#dark!jack

They’ve seen you in the damn shower with the signature white stick tucked in the corner of your mouth. They’ve watched you get off with one still in place— they’re not beyond asking if it’s turning into a sexual fetish in their head.

Your obsession is hard to swallow. They think you’re more focused on the sugar than them. You get nervous if they even try to watch you run circles against your clit, yet you want a lollipop there. The jealousy might be pathetic— but that’s a trait they’re perfectly happy to brand themselves with.

They attack your stash. The count lowering with each passing day— enough to keep you unaware, it’s not like you track your overconsumption. They fill the void with fingers searching and prodding around your mouth. Until you start seeking the digits out under your own free will.

They rest their hands on their lap— the sight of you mouthing at their shorts, their underwear, making them more content. Yet you still seek out the lollipops. It's not enough for your brain, fingers not enough to replace the constant physical and mental fixation.

So they push it further. Instead of losing one a night, you lose three. Newly delivered boxes go missing. They nudge you enough to make you drop one. Your building frustration a part of a developed game plan. They can deal with the attitude spikes, can keep you fairly mellow by rolling your lollipops in crushed up sedation dressed as sourness— easy to convince you that you'd ordered wrong in desperation.

It doesn’t give you a free pass to act as a brat however. They’re fine with you having this fixation, but everything happens under their control, their guidance. You can’t have a reliance on something that isn’t them. It breeds an idea of freedom, of something existing outside of them. It has to be controlled.

Your freak out only confirms the need for a heavier hand. The hand tapping starting. The leg bouncing. The nervous nibbling of your fingers. The whines and huffs. It’s extra irritating to Jack— you’re more often on his lap, closer to his fingers. Yet you’re pushing his away when he tries to replace the stolen snack. Complaining about him. Driving him up the damn wall.

This is why it’s a problem. A threat. One he’ll solve. Quinn will take too long— you’re behaving better for him, not totally tuned out from the consequences. Luke is still a chicken. He’ll crack and get you more just to be showered in your love. He’d puff out his chest with pride at being the favourite.

He overdoses you on the spiked leftover lollipops. He burns through your supply at a rapid pace. You think he’s caving— that your temper tantrum paid off. He watches you zone out, watches how you lack the strength to bat his hands away from your mouth with each roll of your tongue around the treat.

He volunteers to take you to bed— fake concern coating his words. His nails sinking into the skin of your thigh to ward off the smirk threatening to mark itself on his face. Dazed mumbles the only sign of protest at his sudden lift.

He’s doing you a favour too, even if it might take a few days of medicine for it to really sink in. You were the one pawing at his cock. You were the one with his fingers in your mouth— he felt you lap at the digits.

The way he lays you down on your bed, the calm before the storm. A theatre act, with the way he uses your sleepy hands to drag the waistband of his boxers down. It’s part of the lesson. When your head settles, you’ll remember every part you played in it. There’ll be no blaming him. No childish follow ups.

You’re even opening your mouth for him— the gap widening with every released inch of his cock. Your tongue inching out of your mouth as if you’re expecting a replacement lollipop. Might as well be signing your name on the permission slip.

A slide down your throat— the brutal intrusion enough to make you gag— chased up with his hand around your throat. He can’t have any early lesson interruptions. The taste of him a change from the sweet snack. Cutting off more air than what you’ve learned to adapt to. His pre-cum mixing with your saliva, drowning your throat. Your fixation satisfied with the clenching of your cheeks around him, the swallowing. Your tongue unknowingly recreating your past moves on his veins.

He doesn't care when the door opens— it's only a matter of time before Quinn investigates everything to do with you. He knows how much it burrows and festers under his skin when someone else is alone with you, the jealous monster. The only indication from Jack that he’s noticed is a small smirk, a barely there lift of his mouth, his weight pressing his cock down further to make your sedated body twitch. An attack against Quinn. A dismissal. He doesn’t need a guide to give you your medicine. He’s perfectly capable of moulding your oral fixation himself.

Dark!Jack Abbot who starts subtly hinting at wanting to do more in your sexual life, that the things you do are not as exciting as they used to be and he needs more.

Dark!Jack Abbot who starts complimenting your ass more often than not, groping you whenever he can, spanking and digging his nails into the flesh as he fucks you from behind – but not the hole he truly wants to

Dark!Jack Abbot who mumbles a quick ‘fuck it’ before he pulls his cock out of your pussy, bending down to pull out a lube he’s hidden in your nightstand drawer before he coats his entire cock with it.

Dark!Jack Abbot who leans down on your body completely, caging your body under his weight as he presses the tip into your asshole gently.

