hello!! i absolutely adore your writing, its amazing! apt. 17 was just so gorgeous. i was wondering if you would ever write about a plus size reader x jack abbot. maybe something about him doubling down on how much he likes them and their body or shutting down negative (self) talk abt their body?
─── SOFT AROUND THE EDGES
SUMMARY: Jack notices you drifting off in your head before you can stop it and is quick to remind you that he adores every soft and plump inch of you.
WARNINGS: mentions of weight, reader being a bit insecure about it and over analysing, fluff, reassurance and sexual comments
AUTHORS NOTE: thank you for sending in the request my love!! i am not plus size, so please forgive me if this is not what you were looking for but i did try to portray reader as best as i could!
PAIRING: Jack Abbot x Plus Size!Reader
MAIN MASTERLIST
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
Jack Abbot is an observant man.
Perhaps it stems from all the years he served in the Middle East, perhaps it's become habit from his position in PTMC; always looking for micro-changes and silent symptoms.
But when it comes to you—his sweet, soft, lovely fiancé—that attentive gaze intensifies tenfold.
He knows exactly when you’re ringing to drift too far into your head, when you start to silently fold into yourself in fear of taking up too much space. It makes his stomach curdle every single time.
“Hey,” he hums, reaching a hand beneath the table to loop his pinkie finger around yours.
You turn to him with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes and despite the way it cracks at Jack’s heart, you still look so devastatingly beautiful.
“Come to the bar for a drink with me?”
You don’t even consider it, just thankful for the excuse to sneak away from the stuffy table. It’s not that your cousins wedding isn’t beautiful, it’s not that you’re not happy for her and the beautiful life she’s built with her husband.
It’s just that your family are known to be a bit too performative. Everything has to be perfect, picturesque. And though nobody has outright made any comments, and no lingering or distasteful eyes have been pointed your way, you still can’t help but feel uncomfortable and out of place.
Your dress feels too tight now, but it felt just perfect before you left. And your ankles feel like they’re about to roll with every step you take, but you’ve always felt so confident wearing heels.
Jack’s hand is in yours the moment you’re out of your seat, firm grip on you as his thumb strokes soothingly over yours. You know he can tell there’s something wrong.
The rooftop patio for your cousins reception is decadent. Beautiful warm tones and fairy lights strung across exposed faux beams. There are flowers everywhere of deep oranges and dark greens.
You can’t help but mentally question why she’s gone for an autumnal theme in the summer.
When you reach the bar, you press your front against it with arms bent at the elbows as they lean atop the counter. You feel the heat of Jack’s chest against your back, toned arms reaching around your sides so his palms can rest against the bar top and cage you in.
The position makes you momentarily forget about your insecurities as goosebumps pebble at your flushed skin. The stubble of his facial hair scratches deliciously at the crook of your neck when he dips down to line his lips to your ear.
“Have I told you how gorgeous you look in that dress?” Jack’s voice is laced with honey as he whispers to you.
“A few times,” you admit breathlessly.
More than a few times. He’d told you a handful when you were getting ready, and then at least three more times when you were in the car.
Jack hums. “Apparently not enough, if you’re getting in your head right now.”
You swallow down a lump in your throat. It’s not embarrassment you feel, but maybe a bit of shame. Over the years you’ve worked so hard on learning to love yourself, of growing confident and comfortable in your skin. And Jack has always been so vocal about how much he loves your body.
But tonight, you just can’t seem to shake this insecure and inadequate feeling that’s brewing beneath your skin.
“I’m okay,” you say back quietly.
Jack tuts into your neck, lets his hands leave the bar in search of your round hips, palms settling and grip tightening in a way that feels grounding, reassuring.
“Stop it. You’re so beautiful that I don’t know what to do with myself.”
A disbelieving laugh falls from your lips at that, the warmth of his breath against your neck enough to make your mind feel a little fuzzy.
“You know why I love these hips so much?”
Your lashes flutter and you have to remind yourself that you’re in public…at your cousins fucking wedding, no less!
Jack doesn’t wait for a reply. “Because then I have something sturdy to hold onto when I’m fucking all those horrible thoughts out of you.”
The vulgar of his words has you spinning in his hold with a stern expression, and he can’t help but grin at the sight of it. You point a finger in his face, though your once disapproving expression morphs into something playful.
“Stop it, not here.” You warn but there’s no bite to your tone.
Jack’s grin grows lopsided. “Stop what? Admiring my sexy fiancé and her curves?”
When you roll your eyes, he pinches your hip. “I’m serious, baby. You are gorgeous. I have never once cared about your weight. Never. You are sexy and you are healthy. And you are happy.”
He emphasis his last word with a raised brow, like he’s trying to remind you that you are in fact happy in your appearance, in the woman that you are.
And he’s right. You know he’s right. Jack worships you, would kiss the ground beneath your feet just because you were the one that stepped on it. You know he’s never once been disgusted by you, by your size or the rolls of your body.
“I like that you’re soft around the edges. I’d never want you any other way. You understand me?” He’s using that authoritative tone that he only ever uses in the bedroom. The one where you’re being a bit bratty and need putting in your place.
You stare at him, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth and the nod of your head is barely noticeable, but Jack clocks it nonetheless.
He nods, seemingly satisfied for now and his hands slowly snake up to feel the dip in your waist where he squeezes. His eye twitches slightly when he feels the band of fabric beneath your dress.
“And you can take that fucking shape wear off the second we’re back at the hotel. I want those beautiful thighs wrapped tight around my head the moment I get you alone.”
someone tries to leak martin's number, only to get the last digits wrong, leading thousands of fans to message you instead!
content: fem!reader, internet drama, invasions of privacy, mentions of identity theft, all in martin's pov except for the last two slides, forgive me idk the inner workings of teenage boys, ss count: 18 note: please read part one first 🤞 and once again shout out to @junnoou for the banner!!
series tl: @cortisen5 @nannu @swimmerkeon @wheresangel @daishiskz @loversfiield @mobehere @t-a-h-i-r-a @sunoosun00 @nannuusum @hyuneskkami (comment or send ask to be added!!)
someone tries to leak martin's number, only to get the last digits wrong, leading thousands of fans to message you instead!
content: fem!reader, cursing, meovv are here but they're not idols cause i needed you to have friends, idol!martin, non idol!reader, like one instance of slut shaming?, r isn't a cortis fan/doesn't know that much about k-pop ss count: 20 note: thank you to the loml @junnoou for making the banner for this and listening to me ramble!! part two here
IT’S JUST A SHAME, THAT’S ALL — THROUGH THE LENS OF CORTIS
➪ pairing : ot5 cortis x 6th member reader
➪ summary : a continuation to part one and part two. cortis tries their best to continue living normal lives without the core part of their group. can they manage without you ?
➪ other notes : my god this part drove me insane. i like it overall and oh my days you guys are so funny in the comments, i love yall. any asks pertaining to part two will be answered later, very sleepy rn, gn everyone, enjoy :))) and creds to @/martiny.e , @/cortis.mp3 , and @/sa7easoee on tiktok for the analog horror imagery.
keonho stares down at his phone, sighing as he sends you another text. it’s been three months since you’ve “disappeared” and you still haven’t answered a single message. this isn’t like you at all, you wouldn’t just up and leave everything and everyone behind. guilt writhes in his stomach every time he thinks of the cctv. if you quit, maybe he could have talked you out of it. and if something else happened ? …he would have stopped it.
james tries to piece everything together but nothing makes sense. you left the group without any reason to, and yet the cctv shows differently. the company said something else. and the more he thinks about it, every conclusion leads to five questions. as the oldest, he tries to shoulder everyone’s emotional burden. but what about him ? how can he rest when questions continuously fill his mind. you would have been there to help him.
juhoon took it the hardest. you were the first person who accepted him into the group without hesitation, and in a blink of an eye, you’re just gone ? even though he has four other people to rely on, he feels so incredibly lonely without you, without his twin flame. there’s many nights where he silently cries himself to sleep. and with every day that passes, the pit in his stomach only gets deeper.
seonghyeon feels like a swan without its cygnet. even though you were older than him, he tried his best to take care of you no matter what. he always wanted a big sister, and at some point you became that. he still buys your favorite snacks from the corner store you always complained smelled like ass. he just can’t figure out if you miss them too. if you do, then why do you never answer the phone ?
about two months ago, staff came in and took all of your things. they ripped your bedsheets off of the company’s bed, something keonho tried his best to fight, which only earned him a harsh scolding. your notebooks that were alphabetically placed in the shelf above your bed were all trashed, your thoughts, ideas, and feelings going with them too. most of your clothes were shoved into storage boxes before staff labeled them as ‘emergency.’
“what the fuck are they doing,” seonghyeon curses outside of the dorm, biting his nails. “they’re taking her stuff…all of it, they’re acting like she never lived here,” keonho frowns. juhoon stays quiet, his fists clenching repeatedly. james tries to reason with the situation, “what if they’re just storing it until y/n comes back for it ?” he winces at his own words, what kind of explanation is that ? “that’s bullshit and you know it,” seonghyeon snaps.
“everything’s in those books,” juhoon finally speaks up. “she wrote songs in those, y/n would want to keep all of them,” he continues, looking away from the open front door of the dorm. “something’s wrong, i-“ “okay that’s enough,” martin claps his hands and interrupts. “guys i know this has all been hard for us but the company already said y/n left and we…have to understand that,” martin becomes the voice of reason.
