sorry to be a broken record every month but christ menstruation is a stupid concept. oooooh excuse me for not getting pregnant, why the fuck is there goo falling out of me about it? grow the fuck up and reabsorb that shit for nutrients.
on top of everything people online are so incredibly disillusioned about the pitt. "does noah wyle really think people want more of robby's mental health journey, btw which he created just to fuel his ego"
uuh but... people genuinely do want that? season 2 has 98% on RT with 85% popcornmeter. it's popular prestige tv! critical acclaim, season 2 averaging 15 million views per episode!
also noah wyle isn't the creator nor is he in charge
the real question here is "does scott gemmill really think people want to see more of the central storyline set around the main character of his critically acclaimed television series watched by millions?"
and guys it's ground-breaking, but the answer might be... yes!
Look man, the ONLY valid source on who Noah Wyle is as a person and what he was intending with Robby is cast interviews from people who actually know him.
No, your Twitter thread based largely on your feelings is not a genuine source. No, I do not think you throwing around scary words makes it less anti-semitic. No, articles from websites that seem to have a bias are not a source. No, you do not speak for any of the cast members about how they mean the opposite of what they say in interviews. No, any source on how Robby, the fictional character, acts is not proof of anything about who Noah is as person.
And well, the sources from people who have actually met the man, including actresses all think he's funny, thoughtful, kind and lovely to be around.
No, matter how you spin it I think you're just spouting a hate campaign against a Jewish man...often using rhetoric that is famously anti-semitic. And I do think you're weird and deeply parasocial towards a man who has no reason to know you even exist.
no offense, but if the pitt was noah wyle's personal pet project designed to aggrandize him and paint him in the best possible light and make his character look awesome and badass and sexy....... have you considered that maybe they would try to make robby more likeable? like, how did you watch fifteen episodes of robby unraveling and lashing out at beloved characters and making obviously poor decisions and your single takeaway was "noah wyle is so vain and wants everyone to love his character" 😭😭😭😭😭
pairing: strawberry shortcake x jack abbot. first part.
summary: after matching with your attending on tinder, you now have to spend an entire shift trying to avoid him. everything is going (almost) well until you get trapped in an elevator with him.
tags: fluff, joy is part of the night shift, langdon kinda too, er setting, workplace romance, age gap, coworkers to lovers, protective jack abbot, she falls first, he falls harder.
authors note: this is short and silly I KNOW. i just wanted to portray abbot the way I perceive him after that scene (in the gif). ALSO thank you so much for the reblogs and for asking to be added to the tag list. i never thought that was possible!! don't forget to reblog if you enjoyed it, please. 🙏🏻
@melissa66orion @rathatosy
The doors to the ER slid open once again, but this time you wished you could've stayed home.
You'd barely slept. Four hours at most, and ever since you woke up, you hadn't been able to think about anything except the mistake you made with your attending. You wondered if he'd slept well, probably he was sitting at home right now drinking coffee like nothing happened.
And here you were.
Technically your shift didn't start for another two hours, but the anxiety had dragged you back into the pitt anyway, which was funny because ten minutes ago you were seriously considering giving up and starting a new life somewhere in Alaska.
Your stomach twisted again just thinking about having to see him today.
Everything seemed calmer than usual, which honestly felt suspicious. You didn't even want to think too hard about it before you jinxed it. At this point you were convinced you personally carried bad luck around with you.
You nervously adjusted the sleeves of your oversized pink hoodie while scanning the station looking for the girls, and Whitaker.
It wasn't difficult to find Trinity. She was sitting beside Whitaker, aggressively stabbing at the computer keyboard before dramatically letting her head fall onto it. She quickly lifted her head again when Dennis touched her shoulder and pointed toward you with his head.
The second she saw you, her eyebrows pulled together in confusion.
"Why are you here?"
Not even a hello.
"What room is free?" You asked immediately.
"Okay… not even a coffee first?" Whitaker joked.
"This is serious."
Something in your expression must've looked genuinely unstable because Whitaker's smile disappeared almost instantly.
Both of them stood up immediately and started walking through the hallway looking for an empty room. Luckily you nearly ran straight into Victoria on the way there. She gave you a confused look but smiled anyway, though the second she noticed Trinity and Whitaker walking in front of you like bodyguards, she silently followed behind.
The moment they found an empty trauma room, they closed the door behind you. The silence didn't last long, but all you could hear was your own heartbeat while trying to figure out how to even begin explaining what happened.
"Are you dating Abbot?" Whitaker asked slowly, crossing his arms.
You stared at him with a deeply what the fuck expression before dramatically looking between all three of them and pacing once across the room. "This MUST stay here."
"Sure." Trinity answered casually.
"I mean it." You took a deep breath, trying to find the exact words. "I matched with Abbot on Tinder." You said it quietly, but loud enough for everyone to hear.
None of them spoke. Whitaker's jaw dropped slightly, Trinity closed her eyes like she was physically trying to process the information, while Victoria made a noise so high pitched it sounded almost dangerous.
"No you didn't." Santos whispered.
"YES I DID." A nervous laugh escaped you the second you heard yourself say it out loud. "It was an accident tho."
"Oh my GOD." Javadi grabbed your shoulders violently. "OH MY GOD."
Meanwhile Trinity was still staring at you suspiciously. "How is that an accident?"
"My phone slipped." You admitted embarrassed, rubbing your forehead while remembering the exact moment it happened.
"Wait, hold on." Santos started pacing too now. "So you swiped right and the match appeared immediately?"
"...Yes?"
Trinity slowly nodded while Javadi continued looking excited like she was personally watching the greatest romantic comedy of her life unfold in front of her. Meanwhile all you wanted was for somebody to tell you how you were supposed to continue existing after this.
"That wasn't even all of it... He texted me immediately after." You pulled your phone out and handed it to them.
Santos grabbed it instantly, holding it where all three of them could see the screen at once. While she scrolled through the messages, the only thing you could focus on were their reactions.
"No, because this is actually insane." Trinity finally said while handing the phone back.
You buried your face into your hands, already regretting everything that happened this morning.
Because it was insane.
Even though he'd always taken care of you, you'd never let yourself believe it could mean something else. That was exactly why having a crush on him always felt stupid and childish. Sure, he made your shifts better. Sure, your stomach flipped every time he looked at you too long. But it had always stayed harmless inside your own head.
Jack Abbot was supposed to stay safely inside your brain as your painfully attractive work crush. He was not supposed to flirt back, he was definitely not supposed to remember your favorite snacks, ask if you'd slept, or look at you like you personally softened something inside him every single shift.
"Why are we acting like this is a funeral?" Javadi asked, smiling. "He likes you. That's a good thing."
Her smile slowly disappeared when she noticed you still looked seconds away from cardiac arrest.
Honestly, you still couldn't process any of it correctly, and now you knew it was only a matter of hours before you had to see him again.
"Oh my god." You suddenly stopped pacing. "What if I say I feel sick and then pretend to faint, and you say you're coming with me so we can both clock out early?"
"That would be... amazing." Trinity admitted. "But no."
You genuinely considered throwing yourself through the nearest window. Or maybe walking outside and waiting in the ambulance bay long enough for somebody to accidentally hit you. But before you could answer, or even move, you heard Whitaker quietly go "Oh" then Dana saying hello to someone outside.
You could've died right there because the second you turned around, you saw Jack Abbot walking toward the nurses station. Coffee in one hand and backpack hanging from his shoulder, looking unfairly attractive for somebody who hadn't even finished his twelve hours of rest.
Maybe he was feeling the same way you were.
And almost like he sensed it, his eyes lifted immediately toward the trauma room. Toward you.
You were still wearing the bright pink hoodie that was impossible to miss but out of everything happening around him, you still couldn't believe the very first thing he noticed was you.
Abbot's expression shifted slightly with confusion when he noticed all four of you suspiciously crowded inside the trauma room. One eyebrow lifted with visible amusement before the corner of his mouth pulled into a small grin. It was subtle but you knew him well enough to know he wasn't stupid.
Your eyes followed him automatically as he got closer, and suddenly you completely forgot how breathing worked. Once he passed by the room, he lightly tapped two fingers against the trauma room window in greeting without even slowing down. Then he kept walking toward the lockers like absolutely nothing had happened.
The second he disappeared down the hallway, Victoria's mouth dropped open.
"This is the worst day of my life." You whispered weakly, still staring at the hallway where Abbot had disappeared.
"And your shift hasn't even started yet." Trinity replied while walking out of the room.
Not helping at all.
This was it now. There was no avoiding it anymore.
If luck was somehow still slightly on your side (which you seriously doubted) maybe this was just the calm before the storm. Maybe suddenly the ER would completely explode with emergencies and you'd spend the next twelve hours separated on opposite sides of the hospital. Maybe you'd get stuck in triage all shift and never have to leave it. But the second you clocked in, it felt like Jack Abbot was suddenly everywhere.
Every hallway, the bay, even somehow leaving the bathroom exactly when you were walking past it.
Maybe this had always happened and you'd just never noticed before. But now that you knew there was tension between you, real tension and not platonic, everything felt different. Worse.
And to make it even more unbearable, he clearly enjoyed it.
Every chance he got, he somehow ended up beside you. Like he was curious to see how nervous he could make you before you completely short circuited.
The first time happened barely twenty minutes later. You were restocking supplies into the tiny cabinet in triage, trying desperately to think about literally anything except him, when someone suddenly stepped beside you.
"You came in early."
The second you heard his voice, your entire body jumped, making a few gauze packets fall straight onto the floor. God, are you serious?
You crouched immediately to grab them while he casually leaned against the litter beside you, coffee still in hand, looking entirely too relaxed for somebody currently ruining your nervous system.
His eyes never left you. That was the problem with Jack Abbot, he looked at people too confidently, like he already knew exactly what effect he had on them and unfortunately for you, he was right.
You could feel his gaze following every movement while you picked up the gauze, and something about seeing him standing over you like that made heat crawl embarrassingly fast up your neck, making you quickly shook your head, trying to physically force the thoughts away before they got worse.
You didn't exactly have experience with this kind of thing. Honestly, you barely had experience with men at all. Most of your past attempts at flirting usually ended with you avoiding eye contact until the other person gave up and none of those guys had ever looked like that. None of them had been older either, which somehow made this whole thing feel even more dangerous.
"Are you okay?" He asked before taking another slow sip of coffee.
"Mhm."
"You sure, Shortcake?" One of his eyebrows lifted slightly.
Your head snapped toward him instantly at the nickname, and that little grin on his face widened just enough for you to realize that he knew exactly what he was doing. You stood up quickly nearly smashing your head directly into the metal shelf hanging from the wall but before you could hit it, Abbot's hand moved instantly above your head, stopping you from colliding with the sharp edge.
