summary: What starts as you “borrowing” Jack’s hoodie turns into heated confessions, desperate kisses, and him fucking you on the counter like he’s been waiting all this time to claim you.
wk: 3.1k
tags: Smut (18+ • MDNI), rough/dominant sex, choking/breath play, possessive dirty talk, creampie, breeding kink, semi-public sex (risk of getting caught, strong language, nicknames like: babygirl, good girl, beautiful and mine
notes: this is my first time writing smut, soo i tried. don't flame me. thank you. have fun <3
The Nightshift in the ER is cold. Not because the temperature drops, but because exhaustion sinks into your bones and makes everything feel sharper, even lonelier. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead like static in your skull. Somewhere around midnight the department grows quiet for a moment, and that’s when the cold really creeps in.
Under your scrubs, behind your eyes, into the spaces between heartbeats.
Maybe it's the exhaustion.
Maybe it's the lack of sunlight.
Maybe it's just this place.
You’re halfway through triaging a sprained wrist when Jack brushes past you, close enough that his arm grazes your shoulder. He muttered an apology and carried on with a chart tucked under one arm.
"Room four needs labs” he says, still moving towards the bay.
"You say good evening to all your coworkers like that?"
Jack glances over his shoulder, dark circles carved deep beneath his eyes.
"You've been here six months and still think this is evening?"
"It's called optimism”
"It's called concerning"
"Concerning? Naaaahh”
“I see, you're in denial. Now, that's concerning” he laughs before sorting his clipboard into the stack of more.
You grin despite the tiredness and watch him take off into the opposite direction, catching a glimpse at the way the corners of his lips turn upwards.
That's become normal lately.
The little almost-smiles.
The lingering eye contact.
The strange awareness you've developed of where Jack is at all times.
You try not to think too hard about it. It means nothing and everything all at once.
There's a lull around eleven-thirty that the veteran nurses call the false peace.
You've learned not to trust it.
You spend it charting at the nurses' station, stealing sips of lukewarm coffee, half-watching Jack across the department as he talks to a family in the hallway outside room seven. He keeps his voice low, controlled but you can read the conversation in his posture. The slight drop of his shoulders. The way he turns his body toward them like a shield.
Bad news. Fuck.
He's good at delivering it. Better than most people you've worked with. He doesn't rush through the words or hide behind clinical language, he's honest while people fall apart.
It shouldn't surprise you by now but it does. A little.
He looks up and catches you watching. As always. You just really can't help yourself.
You drop your eyes back to your chart immediately. There has always been this tension between the two of you, but neither ever tried to go after it. Whether it was out of fear, judgement or simply because neither of you knew if the other one felt the same.
When you look back up, he's already gone. The family left behind in the room he just left, collecting the pieces of their kid's life. Or whatever is left of it.
The shift gets worse around one in the morning. Just when you thought of grabbing a coffee, a multi car accident floods every single bed in the ER. Everything is filled with noise, blood and adrenaline, no one is staying still.
Nurses are shouting vitals, yelling for crash carts and a doctor to assess the case
And by the time the chaos finally slows down, your scrubs cling uncomfortably to your skin and your head throbs behind your eyes. The familiar aching pain that spreads through your head would stop eventually, at the latest when your head hit the pillow in the morning.
You make your way toward the break room like a ghost.
The room is blessedly empty, a single hoodie catching your attention.
Gray. Oversized. Familiar.
Jack's.
You recognize it because he wears it constantly during overnight shifts, usually sometime around four a.m. when exhaustion starts winning.
Your fingers brush over the sleeve before you can stop yourself.
It looks warm. Of course it is, why else would he wear it?
You can't help but take it into your hands, smiling and eventually slipping it over your head. The warmth of the fabric hits you immediately.
Oh, I'm so stealing this one.
If he didn't want someone stealing it, maybe he shouldn't leave it lying around in a hospital full of sleep-deprived thieves.
It even smells like him.
You stand there for a moment longer than necessary.
He'd drop some comments about that hoodie later, or not at all. You decided you're willing to take the risk before making your way over to the coffee pot.
Halfway through pouring coffee, the break room door swings open.
Of course it does. And who else could it be, but him?
Jack stops dead.
His gaze lands on the hoodie first, then slowly lifts to your face.
"You rob people often" he says finally, voice rough with exhaustion "or am I special?"
"You left it unattended." you shrug your shoulders and continue to pour.
"That's your legal defense?"
"You work in emergency medicine. Surely you support survival-based decision making."
Jack shuts the door behind him, still staring at you in his hoodie.
It does something unfortunate to your heartbeat.
"You know” he says slowly "most criminals at least try to be subtle."
You hold your arms out dramatically. "It was cold."
"It's seventy-two degrees in here."
"Emotionally, Jack. Keep up."
That finally earns a laugh from him.
A real one.
Low and tired and warm enough that your stomach flips embarrassingly hard.
Jack moves farther into the room, grabbing himself a mug from beside the microwave.
His words made you painfully aware of the fact that you're wearing his clothes.
And worse, he keeps looking at you in them.
Not annoyed. Distracted.
Like he's trying very hard not to think about something.
"You're staring," you say, trying to hide your smile behind the hood you slipped over your head before pouring your coffee.
"You're wearing my hoodie."
"You noticed?"
"Hard to miss."
“I tactically acquired it”
“Tha- Jeez, that's not how that works” he chuckles.
“Thats exactly how that works and besides, you left it unattended,” you say. “So, I’d say that’s basically consent.”
“That’s not how theft works.”
“You’re a doctor, not a cop.”
“Still pretty sure this is a felony.”
You take a sip of coffee to hide your smile since the hoodie wasn't doing enough.
"Well now I'm definitely keeping it."
"That hoodie cost me forty dollars."
"You're a doctor.” you remind him again, now finally turning towards him. “You make trauma surgeon money, you'll survive
"That's exactly why I can't afford it." he huffed while grabbing the pot right next to you, pouring it and taking a sip of it before setting down the mug.
Jack leans against the counter across from you, shoulders visibly sagging now that the rush has died down. Up close, he looks exhausted in a way that settles deep beneath your ribs.
His hair's slightly messy from running his hands through it all night and there's dried blood near the cuff of his sleeve he probably hasn't noticed.
He catches you looking and tilts his head.
“What?”
“You doing okay?” you bite your lower lip, giving him a faint smile.
"Yeah, hanging in there"
"You look terrible."
"Wow."
"You know what I mean."
"Do I?"
You roll your eyes. "You look tired."
"So do you."
"That's different."
"How?"
"I'm charming when I'm sleep deprived."
Jack's mouth twitches again "That confidence is concerning."
"That family tonight," you say without responding to his previous tease "The one you were talking to before the accidents came in."
Jack looks at you.
"You were good with them."
A beat of silence.
"You were watching."
"Hard not to. Seeing someone's life fall apart is not for the weak. You did well"
“Oh thank you for the praise, I thrive on that” he jokes, trying to lighten up the mood but immediately looking down to his hands.
Something in his expression shifts into something quieter, more unguarded than he usually allows in the department.
"It was their kid," he says finally. "he was twelve."
You don't say anything. There isn't anything to say.
Jack nods, almost to himself. Then takes a sip of coffee and looks back up at you, and the wall slides back into place, softer now, somehow. More deliberate.
"Do you wear everybody's clothes” he asks casually, "or should I feel honored?"
You smile into your cup. "Jealous?"
"Of who?"
"Imaginary hoodie competitors."
Jack huffs out another laugh, shaking his head, but then, quieter: "You look good in it."
Your breath catches a little.
There's no teasing in his voice this time.
No sarcasm to hide behind.
Just honesty.
The sudden tension in the room feels almost tangible.
You try to laugh it off anyway. "It's literally three sizes too big."
"Didn't say it fit."
The way he says it makes heat crawl up your neck.
Jack notices immediately.
Of course he does.
His gaze drops briefly to your mouth before flicking back up again.
Something shifts then.
Something that's probably been shifting for months now.
Every late-night coffee together.
Every lingering glance across trauma rooms.
Every time he checked if you'd eaten.
Every moment that felt just slightly too intimate for coworkers.
You look at him - really look at him - and it hits you all at once, quiet and devastating, like something you should have noticed a long time ago. Did he…like you back? Did he notice all those little things as well or did you just imagine the closeness that you so desperately wanted?
Jack raises an eyebrow. Waiting for you to say something. Reading your face as if it's all he's ever known to do.
"Nothing," you say. "Never mind."
But something must show on your face anyway, because his expression shifts too. Recognition, maybe. Like he's watching you catch up to something he already knew.
"You're very confident for a man who hasn't made a move," you say instead, and your voice only wavers slightly.
It catches him off guard, a little confused but he clearly knew what you were talking about. He sighed.
"I didn't think you wanted me to."
The honesty in that almost knocks the air out of you.
And suddenly, the break room felt unbearably warm and small.
You set your coffee down carefully before you spill it everywhere.
Jack's eyes flick to the movement, then back to you again.
"Well..i-i.. i didn't know if you.. fuck “ you run your hand through your hair before continuing. “I wasn't sure if I was just imagining things. All the little glances and- I'm sorry. I don't mean to make this complicated, Jack.” you take a step back before he comes around the counter, grabbing your wrist to prevent you from moving away.
“Nah-uh. You stay right here”
“But-”
“Nope” he answers, taking another step closer, coming to a stop only inches away from you. “You didn't imagine things, i just didn't know if you..”
You swallow hard when his hand came up to your face, cupping your cheek in his right hand.
“If you wanted me” he whispered, his face close, the tip of your nose touching his.
“I've wanted you since the day I walked in here, six months ago” you whispered back, your hands shooting up to the hem of his scrubs.
“I am right here, beautiful”
“I know.. i want you so fucking bad, Jack” you wisper against his face and he cant help himself but smile.
“Oh yeah?” his smile turns into a grin, his hand coming up to your throat, pressing his index finger into your pulse point. “You want me, huh? The pretty girl that's been eye fucking me the entire time, every single time i walk through that door?”
He earns a whine from you, practically begging him to squeeze your neck a little more. He follows your wish instantly, making you wet before touching you where you really wanted him.
“You want this?” he rasps against your lips, taking your lower lip between his teeth to nibble down on it, breathing hard. “Right here, right now?”
“Yes,” you whisper. “Please, Jack. I really need you”
“Oh, babygirl, I won’t be gentle.” His voice is low and rough against your ear as he begins kissing and sucking down the column of your neck, marking you with slow, deliberate bites that make you shiver.
Jack walks you backward until your hips hit the counter, then lifts you onto it with ease. His mouth never leaves your skin.
One hand stays wrapped around your throat - possessive, steady pressure that makes your pulse throb against his palm - while the other slides under the oversized hoodie to cup your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple until it pebbles.
He takes his time, even as his breathing grows ragged. He kisses you deeply, tongue sliding against yours while his fingers work your scrubs down your legs.
When you’re bare from the waist down, he steps between your thighs and finally frees himself. His cock is thick and heavy, flushed dark, the head already glistening.
“Look at me,” he commands softly, tilting your chin up with the hand still around your throat. His eyes are dark with lust but warm with something deeper. “You’re mine tonight. Understand?”
You nod, whimpering as he rubs the head of his cock slowly up and down your soaked folds, teasing your clit until your hips jerk.
“Words, baby.”
“I’m yours, Jack. Please, i-”
He pushes in, slow, relentless, stretching you open inch by inch. A low groan escapes him as your walls flutter around his thickness.
“Fuck… so tight. So perfect for me.” He keeps one hand collared around your throat, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise as he bottoms out, holding himself deep so you can feel every inch.
He stays there, buried to the hilt, letting you adjust while he kisses you sweetly, murmuring praise against your lips. “That’s it… taking me so well. Such a good girl.”
Then he starts moving - deep, powerful thrusts that rock the counter. Every stroke is controlled but rough, hitting that spot inside you that makes stars burst behind your eyes. His hand tightens around your throat again, just enough to make everything sharper.
You can barely breathe, but the way he watches your face - hungry, attentive, making sure you’re still with him - makes it feel like safety wrapped in possession.
“Eyes on me,” he growls when your lids flutter. “I want to watch you fall apart on my cock.”
He moves his hips deeper, harder, snapping forward with urgency, the wet sound of skin meeting skin filling the small break room. One hand slides between you to circle your clit with practiced precision while the other keeps its commanding grip on your throat. The dual sensation pushes you right to the edge.
“Come for me, babygirl. Let me feel you.”
Your orgasm crashes over you violently. Your walls squeeze around him, pulsing, but Jack doesn’t stop - he fucks you through it, deep and steady, murmuring filthy praise. “That’s my girl… squeezing me so fucking tight. Good girl, just like that.”
Even as you shake and cry out, he keeps thrusting, drawing out every wave until you’re in tears, legs shaking from the sensation.
When you finally start to come down, he slows but doesn’t pull out. His hand loosens on your throat, thumb stroking the marks he left as he kisses you tenderly.
“Where do you want me to come, beautiful?” he rasps, voice strained with the effort of holding back. His hips still rock shallowly into you, cock throbbing inside your sensitive heat.
You wrap your legs tighter around him, pulling him deeper.
“Inside,” you beg, voice hoarse, begging him to finally release himself. “Please, Jack - come inside me. I need it. Fill me up.”
A possessive groan tears from his chest. “Fuck… yeah? You want me to breed this pretty pussy?"
“Yes - please, Jack. I’m yours.”
He slams back in, losing the last threads of control. A few brutal, deep thrusts later he buries himself to the hilt and comes with a guttural moan, pulsing hot and thick inside you. He keeps rocking through it, pushing his release deeper, claiming you completely while he kisses you slow and sweet, whispering your name like a prayer.
When he finally stills, he rests his forehead against yours, still buried deep, hand gently stroking your throat and cheek.
“Mine,” he breathes, soft and certain. “All fucking mine.”
You stay like that for a long moment - his cock still twitching inside you, your legs wrapped around his waist, his hoodie bunched up around your chest - both of you catching your breath in the quiet hum of the fluorescent lights.
Then reality slowly trickles back in.
Jack pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes widening a fraction as the same thought seems to hit you both at the same time.
“We just fucked in the break room,” you whisper, half-laughing, half-horrified.
“Anyone could’ve walked in,” he finishes, voice low and rough. His gaze darts toward the door, then back to you, a slow, wicked smirk tugging at his lips even as a flicker of concern crosses his face. “Fuck… I didn’t even think about locking it.”
You bite your lip, heat rushing back to your cheeks as you realize just how exposed you still are - his cum slowly leaking out around his softening cock, your scrubs discarded on the floor, his hoodie the only thing barely covering you.
Jack lets out a breathless chuckle and presses one last possessive kiss to your lips.
“Worth it, but lets get you cleaned up” he murmurs against your mouth, thumb brushing tenderly over the marks he left on your throat. “and then we should probably get dressed before someone actually does walk in and sees exactly how unprofessional we just were.
He stays inside you for a few more seconds, reluctant to pull out, before finally easing back with a low groan. His eyes stay locked on yours the whole time - still dark, still hungry, still sweet.
“Later,” he promises quietly as he helps you down from the counter, steadying you on shaky legs. “My place after shift. No interruptions. No risk of anyone walking in.”
You smile up at him, heart still racing. “Deal.”
