse in Rikers.

And you were talking. God, you were talking.

You were talking your ass off, giving him whole floods of thought, fast and impossible to hold still.

“Do you think they built this place because of you specifically,” you asked once you realised your rambles had shook him awake, voice bright through the wall, “or do you think someone made a budget request years ago and then got really excited when you gave them a reason?”

Dex looked to the wall. You didn’t wait for an answer.

“Because eight cells is very ambitious. Someone must’ve sat in a meeting going, no, trust me, we are going to have so many enhanced criminals. And then it was just you for like, half a year.”

Dex sat up, and the air was even warmer.

On the other side of the wall, you shifted in the jacket, fabric rasping hard against concrete.

“Also, do you think enhanced is offensive? I can’t decide. It feels offensive. Like I didn’t ask to be labelled like a skincare serum.”

Dex’s mouth twitched up a little. “You done?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

“I also think the eggs are powdered.”

“They are.”

“I knew it.”

Then you laughed, and it was a half-controlled laugh this time, wild around the edges. The temperature in Dex’s cell jumped so fast it felt like someone had opened an oven door.

Dex now knew how your powers worked: when you were kinda sad, things frosted over. When you could barely move, it snowed.

Good mood meant warmth. Full manic meant tropical.

It was ridiculous and fascinating all the same. Sometimes, the whole unit went damp and sticky, other times the reinforced windows fogged over, the walls sweating like the building was nervous. 

Eventually, it got warmer and warmer, and you would be pacing, five steps one way, five steps back, talking out of your ass like language had become a pressure valve.

You talked about everything. The guards’ schedules, the ceiling tiles, how ugly prison socks were, whether corporations should be burned down in alphabetical order or by severity of moral failure.

Dex listened to all of it.

He learned of who you were without ever seeing your face. He knew when you were smiling because the wall warmed before your voice changed. He knew when you were pretending not to cry because the frost came fast, like you were trying to hide it and failed anyway. He knew the difference between your tired silence, your angry silence, your sad silence, your plotting silence. So he knew you.

And you knew him, too, in ways no one alive had earned before. You knew when his guards had pissed him off before he said anything. You knew when his spine hurt from the way he breathed through his teeth. Once, when he had gone too silent, you knocked your forehead lightly against the wall and said, “Dex, don’t go wherever your mind just went.” He had stared at the concrete for a long time after that, because nobody had ever come looking for him inside his own head before.

That's why, when you talked, he listened.

Some of it was nonsense. Some of it was clever. Some of it was both. You talked like someone sprinting downhill with no interest in stopping, fast and too amused by terrible things. You even told him what you did: apparently you burned down a warehouse and office of a company called Meridian Dynamics. They made suppression tech: Inhibitor collars, cuffs, injectables, sold to prisons and private security. Apparently, you planned to burn the building down during a very important board meeting, which resulted in your two counts of arson and twenty four counts of murder.

And, inevitably, you started talking about escape.

“I’m getting out,” you told Dex one night.

He was sitting on the floor, back against the wall, sweat dampening his collar. “No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

“You can’t burn through reinforced doors.”

“I could if I had my hands.”

Dex looked down at his own, free, for now. He was still dangerous. His hands had always been the part of him people watched first, the part they feared, the part they restrained before opening any door.

He understood, suddenly, the cruelty of having your body treated like a weapon even when you were just sitting there, breathing.

You shifted in the jacket, and the fabric rasped like it hurt.

“Obviously,” you said, trying for lightness and missing by inches, “I don’t have them.”

Dex stared at the wall. For once, he did not know what to say.

You laughed, but it came out thin. “I can feel them. That’s the worst part. They’re right there. I just can’t use them.”

The heat dimmed.

“That why you keep talking about chewing through your jacket?”

You shrugged, though it hurt.  “Maybe.”

“You’ll break your teeth.”

“You care about my teeth?”

“I care about not listening to you complain.”

“You care.”

He should have denied it, but he didn’t.

Dex had spent his entire life understanding attachment as a liability, something people could weaponize until he became useful or pathetic or both. But with you on the other side of the wall, this attachment didn’t feel temporary. It was clear in the way he measured his nights by whether you spoke. He had an ache of wanting to see your face and being terrified that if he did, it would only make this feeling worse.

The silence stretched, warmer than it should have been. Then you said, very quietly, “I don’t think I could actually chew through it.”

“No,” Dex said. “Probably not.”

“I still might try.”

“Don’t.”

That made you laugh for real. The wall warmed beneath his palm. For a moment, it was almost gentle.

