summary › every other weekend, sam hosts a cookout at the docks. every other weekend, bucky pretends he isn’t looking for the same girl standing by the water at sunset.
pairing › bucky x female reader
content warnings › set during tfatws, soft/nervous bucky, (attempted) flirting, sam being a meddling cutie
word count › 1.4k
authors note › a little fluff for summer! if you guys couldnt tell tfatws bucky is my obsession. i love him and need him forever and ever.
Every other weekend in Delacroix, somebody lights a grill, drags coolers out onto the dock, and pretends life has always been this simple.
Sam calls them “casual little cookouts,” which is a lie considering there’s always enough food to feed a football team, music echoing through the boatyard, at least one argument over who burned the burgers and about twenty people yelling over each other while the Louisiana sunset turns everything gold.
Bucky usually keeps to the edges of it all.
Not hiding exactly, just observing. Helping when someone asks. Nodding along to conversations. Holding a beer long enough that people stop offering him another one. And every single cookout for the last two months, somewhere around sunset, he notices you. Always near the water. Sometimes sitting on the edge of the dock with your sandals abandoned beside you, sometimes leaning against one of the old wooden posts near the boatyard. Always looking out toward the horizon like you’re listening to something no one else can hear.
The first time he saw you, he thought to himself how pretty you were, the way the reflected sun off the water glowed across your face. The second time he wondered if you were waiting for someone else to join you. By the fourth cookout, he started looking for you before he even got out of the truck.
Tonight is no different. Bucky stands near the cooler pretending to listen to Sam and Torres argue over seasoning while his eyes drift automatically toward the water, and there you are. Leaning against the fence near the boats, drink hanging loosely from your fingers while the sunset paints orange light across your skin.
Bucky stares too long. Again.
“Jesus Christ,” Sam mutters beside him without even looking up from the grill. “Go talk to her before you wear a hole through the poor girl.”
Bucky nearly chokes on his beer.
“I’m not—”
“You are.”
“I’m just standing here.”
“And lookin’ at her like she hung the moon.”
Bucky scowls while Sam grins into the smoke curling from the grill.
“You got exactly five minutes before somebody else gets the nerve first.”
“That’s not—”
“Five.”
Bucky hates that his stomach actually drops a little at the thought, because he hasn’t done this in a long time, not like this not when it matters. Across the yard, you laugh softly at something one of the Wilson kids says before drifting back toward the quieter end of the dock again. Alone.
Bucky exhales slowly.
Say something to her. Anything.
Before he can talk himself out of it, he starts walking. The wooden boards creak beneath his boots as he approaches. Closer now, he notices details he couldn’t from afar, the condensation sliding down your cup, your hair moving gently in the breeze off the water, the way your shoulders relax out here away from the noise. You glance over at the sound of his footsteps. And suddenly Bucky Barnes the former assassin, war veteran, and literal super soldier—completely forgets how conversations work.
“You uh—”
Brilliant start.
“You’ve been standing there a while.”
The second the words leave his mouth, Bucky wants to launch himself directly into the bay.
Nice going, Barnes.
But then you laugh, soft and surprised and warm enough to knock the air from his lungs.
“Oh, yeah,” you admit, looking back toward the sunset. “Guess I have been.”
Then your eyes flick back to his.
“I didn’t think you’d notice me.”
And Bucky, the poor bastard, his brain short-circuits entirely. Because how is he supposed to answer that honestly?
I notice you every single time you walk into a room.
I started showing up early hoping you’d be here.
I know exactly what your laugh sounds like from across the yard.
Instead what comes out is something much clumsier.
“I’d have to be blind not to notice you.”
Your cheeks flush immediately and Bucky’s soul leaves his body.
“I mean—” he starts quickly, panic rising fast, “not like I’m staring at you or anything—I just meant like—”
You save him then, with that warm gentle smile of yours.
“It’s okay,” you say softly. “I know what you mean.”
The relief nearly takes his knees out. Then after a tiny pause, your voice gets quieter.
“I notice you too.”
Bucky stares at you, stares like he’s trying to process whether he imagined that.
“You do?”
Smooth. Very cool.
You laugh again, ducking your head slightly.
“Kind of hard not to.”