The gesture was small, almost automatic. Which somehow made it worse. He'd always been like that, like protecting you came naturally to him.
"Careful." He said softly.
Your eyes lifted toward him for half a second too long and the moment they met his, something in his expression shifted almost invisibly. Like he was watching every single nervous reaction cross your face in real time.
"Oh my god." You whispered under your breath before immediately escaping the room and leaving him standing there alone.
Within the next two hours, the entire ER somehow realized something was deeply wrong with you.
You dropped your pens constantly. Forgot to give the patients their stickers. Nearly handed someone the wrong chart. At some point you stress ate every single candy left in your pocket without even noticing.
"You dropped the blood pressure cuff three times." Shen whispered while walking beside you. "Is everything okay?"
"I'm just tired."
"Abbot said you came in early."
You stopped walking so abruptly Shen almost bumped into you. "I need to quit."
"You need a psychiatric."
Ellis suddenly appeared beside both of you like she'd materialized out of thin air. "What's wrong with the boss today?" She asked casually.
Shen shrugged, clearly not understanding what she meant, while you immediately kept walking before either of them could continue the conversation.
It was weird. Because it genuinely felt like something had suddenly snapped into place overnight. Like you'd become painfully aware of the invisible string that had apparently always existed between you and Jack Abbot.
And the worst part? Now that you knew it, you couldn't stop noticing it. Especially because he clearly wasn't helping.
If anything, he kept finding excuses to stay close to you. Whenever he handed you the tablet, his fingers brushed yours briefly before pulling away. Whenever he squeezed past you in crowded hallways, his hand would settle lightly against your back for just a second longer than necessary, guiding you forward while acting completely casual about it.
And every single time you looked at him, he was already looking at you first.
The hours dragged by painfully slow, each one bringing you closer to finally going home and sleep for ten consecutive years.
At least you were doing a decent job avoiding him until around five in the morning. That was when Lena sent both of you upstairs to pediatrics to deal with some transfer issue.
The second you heard your name attached to his, a long exhausted sigh escaped your body before you could stop it.
Jack appeared beside you a moment later, adjusting the stethoscope. Of course he looked good doing that too.
The two of you walked toward the elevators together in silence. Oddly enough, it wasn't awkward. Maybe both of you were too exhausted at this point to put actual energy into whatever this thing was becoming. Still, even without looking directly at him, you could feel him behind you constantly.
The elevator dinged open.
Jack stepped aside slightly and gestured for you to enter first with one lazy movement of his hand, just enough to make your stomach flip embarrassingly fast.
You stepped inside while he followed right behind you a second later, and the moment the elevator doors slid shut, your heart immediately started beating harder.
Suddenly you were very aware of the situation you were currently trapped in.
Small elevator. Jack Abbot standing directly beside you.
You focused aggressively on the glowing floor numbers above the doors instead of the man next to you, trying to force your brain to think about literally anything else.
The silence stretched for a few seconds. From the corner of your eye, you saw him open his mouth once like he was about to say something before stopping himself.
"Why are you avoiding me?" He finally asked, turning his head toward you.
"I'm not."
"You are." You could hear the grin in his voice before you even looked at him.
"I'm just tired."
"You can't even look at me." He said with a quiet laugh. Which unfortunately was true. "Did I do something wrong?"
"I did something wrong."
"You did?" He asked confused.
"You're my attending."
"Is that so?" He said, tilting his head. "I swiped right first, so..."
The elevator suddenly felt ten degrees hotter. You stared even harder at the floor numbers, silently begging for the doors to open already.
Jack leaned casually against the elevator wall beside you, arms crossed loosely now. Meanwhile you were one bad heartbeat away from passing out.
"Don't blame yourself." He said softly.
And against your better judgment, you finally looked at him properly. Huge mistake. Because he was already watching you with that same warm, entertained expression from earlier. Like he could practically see how flustered you were becoming and didn't mind it one bit. Maybe even liked it and somehow that made your entire face burn hotter.
You weren't used to this. You weren't used to men who flirted this confidently. While Jack Abbot looked at you like he already knew exactly what would happen if he got any closer.
The elevator suddenly jerked violently, both of you stumbled slightly before everything stopped completely. The lights flickered once and then the elevator went still.
Jack slowly looked up toward the ceiling and your stomach dropped instantly.
For a second, neither of you moved.
The soft hum of the emergency lights filled the elevator while your own heartbeat pounded so loudly you were convinced he could hear it too.
Nope. Absolutely not. You refused to get trapped inside a tiny elevator with Jack looking like that.
"This is actually my personal hell." You whispered, staring at the closed doors.
"You're being dramatic." A quiet laugh left him.
"I'm trapped in a metal box with my attending after accidentally matching with him on Tinder. I think I'm reacting appropriately."
That made him smile properly this time. You hated how much that worked on you.
He pushed himself off the elevator wall and reached toward the emergency panel, pressing the call button.
"Maintenance will reset it in a minute." He said casually.
Of course he sounded relaxed. Meanwhile you felt like your nervous system was slowly shutting down.
You crossed your arms tightly over your chest, trying to ignore how small the elevator suddenly felt. Or how good he smelled standing this close. Your eyes squeezed shut for a second and, for some reason, your brain immediately thought about that Trisha Paytas picture where she's choking herself.
That was literally you at that moment.
"You okay, Shortcake?" He asked again, quieter this time.
Jack was already looking at you again, like he was trying to read every reaction on your face until he finally got the truth out of you.
"Please stop calling me that."
"Why?" One side of his mouth lifted slightly. "You like it."
"I do not like it."
"Are you sure?" His voice dropped softer. "Every time I say it, I see something in your eyes."
You looked away immediately before he noticed the effect he was having on you.
Unfortunately for you, he definitely noticed.
His laugh slipped out again, low and tired and way too attractive for five in the morning.
Jack stepped a little closer then. Not enough to make you uncomfortable, but enough for your entire body to immediately become aware of it.
"You know." He said lightly. "Langdon told me you love it when I call you that."
"He told you that?" Your eyes snapped toward him in horror.
That cocky expression appeared again instantly, and the corner of his mouth twitched when he realized he got exactly the reaction he wanted from you.
You genuinely wanted the elevator to crush you alive.
He looked way too pleased with himself now, arms crossed too while watching you completely unravel in front of him. And the worst part was that your nervousness seemed genuinely cute to him. He clearly wasn't used to girls reacting like this around him. Most women probably flirted back confidently, meanwhile you could barely maintain basic eye contact.
"I hate you." You muttered weakly.
"No you don't."
The confidence in his voice should've annoyed you. Instead it made heat spread through places it absolutely shouldn't.
The elevator stayed silent around both of you for another moment. Neither of you looked away this time.
Your brain kept screaming at you to say something normal. Something professional. Anything.
But then his eyes dropped to your mouth. And the second you realized you were looking at his lips too, the tension inside the elevator shifted so hard it almost felt physical.
Jack's expression softened slightly, like he was thinking about it too now. About how close he was standing and the fact that there was nobody else around.
Your stomach twisted nervously when his gaze slowly lifted back to yours again, like he was silently trying to figure out if you wanted this as much as he did.
And for one horrible second, you genuinely thought he was about to kiss you.
Both of you breathing heavier now, like the air inside the elevator had suddenly disappeared. Your pulse was probably completely tachycardic at this point, which honestly felt embarrassing considering all he was doing was looking at you.
Then he took another small step closer.
Your breath caught instantly.
With his head tilted slightly down now, he searched for your eyes again before his gaze dropped back to your lips for half a second. And without even realizing it, you nervously licked your own lips.
The effect that had on him was immediate.
You stopped hearing everything around you for a moment. There was only him. Until the elevator doors suddenly slammed open with a loud mechanical ding.
Both of you pulled apart slowly, almost reluctantly, like it took actual effort to force distance back between you.
Joy and Shen stood outside the elevator staring at both of you in confusion.
"Oh, okay." Joy said slowly.
You immediately walked out so fast it almost counted as fleeing. Meanwhile behind you, Jack cleared his throat once before casually following after you like absolutely nothing had happened at all.
SUMMARY: jack abbot has saved countless lives, but building a life with you became the adventure he treasures most.
MASTERLIST & REQUESTS: Before you go, have a glass of wine or better yet, recommend a good bottle. any kind of message is always a delight.
Jack Abbott absolutely adores you, and that's something nobody who knows him would ever question. He's the kind of man who doesn't just say he loves his wife; he shows it in every little thing he does. If you mention wanting something, he'll remember it weeks later, and somehow it'll end up in your hands before you've even thought about bringing it up again.
This man spoils you shamelessly, and no amount of protesting will stop him. After years of military service, medical school, and working exhausting hours, Jack firmly believes that if there's anyone worth spending his money on, it's you. The first time you complained about it, he simply shrugged and said, "Sweetheart, I work hard. Let me enjoy spending it on the person I love."
Despite all the gifts and grand gestures, what Jack values most is simply listening to you. He could sit for hours while you ramble about your latest hobby, a show you're watching, or some random fact you learned that day. Sometimes you'll catch him staring at you with the softest expression, and when you ask what he's looking at, he'll just smile and say, "You."
One of the first promises Jack ever made to you was that he'd never stop learning about you. Years into marriage, he still asks questions just because he wants to hear your answers. To him, discovering something new about you, even something as small as your favorite childhood snack, feels like uncovering treasure.
Your relationship never revolves entirely around each other, and Jack loves that. He has SWAT, the hospital, and all the responsibilities that come with them, while you have your own career, hobbies, and ambitions. Neither of you expects the other to give up parts of themselves, which is exactly why your marriage remains so strong.
Jack is your biggest supporter no matter what random hobby you've decided to pursue next. Painting? He's buying you supplies. Pottery? He's helping carry clay bags into the house. Ice skating? He'll be standing by the rink looking mildly concerned while secretly taking pictures of you when you aren't paying attention.
Whenever Jack gets a day off, it's automatically reserved for the two of you. That doesn't necessarily mean extravagant dates either. Some of your favorite moments happen while lounging around in pajamas, watching television, ordering takeout, and doing absolutely nothing productive together.
Jack absolutely loves playing with your hair. It started innocently enough when he'd sit behind you on the couch while the two of you watched television, absentmindedly running his fingers through it. Eventually, that turned into him learning how to braid it. The first few attempts were terrible, but after enough practice he became surprisingly decent at it. "Look at that," he'd say proudly after finishing a braid. "That's not bad." You mused.
Your skincare routine fascinates him for reasons neither of you understand. He'll sit on the bathroom counter asking questions about every product you use despite never remembering the answers. Eventually you'll end up putting face masks on him too, and he'll complain the entire time while refusing to move because he likes the attention.