He presses soft, almost reverent kisses to your lips, your cheeks, your temple, his hands gentling as he strokes your back and thighs.
“You okay?” he whispers, voice hoarse but tender, making sure he didn't go too far fucking his attending to tears in the break room.
You nod with blushed cheeks. “Yes. But you're right, we should get dressed.”
His mouth curves slightly. "Then put your clothes back on before I decide whether to report you for theft."
You laugh under your breath while collecting your clothes off the floor. "Still stuck on the hoodie thing?"
"What can i say, you look amazing and comfortable in stolen property."
I think that’s just because she likes me more than you
Dr. Jack Abbot x (female) reader | Dr. Jack Abbot x you
Summary: Finally Mara and Robby arrive - and somehow add an entirely new layer of chaos to an already chaotic pre-birthday celebration.
A/N: I'm no longer updating the taglist because Tumblr has been glitching way too much lately. If you don't want to miss any updates, feel free to turn on notifications for my posts! <3
Link to "You stole my cart" master list (1)
Link to "You stole my cart" master list (2)
Previous chapter: One day I'll die
--- --- ---
By June 30th the house had fully entered pre-birthday chaos.
The kind of chaos where folding chairs mysteriously multiplied in the backyard, your mother had already cried twice about her grandkid turning one and people kept appearing at the house carrying casseroles and salads nobody asked for.
Jack had been handling it surprisingly well. Much better than you had expected. Mostly thanks to your relatives. Your mom had started calling him “our Jack”. Your aunts fed him constantly. (Which led to nightly shots of Gaviscon because the heartburn was killing him.) Your uncles had already liked him before but loved him after yesterday, especially after the prosthetic-leg incident which had somehow turned into a family legend overnight.
He still smiled like an idiot when your mom introduced him as your fiance. And whenever someone called Lizzie his girl.
He was overwhelmed - but happy.
Shortly before noon Lizzie had finally gone down for a nap upstairs. Jack was somewhere outside helping your uncles move tables. You were halfway through your second cup of coffee when the doorbell rang.
You frowned because nobody rang the bell here. People usually just walked in.
Your mom looked up immediately. “Maybe Latter-day-Saints again” she said with a shrug. “Don’t let them come in, okay?”
You started to laugh. “Mom, you don’t have to tell me that” you said while walking into the hallway. When you opened the door - you froze.
Mara stood there holding an iced coffee, handbag slung over her shoulder, sunglasses pushed into her hair. Robby stood beside her, also holding a cup of coffee and looking slightly exhausted.
You tilted your head. Because yeah - you had known that Robby would come. And Mara. But you hadn’t known they were apparently arriving together.
“Hi!” Mara hugged you tightly, pressing a kiss onto your cheek. “You look good. The smalltown vibe is clearly suiting you.”
Robby snorted before giving a little wave. “Hey.”
You looked from one to the other, still deeply suspicious. “Why are you together?”
They glanced at each other for a moment like they had a full conversation just with one look.
Mara recovered first. “We had the same flight.”
“And the same rental car” Robby added.
“And before you freak out on me” Mara said, taking another sip of coffee. “It was his idea.”
Your eyebrows lifted. “Oh?”
“He also picked the hotel.”
“Traitor” Robby mumbled under his breath.
Now you turned fully toward him. “You picked her hotel?”
He looked entirely unashamed. “Yeah. There was only one reasonable option.”
“And you just let him do all… this?” you asked confused, looking back at Mara.
She snorted. “It’s not like I had a vote.”
You closed your eyes for a second. “Oh my god.”
“Don’t have a stroke” Mara said quickly. “We’re staying in separate rooms and we’re not - and I repeat NOT - sleeping together.”
Robby's mouth fell open.
Mara noticed immediately. “What now, Robert?”
“Robert?” you echoed, deeply confused.
“You don’t have to say it like that!” Robby said.
“I absolutely have to say it like that.”
Before you could say another word your mother appeared behind you.
“Oh, they’re here!” She clapped her hands together, looking absolutely delighted before turning toward Mara. “You must be Mara!”
She blinked. “Um, yes, hi, Mrs-”
“Oh honey, you are gorgeous!” your mother exclaimed, pulling her directly into a hug. “You look like someone straight out of a movie.”
“Um, thank you?” she replied, giving you a confused look over your mom’s shoulder.
You started grinning.
Your mother let go of her, then turned her attention toward Robby, who straightened immediately. “And you must be Michael!”
He nodded quickly. “That’s me. But everyone calls me-”
“You’re Lizzie’s godfather!” your mother went on without even listening to anything he just said.
He was caught off guard for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah. That’s me.”
“So, you’re basically family!” Your mom hugged him with astonishing determination - which looked hilarious because she only reached his chest. Mara took the coffee out of his hand, so he could hug her back. Which he did.
“It feels like I already know you” your mom said, already teary eyed again. “My daughter told me so much about you.”
Robby shot you a look. “Only good things, I hope?”
You tilted your head. “Wouldn’t you like to know, huh?”
Your mother laughed. “Only good things of course. But she didn’t mention you being so handsome.”
You narrowed your eyes, making a throwing-up-gesture with your hand behind your mothers back. Mara stifled a laugh. Badly.
“You two must be starving” your mom carried on. “All this airport food is real rubbish, you know? You need some proper home cooked meals, huh? And probably some pie first? I’ve got apple pie and cherry pie - but if you want something else I can just make one.”
She paused for a moment, then looked back at Robby. “What’s your favorite pie, Michael?”
He was thrown off guard by that question. “Cherry pie sounds lovely” he said quickly, already smiling again.
“I like him” she cooed towards you.
Mara looked at you slightly horrified. Robby meanwhile looked deeply smug. He shot you a told-you-so-look and it cost you everything to not just flip him off.
“So, come on in you two!” your mother said, already ushering them inside.
“Why are so many people here?” Mara whispered to you, glancing at all the people standing in the kitchen and gathered outside in the garden.
“You’re kind of the main attraction now” you whispered back, grinning. “Everyone wants to have a look at you.”
She crossed herself, mock-seriously, then stood next to Robby, leaning against the counter.
“What can I bring you? Water, lemonade, iced tea, coffee - beer?” your mother asked toward Robby, giving him a wink.
You stared at her. If you wouldn’t know better you would suspect your mom was flirting with Robby.
He gave a perfect smile. “Iced tea is perfect” he replied. “If I drink before noon I get cranky.”
Your mom laughed as if that was the funniest thing she heard in her entire life. “I can’t believe you can get cranky, dear. Not with a handsome face like that.”
Mara cleared her throat. “I’d love one too. Thanks.”
“Sure, honey” your mom cooed, already on her way to the fridge.
From the backyard Jack’s voice drifted through the open screen door. “I’ll be damned - if that’s not the world’s tallest pain in my ass straight from Pittsburgh.”
Robby started laughing. “He’s here - what? Four days and already sounding like he grew up here.” He rolled his eyes, then added louder: “Couldn’t bear to be apart from you for so long, sweetheart.”
Your mother turned, half-confused, half-horrified. You clocked this immediately, waving your hands. “He’s just joking, mom.”
She blinked, then turned back to the fridge, not completely convinced.
Jack appeared in the kitchen doorway, sweating profusely from the heavy lifting he had just done, holding a drink. He stopped dead when he noticed Mara standing next to Robby.
He blinked.
Looked at Robby. Then back at Mara. Then at you.
“Did they arrive together?”
The backyard had finally settled into something softer. The loud part of the day had burned itself out a little. Dinner was still hours away and most of your remaining relatives had spread out into loose little groups across the yard with drinks in hand.
The air smelled like cut grass, barbecue smoke and sunscreen. The smell you had known - and loved - since your childhood. For the first time since you’d arrived things actually felt calm.
You sat curled sideways in one of the lawn chairs, drink balanced in your hand, watching your mom across the yard fuss over her grandchild.
Lizzie, naturally, was thriving under the attention, sitting happily on a picnic blanket with an adorable hat on her head while your mom narrated every movement she made to anyone willing to listen.
“She waved!” your mom announced dramatically.
Your aunt turned around, gasping. “She did! Perfectly!”
“She’s a natural” your mom claimed, looking like she just won first prize at the national waving championship.
You laughed out loud at the absurdity of it. But you also felt a gratitude you couldn’t quite name.
Jack sat beside you, stretched out lower in his chair, beer resting loosely in one hand. He looked tired in that soft, worn-down way he only ever let himself look around people he trusted. His hair was messier now, he had his glasses on and his sleeves were pushed up.
Every once in a while, without really seeming to notice he was doing it, his hand drifted over to touch your knee or brush your arm.
Across from you Robby had somehow made himself entirely at home. Which honestly shouldn’t have surprised you.
Your mom had already adopted him, fed him twice and told at least three relatives he was “Lizzie’s godfather and basically part of the family”.
She was also weirdly keen on touching him - if it was a soft pat on his back, when she walked by or just a gentle stroke across his cheek when she was talking to him.
You thought he would hate this. Instead he seemed perfectly comfortable with the arrangement.
One ankle crossed over the opposite knee, one arm slung lazily across the back of his chair, drink in hand, sunglasses hanging from his collar - he looked completely at peace with his surroundings.
Beside him sat Mara, looking infuriatingly polished. She wore loose linen pants, white sneakers - and looked casual and put-together in a way that you never could have pulled off.
She held a glass of wine between her fingers and watched your family with the expression of someone who still wasn’t entirely convinced any of this was real.
“You know your mom is deeply offended you didn’t ask us to stay here” she said eventually, taking a sip of wine.
You tilted your head. “What? Did she really say that?”
Mara nodded, already grinning now. “She said we could’ve had the guest bedroom.”
“But there’s only one bed inside” you said, your brows furrowed, before your eyes widened. “OH!”
Mara started laughing. “Yeah.”
Jack and Robby looked at each other.
“What’s so funny about that?” Jack asked.
You rolled your eyes. “Mom obviously thinks that these two are like a thing.”
Robby choked on his drink.
Mara was laughing harder now. “I had to explain to her that we’re only friends.”
“Since when are you two friends?” Jack asked, narrowing his eyes.
Robby flipped him off without really looking at him. Instead he looked at Mara with a hard-to-read expression on his face.
“She also asked if we wanted to stay longer.”
Jack looked over his beer. “She didn’t ask me that.”
Robby shrugged. “Don’t be jealous, Jack. I think that’s just because she likes me more than you.”
“Oh, fuck off, Michael.”
“No wonder she doesn’t like you if you’re using words like that.” Robby clicked his tongue disapprovingly.
“No worries. I’ve got plenty more where that came from” Jack shot back.
“Did you hear that?” Robby asked with a long suffering sigh. “So, so jealous.”
“Keep talking and I’ll Mara about the time you cried over that stupid lego movie.”
“I didn’t cry.”
“You cried for forty-five minutes straight.”
“You had teary eyes too!”
Before Jack could defend himself, a familiar voice drifted closer. “Who had teary eyes?”
Adam appeared carrying a beer. Peter followed a step behind, looking vaguely annoyed being here, which seemed to be his default state lately.
The smile on your face vanished instantly. Jack reached for you, took your hand in his and squeezed it once.
“Mind if we join?” Adam asked.
“You were going to anyway” you replied, not as sharp as you were aiming for.
“Well, that’s correct.”
He dragged over two empty lawn chairs and dropped into one. “I’m Adam” he said, giving a wave to Robby and Mara. “I’m her cousin.”
They said hello.
Peter grabbed the other chair, before his eyes moved across the group. First to Jack, whom he gave the tiniest nod. Then he looked at you - or rather, didn’t because his gaze slid right past you like you weren’t even there.
You rolled your eyes.
Message received, asshat.
Then his attention shifted toward Robby. There was the briefest pause, because Robby, to strangers, was intimidating. Tall. Broad shoulders. Beard. Quiet confidence. A little scruffy maybe, but with that kind of natural authority that made people instinctively straighten a little around him.
Robby stood and offered a hand. “Michael, but everyone calls me Robby.”
“Peter.”
They shook hands and made brief eye contact. A quick silent exchange of mutual assessment that men somehow completed without actually speaking. Or, as Mara called it: comparing their dicks.
You shot her an amused look and noticed she could barely hide her smile behind her wine glass. You looked away before you laughed out loud.
Then Peter turned toward Mara - and stopped. Entirely. Like he’d forgotten how to function for a second. Not dramatically but just enough that you noticed it. So did Jack.
“Well” he muttered, amused.
Mara smiled at him. “Hi.” She held out her hand. “I’m Mara. Her best friend.”
Peter shook it eventually, slightly slower than normal. “Peter.”
He also smiled, which was a rare sight these days. The kind of smile people accidentally gave when they liked what they saw.
But unfortunately for Peter - Robby noticed and immediately sat straighter. He broadened his shoulders. He was suddenly much more alert than before like some deeply hidden instant had quietly activated.
“Mind if I sit here?” Peter said, nodding to the chair Adam had put next to her.
“Nope” she replied.
“Perfect.” He dropped into the chair beside her. “So, you’re from Pittsburgh too?” he asked after the tiniest pause.
“Yeah.”
“We both are” Robby chimed in, taking a sip of his beer.
Peter gave him a brief nod, then turned his attention back to Mara. “What do you do there?”
Mara swirled her wine. “I’m a principal.”
Peter blinked. “Like a school principal?”
“That’s usually what people mean when they say principal."
That earned a little laugh out of him. “No seriously.”
“What?”
“You don’t look like a principal.”
She raised an eyebrow. “What exactly does a principal look like for you?”
Peter immediately realized he’d stepped into a trap. “Uh.”
“No, go on. I wanna hear that.”
“I don’t know” he said slowly. “Older?”
Mara seemed amused. “And?”
“Stricter?”
She laughed. “Wow.”
Robby raised an eyebrow. “She can be very strict, you know?” he mumbled under his breath.
Mara smacked his arm. “Shut up, Robert.”
“Robert?” Jack echoed, giving you a confused look.
You shook your head before shrugging. “No clue” you muttered.
Robby waved his hand. “Ignore her. She’s stupid and I hate her.”
Peter looked from him to Mara and back. He was obviously trying to figure out the dynamic between them - and failed tremendously.
Mara eventually took pity on him. “I’m a principal at an elementary school. And for the record - I’m very strict.”
“Good to know.” Peter smirked. “How many kids?”
“About two hundred fifty.”
He nearly choked on his beer. “That’s a lot of kids.”
“Mhm.”
“And you’re in charge?”
“Yes.”
“God, you must be terrifying.”
She let out a genuine laugh. “Thank you.” Then she turned toward Robby. “See? That’s finally a guy who understands how to compliment me.”
Robby shifted slightly, waving his hand dismissively. “Whatever.”
“What grade?” Peter asked, trying to steer the conversation back.
“All of them.”
“Oh my God.”
“Exactly.” Again she looked at Robby with a knowing smile.
He let out a sigh. “Don’t encourage her please.”
Peter blinked.
Meanwhile Adam had turned toward Jack. “So, did she tell you about the horse she wanted to buy?”
Jack’s eyes lit up. “No.”
You groaned. “Adam.”
“No, seriously, that’s a good story.”
“I was fourteen.”
“I KNOW!” he exhaled excited. “She even had picked out names. For a horse she didn’t even have yet.”
“Oh my God” you muttered. “Seriously?”
