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!!
summary: bee & jack's first interaction; bee is added to the night shift group chat
tags/warnings: 18+ mdni, medical inaccuracies, potential ooc, use of y/n (though very minimal), swearing, innuendos/sexual comments, fluff, flirting, use of pet names, age-gap relationship, power dynamics see masterlist for more detailed tags
author’s note: rewrote this twice and still unsure how i feel. feel free to comment suggestions and remember reposts are an author’s best friend <3 and thank you for the love on the first chapter!
summary: intro chapter! this chapter isn't that interesting but necessary for setting up the story (i promise we will get more plot in the next chapter). first, let's get introduced to bee and see what's going on...
tags/warnings: 18+ mdni, medical inaccuracies, author tries (and possibly fails) to be funny, potential ooc, use of y/n (though very minimal), female reader, reader uses she/her pronouns, reader's nickname is 'bee', swearing, innuendos/sexual comments, reader is roommates with santos and whitaker, fluff, flirting, use of pet names, age-gap relationship (unspecified but reader is late 20s/early 30s and jack is late 40s/50), power dynamics (jack is reader's attending/boss)
author's note: this is chapter one so i apologize if it's bad. feel free to comment any suggestions or things you want me to include in this fic!
summary: reader is a senior resident at the pitt working the day shift. after switching to the night shift, her crush on the night shift attending jack abbot starts to go from silly to something more when she realizes it's not as one-sided as she thought...
tags/warnings: 18+ mdni, medical inaccuracies, author tries (and possibly fails) to be funny, potential ooc, use of y/n (though very minimal), female reader, reader uses she/her pronouns, reader's nickname is 'bee', swearing, innuendos/sexual comments, reader is roommates with santos and whitaker, fluff, flirting, angst (barely), use of pet names, age-gap relationship (unspecified but reader is late 20s/early 30s and jack is late 40s/50), power dynamics (jack is reader's attending/boss)
author's note: i try to update twice a week! feel free to comment below any suggestions, questions, comments, or to be added to the taglist! this is my first smau so bear with me pls <3 okay love u byeee
xoxo, spritz!
CHAPTERS:
ׂ╰┈➤
I. welcome to the night shift
II. call me jack
III. the cookie thief (coming soon)
summary: in a tight-knit small town, your bakery sits just streets away from his. the businesses—and your personalities—constantly clash, fueling a rivalry the whole town can’t help but watch unfold. what starts as a competition begins to shift the more your lives overlap, until keeping things strictly business becomes harder to maintain.
warnings: fem!reader x jack abbot, implied sexual content, age gap, cursing, mental health & family conflict related themes.
a/n: i want this to feel like a mix of bluebell, alabama and stars hollow, connecticut. the kind of town where everybody knows everybody & gossip travels faster than the morning paper! keep that atmosphere in mind while reading :]
SYNOPSIS: After 4 months of night shifts, and an accidental bonding with the widowed attending, fleeting days out after extensive shifts and feelings that grow into an unnamed relationship with a man who refuses to acknowledge anything - you finally switch back to day shifts. Now, it becomes harder to find where you stand in the life of the night attending, and whether or not there really was anything at all.
𖦹°⋆ next to a chapter means it includes a written part!
TAGLIST CLOSED
CHAPTERS:
╰┈➤ background info & extra context!
⋆˚࿔ CH.1 GOONETTE RETURNS
⋆˚࿔ CH.2 MOMMYS SICK, BABY
⋆˚࿔ CH.3 DOUBLE STANDARDS 𖦹°⋆
⋆˚࿔ CH.4 HOLD YOUR HEAD
⋆˚࿔ CH.5 AIRING OUT
⋆˚࿔ CH.6 yikes…. 𖦹°⋆
⋆˚࿔ CH.7 THE MORNING AFTER (LOSING ALL YOUR FRIENDS)
⋆˚࿔ CH.8 NEVER LOOKING BACK!!
⋆˚࿔ CH.9 ALWAYS COMES TOO LATE…
⋆˚࿔ CH.10 JACK ABBOT IS OVER PARTY
⋆˚࿔ CH.11 TUESDAY, WEDNESDAY, BREAK MY HEART
⋆˚࿔ CH.12 RUMOUR HAS IT
⋆˚࿔ CH.13 GOONETTE RETURNS (AGAIN!)