There are days when Jack comes home completely exhausted from work. On those nights, he tends to seek you out immediately, wrapping his arms around your waist or pulling you into his lap the moment he walks through the door. Sometimes he talks about what happened during his shift, and sometimes he just buries his face into your shoulder and stays there.
Physical affection becomes especially important to him after difficult days. He doesn't always want solutions or advice; sometimes he simply wants the comfort of knowing you're there. A quiet evening on the couch with your fingers running through his hair can do more for him than anything else.
There are also days when his leg bothers him more than usual. Long shifts, bad weather, exhaustion, it varies. On those days, helping him with his prosthetic becomes second nature. Sometimes it's practical assistance. Other times it's simply sitting beside him while he adjusts it, reminding him that he doesn't have to do everything alone.
Jack doesn't talk about his injury often, but there were moments early in your relationship when he worried about how you'd see it. Every single insecurity disappeared the first time you looked at him like it was simply a part of him. Nothing more, nothing less.
Whenever frustration creeps in, you're always there to remind him. "Jack, look at me." He'll sigh but comply. "I love all of you. Not despite it. Not around it. All of you." Every single time, his expression softens.
The funny thing is that Jack offers you the exact same reassurance whenever your own insecurities surface. Whether it's a scar, weight fluctuations, bad hair days, or simply feeling unlike yourself, he immediately notices. The moment he realizes you're being hard on yourself, he shuts it down.
"You're beautiful," Jack murmurs as he wraps his arms around your waist from behind, pressing a kiss against your shoulder before resting his chin there. You roll your eyes and mutter, "You're only saying that because you're my husband." He lets out a quiet laugh, turning you around so he can look at you properly.
"No, sweetheart," he'd reply, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear before kissing your forehead. "I'm saying it because it's true."
You open your mouth to argue, but he beats you to it.
"I've seen you first thing in the morning, half asleep and stealing my blankets. I've seen you crying, laughing so hard you couldn't breathe, sick on the couch, frustrated, exhausted, and every version in between." His hands settle on your waist, thumbs absentmindedly rubbing circles there. "And every single time, I still look at you and think the same thing."
"And what's that?" you ask softly.
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "That I got really lucky."
He never lets self-deprecating comments slide. Not because he's dismissing your feelings, but because he genuinely doesn't see you the way you sometimes see yourself. The things you criticize are often the same things he loves most.
Hair-washing days somehow became one of his favorite forms of intimacy. If you've had a particularly long week, he'll guide you into the bathroom, gently work shampoo through your hair, and massage your scalp until all the tension melts away. Neither of you talks much during those moments. There's something comforting about the quiet care behind it, and Jack treasures those little routines more than he'll ever admit.
But Jack also takes special occasions incredibly seriously. Valentine's Day means flowers, chocolates, breakfast in bed, and at least one surprise he refuses to tell you about beforehand. He genuinely enjoys planning these things because seeing you excited is half the fun for him.
Your birthdays are treated like national holidays in the Abbott household. Weeks beforehand, Jack starts asking suspiciously specific questions to figure out exactly what you want. Whether it's a quiet dinner, a huge party, or a spontaneous trip across the world, he'll make it happen.
The downside of Jack's career is that sometimes he has to be away longer than he'd like. He hates those periods more than he lets on and always apologizes when work keeps him from home. The moment things calm down, he's already finding ways to make up for the lost time.
One of his favorite ways of doing that is joining whatever hobby you're currently obsessed with. He might not be good at it—actually, he's usually terrible—but he'll try anyway because it makes you happy. His first pottery creation looked so ridiculous that the two of you laughed for ten minutes straight, and you still refuse to throw it away.
People often see the two of you as the "cool couple." There's very little drama, very little jealousy, and a lot of mutual trust. The relationship feels easy because both of you communicate openly and respect each other's boundaries.
Children aren't necessarily a priority right now, and neither of you feels pressured to change that. You're both enjoying the life you've built together and taking things one step at a time. Adoption has been discussed before, but there's no rush when you're already happy with where you are.
At the end of the day, Jack has lived many lives. A soldier, doctor, SWAT officer, hero, but being your husband is the role he cherishes most. Out of everything he's accomplished, nothing compares to coming home to you. If anyone asked him what the greatest adventure of his life was, his answer would always be the same: marrying you.
summary: when your ex is brought into the ED, jack finds himself noticing things he shouldn’t—like how much it bothers him, and how little his feelings for you feel like friendship anymore.
warnings: yearning!!! (a man who yearns is a man who earns...just not in this part tho..) age gap, protective/petty!abbot, reader girl bosses at emotional repression & not enough complex (abbot hates loves to see her coming, yeesh!), a few suggestive lines. thats it me thinks, first abbot fic whaaadddd up!! im in the pitt! also medical setting but minimal medical jargon cos im an #adminprincess not a #medicinebaddie
wc: 3.2k
It never ceases to shock Abbot how violently fast everything shifts in the ED. One minute he’s tugging off a stiff gown speckled with someone’s worst day, and the next he’s snapping on fresh gloves, forcing his brain to do a quick factory reset in order to keep moving, until he has time to process it all. And when the processing does finally make its rounds, it usually doesn’t happen on hospital grounds.
Apparently, his job isn’t the only thing that requires triage, his mind does too. It was something his therapist had said once, comparing his thoughts to patients crammed into a waiting room. At the time, Abbot had nearly rolled his eyes. It sounded like one of those metaphors people reach for when they’re trying too hard to be relatable.
But, annoyingly, it stuck, because the more he thought about it, the more it made sense.
Compartmentalisation really does feel like triage. Some thoughts barge straight to the front of the queue, unavoidable and demand attention, while others can last a little while longer, sitting to one side.
He’s not really sure where seeing you fits into all of that. Or what it does to him exactly—just that it does. His shoulders drop a fraction, the background noise in his head sort of…dims, like someone’s turned the volume down without asking. It’s subtle enough that he almost misses it, until he realises he’s not thinking about anything else anymore. Just you.
He huffs out a quiet laugh when he sees you before he can catch it, mostly because it’s a little unfair. You are, very clearly, going through something.
Your nose is wrinkled, like something deeply offensive has lodged itself at the back of your throat, and you’re unsuccessfully trying to swallow it down, which doesn’t look like it’s going well for you. Your arms are held rigidly away from your body like touching anything, or being touched, might genuinely ruin your week. Possibly your entire sense of self.
“Everything okay?” he asks, which feels like a trick question.
You don’t even look at him. Which hurts a little.
“I wouldn’t get any closer if I were you,” you warn, already veering off towards the hand sanitiser dispenser. You pump it once. Twice. Three times. And then, for reasons known to only you and whatever higher power governs poor decision-making, a fourth.
It’s funny. He’s usually the one running that line through his own head on a loop. Don’t stand so close, don’t read into things—quiet warnings he’s choosing to ignore, despite them being dressed in bells and buzzers and all things loud and bright. So hearing it from you tossed out so casually lands…strange. Even if he knows you mean something else entirely.
He folds his arms loosely. “Define closer. How far is safe?”
“I’d say at least two metres,” you reply grimly, scrubbing your hands together. “Unless you’re curious about what my patient had for dinner.”
Abbot winces. “That bad?”
You nod, shooting him a tired look. “Projectile. Zero warning. I just happened to be standing right in the centre of her aim. It’s fine, it happens, I just need to get out of these scrubs.”
“Kid okay?”
Your expression softens immediately. “Yeah, she’s just scared, kept apologising like she’d committed a crime. Told her I get the same way when I’m at the dentist.” You turn back to face him, lifting a finger in warning. “Minus the sick part. I would like to make it very clear that I have not thrown up in the middle of a cleaning.”
A grin slides across his face. “You have a fear of the dentist?”
“Doesn’t everybody? Needles and drills—” you pull a face, “—who in their right mind would willingly choose to work with such things?”
“You work in an emergency department.”
“Correct,” you reply primly, walking backward towards the lockers. “But at least I’m the one doing the jabbing here.”
“Hm. Better to inflict than receive?” he calls after you.
“You just get me!” you say, pointing at him before turning on your heel as you jog down the corridor.
He watches you go, shaking his head, another laugh escaping under his breath. You’re ridiculous. Ridiculously kind. Ridiculously capable. Ridiculously easy to look at, even in hospital scrubs that deserve retirement. And he’s ridiculous for noticing, for letting his mind linger there at all.
Abbot is almost glad when the commotion outside starts to swell, voices overlapping, wheels clattering and metal clanging. A few seconds later a gurney is being rolled in.
Perfect. A distraction. Exactly what he needs right now.
Ellis reaches it first, guiding it to the open trauma bay.
“Daniel Miller, cyclist versus vehicle, thrown approximately ten feet,” one of the paramedics rattles off as they move.
“No helmet worn. Brief disorientation at the scene.”
“Ouch,” Ellis mutters, catching a glimpse of the patient's leg which is now skin fused with fabric, specks of gravel clinging to the wounds. “That’s a nasty bit of road burn.”
The man groans as the gurney jolts to a stop, one hand hovering near his ribs like he’s not entirely sure where the worst of it is, just that it’s bad.
Abbot leans in to help position him, and then pauses.
The guy looks familiar.
Not in an obvious way. Not enough to immediately go oh, right, him. Nothing that neat or convenient. But there’s something about his face that snags. A pull at the back of Abbot’s mind, the kind that almost clicks if you don't think about it too hard, but the second you do, it just slips.
Huh.
That’s going to bother him.
“Where do you want me?” you ask, a little breathless from rushing back which, out of context, is a wildly dangerous question to be asking him. In a non-work setting, he’s fairly certain he’d have a very different answer. Several, actually. None of them are appropriate.
He bites his tongue. Hard. And decides with great maturity not to comment on that, or the fact that you smell like you’ve walked directly through a perfume shop on your way here.
“Help Ellis irrigate,” he says instead, like a true professional.
You nod, grabbing a pair of gloves as you stand right next to Ellis.
Abbot glances up and catches the way your brows pinch together, the tilt of your head, like your brain is still trying to catch up with what it’s seeing. Or rather, who.
Weird.
So it’s not just him then.
“Dan?” you murmur, tone dressed in recognition.
There it is. Hearing you say his name—nickname—and suddenly Abbot’s mind stops circling and clicks into place, the earlier confusion blooming into clarity.
Your ex.
Abbot’s marginally surprised he hadn’t clocked it sooner, but quite frankly ever since you told him you’d broken up, he’d been glad to lose the headache and had scrubbed the guy out of his thoughts completely.
But now, seeing him up close, even if he does look a little different from the photos you had tucked in your locker, his face now marked with cuts and scratches, all that distaste comes rushing back.
It’s still the same face.
The same one he used to have the irrational urge to scribble devil horns onto, to cross out the eyes whenever he caught a glimpse of it over your shoulder while you were digging around in your locker.