“Mister Buttercup must have been my favorite” Adam added.
You groaned while Jack was already laughing, glancing at you affectionately. “That’s adorable.”
“And she wasn’t even looking at horses she could actually afford” he went on. “She was looking at expensive race horses. Horses with a bloodline.”
“I was fourteen” you repeated embarrassed. “I had no clue.”
Robby should have been listening because this was the kind of information he normally collected and weaponized for years.
Instead he sat next to Mara, fuming, beginning to hate Peter.
“So, what made you become a principal?” Peter asked.
She shrugged. “I was a teacher first. And then it was the next logical step.”
“That’s pretty cool” he said with a small smile.
Robby’s jaw tightened slightly.
“Yeah, I don’t know.” Mara shrugged. “You know I spend most of my time dealing with dictators.”
“You mean children?”
“I mean their parents.”
Peter barked a laugh. “Fair.”
Meanwhile Adam was still going. “And while she was doing shitty babysitter jobs for five dollars per hour so she could buy that stupid race horse one day she spent hours writing stories about her future horse.”
“You wrote fanfiction about Mister Buttercup?” Jack asked you, grinning.
You groaned into your hands. “I hate everything about this conversation.”
“You should” Adam said with a shrug. “And that’s not even the best part.”
“Please, tell me the best part” Jack said, reaching out and grabbing your hand. “Fuck I’m loving this” he muttered under his breath.
“Adam.” Your voice was a warning.
And yet your cousin decided that you weren’t actually threatening - and kept going. “She didn’t even know how to ride a damn horse. She never took riding lessons. She just wanted to buy a damn race horse to put it into her mothers yard.”
Jack burst out laughing.
You looked mildly offended. “I WAS FOURTEEN YOU DIPSHIT!”
“Language!” your mother yelled from the yawn, giving you a pointed look. “Your daughter is present.”
You rolled your eyes - deliberately not looking at your mom while doing so - then sighed. “Sorry mom!” you shouted back, then added more quietly toward Adam: “I’m going to end you, you little piece of trash. Wait until I tell them about the time you wanted to try frenchkissing and couldn’t find a girl to practise with you so you paid Peter five bucks and he went with it.”
For one glorious second complete silence followed.
Adam froze.
Peter froze.
Mara froze.
Just Robby looked like Christmas had come early.
Jack lowered his beer. “What?”
Adam looked horrified. “YOU PROMISED YOU’D NEVER TELL ANYONE.”
You shrugged. “You started this, you know?”
“I WAS FIFTEEN!”
“And? You paid another fifteen year old boy five dollars to make out with you.”
“I DID NOT MAKE OUT WITH HIM.”
Peter finally found his voice again. “We didn’t. It was one kiss.”
The entire group turned toward him - and he immediately regretted speaking.
“Oh my god, so this is true?” Mara wheezed.
Adam dropped his face into both hands.
Robby beamed and turned toward Peter. “So, you kissed Adam for five dollars?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “Five dollars are five dollars, right?”
Mara was laughing so hard she couldn’t breathe. When she finally caught her breath again, she had to wipe tears from her face.
“So Peter” she said with a slightly shaky voice. “I didn’t ask you what you were working but I guess - sex worker?”
The whole group lost it again.
Even Peter gave a small smile. “Haha.”
She reached over and grabbed his forearm for a moment.
“Sorry” she said between laughs. “But this whole town is insane.”
“You have no idea” you replied, laughing too.
“No seriously.” She pointed between Adam and Peter, shoulders still shaking. “What kind of friendship is that?”
“Honestly?” Peter glanced at Adam. “A profitable one.”
Adam looked like he wanted to die.
Robby instead looked like he’d just been handed the greatest gift of his entire life. He leaned back into his chair.
“So let me get this straight” he began.
“I think that’s the only thing being straight in this story” Jack cut in, chuckling.
That got a couple of laughs.
“So Adam, you looked at Peter and thought - yes, this seems like a worthwhile investment.”
The group lost it again.
Adam groaned into his hands. “I miss five minutes ago when we were making fun of Mister Buttercup.”
“Who’s Mister Buttercup?” Mara asked, confused.
“No” Robby replied immediately. “Don’t distract him. We’re never moving forward from this.”
Adam sighed. “It was twenty years ago. It wasn’t a big deal. And it was pretty bad honestly.”
“Ouch!” Peter exhaled, suddenly looking offended.
Adam blinked. “It wasn’t a big thing, dude.”
“You just insulted my kissing technique.”
“YOU WERE FIFTEEN AND YOU KISSED AWFUL!”
“AND YOU STILL PAID FOR IT!” Peter gave back.
You were laughing so hard at this point your stomach hurt.
Even Peter looked amused now - and unfortunately for Robby, Mara’s hand landed on Peter’s forearm again while she tried to stop laughing. It lasted maybe two seconds but it was enough so Robby’s smile disappeared instantly.
Jack noticed it too. “Hey, Robby” he asked quietly, leaning over.
“Hm?”
“You okay?”
“Fine.”
“You seem tense.”
“I’m not.”
“Your eye is twitching.”
“Jack.”
“Hm?”
“Mind your fucking business.”
Jack barked out a laugh.
“So anyway” Adam said, recovering slightly, then pointing at you. “Thank you for revealing the most embarrassing story of my life.”
You smiled sweetly. “Oh, it’s not the most embarrassing story of your life, Adam.”
He looked genuinely horrified now. “What do you mean?”
You tilted your head and raised your drink. “Wait and see.”
Adam gulped, then turned toward Jack. “I’m afraid you’re marrying a psychopath.”
Jack grinned, then looked at you with a fond smile. He squeezed your hand. “Yeah, but she’s my psychopath, you know?”
The bonfire crackled softly in the gathering darkness. Somebody had brought out more chairs. Somebody else had produced another cooler full of beer. Children ran through the yard in chaotic packs while half the adults slowly settled into comfortable after-dinner conversations.
Jack sat beside Robby in a pair of lawn chairs, a beer balanced on his stomach.
Robby was not paying attention to the bonfire - or the beer - or the conversation. Not even to Lizzie, who was cradled against his chest, eyes already half-closed. Her tiny fist was clutched into his shirt and she sucked sleepily on her thumb.
Instead he stared into the yard with narrowed eyes. Jack followed his line of sight.
Mara stood near the grill with Peter - and she laughed. Which somehow made Robby’s jaw tighten.
Jack took a sip of his beer slowly. “You’re doing it again.”
“Hm?”
“You’re staring.”
“I’m NOT staring” Robby said, already sounding offended.
Jack rolled his eyes. “You know she’s allowed to talk to other men, right?”
Robby scoffed. “That’s not the point.”
“Then what’s the point, Michael?”
Robby pointed with his free hand. “Look at this asshole.”
Jack looked. Peter was currently laughing about something Mara said. “Okay…?”
“Look at him.”
“I am looking.”
“He’s hovering.”
Jack frowned - then started laughing. “Oh, you’re fucking kidding me.”
Robby stared at him like he wanted to murder him on the spot. “What?”
Jack laughed harder, then wiped a hand over his face. “Michael.”
“What?”
“That man is not flirting with Mara.”
Robby stared. “Yes, he is.”
“No.”
“He is, Jack. I’ve got eyes in my head, you know?” Robby replied seriously.
You stepped out of the house onto the porch. For a moment you just stood there, looking around before walking over to your mom.
Peter was still listening to Mara. Mostly. Every now and then though his eyes found you across the yard before returning to the conversation.
“Who is he looking at, buddy?” Jack asked him.
Robby squinted, then paused. “Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Oh!”
Jack shrugged. “Exactly.” He nodded toward Peter. “That guy isn’t interested in Mara.”
“Wait a minute.” Robby's eyes widened. “Wait wait wait. Why aren’t you more jealous then?!”
Jack barked out a laugh. “Because.”
“Because what?”
“I’m just not.”
“But why?” Robby pressed, clearly still confused.
Jack shrugged again. “She’s marrying me, you know?”
Robby stared, then let out a long breath. “You changed, brother.”
“Thank you.”
“I hate it.”
Jack laughed out loud again, then flipped him off.
Robby stared mock-offended at him, briefly covering Lizzie's closed eyes with his hands. “You’re doing that in front of your daughter?”
Jack smiled into his beer.
Across the yard Peter was still staring at you while Mara told him something.
Robby glanced over. “You’re really not bothered?”
Jack thought about it for a moment. “No.”
“Not even a little?”
Jack took his time to answer.
He looked over at you. You were smiling, your arm draped around your moms shoulder. You seemed relaxed - and happy. His heart gave a small jump.
“No.” He paused for a brief moment, then added - “I think he’s the one with the problem here.”
Robby narrowed his eyes, then nodded slowly. “Yeah okay, I get it. But still.”
“What is it?”
“I still want to kill him.”
Jack blinked. “Excuse me, what now?”
Robby shrugged like this was answer enough.
Jack started laughing. “Feel free, but please wait until she’s in bed, okay? I want the arrest happening after bedtime.”
--- --- ---
You wanna keep reading? - Next part is coming soon, I promise :)
summary: jack meets a little girl wandering the ED one night and falls in love with her mom. follow along as they grow closer and their relationship flourishes.
tags: single mom, classic romance, toxic ex,
˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆
little miracle asks: askbox requests, headcannons, and general statements
Sleepyhead: the first, second, and third meet.
Cupid's Chokehold: the breakfast date.
Blue: miracle is sick, jack babysits
Upside Down: jack, robby, and miracle go to the zoo.
Good Habits (and Bad): day shift jailbreak by miracle
Youth: [viewer discretion] your ex returns, hurt you, and Miracle. jack comes to the rescue.
Cannock Chase: your recovery, moving in with jack and him beating up your ex
Under Pressure: calm cool and collected jack abbot is nervous to propose.
Ritual Union: the wedding ceremony went off without a hitch, kinda...
My Love Mine All Mine: you are in labor and miracle spends another day in the ER. (end of series)
SUMMARY: When Jack offers his company in the form of a date to celebrate your book release, he gets to understand the inner workings of your mind a bit more. Unfortunately, it does leave him with an ache he has to tend to using nothing but his own imagination.
WARNINGS: some flirting, mentions of alcohol use, swearing, sexual themes when discussing readers new book, kissing, dry humping and male masturbation LOL promise to give you real smut soon <3
A/N: this part took me longer to write than expected, probs bc i finally finished outlining the rest of the series and i was eager to write other scenes as i was drafting them but it's here!! This series can now also be found on Wattpad as well as Ao3 :)
PAIRING: Jack Abbot x Single Mom!Reader
WORD COUNT: 7.8k
PREV. PART — SERIES MASTERLIST
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
Jack doesn’t call you.
Not the following morning. Or the morning after that. In fact, for the first three days after the kiss, you’re met with nothing but radio silence.
There’s no frantic run-ins in the lobby, or accidental indecent exposures in the ED. For those initial three days, you stewed on every interaction you shared that night. Talking on the balcony, sneaking him beer, the kiss at the door that you swear still lingers on your lips now.
But more than that, your mind has burrowed a deep and dark hole under the pretense of it being a mistake. That despite him kissing you, despite him reassuring you that Bella is not who he’s interested in, he’s actually come to the realization that neither are you.
You festered on the thought for three days straight. Torn over the idea of calling or texting him yourself. But you’ve never chased a man before and you refused to start now.
In hindsight, it was one of your better decisions not to go off the handles about it. Because on the third night, Jack had texted you a flurry of apologies. There were no excuses for his silence, just a simple explanation that the ED is swamped under new temporary management and he’s only been home for a few hours at a time to nap or shower or feed his cat.
Which was a revelation in itself. Jack has a cat named Sally.
Originally, you had explained that you understood, that it was okay and he had a very important job he had responsibilities for. But Jack had seen that as an easy cop out he refused to take. Promised you that he was not avoiding you, that he did not regret a single second of that night and more convincingly, that he very much wants to do it again.
And for the past week, Jack’s been nothing but present and attentive. Not physically, the ED has still had him entirely swamped of time. But any free moment he gets, he’s texting you, or a quick call to ask about your day, to ask about Phoebe.
He sends photos of random things. A pretty sunrise when he manages to steal a moment to catch it from the ambulance bay. Drawings that children have given him that he’s cared for. And quite a few of someone you’ve learned to be John Shen who likes iced coffee more than you do.
You’ve offered him the same. Photos of your breakfast or coffee when he asks what you’re having. Snapshots of Phoebe when he checks how she’s doing. Pictures of a messy kitchen island when you admit you’re struggling with outlines for your new book.
And on the odd night, when it’s late enough for you to barely keep your eyes open and it’s calm enough for Jack to steal a moment alone, he’ll call to say goodnight. You tell him about your day with Phoebe, he tells you about his craziest patients.
Over the last week it’s become somewhat of a routine. Calls, texts, captures of one another's life if fleeting moments. It’s been nice. Exciting. You find yourself reaching for your phone more often than before, feeling butterflies twist in your stomach every time his name lights up on your screen.
So when the week passes and you wake up at 6 a.m. on the dot, your screen already has a message from Jack waiting for you, buried beneath the emails and texts and social media notifications under your pen name accounts.
You ignore them all in favor of Jack.
Happy release day, sweetheart ❤️
The nickname he’s taken upon himself to give you sets your skin molten. The first time he casually called you that was over the phone one night, and the gentle form of endearment had almost burned you from the inside out.
It’s with sleep-crusted eyes that you unlock your phone and re-read the text over and over again before sending off your reply with a grin.
Good morning and thank you!! How is your shift going?
Despite his text being sent over four hours ago—likely during a rare lull on the night shift—typing bubbles form at the bottom of the texting thread, like he’s been waiting for you to rise from your slumber.
Long. Gotta stay a couple more hours, huge collision pile up on the interstate. Stay away from Parkway West if you can help it.
What are your plans to celebrate?
Your thumbs hover over the keyboard, bottom lip caught between your teeth. Still blinking through the groginess, you roll your back, arms bent to hold your phone above your face.
Will do! And just lunch with my parents this afternoon. Phoebe is at Tom’s tonight so probs wine, takeout and drafting for the next instalment.
You wait a few moments for a reply. Which turns into a few minutes. In true fashion, Jack’s likely been pulled away, so you force yourself to get up and start your day.
A very quick shower, a big cup of coffee and then you’re gently waking Phoebe with a tender hand to her back. Her eyes blink open with an immediate frown and she reaches to pull the covers over her head before you can stop her.
“Come on, sleepyhead,” you laugh gently. “Time to get up for school.”
“I don’t wanna,” Phoebe grumbles, shifting until her back is to you.
You stand with a sigh, let your hands rest on your hips. “Okay, guess I’ll just have banana pancakes and listen to Phil Collins on my own then.”
Her head whips round to you at that, peeking from under the covers. She holds nothing but a stony expression and you can’t help the raise of your brows at the sight.
“You wouldn’t.” She accuses with a squint.
You shrug a shoulder, feigning nonchalance. The second you take a step away from her bed, she’s throwing the covers off her in a fit of annoyance and clambering to her feet. Her hair is a matted mess, pyjama top twisted and pant legs scrunched up to her knees.
She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t offer you anything more than an unimpressed look before walking past you and making her way to the kitchen. You watch with quiet amusement as she climbs the stool to sit at the island, takes a long gulp of the cup of water you already made her.