⋆˚࿔. CH.14 10/10 BAD IDEA!!
⋆˚࿔. CH.15 CONFRONTATION
CONTENT WARNINGS BELOW THE CUT!
Content warning throughout: hurt/comfort in last chapters, implied neurodivergent! reader (can be read by people with neurodivergence as it’s not major or a plot line :) , mentions of mental health issues, miscommunication (?), reader is an anxious mess, author trying to be funny & overuse of reaction pics 😣, jack lowk an ass for a bit, probably OOC (i tried my best but this is my first time doing any writing for the public!)
i tried not to use any ships! i know some people get put off fics bc they don’t like ships within it . There is also mentions of Mohabbot in earlier chapters FOR THE PLOT!!!
A/N: Hii! iim actually shitting myself bc i have crippling RSD and im terrified somebody’s gonna dookie on my ass for this - lowk have no idea how writers do tag lists or masterlists or anything because im slow so gimme a sec 🥹 Im also currently doing my A levels (yes im aware jack abbot is like 30 years older than me i do NOT gaf) & working so pls be patient with me if i get slow — i have 4 chapters planned atm. im not really a dedicated soul & this may get forgotten and unfinished. peer pressure me and send me aggressive DMS and i’ll comply!
Shawn’s tweets was the only reason i created my X account (I use it from the web cus I’m NOT downloading X), this are some of my all time favorite Shawn posts (some are missing but whoooo cares) 🥹❤️🩹
summary: a struggling pasty chef finally catches a break when you're given a chance to work at 'The Pitt', a popular restaurant in Pittsburgh. you find it difficult to find your confidence, it will be harder with Jack Abbot around. you make it harder for him to remain a good mentor.
tags/description: 18+ MDNI, pastry chef!fem!reader, swearing, NSFW comments, an attempt at slow burn, crack fic, maybe possibly OOC for everyone LOL, me trying to be funny, smut maybe mehehehe, additional tags at the beginning of each chapter
taglist OPEN; comment on this post to be added! (if ur in my existing taglist, please comment to be tagged in this series.)
how I make my smau
** - contains written plot!
chapter 0. prelude chapter 1. employed
chapter 2. blueberries chapter 3. cheesecake
chapter 4. f*ck brenda chapter 5. 12 AM**
chapter 6. red ribbon chapter 7. taste test
chapter 8. $700 chapter 9. market** (COMING MAY 30)
summary - it’s been a couple days since the date and jack’s been avoiding her ever since. reader has been so sad that she even forgot to bring cupcakes! robby makes sure jack apologizes.
content warnings - black!fem!reader, but anyone can read it ofc!, reader is a nurse, age gap, she/her pronouns, cursing, suggestiveness, mostly crack
taglist - open!
prev || next
jack’s pov:
reader’s pov:
˚⋆🧁༉‧₊˚.
a/n: do u guys think jack deserved to be forgiven??
summary — in which jack abbot has feelings for you, yet you continue to remain oblivious despite his desperate attempts at flirting, he just can’t seem to read your mind !
warnings — age gap, profanity, some characters may be a bit ooc(sorry), not plot accurate, some chapters will include a lil bit of sexual innuendos, does not rlly have a set plot, uhmm I’ll add more as I write hehe !! <3
an — my first ever smau so I’m sorry if it isn’t that good .. parts of this will def be rlly self indulgent LOL !! bit busy sometimes but I dooooo plan on updating at least every other day !!!! taglist is open <3
KISS ME AND I MIGHT — a silly little crackfic typa smau where reader, a third year resident, navigates through last months of being 29 meanwhile trying to fight a crush on a certain attending and debating all of the life choices that lead to this.
LEFT HOOK, RIGHT PUNCH (warnings.) — me trying to be funny, horny corny jokes, plot all over the place, curse words(duh), idek. reader is dennis and trinity’s roommate (maybe i’ll take some inspiration from house tour), hucklerobby, garsantos into santellis eventually, reader is bi, reader’s nickname is rosy thanks to a joke santos made about rose toys after learning reader’s birthday is on valentine’s day!