The same asshole.
Or maybe Abbot was the one that was being the asshole.
After all, who you saw in your free time was none of his business. Even if you did seem to have a habit of going for absolute losers.
He wonders, not for the first time, if there’s a reason for that. Something that’s a little more buried, tucked away behind the easy smiles and the way you make light of things, like you’re picking people who don’t quite meet you where you are. Not because you can’t do better, but because somewhere along the line you decided that was enough.
That you were enough for everyone else, but never quite enough for something better.
He frowns at the thought.
Maybe it’s something that comes with time. With age.
Or maybe you’ve just never had anyone stick around long enough to prove you wrong.
“Hey,” Dan croaks and Abbot has to physically stop his eyes from rolling. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
Abbot tells himself that’s a poor attempt at a joke, not the very real possibility that the guy genuinely forgot where you work.
You don’t laugh.
“You were hit pretty hard,” you say instead, ignoring the look Ellis seems to be giving you, somewhere between I want to know everything and should I be punching this guy in the face. Abbot hopes, quite sincerely, that she’s leaning towards the second. “Try to stay still,” you continue, reaching for fresh gauze.
“Still doing the whole… saving people thing, huh?” There’s a crooked sort of smile pulling at his mouth, like he thinks he’s being charming. Abbot briefly wonders if that’s ever actually worked on you.
“Hold this,” you instruct, pressing the gauze lightly to his hand.
He glances down at it, then back up at you. “Bossy. Guess some things never change.”
Abbot’s jaw tightens. “Pain level?” he cuts in bluntly. “One to ten.”
Dan barely looks at him. “I’m fine.”
“Great. Then you won’t mind if I press here.” His hand settles firmly against the man’s ribs.
Dan sucks in a sharp breath. “Yeah, okay, maybe not fine.”
“Thought so.”
Ellis huffs under her breath, shaking her head with all the subtlety of a bull in a china shop.
“Could be a contusion or a rib fracture,” Abbott continues, tone flattening into something clinical, like the last five seconds didn’t just happen. “We’ll get a chest x-ray, rule out a pneumothorax.”
Dan shifts, but his attention slides straight back to you—right until a tall brunette rushes in.
“Dan, baby, I’m here.” She reaches for him, gripping his foot at the edge of the bed. “How is he? Is he going to be okay?”
You’re the only one not occupied in that second, so you step toward her on instinct, already softening. “He’s going to be okay. We’re just checking him over.”
She nods quickly, still holding onto him.
You hesitate for a second. “You are…?”
“His fiancée,” she says like it’s obvious. “I told you not to go out that late. Gosh, it’s so dark and you never wear a helmet or anything, you could’ve died!”
Abbot watches the way your eyes catch on the pretty cut diamond resting on her finger. It's quick and easy to miss if you weren’t looking for it. But he is. Just a flicker of light catching on the shape of it, something unreadable passing over your face before your expression smoothes into something practised and polite.
You reach gently for her elbow. “Why don’t we give them a bit of space to work?”
She hesitates, looking between you and Dan.
“I just—I don’t want to leave him—”
“You’re not leaving,” you reassure her. “Just a couple of steps outside. I’ll come get you the second we’re done here.”
“I’m fine, babe,” Dan adds with a small nod.
That seems to do it, her body language loosens as you guide her out, passing her off to one of the nurses. You turn to head back in, but your name is called somewhere down the corridor, and you’re gone before Abbot even registers where you’ve been pulled to.
Abbot had only caught brief glimpses of you over the next few hours, which wasn’t unusual, that’s kind of how shifts in the ED worked. People moving in and out of your line of sight, always just out of reach, always somewhere else you’re not. Still, it irritated him more than it should. Mostly because he hasn’t actually had a chance to check if you’re okay.
Which, technically, isn’t his job. There are plenty of other people around. You’re perfectly capable. You’d say something if you weren’t. He knows that.
Doesn’t make it any less annoying.
So when he finally spots you at one of the computers, still in one place for more than five seconds, there’s a small sense of relief that he refuses to examine too closely.
He detours to grab a coffee first. For you.
He sets the mug down beside your mouse when he gets back, close enough that you notice the movement but not so close that it disrupts whatever you’re doing. You look up mid-type, a little startled, fingers still hovering over the keyboard like you’ve been caught between thoughts.
“I know it’s not that iced stuff you and Shen drag in here by the litre.” He nods towards the steaming cup. “But it’s the best the staff room can offer.”
“No, it’s perfect. Thank you.” You smile up at him, already reaching for it.
“Still hot,” he warns.
Too late.
You take a sip and immediately regret it. Your face scrunches, the mug pulling back too fast to be graceful, which is exactly how a splash of it ends up on your thigh.
“Told you,” Abbot murmurs, grabbing a tissue box nearby and pulling out a small handful.
You’re still staring down at the spreading patch, mildly horrified, which conveniently means you don’t notice how close he gets. Close enough that, for a second, it looks like he’s about to do it himself—press the tissues to your thigh, like that would be normal, like that wouldn’t be crossing several very obvious lines.
His hand lingers just above, hovering shy of contact, until you glance up and free him from the thought entirely by taking the tissues and dabbing them against your leg.
“Thanks,” you mumble tiredly.
“Yeah,” he says, taking a step to the side, forcing distance.
Yeah.
Great conversation.
“Daniel’s been discharged,” he adds, aiming for neutral, casual, but somehow landing right back in uncomfortable territory. “He’s going to be alright. Not sure he’ll be back to cycling anytime soon though.”
“Oh.” You ball up the tissues in your hand and toss them in the bin. “Good. That’s good.”
Abbot nods, drumming his fingers lightly against the counter. “And you?”
“Me? Have I been discharged?”
He shakes his head. “Not quite what I meant.”
“Shame. I was hoping to get off early.”
“Are you okay?”
Your smile wavers as you brush stray hairs back. “Yeah. Fine. Just didn’t expect to run into my ex here, out of all places."
He nods again. “Did you know he was engaged?”
“Nope,” you reply, popping the p. “In fact, it was the exact reason we broke up,” you add with a small laugh. “I wanted to get married, he didn’t.” You pause, turning back to your charting, fingers going back to typing. “It’s now very obvious that he did want a marriage,” you continue, a little quieter, “just not with me.”
“That’s not what that means.”
“No?” You glance sideways at him, one brow lifting. “Feels like a pretty straightforward conclusion.”
It shouldn’t get under his skin the way it does—the casual way you shrink yourself down to something easier to explain. But he’s discovered there’s a very long list of shouldn'ts when it comes to you.
“You ever thought that maybe he wasn’t the right fit for you, rather than you not being right for him?”
You bite the inside of your cheek, and he can tell he’s hit a nerve, but he’d press on it every single day if he thought it’d make a difference, if it might rewire the way you see yourself.
“It doesn’t really matter now anyway. He’s moved on and I’m happy for him. Who cares what I do with my feelings,” you say, waving a hand in his direction like you can brush it all off.
“I do.” The words come out softer than intended, with no time to dress them up as something safer.
You pause at that, looking up at him properly now. “You don’t have to,” you reply airily, like you’re offering him an out he didn’t ask for.
“I know. But I do.”
“I’ll live. And you should know by now things like that would never impact my work.”
“And you should know by now that that’s not what I’m worried about.”
A breath leaves your nose, caught between a laugh and a sigh. “You’ve been really annoying since you started going to therapy.”
“Robby has never missed a day of telling me that.”
He observes you for a moment after that. He can tell you’re brewing something, like a teapot left too long on heat, and he’s just waiting for it to tip, for you to let even a little of it spill so he can try to ease just a fraction of the things he’s certain are eating you up inside.
A few seconds pass. Then a minute.
Abbot shifts his weight, already half turning away, figuring it’s time to leave you to it.
“I’m not—” you sigh, leaning back in your chair.
He stops.
“I’m not upset about him, okay? Not like that.”
“I didn’t think you were.”
“It’s just…” you exhale, looking down at your hands, fingers stretching over the keyboard. “It makes you question things.”
“Like what?” he presses, not unkindly.
You shrug, but it's looser now, less defensive.
“Like whether you were asking for too much,” you admit. “Or…that maybe you’re right and it's just not the right person.”
He watches you carefully. “The second one.”
“You’re very sure about that.”
“Yeah.”
“Must be nice,” you say softly, “being that certain.”
He almost smiles, but nice isn’t the word he’d use.
Torture is closer.
All this certainty.
Because for him, that’s all it’s been. Knowing, without any real room to argue otherwise.
He knows he would be no good for you, not in a way that would make you feel unappreciated because he’d make you feel the opposite of that in excess, but in a way where he knows it still wouldn’t be enough. He’s very well aware that he’s further down the road than you are, that he’s already lived through things you’re only just approaching, that there are years between you that don’t just disappear because he wants them to.
And he knows himself well enough to know he wouldn’t be able to live with the guilt of knowing he’d taken something from you he had no right to take, even if you gave it willingly. Because what he’d be offering wouldn’t be equal, not really. It would be shaped around where he is, not where you should get to. And you…you’re still young, still standing at the start of things with so much ahead of you, the kind of future that should be wide open, not bent to fit someone who’s already lived most of his first.
He’s not someone who can give you that, not fully, not in the way you deserve, and that’s the part he’s most certain about.
“Not always,” he answers, rapping his knuckles against the counter.
You study him for a change, like you’re trying to find something there he’s not giving you, some crack in it you can pull apart. But when nothing gives, you shake your head and turn back to your work.
“Well, I’ll let you know when I’ve reached your level of emotional enlightenment."
“I’ll be waiting.”
You offer him a smile then, not the polite one you hand out to patients, not the one that disappears as soon as it’s seen. It stays long enough for him to appreciate it. Quietly. Because that’s all he’s allowed to do before he’s walking away.
summary: jack comes home to see you wrapped up in his wardrobe
content: literally just fluff, domestic jack, clingy jack if u squint, established relationship, jack loving reader so so much
authors note: super short but i cannot stop thinking abt jack being soft and sweet with you like he’s such a big sweetheart
──────────୨ৎ──────────
Jack knew you had fallen asleep as soon as you took more than five minutes to respond to his last text that coincidentally was him telling you that you should head to sleep soon. He had gone in early for his shift today, Robby said something about needing extra hands and what was Jack if not eager to help? After what seemed like a lifetime of running around, an overload of patients, and chairs overflowing with patients, the shift had finally gotten to the calmer part of the night.
It was a little past midnight when Jack noticed the message for you saying that you missed him. He couldn’t stop the corners of his mouth curling up, smiling like some lovesick teen. He texted back and asked what you were still doing awake.