And when you turn to begin making the pancakes, you hear her demand Alexa to play Easy Lover with more attitude than any four-year-old should possess.
It’s when you’re sitting together and singing with mouthfuls of banana pancakes that your phone chimes with a text from Jack.
In that case, how would you feel about some company?
The music becomes a dull noise beneath the sound of your pulse hammering in your ears. You stop chewing as you read the text over and over, lungs seizing on a breath you haven’t fully expelled. You haven’t seen Jack since that night. Texting and calling has been exciting, has become a norm. But finally seeing him again?
The thought is just as thrilling as it is terrifying.
You’re not working tonight?
His response is immediate again.
Not at the hospital. But I’m more than happy to put some hours in as a ghost writer. In fact, I insist.
The grin that spreads across your face is almost maniacal. It stretches so wide that your eyes crinkle and your body buzzes. You’re not sure you’ll ever get used to how smoothly he flirts, how easily your body reacts to a fucking text message from him. Your fingers move across the screen quickly.
Well, I can’t say no to that.
The bubbles appear again for no more than a few seconds before they're replaced with another text.
There we go. It’s a date. I’ll see you at 7
You choke on a noise that sounds similar to a squeal and you can’t tear your eyes away from the screen. You don’t trust yourself to type a reply, so you react to his message with a heart instead.
“Who are you texting?” Phoebe’s tone is accusational and a very sobering sound that snaps you from your little bubble.
You flinch, unintentionally and quickly place your phone screen down on the island, like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t.
“No one!”
She watches you with a conspiratorial look, and for a moment you forget that she’s the kid and you’re the parent. Her suspicion morphs into a shit-eating grin.
“Is it Jack?”
You squint at her. “Shut up and eat your breakfast before we’re late.”
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
Dana’s been watching Jack like a hawk for the past thirty minutes.
A lightness in his expression that increases every time he checks his phone. An ease to his movements, a fluidity in his steps despite how long he’s been on his feet.
She keeps a curious eye on him as he strides from trauma room to trauma room, notices the upward tilt that’s been pinching at his mouth since her shift started an hour ago.
She’s not the only one.
Shen stands beside her, slurping at the very last remnants of his vanilla frappe. The sound grates on the charge nurse’s ears but she lets it slide in favor of gossip.
“What’s he so chipper about?” She mutters to John, eyes still tracking Abbot’s movements.
He uncurls his lips from the straw, observes his fellow attending for only a moment before shrugging and bringing the straw back to his mouth. “Maybe he finally got laid.”
Dana smirks to herself at that, shakes her head in something like amusement and fondness. It’s ten minutes later when Jack approaches the central hub and drums his palms on the desk like he’s waiting to find something else to do.
“Your shift ended an hour ago, Diva.” Dana doesn’t lift her gaze from the tablet in her hand as she speaks, but she doesn’t need to for her to know the way Jack’s looking at her.
He huffs out a grumble, but it sounds more fond than annoyed. “Not you, too.”
She shrugs, finally lets her eyes land on him. “What can I say? It suits you.”
There’s a playful roll of his eyes when she grins.
And Dana just can’t help herself. She juts her chin to him just slightly, holds the tablet to her chest as she crosses her arms around it. “What are you so smiley about, anyway? Mania kicked in already?”
Jack considers her for a moment, a subtle tick in his cheek, an involuntary clench in his jaw. With a sigh, he leans his forearms on the high part of the desk, chews on his lower lip.
“I have a date tonight.” He keeps his voice low enough, the words only meant for a dear friend's ears. But the walls listen in PTMC. When people brush past, the breeze carries the whispers of secrets not meant to be shared.
It’s Joy that this secret reaches first. Before Dana can even react.
She stops still beside the desk, brows raising above the rim of her glasses. “Old people still date?”
Jack’s slightly too offended to consider that his quiet admittance will now become floor gossip. “I’m not that old.”
It’s Santos it reaches next.
Eyes wide, jaw slack. And a shriek of astonishment and accusation. “Oh my God! Is it your neighbor? It’s totally the pelvic chick, right?”
His head whirls to the foghorn of her voice, brows pinched tight. Partly at her volume, the other part at the mention of you—of how she refers to you.
“The pelvic chick?” He screws his face up, less than pleased.
Joy shivers at the memory of it, the slip of tongue her attending gave still haunts her at random moments.
“I’m sorry, how do you even know about that?” A familiar presence brushes past his arm, the scent of jasmine and linen.
“People talk.” Al-Hashimi murmurs the words softly, amusement dripping at the edges of it but she doesn’t outright poke fun at him.
It takes Jack a moment to comprehend her mutter, to cast his mind back to the night you came into the ER, the night he accidentally got an eyeful of you in the one way he never imagined he would.
Joy isn’t the type to gossip. Ogilvie won’t want anyone to know about his scolding. So that only leaves…
Fucking McKay.
“Hey,” Dana calls him softly, “I think it’s great. About time you got back on the horse. Robby thinks so, too.”
Jack cocks a brow as the others disperse to their patients. “You talked to him?”
Dana hums, leans closer to keep the conversation private. “Yeah, he called me the other night. He sounds… not like he’s on the verge of a breakdown.”
Jack laughs but there’s no humor in it. “Yeah, well. You know Robby. The novelty of things wears off pretty fast for him.”
She listens, of course. And as much as Dana loves and respects Robby, there’s only so much talk of him that she can handle before she’s considering sabbatical for herself. So she turns to lean against the desk, angles her body to face Jack’s.
There’s an easy smile on her face. One that’s more than a smirk but less than a grin. A softness to her eyes, a genuine curiosity.
“What’s she like?”
He knows who she’s talking about immediately.
Jack lets out a sigh, one that’s a little shaky, struggles to fight the curl in his mouth. If Jack’s honest, he could sit for hours and talk about you. Your interests, your personality… but a selfish part of him what’s to keep that to himself. “She’s…gorgeous, obviously. Smart, kind, very funny. Comfortable, you know? Hard not to like.”
Dana nods, catches the fondness in his tone, the reverent look that seems to clear his eyes. She knows there’s more he wants to say, knows he’s also already shared more than he’s truly willing to.
“And her daughter?” The question is asked softly, carefully.
Jack doesn’t tear his gaze from her. Defensive, in a way. But he knows there’s no need to be. There’s no threat or judgement in Dana’s tone, no warning. Just quiet curiosity. A silent question that seeps into what she speaks.
“I know what I’m signing myself up for.”
Her smile stretches just a little bit wider at his answer. And with one hand wrapped around the tablet, she reaches to pat Jack on his shoulder as she walks past him. “I’m rooting for you, Abbot.”
He exhales slowly when she leaves.
“Yeah, me too.”
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
Outlining scenes and dialogue is usually your favorite part of drafting.
Little moments that make no sense without context, but integral to the story nonetheless. Usually, you’re riddled with moments and conversations; ideas that come to you during the most mundane of tasks.
Showering, eating, cleaning, dreaming.
But for the past week, your thoughts have been far too occupied with something else. Someone else. Jack seems to hide in every crevice of your mind. His texts, his calls, the taste of his lips on yours. You don’t remember the last time you felt so wrapped up in another person, and now, it’s starting to affect your work.
The blank screen stares blankly at you, barely a few incoherent bullet points at the top of the document. When your inspiration dries up like this, it makes you feel like a fraud.
You should be taking every free moment you have to get your plan sorted, to understand the trajectory of the final instalment to the trilogy. Instead, you’re clasping at straws and trying not to freak out when your phone chimes with a text.
It’s almost seven and it’s not Jack, so the relief is instant that he isn’t cancelling at the last minute.
Your moms contact lights up the screen. A simple two sentence text.
Hope the date goes well! Told Tom you’re busy and to text me if Phoebe needs to go home ;)
The innuendo of her text has a blush forming at the apples of your cheeks. She was like this at lunch, too. Suggestive smirks when you finally admitted you and Jack have been texting, a fat grin when you very quickly muttered out that he kissed you.
Your dad, on the other hand… not so excited about the revelation.
For the entire lunch, he had made his viewpoint clear. That he likes Jack, thinks he’s a nice and noble man. That he respects what he does and has done, but that his age is a factor that you need to consider.
Your mom had scolded him for it, but you understood his reasoning. The insecurities he held himself for his age that he doesn’t verbalize outloud. All you could do was remind him of two simple things. You’re a big girl and it’s only a date. Not marriage.
You shoot off a quick reply of: Stop winking at me, it’s weird (but thank you), and drop your phone to the marble counter with a thud at the same time your doorbell rings.
Forcing yourself to gulp down a breath, your hands involuntarily smooth your hips as you stand. Your mind is racing, heart pounding in your chest at the thought of Jack standing on the other side of the door.
The reminder that you’ve texted and called and FaceTime’d more times than you can count over the past week does nothing to quell the nerves. Because seeing him in person is a lot different than through a screen.
When you open the door, your breath becomes lodged in your lungs and Jack drinks you in with an intensity you’ve never quite seen before.
His eyes linger on yours, fall down to your lips where they hover, before tracing the outline of your body. Cataloguing the brown halterneck top, the long frilly skirt, your bare feet and painted toenails.
You do the same. Drink in the salt and pepper curls, the tick in the corner of his mouth, the white knitted shirt with the two top buttons undone. You catch sight of his silver chain as you go down, the dark wash jeans and boots tucked beneath.
His hands, still ringless. One holds a bottle of white wine, the other holds a beautiful bouquet of summer blooms that oddly match the color pallet of your latest book.
You tilt your head at him, purse your lips in a futile attempt to hide your smile. Jack doesn’t offer the same restrains and grins, catches his bottom lip between his teeth before it can spread too wide.
“Wine and flowers, huh?” You tease in greeting.
He glances down at them both before returning that molten gaze back to you. “The wine—and dinner—are to congratulate, the flowers are to apologize, again, for my radio silence.”
You huff a laugh at that, open the door wider and step aside to allow him into your apartment. “I told you already, it’s fine.”
Jack moves close, lets you close the door and when you turn, he’s almost chest to chest with you. Your breathing stutters at the unexpected proximity, but he grins down at you, the wine and flowers the only thing separating your bodies.
“Not fine. Don’t argue with me on it.” His tone is light when he leans closer, words drifting into a sweet whisper.
Jack dips his head lower, lets his lips brush against yours. Your eyes flutter closed, bracing yourself for the touch of his mouth meeting yours. But it doesn’t. Your breaths mingle until he moves, stubble tickling gentle at the corner of your lips until he kisses your cheek.
He doesn't pull away at first, like he’s considering giving in to temptation, but his self restraint is stronger than you’d like it to be. When he finally moves, it’s not far. Still remains close like he’s missed your presence more than he’s let on.
“Pheebs at her dads?” he asks quietly, eyes still on you.
You’re a little mesmerized, nodding blankly. His words register, just barely. It feels like his eyes are sucking you into a warm abyss that you’ll never be able to claw your way out from.
The idea doesn’t sound just metaphorical, either.
You swallow around a dry throat. “Uh, yeah. Until she decides she wants to come home. But, my mom told him to call her.”
Jack hums, a small smile kissing the edges of his mouth. There’s a slight movement between you, the paper wrapping the flowers crinkly as he shakes them slightly.
“Do you have a vase for these?”
Your tongue wets your lips and you nod, guiding him into the kitchen and it’s completely innocent how your hips sway a little more than they usually would.
Jack watches, of course. He’s only a man. But he’s gentlemanly enough to avert his gaze when you bend over to look inside a cabinet. Busies himself with gently tearing the paper around the bouquet.
“I asked the florist to cut the stems, they’re good to just go in some water.”
It almost makes you pause.
The florist.
As in, he went inside a flower shop and asked for flowers. Not some cheap, premade bunch from a supermarket. You don’t think anyone but your parents has ever gotten you flowers from a florist.
You fill the vase with water, thankful your back is to him to hide your grin, give yourself some time to get your stupid butterflies and ovulation under control.
When you turn back to him, Jack’s already approaching you, gently handling the delicate flora by the stems and he eases them into the narrow neck of the glass. Watches you admire them for a moment, bring them to your nose to smell the freshness of them.
The heat on your cheeks makes him nervous. Makes him feel young again.
His wife was the last person he dated. Hasn’t cared about anyone enough to want to pursue something more than the odd one night stand. But you. You make his heart rate pick up just enough for him to notice a change, make his palms a little sweaty when he makes a joke in case you don’t laugh.
But you’re grinning at the flowers like it’s the most precious gift you’ve ever received. And while it’s an incredibly beautiful sight, it’s also slightly painful.
Are you not used to receiving flowers from guys you’re dating?
No, you’re not. No one's ever really cared enough to do the small things.
“They’re beautiful, Jack. Thank you.”
His smile is warm when you look at him a little sheepishly and Jack realizes that you’re just as nervous about this as he is. He knows he hasn’t dated since his wife, but he wonders if you’ve dated since Tom. If you've cared enough about anyone else since you lost your fiance.
The answer is a resounding no.
He doesn’t tell you that you’re the first woman he’s brought flowers for since his wife. Instead, he keeps the smile on his face and averts his gaze to the mess covering the kitchen island. His brows raise. Books everywhere, notepads and highlighters, a half empty glass of wine and a laptop screen with an almost blank document.
Amusement shines in his eyes. “Hows it going?”
A groan escapes you immediately and the nerves begin to dwindle. You reach for a glass, take the bottle from Jack’s hands mindlessly and pour him a drink as you sit on the stool.
“It’s like I’m back in writing school and can’t think of a better word for ‘said’.”
He chuckles at that, takes the glass and sits himself on the stool beside you. His eyes skim the laptop screen.
Kade and mary
cheese
Lost keys???????
“You into grave diggers, baby?”
Someone has to put their finger in the dogs ass
“Necromancer? Aint that someone who fucks corpses?”
– “no thats a necrophiliac”
Dez rimjob scene (at circus)
Lubed up chorizo slap scene
Marys mom is a cougar
Asshole character UNNAMED with toms personality
Ground beef in the trifle
Strip club or orgie scene — undecided
Jack’s eyes blink profusely as he reads over the bullet point outline for your third book. It causes a tightness in his jeans at the thought of you imagining and writing some of these scenes. Reminded of the fact that you’ve told him about your very vivid imagination.
“This how you outline all your books?” he asks with a rough voice.
It's then that your eyes widen with realisation at what he's read. You laugh nervously, scratching at the nape of your neck as you sit beside him.
“It normally goes something like this. Not usually as brief, though. I’ve hit a bit of a block.”
Jack hums, takes a sip of his wine before pulling his phone out of his back pocket. “Well, what if we order some food? See if a bit of energy gets that pretty head of yours conjuring something up, hm?”
You don’t know how he does it—makes his flirting seem more playful than blatant. It’s enough to make your cheeks burn, to form a curl at your lips that you have no control over. So you nod, tell him what Chinese food you like and pretend to busy yourself looking at your paper notes while he raises the phone to his ear and smoothly lists off the order.
As excitable and nervous as you are, Jack’s presence is also strangely…comforting. He makes your home feel warmer, safer. His strong stance relaxing in your space, not taking it up.
For the forty minutes you’re waiting for dinner, you get through a bottle of wine between you. You try to ask Jack about work, which is something he’s very quick to brush off.