IT’S FEMININE INTUITION (a/n.) — im trying smth new alright. i wanna do smth on here but im literally so out of my mind that i cannot write anything coherent so for now it’ll just be this i fear. amazing dividers by @robinavitchslut !!!
summary: jack's been avoidant lately, and boy do you notice
pairing: jack abbot x popstar! reader
warnings: angst, cursing, avoidant jack, not proofread, fangirl shen ofc
word count: 3.5k
author's note: EEK HERES THE ANGST U WANTED !!! sorry if it sucks i have been taking forever to write based on my finals this week 😭 maybe some bonus content of the song being released may come soon if yall enjoy ?! idk i hate having to put our happy couple through this but my babies requested it so ! love u all!
part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5
There's not a day that goes by without the PTMC being flooded in and out with patients. You know this, that's why you pull your hoodie down a little further to shield your face from any prying eyes in the waiting room.
You step towards the service desk, flashing your sunglasses down to say hi to Lupe at the front. As simple as it sounds to just walk in without being noticed, there's a rather large gift bag in your possession that's catching some stares.
"Just dropping off a surprise, don't tell Jack."
Lupe smiles knowingly, turning to press the E.D doors open.
You whisper a quiet thanks before moving to enter the fluorescent lit room. It smells just like it did the first time you came here, only now it's not a medical emergency. A hint of metal hides underneath the pungent anti-septic cleaner. It reminds you to watch where you step, or you might ruin your new Uggs.
As you round the corner to the nurses station, you shrug off your hood and raise your sunglasses to lay snugly against your hair. Immediately, you're met with a familiar face.
Shen chokes on his coffee, coughing out your name in between coughs. The tips of his ears glow red as he smacks at his chest. He's still getting used to the whole Abbot-dating-a-pop-star thing.
"What are you doing here?" He tries, and fails, to act as nonchalant as possible. "Need me to grab Jack?" He's halfway on his feet before you urge him to pause.
"Actually, no. You're just the person I was looking for."
He points a finger at himself in disbelief, "Me? Me as in John Shen?"
"Is there another Dunkin' Donuts lover in the PTMC that I'm not aware of? Because I only brought a gift for one and I really don't need the bad publi—oh my god!"
Shen wraps his arms around you tightly before you can wheeze out the rest of your sentence. "Are you for real? Am I being Punk'd?" His eyes dart around the room frantically checking to make sure there isn't a hidden camera crew in Trauma 2.
Shaking your head, you separate from his grasp to lean down and retrieve a comically large kiss-shaped container from the white paper gift bag you brought in. From a patient's perspective, it looks like Shen is being handed the keys to the city by the way he's covering his mouth. For Shen, it just about feels like that, too.
"I had some PR for my new drink come in and while it's adorable, I don't think Jack would appreciate this as much as you would," you explain. Shen opens the container like it contains buried treasure. You almost expect a golden light to shine from the package. "It's nothing too crazy, just a cup and a collectible cocktail shaker."
"I'm protecting this with my life," He promises seriously. Shen closes the box and holds it close to his chest whispering, "God, I'm so glad you fell and Jack had to perform a hip reduction," almost in prayer.
"I'm gonna take that as a thank you..?"
Dana, who is currently updating bed assignments, chuckles from her station a few feet away. Her blue eyes hold a tired weight in them as her claw clip is barely hanging on for dear life.
Considering it's 3 hours past day shift she looks better than you would expect someone after a now 15 hour shift.
"What are we thanking Shen for?" A gruff voice cuts in from behind you.
A smile forms before you can help it, a bubbling excitement forming in the pit of your stomach at the sound of his voice. John barely has the time to wipe the tears forming in his eyes before composing himself in front of his colleague. Slowly, you turn around to face your boyfriend like you just got caught with your hand in the cookie jar.
Jack's eyebrows raise slightly, head flinching backwards as his brain catches up to the sight of you. By the looks of it, it's been one hell of a shift, and he's only on hour three. Jack's grip around the stethoscope tightens as he takes a cautious step forward. His eyes travel up and down your frame as he searches for any reason why you need to be in the ED.