‘wanted to talk to you :(‘
You and Jack messaged back and forth for maybe an hour before your messages eventually stopped, signaling to Jack that you had stopped fighting of sleep. The rest of Jacks shift went by painfully slow and exhaustion was starting to settle in his bones when he saw day shift finally walk through the doors of the Pitt. Jack briefed those clocking in and handed his patients off to them before grabbing his bag, dodging his way through the waiting area, and heading to his truck. The drive back to your shared home always felt like an eternity when he knew you were waiting there for him. He always loved coming home and seeing u splayed across the king sized bed you shared together, usually wearing an old shirt or hoodie of his. And this morning was no different.
Jacks heart swelled once he finally made it home, quietly padded to the bedroom, and saw you in bed. You were asleep on his side of the bed, wearing one of his old flannels and a band shirt that was so faded you could barely tell what the band even was. Your arms were wrapped around one of his pillows as your chest steadily rose and fell. Jack crept towards the bathroom and showered before quietly changing and making his way to you. He sat on the edge of the bed, letting out a groan of relief as he removed his prosthetic and sat it close by in its usual spot. He turned and lowered himself to lay behind you as you continued to cradle his pillow in your arms. Jack reached over, getting one hand on the pillow and trying to lightly tug it out of your grasp. Still sleeping, you tighten your grip and groan as you bury your face into the pillow. He lowered his face to yours and pressed a kiss to your temple and then to your cheek, stirring you awake in the process.
Your eyes flutter to just barely open before turning your head to see the sunlight from the window pouring in to cover Jacks face and catch in his salt and pepper curls. You whisper a tired ‘Jack’ before discarding the pillow, turning around, and practically molding yourself to him. Your arms wrapped around his neck as your leg draped across his hip. As you wrapped yourself around the man his arms moved to pull you as close as possible against him. Jack planted small pecks to your face before finally planting a longer, deeper kiss to your lips. You sighed into the kiss and pouted when you felt him pull back, your face leaning forward as if trying to catch his lips again.
“Have you been home long?” you sleepily ask.
Jacks chin rested on top of your head as you nuzzled your face into his neck, your steady breaths slightly tickling the sensitive skin.
“No, only been here a few minutes.”
You him in response, already feeling like you’re about to drift to sleep again.
Jack was about to ask how your night was while he was working but your soft snores cut him off before he got a word out. Jack placed another kiss to the top of your head before relaxing his body into your hold and letting his eyes close. And, as he slowly fell asleep with your body against his, he couldn’t be happier to replace his pillow with the real thing.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who noticed you the first time you walked into the room with sarah. your laugh soft, with that twinkle in your eyes. the second sarah caught him looking, her expression shut down instantly, a quiet, sharp “no.” like she already knew exactly where his mind was going.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who actually listens to sarah at first. keeping his distance, barely looking at you, forcing himself to treat you like just another one of her friends, but it doesn’t last, because every time you’re around, his attention drifts right back to you like it’s a magnetic pull.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who starts with those subtle glances again, quick at first, then slower, heavier, and you always catch them, always hold his gaze just long enough to make his jaw tighten, but your glance is of annoyance, knowing his reputation.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who talks about you like it’s nothing to topper and kelce, brushing it off, but your name comes up a little too often, his tone just slightly different, gaze a little love struck enough for them to notice.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who finds reasons to be in the same space as you, walking into rooms you and sarah are in, leaning in the doorways, making annoying comments on the things you're both doing, or hovering just enough to get your attention without making it obvious.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who realizes real quick you don’t treat him like everyone else does, rolling your eyes, brushing past him, muttering a quiet “fuck off, Rafe” when he blocks your path, and instead of backing off, it only makes him push more, his forbidden fruit.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who tests the line constantly by standing too close in empty hallways, letting his hand brush yours, watching you carefully like he’s waiting for you to pull away, and noticing when you don’t.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who ends up alone with you one time and doesn’t move out of your way, head tilted, smirk slow, “you’re different when sarah’s not around.” and something about the way you don’t deny it? yeah, that’s where it clicks for him.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who somehow gets your number and starts texting you, casual at first like it’s the most insignificant thing in the world, then with purpose and he sees the exact moment you stop pretending you’re not interested, and he steals the opportunity with quickness.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who corners you in the kitchen when the house is quiet, voice low, stepping into your space like he’s been waiting for this “i know what you’re doing, right” a small tilt of his head, “what do you mean?” you reply. his eyes flicking to your lips, “this little game” and when you don’t walk away, his lips find yours, closing the distance.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who who wasn’t supposed to cross that line, but now that he has, there’s is absolutely no going back. he keeps it secret at first, saying things like a quiet “come here,” slipping you down hallways and into his room, the door shutting quick behind you like second nature.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who always keeps one ear out for footsteps, but still lingers, still keeps you close a second longer than he should, like he physically can’t help it.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who, right before you leave his room, grabs your wrist and pulls you back in for one more second, forehead resting against yours, “you’re trouble,” he mutters, and when you whisper, “you started it,” he just smirks satisfied “oh and i’m not stoppin’ sweetheart.”
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who tries to fix your hair before you leave, straightens your clothes, with a low voice right by your ear, “you’re fine baby, just act normal.” like he didn’t just make that impossible, like that ‘baby’ didn’t just make you weak at the knees.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who acts like nothing’s happening in front of everyone, barely looks at you but somehow, you both always disappear at the same time at parties, reappearing minutes later like nothing happened, and no one suspects it, because you act like you hate him in front of people.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who actually catches you staring at him across the room and doesn’t look away this time, just smirks knowingly. later, when he finally gets you alone, he leans in close, voice low “keep lookin’ at me like that in front of everyone, and see what happens.”
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who thrives off the secrecy of it. the risk of it all, the way you both have to listen for doors opening, or voices getting too close. and the way you come back flustered every single time, rambling excuses.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who brushes past you in a crowded room, fingers grazing your lower back just enough to make your stomach flutter, and without even looking at you, he mutters, “meet me upstairs in five.” and the worst part? you always go.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who watches you text the groupchat, “can’t today, next time!” while you’re sitting right next to him, and that smug little smirk settles, with that proud pit in his stomach like he’s saying ‘yeah, she chose me.’
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who overhears some assholes at the country club talking about how they want to hook up with you, and has to control himself from becoming his old reckless self again. but smirks saying “i think she’s taken” with a shrug
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who texts you while you’re sitting right next to sarah with no shame, phone buzzing in your hand,
rafe: you look prettyand when you glance up, he’s already watching you, eyes low, leaning back like nothing’s wrong
you: you’re gonna get us caughtrafe: that’s the the risk of the game
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who tells himself it’s just a fling at first, you’re just sneaking around, or it’s just something to pass time. but he keeps coming back, he keeps pulling you aside, he keeps wanting more than just a few minutes, and even a few minutes to him isn’t becoming enough anymore.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who gets irritated when you pull away, questioning what you’re doing. his jaw’s tight, voice lowering out of hurt and annoyance, “you’re still here, aren’t you?” like that alone proves you feel it too.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who starts blurring the lines without even realizing. spending more time and longer nights together. the moments becoming more intimate until you both realize it’s not just a fling anymore.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who shows up to your house one night with hibiscus flowers, because you briefly mentioned once you liked them. acting like it’s the most normal thing, given your ‘situation’ but he’s watching your reaction a little too closely for it to just be nothing.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who starts taking you out, but always somewhere off the obx, on the mainland, somewhere no one will recognize you, no chance of it getting back to sarah, or any of your other friends.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who is still cocky and a little dangerous, but softer with you in ways he doesn’t even realize, like it just natural.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who loves when you start soft launching him on instagram, with pictures like your hand in his, or his chain, or his shoulder, but never his face. just enough to have people asking questions, and people, including sarah asked many questions.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who overhears people talking about your ‘mystery man’ and just leans back, smirking to himself, because they have no idea it’s him, the one person it shouldn’t be.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who kinda treats it like a game, sneaking around, and he loves how long you both get away with it.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who starts getting more careless over time, holding onto you a little longer, looking at you a little too openly, sending winks your way, like he’s slowly caring less about who finds out.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who realizes he’s in too deep when it stops feeling like a game and starts feeling like he wants it to be his normal, like he doesn’t just want secret moments anymore, he wants all of it, he wants people to know you’re his.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who gets a little jealous when someone’s talking to you too long, stepping in casually, arm brushing yours, “she’s busy,” he says smoothly, eyes not leaving yours, then quieter, just to you, “or you forgot that?”
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who doesn’t care he’s just did that in a crowd of people, “are you fucking insane?” you ask him, shocked he would defend you like that so publicly, he leans down to your ear, his lips almost brushing your skin, “pretty girl i dont give a fuck who’s watchin’ anymore.”
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who knows you’re hesitant because of sarah. he knows that once she finds out all hell will break loose. she’ll be angry about the line you crossed the second you let him even touch you. but would rather deal with sarah’s anger, than pretend he doesn’t want you and everything that entails you anymore.
jack abbot with a controversially young work crush! 𓂃۶ৎ
jack abbot who has no idea how to react when ellis introduces the new night shift nurse, who's freshly out of college and a world away from him.
jack abbot who flirts with everyone for fun but when it comes to you he just gives you a soft look.
jack abbot who avoids you like the plague in the first weeks because he feels icky about being attracted to you, and he feels even more icky when he catches himself having regular libido after years just from watching you work.
jack abbot who's patient with your mistakes, and is always encouraging and praising you for your work even when he doesn't realize.
jack abbot who makes a tiktok account named user391030840 - because he doesn't know how to name it - to stalk your social media and your reposts (shen tried to explain what it means and he gets it but also he doesn't at the same time).
jack abbot who yearns from a distance because he feels like you will never like him because of his age, him being an amputee, a widow - he just feels like you deserve better because he doesn't want to be a burden.
jack abbot who tries to understand what people in their 20s like these days so he has something to talk about with you when you two get a few minutes off.
jack abbot who starts to get boners during work like a teenager when he sees you check in, or when he can smell your perfume.
jack abbot who starts having wet dreams, and jerking off in his shower chair because he just can't help but dream what you look like underneath your scrubs, or after a long shift with soap all over your body.
jack abbot who gets more confident about himself once his cock starts to work on its own again, and flirts with you one night without thinking.
jack abbot who freezes when he realizes you heard him and sees a small sly smile on your lips followed by you softly biting your bottom lip.
jack abbot who's 100% sure he's absolutely down bad for you.
summary ... reader and jack have come to terms with being in a situationship after the third attempt of being in a relationship. that title doesn't come out of anyone's mouth, but it's essentially what it is. reader has begun to come to terms with it, but jack has realized he wants more, even if he's the one who agreed to casual.
pairing ... jack abbot x reader
word count... 7.2k
warnings... situationship... that's it.
based on this request … i hope i did this justice!!!