“That hospital is the reason I haven’t seen you. Believe me when I tell you it's the last thing I want to talk about tonight. I want to hear about you, and Pheebs.”
He makes your head spin, how open and genuine he is with the statement. You tell him all the mundane things you’ve gotten up to over the past week. And even though he already knows from the brief phone calls or facetime’s, Jack listens all the same.
Intently, carefully. Like every word you speak is sacred. Like he genuinely cares.
He laughs when you tell him some of the things Phoebe has said, his posture stiffens when you recall the two times Tom let her down in the past seven days, and he stares at you in pure wonder when you admit your book is already viral within the first 24 hours of release.
When the food comes, Jack pays in cash; gives you a look that suggests he’d be incredibly offended if you even offered to pay half, so you don’t.
You’re both well on your way to tipsy when you get half way through the second bottle of wine, haphazardly shoving your notebooks to the side to make room for dinner.
Your stools are closer together now, takeout boxes littering the kitchen island, your laptop screen still blinking an almost blank page. There are no first-date etiquettes as you both eat. Hunger and comfortability ruling over the nerves and self-conscious need to eat slowly and politely.
Maybe it’s the wine that has you swiping soy sauce from the corner of Jack’s mouth. Maybe that’s what loosens his inhibitions enough to hand feed you a dumpling you admit you’ve never tried before.
And perhaps it’s the sheer familiarity in one another’s souls that has you snorting loudly into your glass of wine. That has Jack gripping onto the edge of the kitchen island to save him from falling backward off the stool.
Your home is used to the sounds of laughter. It’s used to shrills and shrieks bouncing off the walls. But Jack's hearty chuckles don’t do that. His laughter curls into the crevices of the apartment. They don’t linger there, they make home. Seep into the wood and brick and metal until it’s wedged into the very foundations of the building.
It takes you both an hour to finish your meals. Too caught up in laughter and side-tracked conversations that take your attention away from the task. It’s cold when you finish the last bite, and you push the container away in favor of your half-full glass instead.
Jack mirrors your movement, shuffles his stool closer to yours. But instead of reaching for his beer, he reaches into his pocket to retrieve a pair of glasses instead.
“Alright, got my readers. Let’s see what we’re working with.”
Your lashes flutter at the endearing term he’s given them, at the way he gently opens the arm and hooks them over his ears. Your attraction to him grows tenfold at such a simple act, the smallest of adjustments.
Yet you can’t help the ache that forms between your thighs, can’t stop your teeth from pinching your bottom lip. There’s something far too enticing about the black frames that sit on the slope of his nose. The stubbled jaw that clenches, the bob of his throat when he swallows.
And those fucking dangeous lips that twitch when he notices you staring.
For hours, there’s a tightness to both of you as you struggle to write and Jack struggles to help. He was right about the food for energy but right now, Jack’s presence is nothing but a massive fucking hindarance to your writing abilities.
Not your imagination, no. Your overactive mind is doing well with conjuring up explicit scenarios in your head of him fucking you raw and hungry with those fucking glasses on. Thoughts of your ankles resting on his broad shoulders, his beefy arms wrapping around your body, that short stubble burning your inner thighs.
Jack can feel your eyes on the side of his face as he reads over the next page on the doc. He’s had years of training to observe from his peripheral and not lose focus on a task, and yet, he’s not really taking in a single word he’s reading.
That is until he skims over a paragraph that does capture his attention.
Kade’s breath is hot against Mary’s inner thigh, and despite the warmth, it awakens goosebumps across her flush skin. His hand reaches for her first, allows himself to touch her silkiness, to inch closer to her cunt. With his other hand, Kade brings the vibrator between her legs, teases the pulsing toy against her inner thigh—right where his touch started.
Jack swallows thickly, hips shifting briefly in his seat on the stool. The movement breaks you from your little trance and your eyes flick quickly to the screen, realizing the passage he’s stumbled across.
When your eyes flick back to Jack, he’s turning to you slowly with a playful squint, sinful mouth kicking up in a lopsided smirk.
The look does something carnal to you. You can’t tear your eyes away from his lips, can’t calm the hammering of your heart against your ribs. If you look away from his mouth for a moment, you’ll notice when his flicks down to yours. How they linger for far too long.
Your mouth parts just enough for your tongue to wet your bottom lip, and the movement is enough to make Jack give in. The small distance between you is closed when he takes his readers off with one hand and caresses your jaw with the other.
Jack’s lips are on yours in an instant, soft and sweet and careful. So careful that he’s allowing you to lead the pace and tempo of it.
You feel your body relax into the taste of him, your shoulders drooping as he swallows a sigh that slips from you. A small noise follows, one of need and contempt. Jack's hand reaches between your parted thighs, his fingers hooking beneath the seat of the stool. He pulls you toward him, the scrape of metal legs on hardwood echoing but you pay no attention.
Your knees bump as you adjust them to fit between his widely parted thighs. Your hands find his face, sneaking to the back of his neck to snake your fingers through his curls. Jack kisses you harder, his tongue massaging at your bottom lip in a silent request for access.
Something that you give him quickly, swirling your own against his.
He tastes like wine, food and the promise of something you’re not allowing yourself to think too much into. Jack’s hands remain on your face, fingers hidden beneath your hair, palms cupping at your jaw. He lets out soft pants of breath, quiet moans that feed the slick that’s forming between your thighs.
It’s intoxicating, how Jack kisses. Like every emotion he doesn’t verbalize is poured into it. His hands begin to roam in a respectfully needy way. One moves to tangle into your hair, the other slides down the warm skin of your neck, to the bare flesh on your back.
His palm splays against the skin, tender in every aspect you can imagine. Neither of you come up for air, neither of you want to pull away.
You’re shifting to the edge of your stool when Jack’s hands abandon their previous positions to land on your waist. The feverishness of his touch makes your head spin. Makes you slip from your stool so you’re standing between his parted thighs. Makes you tug at his curls as he tips his head up to meet your kiss.
When you nibble on his lower lip, Jack loses his restraint. His hands slide back to your waist, down to your hips until they’re cupping the backs of your thighs, encouraging you to climb into his lap. You don’t know how he makes the movement so fluid, how you don’t tumble into him, how he doesn’t lose his balance.
Your lips stay connected in a searing kiss throughout the movements, only breaking when Jack begins to migrate his lips to your jaw, licking and biting and kissing. Further down, until he’s at your neck and your hips are moving down on his crotch on their own accord.
Your blood burns, so does his. And Jack has never felt so young and alive. So electric and feverish for another touch.
Your head lulls back, eyes fluttering closed as your chest heaves with every breath. His salt and pepper stubble scratches deliciously at your skin. You can’t help but grind harder into him, the thought of that sensation further down almost enough to make your brain short circuit.
You feel the wetness of his tongue as Jack licks a stripe up the column of your throat. One hand leaves your hips to rest on the back of your head, to tangle in your hair and angle your face back to his as his lips take yours with even more need and hunger.
Your head is spinning. Your hips are erratic. If you don’t stop now, you won’t stop at all.
“Jack.” Your voice is nothing more than a whimper into his mouth, but you don’t stop kissing him.
Jack hums, grunts, moans—it’s a noise you can’t place but one you can’t get enough of. You whimper his name again, breathless and shaky as you detach your mouth and rest your forehead against his.
He’s panting, eyes closed, jaw clenched.
“I don’t—” you swallow in a heavy breath. “I don’t want to rush this.”
He nods, doesn’t push, doesn’t ask for more. Jack’s hands caress your jaw, his thumbs stroking calming patterns across your cheeks as he catches his breath, reins himself in.
“I know.” His voice is guttural enough that you almost consider fucking off your previous statement. “I don’t want to rush this either.”
For a few moments, you remain in the same position. Eyes closed and foreheads pressed. Jack's hands keep their hold on your face, his thumbs continuing their soothing ministries across your plump skin.
He’s the one to pull away first. Moving his head back just enough so that when he opens his eyes, he can look at you. Big, heavy eyes. Swollen lips. Flushed skin.
His jaw clenches at the sight, a heavy breath audible through his nose. But Jack looks no better. His curls are mussed from your fingers tangling into them, his lips are plumper and a slight smear of your lipgloss tints them pinker.
And his eyes. It sends a shudder through you at the sight of them. Pupils almost blown, hooded and focused on yours.
His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip before he’s moving closer again to brush his nose against yours. Your breath mingles, lips ghosting. It’s like he’s at war with himself. That if he rewards himself with even one more taste of you, he won’t be able to stop.
“I should go.” It’s with pure agony that Jack utters the words.
His voice is both rough and whiny. Like it’s the last thing he really wants to do. But you want to take it slow, so does he. You’re both well aware that if Jack stays for a moment longer, the night will end the way you want it to. Just not in the way either of you need it.
Not like this. Not on the first date. Not with Phoebe in the picture. Not with his beloved wife’s memory to consider.
You nod, clearing your throat as your forehead bumps against his.
“Yeah, okay.” You’re breathless when you agree, voice slightly pained at the notion. But you both know it’s for the best.
You half expect him to kiss you, at least once more. But he doesn’t.
Jack pulls away to avert his gaze, silently helps you clean up the takeout boxes. You don’t tell him he doesn’t need to, don’t tell him you know he’s trying to prolong actually leaving.
You bask in the final few moments together before walking him to the door. He hovers over the threshold, stopping short in the hall. Turns to you as you lean against the doorframe and it’s a mirror image of the night a week ago. At Phoebe's birthday. When he kissed you. Then went silent for three days.
Jack seems to share the same sentiment on the memory because a breathless chuckle escapes him as he moves closer like he did before, as he presses his lips against yours slowly. Savoring the taste of you, the feel of your plump lips against his.
“I’ll call you tomorrow?”
You can’t help the sarcastic look on your face as he utters those same words. His grin morphs into something wider, eyes rolling at your silent tease.
“I promise. No more radio silence after a kiss from me ever again.”
You hum with playfully squinted eyes. Jack mirrors your expression, leans in to kiss you again and you melt into him. You don’t think you’ll ever get enough of it. Of him.
“Okay. I believe you.”
He hums against your lips at your words until he finally tears himself away from you. Jack licks across his bottom lip, tugs it between his teeth. The sight almost cripples you.
“Get some sleep.”
You nod once, fighting off your grin. “Goodnight, Jack.”
His eyes soften, smirk dwindles into a soft, secret smile. Until he winks at you, leans in to steal yet another kiss that rips a laugh from your throat.
When he pulls away again, Jack’s got a boyish beam across his face. “Night, gorgeous.”
You’re left breathless once again as Jack retreats down the hall. You don’t watch him go, don’t trust that you won’t chase after him and drag him back into your apartment. So you close the door, back pressed against it as you squeeze your eyes shut in pure excitement, gnawing painfully on your bottom lip, but it’s no use hiding your grin.
You carry the smile through your bedtime routine. You miss a few steps, too caught up in your head; replaying every word and kiss and look. Thirty minutes later, when you finally get into bed, your phone is still lighting up with notifications from fans.
And in between them, lies a message from Jack.
You don’t mean for the somersaults in your stomach to start kicking. But you do mean to ignore every notification but his as you unlock your phone.
Jack: Not sure on the dating etiquette these days when it comes to waiting to ask you to go out with me again… but are you free to get breakfast tomorrow morning?
You: miss me already dr. abbot?
Jack: Yes.
Jack: Breakfast tomorrow morning? My treat.
You: dinner was your treat, isn’t the next one meant to be my turn?
Jack: I don’t know what guys you’ve dated in the past. But, fuck no.
Jack: I’m asking you out. I’m paying.
You: hmm
You: i’ll go to breakfast with you. on one condition
Jack: What’s your condition, sweetheart?
You: a pic of sally
Jack: [sent an attachment]
Your grin drops at the photo. A fucking selfie. Jack lays in bed, propped up against his pillow with a gray t-shirt clinging to his skin. Sally lays curled beside him, but she’s the least of your concern right now.
You stare at his arms, the thick muscle and bulging veins as he angles the camera up above him. Crisp white sheets, his other arm curled around the cat with his hand buried into her fur.
You swallow, let your eyes move along to the expanse of his throat and you find yourself regretting not kissing him there like he kissed you. Further up, his mouth quirked at the side in a smile, salt and pepper stubble somehow catching the light.
But it’s when you look at his eyes that you forget how to breathe for a moment. He’s got his fucking readers on, his eyes squinting playfully at the camera through the lenses. Even through a fucking screen his stare is intense. Bores through to your soul and winds it around his fingers.
You feel warmer when you take a moment to realize just how intimate the photo really is. How vulnerable and honest.
Maybe that’s what makes you send a photo back.
You: [sent an attachment]
Jack opens the message and freezes.
A photo. Of you. In your bed.
You’re almost mirroring the one he sent you. But there’s no cat and you aren’t wearing any readers.
No, you’re laying instead of sitting up. Your hair is an unruly mess across the pillows. Your eyes are tired but glistening with mirth. Your smile is crooked, almost shy, and your cheeks are flushed. Jack’s blood roars in his veins.
He lets his eyes dip further down the photo. You’re also not wearing a gray t-shirt like him.
Instead, you’re wearing something tight but flimsy. Spaghetti straps slipping off your pretty little shoulders. The swell of your breasts is far too prominent when you’re lying on your back, and Jack swallows thickly when he notices the pebbling of your nipples.
Jack: You are so beautiful.
You ‘heart’ reacted to a message!
You: goodnight jack, see u in the morning <3
Jack: Goodnight, gorgeous x
He watches the little read receipt appear beneath his message, but no bubbles form at the bottom of the screen. Jack’s eyes flicker back to the photo, finding his thumb clicking on the screen to enlarge the sight of you.
His checkered pyjama pants feel tight against his crotch. He’s not stupid. He feels the blood rush south, feels the discomfort and ache of a neglected erection. Jack sighs shakily, stares at his screen again. He should not be looking. It’s not what you sent him the fucking photo for.
But despite how much he tries, he can’t tear his gaze away. Your soft skin, your supple breasts, your pouty lips.
Sally moves from her position curled against him, blinks beady eyes in his direction before padding her way to the foot of the bed and jumping off to leave the room.
Jack swallows, closes his eyes and practices those military breathing techniques for exactly thirty-four seconds before his eyes are peeling open again.
A soft groan sounds at the back of his throat. It’s an inner battle with his mind. A fight of what he wants and that he shouldn’t.
But he grows harder and more frustrated as the seconds pass and he doesn't have a hand around himself. His eyes squeeze shut, head tilts back against the headboard. Like a silent prayer, a beg for forgiveness.
Then, he’s giving in. Reaching into his nightstand drawer for a bottle of lotion. Squeezes a pump into his hand, drops the phone on his stomach and reaches into the hem of his pyjama pants.
Jack shifts on top of the mattress, lifts his hips to pull the pants down mid-thigh and releases himself with a sigh. One hand reaches for the phone, the other cupping the lotion. He brings his fingertips close to his wrist, skillfully warming the cream until his entire palm is covered with it.
It’s hesitant when he wraps his fist around his cock, a whimper slipping from his lips as he stares at the photo of you on his screen. Your neck, your tits, your lips…
“Oh, fuck.” The whimper escapes him breathlessly.