“y/n never answers my texts, i just want to know if she’s okay,” keonho whispers, voice cracking at the end. “let’s just give her as much space as she needs, i’m sure she’s trying to keep a low profile for a while,” martin reassures him, a wobbly smile forming on his face. “that’s not who y/n is, she would have at least told us.” a scowl forms on seonghyeon’s face.
james sighs, he obviously doesn’t agree with any of this but he’s also unable to do anything. about an hour later, everything that represented you, was now suddenly gone. the empty space only grew. the mug that james uses every morning before practice. the clothes that seonghyeon ‘accidentally’ stole from your side of the closet room. the bed that keonho laid on when he missed you. the presence that juhoon longed for every day.
when james glances over to martin, the taller boy is just staring ahead. a smile is on his face but there’s no real emotion behind it. as much as james hates to admit it, martin’s been weird. not his typical weird, a weird that james has been logging for the past month. his rushed explanation for how he left you alone to go to the bathroom the day everything happened. the way he reacts when someone mentions you.
the way martin has continuously gotten snappier after you disappeared. there’s just something…odd about him. james hates himself for entertaining a darker idea of involvement. because how can he even think of pointing the finger at martin ? martin isn’t like that, if anything, he’d blame himself for going to the bathroom instead of just going with you to the corner store. martin cares about you. he loves you.
present day, the dorm becomes more glum as days pass. the boys are good coworkers, they hype each other up during dance and vocal practice. they put on a happy face for the camera whenever they film vlogs. they continue to work as just five. but as soon as the dorm’s door shuts closed, silence fills the air. martin really tries to get everyone to hang out, maybe watch a movie, play games, do anything. it never works.
between james and juhoon, juhoon tends to take the first shower as james cools down in their room. keonho and seonghyeon play around before they retire for the night. to martin, it feels like everyone has their duo except him. he’s lonely and he hates it. with no one to hang out with, martin starts walking around at night right before midnight. hoodie over his head, a face mask on, gaze tilted to the ground.
every time he goes out, he ends up in the same place. the fence behind that one thai restaurant you used to love. he never goes in, he just leans against the fence and looks up at the moon, wondering if you’re also thinking of him. despite what happened, martin loves you and he likes to think that deep down, you’d still love him too. but that’s just what he believes, it’s the only way he can sleep at night…
one night, juhoon wakes up at around three in the morning. he tosses and turns but nothing works. with a frustrated sigh, he sits up, staring into the darkness. across the room, james is sleeping peacefully, juhoon envies him. with no way to sleep again, juhoon quietly gets up and heads for the living room. since you disappeared off the face of the earth, someone has started leaving the light on, no matter the time.
no one admits to it but juhoon has a sneaking suspicion it’s james. he even heard him say under his breath “just in case y/n comes back.” whatever the reason may be, no one turns it off. juhoon flops on top of the couch, grabbing the remote. he immediately clicks on netflix, grip tightening when he notices your profile isn’t on there anymore. did the company delete it ? isn’t that a little too much ?
he huffs, clicking his own profile. he flips through various movies and shows before stopping at one, when life gives you tangerines. your favorite show, the same one you watched with juhoon when it first came out. he remembers holding back tears whilst you cried like a baby in every episode. juhoon presses on it, leaning back against the couch as the soft melody of the opening theme starts.
but even before it can finish, he closes his eyes. it felt almost like a spell, luring him to sleep. it’s weird, he never felt sleepy when you guys watched it. but his grip on the control loosens before he falls into the arms of slumber. his dream is just a flash of different pastel colors, muffled voices, and some visible faces. he dreams that the six of you go feed ducks but his feet end up turning into duck feet.
everyone fades out except for just you and him. you’re laughing so hard that you pee on yourself. you end up crying and when juhoon goes to comfort you, he tumbles over himself with his new feet. your laugh returns as he falls face first into the ground. he can’t help but laugh too but then, your laughter just stops. he looks up at you from the ground, you’re not there anymore. where’d you go ? in real life, juhoon’s eyelids flutter, catching small glimpses of his blurry surroundings.
he squints at the bright tv screen, blinding colors enough to make him look away. his vision keeps drifting in and out of focus until it lands to something motionless. martin is already standing in the hallway. just watching him. “shit,” juhoon curses, jolting himself completely awake. his eyes go wide, heart immediately accelerating. “oh sorry,” martin apologizes, walking closer. “how long were you standing there ?” juhoon rubs his eyes.
“only like five seconds,” martin answers, a gentle smile forming on his face. “i thought i heard the tv and wondered if someone forgot to turn it off so i just came to check,” he explains himself, pointing at the tv. “oh…okay…” juhoon rubs his eyes, he knows of martin’s nightly walks and sleep problems, it makes sense. “go back to bed, maybe you can sleep again,” martin encourages him. “yeah, i’m going,” juhoon mumbles, grabbing the tv remote.
he pauses when life gives you tangerines, noticing it’s only been 12 minutes since the episode started. juhoon’s barely been on the couch, did martin really just arrive right now ? juhoon shakes off any thoughts, turning off the tv before walking away. martin follows behind him, turning off the living room light. “oh leave it on,” juhoon stops in his tracks, pointing to the light switch. “why ?” martin raises an eyebrow.
“i- i don’t know, just in case, you know, y/n comes at the crack of dawn or something,” juhoon shrugs. martin pauses before sighing “if you say so.” he passes by juhoon, going into the bathroom. juhoon swears he saw martin roll his eyes, it can’t just be his imagination. but with nothing else to do, he returns to his and james’ room. he quietly pushes the door open before shutting it closed.
james stirs, making juhoon wince, he didn’t mean to wake james up. but juhoon takes advantage of this moment, “james ?” he whispers. james hums, turning over to face juhoon. “can i talk to you about something ? hasn’t martin been weird-“ james suddenly pressed a finger to his lips. juhoon albeit confused, stops talking. james lifts his finger and points at the gap underneath the door. juhoon faces towards where his older friend is pointing.
the shadow of a pair of feet. not moving, just standing on the other side of the door. juhoon feels his heart skip a beat, waiting to breathe. eventually, a small shuffle can be heard before the pair of feet are no longer in sight. juhoon exhales, chest hurting. “was that ?” james nods. “he’s been doing that a lot lately, just making rounds around the dorm,” james bites his lip, obviously disturbed. juhoon realizes that maybe an eye roll isn’t must to report on.
a few days later, the five of them are in a practice room. there’s not much going on so seonghyeon decided to mirror his phone the projector screen. “oh my god bro delete that !” james laughs at an embarrassing picture of him sleeping with his eyes open. juhoon chuckles at the selfies he took on seonghyeon’s phone. keonho keeps trying to take seonghyeon’s phone, wanting to scroll through the whole gallery. martin watches his friends, happy that they’re smiling.
eventually seonghyeon clicks on an old dance practice video. you’re falling asleep standing up, only taking one little stumble, keonho’s giggles can be heard in the background. “i remember y/n swore she was just resting her eyes,” james smiles at the video. “she needs a good sleep schedule, all of us do,” juhoon adds. “guys can we stop talking about y/n ?” martin interrupts everyone. seonghyeon turns back to face him, “why ?”
“because it makes me uncomfortable,” martin shakes his head. “but why ?” “because it feels like every conversation we have leads back to y/n, it’s already been three months,” martin lets out a frustrated sigh. “three months is nothing compared to years of friendship, y/n’s our best friend and nothing is going to take that away,” seonghyeon scoffs, disconnecting his phone from the projector.
“y/n was my best friend too, and i loved her a lot, but even i have to admit she wasn’t a saint,” martin twists the subject. “what are you talking about ?” juhoon joins the conversation, now baffled. “it’s like…we talk about something, it leads to y/n, and then we talk about how amazing she was without acknowledging the times she made our lives hard,” martin explains himself. “what times ?” james asks, furrowing his eyebrows.
“she argued with everyone, are you guys forgetting that ?” martin insists, thinking everyone’s had amnesia. “no she didn’t,” keonho defends you. “she literally did, it was always y/n starting arguments with staff,” martin throws his hands into the air. “no she didn’t martin, she never started anything, yes she argued when we were being treated unfairly but y/n wasn’t…aggressive.” james shakes his head, confused by what martin is getting at.
“and what about the time she got into a physical fight with our choreographer ?” martin doubles down. “are you forgetting the times he’s hit her ?” seonghyeon makes a face at martin. “you’re remembering her wrong,” juhoon states but it only makes martin roll his eyes. “am i ?” he sarcastically laughs. “yeah, because none of the things you described represents y/n.” keonho answers without hesitation. “sure, disregard me like you guys always do,” martin ends the conversation, leaving the practice room.
about a week later, keonho groans when he opens the fridge, a whole lotta nothing. “there’s never anything in here !” he slams it closed. “there is, you just don’t want to cook,” juhoon says, mixing in a flavor packet into his buldak noodles. “do you want me to make you something ?” seonghyeon’s standing over the stove, making a few fried eggs. “no, i miss y/n’s cooking, your food tastes like ass,” keonho makes a disgusted face.
“you still eat it though,” seonghyeon gives him a look. keonho pouts, opening the fridge again. “nothing’s going to magically appear keonho,” james shimmies behind him to sit on the counter. “i’m so hungry,” keonho whines, almost ready to throw a tantrum. “well how about we order takeout,” martin enters the kitchen. “first time you have a good idea,” keonho immediately agrees with martin.