Something warm unfolds slowly in Bucky’s chest. Shock first, then confusion, then happiness so sudden it almost feels dangerous. And when you smile at him again, all shy and sunlight-soft in the fading evening glow, he thinks distantly to himself.
This is good, right? Yeah. Okay. Time to send it home.
Bucky clears his throat.
“I uh—”
God. Why is he suddenly sixteen years old again?
“I notice,” he says carefully, glancing toward your cup, “your drink is empty.”
You look down at it like you forgot you were holding it.
“Would you maybe wanna get another,” Bucky asks, trying very hard not to sound like this is the most nerve-wracking moment of his life, “with me?”
There’s half a second where he’s convinced he ruined it somehow. Then you smile bright enough to rival the sunset behind you.
“Yeah,” you answer softly. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
Bucky tries to play it cool, he really does, but as the two of you start walking back toward the lights and laughter of the cookout together, he can’t stop the small smile pulling at his mouth. And behind the grill, Sam Wilson watches the whole thing happen before immediately shouting aloud for everyone to hear.
“IT’S ABOUT DAMN TIME.”
Bucky flips him off without hesitation which makes you laugh so hard you nearly spill your drink again as he shakes his head and mutters something about this being a setup.
"A setup?"
"You and Sam."
"We've never discussed you."
"That's exactly what somebody discussing me would say."
The two of you reach the cooler then, and Bucky bends down to grab fresh drinks before you can.
"What are you having?"
"Lemonade."
He already knows, you've had lemonade at every cookout. Still, hearing you say it feels oddly satisfying. Bucky twists the cap loose before handing the bottle over, and your fingers brush his. It's brief, barely there, the kind of touch most people wouldn't even notice. But Bucky does.
The warmth of it lingers embarrassingly long.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
Neither of you pull away quite as quickly as you probably should and it makes Bucky's heart do something deeply inconvenient.
You seem completely unaware or maybe you're pretending to be, he honestly can't tell. The realization gives him a strange burst of courage. Because you've been smiling at him for the last half hour, because you noticed him too. Because if he leaves tonight without asking, Sam will probably never let him live it down. Mostly because he doesn't want to wait another two weeks to talk to you again.
Bucky clears his throat and immediately, you glance toward him and suddenly the nerves return full force.
"Hey."
"Hey."
Very smooth, professional even, he thinks.
You bite back a smile and Bucky points at you.
"Don't."
"I'm not doing anything."
"You are."
"I haven't said a word."
"You're thinking things."
That finally earns a laugh and the sound settles some of his nerves, just a little, just enough. Bucky rubs the back of his neck. Then, before he can overthink it.
"Would you maybe wanna come to the next cookout with me?"
Your eyebrows lift slightly.
His stomach drops, so he rushes onward.
"I mean—not that you aren't already coming. Obviously you're already coming."
Fantastic.
"God."
You laugh again.
Bucky closes his eyes briefly.
"Let me start over."
"Okay."
He's smiling now despite himself.
"So. Next cookout."
"Next cookout."
"Would you wanna come with me?"
The teasing fades from your expression and something softer takes its place. Your smile becomes smaller, warmer, the kind that twinkles across your eyes.
"I'd like that."
Relief crashes through him so quickly he almost laughs.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
You nudge your shoulder lightly against his, this time definitely on purpose.
"I've kind of been hoping you'd ask."
And for the rest of the night, Bucky can't stop smiling. Not even when Sam catches his eye from across the grill and points both thumbs triumphantly toward the sky. Not even when you laugh at that too. Not even when your head finds his shoulder, or stays there.
you were awoken, rather abruptly, by the sound of toys clattering down your side. blinking sleep away, you groan softly, before you’re face to face with your little toddler, her little ringlets messy and sticking up in every direction. she blinks at you. you blink at her.
“g’mo’ning, mama,” she says, in something akin to a whisper, but it comes out more just like hot toddler breath in your face. you can smell coffee wafting from the kitchen.
“mm, baby, what’re you doing?” you croak, lifting a sleepy hand to move the sheets off of you when you’re instead met with a small plastic toy car. then, a little train. then — ah! another toy! this time, in the form of a small cloth bee stuffed with pellets. there’s a damp spot on its antennae, where your darling daughter had no doubt chewed on it just moments ago.
she blinks at you again, extending a little pointer finger towards the collection of trinkets now placed on your stomach. “play.”