One pump. Two. Twisting his wrist and tightening his grip. Jack’s chest is heaving with barely contained restraint, eyes locked on the pebbled nubs beneath your shirt.
He lets his mind wander as his pace quickens, lets him imagine himself in bed with you. How he would kiss and lick up your neck again, how your tongue would taste on his.
How Jack wound tug your shirt down for your tits to spill out. How he’d wrap his lips around your nipples, bite them gently, suck them.
“Fuck, baby. So good.” His voice is wrecked, nothing but a guttural whine as he moans.
Jack thinks of how soft they’d be. How he’d knead your breasts in his palms, pinch your left nipple while he sucks on your right. Thinks about how your fingers would tug on his curls, how your hips would buck.
A broken, desperate sound escapes him when he thinks about dipping his hand down your shorts. The slick he’d find, the heat.
The thought of sinking two fingers deep into your pretty little cunt has Jack’s hips spluttering. His fist grows tighter, moves faster. His lungs are struggling to swallow down a real breath.
And he’s coming, embarrassingly fast and needy. Hot white ribbons of arousal that spurt from him desperately, coating his hand.
“Ah, fuck. Baby, oh fuck!”
Jack’s head is thrown back against the headboard, lips parted and eyes squeezed shut as his release hits him like a freight train.
Thoughts of burying his face between your thighs. The taste of you staining his tongue for days.
And when he finally comes down from his high with a sticky hand and burning lungs, Jack can’t help but fucking laugh at himself.
He’s so, so fucked.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
SERIES MASTERLIST — NEXT PART
Tag list for this series has grown way too big for me to keep up with so it’s unfortunately CLOSED. You can however follow the #apt.17 tag instead for updates on the series!
OKAY I ALMOST FORGOT TO POST LOL BUT HERE IT IS, i know jack's lil scene was brief but i promise i have so many smut plans to make up for it!!!! also i wanted the focus to be on the date rather than him jerking it off for 1k words LOL next chapter shit hits the fan and we get into some real juicy stuff HAHAHA
Thank you very much for reading! Feedback really means a lot so I would love to hear your thoughts and ideas for where you think this will go!! Reblogs helps to boost stuff for more people to reach so if you enjoyed it please consider reblogging!!
Fandom: Southland
Pairing: Sammy Bryant x F!Reader
Summary: After meeting with the DA for a witness interview regarding a complaint, Officer Sammy Bryant is stuck in an elevator with you, a paralegal, that cannot stand his guts.
WC: 5K
Warnings: Enemies to lovers basically, stuck in an elevator trope, S4!Sammy aka douchey, Sammy isn’t a single dad in this just divorced au, minimal reader descriptions, no use of y/n, reader has anxiety/panic attack/claustrophobia, ACAB mentality, flirting, brief foot rub and getting handsy, plus some fluff.
a/n: if you can hear me curly-haired officer sammy bryant pls save me
The irony wasn’t lost on you to be a helping hand in the District Attorney’s office and equal parts disinterested in being buddy-buddy with the LAPD. It was a paycheck and you erred on the side of hoping to be one of the good guys for someone who needed it. That didn’t mean you didn’t occasionally see things slip under the radar or go unchecked. Overall, the DA had a good head on his shoulders.
In your time as a paralegal, you came across a slew of police officers that made your skin crawl and the hairs on the back of your neck stand tall.
Sammy Bryant was one of them.
Coming across the DA’s desk, and yours, were complaints against one Officer Sammy Bryant. He got too handsy with one guy recently—borderline assault—and yelled a few unsavory insults and comments resulting in complaints. Nothing technically worth charging Bryant for, but enough to make you think less of him.
Oftentimes, you only handled his paperwork and didn’t actually get to see or meet him. This time around, the DA insisted you join in the interview since you told him about pursuing becoming a lawyer. As much as you knew plenty of ins and outs, he wanted to be sure you were confident and succinct about your new career path.
When Sammy waltzed in, he lacked the bravado you would have originally expected as everyone stood to shake hands. You wish you felt less about the tight cuffs of his uniform bracing his vascular biceps, his muscles forearms a sight to see. You smoothed a hand down the front of your polyester blouse, brushing over the dangling piece of fabric that was knotted into a bow at your throat. Dark eyes glanced over you and your bare arms.
Either you were ovulating or badly needed to get laid. It had clearly been far too long since you went on a date or had a man touch you. Work was your priority. You were lucky you had time for a meal or catching up on your favorite dramedy TV show when you could.
When he shook your hand, he was gentle and hazel eyes met yours with a warmth that didn’t match the stories or paper trail. You had to believe there was some truth to it instead of taking his side just because he had a nice crooked smile and kind eyes.
Everyone was sitting down soon enough and you focused on getting your notes together along with your notepad though you felt a heavy gaze on the opposite side boring into you. You focused on Mr. Rosales' complaint toward Bryant, raising your eyes to stare the man down. Not that you wanted to intimidate him per se, but plenty of men tended to think they could sweet talk or belittle you into submission.
“Your reputation is weighing heavily against you, on paper,” you began.
“I try to be a good cop, but it’s hard sometimes. On the street,” Sammy shifted, rolling his shoulders back. “People try you. Try to punk you.”
“Is that so? I wasn’t finished,” you tilted your head and flipped a page. “Mr. Rosales stated that you ‘yanked the shit out of’ his arm behind his back without properly detaining or arresting him. He says he was ‘pressed into a wall’ and ‘left with scratches…along his face from the brick’. Mm, Officer Bryant, what do you make of this?”
“You’ve never seen one of your best friends die on the street.” He said gruffly. Sammy drummed his fingertips against the metal table, openly perturbed.
“Please answer my question, Officer Bryant.”
“He ran away,” Sammy dismissed.
“Was he running away or was he walking and not listening to you?”
“Running,” Sammy’s voice was laden in acid.
“Let’s move on to the order of events.” Said the DA.
You squared your jaw as Sammy sat back, his arms crossing over his chest—all broad shoulders and wide gait. His boot bumped into your foot, forcing you to draw your legs back.
“Will do,” you agreed.
You were gathering your things, wishing you had the sense to bring a bag for the assortment, and breaking for lunch. You tucked your things under your arm and stepped into the hall with purposeful steps. A deli turkey sandwich was on your mind and a painfully empty stomach after two cups of coffee. The squeaking of boots moved behind you, quick in their steps, trying to catch up.
Sammy’s hand was at your elbow, loose as he tried to get you to stop in your tracks.
“Hey, wait a minute,” Sammy barked.
The last thing you wanted or enjoyed was being touched unprompted by a man. You squinted at Sammy, your expected assailant, and stopped midway in the hall. You stepped back toward the nearby wall to move out of the walkway. He stepped forward, not to crowd you, but because he kept his voice low.
“Maybe don’t,” you snapped.
“I didn’t mean anything by it. You’re just…” his brows came together. “You’re busting my balls. A lot. I thought the DA’s office was meant to be on our side or something close to that. Did I do or say something to you to hate me?”
He peered down his nose at you. The obvious frustration melded into something else entirely; an open vulnerability played on his features that you believed most cops were incapable of. You wrinkled your nose at him as you took in his audaciousness. Why did it matter what you truly thought or felt?
“I have a job to do. The problem is when cops like you think it’s okay to treat people however, depending on your mood for the day.”
“It’s not like that—look, it’s a high stress shit job that the average person wouldn’t be able to stand doing if they tried. I don’t think you understand what we deal with. Besides that, I try to be good. I do.” Sammy hung his hands loosely on his utility belt. Naturally bowed legs caused his stance to widen, unintentionally pinning you to the wall.
“It doesn’t actually matter what I think. It’s about the facts. Besides, I’m only a paralegal. You don’t have to kiss my ass,” you rolled your eyes, beginning to brush past Sammy.
“It’s not total ass-kissing. I recognize you, you know,” he said matter-of-factly. “You were at the annual cop ball with some schmuck I didn’t recognize. Your face is a lot more memorable.”
“That’s great,” you muttered.
You didn’t recall seeing Sammy. It was possible while the flow of free drinks and dancing overtook you that night. Dating a cop was something you never planned on chancing ever again. Another sour notch in your belt. Something bubbled in a nook of your mind, intrigued that Sammy would have been looking at all. He likely would have been alongside his then-wife. As much as you could assume.
He took heed not to grab you again, but he barely provided much space between you as you walked down the hall to the elevators. You were reminded of a gnat that just wouldn’t go away. Sammy pressed the down button for the pair of you, his eyes lingering on the side of your face.
“I’m not trying to kiss your ass,” he shrugged. “I’m trying to help remove the stick from it, at the very least.”
“Typical.” You laughed dryly.
“What kind of paralegal gets to ask a bunch of questions like that?” Sammy continued on.
He crossed his arms over his chest, angling his body toward you while you faced the scratched metallic doors.
“Is any of it really your business?” You ground your teeth. A spot just behind your eye was beginning to ache the less food you found in your stomach and the more his voice grated your nerves.
“Guess not,” his brow quirked in quiet dismissal.
There was silence at last.
Then, you weren’t sure that you liked it at all. Sammy was a talker when he didn’t feel he was entirely under attack. You learned that quickly. But now, when he was quiet and contemplating, you didn’t know what he was thinking. The bell to the elevator dinged at last, heavy doors cranking open. You hated the thing. It was rickety and you were sure the slip of paper inside of it suggesting an inspection had been done was likely falsified.
You grimaced as the elevator dipped with your weight, a slight gasp leaving you. Sammy spared you a look, but you didn’t want to have to address him until absolutely necessary—meaning the rest of the interview post-lunch.
Sammy kept up his position as self-appointed elevator operator by pressing the button to the ground floor. You stood near the doors as always, reasoning that you could be in and out the fastest. Sammy stood back in the corner, lax though he was watching you.
You were starting to think you were in fact too hard on him. Everything else about Sammy seemed okay. You knew he was newly divorced, and oddly enough, not another statistic of an asshole that was normally associated with his career field. More or less. He clearly had weak moments, causing him to be susceptible to corruption.
The elevator cranked, at first sliding smoothly down one floor, then two until it slowed to an uneven and grinding stop. You looked up toward the ceiling of the enclosed space. You stepped forward to jam your fingers into the button, visibly panicking as the seconds ticked by and deemed you stuck in the elevator during lunch with Sammy Bryant.
“This cannot be happening,” you scrubbed a hand across your forehead, your skin beginning to prickle with sweat.
You were just claustrophobic enough that it felt like your heart would burst from worry.
“It is. Of-fucking-course it is,” Sammy sighed.
He quickly became aware of your increasing agitation, what training he had to calm the other person and general humanity bringing him closer to you. Sammy started to take your things from you and you let him, watching with blurred tunnel vision.
Your throat felt full of cotton, having a hard time hearing what Sammy was saying. Warm palms came to your cheeks, drawing your eyes up as he took in a breath and exhaled gradually. Sammy was guiding you to breathe in and out while the fog took time to clear from you.
Your eyes began to sting with brimming tears as embarrassment filled your chest and belly. Sammy remained unjudgmental, waiting for you to come down and for your heart rate to slow. He said something about how he imagined phobias and panic attacks didn’t magically erase the irrational fear, but he needed you to reel it in and suck it up while help was called.
“Better?” Sammy finally asked.
However many minutes passed, he could see how the cloudiness left your eyes. You forced yourself to climb out of the hole that was your anxiety, Sammy’s warm palms leaving your skin to the chill of what bit of cool air would be left. Nodding, you gave him a tight look as the paneling of the elevator grabbed your attention again.
You tried the buttons, jamming your thumb into the call button that gave no sign of a response. Sammy shrugged at you and stood back to lean into the railing.
“Told you,” he said lightly. “We’re gonna have to wait it out in order to escape this shitbox.”
You ground your teeth together for the sake of not snapping at Sammy again as you had, but you owed him some grace after he brought you back down to reality. You stood back in defeat, backing into the opposite corner and lowering to the dirty floor.
“So much for lunch.” You said weakly, rubbing at your irritated eyes.
Sammy was shuffling around, digging into his pocket and held out one of those nutty health bars that could temporarily do the trick. Despite everything, he appeared sympathetic about the whole thing. You looked down at the snack and quietly thanked him, fingertips brushing over his hand. Sammy nodded stiffly and lowered himself to the floor in finality as well.
“How long do you think it’ll be?” You fiddled with the wrapper, crossing your legs at the ankle.
“The way this city functions and by the lack of maintenance on this thing, I couldn’t tell you. But… Look, before… It’s not a big deal, alright? Shit happens. Things like this can be scary.” Sammy humored you.
You didn’t know if his words actually made you feel any better. The effort alone to make you feel less like a weak and terrified little thing was the reassuring part.
“Bright side?” You snorted, taking a bite of the bar. Peering up at fluorescent and flickering lights, you counted eight dead bugs within the fixtures.
“Bright side: it’s already getting hot as shit. You sure you want me to keep talking now?” Sammy gave a sideways smirk. He started to undo the buttons of his uniform shirt, eventually revealing a vest which he also removed. Both were tossed toward the unopened doors. He had a point. You could feel it—the mugginess was seeping into the metal container, a dampness coating any surface of skin it could reach.
Sammy leaned back against the wall and let his head rest on the temporarily cool metal. His rolling shoulders drew your eyes down to his impeccably broad chest clothed by white cotton, and again, you wondered when was the last time you checked your calendar to date when you last had a man catering to your needs.
Men like Sammy always caught your eye at first. Sweet, gentle, trying at first, and soon enough nothing more than an intense crash and burn to follow. When your eyes came back up, Sammy met your gaze with the slightest rise of his lips as he caught you leering.
“I would rather you remind me I’m not in this literal death trap,” your eyes dropped to your strewn paperwork and folders. “I’ve always sorta had this fear, you know? It’s my cousin’s fault. I was the littlest of them and they thought it would be funny to lock me in this shed… Shitty things kids do not knowing they’ll scar you for the rest of your life.”
“That’s pretty messed up. Kids are little assholes,” Sammy clasped his hands together in his lap. “I meant it when I said I recognized you.”
“I figured that much,” you said around a mouthful, staring at the useless panel across from you.
“I spoke to you, but I think you were having too good of a time. Drinking, I mean.” Sammy alluded.
You wanted to laugh because Sammy Bryant was admitting to hitting on you once upon a time that felt so long ago.
“I think I was trying to drink away my problems with that guy,” you admitted slowly, crumpling up the now-empty wrapper. “We were on and off for nine months. Nine long months of time wasted. I got so wasted I didn’t see you were hitting on me.”
“You might have. Something along the lines of how pretty my curly hair was and how the stubble I had that night suited me.”
“God,” you groaned, wincing and easily looking away for anything else to possibly hold your attention. “No wonder you couldn’t take me seriously in there.”
“No, it wasn’t that, of all things. I’ve just had enough of letting perps get by thinking they can skirt the law,” Sammy said indifferently.
You should have warned him to be mindful of what he was saying, but you weren’t sure you cared enough to give him the legal spiel about incriminating himself.
“I get where you’re coming from, but someday, you could hurt the wrong person. The wrong guy or kid…” You pursed your lips.
“Yeah. Doubt it though,” Sammy brought his hands behind his head and gave you a smile.
You hated him for flirting because there was something charming about the underlying cockiness and general weaselly attitude he held. You narrowed your eyes at him and decided you needed to stand up in spite of your fear of the entire human crate falling a couple floors.