Week 0 of the Situation
It’s the third time this year that Jack has decided to pull away from the mess you once called a ‘blossoming relationship.’
You’re sitting on the edge of his bed, wearing nothing but a pair of panties and one of your old National Honor Society shirts from high school, while he stands nearly naked by your bathroom door. He’s trying to find his clothes while he rambles on about “needing to go to therapy more.”
“I threw your stuff in the washer when you knocked out,” you tell him as he pulls the same towel off the ground for the fifth time. “They should be dry now.”
“Thanks.” He runs over to the dryer, and you hear him struggling to pull his jeans on. “I know this isn’t ideal, but I just can’t be in a relationship right now.”
“You said that last time.”
Jack walks back into the room with his shirt on backwards and runs a hand over his face. He digs his thumbs into his eyes and lets out a loud sigh. “I know, and I am really sorry. Seriously. I worked on myself, and I thought I could do it. But I cannot be in a committed relationship.”
You scoff. You want to tell him, “Okay, whatever, see you next week,” but you stay silent.
There is still an ache in your chest, but it’s dull, and it only ever lasts a few hours. You’ve learned that whatever is happening between you isn’t serious, even if the idea of it being so races to the front of your mind every so often. After a year, you’ve come to realize that it’s just really good sex, really good meals and conversations, and really bad commitment issues.
Well, bad commitment issues on Jack’s end.
Since speaking to Jack, you’ve made it more than clear that if he’d just make up his mind, you would have no problem settling down. You enjoy his company more than the sex. You enjoy cooking for him when he walks into your apartment like a zombie after long shifts. You enjoy the domestic qualities of your whatever-ship – even if they only last a few days, weeks, or months. When you have long conversations about nothing and everything – from your childhood nicknames to your favorite character in a stupid children’s movie – you can easily imagine your life with him five years down the road.
But when things become too real, too serious, too lovey-dovey, he pulls away and claims he’s not in the right headspace.
‘I’m always at work. I can’t be there for you like you want me to.’
‘You should find someone else that’s serious.’
‘You’re too good for me.’
‘I’m just a depressed widow missing a fucking leg. I’m holding you back.’
Now, the excuse is that he doesn’t go to therapy enough.
You don’t make a big deal out of it this time around. You don’t shut down and bawl into your hands while he hugs you. You don’t hide in your room and choose isolation for weeks instead of going out and finding someone new to hook up with.
You just stand up and head to the bathroom. You turn the shower on and let the room fill with steam while you pump face wash into your palm. “If that’s what you need, I won’t fight you on it.”
“I still want you in my life,” Jack tells you.
You stare at his reflection for a few seconds with pure confusion. “I can’t be your friend,” you tell him. You get back to scrubbing the makeup and sweat from your face while an even more confused Jack lingers behind you.
“Well, why not?”
“Because we have sex and we were really close to getting into a relationship.”
“Can we try?”
“To be friends or get into a relationship?”
“What do you want?”
“For you to make up your mind,” you state. “But whatever you want, I guess. I don’t want anything happening to you because you lost your favorite fuck.”
Jack makes a sound that closely resembles a dying hyena. “What does that even mean?”
“That I’m the girl you love to fuck the most. You know, among all the other women you fuck.”
“Don’t say fuck,” he admonishes.
“Sorry,” you laugh. “Shall I say, make love?”
Jack groans and presses his body against your back. “You’re not a favorite fuck. There’s also not a million other women I have sex with. You’re the only one.”
You bend down to wash your face off and try to fight off the lump in your throat. You want to ask him why he’s struggling so hard to commit to you when he enjoys your presence. And, it’s only you he has in his house and his bed.
Figuring that out will probably give you a massive headache, so you choose to brush it off and accept whatever offer he throws at you.
“Your shift starts soon,” you say as you wipe your face off. “You should go.”
He nods and slowly backs out of the bathroom. He doesn’t kiss you or tell you goodbye. He just grabs his stuff off the bedroom floor and walks out.
Week 1 of the Situation. Jack.
Jack can’t stop rubbing his chest as he makes the short drive back to his apartment. He’s had to pull over a few times to assess his symptoms and track everything he’s consumed in the past twenty-four hours.
He takes note – for the fifth time – that he hasn’t had too much beef jerky or consumed copious amounts of caffeine or fatty foods. All he can think about is the consuming guilt from watching the fed-up expression on your face when he told you he couldn’t commit.
He knows he can’t keep doing this to you. At one point, he has to let you go so you can find someone who can give you what you want. Someone who doesn’t think twice about settling down with you. Someone who doesn’t back away when things start to feel entirely too domestic.
But this is easy for Jack. He doesn’t have to fight his avoidance issues because what you have is casual. He knows he doesn’t deserve you, and you know you should seek someone who will fulfill your deepest desires. He also sticks to this entanglement because even if he doesn’t let himself give you the title of his girlfriend, he has you in most ways: in every room of his home with your clothes shoved into his dresser, your name and face in every app on his phone, and your weird food concoctions littering his fridge.
Thinking about this only worsens the guilt that shoots through his chest. Jack keeps whispering, “I know I need to stop. She’s right, it was almost a relationship, I need to leave,” but he also knows he won’t go through with it.
Jack parks his car in front of his place and takes himself to the front door. As he pushes his key into the doorknob, he hears rustling and heels clacking against the floor. The movement doesn’t completely faze him, but what does are the heels he clearly hears – and sees – when he steps inside.
You’re running across the house like a chicken with its head cut off. You’re throwing things into your bag, running into his room, then reappearing with something else he can’t really see. You’re mumbling to yourself while you’re doing this, too, and it’s mesmerizing.
Jack kicks off his shoes by the door and watches you scramble to get your life together without thinking much. He doesn’t even question why you’re ready for work when you’re usually lounging in the living room with a cup of coffee on Saturday mornings.
“Why are you staring at me?” you question, annoyance loud in your tone.
He shrugs and pushes himself off the door. “You look good, is all,” he tells you as he walks up beside you.
You scoff and continue to search through your bag for the fiftieth time in less than five minutes. “Have you seen my cool headphones? Where are they? I can’t find them.”
“Cool headphones? The big bulky ones?” he asks, trying to make himself useful so you don’t kick him out of his own home.
“No,” you tell him and stomp into the living room. “The cool ones.”
“You have to be more specific.”
You groan and fall back into his couch cushions. “The ones you got me for Christmas.”
“The Koss headphones?” Jack exclaims, finally understanding what you’re referring to. He quickly goes into the living room and grabs the small basket beneath the coffee table. It’s full of all the things you leave between the couch cushions and scattered across the kitchen island. He throws them onto your lap with a quiet ‘here.’ “I forgot to tell you that I put them in there. All of your CDs and books and stuff.”
You sit up and softly pat his cheek, then jump off the couch to shove them into your purse. Jack runs a hand over his mouth to smooth out the forming smile and follows behind you. As you’re going through the checklist of things you need – half of which aren’t required in a copy editing office – Jack nuzzles up behind you. His nose is nudging the shirt that’s loose against your shoulders and inhaling your musky perfume.
“Stay a bit longer. What about breakfast?”
You groan against his grasp but give up on moving. “You were late for breakfast, and I wasn’t going to be late to work because of it.”
Jack moves an arm from around your body and checks the time on his watch. “Fuck,” he groans, and the same pain he experienced in his chest a couple of minutes ago returns. “I’m sorry. My shift ran long, and I had to pull over a few times cause of some pain. I should’ve called or texted.”
You spin around and grab his shoulders, studying his face and the way his chest rises and falls. “Are you okay? Were you hurt at work, or was it your leg? I told you to take more breaks if you’re going to be working longer shifts.”
Jack rolls his eyes and tries stepping away from whatever assessment you’re making. However, you pull him back and give him a stern look that forces him to stand still. “It’s just some chest pain. It’s probably heartburn.”
“It was that bad?” you ask.
He shrugs. “I’ll live. It was worse a bit ago.”
You rub his chest and offer an empathetic smile, then move around him and immediately open the fridge. “I’m making you something to help with it. I left a couple of things in here a while ago when I had bad chest pain.”
“It’s fine,” Jack tells you, but he doesn’t go out of his way to stop you. He’s always liked the way you take care of him when he’s under the weather. You come up with these teas and soups your mother used to make for you when you were in the same situation. You will apply creams and ointments to his aching leg or to his nose and chest when he’s sick. It feels nice when he’s the one always taking care of other people.
You set a glass in front of him two minutes later and say, “Drink up.”
“Is it bad?”
You shake your head. “Be a big boy and drink it. And be fast, I have to go.”
He chugs the drink and raises a brow when he’s done. “Thank you,” he tells you, then sets it down on the counter with a loud ‘clink.’ “Do you really have to go? Or can you give me just a few minutes?”
You roll your eyes at him and pull your purse on. “I have to leave, but what do you need?”
Jack throws you a smirk. “A quickie…”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why?” he cries. “I’ll be fast.”
You walk up to him and wrap your arms around his stomach. “I know you can be, but I’ve been late a couple times this past month – because of you, might I add – and I can’t be late again. Especially if it’s just for sex that I’ll definitely have at some point this week.”
“Ouch,” Jack hisses, then pinches your sides. “I don’t like rejection.”
You crinkle your nose at his remark and pull away with a little shove. “I don’t like rejection either,” you say. You grab your lunch bag and water bottle sitting on the table and rush over to the door. You take your keys off their designated hook and open the door. Before you leave, you look back at him leaning against the kitchen island, happily looking at you – and your ass in your work pants. “You should have some of the yogurt I bought with a bunch of fruit instead of eggs and bacon. Even if the bacon isn’t as fatty, it might make your heartburn worse. I also can’t make it after work, but I’ll send over some meal prep ideas that won’t kill you. Please make them. You never cook.”
“Okay,” he whispers. “Have a good day, pretty.”
You nod and rush out of the door, locking it behind you.
When Jack can hear you peel out of his driveway, he takes a minute or two to release the air in his lungs that he couldn’t exhale while he was talking to you. He drags his hands over his face, pressing his thumbs into his eyes again—as if, by pushing hard enough, he could flip a switch inside his brain and completely give himself to you.
“I don’t deserve this,” he tells himself. He grabs the glass on the counter and lifts it, moving it up and down and thinking about how something used to be there. Something you made for him because you were worried. “I wonder who the lucky person is who gets to spend forever with her.”
Jack doesn’t do anything for the rest of the day until you send over a few meal prep ideas.
Sweetie: Make at least one of the meals I sent. If I come over and there’s nothing in your fridge, I will send you to a nursing home.
Week 3 of the Situation. Jack.
Jack’s annihilating alarm jolts him awake from a peaceful dream you starred in.