“play?” you ask, as she hands you yet another toy from her chubby fingers. she must’ve gotten out of her crib somehow, and judging from the fact that jack’s side of the bed is empty, that’s probably how. “where’s papa?”
“ou’side.” she says, walking the little bee plush along your blanketed stomach. “mama, play.”
“mm.” you groan slightly. you give her one last look before resigning to your newly appointed role as a play-mat. the books did say to encourage spontaneous play. “m’kay.” you pick up the little car, rolling it along your torso as she mimics the buzzing of a bee.
her cheeks are flushed a sleepy pink as her brows furrow in concentration. freckles dust her little nose, and the person who gave them to her walks into the bedroom. jack, still in his sleep shirt and plaid pajama pants leans against the doorframe, as a warm smile graces his aged features.
“there you are, buggy,” he says, as your daughter’s head whipped over her shoulder to look at him. jack cocks his head behind him. “pancakes’re ready,” he smiles.
then, your daughter turns to you. “mama, pancakes.”
“mm, i’ll be there in one sec, baby,” you nod, still wearing off the last of your grogginess as you sit up, the toys clattering into your lap. your daughter, sweet and full of energy as she is, waddles her way out of the bedroom with the soft pitter-patter of her feet following her. as she rounds the door into the hallway, jack extends a hand to cup the back of her little head, gentle.
then, he turns to you, a bright glint in his eyes. “she wanted to play.”
a little smile graces your lips. “yeah, she did,” you murmur, stretching your arms over your head.
rubbing your sleep from your eyes, the comfortable silence is broken by the sound of your toddler shouting, “mama! papa!” from the kitchen, the clumsy clanging of her plastic utensils against her paw patrol plate joining her.
you can’t help the laugh that leaves you, and jack’s chuckles join you.
“she’s a tyrant,” you sigh with affection, kicking the duvet away from you as you stand, approaching jack. you rest your hand on his lower back as his drapes over your shoulder, and he presses a soft kiss to your forehead before walking the both of you out in the hall, muttering, “yeah, but, i mean, look at her,” he says, nodding in the direction of where she tries to climb into her high chair. “she makes for a pretty fuckin’ cute one.”
hey! i was wondering if you could please do a jack x wife!reader where they have a toddler daughter and while jack is alone with her in the park or the beach someone mistakes her for his grandchild and then he gets really insecure, reader finds out through the daughter and comforts him
Today you and Jack decided to take your four year old daughter, Aria, to the park for a family day.
Jack had worked more than normal this week and you felt he just needed a day to get out of the house and enjoy a good day outside.
“Who’s excited for the park?” you ask, looking in the rear view mirror at your daughter.
Small eyes identical to Jack’s look at you with excitement.
“Meeee! I want to go to the slide with daddy! And then the swings!” she rambles on with a smile.
“Don’t worry baby,” you smile back at her “you’ll get to do all of that.”
Jack enterwines your hands and brings it up to place a gentle kiss as his eyes stay focused on the road.
“I’m glad to have you both to myself for the day.”
You squeeze his hand briefly “We’re glad to have you too J. You deserve a break.”
He smiles as he thinks of the relaxing day ahead of him with his girls.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
The walk from the parking lot to one of the open field areas is a good twenty minute walk.
Jack has a cooler bag of drinks and snacks while you carry Aria and a bag of her things she may need and some toys.
Once you guys find a decently shaded spot with a few people, Jack lays down a light blanket and sets everyone’s stuff down.
You set Aria down and look through your bag.
“Shit” you mutter quietly, still rummaging in the bag.
Jack looks up from his seated position on the blanket as he grabs some water from the cooler.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
“I forgot the sunscreen in the car.”
He nods “Well, we’ll just play mostly in the shade. It’s okay.”
You look at your husband with the classic ‘are you serious’ face.
Jack Abbot,” you start “you and your daughter are the most sunburn prone duo on the planet. If you want to risk it with never ending teasing from Robby, go for it. But our daughter is not leaving here looking like a tomato and in pain.”
He chuckles at the tomato reference “Okay sweetheart, be safe and hurry back.”
You run your hand through his grey curls as you pass him.
“Will do, J.”
—---
As Jack waits for you to get back, he has his full attention on Aria as she tells him about the Bluey episode she watched that morning.