Pacing helped clear your mind and that was much needed as the seconds turned to half an hour and even closer to an hour. After the first five minutes, Sammy checked his phone to find there was no signal. No bother in checking your own phone after he proved to be right about the panel in the first place.
“You’re making me anxious,” Sammy said after another five minutes of you pacing. He bounded up onto his feet, swinging his arms as if he needed to stretch his limbs.
“I didn’t think I could make things any worse than when I had a full blown panic attack,” you rubbed the back of your neck. To oblige him, you leaned into the wall for some reprieve after sweeping up a thick folder to fan yourself.
“I didn’t mind it. Being that close to you,” he elaborated gently. “It’s the only time today you looked at me without me feeling like you were imagining making me explode with your eyes.”
“I’m not a fan of cops and especially not the LAPD. The history alone makes me cringe.”
“What about me? Do I specifically bother you?” Sammy was testing again.
He began to inch toward you, metered and careful steps across the extremely short distance. His boots were mere inches from your pointed shoes that were beginning to make your feet ache. Your fanning slowed as he came closer and you know you should have told him to back off. The heat must have been getting to you both or else you would knock some sense into him with a thwap from the folder.
Yet, you withheld.
“Most divorced men and professions start with cops, firefighters, military…” You explained with an air of professionalism that drifted off.
Sammy was done hiding his interest—not that he was doing very well in the first place. His eyes drooped, staring too long and adoringly at your lips while you were speaking. There was a second of self-consciousness and you quickly stepped around Sammy, returning to your pacing. This time he had to put up with you making circles instead of the straight back and forth you had created on what you deemed your side of the elevator.
“I didn’t plan on adding you to that statistic any time soon,” Sammy scoffed out a laugh, turning to follow you around the cramped space by spinning on his heel.
“It’s the fact you already are one. Right? I think for such a statistic to exist that women are the primary for filing says something. So, what did you do, huh?”
“Oh, please,” Sammy wrinkled his nose at you, reaching for you again a second time that day. “You’re making me dizzy—look. I didn’t do shit. My ex cheated on me and I was left trying to figure out what life looked like without the woman I had been with since high school. My only failure was not divorcing her sooner. She was mean before she and the new guy had a kid.”
The confession made you pause before you could register Sammy’s affliction for wanting to touch you by grabbing ahold. Your eyes drifted down to where his fingers dented into your flesh, but there was nothing painful about it. He started to look apologetic again, assuming you were gearing up to give him another earful.
You didn’t.
You wanted to say something sweet and reassuring to the effect of appreciation. You could have popped in your earbuds some time ago and completely shut him out. Sammy could have done the same, but here you both were trying to find level footing that would make your lives easier for however much longer you were stuck.
“Then, I guess I was wrong about you. In some respect,” was all you could muster.
Sammy held an unsure expression as he released your arm. You wanted to touch him back, to feel and have a reason to do it. The more rational part of your brain knew there was business to be taken care of outside of the elevator once help came. Sammy’s interview would conclude and you would go back to separate lives that felt like separate worlds entirely.
After another hour passed, you gave on checking your phone and concluded every single employee in the building was fucking useless. You and Sammy resulted to lying on the floor, side by side. What else was there to do? A game of tic-tac-toe had already been played, two truths and a lie, and even playing a game of guessing what number or color the person was thinking of.
The less you spoke about your careers, the more human he felt.
His genuine personality crept through more than the tough guy cop act he put on since his partner died. Sammy personally admitted aloud to you it was a defense mechanism he was working on, but slow to truly deal with. By working on, he meant he knew his ever-growing God Complex was becoming a problem.
“There’s nothing you can say to me about the job that shocks me. I know the type,” you had said.
You were kicking off your heels at last, groaning as your feet were able to fully stretch against skin-colored pantyhose.
“My feet are killing me. Modern day torture devices exist in all sorts of women’s clothing and accessories.”
“I believe you. How can you let your toes be scrunched up like that?” Sammy lifted his head to spy your feet.
He gave himself a double chin doing so, a soft snorted scoff sound leaving you. He was the sort of face that managed to look handsome from any angle while you regularly felt trollop-y.
“I should start a petition,” you smiled, playing with the idea.
“I’ll be the first to sign it.”
There was a beat of silence not unlike the spells that had played on and off since then, but this one was heavier. Sammy’s eyes were on you just after you stopped watching him. You felt it because there weren’t many other places to look in actuality. You stopped fantasizing about food for your own sanity and disregarded Sammy’s idea to climb through the hatch above, so staring at the walls and each other had to do.
He was warm at your side, heat radiating off of him somehow more than you. That heat drew closer, your body knowing before you as his knuckles brushed yours. Was he wearing you down or were your walls inching lower? You didn’t know if your rejection of him was really because of him. You could lay down the law (no pun intended) that you truly weren’t interested, wanted something casual, or you weren’t interested because he wanted something casual.
Sammy was a man enjoying his newfound freedom after a long-term relationship, and that usually meant getting feelings for someone who was in no position to requite them.
“Do you still like my curly hair?” Sammy’s voice dropped lower with his query.
“Yes,” you answered softly.
His touch grew bolder, rubbing in gentle circles, and pausing to interlock fingers. You felt, refusing to look still, as Sammy dragged your hands to his taut torso to rest against him.
“Am I ugly without the stubble?”
You almost laughed and that won Sammy the attention he craved.
“No, not at all,” you rolled your eyes.
Sammy’s crow’s feet deepened, impressed with himself, but ultimately knowing he was getting somewhere with you.
“What’re you doing tonight then?” Sammy asked delicately.
“Probably catching up on what I couldn’t get done today,” you knew it sounded like a cop out (another pun not intended). “I think you’re nice. This is nice. How you’ve kept my mind from wandering to thinking about being stuck in here is…great. But, I told myself no more police officers. Aren’t there women who have things specifically for cops?”
“I would be bored with a badge bunny,” Sammy groaned.
“So, you’re saying you’ve tried it?” You pressed your tongue into your cheek.
You sat up, though not out of upset. Hard metal and your back were disagreeing loudly with a twinge on top of the ache in your feet. Sammy was noticeably disappointed to not be holding your hand any longer, his eyes following you. You moved to lean into the wall again, your feet pointed toward Sammy now.
“Would that make you jealous to know women are dying to sleep with me because of what I do?”
Sammy pushed up off the floor without the use of his hands. Your brows came together in concern for yourself and your far weaker core, then your mind conjured up mock-ups of what you thought his abdomen might look like. However long you had been quiet, you prayed it was deemed contemplation rather than fawning.
“Mm, can’t say that would be the case,” you dismissed the suggestion.
The answer was yes, but he didn’t need to know that.
You were reaching for your discarded phone as Sammy pulled one of your legs into his lap. You opened your mouth to ask what he was doing until he pressed a firm thumb up the length of the bottom of your foot. You welcomed it with a groan that sounded nearly pornographic. When was the last time a man rubbed your feet unprompted?
The care and touch filled your lower belly and pelvis with a swirling heat that had been kept at bay for some time. You forgot all about your phone and the time while Sammy took pride in making you feel good, watching for reactions or sounds of displeasure. He switched to the other foot for the sake of showing attention to both.
You knew you were entering murky territory, and when Sammy lifted your foot to press a kiss to your ankle, you shuddered with anticipation. You were tired and bored, and that was somehow enough to warrant whatever connection you built with Sammy to lead to this. You didn’t want him to stop and he watched your every move as he pulled you forward, strong hands gathering you into his lap where a bulge was forming.
You wanted him and you wanted to close your fingers in those curly locks that kept taunting you. Sammy pressed his head back into your touch, his lips parting on a soft moan as you braced your legs on either side of him and bore down.
“What about tomorrow night? Can we do this?” Sammy asked breathily.
He hadn’t kissed you yet, but he was so sure where you were afraid of letting someone in. You made good and decent money that would be jeopardized by being intimate with Sammy before finishing the interview or informing HR. One of the two was slightly difficult to get away with.
“I’m not that easy, Officer Sammy Bryant,” you tutted as if he should know better by now.
He should have.
“I believe it,” Sammy was staring at your lips now, waiting. “I don’t want easy. The same way you want different. You crave it. I can see it. I’ll give you that… Trust me, I’ll give it to you good.” He smirked.
The cheesiness of him was beginning to work and that’s how you knew you needed to get out of that elevator. You pressed your forehead to his, curiosity killing the cat as you rolled your hips and caused a gasping moan to escape him.
“I think they’ll have to bring in another paralegal to finish your interview,” you finally ceded.
“Jeez, why didn’t I think of that two hours ago?” Sammy said sarcastically.
To shut him up and that stupidly attractive curve of his mouth, you caved, and kissed him. He melted into you as if he weren’t just jokingly insulting you and instead waiting all this time—all his life—to kiss you. He was unhurried in his passion, strong palms holding your waist as if he were afraid of you taking off. The tip of his tongue was just daring enough to flick against yours, and you gave him that too.
The elevator jolted, metal pressing on metal as the elevator whirred back to life and began lowering. You broke apart first though Sammy would have been fine to be found that way.
“Saved by the bell,” Sammy grunted.
You felt your face grow hot as you pulled back to look at him, a small acknowledgement to the conclusion the both of you had come to. Sammy didn’t want to let you go, but he didn’t fight you on it. He had things of his own to toss back on.You gathered what little composure you had, tucking your blouse back into your dress pants and stepping into your heels again.
Once you were put together again, papers stacked neatly, and your cellphone on top, you stood facing the doors. Sammy joined alongside you this time, his head tipping to look down at you with a smirk. He had the worst poker face you had ever seen.
“How do you feel about homemade tacos?” Sammy’s hands were propped along his utility belt.
You watched the floors pass by with appropriate dings, a countdown of sorts. Sammy watched you a little longer while he could.
“And he cooks?” You bit your bottom lip to hide the growing smile.
“I can always show you better than I can tell you. Just wait,” Sammy flirted, facing forward once more.
The elevator bottomed out and landed with an easy thud. Outside waited the assumed elevator tech and a handful of firefighters. The supposed building manager stood off to the side and was now shuffling forward.
“We’re sorry about that, folks,” the building manager said apologetically in a ‘don’t-sue-me-or-the-city’ kind of way.
You couldn’t find it in yourself to be angry. Sammy surely wasn’t.
summary: the day of your wedding and Miracle goes missing (again!) and more goes wrong but you and jack try to have a beautiful day.
tags: what's in the box? oh more fluff!
little miracle masterlist
˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆
"What if we just ran away and got married at the courthouse?" You bite your finger nails as you pace your bedroom. Jack sits on his computer with his readers on.
"We can do that, but wasn't it your idea for a ceremony too?" He purses his lips.
"I know but now it just seems like alot. The invitations, a venue, a caterer, an open bar, a photographer, the flowers, the dress, hair and make up a dress for miracle. A cake! I forgot about a cake!" You flop onto the bed and groan.
"Okay, then let's simplify."
"Well, we need invitations so that won't be so bad. We can do with a small venue because it's less then fifty. We need a caterer so people can eat so they can drink. Nobody wants to take time off work to spend money on a cash bar so we need the open bar. I don't really need to be holding any flowers and my dress can be a simple one, and Miracle can pick what she wants."
"Okay, I can sense a bit of a pattern there." He closes his laptop, "Do this for yourself. It's a small wedding sure but that doesn't mean you shouldn't do all the things you want for it. Money is not an issue. We've got time to plan it. Come here." He pulls you up to the pillows.
"It'll be okay?" You pout.
"It will be a beautiful day. You will be beautiful. And Miracle will be beautiful." He kisses you after every sentence.
-
On the day of your wedding, you tried to think positively. It was raining. It had stormed all week and the outdoor space you had booked was unusable. It was muddy and you're sure a few of your guests slipped walking inside.
The venue you had chosen was just an hour or so from Pittsburgh. It was a historical victorian mansion with a large property. The photos were gorgeous and you imagined how lovely it would look to take your vows on the property.
What was supposed to a beautiful garden style wedding was forced inside a small glass atrium. It was still visually appealing and could fit everyone but it was so humid so everyone stripped their outerwear including shawls and suit jackets.
You were nervous all through hair and make up. The photographer kept having to remind you to smile at times because she was taking pictures. Nana, one of your bridesmaids, comes up beside you. "You look so beautiful. This day is going to be perfect. We promise." She rubs yours shoulders.
"How's Miracle?" You ask.
"Good! She is putting on her shoes in the hall right now." Nana turns on her heels and walks out the door. Therese runs up to her.
"Any sign of her?"
"I feel like I searched for her every where! Where could that little girl go in here?"
"We are so screwed if we don't find her."
Nana rushes to the men's dressing room and knocks on the door rapidly. "Hey, where's the fire?" Robby opens the door.
"We lost Miracle," She whispers, "Please, please tell me you've seen her."
"I can't say I have." He shakes his head. "Let me help." He heads into the hall to join the search.
Having heard everything, Jack takes a deep breath. He grabs the door to join the search as well when he notices in the mirror in the corner of the room, Miracle peeking from under the bed.
"Miracle, come on out, please." Jack sits on the bed beside where the little girl was underneath.
"No." She whines.
"Why not, Princess?"
"I don't feel good," She murmurs.
"Can Daddy do a check up?"
"No."
"Princess, I want to help."
"I don't want to mess up the wedding." She pouts.
"That's not possible." He says, "Your mommy will understand. I think she'd be okay if we cancelled—"
"No! I want you to get married." Her demeanor changes to frustration for a split second.
"Miracle. Your mommy will not marry me if you are not at the ceremony." He holds out his hand for her. "Will you tell me what's wrong?"
"I don't know what's wrong."
"Is it your head? Your chest? Your tummy?"
"My tummy."
"Was it something you ate, maybe?"
"No it doesn't hurt."
"Oh I see," He lowers himself to the floor, "You've got butterflies in your tummy."
"Butterflies?"
"Is it like you're not scared but you've got a scary feeling like you are?"
"Yeah." She peeks her head out.
"It's because you're nervous. It's kinda like being scared and excited. People get it sometimes when something really special is going to happen." He looks at her.
"I want you and Mommy to get married but I'm sad too." She pouts
"Like a happy-sad. That's okay too. I'm feeling that too. I am just so happy I could cry."
"Me too." She says.
"It'll be okay. Nobody will be upset that you're crying."
"Not Mommy."
"Not—"
There is a rapid knock on the door. Jack gets back on his feet and opens the door. You barge into the room, "Miracle is lost. I can't believe it. One thing I'm going to do is lose my daughter…"
"Wow, you look—"
"This is not how I wanted first looks to go. My mind is on Miracle right now…"
While you are preoccupied by your panic, Miracle slinks back under the bed. "Honey…" Jack tries to interrupt.
"What if she is in one of the hundred closets in this place? Or outside in the rain? Getting sick?! We'll have to go look for her…"
"Baby…"
"I knew the rain was a bad omen. I'm going to go to the guests and just call the whole thing off. I can't believe I lost her on my wedding day—"
"Baby!" He grabs your shoulders, "She's not lost. She's under the bed."
"Under…the…bed?" You walk over to the bed and squat down. You peer under the bed and catch sight of Miracle. She gives you a small wave.
"Hi, Mommy." She says softly.