“what’s everyone in the mood for ?” james asks the busy kitchen. “well i was the first hungry one, so i say thai food,” keonho nominates. “ugh no i’m tired of thai food,” martin rolls his eyes, earning a side eye from junoon. “we haven’t eaten it in months, i’m down for some thai,” seonghyeon ignores martin’s complaints. “so am i,” juhoon agrees. “anything’s good for me,” james shrugs, leaving martin the odd one out.
“so my opinion is worth nothing ?” martin frowns, crossing his arms. “ummm it’s 4/5, and if y/n was here, it’d be 5/6, democracy wins, sorry mr dictator,” keonho teases him. “this shit is so unfair…” but no matter what their leader says, the boys still order thai food. once it arrives, it smells like heaven on earth. they crack the lids open on every container, some food even spilling out. soon enough, things settle down, food filling their mouths instead of words.
james suddenly snorts, earning weird looks from his friends. “sorry i just remembered the time martin ordered kebab and everyone was ready to jump him but y/n said she’d eat our portions even though she hates it, just to make martin feel better,” he shakes his head as seonghyeon and keonho snicker. juhoon smirks, shoving some food into his mouth.
martin groans, rolling his eyes. “you guys might hate me but y/n was always my right hand, she was funny,” he laughs. “you mean is,” keonho corrects him. martin looks at him, nodding, “yeah, is, that’s what i said.” “no you didn’t,” seonghyeon shakes his head. “okay is this ‘ride martin’s ass as hard you can’ week or what ?” martin drops his chopsticks angrily. “they were just correcting you martin,” james tries to defuse the situation.
“no it’s not correcting me because y/n’s gone, she’s not here and she’s not coming back,” martin angrily states. “how the fuck would you know ?” seonghyeon points his chopsticks at his leader. “because…because, i just know,” martin shrugs, attempting to calm himself down. “what does that mean ?” keonho pries. “it means that she left and that she left us, can we just stop talking about this ?” martin pushes away his bowl.
“martin, i think it’s good that we talk about y/n,” james looks at him. “no hyung, it’s not, it’s so…not good and it’s been three months so can we let the y/n topic go already ?” martin frustratedly runs his hand through his hair. “she’s not a topic, she’s a person who was our best friend since we were both 12 and lived with us,” seonghyeon furrows his eyebrows. “exactly, so why are you acting like talking about her is a crime ?!” keonho supports his maknae duo.
martin scoffs, feeling cornered, “because nothing is going to change regardless and…” he trails off, not finishing his sentence. “says who ?” seonghyeon challenges him. “says me, okay ?” the room becomes quiet, food long forgotten. with a shaky sigh, james speaks up, voice trembling as he does so. “martin, do you know something about y/n that we don’t ?”
the only thing that can be heard for the next few seconds is the whirring of the AC. “do you think i do ?” martin asks james, no malicious tone behind his words. james hesitates, this isn’t something he can turn back on, an accusation so grave. and yet, he admits it. “yeah, i think you do.” juhoon, seonghyeon, and keonho snap their heads to james, confused, shocked, and in disbelief. martin’s gaze turns to his unfinished food, making him nauseous.
martin doesn’t know how to answer. he knows he can lie, he knows that but at this point, would it mean anything ? “martin ?” james asks again. martin keeps staring at his food, unable to face anyone. “bro are you good ?” seonghyeon‘s voice wobbles. “did something happen that night ?” keonho asks and it’s martin’s final straw. his shoulders shake as he starts crying, tears dropping onto the table. “i…” he starts but he’s unable to finish before he hiccups out a sob.
james leans forward in his seat, “martin, i need you to tell us the truth, did something happen to y/n that night ?” martin squeezes his eyes shut, lip quivering. “…yeah.” for a second, nobody reacts, nobody says anything, nobody breathes. “what ?” a lump forms in seonghyeon’s throat. “i…i can’t…i tried…i didn’t,” his hands go up to his hair, tugging at it harshly. “did you do something ?” keonho whispers, martin immediately shakes his head.
“not me…” martin mumbles, starting to sit straight in his seat. “then who ?” james pressures him, making martin cry even harder. “them, the company, everyone knew,” everyone stiffens, martin’s known something for three months, and still said nothing ?! “did you know something was going to happen ?” james continues, attempting his best to remain his cool. martin nods, “but i…i t-tried to warn her b-before the concert.”
“warn her about what ?” seonghyeon slams his fist against the table, making martin flinch. “that they were going to take her away,” martin rushes his explanation. “take her where ?” keonho asks, chair scooting back with a loud scrape. “i don’t know, they didn’t tell me that !” martin sobs, becoming obviously overwhelmed by the swarm of questions. “is she okay ?” james asks, eyes full of worry. a pause comes as martin freezes “i don’t know…”
juhoon, who has been quiet this entire time asks a single question. “is she alive ?” martin finally looks up, meeting eyes with juhoon. “i don’t know…after it happened, they never said anything else,” martin’s eyes are full of remorse as juhoon’s eyes fill with anger. “what happened martin, after you left with her, what happened to her ?” juhoon’s voice rises, clearly tired of martin’s tears.
martin’s breathing becomes uneven, his vision becoming blurry. he can’t hide, he can’t run, he’s ruining everything. he wipes his snotty nose, realizing that the earth can’t just suck him whole into the ground. “i…i led her down to the parking garage…and i wanted her to leave…and i tried, i swear i tried to help her…but they saw us and she tried to run but they caught up to her…and just put her in the back of a van,” martin blurts out, ending his statement with a suffocated gasp.
nobody says anything. james covers his mouth in shock, seonghyeon stares at martin in disbelief, keonho looks down at his trembling hands, and juhoon shakes his head, tears filling his eyes. “so she’s just gone ?” keonho looks up, breaking the silence despite being scared of the answer. “i don’t know,” martin whispers. “stop fucking saying that, you were the last person who saw her !” seonghyeon’s voice breaks.
“i know ! don’t you think i feel guilty that i didn’t help her ?!” martin cries before realizing what he said, his eyes widening. “what do you mean you didn’t help her ? you could have helped her ?” james questions him, “no- i mean like, no i did-“ martin stumbles over his words, attempting to find a quick explanation, a way to defend himself. seonghyeon slams his hands on the table, “don’t you fucking lie to our faces martin, either tell us the truth or i swear to god-“
martin takes a deep breath, looking at his members one by one. an uncomfortable expression forms on his face before he closes his eyes. “none of you get it. i…i wanted to help, i swear i did, but i thought about the five of us, of our effort and hard work. and i realized that if one person could take the fall, we would be okay.” keonho scoffs in his face, “the five of us ? it’s either the six of us or none of us. why do you get to decide whats right for the group ?”
“because it’s my job as the leader to look out for the group keonho. i won’t allow anyone to hurt us,” martin tries to use his authority. “but you won’t protect us as individuals ? just the group’s reputation ?” seonghyeon bitterly laughs. “no, that’s not what i meant, i’m saying that instead of us getting ruined by someone, i chose the route where our hard work wouldn’t be just ripped away from us !”
“y/n is apart of us martin, she trusted you and you still didn’t protect her or even at least tell us,” james scolds him, face contorting into disgust. “what would that have done ? y/n is gone because it was a sacrifice the company and i had to make for the greater good.” martin reasons, now refusing to back down. “say that again,” juhoon stands up, hands clenched into fists. martin grinds his teeth, “it was for the greater good.”
with that, juhoon launches himself across the table, crashing straight into martin. martin falls back on his chair, thudding loudly on the floor. juhoon starts throwing punches into martin’s face. “you lied to us-“ punch “you lied to her mom” punch “you lied to the police” punch. “juhoon stop !” james pleads, attempting to pull him off of martin. seonghyeon and keonho almost immediately backed away from the scene, not knowing what to do.
“he fucking deserves it !” juhoon yells, feeling martin’s nose break under his knuckles. “s-sop phluse,” martin begs, spitting out blood, weakly thrashing from under juhoon. but juhoon only continues, grabbing martin’s collar to smash the back of his head onto the hardwood floor. “you let them do this to her, you fucking asshole !” juhoon screams, struggling against james’ grip. and suddenly- CRACK.
IT’S JUST A SHAME, THAT’S ALL — THROUGH THE LENS OF MARTIN
➪ pairing : ot5 cortis x 6th member reader
➪ summary : the prequel to part one. martin's seen you time and time again get smart with staff, it's no wonder that something was bound to happen, at least in his opinion.