“You know I was sitting there with you silly” he laughs as he tickles her side gently.
She erupts in giggles as he continues and attacks her face with kisses.
“You and your granddaughter are adorable” a voice says from the walking path a little bit in front of him.
His eyes furrow a bit as he looks up at the older woman walking her dog.
“I’m sorry?”
Did he hear her right?
She points at Aria with a smile “Your granddaughter,” she says again “she’s just a cute little thing.”
Jack forces a smile at the words.
“She’s actually my daughter.” he corrects politely
He sees the exact moment when the woman realizes.
“Oh my! I am so sorry hun, I-I didn’t mean anything by it. I just assumed th– I’m so sorry. You and your daughter have a great day.”
She waves briefly before continuing on her way down the path. Once she’s out of sight, the smile Jack had been faking falls immediately.
Granddaughter? Did he really look that old?
He was nearing fifty in a few years and you were a good eighteen years younger than him.
Did people think you were his daughter?
Did people make comments like that to you?
Were you upset about things like that? That he was so much older?
Would you prefer someone younger?
“Daddy!”
A small body falls into his lap, pulling him from his downward spiral of thoughts. He plasters a convincing smile as he goes back to playing with Aria.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
You hurried to the car as quickly as you could and hurried back. You see Jack tossing a foam ball back and forth with Ari. She giggles as it bounces out of her hands and to the side.
She sees you first.
“Mama!” she squeals as she runs towards your legs.
You pick her up and kiss her cheek “Hey baby. Were you playing with daddy while I was gone?”
“Yes yes yes!” she cheers while clapping her hands.
You laugh as you set her down on the blanket.
“Okay sunscreen time for you both.”
You look towards Jack and see him looking ahead with a slight frown.
“Babe, everything okay?” you ask softly
You see him immediately give a half smile that’s not convincing.
“Yeah honey, I’m good.”
He’s definitely acting weird.
You raise an eyebrow “You sure, J?”
He nods as he sits Ari in his lap.
“Alright” he says “lets get some sunscreen on our little monster” he attacks her with tickles.
You can’t help but smile at them but you’re still not convinced Jack’s okay.
You let it go for now but you’ll get him to tell you what’s wrong in a little while.
—---
You guys have had a great time spending the day entertaining one another with Aria.
After finishing the lunch you had packed for everyone, Jack wipes his hands off.
“M’gonna find the bathroom. I’ll be back sweetheart.”
“Kay, be careful” you say as he walks past you.
While he’s gone you talk to Ari.
“Are you having a good day with mama and daddy today?” You smile
Ari grins big, looking more and more like her dad every day.
“Yes!”
“Good, baby.”
You go to grab your drink when her little voice speaks up.
“Daddy sad.”
You face her quickly with furrowed brows.
Huh?
“What baby? Why’s daddy sad?”
Maybe she saw what had happened.
You pick her up and hold her in your lap.
Ari leans the side of her head against your chest and gets comfortable.
“What happened baby?”
She looks around and then points at something.
You look and see an older lady with a dog walking.
“Who’s that?” You ask gently
Ari snuggles closer to you.
“Her and doggy said hi.”
“They talked to you and daddy?”
Aria nods against your chest.
Bingo.
What the hell happened when you left earlier?
Jack comes back a few minutes later.
“Alright Abbot girls, do we want to make our way home soon? Maybe get someeee ice cream on the way?” He says in a silly voice to Aria.
“Ice cream daddy!” she claps in excitement.
“Okay baby, we will soon.” he grins at her
You set her down in front of you where some of her toys are.
“J,” you say quietly
“Yeah, sweetheart?”
You grab his hand “Are you gonna tell me what happened earlier?”
He noticeably stiffens at your question and shakes his head briefly.
“Nothing happened?” you press.
“So,” you turn to look for the lady “that woman over there didn’t come over and talk to you and Ari?”
He follows where your finger points and you see his fists clench and unclench.
“Baby, please… tell me what happened?” you plea.
He takes a deep breath.
“When you went to the car, she was walking by and said… something.”
You look at him silently waiting for him to continue.
“She uh, thought I was Ari’s grandfather.”
You tilt your head in confusion.
“She thought Ari was your granddaughter?”
He nods not making eye contact with you.
“Well J, we know that’s not true. So what’s the matter baby?”
