OR OR reader goes out with santos and mel after the fourth of july shift and gets drunk with them and calls jack for a ride home and he drops them off one by one but he stays with her and tucks her in and it’s sooooo fluff
yay thank u for the request i hope u enjoy!! | 1.6k of fluff, ‘her’ used in reference to reader once
The humidity outside somehow feels less stuffy after having been in the bar for a couple of hours.
You tip your head back when a gentle breeze blows through, soft as a whisper but it kisses your heated skin all the same.
“Shit,” Trinity mutters from behind you, looking down at her phone. Her face shines a little with sweat, baby hairs sticking to her forehead.
“What’s wrong?” Mel asks immediately. She’s let her hair down tonight, both literally and metaphorically, and you’re glad to have witnessed it.
Today’s shift was a lot. More so than usual, and when Santos had suggested a night out to Mel, and then to you when she caught you listening in, it was easy to accept.
Your throat aches a little from the numerous songs you shouted more than sang, but it’s a welcomed scratchiness. It reminds you that you’re here and alive.
You turn towards the pair that are now both focused on Trinity’s screen, their brows scrunched. One concerned, one more annoyed.
“What is it?” you ask.
“Literally no Uber wants to go to three different drop-off spots,” Trinity tells you. “And if they do, they're charging an insane amount.”
You let the next words slip out before you really think of it. Later, you’ll blame it on the alcohol, but you’re hardly more than tipsy by now. The last two drinks you had were water.
“I can call Jack.”
Trinity and Mel stare at you.
“Abbot,” you add.
“You can call Jack Abbot?” Trinity asks you, something almost teasing in her tone.
“Yeah,” you say, shifting on your feet. “Unless you wanna walk?”
“Oh, no. Please, call Abbot,” she tells you.
“I think it’s a good idea,” Mel says, smiling a soft, encouraging smile.
“Okay, I’ll just-” you point over your shoulder and step away, digging your phone from your purse. His contact is easy enough to find. You stare at it, your finger hovering over the screen.
You’ve had his number saved for a few weeks now. He’d given it to you after a rough shift, finding you by your locker and typing it into your phone himself with an urge to “call if you need anything.”
And you just… haven’t. You’ve pulled up his contact countless times. Looked at his name there as he’d typed it; Not Dr. Abbot. Just ‘Jack.’
Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to just hit the call button. He’s your attending, and sure he’s flirty with you, but he’s a little flirty with almost everyone. And ‘call if you need me’ is just a thing people say. At least, that’s what you’ve been telling yourself lately.
You suppose tonight you’re testing to see if he really meant it. If you’re not totally alone in wanting to get more of him somehow.
You press the button and hold your phone up to your ear, looking to see if Trinity and Mel are watching you. They are. Mel gives you a thumbs up.
And then you’re turning back around, because after only three rings, the line clicks, and a low “hello?” slides through the speaker.
“Hi!” you say, wincing at how awkwardly it comes out. “Um, it’s me. Are you busy?”
Jack ignores your question. “What’s going on?”
“Me and Mel and Santos are out and no Ubers are taking us. You know, Trinity’s actually a pretty good singer. Anyways, I was wondering if you could come get us? It’s totally fine if not, I mean, it’s warm, so we could walk-”
“How drunk are you?” Jack asks you, not judgemental or accusing, just curious.
“Just enough to let myself call you,” you say quietly. “Not enough to not know what I’m doing.”
“Okay,” he says. “Tell me where you are.” Like it’s that simple for him to drop whatever he’d been doing just because you asked him to. Like whatever he heard in your voice was convincing enough. Almost like he didn’t need any convincing at all.
He shows up only a few minutes later, pulling up to the curb right in front of you and leaning over to open up the passenger side door.
You wave at him. He wiggles his fingers back and nods at you, urging you to get in beside him.
Trinity and Mel climb into the backseat, chatting quietly between each other.
You watch as Jack pulls away from the curb, listening to Mel’s directions back to her place. Watch as he turns up the AC when he catches you fan yourself, an arm reaching over to aim the vent towards you.
“Thank you,” you say.
And when he turns his head to quickly wink at you, it’s hard to come up with anything else.
He drops Mel off, and soon enough it’s Trinity’s turn.
“You gonna be okay?” Santos asks you, more suggestive than anything, once Jack’s parked.
Only, Jack takes her seriously. He twists around in his seat to look at her and say “I’ve got her.”
You sink into the passenger seat, embarrassed and delighted.
She salutes him and climbs out of the car. And then it’s just you and Jack.
“Is it okay?” you start, a sudden nervous flutter in your stomach. “That I called? I mean, I hope you weren’t busy, or-”
“Sweetheart,” he stops you, that same low, patient but sure voice as on the phone. “I gave you my phone number. I want you to use it.”
“Oh, okay. Good. That’s good.”
Jack has the hand not holding the steering wheel resting on the centre console. He shifts his over just enough that his knuckles brush your arm once, twice, before pulling away again.
“Good,” he agrees with a little nod.
And before you can say something else, he’s parking outside your building. You only just realize then that you hadn’t been giving him any directions to get there.
You look at him, his black t-shirt tights across his shoulders, his hair curling around his ears. Then, there’s his fingers squeezing the steering wheel, his knee bouncing.
He’s nervous, too, you think. Or affected, at the very least.
It’s what makes you brave enough to say: “Do you want to come up?”
And Jack, turning his head to look into your shining, shy, hopeful eyes could never say no to you. Not even when he probably should.
He lets you lead the way to your door, a hand hovering behind your lower back in case you stumble. You fumble with your keys until he takes them from your hand and unlocks your door for you, holding it open with an outstretched arm that you have to duck under to walk inside.
It’s only when you bend down to take off your shoes that you feel the lingering effects of the alcohol, your vision a little fuzzy around the edges, your head swimming and focused all at once. Because every thought is about Jack.
Jack, standing in your living room like he was meant to be there, like the space just miles itself around his presence. Jack, leaning down to help you slip your shoes off when he catches you struggling, a warm hand on the back of your leg, letting you use his shoulder for support.
When he straightens up again, he’s much closer than before. You suck in a breath, eyes dancing across his face. His do the same, before settling on your mouth.