➪ other notes : credits to @/vrtxveil on tiktok for the cortis analog horror imagery. i tried my best to tag everyone, i'm so sorry if i missed your name. there will be at least two more parts, maybe even three if people want me to continue this ! i apologize if this feels rushed, but pay attention :)
“no one can know, do you understand ?” martin looks up at the group’s manager, eyes wide. he nods regardless, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows whatever saliva he has in his throat. martin’s always been an obedient rebel. he’ll express himself in many ways, fighting for what he believes, but he’s a fierce listener, loyal to no end. that was his first mistake.
you’re not like martin. yes you’re passionate about your interests and expressive about your feelings, but you’re hot headed. not perfect by any standards, a little rough around the edges but that’s what makes you, well you. you don’t hesitate to call out anyone who’s disrespectful or shady, confidence booming in your voice. that’s exactly why hybe and bighit liked you. liked.
martin wishes he could be a little like you. aggressive and self assured. he’s almost positive you’d make a great leader if it weren’t for your constant attitude. not to the boys, never to them, but to the company itself. when your makeup artist tells you your complexion looks sickly ? you say it’s the lack of food the staff provides.
when your fashion designer pinches at extra skin, you swat their hand away immediately. martin’s even heard you say “fuck bang pd,” in a fit of rage. i mean how could something so pretty have a mouth like that ? but he still thinks that you would have made a better leader than him. someone who actually stands up for the group rather than just submit to whatever the company says.
he’s never even seen you afraid ! so locked in on your own beliefs that no one will even tilt you another way. there was a particular time where a male staff member tried to put their hands on you, in which you immediately fought back, not caring for any repercussions. it ended in james and your manager pulling you off the man, martin couldn’t move from how caught off guard he was.
despite that, it wasn’t all that surprising coming from you. except for the following set of your words : “if anyone ever tries to hit me again, i’ll tell everyone the lies and shit you’ve covered up.” everyone tensed up immediately, going silent. you weren’t referring to a specific person, you’re saying it in general, knowing there’s cameras in the practice room. what did you know that the other five of them didn’t ?
maybe that’s why this had to happen. if you only kept your mouth shut, this wouldn’t have happened. why’d you go out of your way to ruin something that’s fine ??? are all thoughts martin has of you. but he loves you, even with all of your flaws. platonic or romantic, does it really matter ? so he lets you in on one piece of information, in hopes that you’ll get away fast enough.
it was the day of THE concert. you were in a better mood than usual, excited for the stage outfit your designer picked out for you. hell, even your makeup artist complimented your skin today. it seems like people are finally listening to you ! everything seems fine until you notice martin fidgeting more than usual.
it confuses you, martin’s typically not like this. he’s the one hyping everyone up, and it’s not like this is the group’s first concert, you’ve done this dozens of times before ! so when the time is perfect, you pull him aside, thankfully the hallway is quiet and empty. “are you okay ?” you ask the taller boy, furrowing your eyebrows. “me ? yeah i’m good,” he smiles, a little too wide.
“you said we’d be each other’s person if one of us is upset,” you cross your arms as martin shifts uncomfortably. suddenly, he looks to the right of him, then the left, before pulling you harshly into the women’s bathroom. you automatically fight back, shocked as to what’s happening. “martin what are you-“ he covers his mouth before shushing you, tears in his eyes.
“don’t say a single word, just listen to me,” he whispers, your eyes going wide with anger. “something’s gonna happen after the concert, i can’t say for sure what but i know that it’s tonight, you can’t be alone with anyone,” martin explains in a haste. and for the first time in all of the years he’s known you, fear fills your eyes. he releases his grip on you before stepping back. you’re still frozen in place as worry washes over you.
“why ?” you ask in a small voice. martin scoffs and shakes his head, “why else ? you blow up at everyone, you mouth off staff and even almost beat our senior choreographer up !” you look at him confused, “what are you talking about ? mars this isn’t my fault, you know why i-“ the rest of your words drown out as martin rubs his face.
“it doesn’t matter what you think anymore, it’s about what they think of you y/n,” he groans, obviously agitated by the situation. “then help me,” you step closer to him. he shakes his head, “i can’t, the company, they’ll-“ “mars i’m your best friend, and i have been for years,” you cut him off. martin looks at you, seeing tears starting to form in your eyes. he couldn’t remember the last time you looked this small.
martin thinks before sighing, “okay.” a breath of relief leaves your mouth. “but don’t tell the others, you’ll only worry them,” he clarifies, making you nod. “i know, just please don’t let anything happen to me,” you plead. he looks into your tearful eyes, nodding. there’s only so much he can do without attracting suspicion.
throughout the night, martin’s eyes keep flickering towards you. he doesn’t even care if fans speculate his watchful gaze. you on the other hand try your best to keep your composure during the concert. you’re typically a firecracker on stage, full of emotion and energy. but this time, your performance is lackluster to say the least.
martin wouldn’t even be surprised if netizens got on your ass about it. but even though the same fearful thoughts consume your mind, martin sees you let out a wobbly laugh at james’ silly jokes. he sees you clumsily throw a water bottle to juhoon. he sees you tightly hug seonghyeon, not pulling away first. and he sees you fix keonho’s microphone. even in a crisis like this, you still take care of others.
after the concert, martin’s stuck to your hip, adrenaline still pumping through everyone’s veins. the other four for a different reason than you and martin’s. eventually you’re all led into a different room to rest before you all go back to your hotel. you take your shoes off, feeling your big toe pulse in pain. you look at the inside of the shoe, a size smaller than your regular size.
you hadn’t even noticed before, you just took the pair from your stylist without a second thought. your gaze shifts to your socks, several holes made. did you make those ? you grind your teeth before taking them off, now barefoot. seonghyeon immediately covers his nose, earning a playful slap from you. you can’t help but to think, is everyone in on this ?
“y/n,” you snap your head at the manager, his face cold. “can you come with me for a second ?” you try to hide your expression as best as you can. “for what ?” you ask, slowly standing up. the other five boys stare at the manager, waiting his response. “techs need your in-ears,” he states, how do you even get out of this situation ? “i can take it for her, i need to turn mine in too,” martin interrupts.
“would have been better if she just came but sure,” the manager walks away. you sigh, giving martin a thankful look. “we need to go,” martin whispers, taking your in-ears. you look at your members, “now y/n.” you nod, martin tries to usher you out of the room but is stopped by james. “where are you two going ?” you look at your older friend, making a random excuse.
“just gonna get some stuff from the corner store before we go,” you lie. “i want to go !” keonho excitedly says, getting up. “no stay, it’d be too obvious if you came along,” martin shakes his head, keonho’s signature pout forming. “alright, but can you bring that one brand of chips i like ?” he asks, sitting back down. “yeah of course, we’ll be back, i swear,” you smile before leaving.
almost immediately, martin is dragging you behind him. “wait wait wait !” you trip over your feet in an attempt to slow him down. “what ?! there’s no time to wait !” martin whisper yells. “you need to promise me something,” “huh what ? why ? promise you what ?” he rambles nervously. “if anything…if anything happens to me, promise me that you won’t let them say i was the one who ran away, that i was the one who quit.”
martin looks into your dilated eyes. oh, you’re being serious. “nothing’s going to happen-“ “promise me,” you demand of him. “…okay, i promise that i’ll defend your honor no matter what,” he reassures you. he wraps his arms around you, bringing you for a hug. you shut your eyes, heart beating fast, you can even hear it thump in your ears. it doesn’t help that your hands and feet feel so cold from anxiety.
“i don’t even have my shoes or socks on, how did those dummies believe me ? you mumble, which martin laughs at. “it’s okay, i’ll let you use mine, just tie them extra tight,” martin offers. “but first, we need to get to the parking garage, don’t ask questions, let’s just go before anyone gets suspicious,” he continues, this time you actually listen and start to make your way downstairs.
you basically run down a flight of stairs, in a hurry to wherever martin’s taking you. once you’re halfway in the parking garage, martin stops before gripping your shoulders. “you need to leave this way, security is always here for these types of events, this is the only place i know that doesn’t have anyone.” “where am i supposed to go ?” you lift his hands from your shoulders. “anywhere y/n, it doesn’t matter, just not-“ martin pauses.
“shit !” he pulls you behind a car, crouching cautiously. a door is swung open, bouncing off the wall. you cover your mouth with your own hand, looking at martin with fear. he brings up a finger to his lips, staying completely quiet. a loud sigh can be heard before a familiar voice. “martin, i know you’re here with her, don’t make this difficult, just stop,” the manager states, his shoes can be heard clicking.
“think of the group martin, do what’s right.” martin freezes, fuck they already know. now it’s his turn to think. he needs to protect you, but he’s never disobeyed anyone before. you’re his colleague, but you’ve done wrong. you’re his friend and someone he sees every day. what can he do to help both sides ? what’s the right choice ? what should he do ? martin turns to you, tears are streaming down your face, he’s never seen you like this.
“mars i’m begging you, don’t do this to me, i’m your best friend, please,” you cry, grabbing his hands. a moment of silence goes by before martin squeezes your hands. a single thought of realization shoots through his head. james. juhoon. seonghyeon. keonho. himself. years of training, the five of them…or just you. “yeah…she’s here,” martin abruptly calls out, standing up, pulling you with him.
you shriek a “no,” before using all of the force you can muster to shove him away before standing up and running from behind the car. you sprint down the parking garage, bare feet against the hard concrete. the more you look back, the closer the people chasing you get. you finally arrive to the gate, mashing every button to get it to lift up. you drop to the floor, crawling underneath the gate.
your hopes however are cut almost instantly. someone pulls your ankles back harshly, you cry out, your knees scraping against the ground. “no, please, i haven’t done anything !” you shout as a man lifts you into the air, leaving your blood soaking into the concrete. you screamed for your life, pleading that someone, anyone, would help you. “martin please !” you continue to fight.
martin stays still in his place, paralyzed as he watches you struggle against a man twice your size. eventually, you’re hauled into a van, one you hadn’t even realized was there before, and even then your cries for help continue. martin just stares, hearing the engine start before it pulls off. it’s quiet again, a quiet that lingers in his soul. why did you trust him ? he told you not to trust anyone. he warned you, he tells himself.
he tried to warn you…he tried to tell you to be careful, didn’t he ? martin lets out a shaky sigh as a single tear drops from his face. “you won’t have to worry about her anymore, the problem is gone,” the manager places a hand on martin’s shoulder, causing him to flinch a little. martin stares at his shoes, before the manager says his final set of words for this situation.