One night, after hours of heat and pacing and a long speech about how prison architecture lacked imagination, you went suddenly quiet.

Dex waited.

The wall was warm against his shoulder. Then you whispered, “Dex?”

“What?”

“Do you think I’m going to be like this forever?”

Dex looked at the concrete between you, at the damp shine where the heat had melted old frost.

“No,” he answered. 

It was the closest thing to a promise he could make through a wall. He wanted to say more, but everything else felt too fake.

He didn’t know why, but he had the urge to tell you that you were not an object or a containment problem. He wanted to tell you that if the world had built eight cells for monsters, then fine, let the world call him one, because he had found you in the next cage over and suddenly the world didn’t feel so lonely anymore.

Instead, Dex pressed his palm flat to the wall.

A second later, warmth bloomed under his hand. Not enough to burn, but enough to meet him.

 —

Dex getting moved to general population should have made him think about the Fisks.

It should have made him think about the obvious thing first, which was that Vanessa Fisk wanted him dead. 

Being moved to genpop was not a transfer. To him, a former FBI agent in a room full of convicts who has also pissed people off by working for the Kingpin, it was a death sentence. Genpop was a fancy term for a room full of men, any one of them purchasable, any one of them stupid or desperate enough to try him with a sharpened toothbrush, a melted piece of plastic, a hand around his throat in the showers.

But when the guards dragged him out of ESH when you were asleep in your cell, that was not what Dex thought about.

He thought, with a sudden, sick clarity, that you were going to be alone.

You would be alone like he had been alone for five months, rotting in a hallway built for people the world didn’t know how to categorize. 

Alone with no one but the guards who would never understood your moods.

So he called Matt and offered him a lifeline: tell him who hired him to kill Foggy Nelson in exchange for freedom.

Of course he didn’t think Matt would forgive him. But Matt had believed in the law. And mercy too, whether he wanted it or not. Dex needed both, and hated needing both, and hated more that he was not even asking just for himself.

Need sat wrong in his head. It had always felt like weakness or an exposed artery, as if anyone could just hook a finger into and pull. Needing Matt Murdock was bad enough. Needing Matt Murdock for you was humiliating in a way that Dex didn’t have vocabulary for, because it meant there was something in the world he could not take, kill, steal, or aim to fix.

See, he wanted an appeal for you, too. He had this whole speech of how in another life, Matt would defend him. About isn’t that what good men do? Defend their worst enemies? About I’m bargaining for our life here, counsellor.

Our life. Not mine. Ours.

“Oh,” Matt said. “That’s what this is.”

Dex said nothing.

“So fell in love in prison?” Matt said sarcastically. “Sweetheart, what do you want me to do? Want me to get a couple of murderers out of prison, want me to get an appeal?”

Dex didn’t answer, because answering would have made it sound too… juvenile. 

Love was not a strong enough word for a woman he had only known through a concrete wall and had fallen for anyway. It was not right for experiencing snow in a prison cell, or feeling heat through the wall, or your voice talking nonsense at three in the morning. It was not right for the way he had started sleeping closer to your side of the room. 

Matt saw enough of it anyway, and maybe that’s why he had a glimmer of sympathy. Maybe it was disgust. Maybe he thought again of Foggy, and before he knew it, Matt was slamming his head on the metal table. 

Dex barely had time to register it before pain flared through his mouth and his head snapped hard enough against the metal that the room flashed white, blood filling his mouth.

Then, he felt something small and hard come loose against his tongue.

A tooth.

A projectile.

“Thank you, counsellor,” he smiled. 

The guards pulled Dex back, and he let them haul him away, head bowed, blood dripping down his lip, the tooth hidden carefully.

Killing the doctor and the guard was child’s play after that. Navigating the prison with the dead guard’s badge was even easier. 

He would break out and kill Fisk in his black and white ball. But for now, he had something else to do in this hell hole. 

He wouldn’t escape without you.

Dex moved through Rikers with blood still drying at the corner of his mouth. 

When he reached ESH, he killed the two stationed guards with medical tools stolen from the infirmary.

And when he got in, the hallway was frozen.

Ice crawled over the floor in white veins. Frost had swallowed the observation glass. Snow had gathered in the corners like the building had been abandoned for winter. Your food tray sat untouched outside the slot because the mechanism had sealed shut.

Dex stopped outside Cell Two and looked through the narrow panel. 

This was the first time that Dex ever really saw you. 

He had seen flashes between guards, maybe a reflection from one of the guard’s shields during training drills. 