Your chin tips up the slightest bit, like you’re making room for him, inviting him, and Jack nearly accepts it. But you’ve been drinking, and this isn’t anything new for him. It’s not spur of the moment. He’ll want you the same tomorrow, more even.
So when he leans in, and you let your eyes slip closed, he doesn’t let himself kiss your mouth, but presses his lips softly to your cheek, then to the hinge of your jaw, before pulling away.
“You should get some rest,” he tells you.
You nod, a hand coming up to your cheek like you’re keeping his touch there a little longer. “Will you- do you wanna stay?”
“Sweetheart.”
“We don’t have to do anything, it’s just late, and-”
“I’ll stay,” Jack tells you.
You lead him to your bedroom, and if you thought his presence in your living room was something, this is entirely more destabilizing.
Where there’s an alternate reality where he’s in here for more. Where he’s leaning over you on the mattress, where his smell is etched into your sheets. And maybe it isn’t so far fetched, not with how he looks at you.
How he’s taking care of you tonight.
To that point, Jack goes into your dresser and picks out some pajamas for you once he finds the right drawer, setting them on the edge of the bed. He’d assumed you’d go into the bathroom to change.
Instead, he watches you reach for the hem of your top. His eyes widen slightly as you lift it, exposing your stomach. He turns around before it gets above your chest.
Jack’s meant to be a strong man, but the sight of your bare skin—skin that’s new to him—makes his heart stutter. Makes him weak.
“I have a spare toothbrush in the bathroom,” you tell him, prompting him to turn back around to find you now changed. “And I have some sweatpants if you want to change. They might not fit you, but-”
“I’m alright,” he says. Really, he’s thinking similarly to you. Thinking about a world where his toothbrush lives beside yours and he’s got a spare change of clothes here already.
And when you settle into bed after brushing your teeth, Jack’s prosthetic leaning against the nightstand, facing him with your cheek pressed into your pillow, that world doesn’t feel so far away.
“Thank you for coming,” you whisper, eyes fluttering sleepily.
OR OR reader goes out with santos and mel after the fourth of july shift and gets drunk with them and calls jack for a ride home and he drops them off one by one but he stays with her and tucks her in and it’s sooooo fluff
yay thank u for the request i hope u enjoy!! | 1.6k of fluff, ‘her’ used in reference to reader once
The humidity outside somehow feels less stuffy after having been in the bar for a couple of hours.
You tip your head back when a gentle breeze blows through, soft as a whisper but it kisses your heated skin all the same.
“Shit,” Trinity mutters from behind you, looking down at her phone. Her face shines a little with sweat, baby hairs sticking to her forehead.
“What’s wrong?” Mel asks immediately. She’s let her hair down tonight, both literally and metaphorically, and you’re glad to have witnessed it.
Today’s shift was a lot. More so than usual, and when Santos had suggested a night out to Mel, and then to you when she caught you listening in, it was easy to accept.
Your throat aches a little from the numerous songs you shouted more than sang, but it’s a welcomed scratchiness. It reminds you that you’re here and alive.
You turn towards the pair that are now both focused on Trinity’s screen, their brows scrunched. One concerned, one more annoyed.
“What is it?” you ask.
“Literally no Uber wants to go to three different drop-off spots,” Trinity tells you. “And if they do, they're charging an insane amount.”
You let the next words slip out before you really think of it. Later, you’ll blame it on the alcohol, but you’re hardly more than tipsy by now. The last two drinks you had were water.
“I can call Jack.”
Trinity and Mel stare at you.
“Abbot,” you add.
“You can call Jack Abbot?” Trinity asks you, something almost teasing in her tone.
“Yeah,” you say, shifting on your feet. “Unless you wanna walk?”
“Oh, no. Please, call Abbot,” she tells you.
“I think it’s a good idea,” Mel says, smiling a soft, encouraging smile.
“Okay, I’ll just-” you point over your shoulder and step away, digging your phone from your purse. His contact is easy enough to find. You stare at it, your finger hovering over the screen.
You’ve had his number saved for a few weeks now. He’d given it to you after a rough shift, finding you by your locker and typing it into your phone himself with an urge to “call if you need anything.”
And you just… haven’t. You’ve pulled up his contact countless times. Looked at his name there as he’d typed it; Not Dr. Abbot. Just ‘Jack.’
Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to just hit the call button. He’s your attending, and sure he’s flirty with you, but he’s a little flirty with almost everyone. And ‘call if you need me’ is just a thing people say. At least, that’s what you’ve been telling yourself lately.
You suppose tonight you’re testing to see if he really meant it. If you’re not totally alone in wanting to get more of him somehow.
You press the button and hold your phone up to your ear, looking to see if Trinity and Mel are watching you. They are. Mel gives you a thumbs up.
And then you’re turning back around, because after only three rings, the line clicks, and a low “hello?” slides through the speaker.
“Hi!” you say, wincing at how awkwardly it comes out. “Um, it’s me. Are you busy?”
Jack ignores your question. “What’s going on?”
“Me and Mel and Santos are out and no Ubers are taking us. You know, Trinity’s actually a pretty good singer. Anyways, I was wondering if you could come get us? It’s totally fine if not, I mean, it’s warm, so we could walk-”
“How drunk are you?” Jack asks you, not judgemental or accusing, just curious.
“Just enough to let myself call you,” you say quietly. “Not enough to not know what I’m doing.”
“Okay,” he says. “Tell me where you are.” Like it’s that simple for him to drop whatever he’d been doing just because you asked him to. Like whatever he heard in your voice was convincing enough. Almost like he didn’t need any convincing at all.
He shows up only a few minutes later, pulling up to the curb right in front of you and leaning over to open up the passenger side door.
You wave at him. He wiggles his fingers back and nods at you, urging you to get in beside him.
Trinity and Mel climb into the backseat, chatting quietly between each other.
You watch as Jack pulls away from the curb, listening to Mel’s directions back to her place. Watch as he turns up the AC when he catches you fan yourself, an arm reaching over to aim the vent towards you.
“Thank you,” you say.
And when he turns his head to quickly wink at you, it’s hard to come up with anything else.