➪ summary : you disappear hours after a concert, your family reports you missing but the company states that you left voluntarily. cctv shows differently. nothing makes sense, especially with everyone moving on so fast.
➪ other notes : very heavily based on kpop lost footage and analog horror <3 this is my first time posting something like very horror related so im a little nervous but im actually happy with this. creds to @/norvixa6 and @/rnbrednblue on tiktok for making awesome analog horror.
“breaking news : y/n l/n from hit kpop group cortis has officially been reported missing by her family this morning. authorities have confirmed that the idol was last seen was on CCTV footage at 2 : 39 in the morning, just hours after cortis concluded their concert last night. in the footage, y/n was wearing the same stage outfit she had performed in earlier that evening. the grainy footage shows the teenager sprinting in a parking garage, barefoot and physically agitated.
she looks over her shoulder multiple times, and with this repeating motion, investigators confirmed her identity with facial recognition. the footage contains no audio nor where there any witnesses near by that could have intervened or watched the scene. no search party has been organized and officials have not yet confirmed if a ground search will be conducted, stating that the investigation is still in its early stages.
at this time, hybe and bighit music have not made a statement regarding y/n’s disappearance. if you have any information of y/n’s whereabouts, please reach out to authorities immediately. we hope she returns safely home…and with that, later tonight in the world cup, south korea plays against-“
summary: jack abbot loses his wife and makes a promise to her that he will not be with you after she's gone. he not only keeps his promise but in the process he loses you as a friend. ten years since his wife's passing you come back in life bitter and changed.
tags: ANGST, jack's wife has a name, hospice care, funeral, terminal illness, depression, smoking, medical inaccuracies, (i did a lot of research for the trauma pls be proud of me), y/n mentioned (and what abt it)
wc: 3.6k
˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆
A woman lays in her hospital bed writing on a large yellow pad of paper. She's bundled under several blankets although it was a hot August day outside. She stares out of her window to see the vast grass field and the border of the forest just past that.
Sometimes she hated how quiet it was here. She missed the sounds of the city and muffled rock music that would wake her up on a Sunday morning. She missed not being so alone with her thoughts.
Just then there's a knock on the door. She smiles when she sees her husband come in with a plastic bag full of food. "Thought you might be hungry." he says.
"You know I rarely am." She says.
"Just try a little." He pleads as he puts the food on the table, "I had to bribe a lot of nurses to get this up here.
"Fine, only a little." She says, "But only if I get to talk about my dying wishes."
He clicks his tongue reluctantly not wanting to listen to those. He hated talking about when she was leaving him all alone in this sad world. He notices the pages of her yellow pad full of things. He sighs, "Deal."
She cheers and opens the food container, "Thank you, Jack."
In sickness and in health, 'til death do us part. Those were the vows Jack and Laura Abbot told one another thinking they had all the time in the world to think about death. That was until Laura was diagnosed with breast cancer at 35. She lived with it triumphantly and beat it once.
However, at 40, it came back and came back more aggressive. It had spread to other parts of her body like her lungs and brain. She was only given a few months… and that was a few months ago.
It was only a matter of days before she would succumb to the illness. She grew tired and weary with all the treatment. Seeing her husband fret over her didn't help either. She didn't want to give up but staying alive didn't feel right either. It was ultimately her decision to stay in this hospice facility.
"Have my mom go through my stuff and donate it to the Salvation Army. And that includes my wedding dress." She reads from her note pad.
Jack squeezes his eyes shut and sighs, "Seriously?"
"Well, you're not going to wear it, are you?" She giggles, "Schedule the appointment after my family has gone through and gathered what they want."
"This is torture." He covers his ears.
"Hey! You promised to be a good sport." She smacks the top of his head with the note pad. When it lands, a folded up brown napkin falls out and lands on the floor in front of Jack.
"What's this?" He unfolds the paper and sees a short list of names written on it.
"Oh just a list of women you can't be with when I die."
"That I can't be with?" He blinks in confusion.
"Well, I thought about it and I came to the conclusion that I would be okay with you moving on after I die."
"I don't think there is a chance of that—"
"And when you do, it can't be with any of those women on the list."
"Alright then let's see who's on the list." He clears his throat, "Nancy Grace… the girl I dated in high school?"
"Correction, the girl you dated throughout high school. If I recall, your mom said she couldn't imagine you marrying anybody else."
"In her defense, that was in the beginning of our relationship. My mom thinks we're soulmates."
"Nice try, I think she still holds out hope."
"Nancy is married with kids anyway. I think she has a grandchild on the way too."
"Wow…" Laura says shocked.
"Okay, next on the list is… Laurelai Jacobs? Seriously, your best friend since freshman year of college, Laurelai? She would never do that to you."
"Listen! She ditched her blind date with you and I don't want her thinking she has a second chance."
"She didn't ditch, she had food poisoning."
"That may be the case but that window is closed."
"Alright, it's your list. Last person is…" You. Jack furrows his brows in confusion as he reads your name. "This one definitely can't be right."
"No, it is. Not her." Laura says plainly.
"Why not?"
You had met Jack in medical school while living on the same floor in the dorms. You both woke up extremely early to shower. You would bump into each other in the halls before he did the gentlemanly thing of letting you enter first.
It wasn't until Laura came to visit that you two properly introduced yourselves. However, it was you and Laura that became fast friends. You were timid and cold but she could tell there was a softness under the surface. She brought you out of your shell which in turn made you interested in patient care and emergency medicine as your specialty.
Jack would consider you a friend but you were Laura's friend first. There was a point in time that you would only talk to him when Laura was around. Which made him confused as to why you were on the list.
"She's on there because I said so." She explains, "It can't be a list if there are only two names on there."
"Okay," He tries to hand it back.
"Keep it. It's a promise to me that when you move on—"
"I won't—"
"—You will," She cuts him off, "You'll still be thinking about me." She places her hand on his.
"I'll always be thinking about you." His eyes start to sting. He leans over giving her a tender kiss.
A week later, Laura would pass away. The wake was overwhelmed with people of all parts of her life. Her family, close friends, other cancer survivors she met on her journey, and even a few of the hospice care nurses.
All of them give their condolences to Jack as they share memories of Laura with one another. While everyone is sharing and eating, Jack goes to hide in the funeral home. He ran out of tears before the service was over. Now what, is all he thought. This is the beginning of his new miserable life.
He goes up into the second story of the antique funeral home to the parlor room. From the door way he sees you sitting in one of the antique chairs facing out into the garden where the other attendees were. You hear the floorboards creak and look over to see Jack.
"Hi." You whisper. There are tears welling up in your eyes but they only threaten to spill.
"I just needed a break." He mutters.
"Me too. Probably not more than you though." You sniffle. You see he didn't react to the joke and purse your lips.
He takes a seat on the parlor couch away from you. The air between you grows awkward. He glances at your profile as you look out the window. The overcast light bounces over your tears as they finally spilled from your eyes. You wipe them away as quickly as they come.
"I'm glad you came." He says.
"Of course. I wouldn't miss it for the world." You smile, "It's gonna be hard knowing she can't take my calls anymore."
"I know. Imagine knowing she won't be home when you get there."
"Jack…" You sigh, "You can't one-up your guests at the wake. They are in mourning."
"Sorry, I'll be sure to keep it to myself next time." The two of you laugh.
He forgot how nice it was to laugh with you. Laura and you could fill a room with laughter and it would just be the two of you.
"You can always call me if you need an ear." You say, "I know everyone probably has offered but you know I'm good for it."
"I know." He smiles, "You were there for her."
After med school, Jack was deployed, you were matched to UCSF in San Francisco. Although there, you kept in contact with Laura long distance. When she was first diagnosed with breast cancer, you pulled out all the stops so she could get treatment there. Ultimately, it was your contribution that she was able to beat it the first time.
"There was no place I would have rather been." You stand up straightening you dress and wiping your tears, "I'll give you some quiet. I'm gonna mingle a little more before I become hysterical."
He gets up and the two of you hug. He feels your tears on his shoulder as he tries not to cry himself. He sniffles into your shoulder. You smelled like the forest floor after rain, "Be kind to yourself, Jack. Don't let yourself hide away in the dark."
You pull away and kiss his cheek before leaving. Jack watches you integrate into the crowd from the window. He shoves his hand in his pocket and pulls out the napkin and focuses on your name. Then he looks out and sees you smiling politely among a group.
Although he didn't know why his wife put you on the list, he was going to honor her wishes. But what he failed to consider was that he would fall down a dark hole, he couldn't crawl out of alone. He lost contact with everyone in his life because they all reminded him of her. He disappeared and wallowed in his own despair.
He stumbled, he crashed, and he fell until he could finally forced himself to pick up the pieces. He changed his hours to be on night shift for the quiet. He went to a therapist and tried to reconcile with those closest to him. However, with you, he just wasn't ready to do that. It seemed better that you weren't in his life. The strongest reminder of what once was.
But a year turned into several. And several turned to a decade.
You take a drag of your cigarette as you stand outside of the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center's ambulance bay. It was a hot and sticky summer's day. You regret putting on a long sleeve under your scrubs. You sigh as you think to yourself you'll have to get a new wardrobe. You never thought you'd be back on the east coast ever again.