Your head was in his lap, and he was toying with your earlobes while you talked to him about office drama. He was watching you from above, and you had to stop a couple of times to giggle because the look on his face was too smitten with your appearance.
This has happened twice now, and it’s getting ridiculous. He only has dreams about you when you can’t spend the night at his place. So far, it’s been five times.
Five times since last week.
Jack turns and groans into your pillow. “What the fuck?” he exclaims.
He doesn’t quite understand the reasoning for his change in attitude towards his incredibly flawed relationship with you. It’s only been three weeks since he told you he couldn’t have a serious relationship, and it has been gnawing on every single part of his body.
Some days, his chest will hurt, other days it's his leg – even if it’s only been one hour into wearing his prosthetic and hasn’t stood up long enough – and some days, like today, it’s his head. Even though he just woke up, his head is already throbbing, and he knows he’ll have to take a fifteen-minute break at work to shut his eyes and pray the headache away.
At first, he thought it was from the guilt after he broke the news, but now it’s the discovery that you’re becoming okay with his decision to be casual.
Jack has noticed that you have skipped on sleepovers, dinner dates, and weekly grocery shopping, where you act as his dietitian for an hour or two. You might have helped him out with meal prep and his so-called ‘heartburn’ two weeks ago, but since then, you have only been around for one sleepover and breakfast date. If he’d even call it that, considering it was eating fast food breakfast in his car before the cut-off time.
You also only have sex with him and then turn away from him afterwards. You don’t cuddle him like you used to or kiss him all over as a ‘thank you’ for the good head and intense positions. You just hug yourself and drift off to sleep.
Jack sits up on his bed and turns the lamp on. Then he grabs the pen and journal sitting on his nightstand and flips it open to the third page. The first two pages are just about the weird dreams he had after taking melatonin because he wanted to see what you thought about them.
On the third page, he writes about this dream. Every single thing that happened from start to finish as it’s fresh on his mind. He wants to read it the next time you cancel plans, so he won’t have to make that drink again.
Week 5 of the Situation. Jack.
Jack is on the roof with a black leather journal in his hand when Robby finds him. He’s behind the railing, leaning against the iron as he reads another dream entry.
“I thought you went home,” Robby says, pressing his side against Jack’s shoulder.
Jack shuts his journal and shoves it between his armpit. “I was going to.”
Robby stares at his miserable composure and hums. “What’s been up with you recently? I keep getting word from the night shift that you’ve been off your game.”
“Not off my game,” Jack mumbles.
“So everyone down there is lying for the fun of it?”
He shrugs. “I’ve just been having… romance problems…”
“Oh yeah? I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say that,” Robby says as he squishes his chin between his fingers. “I thought you and your girl were okay. Wasn’t she okay with you going casual?”
“Yeah.”
“Is she not taking it well?”
Jack scoffs and drops his head. He pushes his body against the railing and peers down at the ledge. “She is taking it well. More than well.”
Robby doesn’t say anything. He just looks at Jack for a minute or two, studying the way the crease between his eyebrows has gotten deeper since he told him about the change in his relationship flow a month ago. He hasn’t ever seen Jack like this, and it’s astonishing.
“Show me the journal,” Robby says.
“No way,” Jack answers.
“Show me the damn journal,” he says again, his voice hard and scary and too similar to the tone he uses with Gloria, or the new intern he can’t seem to like.
Jack grunts a few curse words and slams the journal into Robby’s palms. “Just don’t read it out loud.”
Robby opens the journal and glances over the first two pages. It doesn’t matter much to him that Jack had magically grown his leg back like a starfish. What draws his attention are the pages after.
It’s a dream about you and Jack on a vacation after he asked you to be his girlfriend. You were dipping your feet in the sand while Jack fed you apple slices coated in caramel. Jack couldn’t stop kissing you and telling you how much you meant to him. He was being open and vulnerable about his feelings, and you were happy to be there.
Jack retold the entire dream and ended it with the time and date like he usually did with the previous entries. The only difference was that he added something else after.
I don’t want to say that I don’t know why I keep dreaming about you. The truth is, I know why.
I don’t like the way you keep pushing me away after sex. I don’t like that you keep pushing me away when I want to kiss you. I don’t like the way you’re pulling back the way that I always do. I now understand how it feels, and it is absolutely killing me.
I don’t think I deserve to feel the way I do because I chose this. I wanted this. I wanted you in my life, in my bed, in every single corner of my house, but I did not want to label it because it would make it all too real. I would have to burden you with my every thought and past trauma, and I don’t want to ruin you. You are too perfect for me.
This past month has terrorized me from the inside out. I can’t sleep, eat, work out, or perform emergency surgery without thinking about you. I can’t function because you cancelled our plans. I can’t function because I won’t stop thinking about you, finding the one person who has beaten me to loving you forever.
I can’t let you go, and I need to get my shit together.
Robby doesn’t read past the second-to-last entry. He shuts the journal and gives it back to Jack. “I suggest you work this out and tell her how you really feel… Before you end up accidentally killing a patient.”
“What if she doesn’t want me anymore and is just trying to find a way to seriously end this?”
“I think she does want you, but she’s pulling away so she won’t get hurt again.”
Jack nods and thanks Robby as he goes back to the chaos downstairs. When the door closes, he grabs onto the iron bar and bends down to cross over to the ledge. But then he receives a notification from his phone.
He pulls out his phone, and your name pops up on his screen.
Sweetie: I used the spare key to come in last night. I wasn’t a fan of my bed and missed yours. Hope that’s okay.
Sweetie: I made banana pancakes with your mushy bananas. They’ll be warm when you get back.
Jack: I’ll be there soon. Thank you, pretty.
Jack shoves his phone into his pocket and steps away from the ledge. He doesn’t know when he’ll end up telling you how he feels, but he plans on brainstorming on his way to see you.
Week 7 of the Situation. Jack.
Jack doesn’t exactly tell you how he feels in the most obvious way. He doesn’t sit down with you and explain that he no longer wants to do casual and that he’s ready to commit and work on himself as long as that’s what you want, too.
No, he does this in a way that only makes sense to himself. He tracks the food you bring into his house and stocks it before you have the chance to replace it. He takes this method to the bathroom, where you keep a handful of your skin and body care – an amount that used to be larger, but you took half back to your place after week two of your arrangement. Jack also tries to cook, even when you’re not around to watch him, partially because it’s getting fun, but also because it avoids your lectures on keeping himself healthy.
The most obvious method of his deeply flawed plan to win you over is begging for your presence whenever you mention having some free time.
“Come over, even if it’s for an hour.”
“Since you don’t have to go into the office for the next two days, how about you come and stay at my place. You like my bed more anyway.”
“I saw a new coffee shop on my way home. Let’s go tomorrow when I get off my shift.”
“If you’re free this Sunday night, we should get margaritas at that place you love.”
Sometimes it works, other times, it fails. He keeps track of that, too.
Recently, you’ve been going out more without an explanation of where you’re going. You’ll just say, “Sorry, I have plans this weekend.”
Jack will ask, “Oh, is it with that one friend that moved back to Pittsburgh from New York?”
You’ll shake your head and look away from him. You’ll scratch your head or fiddle with your earlobes while saying, “No, another friend. You don’t know them.”
Jack won’t ask questions anymore because frankly, he doesn’t want to know. Your inability to look at him when giving him an answer is an answer within itself. He just doesn’t want to believe that you’re taking the casual thing seriously.
He knows he should chill out with his excessive acts of kindness now that he knows you’re dating, but he does the complete opposite.
A day ago, you were lying in Jack’s bed, staring at the ceiling while he got ready for his double shift. He was covering for Robby while he took care of some personal matters, and hated him for it because it was taking him away from you.
“What are your plans for the night?” he asked as he slid on a long-sleeve shirt.
“Nothing much. I think I’ll go for a run and then go home to answer a few emails.”
“So, no going out tonight or tomorrow?”
“No, just staying in. Why?”
“Can you be here when I get back tomorrow?”
“You’ve been wanting to spend more time with me, recently. Is everything okay?” you asked.
Jack shrugged, trying to dust off the fear that previously weighed on his shoulders. He was worried you’d say that you did have plans, and wouldn’t be able to spend time with him – again. “Yeah, I just want to see you more. Is that okay?”
You didn’t know what to do with your body – whether to dramatically raise your shoulders, purse your lips or sink back into his mattress – so you just looked into his eyes to figure out what was really up with him. He was a bad liar, and you could feel it in your bones that he was choosing not to tell you something.
“I guess it’s okay.”
Jack walked up beside you and placed his hands on both sides of your face. He bent down and kissed your forehead, then lingered above your lips before placing the softest kiss on your mouth. “We can order some food, watch a show, or a movie.”
“Or I can cook.”
“Or I can cook,” he told you.
You lifted your head and kissed him again. “No. I’ll cook, and it’ll be warm for you when you get back.”
“I’ll be here at eight, alright?”
When he got back from his shift, he was indeed welcomed by a bowl of chicken pasta with half of the greens section at the grocery store. He didn’t mind, though, because it was incredibly delicious.
Now, he’s sitting on the couch with you pressed against his side, arms wrapped around his bicep with enough force to nearly cut off his circulation. You put on a horror movie about forty-five minutes ago and it’s more gory than anything. You can typically handle horror movies, but this one is on another level.
“We should probably switch the movie,” he tells you with a chuckle.
“Just pause it and turn on the lamp. You shouldn’t have turned off the lights.”
“You asked me to!” he exclaims with a laugh.
You cling to him as he pauses the movie and turns on the living room lamp. Then you almost climb onto his lap as you try not to recount the scenes you just watched. “Can I spend the night?” you ask him, hands shaking against the groove of his bicep.
He kisses the top of your head and hums in approval. “Of course you can.”
You sit in silence with him as you forget about the chopped off limbs and the crazy jump scares you couldn’t prepare for. He rubs your hand and continues peppering your head and temples.
Jack thinks about replicating this moment until his deathbed. Maybe without you clinging to him like a koala over a mediocre horror film, but holding you and vice versa after long days and nights or simply just because.
He thinks about what Robby told him two weeks ago: “I suggest you work this out and tell her how you really feel… I think she does want you, but she’s pulling away so she won’t get hurt again.”
Jack realizes this is the perfect time for him to spill his guts.
His heart starts racing, and the sharp pain he experienced a month ago returns. He grunts and shifts his body so that he’s facing you, but your hands are still clinging to him. “I think we need to talk,” he whispers to you.
You nod, and for a second, your face loses its cool. You go from being scared to shut your eyes to worried that you’ll be kicked out in the next five minutes. “Is this too much?” you ask him immediately.
Jack profusely shakes his head. “No! No, it’s not too much. It’s actually the opposite. I really enjoy this,” – he signals between you two and the way you were trying to step into his skin, “And I want it to keep going.”