He drops Mel off, and soon enough it’s Trinity’s turn.
“You gonna be okay?” Santos asks you, more suggestive than anything, once Jack’s parked.
Only, Jack takes her seriously. He twists around in his seat to look at her and say “I’ve got her.”
You sink into the passenger seat, embarrassed and delighted.
She salutes him and climbs out of the car. And then it’s just you and Jack.
“Is it okay?” you start, a sudden nervous flutter in your stomach. “That I called? I mean, I hope you weren’t busy, or-”
“Sweetheart,” he stops you, that same low, patient but sure voice as on the phone. “I gave you my phone number. I want you to use it.”
“Oh, okay. Good. That’s good.”
Jack has the hand not holding the steering wheel resting on the centre console. He shifts his over just enough that his knuckles brush your arm once, twice, before pulling away again.
“Good,” he agrees with a little nod.
And before you can say something else, he’s parking outside your building. You only just realize then that you hadn’t been giving him any directions to get there.
You look at him, his black t-shirt tights across his shoulders, his hair curling around his ears. Then, there’s his fingers squeezing the steering wheel, his knee bouncing.
He’s nervous, too, you think. Or affected, at the very least.
It’s what makes you brave enough to say: “Do you want to come up?”
And Jack, turning his head to look into your shining, shy, hopeful eyes could never say no to you. Not even when he probably should.
He lets you lead the way to your door, a hand hovering behind your lower back in case you stumble. You fumble with your keys until he takes them from your hand and unlocks your door for you, holding it open with an outstretched arm that you have to duck under to walk inside.
It’s only when you bend down to take off your shoes that you feel the lingering effects of the alcohol, your vision a little fuzzy around the edges, your head swimming and focused all at once. Because every thought is about Jack.
Jack, standing in your living room like he was meant to be there, like the space just miles itself around his presence. Jack, leaning down to help you slip your shoes off when he catches you struggling, a warm hand on the back of your leg, letting you use his shoulder for support.
When he straightens up again, he’s much closer than before. You suck in a breath, eyes dancing across his face. His do the same, before settling on your mouth.
Your chin tips up the slightest bit, like you’re making room for him, inviting him, and Jack nearly accepts it. But you’ve been drinking, and this isn’t anything new for him. It’s not spur of the moment. He’ll want you the same tomorrow, more even.
So when he leans in, and you let your eyes slip closed, he doesn’t let himself kiss your mouth, but presses his lips softly to your cheek, then to the hinge of your jaw, before pulling away.
“You should get some rest,” he tells you.
You nod, a hand coming up to your cheek like you’re keeping his touch there a little longer. “Will you- do you wanna stay?”
“Sweetheart.”
“We don’t have to do anything, it’s just late, and-”
“I’ll stay,” Jack tells you.
You lead him to your bedroom, and if you thought his presence in your living room was something, this is entirely more destabilizing.
Where there’s an alternate reality where he’s in here for more. Where he’s leaning over you on the mattress, where his smell is etched into your sheets. And maybe it isn’t so far fetched, not with how he looks at you.
How he’s taking care of you tonight.
To that point, Jack goes into your dresser and picks out some pajamas for you once he finds the right drawer, setting them on the edge of the bed. He’d assumed you’d go into the bathroom to change.
Instead, he watches you reach for the hem of your top. His eyes widen slightly as you lift it, exposing your stomach. He turns around before it gets above your chest.
Jack’s meant to be a strong man, but the sight of your bare skin—skin that’s new to him—makes his heart stutter. Makes him weak.
“I have a spare toothbrush in the bathroom,” you tell him, prompting him to turn back around to find you now changed. “And I have some sweatpants if you want to change. They might not fit you, but-”
“I’m alright,” he says. Really, he’s thinking similarly to you. Thinking about a world where his toothbrush lives beside yours and he’s got a spare change of clothes here already.
And when you settle into bed after brushing your teeth, Jack’s prosthetic leaning against the nightstand, facing him with your cheek pressed into your pillow, that world doesn’t feel so far away.
“Thank you for coming,” you whisper, eyes fluttering sleepily.
OR OR reader goes out with santos and mel after the fourth of july shift and gets drunk with them and calls jack for a ride home and he drops them off one by one but he stays with her and tucks her in and it’s sooooo fluff
yay thank u for the request i hope u enjoy!! | 1.6k of fluff, ‘her’ used in reference to reader once
The humidity outside somehow feels less stuffy after having been in the bar for a couple of hours.
You tip your head back when a gentle breeze blows through, soft as a whisper but it kisses your heated skin all the same.
“Shit,” Trinity mutters from behind you, looking down at her phone. Her face shines a little with sweat, baby hairs sticking to her forehead.
“What’s wrong?” Mel asks immediately. She’s let her hair down tonight, both literally and metaphorically, and you’re glad to have witnessed it.
Today’s shift was a lot. More so than usual, and when Santos had suggested a night out to Mel, and then to you when she caught you listening in, it was easy to accept.
Your throat aches a little from the numerous songs you shouted more than sang, but it’s a welcomed scratchiness. It reminds you that you’re here and alive.
You turn towards the pair that are now both focused on Trinity’s screen, their brows scrunched. One concerned, one more annoyed.
“What is it?” you ask.
“Literally no Uber wants to go to three different drop-off spots,” Trinity tells you. “And if they do, they're charging an insane amount.”
You let the next words slip out before you really think of it. Later, you’ll blame it on the alcohol, but you’re hardly more than tipsy by now. The last two drinks you had were water.
“I can call Jack.”
Trinity and Mel stare at you.
“Abbot,” you add.
“You can call Jack Abbot?” Trinity asks you, something almost teasing in her tone.
“Yeah,” you say, shifting on your feet. “Unless you wanna walk?”
“Oh, no. Please, call Abbot,” she tells you.
“I think it’s a good idea,” Mel says, smiling a soft, encouraging smile.
“Okay, I’ll just-” you point over your shoulder and step away, digging your phone from your purse. His contact is easy enough to find. You stare at it, your finger hovering over the screen.