You were offered a position as an attending at the hospital working alongside Dr. Al-Hashimi. She actually recommended you for the position as you two had worked together when she was a Stanford. You took it because you needed the change. You were getting into a lot of bad habits so you decided to do something good for once and move to a new city in a new state for a new job. At least it sounded like a good thing when it was offered to you.
It's towards the end of your first shift and most of it you spent observing, being presented to, and jumping in on traumas when needed. Things a usual attending would do. However, the students could tell you were more laid back then Al-Hashimi and their usual attending, Robby. Although you were older than her, you were deemed the cooler one.
"Kinda wish she was the one that took over for Robby." Santos mutters as the residents finish charting for the night. You return from your smoke break waving to the residents.
"Good work today, guys." You say as you walk over to the nurse's station to look at the status board.
"Does she remind anybody else of Abbot?" Whitaker asks, "Like in the elusive way?"
"What did you say?" You turn around. That name rings in your ear like an alarm.
"S-sorry I didn't mean to offend. I- I just meant you were really cool." He stutters.
"No, I am sorry, I meant that name. Abbot. As in Jack Abbot?" You walk closer.
"Yeah, he's the ER's night attending. He should be coming any minute now."
The residents look at your astonished face in confusion. You let out a scoff in disbelief.
"Do you know Dr. Abbot?" Santos asks.
"We went to med school together in Boston." You say, "Excuse me for a moment."
You go to the bathroom to gather your thoughts. He's here. You were going to see him again after ten years. You take a deep breath through your nostrils as you calm your nerves. You try not to get upset as you think about what would happen when you see him. It didn't matter anymore. You made it not matter a long time ago. It was water under the bridge. The charred, destroyed, and unrecoverable bridge.
You wash your hands and splash some water in your face. As you look in the mirror, you sigh. You need another cigarette. You wipe your face and hands and walk out going back to the hub.
"Just in time Dr. (Y/N), 2 burn victims pulled from an explosion coming in at any minute."
"Where do you want me?"
"Trauma 2 with Abbot."
You look past her to see Abbot inside prepping the room. A chill runs down your spine. He was alive and well. Grayer than the last you saw him. He looked… fine. You didn't expect him to look so fine. You were hoping he was was still torn up and grieving; Isolated, with darker circles under his eyes, maybe a little scruffier. He puts some safety glasses on and when he looks up, he locks eyes with you. You close your eyes steeling yourself.
A nurse hands you a smock to put on and a some safety glasses. The paramedics enter through the back doors. You follow them into the trauma room as they give the bullet. 28 year old male, burns to the head and chest from a meth lab explosion. BP started dropping on route and they were unable to get his pulse ox due to the damage of on his hands and arms.
The patient gets transferred to the trauma gurney and your residents begin their evaluations. You grab a pair of scissors and begin to cut off the patients clothes. Abbot does the same opposite of you until you get to the shirt cutting up to reveal the extent of his wounds.
"Full thickness burns on the chest and abdomen. Deep partial burns on the arms and face and deep burns on lower extremities and upper legs. Nazely, do you know what that means for the TBSA." Abbot scans over the man's body.
"Um… it's between 9% and 18%… based on his injuries it's about 60%?" She says.
"52%" You correct, "We have to be more accurate when treating burns. We don't want to over-resuscitate fluids because it will cause problems later like heart failure and electrolyte abnormalities during recovery."
Abbot watches you explain effortlessly. You give Nazely an assuring smile as you explain how you came to your percentage. She looks back at you more confident and continues working. You catch eyes with Abbot before refocusing on the patient.
"Airway has signs of inhalation injury." Santos says, "It's a little hard to keep his mouth open."
"Heart rate is tachy and I'm hearing stridor." King says as she places her stethoscope along his chest, "Sir can you hear me? Do you know where you are?"
The man simply stares with blown pupils, "Every…thing… hurts."
"Push 10 migs of morphine please." Abbot says. "And lets get a chest x-ray, CBC ABG, COHb, and a tox screen."
You scan his eyes with your pen light for any reaction. Dilated and non-reactive "Sir, can you follow my finger." He moves his eyes smoothly with your finger, "Don't try to talk okay?"
Your soft voice sends Abbot's heart a hard pang. He missed your voice. As the residents continue working with you, his eyes scan over your body. You move away for the x-ray and he can see your face now.
You've got strands of grey in your hair. It wasn't as much as his but you weren't hiding them, like a crown they start on your front hairline. Some crow"s feet in the sides of your eyes and when you smiled you're cheeks creased. You changed so much since he'd seen you last. A bit of him regrets not reaching out to you sooner.
He snaps out of his thoughts when he sees you beside Nazely guiding her through intubation with the video laryngoscope. "Okay see the vocal chords…"
"I don't…"
"That's because the burns on his neck are causing edema. We need to do an escharotomy if we want this guy to be stable quick. Where's the surgeon on call?"
"In the other trauma… a child was in the fire too." One the nurses says.
"Shit. Let them know, Abbot is going to be performing an escharotomy." You look to him intensely. He gives a confirming nod as he takes a scalpel. You pull out the laryngoscope.
"Dr. Toomarian, have you ever seen an escharotomy?" You ask.
"No. What is it?"
"When you do an escharotomy you get LAID." Abbot bounces his eyebrows as he begins with the patient's chest, "Longitudinal incisions, Axial planes, In to normal skin, Down to subcutaneous fat."
He finishes with the chest and moves to the face and neck cutting from the corners of the mouth to the chin and then diagonally from jaw to clavicle on each side. He looks up at you seemingly hoping for some sort of praise like you did for the residents but you simply put the laryngoscope back into the patient's mouth and put a bougie in after it. Once it's in and the RT puts him on the vent, his BP recovers and his lungs stabilize but only at 88%.
With the severity of his wounds it was up to the burn unit to determine his survival. "Anyone want to tell me what the next steps are?" Abbot asks.
"Go for a CT and calculate for fluid resuscitation that will occur for the next 24 hours." King says.
"Good." He gives her a thumbs up, "Nazely, when he comes back from CT, can we make that your job tonight?"
"Yeah, that's the Parkland formula, right?"
"Yes—" He says
"No—" You say.
You look at one another and you clear your throat, "You should use the modified Brook formula. Instead of 4 LR start with 2 LR in the formula. As the fluid resuscitation is happening, proceed with debridement, monitor volume input and output, and call the burn unit. Good work team."
You take off your gown and glasses off heading out to the central area. Abbot follows after you but before he can speak, Dr. Al-Hashimi interrupts. "Dr. Abbot, you seem to already have gotten acquainted with our new day attending, Dr. (Y/N)."
"We actually know each other." He says.
You purse your lips to prevent a scoff, "It's been a long time though, wouldn't you say, Abbot?" Your words stab with vitriol like a knife. You were upset, rightfully so.
"We, uh, went to med school together before I was deployed." He explains.
"I thought I would never see him again." You smile, "Who knew this is where he was the whole time." He felt you guilt tripping now. He hangs his head and forces a chuckle.
"Well, I'll leave you two to catch up." Al-Hashimi says, feeling the tension building, "I'll see you tomorrow."
You say good night then grab your own bag from behind the desk. "I should go to."
"Can we talk?" He says, "Before you go."
"Why? It's water under the bridge, Abbot. What happened, happened. There's nothing to change it, now."
You look around feeling eyes on you now. You sling your bag over your shoulder and head out through the ambulance bay. Abbot is close on your heels. Your lip quivers and tears sting your eyes as you are struck with the warm air of the night. You dig in your purse and pull out a cigarette.
You stick it in your mouth and flick your lighter to get it to ignite. Abbot watches taken aback. "When did you pick up that bad habit?"
Once it's lit, you take a long drag then you laugh, "You're funny. Still a god damn comedian." You shake your head, "You wanted to talk, so talk. You've got until I finish this, then I'm gone."
He shoves his hands in his pockets, "I'm sorry, I disappeared on you. I was going through it and I…" was scared of failing my wife.
"You can't even come up with a fucking excuse." You exhale flicking your ashes, "Look, I can be cordial. I can play nice in the office. But I am not going to do is act like we can go back to being friends again. I don't know who you are anymore! I haven't seen you since her funeral."
Another hit. He lowers his head in shame. "I understand."
"No, I don't think you do. I buried one of my closest friends not knowing I'd be losing the other one too. I had no one! No one told me if you were okay, where you went. I thought you died!" You take another drag, then another. you're close to the filter now.
"I'm sorry."
"Are you really?" You scoff, smoke escapes your mouth, "You know man, I just gotta ask, if I weren't here right now to confront you. Would you have continued to pretend I never existed?" You toss your bud on the floor and crush it under your foot, "Think about that before you act like my friend again."
With that, you walk down the lane into the darkness of the night. Abbot wipes a tear from his eye as he watches you go. When he longer can see you he turns back inside.
Abbot spends the rest of shift thinking about you. Now that you would be around, he must confront what he did. How he ran away from you because of a promise to his wife. It seems ridiculous to let a napkin hold so much power.
jack abbot who hates being alone with his thoughts so much he sleeps with the police scanner on, always crackling on his bedside table. that is until you started staying over at each others houses…
your friends would always joke that no man would ever share a bed with you because of your snoring, always waking them up on sleepovers or vacations with your raspy breaths.
so the first time jack slept over at your house you’d felt the need to shyly warn him that you do snore and for him to wake you up if it gets too loud. without his precious police scanner humming in the background jack wonders if he will ever fall asleep. but after you shut your eyes for a while jack feels his own eyelids start to get heavy. the hums and crackles of your breathing serving as a small reminder that jack isn’t alone right now. he didn’t wake you up. he wouldn’t dare. he started to synchronize his breathing with yours. even in the pitch dark of your room he likes that can hear you here with him.
he doesn’t even bother to use the police scanner on nights you don’t spend together, now opting for a recording he took of you, dead asleep, snoring away… his little white noise machine :)
okay wait I actually need more of mermaid!reader and Johnny, like they’d be so smitten with each other ugh I can’t
More Johnny Storm x mermaid!reader? 🤍
Hear me out: Johnny is an explorer. He loooves learning new things. Once he gets set on learning mermaid!you? Ughhh. Say no more.