"Oh thank god." You let go of the breath you're holding, "Hi, My Little Miracle. Why are you hiding?"
"Miracle was just telling me it was because she was nervous and didn't want to cry and ruin the wedding."
"Oh My Love, you would never ruin this day. Never ever ever." You smile, "I can't imagine this day without you."
"What if I cry?"
"If you cry, what do think I'll be feeling like?" You pretend to sob hysterically, wailing loudly to make her laugh.
"We'll all be crying together." Jack says, "There will be people in the crowd crying."
"Yeah?"
"Oh yeah, I'm pretty sure Robby will be crying the hardest."
"That's silly." She giggles.
"I wouldn't say it if I didn't believe it." He assures.
"Are you feeling better now?" You ask.
"Can we stay here together a bit longer?"
"Just a bit." You reach under the bed and she holds your hand.
Jack gets back on the floor and gazes at you as you comfort your little girl. He drinks it all in. You look radiant in your dress. Your make up accentuated your features well. He couldn't look away. He's trying not to get emotional now as he looks at you. "You look beautiful." He whispers.
You look back at him and smile. With your other hand you rake your hand through the side of his hair, "You do too."
A few minutes pass, when Robby throws open the door, "Oh thank god. We thought we lost you too. We are still looking—"
"She's under the bed." You sigh.
"Hi Uncle Robby." Her little hand waves at the door.
"Hi Panda." He claps his hands together, "Great that is everyone accounted for now. Are we ready to get this show on the road?"
"What do we think, Miracle?" You ask.
She crawls out from under the bed, "Yes."
You help Jack up and he takes Miracle into the hall.
"Ready?" Robby sticks out his elbow and you place your hand in the crease.
"As I'll ever be." You beam.
The ceremony begins, Jack holds Miracle's hand as they walk down the aisle together. She stands beside him at the altar. Then the bridal march begins. Robby walks you down the aisle.
Jack feels his throat tighten as he watches you smile walking down the aisle. Miracle takes his hand and gives it a squeeze. Tears are flowing from her eyes. When you arrive at the altar, Jack lifts your veil. "So beautiful." He whispers, "I love you."
"I love you too." You whisper back.
Although the ceremony was delayed and nothing went your way initially, the ceremony was lovely. After you exchange your vows and kiss passionately. You and Jack are then led to a grand office to sign your marriage license. "Oh, your wedding gift is in here too."
"What?" He blinks in surprise.
"It's more papers to sign if that's okay." The officiant pulls out the papers for you.
You hold them out to Jack. "What are these?" He takes them and scans over the words.
"Adoption papers. Making you legally Miracle's guardian."
Jack looks at the papers with a smile. He flips through the pages and signs all the marked spaces and fills out his information. Then he gets to the final page. It was a different document; a legal decree changing Miracle's last name to Abbot.
"Now you've got a Mrs. Abbot and a Little Miss Abbot all in one day!" You grin.
"I can't believe you did this." He holds your waist and kisses you intensely, "I couldn't ask for a better wedding gift."
"Great, now let's go I am starving." You take his hand and lead him back to the reception.
You have a live band playing at the reception for your first dance. As you and Jack sway to the music, you rest your head on his shoulder, "This feels all surreal." You mutter.
"It does." He holds the small of your back as you move across the small dance floor.
"Like I'll wake up because it's a dream." You raise your head and look at him.
"You look like a dream." He kisses you gently. You smile bashfully and caress his face. He then moves down and kisses your neck.
"Keep it PG, Dr. Abbot." You warn.
"Of course, Mrs. Abbot. I'll save it for later." He whispers in your ear.
"Mm, I like the way that sounds, 'Mrs. Abbot.'" You bite your lip, "Save that for later too."
The night continues on, Miracle and Jack share a dance before the dance floor opens to everyone. You, Jack, and Miracle sneak away as everyone enjoys the music.
Back in the atrium, you sit in some chairs with Miracle in Jack's lap. "Did you have fun, Princess?" Jack rubs her back. She nods as she fights sleep. It was way past her bedtime now.
"Remember how I told you, Daddy and I are going on vacation. That starts tomorrow."
"Okay? Where will I be staying?"
"Well, Uncle Robby is house sitting for us so… Do you want to stay at home with him?"
"Yes!" She smiles.
"He'll drop you off at school, and you might spend some time at the hospital again."
"In the ER?!"
"Maybe?!" You pinch her cheeks, "That is up to Robby."
"Alright, we love you little Miracle." Jack kisses her head
"I love you too." She hugs him in return. Miracle then goes home with Nana to spend the night at her house with her kids.
It was still raining at the end of the night. Your send-off had to be inside the foyer instead of outside. Before you walk through the crowd, Jack whispers to you, "I have a wedding gift for you."
"You do?" You cock an eyebrow, "What is it?"
"It's outside." He pulls you through the crowd as they throw petals into the air for you. More people are outside with their umbrellas cheering for you. And in front of you is a brand new hatch back.
"Jack… No! You didn't!"
"I know yours was in pounded and it smelled like B.O. and liquor so what was the point of getting it back. So here is your something new." He smiles
You jump in his arms and squeal, "I can't believe you! This is— Wow! I am speechless!"
"I still think the gift you gave me is better." He kisses you lovingly. He helps you into the passenger seat and he runs over to the drivers side.
"With this, Dr. Abbot, I'll have to show my gratitude." You kiss him more intensely.
"Then we better get going." He starts the car and you drive off into the night, all the way home.
♡ synopsis: now happily married to the kind of woman sammy could only dream of before, he's a very satisfied man. but... something seems to be bothering you tonight. once you're finally in bed together, you divulge the reason for your quiet disposition this evening. afterward, you prove to him yet again just how smart he was for wedding you.
♡ content: misogyny & internalized misogyny, anti-tammi, reader is a pregnant housewife, blowjob
Sammy often calls you his guardian angel. Because coming home to you is blissful heaven. There's no shouting matches, unhinged hysterics to deal with because you did something ridiculous while he was at work earning a paycheck and putting his ass on the line to provide for you, or a wreck of a house to clean up when he walks through the door.
No, just peace and quiet and calm.
Vacuumed carpet, mopped hardwood floors, polished countertops, laundered uniforms, a fresh assortment of fruits and vegetables in the kitchen, and faintly flickering candles on the coffee table which is complete with tidily organized stacks of magazines for your own respective interests.
And there's always toilet paper under the bathroom sink.
After his mess of a divorce, he was lonely, sure, but also very reluctant to ever get involved with someone ever again. After all, what if the new woman he chose turned out to be just as unstable as the last one—if not more so—and took him for all he was worth yet again, simply because he was trying to do the right thing by being a hardworking man?
Going on a reluctant search was never necessary to begin with, though, because there you were all along... From the very beginning, ahead of his filing for legal separation.
Before Sammy made you a happy little housewife, you'd been a waitress at a local diner, which he soon began to frequent after every shift, in an attempt to unwind and decompress before going home to a wife he resented.
You were a balm to his ragged nerves. Always sweet and sociable, and willing to lend an ear to listen to his woes when he actually had the energy to speak.
It gutted him that you were working ten hour shifts—and on sneakers that were being held together with naught more than duct tape, at that (he always felt guilty anytime he left you less than a $30 tip, even if all he ordered that evening was a glass of ice water). Meanwhile, Tammi was at home getting high with a damn teenager who stole something he stretched himself so fucking thin over to provide her with in the first place.
He should've known photography was going to be another whim just because she was bored.
At that, instead of being thankful, she instead reminded him of how he wasn't enough—or doing enough—when she harped on and on over the phone about wanting to move into a house he could never dream of affording while he was just trying to do his goddamn job.
Pushing it all down, his anger manifested in other ways before long.
It made him seethe watching other men put their hands on you when you came by to refill their coffee, or bring them their ordered meals because they somehow felt entitled to you.
When he started pulling his badge to get them to back the fuck off, or leave altogether, is when he knew that he was absolutely whipped.
Whenever Sammy would try to flirt, though, your eyes would always drift to that bothersome gold band that he desperately wanted to flush down the toilet and forget about entirely.
He was fucking terrified of losing you.
So, he filed and risked half of everything—his savings, pension, personal property, and financial assets—just for a chance at having something better by your side before the day finally came where you either disappeared from the diner's outdated interior in search of more favorable prospects elsewhere, or you slipped through his fingers altogether while another man put a wedding ring on one of yours.
No more does Sammy come through the front door and toe off his black rubber boots before you suddenly appear before him. Pressing yourself affectionately to his chest, you wind your arms tightly around his neck and grant him a soft peck on the lips.
"Welcome home," you whisper. Running your fingers through his soft auburn curls, you rest your forehead gently against his. "How was your day?"
Snaking his arms around your waist, your husband gives you a careful squeeze while a contented smile crawls its way across his lips and feeling of uncontainable warmth fills his heart. "Better now."
Sliding a heavy palm over your swollen belly, the corner of Sammy's lips twitches when your little one kicks excitedly.
"He missed his daddy as much as I did," you murmur.
Falling back a step, you tug Sammy past your two's cozily decorated living room. "Go ahead and take a hot shower. Dinner's just about ready."
He smooths a hand down the back of your head. "Did you—"
"Grocery list is all checked off," you remark with a confident nod. "And the gentleman at the auto store even changed my wiper's for me."
He frowns slightly. "I could've done that, baby."
You pad into the kitchen. "Think it's just something they do," you state with a shrug. "One less thing for you to worry about."
Squeezing your backside, you squeak quietly while Sammy chuckles and heads back to the bathroom to wash up.
It's always the little things that she would've never even dreamed of considering which repeatedly confirms that he made such a great fucking choice in his second spouse. Like a carefully folded pile of clothes waiting on the edge of the bed for him to change into after bathing.
Happy wife, happy life indeed.
While Sammy is all too happy to be chowing down on a heaping plate of steaming hot wings, and sipping from a cold bottle of beer in-between hearty bites after suffering through a grueling day amongst the crime-riddled streets of LA, he's acutely aware of how quiet you are tonight.
Maybe the grocery shopping should've waited until he could make a trip out this weekend instead. You already do so much. What, with cooking and cleaning and growing his baby in your womb...
Tacking on a trip to Sam's Club was a task that should've been placed on his calendar, he thinks, not on yours that's already so full.
When it came to Tammi, what he wanted mattered little, if at all. But he fears with you—since you never tell him no—that you somehow feel obligated to meet his every demand because he's the breadwinner in the relationship.
You even went so far as to encourage him to sign a prenup incase he "decided he made a huge mistake" and "wanted to undo it with no financial fallout."
Sammy refused to allow papers to be put between you, though. Not a single one.
No way in hell, because he was sure this time.
He just hopes that you don't feel...trapped.
Are you happy? Do you feel safe, loved, protected, and appreciated? Worshipped?
He nudges your socked foot beneath the round wooden dining table you're both seated at, and smiles when you look at him. "You okay, baby?"
You nod and nibble on a piece of chopped celery that's drenched in ranch. "Just tired."
Sam's well of worry deepens.
"Alright," Sammy groans while dragging you into his lap now that you're both in bed. "You gonna finally tell me what's been on your mind all evening?"
Your eyes flit to his and he immediately takes note of the look of hesitation he finds within.
Curling your fingers against the warm, freckled skin of his bare chest, you worry your lower lip between your teeth.
"Is it...somethin' I did?" he questions warily. "Are you—"
"No," you state softly while cupping his stubbled cheek tenderly in your hand. "It was something that happened at the store. I planned to tell you. I just... Wanted you to be fully settled in for the night before I did."
Gripping either of your hips, he leans back against the fluffed pillow behind him. "I'm all ears, angel."
"So..." you begin while resting a hand over his shoulder. "I was done shopping and went into the baby aisle to browse for a bit before I checked out. And..." you sigh exhaustedly. "Tammi was there."
He sits up the least bit straighter.
"Nothing happened, though," you swiftly reassure. "Apart from a verbal confrontation."
"Tell me," he insists.
"I felt like I was being stared at. Turned out I was right when I looked over my shoulder. There was a moment of recognition, which she commented on: Good, you know who I am," you relay in a snide voice meant to mimic her own. "I told her that I've seen photos. When she saw that I was pregnant, she sort of flew off the handle. Started screaming that I was a whore who stole her husband from her and destroyed her life. That I was a homewrecker, a slut..."
You shake your head while blinking back unbidden tears.
"Thankfully, an employee was nearby. He broke it up and threatened to call security on her if she didn't leave. Her being forced out of the store when she wasn't done shopping only set her off further. She was yelling the whole way out the door."
He squeezes his eyes shut to force down a broiling torrent of pent-up rage. "I'm so sorry, honey." Opening his eyes again, Sammy cups your shoulder—adjusting the strap of your nightgown where it's slipped down your arm. "Why didn't you call me?"
"I had food to get home and put away. If I did, I knew you would've come running." You chew your cheek. "Or you would've made things worse by having it out with her in the parking lot."
"This bitch..." he murmurs. "Sometimes I feel like no matter what I do, I'll never be rid of her."
"I wanted to tell her that it wasn't what she thought. That you and I never had an affair, but—"
"Not entirely true," he interrupts. "No, we never screwed before my marriage was dissolved, but there was definitely emotions being exchanged."
You rest a hand atop your belly. You've tried to give her grace; understanding in her numerous issues. But you think you've finally reached the end of your rope with it all.
No wonder he was so eager to have you instead after all the bull she put him through. She nearly made a monster out of a good man, but you've done your wifely duty and healed his troubled heart.
"Cunt," you whisper.
Sammy barks a laugh and leans forward. "I'm sorry, did my perfect little do-gooder wife just say what I think she did?" he inquires with an amused, toothy grin.
You study him from beneath hooded lids while smirking salaciously. "She never deserved you," you continue. "I'm the better woman."
Now it all comes out, he thinks with satisfaction.
"Yes you are," he rumbles while cupping your ass cheeks in both his hands and kneading the plump skin. "In every way."
"Mhm," you hum while slowly nodding. "Actually know how to keep house," you add. "I have dinner on the table every night, and I spend your hard-earned money wisely. Except for when you spoil me," you murmur with a shrug while grinding down against his semi-erect cock. "I do whatever you tell me to like a good girl."
"Shit," Sammy rasps while throwing his head back.
"I'm thankful for the home you've provided, and all the nice things you give me," you continue while leaning forward and trailing soft kisses along his chin. "I'm so lucky to have such a good man who gave me his last name. Who put his baby inside me where it belongs."
His cock stirs against your thinly-clothed pussy.
"Let me help you relax after such a long, hard day," you mutter while tugging off your nightgown.
Lying on your back in the middle of the bed, Sammy is resting back on his haunches while continually sliding his swollen, twitching cock between your shimmering lips.
Gripping the velvety shaft firmly in your fist, you plant a wet kiss atop the oozing mushroom tip before circling it lazily with your drooling tongue.
"Fuck, such a good girl for me," he utters.
You open wide, and Sammy eases his erection into the back of your throat. Cradling the base of your scalp in his palm, he rocks his hips and moans when you eagerly swallow what he gives you, just like always.
"You're right," he whispers while gazing down at you with unabashed adoration. "Better in every fuckin' way."
Gagging happily on his hard length, your eyes flutter closed when your husband sinks two calloused fingers between your slick, pulsing walls.
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