You’ve had his number saved for a few weeks now. He’d given it to you after a rough shift, finding you by your locker and typing it into your phone himself with an urge to “call if you need anything.”
And you just… haven’t. You’ve pulled up his contact countless times. Looked at his name there as he’d typed it; Not Dr. Abbot. Just ‘Jack.’
Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to just hit the call button. He’s your attending, and sure he’s flirty with you, but he’s a little flirty with almost everyone. And ‘call if you need me’ is just a thing people say. At least, that’s what you’ve been telling yourself lately.
You suppose tonight you’re testing to see if he really meant it. If you’re not totally alone in wanting to get more of him somehow.
You press the button and hold your phone up to your ear, looking to see if Trinity and Mel are watching you. They are. Mel gives you a thumbs up.
And then you’re turning back around, because after only three rings, the line clicks, and a low “hello?” slides through the speaker.
“Hi!” you say, wincing at how awkwardly it comes out. “Um, it’s me. Are you busy?”
Jack ignores your question. “What’s going on?”
“Me and Mel and Santos are out and no Ubers are taking us. You know, Trinity’s actually a pretty good singer. Anyways, I was wondering if you could come get us? It’s totally fine if not, I mean, it’s warm, so we could walk-”
“How drunk are you?” Jack asks you, not judgemental or accusing, just curious.
“Just enough to let myself call you,” you say quietly. “Not enough to not know what I’m doing.”
“Okay,” he says. “Tell me where you are.” Like it’s that simple for him to drop whatever he’d been doing just because you asked him to. Like whatever he heard in your voice was convincing enough. Almost like he didn’t need any convincing at all.
He shows up only a few minutes later, pulling up to the curb right in front of you and leaning over to open up the passenger side door.
You wave at him. He wiggles his fingers back and nods at you, urging you to get in beside him.
Trinity and Mel climb into the backseat, chatting quietly between each other.
You watch as Jack pulls away from the curb, listening to Mel’s directions back to her place. Watch as he turns up the AC when he catches you fan yourself, an arm reaching over to aim the vent towards you.
“Thank you,” you say.
And when he turns his head to quickly wink at you, it’s hard to come up with anything else.
He drops Mel off, and soon enough it’s Trinity’s turn.
“You gonna be okay?” Santos asks you, more suggestive than anything, once Jack’s parked.
Only, Jack takes her seriously. He twists around in his seat to look at her and say “I’ve got her.”
You sink into the passenger seat, embarrassed and delighted.
She salutes him and climbs out of the car. And then it’s just you and Jack.
“Is it okay?” you start, a sudden nervous flutter in your stomach. “That I called? I mean, I hope you weren’t busy, or-”
“Sweetheart,” he stops you, that same low, patient but sure voice as on the phone. “I gave you my phone number. I want you to use it.”
“Oh, okay. Good. That’s good.”
Jack has the hand not holding the steering wheel resting on the centre console. He shifts his over just enough that his knuckles brush your arm once, twice, before pulling away again.
“Good,” he agrees with a little nod.
And before you can say something else, he’s parking outside your building. You only just realize then that you hadn’t been giving him any directions to get there.
You look at him, his black t-shirt tights across his shoulders, his hair curling around his ears. Then, there’s his fingers squeezing the steering wheel, his knee bouncing.
He’s nervous, too, you think. Or affected, at the very least.
It’s what makes you brave enough to say: “Do you want to come up?”
And Jack, turning his head to look into your shining, shy, hopeful eyes could never say no to you. Not even when he probably should.
He lets you lead the way to your door, a hand hovering behind your lower back in case you stumble. You fumble with your keys until he takes them from your hand and unlocks your door for you, holding it open with an outstretched arm that you have to duck under to walk inside.
It’s only when you bend down to take off your shoes that you feel the lingering effects of the alcohol, your vision a little fuzzy around the edges, your head swimming and focused all at once. Because every thought is about Jack.
Jack, standing in your living room like he was meant to be there, like the space just miles itself around his presence. Jack, leaning down to help you slip your shoes off when he catches you struggling, a warm hand on the back of your leg, letting you use his shoulder for support.
When he straightens up again, he’s much closer than before. You suck in a breath, eyes dancing across his face. His do the same, before settling on your mouth.
Your chin tips up the slightest bit, like you’re making room for him, inviting him, and Jack nearly accepts it. But you’ve been drinking, and this isn’t anything new for him. It’s not spur of the moment. He’ll want you the same tomorrow, more even.
So when he leans in, and you let your eyes slip closed, he doesn’t let himself kiss your mouth, but presses his lips softly to your cheek, then to the hinge of your jaw, before pulling away.
“You should get some rest,” he tells you.
You nod, a hand coming up to your cheek like you’re keeping his touch there a little longer. “Will you- do you wanna stay?”
“Sweetheart.”
“We don’t have to do anything, it’s just late, and-”
“I’ll stay,” Jack tells you.
You lead him to your bedroom, and if you thought his presence in your living room was something, this is entirely more destabilizing.
Where there’s an alternate reality where he’s in here for more. Where he’s leaning over you on the mattress, where his smell is etched into your sheets. And maybe it isn’t so far fetched, not with how he looks at you.
How he’s taking care of you tonight.
To that point, Jack goes into your dresser and picks out some pajamas for you once he finds the right drawer, setting them on the edge of the bed. He’d assumed you’d go into the bathroom to change.
Instead, he watches you reach for the hem of your top. His eyes widen slightly as you lift it, exposing your stomach. He turns around before it gets above your chest.
Jack’s meant to be a strong man, but the sight of your bare skin—skin that’s new to him—makes his heart stutter. Makes him weak.
“I have a spare toothbrush in the bathroom,” you tell him, prompting him to turn back around to find you now changed. “And I have some sweatpants if you want to change. They might not fit you, but-”
“I’m alright,” he says. Really, he’s thinking similarly to you. Thinking about a world where his toothbrush lives beside yours and he’s got a spare change of clothes here already.
And when you settle into bed after brushing your teeth, Jack’s prosthetic leaning against the nightstand, facing him with your cheek pressed into your pillow, that world doesn’t feel so far away.
“Thank you for coming,” you whisper, eyes fluttering sleepily.