"Surprise? I was just here to drop off a PR gift for John." You gesture to where Shen should be, only to find him gone. Somewhere in the distance you hear him call out for Ellis to stay away from his gift. "Also to bring the _nightcrawler_s some treats. I baked some banana bread muffins after my shoot this morning."
Reaching back into the white bag, you pull out a plastic container decorated in an assortment of stickers. The aroma is already wafting through the air from where you crack open the lid to offer Jack a good look. You offer the container to him, hoping to watch him try one before you leave.
Jack's lips press into a tight smile, taking the muffins from your hands before placing them next to him on the counter. "I'll have one later."
Oh.
Out of the comer of your eye, you watch as Perlah and Princess exchange side eyed glances. You feel yourself deflate at his rejection, eyes switching between the abandoned container and Jack's uneasy stance.
He can't keep still, his weight shifting from one foot to the other. You know his leg must be killing him, the ED being an endless pit of patients that have him running from case to case. A part of you feels relieved that maybe his attitude right now isn't because of you.
"Abbot, motorcycle accident incoming in 3," Dana interrupts. Her voice slices through the tension like a warm knife through butter.
Jack nods, "Okay let's get ready in Trauma 1." Before he can get too far he pauses, and almost as an afterthought, he leans down to give you the chastest of cheek kisses. "Gotta go, I'll text you later okay?"
You bounce on your heels to shake off the feeling of embarrassment as you watch your boyfriend join Mateo by the ambulance bay. You watch as he gives him a fist bump as they wait for the incoming patient, energy already 50% more than what he was sparing you.
Dana gives you a sidelong glance before sliding the container towards herself, "Abbot doesn't want one now but I do. You came at the right time hon, I haven't had real food since 3 pm." Unceremoniously, she pulls the pink wrapper off before biting out a large chunk.
You smile, grateful that some of your pride was saved from having to walk out of the ED without enjoying your gesture. Dana hums in delight as she finishes her other half, neatly folding the wrapper together before throwing it in the mini trash can beside her.
"10/10. No notes, doll," she praises. "Abbot will be lucky to have one if they're not all gone in an hour."
You wave off her comment with a soft smile, "There's more at my place. I'm a little selfish when it comes to banana bread." Popping the hood back over your head, you slide the sunglasses back down before saying goodbye.
It's not until you're seated back in your car that you let the heat crawl up your neck. Should you have called him before coming in? Is it embarrassing to have your girlfriend come in to drop off muffins like a PTA mom?
At least Shen and Dana were happy to see me. John damn near spun me around.
You chalk up Jack's weird mood to him entering the ED to a frenzied mess after day shift had to deal with a five car pileup. You watch the news while baking, okay? You tell yourself he's just being kind, that his silence is him not wanting to air out his frustrations on you.
You check your phone for any notifications, exhaling when you read one from your manager, Sophie.
What did lover boy have to say about your world famous banana bread muffins?
You shut off your phone, trying to save at least a fraction of the good mood you were in earlier.
It stings only a little.
You tell yourself it's going to be a good day.
No studio time today, no meetings, no festival prep. Just you, your iced coffee, and your dinner plans with Jack later.
You had your schedule blocked off specifically for tonight. It's been exactly 6 months since you two started dating seriously. Everything has been almost perfect—aside from the small muffin hiccup that happened a week ago.
You totally let that go.
Okay, maybe you're still kinda bitter about it. But when he came to yours after his shift the next morning, he obliged when you offered to feed him one before he crashed in bed. The only thing keeping you from holding a grudge was the fact that he basically moaned when he finally tried one.
And that he ate 4 more when he woke up.
So now, you're sat on your bathroom counter top attempting to draw on a winged liner without screwing up and starting over. Your speaker in the corner fills the bathroom with r&b music, causing you to harmonize throughout the process.
Glancing down to where your phone rests near its charger, you frown when you realize Jack still hasn't responded. You texted him 30 minutes ago if he was on his way from the PTMC—his shift as a SWAT medic turning into a surprise day shift at the hospital after a shooting took place nearby. Your green text looking back at you as it failed to deliver regularly.