“It… it just made me think. Does everyone see it that way?” he shrugs “Do I look that old? Do you think I look too old? Would you want someon—“
“Jack Abbot don’t you dare finish that question.”
His face looks defeated.
“But would you?”
With wide eyes you reassure him “Jack, I would never.”
Your heart breaks at how the interaction upset him.
“Jack listen, I understand where those insecurities can come about but babe…” you pause briefly
“there is no one else on this earth I want more than you. I chose you because you’re funny, you’re considerate, a gentleman, mature, passionate, and talented. You’re also so fucking handsome. Incredibly hot.” you wink
“But most importantly, I chose someone who would make not only the most amazing husband but also the most amazing father to our kids. And I'm not always the best at choosing things, we know this” you laugh softly
“but I couldn’t have chosen someone better for those roles than you. You’re it babe and you’re stuck with me and Aria forever. Ari also doesn’t care about your age, she just loves her dad.”
“Isnt that right, Ari?” you look at your daughter whose attention is being held by the toys in front of her.
You gently pick her up and set her in your lap.
“Where’s daddy?” you ask as you hold her.
She points at Jack with a smile.
“Tell me something you love about daddy.”
She giggles as you blow raspberries against her cheek.
Jack can’t help but grin at his two favorite girls.
“He plays with me and he, he kisses my boo boos and and he’s nice to you. I love daddy.” she rambles.
You look at Jack with a raised eyebrow as if to say ‘see, I told you’.
His eyes water at his daughter’s words.
“I love you too, sweet girl.”
Ari starts to move in your lap and reaches her arms out to Jack.
“Daddy! Hold meee!”
Jack reaches over and takes her from you.
She immediately wraps her arms around his neck, squishing her cheek against his. The action grounds him, melting away the remaining insecurities from earlier.
The sight melts your heart.
You grab your phone and snap a quick picture.
“Anytime you feel down about this again,” you show him the picture you had just taken
The portrayal of white people who have been violently separated from their own culture stealing the power of black culture and music to try to get reconnected was SO literal and somehow not at ALL heavy-handed or trite. Fkn remarkable.
i’ve written about the one time jack, your sweet, sweet boyfriend did not slap your butt. but how would he react if you slapped his butt? (this was solely inspiried by this one comment by @voidsagent so thank you <3)
three times you slapped jack’s ass and one time you didn’t.
content warning: jack abbot x fem!reader. continuation of my previous drabble. domestic fluff!!! jack has a nice ass, okay? can't blame a girl for loving it. also not proofread & i'm not wearing my glasses so if there's any mistakes no it doesn't.
word count: 0.6k
jack’s at the bathroom sink brushing his teeth, leaning in his good leg, holding himself up with his crutches. his eyes are closed, still puffy with sleep. you’re still pretty much asleep yourself, stumbling into the bathroom to pee.
when you pass him, you can’t help it, you give his butt a little tap.
jack’s eyes open, not really startled. he chuckles, spitting the tooth paste down the sink. you open one eye, smiling sleepily at him. he just shakes his head, his lips pulled into that sleazy smile that makes your heart flutter.
or he could be in the kitchen, drinking water. you’d skip right past, delivering a hard slap to his asscheeks, making the poor man jump on the spot, spilling water all over himself. jack would groan, glaring at you as you giggled away.
“stop. that,” he says, pointing a finger at you from across the kitchen.
“stop what,” you ask, feigning innocence. jack only narrows his hazel eyes at you, and you smile back at him.
when he’s leaving the shower, too. especially if he’s only wearing boxers or those cruel sweatpants you swear he wears to torture you.
the boxers hug that ass you love so much. they’re snug, highlighting the muscles in his thighs and, of course, his ass. it’s perfectly round and it’s calling for you.
you stalk closer to him. his fresh scent beckons you in, and it’s not really your fault when your hand makes contact with his ass. hard.
“ow!” he yelps, his own hand coming to rub at the skin where your slap hit, his skin prickling. “babe, you really have got to stop that…” he mumbles, but only half heartedly.