You were curled on the floor in the fireproof straitjacket, knees drawn up as much as the restraints allowed, cheek resting against the concrete. Your hair was messy. Your lips were discolored from the cold, frost clinging to your lashes like a lifeline, delicate as glitter, cruel as evidence. 

You looked… smaller than he had imagined, but no less beautiful.

He had built you in his head as strong as weather, a voice bright enough to make lights flicker. But through the glass, you were just a girl in a white straitjacket, cold and alone and trying not to disappear.

Dex pressed his bloody hand to the door.

He looked at the jacket and the lock and and thought of every hand that had put you in there and every person who had looked at you like you were a weapon before you were a human being.

He broke the door open with the stolen keycard first. 

When the door gave out, the cold rushed out around him.

You stirred, eyes opening slowly.

For one second, you only stared at him like he couldn’t possibly be real. Like maybe the cold had finally started making things up for you.

Then the frost nearest his feet began to melt.

“Dex?”

You looked confused. As if it was a guess. 

That's when you realised… you had never really seen him, either. 

He nodded, stepping inside.

Snow fell between you, unnatural and absurd beneath the fluorescent lights. Your eyes moved over his face to the blood on his mouth and the stitches on his forehead. You knew him, finally, after months of knowing him only as a voice through concrete.

Your voice sounded broken. “Is that what you look like?”

Dex almost smiled, thrilled that you looked anything but disappointed. “Yeah.”

You blinked at him, dazed and trying very hard to make your mouth curve up like this was funny. Like you had not been left alone, and that loneliness without him had turned the building into a snowy wasteland.

He crouched in front of you.

For the first time, there was no wall between you.

Dex reached for the straps.

You flinched, but not because you were afraid of him, but because the last person who reached for the jacket had touched you like you were an object, and you had burned him by accident, and then they had hurt you for it.

Dex saw all of that cross your faces so he stopped.

His hands hovered over the buckles.

“I’m taking it off,” he said, “that’s all.”

You looked at him, considering your choices. Then, just a little, you nodded.

Dex broke the first strap, the fabric strained under his grip before giving in with a harsh snap. The sound echoed through the frozen cell. Your breath caught, and his eyes flicked back to yours immediately, checking if you were okay. 

You were.

So he broke the next one.

Then the next.

Each strap breaking felt personal, and each piece tearing loose felt like he was taking something back from everyone who had decided your hands were too dangerous to belong to yourself.

When the last strap snapped, the jacket loosened.

Then your arms slipped free. You did so slowly, like you had forgotten they were ever yours.

Your hands trembled in your lap. 

Dex looked at them.

So did you.

You had not seen them for months. 

The snow thinned at first, then eventually, it stopped, the last few flakes drifting down and melting before they touched the floor. Warmth bloomed from you in a fragile little wave.

This time, it wasn’t manic heat. Instead it was warmth, like spring breaking after a cold winter. 

You lifted one hand carefully, almost shyly, and the first thing you did was touch the scar on Dex’s face.

He went perfectly still.

You brushed the blood at the corner of his mouth with your thumb, your eyes furrowing. 

“You came back,” you whispered, which, to Dex translated to: I thought you left me forever.

Dex leaned into your touch before he could stop himself. “Yeah.”

There were alarms somewhere in the distance, but ESH was far away, out of security. It would take them a while to get here. And by the time they did, it would’ve been too late. 

Dex didn’t move. Neither did you.

Then your fingers curled lightly against his chin, and before he could think better of it, Dex bent forward and kissed you.

It was small, nothing but a brush of his mouth against yours, warm and bloody from the missing teeth. 

You froze for half a second before you kissed him back.

You were sweet and a little clumsy, because your arms were stiff and your hands were shaking and neither of you had any business being tender in a prison cell full of evidence of your sadness and isolation. 

When he pulled back, you stared at him.

The frost on the walls ran down in thin silver lines.

Then you smiled, sheepish and dazed, like you were embarrassed by your own warming heart.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” you admitted.

Dex looked at you and he had no answer.

The ruined straitjacket was still in his hands, your fingertips still against his face, and the warmth of your lips lingering on his mouth.

Outside, the prison began to panic. Inside, you smiled at him like he had brought summer with him.

And Dex, who had spent five months alone in a place built for monsters, thought there was no better reason to become one again.

—end.

Extra note: I reread this before posting and realised I may have accidentally written reader as bipolar-coded, which is very me😭😭😭 I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder around a decade ago, and it’s manageable now, but this fic ended up feeling way more personal than I expected. This is the first time I’ve ever written mood disorder x mood disorder so I hope I did alright. So please be kind with this one. She’s special to me 🫶