That was the last update he sent you before his phone died. You had a minor panic attack when he said he was in a shooting and got grazed by a fucking bullet, but there wasn't much you could do until seeing him in person.
You tell yourself not to panic as the time draws closer for you to leave.
He's a man. He could come back 30 min before your reservation and all he would need to do is shower and rub some pomade through his hair before he's ready— so sick and twisted now that you think of that.
It's just unlike him. He runs a tight program in and out of the hospital, not keen on being late to anything ever since he left the military. There's an itch to call Robby and ask if Jack's alright or if you need to come over there and patch him up yourself. You're not that close to him, only having his number 'in case of an emergency' like Jack said.
Before you can talk yourself out of it, you pause your music and press on his contact. It rings for what feels like forever before finally connecting, a low sniffle breaking through the static before Robby clears his throat.
"What's up?" His voice is raw—like he swallowed gravel.
Concerned more than ever you sit up further, "I think I should be asking you that, is everything good?"
A humorless laugh cuts through, "You don't wanna fucking know, kid. It's been a shit show."
"No kidding. Is Jack there with you?" By the sound of it, maybe Jack should be there for Robby. You can almost picture him pacing an empty room as you talk to him.
"He left an hour ago. Went to grab a beer with his cop buddies before going home." There's a pregnant pause as the line goes quiet. "…Is there something wrong?"
You bite your lip hard—so hard that it leaves a metallic taste on your tongue. "Nope. I just hadn't heard word from him and—you know what? I actually have to go Robby but thanks for answering."
You end the call with a click before Robby can respond, letting the phone clatter beside you on the counter. Silently, you toss your makeup back into your travel case as you clean up the bathroom.
It's so stupid, you think. You should have seen it coming. The longer time in between texts, the going back to his own place instead of yours after a shift, the way he keeps you arms length from his close circle at the PTMC.
He didn't mind when you followed back Shen, Ellis, even Whitaker_, the man who saves edits of you on his phone_, on Instagram. But God forbid you joke about going on a double date with Robby and his new girlfriend. Jack physically cringed at the suggestion, laughing it off like you suggested going down to visit the Titanic.
You thought it would be different this time. That these past 6 months proved that not every relationship you publicize will burn in a fiery blaze.
Changing into an old college tee and sweats, you debate on going to the kitchen and drinking straight out of the wine bottle or rotting in bed. You feel restless, like if you don't scream or run around your house you might combust.
Your phone lights up on the nightstand, Sophie's face taking over your screen. Not the best time for a business call. You answer regardless, knowing she's probably tracking your location and wondering why you're still at home.
"What do you want, Soph."
She hisses on the other side, "Ouch. Not even a hello, how are you?" When you don't respond, she presses further. "I saw you haven't left for your reservation, everything okay?" Right on the money.
"Consider it cancelled. Jack apparently went out with his SWAT friends without telling me after getting grazed by a bullet." You laugh bitterly, "I guess I'm not exciting enough."
"Don't say that about yourself. If anything he's just old and had a lapse in memory," she chastises.
It earns a chuckle from you before you disagree, "First they're too young and immature to take me seriously and now they're too old to remember me. I really know how to pick 'em."
"Hush, do you need me to come over there and beat his ass when he gets back?" Sophie offers. She's joking of course, but something tells you she would do it if you asked. "Or we can watch 50 Shades of Grey and take a drink each time we cringe? I just don't want you to be alone."
"I don't feel like getting plastered tonight. And don't worry about me, I'll find something to do." Your eyes fall onto the keyboard piano in the corner of your room. "I'll call you later, love you Soph." You end the call after she reluctantly answers back a goodbye.
Now, you're no Shakespeare, but sometimes a song comes to mind and you just need to put it out there before it leaves your mind. Whipping out your notebook and pen, you start playing with chords. Your voice leads the lyrics—your pen following behind to write down hurriedly like they might get lost.
You finish the song in 20 minutes . Admittedly, it's a lighthearted song. One that not only draws from your experience with Jack, but also from the many failed boyfriends before him. Emotions you thought you were done feeling.