“nope,” you mumble right back.
when he’s cooking. okay, we all agree jack’s not an amazing cook. he can keep himself fed and nurtured, and that was it. he would, though, on occasion, make the world’s dreamiest breakfast for his girl on his days off.
when you wake up, jack’s not in bed. you kind of expected it, he’s old afterall. old people don’t like to stay in bed past a certain hour — and for jack, that is seven a.m. you go about your morning routine, then quickly make your way to the kitchen to meet him.
you smile as you watch him. the only thing he actually made is coffee, the expensive one you like. a little luxury for his lady. all the rest — bread, some type of cake, orange juice and even a cupcake was bought in a bakery near your home.
you’d walk behind him, your arms coming to wrap around his waist. jack smiles down at the brewer, his hand rubbing your arms crossed in front of his stomach.
“good morning, sweetheart,” he says, voice raspy from the lack of use.
“‘morning,” you whisper, face smushed against his back.
you’d both settle in a comfortable silence. you almost fall asleep again. almost.
jack notices you shifting slightly, your arms letting him go. he thinks you're just going to sit down at the table, maybe get a glass of water.
well, that would be wrong.
because you're kneeling right behind him. and the next thing he knows, your teeth are digging into the skin of his ass through his shorts. jack shouts your name, and you giggle around your mouthful of his ass.
“what the fuck! what are you, hannibal lecter?” he shouts, rubbing at his ass cheek when you finally let go. definitely, it's marked up. maybe it'll bruise. you can't wait to see it.
“sorry. couldn't help myself,” you say, not really apologetic.
“you're gonna pay for that, you know,” jack glares at your back as you make your way to the table.
summary: your boyfriend proves that loving you is as easy as breathing.
pairing: jack abbot x girlfriend!reader
tags: afab reader, pre-established relationship, an age gap mentioned but not specified, reader described as having longer hair, domesticity, fluff, acts of service jack abbot, talks of failed last relationships (reader), just some cutie stuff
word count: 1.5k
notes: gentle jack abbot my love
“I’ll handle it, honey.”
A common statement inside of your household, however it never seems to fall from your lips. Instead, your boyfriend seems to be holding it hostage, consistently ready to fix whatever problem you may have. Even when you complained about a problem and already told him about the solution you’d planned in your head, he had handled it before you could even get home from work.
Once you were within the four main walls of your shared apartment, you didn’t have to worry about a single thing. Jack worked nights and yet still managed to get everything done during the day while you were gone, leaving your clean laundry folded on the bed and an empty sink. When you complained about the fact that you felt like you weren’t helping at all, he simply kissed you on the forehead with a hand on your bicep and told you that you helped by just sitting down and looking pretty.
This morning, as a test, you had written out a to-do list for yourself and kept it private. It was filled with things you hadn’t yet brought to the attention of your acts-of-service boyfriend, such as unclogging the shower drain or finally putting away the stack of books that had just been accumulating in the corner of your bedroom as you purchased more and more. Things he wouldn’t even be able to think of without you mentioning it.
Work is gruesome, as it usually is. Jack’s outside of your apartment when you get home, t-shirt pulling taut around his shoulders as he leans down to grab the numerous packages sitting on your doorstep. His face lights up when he sees you, sitting up straight so that he can loop his index finger into your beltloop and bring you closer for a welcome home kiss. “Hey, sweetheart,” he mumbles against your mouth. “How was your day?”
You reach to grab one of the packages, trying to help him from having to hold them all, but he skillfully manuvers away from your reaching hands and opens the front door for you instead. When you stop to give him a stern look, he just nudges the back of your ankle with his foot, gesturing with his head for you to step inside.
Surrendering on this fact, you sigh, stepping into the apartment. You’re quick to shed your bag and hang it up, kicking off your shoes and abandoning them next to the door. Seeing Jack eye them out of the corner of your eye, you lean down to grab them, setting them down on the shoe rack. “Exhausting,” you admit.
He places the packages on the kitchen counter, stacking them neatly. A palm flattens against the granite as he turns to look at you, the muscle of his bicep just begging to be let out the confines of his shirt. “Want me to run you a bath?” He asks.
You laugh at the pure incredulousity of the moment. Months ago, you had been dating guys your age, worshipping the small things like opening doors or paying for your drinks. You had been fighting about feeling insignificant, about having to pull them away from video games long enough to have an at-home dinner with you, about feeling ignored when you hung out with their friends.