He wants to know everything. How the tail works. How do you know his language. How he can make you laugh because you don’t understand his jokes. Why you sound so angelic when you sing that it makes him want to join you in the water and never come out.
He notices you don’t get too close to him when he’s flamed on. Maybe the extreme heat makes the scales feel weird and now Johnny Storm has to learn to turn part of himself off just so he can see you from up close.
He wants to know what happened to the other mermaids, and wonders if you feel alone. Johnny starts disappearing from the tower to “patrol” when he’s actually looking for other interesting human things to bring you. GOLDEN RETRIEVER ENERGY.
You want to know everything about him too. He’s a little weird, but his smile is very kind. The concept of him being caught in a cosmic storm in space is absolutely mind blowing. He explains it as many times as you ask him to. You see the stars from the sea but he’s been next to them and that’s fascinating.
You show him your collection of human things you’ve gathered (f4 merch included) and ask if every human has toys made out of them. He has to explain what his family does for a living. What he does. In your eyes, he’s the absolute opposite of what you’ve always been told vile humans were.
He even teaches you about another wild concept: sunscreen. That’s what gets a tiny laugh out of you. “But the sun can’t hurt you, Johnny of the Storm. You’re made of starlight.”
That one keeps him up that night. You’re adorable. He’s just a man.
Sigh. He’s in deep trouble.
(His family is done with him falling for non conventional creatures, but can you really blame him?)
opens news article. closes three pop up ads. backs out of the survey page i was redirected to. closes a pop up video ad. rejects cookies to make the cookie window go away. dismisses the requests to receive notifications from the website and the offers to sign up for it. dodges ninja lasers and poisonous arrow traps. body of the page is finally visible. i have reached my monthly limit and can’t read the article
in which jack abbot is the first to notice reader, who has always been used to being left behind and ignored.
contents; fem!reader, probs medical inaccuracies all my knowledge comes from shows lol, not proofread & english is my third language so if there's grammatical errors i apologize </3
a/n; im so glad sooo many ppl liked the first part!!! i love writing stuff like this (mainly bc i heavily relate to reader LMAO), so im so happy you all like them too!! <33 comment 2 be added to the jack abbot fic/blurb taglist!
first part here
masterlist ♡ ko-fi
It had been a hellish day. Sweltering heat from outside had crowded the waiting room, slowly wafting into the ER. Patients were more aggravated than usual— that’s what heat does to people, you figured.
That’s what you kept telling yourself, at least. That everyone’s just tense and irritated from the heat— none of the abuse patients spewed at you was personal. They were just having a bad day.
But as more and more hours passed by, convincing yourself felt harder. You’d also gotten majorly embarrassed earlier in a trauma— you were trying to decide on how to treat the patient, and had stuttered through half your sentence. They went with someone elses idea instead. As soon as the patient was stable, you dipped out of the trauma room out of shame.
Jack had been there. Attendings often oversee traumas, obviously. He was trying to listen to your idea of treatment, when someone spoke over you. They were louder, which got the attention of the other doctors.
He saw you shrink back into yourself, and his heart broke a little. This was the first time he’d seen you try to take lead in a trauma for a while, and to see you get shut down like that? It made him angrier than he’d like. He tried to find you after, but no luck.
Until…
”There y’are…” He hummed quietly, hands behind his back as he approached you, watching your from hunched over the computer, typing up a chart (rather annoyedly, if he says so himself).
Your head tilted slowly, eyes catching his, before you turned back to the computer with a small hum. This had been your routine lately. He’d find you throughout the day, trying to spark up conversation.
You barely responded— still a little wary of him. It’s like you kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. As if he needed a reason to be talking to you.
”Y’know…” He gruffed, pulling up a stool to sit down next to you, eyeing the screen, ”I heard what you suggested in that trauma today. It was a really good plan.”
Like clockwork, your cheeks tinged pink. Like they did every single time Jack complimented you.
”Thank you.” You murmured, hands halting on the keyboard, as you angled your body just slightly toward him, ”But um…I think Ogilvie’s plan of treatment was good, too.”
Jack shrugged, a small frown on his face. ”Well, yeah. But, I think yours was better.” He whispered quietly, as if it was a secret between you two.
You couldn’t fight the small smile lifting up your lips. This is what Jack did. He made you feel seen and heard. He pulled you into traumas with him, leaned closer to hear you speak, to let you share your opinion.
Jack's eyes stayed on your for a while longer, before his teeth dipped into his lower lip, his gaze moving to the screen now instead, studying your notes. "Your charts are neat. Easy to read, nice job." He gently patted your shoulder then, before standing up with a small groan and walking off.
It took you another five minutes to recalibrate your brain and focus back on the chart.
The next time you saw Jack was in the breakroom— a sacred space that you were lucky enough to have a little time for. You weren't expecting Jack, though. You can hardly relax around him.
But it's weird. He doesn't make you anxious in the way others do. It's hard to explain what you feel around him. Safety? No, no, that's nonsense. He's just your attending. He has to praise you. That's how you learn, right?
You open the fridge and grab your little lunch box, the top of it decorated with all sorts of stickers, all mirroring your interests. You can practically feel Jack's eyes burning into you, as you sit down by the table, right across from him.
There's a small tremble to your hands as you pop open the box, simultaneously pulling your water bottle from your bag— that you'd grabbed from your locker.
"That's all you're having?" Jack murmured, eyeing the small sandwich and handful of crackers in your lunchbox.
You didn't want to tell him that that's all you could scrape together. How your rent was raised again, and you're too anxious to talk to your landlord about it. Or how you're still stuck paying your mother's car off, because you know she won't listen if you ask for her to start paying her own bills.
"Yeah." You nodded, taking a small bite out of the sandwich, "I had a big meal before work. So this'll hold me over, until I get home." The lies from you came naturally, something you were far too comfortable with.
Lying is safe. You don't want people to see what a lonely mess your life actually is. As if being a pushover at work isn't enough, you're a pushover all over.
Being stuck so deep in your thoughts, you barely register the fact, that Jack had gone all quiet, watching you with that ever-familiar furrow in his brows. You avoided his gaze, making quick work of finishing your small lunch, just so you could escape.
Something about Jack is unsettling. Not in a bad way. It's just...safe. Too safe. You almost find yourself wanting to unclench your jaw, to actually tell him the truth. But he's the one person whose noticed you, and you can't risk pushing him away with your baggage.
"See you out there." You murmur as soon as your lunch is finished, the empty lunchbox shoved back into your bag, as you hurry out of the breakroom with your water bottle in hand.
The next few hours go by in a blur. You can definitely feel a little gnaw in your gut, the pitiful sandwich not really satisfying your hunger. But you had to make do. Just for now, right?
Jack noticed. He noticed the small frown on your face, and the way your hand would settle on your stomach when it threatened to rumble. He saw you eyeing the vending machine, or looking dreamily at the other lunches in the fridge.
You were so obvious. He thought it was cute, really. But also sad. You were so used to being ignored, you were sure no one would notice anything you do. But he notices.
And Jack also knew you'd never ask for anything. But he's not sure if he can take any more of your sweet puppy eyes looking at the vending machine. The food in that machine is mediocre, at best. You deserve more.
So yes, maybe Jack did order food. And maybe he 'accidentally' ordered too much, and begged you to split the food with him. He didn't want it to go to waste, he says...
You reluctantly agree. You hate taking things from people, but you hate wasting food even more, so you sat down to eat with him. He handed you more and more, swearing that he wasn't even that hungry.
An hour later, you see him buying a sandwich from the vending machine.
SUMMARY: When Phoebe's field day goes nowhere near as planned, Bella is left to pick up the pieces of your broken heart while Karis goes into labor and Jack and your father have a heart to heart.
WARNINGS: heavy angst in this one angels, parent abandonment, thoughts/feelings of unworthiness, tom, protective! Jack, mentions of foster care, some playful flirting and kissing, reader worrying that Jack is going to walk away.
A/N: a lot to unpack here, slightly longer than usual but honestly so needed. this is the second to last chapter of the series: the next part will be the final part and i am super sad about it. i cannot thank you all enough for all of the love and support you have given me and this series <3
PAIRING: Jack Abbot x Single Mom!Reader
WORD COUNT: 10.1k
PREV. PART — SERIES MASTERLIST
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
You don’t know much about cars.
You know how to drive, sure. You know which gas to get for your Honda, to get your oil changed every eight months, and you know how to change a tyre in case of an emergency, thanks to your dad.
What you don’t know is why your car is not turning on, why the engine is spluttering every time you try to start it. But you are very aware that it is not a good sign. If not by the noise alone, then by the deep furrow that’s setting between Jack’s brows.
“Pop the hood, I’ll take a look.” Jack says as he unclips his belt and opens the passenger side door, lets the cool air of the afternoon kiss your skin.