Sophie texts you for an update, and it kills you that every time your phone dings you're expecting it to be him. With a defeated sigh, you shut it off completely.
You're halfway into a shitty Lean Cuisine when your front door opens with a harsh whoosh. You don't bother looking up when frantic footsteps approach the kitchen, choosing to lazily blow on the steaming lasagna in front of you.
As the heavy footsteps get closer, they slow— like how Steve Irwin would approach a crocodile. You don't face him when he says your name, finding the bottom of the plastic tray quite interesting.
"Hope your little 'guys night' was fun," you remark listlessly. You jab at a piece of lasagna with your fork.
"Baby I—"
You cut him off sharply.
"Strangely enough, I let it go when you told me to drop the idea of you being in my music video, I thought you were embarrassed to act or— whatever the issue was."
Your grip tights around the fork.
"I let the double date thing go, too. Thought you just hated spending time with Robby outside of work." You finally look at him for the first time today, "… But that's not it, is it?"
You take in his appearance, how his face is a bit flushed and how there's sweat staining the arms of his shirt. No doubt he's had a bad night, and you hate to have to have this conversation after today's events. But if you go to bed pretending it's alright you think you might completely break in two.
"Do I— are you embarrassed of me?" You spit the words out like they burn.
Jack stills like you knocked the air out of him. “…You think I’m embarrassed of you?” he repeats after you—like he’s trying to hear it the way you do.
You huff out a humorless laugh, pushing your barely-touched tray away. “I mean, I think bailing on a date to go drink beers with your cop friends after being shot at says a lot about where your priorities are."
Shoving the bar stool back, you move to stand in front of him. "If this," you point between the two of you, "isn't fun for you anymore, then tell me Jack. Because I'm sick and tired of being led on again and again."
You go to shove past him before his hand reaches to grab your wrist gently. "I'm sorry—my phone died and I—," he shakes his head as if he knows that it sounds like bullshit to your ears, "I know tonight was inexcusable. I know that."
His jaw tightens as he tries to work the lump in his throat down. "And I know it's not just tonight. The video, Robby, the— I've been keeping you away from everything and I told myself I'm helping you—"
"Helping me with what?"
"—with when one day you wake up and realize that you don't want this," he chokes out, voice going hoarse as he drops your hand to run his own over his face.
You falter backwards— his admission piercing your chest like a scalpel. You watch as he takes a second to find his words before continuing.
"I don't know how to do this," he says, and he sounds genuinely lost in a way that Jack never lets himself sound. "I don't know how to be with someone like you and not—" He exhales hard through his nose. "I love you. And I love you too much to let you waste your time with someone like me so I just—"
"You pushed me away," your heart is like a pounding drum in your ears. "How am I supposed to know how you feel if you don't tell me."
"Yeah." His voice drops. "And I'm not sure how I can make it up to you, but I'll spend the rest of my life trying if I have to." His eyes follow as yours avoid him at all costs.
A beat goes by. Then two. And after the silence has hung in the air too long, Jack is contemplating on whether to turn away and leave before he has to watch you ask him to. It might actually kill him.
Looking up at the ceiling, you exhale loudly. Tears line your eyes—a complete juxtaposition to the tired laugh you give. "You have such a funny way of showing it." You walk closer, hand coming to direct his gaze to you.
"I know," he says quietly, "my therapist says I'm a piece of work." His hand comes up to cover yours where it rests on his jaw. "I'm sorry."
You let out a wry laugh as you search his face for a long moment — the tension in his brow, the way his hair looks like he's ran through it a million times. You feel bad, but also at ease to know he wasn't acting this way because he didn't care.
"You're such an idiot," you whisper. A tear escapes before you can stop it. "I love you too, you know. I wish I could have told you under better circumstances."
Something in his face breaks open. Like he's been holding his breath for six months and just now remembered how to let it go.
He pulls you in before you can say anything else, one hand cradling the back of your head and the other wrapping around your waist like he's afraid you might take it back. You feel his exhale warm against your hair.
"I know," he murmurs. "I'm sorry I let you feel like you aren't a priority. And for everything else I've done earlier. "
You press your face into his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. "Don't do it again."
His lips find your forehead and stay there. "Never, I promise."
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