You slowly nod. “Okay… So what do you want to talk about?”
“There is a reason why I’ve been wanting to spend more time with you. I want you around for –”
A series of notifications fills the air, and you and Jack both turn towards your phone that illuminates on the coffee table. The first notification is from someone named Daniel, and the other two are from Hinge.
Jack looks at you once the screen fades to black and nearly chokes on a breath, realizing he hasn’t actually been breathing. “Uhm, so, actually, don’t worry about it,” he tells you as he pulls away. He grabs your hand and sets it on your lap, then takes the empty bowls and forks and stands to discard them in the sink.
“Are you mad?” you ask him.
He’s glad he isn’t looking at you, because he’d probably let go of the tears burning his tearducks. “I wish you had told me is all.”
“Told you that I’m on dating apps?”
“Yeah,” he says in a wobbly tone. He drops the dishes in the sink and turns the water on as hot as it can go. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
You stand and rush over to the kitchen. You turn on the lights and walk up beside him, staring at the way he hisses when the steaming water settles on his skin for too long. “I didn’t think it mattered,” you tell him. “I thought you couldn’t do a serious relationship, so I wasn’t going to waste my time waiting on you to figure yourself out.”
Jack shuts off the water and turns to face you. His wet hand grips the counter for some kind of stabilization. “I’m not saying you’re in the wrong. I know I was being an asshole, and I understand why you wouldn’t want to wait.”
“So then what are you saying?”
“I’m saying that you should have told me you were on dating apps.”
You roll your eyes and let out a broken laugh. “Why should I have told you? So that you could have a reason to join them, too, and find the next person to terrorize for a year?”
Jack drags himself away from you and stumbles against the floor like he’s just been shot. “I don’t want to be on dating apps,” he mutters and pulls himself to the living room. He sits down and stares at the moving screen that has shifted from the paused movie to a bunch of paradise vacations.
You follow him and stand at the edge of the couch, a couple of cushions away. “So what do you want?” you reply in the same tone and cadence. You wipe at your face even though your tears haven’t fallen, and bite down on your lip to stop it from wobbling.
Jack doesn’t answer. He looks at anything but you. “I think it’s best that you leave tonight. I’ll talk to you later.”
“No,” you tell him as the first tear falls.
“I just need some time.”
“What were you going to tell me?”
“It’s not important.”
“I know you’re lying,” you say. You move closer and closer, pushing him to the edge so he can admit to whatever he’s hiding. “Jack, just tell me. Please.”
“Go home, pretty. I’m not the one you want.”
“You don’t know what I want!” you cry out, painfully loud. “You’re jealous about this man you know nothing about and upset that I’m on dating apps, but you literally told me you couldn’t commit to me. I just don’t get it. Do you want me or not?”
Jack covers his face and tugs at the curls bordering his forehead. He can feel a piece of his world collapse, and as much as he wants to grab whatever he can before it gets away from him, he just sits and cries into his hot palms.
“I don’t think it matters what I want anymore,” he tells you. “There is someone on your phone begging for you and can probably give you exactly what I can’t.”
You kneel in front of him and rest your hands on your thighs. “I know that you want to be with me, I just need you to tell me,” you plead. “You don’t have to lie, and you know I would love to be official with you. I’ve told you this a handful of times. But it’s getting tiring, and I can’t stick around for you. So if you want me to leave, I’ll leave, but I’m not coming back.”
Jack looks up from his palms and at your wet face. His red eyes meet yours – stained with mascara and the soft eyeliner you’ve rubbed off. He needs to say something. He needs to admit that he wants you and he is willing to be vulnerable in exchange for your infinite presence. The issue is, he can’t get over how much distress he has caused you. He was wasting your time and doesn’t want to accidentally hurt you again if he decides to commit and comes across some turmoil along the way. He’d much rather you find peace, even if it means with someone else.
“I want you to leave,” he whispers.
You wipe your tears and nod. You stand and head to his bedroom, where you collect your things and throw them into the large basket you stole from the coffee table. You re-enter the living room and glance at Jack’s folded position.
You think of saying something, but decide that silence is better than adding to the fire.
You step into your shoes by the door and grab your keys. Then you leave.
When your presence is completely gone, Jack falls back onto the couch and sobs into his hands. “You’re a fucking idiot,” he says to himself, over and over again. “You were supposed to patch things up, and now look at what you’ve done.”
When his crying died down, Jack put his shoes on and went down to the corner store a couple of blocks away from his place. He bought a bottle of cheap whiskey and a pack of cigarettes.
He hadn’t smoked in nearly two decades, but his body was falling apart every second, so smoking was the least of his worries.
Jack smoked two cigarettes in front of the shop, then gave the pack to someone asking to bum a smoke.
He chugged half the bottle of whiskey on his way back home and then fell asleep on his couch, right where you had lain an hour ago.
Week 8 of the Situation. You.
You were on a date with Daniel, a high school teacher who taught biology. He had just taken you to his school’s elite science fair, where you judged a bunch of fifteen-year-olds' complex projects. It was unlike other science fairs you had been to, where everyone was in third grade, showing off the projects their moms helped them with. It was more like robotics, but with less computer science.
“It feels wrong judging children,” you say between bites of a vegetarian burger. Squash has replaced the meat, and you’re not quite sure you like it. You swallow it down without much chewing and continue with your words. “It feels better when you’re judging adults.”
Daniel laughs and bites down on a tofu fry. “How come?”
“We have experienced more rejection than they have.”
“Huh,” he says with a shrug. “Now that you say that, I might have to drop out of the next science fair.”
You laugh. You try to find something else to say to fill the silence, but nothing comes to mind. You let Daniel ramble about the next science project he’s going to give his students. You listen, but you don’t really keep up. You just know that you’d hate him as a teacher, and glad you’re in your thirties rather than in your teens.
Daniel talks for another thirty minutes during the date. You push your food around the plate and think about what it’d be like going on a date with Jack. He would ask you what you’re craving, and then find a place that matches that. He wouldn’t force you to eat at a place that didn’t pique your interest – even though you’d tell him he should choose a place he liked, too.
Jack would also never spend the entire date talking about himself. He would find a way to insert you, and then spin the entire conversation so you spend the next hour or two talking about yourself.
Daniel is the opposite. After the science fair, he asked if you were hungry, then said, “Same. I’m craving his vegetarian spot in the city, let’s go.”
You weren’t mad, just annoyed. You didn’t exactly want to eat squash covered in a million seasonings and deep-fried just to make it feel like chicken for half a second. You also didn’t want to sit in silence while a man talked your ear off about humiliating teenagers in front of their peers.
You zone him out until your waitress comes to the table with a confused look on her face. “Hi! I wanted to ask if you know someone named Jack. He’s at the front and won’t stop pointing at you. He says he has an emergency that requires your help.”
You look at Daniel, who’s just as puzzled as you and the waitress are, and turn into a stuttering mess. “I do know a Jack… I just don’t know what would be an emergency. Uhm… yeah, just tell him I’ll be right there.”
The girl nods and rushes back to the front of the restaurant.
Daniel laughs a bit and asks, “Is that your ex or something?”
You shake your head. “No. He’s just… I don’t know. He’s my Jack?” you say, and immediately regret calling him yours. “I mean – We never labeled it, and we cut things off last week. He’s been texting me, but I don’t answer. I guess he thought I was dead.”
“Why would he think that?”
“I usually always reply even when we’re rocky,” you say, then grab your bag and get up from the table. “I have to go, though. Thank you for the meal.”
You walk to the host stand, where Jack is, rocking back and forth. He oogles you despite you only wearing a black long-sleeve shirt and black jeans. It’s nothing special, yet he is completely enamored.
You grab his hand and say a quick ‘thank you’ before dragging him out of the restaurant and into the nearly empty parking lot. You quickly find his car and stomp over to it, where you push Jack against the back door.
“What the hell?” you seethe. “Why did you show up here? And how? Who the hell told you?”
Jack lifts his hands in mock surrender. “Calm down, let me explain.”
“No! I thought we ended this. And now you’re showing up to this date unannounced like some sort of stalker. Are you insane? Should I call the –”
“I love you,” Jack breathes out, cutting off your rambling.
“Fuck you,” you spit.
Jack shakes his head and sets his hands on your shoulders. “I love you. I really do. I tried telling myself that what I was feeling wasn’t real. That I just wanted more sexual intimacy or something, but that was all a lie. I have been depriving myself of you because I thought I would ruin you by being open and raw.”
“You wouldn’t ruin me,” you whisper.
“I know that now. I have spent the past week thinking back on every single conversation we’ve had, and I finally realized that I have been making decisions without asking how you really felt. I haven’t even asked you what I could do better, and I am a fucking idiot for that. I am so sorry, pretty.”
You grab his face and press a wet kiss to his lips. “I love you,” you say between desperate brushes of your lips and tongues. “You would never ruin me by telling me how you feel. You would never ruin me by telling me what led you to this version of yourself. Do you hear me?”
Jack brushes his forehead against yours and releases a shaky exhale from the depths of his lungs. His tense shoulders drop, and he melts into the hug you’re pulling him into. “I’m sorry that I’ve spent a whole year just dragging you along. I know that it’s been extremely painful for you. I will spend every single day of my life making it up to you.”
“Thank you,” you say, and shut him up by strengthening the hug until he releases the last few tears hiding in his eyes. “I accept your apology.”
Jack chuckles against your head. “I want you to be my girlfriend,” he mumbles.
“What?” you exclaim and pull back. “Even if I was just on a date with someone?”
“Did you like him?”
You shake your head. “Not really.”
“Then I don’t care,” Jack replies. “Be my girlfriend, please. I’ll even beg on my knees.”
“Don’t,” you say and swat at his chest. “I will be your girlfriend, Jack.”
“Finally,” a voice says behind you. Daniel.
You turn right before you go into another series of kisses with Jack, and pull him into your chest as if it’ll hide him from the man you were just inside with. “Daniel! I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m just glad this happened right after the first date and not after we married or something.”
You cackle. “Oh, okay. Very confident man, you are.”
“I hope this goes well for you two.”
“Thanks, man, have a good night,” Jack tells Daniel, then returns to look at you, who’s a laughing, dying mess. “Him, really?”
“I don’t know. I was a bit sad when he asked for a date.”
“You won’t have to worry about dates with men who take you to vegetarian places ever again,” Jack says against your lips. “Unless that’s what you want, then I guess I’ll accept. But you did just agree to be my girlfriend, so I hope the answer is no.”
“I want you,” you tell him.
“Then it’s settled. You’re mine, and I’m yours forever. Even if I’m a bit fucked up.”
germansingergirl
vaporwave
baratheonpilled
stormborns
jbbartram-illu
areudirty
yousharknotpass