OR OR reader goes out with santos and mel after the fourth of july shift and gets drunk with them and calls jack for a ride home and he drops them off one by one but he stays with her and tucks her in and it’s sooooo fluff
yay thank u for the request i hope u enjoy!! | 1.6k of fluff, ‘her’ used in reference to reader once
The humidity outside somehow feels less stuffy after having been in the bar for a couple of hours.
You tip your head back when a gentle breeze blows through, soft as a whisper but it kisses your heated skin all the same.
“Shit,” Trinity mutters from behind you, looking down at her phone. Her face shines a little with sweat, baby hairs sticking to her forehead.
“What’s wrong?” Mel asks immediately. She’s let her hair down tonight, both literally and metaphorically, and you’re glad to have witnessed it.
Today’s shift was a lot. More so than usual, and when Santos had suggested a night out to Mel, and then to you when she caught you listening in, it was easy to accept.
Your throat aches a little from the numerous songs you shouted more than sang, but it’s a welcomed scratchiness. It reminds you that you’re here and alive.
You turn towards the pair that are now both focused on Trinity’s screen, their brows scrunched. One concerned, one more annoyed.
“What is it?” you ask.
“Literally no Uber wants to go to three different drop-off spots,” Trinity tells you. “And if they do, they're charging an insane amount.”
You let the next words slip out before you really think of it. Later, you’ll blame it on the alcohol, but you’re hardly more than tipsy by now. The last two drinks you had were water.
“I can call Jack.”
Trinity and Mel stare at you.
“Abbot,” you add.
“You can call Jack Abbot?” Trinity asks you, something almost teasing in her tone.
“Yeah,” you say, shifting on your feet. “Unless you wanna walk?”
“Oh, no. Please, call Abbot,” she tells you.
“I think it’s a good idea,” Mel says, smiling a soft, encouraging smile.
“Okay, I’ll just-” you point over your shoulder and step away, digging your phone from your purse. His contact is easy enough to find. You stare at it, your finger hovering over the screen.
You’ve had his number saved for a few weeks now. He’d given it to you after a rough shift, finding you by your locker and typing it into your phone himself with an urge to “call if you need anything.”
And you just… haven’t. You’ve pulled up his contact countless times. Looked at his name there as he’d typed it; Not Dr. Abbot. Just ‘Jack.’
Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to just hit the call button. He’s your attending, and sure he’s flirty with you, but he’s a little flirty with almost everyone. And ‘call if you need me’ is just a thing people say. At least, that’s what you’ve been telling yourself lately.
You suppose tonight you’re testing to see if he really meant it. If you’re not totally alone in wanting to get more of him somehow.
You press the button and hold your phone up to your ear, looking to see if Trinity and Mel are watching you. They are. Mel gives you a thumbs up.
And then you’re turning back around, because after only three rings, the line clicks, and a low “hello?” slides through the speaker.
“Hi!” you say, wincing at how awkwardly it comes out. “Um, it’s me. Are you busy?”
Jack ignores your question. “What’s going on?”
“Me and Mel and Santos are out and no Ubers are taking us. You know, Trinity’s actually a pretty good singer. Anyways, I was wondering if you could come get us? It’s totally fine if not, I mean, it’s warm, so we could walk-”
“How drunk are you?” Jack asks you, not judgemental or accusing, just curious.
“Just enough to let myself call you,” you say quietly. “Not enough to not know what I’m doing.”
“Okay,” he says. “Tell me where you are.” Like it’s that simple for him to drop whatever he’d been doing just because you asked him to. Like whatever he heard in your voice was convincing enough. Almost like he didn’t need any convincing at all.
He shows up only a few minutes later, pulling up to the curb right in front of you and leaning over to open up the passenger side door.
You wave at him. He wiggles his fingers back and nods at you, urging you to get in beside him.
Trinity and Mel climb into the backseat, chatting quietly between each other.
You watch as Jack pulls away from the curb, listening to Mel’s directions back to her place. Watch as he turns up the AC when he catches you fan yourself, an arm reaching over to aim the vent towards you.
“Thank you,” you say.
And when he turns his head to quickly wink at you, it’s hard to come up with anything else.
He drops Mel off, and soon enough it’s Trinity’s turn.
“You gonna be okay?” Santos asks you, more suggestive than anything, once Jack’s parked.
Only, Jack takes her seriously. He twists around in his seat to look at her and say “I’ve got her.”
You sink into the passenger seat, embarrassed and delighted.
She salutes him and climbs out of the car. And then it’s just you and Jack.
“Is it okay?” you start, a sudden nervous flutter in your stomach. “That I called? I mean, I hope you weren’t busy, or-”
“Sweetheart,” he stops you, that same low, patient but sure voice as on the phone. “I gave you my phone number. I want you to use it.”
“Oh, okay. Good. That’s good.”
Jack has the hand not holding the steering wheel resting on the centre console. He shifts his over just enough that his knuckles brush your arm once, twice, before pulling away again.
“Good,” he agrees with a little nod.
And before you can say something else, he’s parking outside your building. You only just realize then that you hadn’t been giving him any directions to get there.
You look at him, his black t-shirt tights across his shoulders, his hair curling around his ears. Then, there’s his fingers squeezing the steering wheel, his knee bouncing.
He’s nervous, too, you think. Or affected, at the very least.
It’s what makes you brave enough to say: “Do you want to come up?”
And Jack, turning his head to look into your shining, shy, hopeful eyes could never say no to you. Not even when he probably should.
He lets you lead the way to your door, a hand hovering behind your lower back in case you stumble. You fumble with your keys until he takes them from your hand and unlocks your door for you, holding it open with an outstretched arm that you have to duck under to walk inside.
It’s only when you bend down to take off your shoes that you feel the lingering effects of the alcohol, your vision a little fuzzy around the edges, your head swimming and focused all at once. Because every thought is about Jack.
Jack, standing in your living room like he was meant to be there, like the space just miles itself around his presence. Jack, leaning down to help you slip your shoes off when he catches you struggling, a warm hand on the back of your leg, letting you use his shoulder for support.
When he straightens up again, he’s much closer than before. You suck in a breath, eyes dancing across his face. His do the same, before settling on your mouth.