Dark!Jack Abbot who starts whispering in your ear when you panic and try to push him away, “Jack, I’m not ready yet–“ but he knows you are ready, he knows you better than he knows himself.

Dark!Jack Abbot who kisses your cheek as he pushes his cock past the first ring of muscles, grunting and panting as he feels how tight you are.

Dark!Jack Abbot who is shushing you when you start to beg him to pull out when he finally sheathes himself inside you, “But baby, you don’t want to upset me do you? I’ve told you how boring we were being, and now that I have a solution, you want to disappoint me? Tsk.”

Dark!Jack Abbot who thrives on your tears, licking them and sucking on your cheek greedily as he fucks you hard and deeply, making you cry out his name and fist his sheets.

“Are you going to go out with him?” Shelly asked, turning from the mirror to lean against the dressing room table. She could barely contain her enthusiasm. 

“What? No, he’s not interested in me!” you said with smile and toss of your head.

“Well, if it were me, I’d be throwing myself at him!” Doris said with a dreamy look. 

“And you have!” Shelly added with a giggle.

“Well can you blame me? He’s rich and handsome! You’d be crazy to ignore him, Y/n!”

“Ok, I’ll try to remember that,” you said as you slipped into your costume.

After your number, Mr. Nelson motioned you over to his table and Doris gave you a wink. You knew it was in your best interest to cater to him. As the club owner he made all the decisions and could help your career greatly. However, you were always so nervous in his presence, you couldn’t think of a thing to say. That didn’t matter tonight though. He only asked for you to join him at the table.

“You were wonderful tonight, sweetheart,” he whispered in your ear.

You fixed the feather in your hair nervously as you accepted the compliment with a smile. “Thank you, Mr. Nelson.”

“Please, call me Jack,” he said, puffing on his cigar. “Can I get you a drink?” he asked, gesturing toward the bar.

“Yes, champagne please, Mr….I mean, Jack,” you said with a giggle as you remembered his instruction.

He winked at you as he motioned a waiter to the table and ordered your drink. 

The rest of the evening was a dream come true. Jack kept you by his side and attended to you like a real date. Normally you would have expected to wait on him, but he seemed intent on pleasing you which made you positively giddy. You couldn’t wait to return to work the next day.

The special treatment continued day after day and everyone began to recognize you as “Jack’s girl.” That came with important privileges such as turning down bad shifts and coming in late when he kept you up with passionate lovemaking. You began to wonder if he might have serious intentions towards you and you allowed yourself to dream of running the empire with him one day. All the girls encouraged you to drop hints that you’d like a ring for Christmas.

One evening in December when you were left alone at the table for a quick meal, Jack had taken your hand and you felt a spark of energy pass between you. You wondered if tonight might be the night he would ask you to be his. However, the moment passed and it was soon time for the next act. “Go get into costume, doll,” he told you as he finished the last of his whisky. You stumbled away confused, but thought perhaps he had a more elaborate proposal in mind.

As usual, he called you over after your routine and he sang your praises to his companions. “My little songbird is quite the charmer, ain’t she fellas?” Jack said with a proud grin. You beamed at him as he rubbed your thigh under the table. It felt good to earn his approval.

The man across the table was an important business contact from London, Tommy Shelby, and you knew Jack wanted to impress him. You’d done all you could to look your best for the evening and Jack had allowed you to buy a new dress to change into for the occasion. It was a bright red color with a high slit up to the thigh which left little to the imagination. You were used to wearing less on stage. However, you felt more vulnerable when you were so close to the men on the floor. As the Englishman looked you up and down, you began feeling self conscious for the first time in your attire and began to cover your legs as best you could. 

Jack turned his attention back to Mr. Shelby and his business at hand. “So we’re agreed then Shelby? 30% to you and the import licenses are mine?” 

Mr. Shelby swirled the whisky in his glass before looking back at you carefully, eyes full of dark desire. “That’s not quite all, Jack. You see, I’ve one more item to add to the list now that I know what a generous man you are. Shall we add an evening with your songbird to close the deal?” he asked downing what was left in his glass greedily. 

You squeezed Jack’s hand under the table waiting for him to rebuff Mr. Shelby or even punch him. Who was this foreigner to come into Jack’s club and demand you like that? Jack would never agree to such a thing! You were incensed by the notion. The table was deathly quiet as Jack took a careful sip of his drink and extinguished his cigar.

The longer he took to answer, the more nervous you became. Not wishing to wait any longer, you stood to leave the table and Jack leaped up with you. He towered over you as he was easily a head taller and placed a large hand at the back of your neck. Leaning into your ear he whispered, “Where do you think you’re going, pussy cat?”