And now there’s Jack Abbot. Older than you, sure, but he was everything you had been asking for on every birthday wish. He spoke about you when you weren’t there, had you plastered upon everything that everyone would see (his home and lockscreen, your initials engraved on the inside of his watch) and chose to hang out with you over everyone else. His phone was abandoned on the kitchen counter from when you got home until the both of you went to bed, the ringer on so he didn’t have to check it just in case anything from the hospital came in.
Everyone who had been with you throughout the trials and tribulations that was dating in the modern age had told you the same thing – the perfect one will come by when you least expect it. Of course, you didn't believe them. It was hard to have hope in the later days when every person you became slightly interested in treated you so horribly, like you were just another person rather than you.
But then Jack came about. A charming smile, a calmness about him, an empathetic soul that you thought only existed in books and movies written by women. He had courted you kindly, although carefully, not wanting to come off as some older creep who wanted you just for your youth. Your first date had been filled with flowers and butterfly feelings, showing off everything Jack Abbot was rather than a facade of everything you wanted him to be.
You smile as you step closer, leaning up to kiss him again. A “thank you” to something he did without knowing he did it. “It’s alright, baby. I’ll probably just quickly shower before dinner.” And then you kiss him once more, just because you want to.
“Alright,” he concedes. He places a final kiss on your forehead, hand playfully swatting your ass as he steps away. “I’ll get dinner started so you don’t have to cook while you’re hungry.
Shaking your head, you laugh as you step into your shared bedroom. You don’t close the door when you strip off your work clothes, a girlish giggle leaving your lips when Jack playfully whistles from the kitchen. After fixing him with a matching glare, you finally disappear into the bathroom, closing the door behind you to keep the steam from seeping out.
Once you’re in the shower, you look down at the shower drain, remembering your list from this morning. A task for tomorrow morning, you decide, a good way to spend your day off when Jack is at work. For now, you’d have to deal with a little bit of water pooling around your feet while you washed off the grime of the day.
Except the water never catches. Instead, it flows down the drain easily, never staying in the tub for longer than a moment. Shock flows down your body the same way the shower spray does, your jaw dropping.
You finish up quickly before hopping out, drying off and wrapping yourself in the fluffy robe Jack had bought you the moment you had complained about not wanting to get dressed as soon as you got out of the shower. After ensuring you won’t drip water all over the apartment, you bombard your way into the kitchen, where your boyfriend is happily cooking while humming some old rock tune to himself.
“Did you unclog the shower drain?” You ask, letting your tone be as accusatory as it wanted to be.
Jack glances over his shoulder at you, the wrinkles around his eyes softening at the look of you all bundled up. He remembers your question and looks up at your face, shrugging. “Yeah. I noticed it wasn’t draining as well, only took about two minutes to do.” His horrible habit of brushing off everything he did comes roaring to a head, his focus turning back to the stove.
“Jack,” you whine. You sidle up behind him, arms wrapping around his waist from behind and placing your cheek between his shoulder blades. His hand grabs yours, lifting them up slightly so you weren’t accidentally burned. “You didn’t have to do that. It’s my hair.”
He laughs softly, the sound rumbling beneath your cheek. “I’m insulted that you think my luscious locks wouldn’t help clog the shower drain,” he deflects. “Oh, I also put away those books in the bedroom. I’m not sure if it’s exactly how you organized them, so let me know if you need me to move them.”
That just pulls another groan out of you, turning your head to press your face fully into his skin. “You’re so annoying. I was going to do both of those things tomorrow.” Your voice turns whiny as you trail off, fingertips pressing into his abdomen.
“But I did them today so now you don’t have to. You can enjoy your day off the way you’re supposed to.” Jack steps away from the stove, grabbing your hands so that he can turn around and pull you into his chest. He places a gentle kiss on your hairline, smiling into your hair. “Sittin’ pretty and spending my money.”
Your brow knits as you look up at him, hands sliding down to his waist. “You’re mean.”
“I love you,” he responds easily. Still grinning like a child on Christmas morning, he tucks a strand of your wet hair away from your face before tilting your chin up, placing a lingering kiss on your lips. “Can’t be mad at me for lovin’ you, sweetheart.”
As he intended, you relax into his touch, chasing his lips when he pulls away. Then, you pout, huffing your indignation. “Fine. But only because I love you, too.”
“I know.” Jack laughs at your petulant look, swatting your ass again. “Now get out of the kitchen so I can feed my woman.”
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