Your chin tips up the slightest bit, like you’re making room for him, inviting him, and Jack nearly accepts it. But you’ve been drinking, and this isn’t anything new for him. It’s not spur of the moment. He’ll want you the same tomorrow, more even.
So when he leans in, and you let your eyes slip closed, he doesn’t let himself kiss your mouth, but presses his lips softly to your cheek, then to the hinge of your jaw, before pulling away.
“You should get some rest,” he tells you.
You nod, a hand coming up to your cheek like you’re keeping his touch there a little longer. “Will you- do you wanna stay?”
“Sweetheart.”
“We don’t have to do anything, it’s just late, and-”
“I’ll stay,” Jack tells you.
You lead him to your bedroom, and if you thought his presence in your living room was something, this is entirely more destabilizing.
Where there’s an alternate reality where he’s in here for more. Where he’s leaning over you on the mattress, where his smell is etched into your sheets. And maybe it isn’t so far fetched, not with how he looks at you.
How he’s taking care of you tonight.
To that point, Jack goes into your dresser and picks out some pajamas for you once he finds the right drawer, setting them on the edge of the bed. He’d assumed you’d go into the bathroom to change.
Instead, he watches you reach for the hem of your top. His eyes widen slightly as you lift it, exposing your stomach. He turns around before it gets above your chest.
Jack’s meant to be a strong man, but the sight of your bare skin—skin that’s new to him—makes his heart stutter. Makes him weak.
“I have a spare toothbrush in the bathroom,” you tell him, prompting him to turn back around to find you now changed. “And I have some sweatpants if you want to change. They might not fit you, but-”
“I’m alright,” he says. Really, he’s thinking similarly to you. Thinking about a world where his toothbrush lives beside yours and he’s got a spare change of clothes here already.
And when you settle into bed after brushing your teeth, Jack’s prosthetic leaning against the nightstand, facing him with your cheek pressed into your pillow, that world doesn’t feel so far away.
“Thank you for coming,” you whisper, eyes fluttering sleepily.
OR OR reader goes out with santos and mel after the fourth of july shift and gets drunk with them and calls jack for a ride home and he drops them off one by one but he stays with her and tucks her in and it’s sooooo fluff
yay thank u for the request i hope u enjoy!! | 1.6k of fluff, ‘her’ used in reference to reader once
The humidity outside somehow feels less stuffy after having been in the bar for a couple of hours.
You tip your head back when a gentle breeze blows through, soft as a whisper but it kisses your heated skin all the same.
“Shit,” Trinity mutters from behind you, looking down at her phone. Her face shines a little with sweat, baby hairs sticking to her forehead.
“What’s wrong?” Mel asks immediately. She’s let her hair down tonight, both literally and metaphorically, and you’re glad to have witnessed it.
Today’s shift was a lot. More so than usual, and when Santos had suggested a night out to Mel, and then to you when she caught you listening in, it was easy to accept.
Your throat aches a little from the numerous songs you shouted more than sang, but it’s a welcomed scratchiness. It reminds you that you’re here and alive.
You turn towards the pair that are now both focused on Trinity’s screen, their brows scrunched. One concerned, one more annoyed.
“What is it?” you ask.
“Literally no Uber wants to go to three different drop-off spots,” Trinity tells you. “And if they do, they're charging an insane amount.”
You let the next words slip out before you really think of it. Later, you’ll blame it on the alcohol, but you’re hardly more than tipsy by now. The last two drinks you had were water.
“I can call Jack.”
Trinity and Mel stare at you.
“Abbot,” you add.
“You can call Jack Abbot?” Trinity asks you, something almost teasing in her tone.
“Yeah,” you say, shifting on your feet. “Unless you wanna walk?”
“Oh, no. Please, call Abbot,” she tells you.
“I think it’s a good idea,” Mel says, smiling a soft, encouraging smile.
“Okay, I’ll just-” you point over your shoulder and step away, digging your phone from your purse. His contact is easy enough to find. You stare at it, your finger hovering over the screen.
You’ve had his number saved for a few weeks now. He’d given it to you after a rough shift, finding you by your locker and typing it into your phone himself with an urge to “call if you need anything.”
And you just… haven’t. You’ve pulled up his contact countless times. Looked at his name there as he’d typed it; Not Dr. Abbot. Just ‘Jack.’
Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to just hit the call button. He’s your attending, and sure he’s flirty with you, but he’s a little flirty with almost everyone. And ‘call if you need me’ is just a thing people say. At least, that’s what you’ve been telling yourself lately.
You suppose tonight you’re testing to see if he really meant it. If you’re not totally alone in wanting to get more of him somehow.
You press the button and hold your phone up to your ear, looking to see if Trinity and Mel are watching you. They are. Mel gives you a thumbs up.
And then you’re turning back around, because after only three rings, the line clicks, and a low “hello?” slides through the speaker.
“Hi!” you say, wincing at how awkwardly it comes out. “Um, it’s me. Are you busy?”
Jack ignores your question. “What’s going on?”
“Me and Mel and Santos are out and no Ubers are taking us. You know, Trinity’s actually a pretty good singer. Anyways, I was wondering if you could come get us? It’s totally fine if not, I mean, it’s warm, so we could walk-”
“How drunk are you?” Jack asks you, not judgemental or accusing, just curious.
“Just enough to let myself call you,” you say quietly. “Not enough to not know what I’m doing.”
“Okay,” he says. “Tell me where you are.” Like it’s that simple for him to drop whatever he’d been doing just because you asked him to. Like whatever he heard in your voice was convincing enough. Almost like he didn’t need any convincing at all.
He shows up only a few minutes later, pulling up to the curb right in front of you and leaning over to open up the passenger side door.
You wave at him. He wiggles his fingers back and nods at you, urging you to get in beside him.
Trinity and Mel climb into the backseat, chatting quietly between each other.
You watch as Jack pulls away from the curb, listening to Mel’s directions back to her place. Watch as he turns up the AC when he catches you fan yourself, an arm reaching over to aim the vent towards you.
“Thank you,” you say.
And when he turns his head to quickly wink at you, it’s hard to come up with anything else.
He drops Mel off, and soon enough it’s Trinity’s turn.
“You gonna be okay?” Santos asks you, more suggestive than anything, once Jack’s parked.
Only, Jack takes her seriously. He twists around in his seat to look at her and say “I’ve got her.”
You sink into the passenger seat, embarrassed and delighted.
She salutes him and climbs out of the car. And then it’s just you and Jack.
“Is it okay?” you start, a sudden nervous flutter in your stomach. “That I called? I mean, I hope you weren’t busy, or-”
“Sweetheart,” he stops you, that same low, patient but sure voice as on the phone. “I gave you my phone number. I want you to use it.”
“Oh, okay. Good. That’s good.”
Jack has the hand not holding the steering wheel resting on the centre console. He shifts his over just enough that his knuckles brush your arm once, twice, before pulling away again.
“Good,” he agrees with a little nod.
And before you can say something else, he’s parking outside your building. You only just realize then that you hadn’t been giving him any directions to get there.
You look at him, his black t-shirt tights across his shoulders, his hair curling around his ears. Then, there’s his fingers squeezing the steering wheel, his knee bouncing.
He’s nervous, too, you think. Or affected, at the very least.
It’s what makes you brave enough to say: “Do you want to come up?”
And Jack, turning his head to look into your shining, shy, hopeful eyes could never say no to you. Not even when he probably should.
He lets you lead the way to your door, a hand hovering behind your lower back in case you stumble. You fumble with your keys until he takes them from your hand and unlocks your door for you, holding it open with an outstretched arm that you have to duck under to walk inside.
It’s only when you bend down to take off your shoes that you feel the lingering effects of the alcohol, your vision a little fuzzy around the edges, your head swimming and focused all at once. Because every thought is about Jack.
Jack, standing in your living room like he was meant to be there, like the space just miles itself around his presence. Jack, leaning down to help you slip your shoes off when he catches you struggling, a warm hand on the back of your leg, letting you use his shoulder for support.
When he straightens up again, he’s much closer than before. You suck in a breath, eyes dancing across his face. His do the same, before settling on your mouth.
Your chin tips up the slightest bit, like you’re making room for him, inviting him, and Jack nearly accepts it. But you’ve been drinking, and this isn’t anything new for him. It’s not spur of the moment. He’ll want you the same tomorrow, more even.
So when he leans in, and you let your eyes slip closed, he doesn’t let himself kiss your mouth, but presses his lips softly to your cheek, then to the hinge of your jaw, before pulling away.
“You should get some rest,” he tells you.
You nod, a hand coming up to your cheek like you’re keeping his touch there a little longer. “Will you- do you wanna stay?”
“Sweetheart.”
“We don’t have to do anything, it’s just late, and-”
“I’ll stay,” Jack tells you.
You lead him to your bedroom, and if you thought his presence in your living room was something, this is entirely more destabilizing.
Where there’s an alternate reality where he’s in here for more. Where he’s leaning over you on the mattress, where his smell is etched into your sheets. And maybe it isn’t so far fetched, not with how he looks at you.
How he’s taking care of you tonight.
To that point, Jack goes into your dresser and picks out some pajamas for you once he finds the right drawer, setting them on the edge of the bed. He’d assumed you’d go into the bathroom to change.
Instead, he watches you reach for the hem of your top. His eyes widen slightly as you lift it, exposing your stomach. He turns around before it gets above your chest.
Jack’s meant to be a strong man, but the sight of your bare skin—skin that’s new to him—makes his heart stutter. Makes him weak.
“I have a spare toothbrush in the bathroom,” you tell him, prompting him to turn back around to find you now changed. “And I have some sweatpants if you want to change. They might not fit you, but-”
“I’m alright,” he says. Really, he’s thinking similarly to you. Thinking about a world where his toothbrush lives beside yours and he’s got a spare change of clothes here already.
And when you settle into bed after brushing your teeth, Jack’s prosthetic leaning against the nightstand, facing him with your cheek pressed into your pillow, that world doesn’t feel so far away.
“Thank you for coming,” you whisper, eyes fluttering sleepily.
OR OR reader goes out with santos and mel after the fourth of july shift and gets drunk with them and calls jack for a ride home and he drops them off one by one but he stays with her and tucks her in and it’s sooooo fluff
yay thank u for the request i hope u enjoy!! | 1.6k of fluff, ‘her’ used in reference to reader once
The humidity outside somehow feels less stuffy after having been in the bar for a couple of hours.
You tip your head back when a gentle breeze blows through, soft as a whisper but it kisses your heated skin all the same.
“Shit,” Trinity mutters from behind you, looking down at her phone. Her face shines a little with sweat, baby hairs sticking to her forehead.
“What’s wrong?” Mel asks immediately. She’s let her hair down tonight, both literally and metaphorically, and you’re glad to have witnessed it.
Today’s shift was a lot. More so than usual, and when Santos had suggested a night out to Mel, and then to you when she caught you listening in, it was easy to accept.
Your throat aches a little from the numerous songs you shouted more than sang, but it’s a welcomed scratchiness. It reminds you that you’re here and alive.
You turn towards the pair that are now both focused on Trinity’s screen, their brows scrunched. One concerned, one more annoyed.
“What is it?” you ask.
“Literally no Uber wants to go to three different drop-off spots,” Trinity tells you. “And if they do, they're charging an insane amount.”
You let the next words slip out before you really think of it. Later, you’ll blame it on the alcohol, but you’re hardly more than tipsy by now. The last two drinks you had were water.
“I can call Jack.”
Trinity and Mel stare at you.
“Abbot,” you add.
“You can call Jack Abbot?” Trinity asks you, something almost teasing in her tone.
“Yeah,” you say, shifting on your feet. “Unless you wanna walk?”
“Oh, no. Please, call Abbot,” she tells you.
“I think it’s a good idea,” Mel says, smiling a soft, encouraging smile.
“Okay, I’ll just-” you point over your shoulder and step away, digging your phone from your purse. His contact is easy enough to find. You stare at it, your finger hovering over the screen.
You’ve had his number saved for a few weeks now. He’d given it to you after a rough shift, finding you by your locker and typing it into your phone himself with an urge to “call if you need anything.”
And you just… haven’t. You’ve pulled up his contact countless times. Looked at his name there as he’d typed it; Not Dr. Abbot. Just ‘Jack.’
Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to just hit the call button. He’s your attending, and sure he’s flirty with you, but he’s a little flirty with almost everyone. And ‘call if you need me’ is just a thing people say. At least, that’s what you’ve been telling yourself lately.
You suppose tonight you’re testing to see if he really meant it. If you’re not totally alone in wanting to get more of him somehow.
You press the button and hold your phone up to your ear, looking to see if Trinity and Mel are watching you. They are. Mel gives you a thumbs up.
And then you’re turning back around, because after only three rings, the line clicks, and a low “hello?” slides through the speaker.
“Hi!” you say, wincing at how awkwardly it comes out. “Um, it’s me. Are you busy?”
Jack ignores your question. “What’s going on?”
“Me and Mel and Santos are out and no Ubers are taking us. You know, Trinity’s actually a pretty good singer. Anyways, I was wondering if you could come get us? It’s totally fine if not, I mean, it’s warm, so we could walk-”
“How drunk are you?” Jack asks you, not judgemental or accusing, just curious.
“Just enough to let myself call you,” you say quietly. “Not enough to not know what I’m doing.”
“Okay,” he says. “Tell me where you are.” Like it’s that simple for him to drop whatever he’d been doing just because you asked him to. Like whatever he heard in your voice was convincing enough. Almost like he didn’t need any convincing at all.
He shows up only a few minutes later, pulling up to the curb right in front of you and leaning over to open up the passenger side door.
You wave at him. He wiggles his fingers back and nods at you, urging you to get in beside him.
Trinity and Mel climb into the backseat, chatting quietly between each other.
You watch as Jack pulls away from the curb, listening to Mel’s directions back to her place. Watch as he turns up the AC when he catches you fan yourself, an arm reaching over to aim the vent towards you.
“Thank you,” you say.
And when he turns his head to quickly wink at you, it’s hard to come up with anything else.
He drops Mel off, and soon enough it’s Trinity’s turn.
“You gonna be okay?” Santos asks you, more suggestive than anything, once Jack’s parked.
Only, Jack takes her seriously. He twists around in his seat to look at her and say “I’ve got her.”
You sink into the passenger seat, embarrassed and delighted.
She salutes him and climbs out of the car. And then it’s just you and Jack.
“Is it okay?” you start, a sudden nervous flutter in your stomach. “That I called? I mean, I hope you weren’t busy, or-”
“Sweetheart,” he stops you, that same low, patient but sure voice as on the phone. “I gave you my phone number. I want you to use it.”
“Oh, okay. Good. That’s good.”
Jack has the hand not holding the steering wheel resting on the centre console. He shifts his over just enough that his knuckles brush your arm once, twice, before pulling away again.
“Good,” he agrees with a little nod.
And before you can say something else, he’s parking outside your building. You only just realize then that you hadn’t been giving him any directions to get there.
You look at him, his black t-shirt tights across his shoulders, his hair curling around his ears. Then, there’s his fingers squeezing the steering wheel, his knee bouncing.
He’s nervous, too, you think. Or affected, at the very least.
It’s what makes you brave enough to say: “Do you want to come up?”
And Jack, turning his head to look into your shining, shy, hopeful eyes could never say no to you. Not even when he probably should.
He lets you lead the way to your door, a hand hovering behind your lower back in case you stumble. You fumble with your keys until he takes them from your hand and unlocks your door for you, holding it open with an outstretched arm that you have to duck under to walk inside.
It’s only when you bend down to take off your shoes that you feel the lingering effects of the alcohol, your vision a little fuzzy around the edges, your head swimming and focused all at once. Because every thought is about Jack.
Jack, standing in your living room like he was meant to be there, like the space just miles itself around his presence. Jack, leaning down to help you slip your shoes off when he catches you struggling, a warm hand on the back of your leg, letting you use his shoulder for support.
When he straightens up again, he’s much closer than before. You suck in a breath, eyes dancing across his face. His do the same, before settling on your mouth.
Your chin tips up the slightest bit, like you’re making room for him, inviting him, and Jack nearly accepts it. But you’ve been drinking, and this isn’t anything new for him. It’s not spur of the moment. He’ll want you the same tomorrow, more even.
So when he leans in, and you let your eyes slip closed, he doesn’t let himself kiss your mouth, but presses his lips softly to your cheek, then to the hinge of your jaw, before pulling away.
“You should get some rest,” he tells you.
You nod, a hand coming up to your cheek like you’re keeping his touch there a little longer. “Will you- do you wanna stay?”
“Sweetheart.”
“We don’t have to do anything, it’s just late, and-”
“I’ll stay,” Jack tells you.
You lead him to your bedroom, and if you thought his presence in your living room was something, this is entirely more destabilizing.
Where there’s an alternate reality where he’s in here for more. Where he’s leaning over you on the mattress, where his smell is etched into your sheets. And maybe it isn’t so far fetched, not with how he looks at you.
How he’s taking care of you tonight.
To that point, Jack goes into your dresser and picks out some pajamas for you once he finds the right drawer, setting them on the edge of the bed. He’d assumed you’d go into the bathroom to change.
Instead, he watches you reach for the hem of your top. His eyes widen slightly as you lift it, exposing your stomach. He turns around before it gets above your chest.
Jack’s meant to be a strong man, but the sight of your bare skin—skin that’s new to him—makes his heart stutter. Makes him weak.
“I have a spare toothbrush in the bathroom,” you tell him, prompting him to turn back around to find you now changed. “And I have some sweatpants if you want to change. They might not fit you, but-”
“I’m alright,” he says. Really, he’s thinking similarly to you. Thinking about a world where his toothbrush lives beside yours and he’s got a spare change of clothes here already.
And when you settle into bed after brushing your teeth, Jack’s prosthetic leaning against the nightstand, facing him with your cheek pressed into your pillow, that world doesn’t feel so far away.
“Thank you for coming,” you whisper, eyes fluttering sleepily.
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