You press the button beneath the steering wheel, a small click sounding and Jack lifts the bonnet of the car until it blocks your view of him.
“Mommy, are we gonna be late?” Phoebe’s voice is nervous from the backseat, lips wrapped around a plastic straw as she chews on it, milkshake now empty.
You look at her through the rearview mirror with a reassuring smile. She’s dressed in a pair of pink shorts and a Pink Floyd t-shirt, sunnies resting on her nose and hair braided back. “No, baby. Jack’s gonna fix it.”
“Can’t fix it.” Jack appears at the passenger side again, lips curled in a thin line as he rests both forearms on the top of the car, leaning in slightly. “Gonna have to take it to a mechanic. Engine’s fucked.”
“Jack!” Phoebe quickly scolds him for the cuss word, and when you dare to look at her through the mirror again, she wears a furiously disappointed expression.
It’s something she’s picked up on since her little scolding two months ago, when she called Tom an ass. Not that you can really blame her, he’s been radio silent since you sent a few shitty messages expressing your anger.
Hasn’t shown up on the agreed days to see her, hasn’t even sent a message to check in. And despite it, you’ve still reached out to inform him of her field day today. Another one that’s been left on read and ignored.
Jack at least has the audacity to grimace, spluttering out an apology and offering you a sheepish expression. Your hands drop from the wheel with a sigh, reaching up to pinch the bridge of your nose.
“Can’t do it now, we’ll miss field day.” Jack shrugs, moving toward Phoebe’s door and tugging it open.
“I can get my guy to take a look tomorrow. I’ll drive us instead.”
You don’t know why you even allowed yourself to begin to stress. Of course, Jack will just drive instead. You blame your increased annoyance and stress levels on Tom because your resentment toward him has reached an all time high.
Phoebe hops out of your car when Jack unclips her, skips toward Jack’s which is quite literally parked beside yours. He’s already unlocked it and Phoebe gets herself into the back while Jack retrieves her carseat from yours.
It’s far too natural and practiced when he locks your car and carries Phoebe’s seat across to the back row of his vehicle. When he fastens it securely and buckles Phoebe in while you get comfortable in the passenger side.
Jack’s engine doesn’t rumble or splutter like it’s sick when he starts up. It purrs and vibrates to life and the aircon kicks in immediately.
You’ve always enjoyed watching Jack drive. His relaxed grip on the steering wheel, the focused set between his brows when he checks it’s safe to pull out and onto the road. There’s also something oddly sexy about the way his biceps flex beneath his cotton-shirt when he turns left with the palm of his hand.
You’re not exactly slick with your admiration, but Jack doesn’t comment on it. He does, however, shoot you a wide glance as a smirk curls at the corner of his mouth. It’s something he’s noticed a lot more over the past six to eight weeks; your seeming infatuation with his arms and muscles.
You’ve been favouring curling a palm around his biceps on walks a lot more recently, instead of intertwining fingers. Not ever something Jack will complain about. He welcomes the ego boost and reassurance that your attraction to him isn’t just for his personality and heart. It’s his old man looks, too.
And the more time that passes, the bolder you’re becoming with him. Jack doesn’t mean just sexually, he means in the gentle domestic way, too.
You’ve relaxed more when it comes to him and Phoebe, like you’re finally understanding that Jack doesn’t plan on going anywhere. He’s been spending the night more often than not; settling Phoebe to bed with you of an evening, and comforting her in the middle of the night when she’s startled awake from a nightmare.
Or more recently, growing pains in her shins.
Jack’s found his footing in this little family, has grown comfortable in the warmth of your home and hearts. For months, Jack’s worried about overstepping, of being too present. But when you didn’t ask him to come to Phoebe’s school field day—when you just assumed he’ll be there—Jack realized what this was becoming.
“Jack, your music isn’t on.” Phoebe whines from the backseat.
He casts a glance at her through the rearview mirror, grins at the disappointed pout on the kids lips and reaches into the cup holder for his phone. With his eyes back on the road, he passes it to you silently.
The screen lights up, his lockscreen a photo of Phoebe stuffing her face with pancakes when the three of you went for breakfast a few weeks ago. There’s a dull ache that forms behind your heart at the sight of it, at how openly he loves her.
You swipe the screen up, typing in his password and making your way to the Spotify app. When you go into his library, there are only three playlists. The first is your Sunday Funk Day mix, the one he asked you to send him almost seven months ago when you were only in that odd texting stage.
The second one has no playlist cover, a generic title of My Playlist.
But the third one, it takes you a moment before you can click on it.
My Divas.
The playlist cover is a photo of you and Phoebe asleep on the couch, cuddled up under a knitted blanket with mouths agape and heads lulled back.
When you click into it, you’re met with a list of songs that tally up to 8 hours and 39 minutes of playtime. You hit shuffle, let the music flow through the cars stereo system. Phoebe’s quick to sing along to the familiar tune and you take a moment to scroll through the list.
Half of the songs are from your own playlist…the other half, you come to realize, are songs that remind Jack of you and Pheebs.
You can feel yourself growing warm, can feel a tender sensation wrap around your bones and you lock Jack’s phone, tucking it back into the cup holder.
It’s been on your mind for longer than you’d like to admit; the change between you both, the heaviness and overwhelming feeling you get in your heart when it comes to Jack.
But you don’t say anything, even if that feeling does bloom across your chest with each day that passes. Instead, you sing along with them both. You dance in your seat and let the sound of Jack and Phoebe’s laughter wash over you.
Let yourself understand and accept for the first time, that this may be your forever.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
Your palm curls around Jack’s bicep as you walk across the field, a laugh barking out of you as the sound of Phoebe’s loud excitement follows you across the grass. The moment you had taken her to her classmates and dropped her bag and water off with her teachers, she rushed over to her friends and didn’t even offer a second glance at you or Jack.
It didn’t matter how many times the both of you called out to her, she wasn’t having any of it.
“She’s gonna be exhausted after this.” Jack comments with a fond tone, cocking his head down just enough to grin at you.
You meet his gaze with the same expression, squeezing the muscle of his arm and practically skipping in step with him. “Hm, maybe she’ll actually sleep through the night, then.”
Jack hums, leaning down just enough to press a kiss to the top of your head while still walking toward the rest of the parents across the various tracks and equipment set up for the kids.
“Tony will come by tomorrow morning when I’m back from work to take a look at the car.”
Your brows knit at his words and you turn to him again, still walking toward where you’ve spotted your parents and friends.
“You’ve already spoken to him?”
Jack hums. “Shot him a text when we got here. Said I’ll meet him out front at nine.”
You watch him for a moment, blinking at this capable, honest, strong, observant, sexy man that you somehow get to call your boyfriend. One of the only men that hasn’t disappointed you—a man whose actions always match his words.
And it’s entirely inappropriate for you to feel so hot about it given your surroundings.
Just like everything else when it comes to you, Jack notices. The heat that sits at the apples of your cheeks, the slight heaviness that passes over your eyes, the slight dents your fingernails mark in his skin when you grip his bicep a bit tighter.
He stares down at you with a secret smirk and a quirked brow, amusement licking at the gleam in his eyes.
“Yeah? That gets you going, baby?” His voice is a low murmur, deep, teasing, and only loud enough for your ears alone.
You suck your bottom lip between your teeth, dig your nails into him a little harder. “Shutup. It’s sexy when you fix things…when you take care of things.”
A dark, breathy chuckle escapes him and his voice lowers even more when you grow closer to your parents and friends. “That right? Just things or you?”
You dare a gaze up at him from beneath your lashes. “Both.”
His grin turns borderline sinful when he gently unwraps your palm from around his arm and gently pushes you to walk in front of him with his hand on your lower back, squeezing through groups of families to reach your own.
His body is pressed against the back of yours as he keeps close, and when you’re out of the thick of the crowd, Jack leans down to line his lips with your ear, his stubble grazing deliciously at your jaw.
“For what it’s worth, it’s sexy when you let me.”
“Honey! Jack!” You’re given no time or chance to recalibrate your mind when your mom is calling out to you both, waving her hands as if you can’t see her from just twelve feet away.
Jack squeezes your hip, the bastard, and waves back animatedly to your parents. As if he hasn’t just riled you up or short-circuited your brain.
He jumps straight into conversation with David and Ricky, like he’s known them for years. Talking about what, you’re unsure but somewhere mid conversation with your mom, you notice Jack showing off his prosthetic in his khaki shorts.
It’s midway through Phoebe’s egg and spoon race that Karis comes hobbling over with Bella. The former holds water while the latter stuffs a hotdog into her mouth like it’s the only sausage she’s found enjoyment in for years.
“You should not be here, you’re a week overdue!” You greet Karis with a playful scold and she grins in return, spare hand caressing her overly swollen bump.
You reach for it the moment she’s close enough, palms cupping the fabric of her sundress in hopes of feeling a kick.
“Jack’s here, so if I go into labor I should be fine.”
The unexpected joke pulls a laugh out of you, bright and genuine and incredibly amused. Before you can make a joke back about your own incident with your pelvic exam, shouts of angry encouragement sound from beside you.
“Come on, Phoebe!”
“Take her out, Diva! Keep fucking going!”
Chloe and Leone are red in the face, far too invested as you follow their line of sight to find Phoebe almost sprinting with a spoon in front of her, tediously balancing an egg in the dip of the utensil.
She approaches one of her classmates, hot on her heels and passing her just at the finish line.
“Good job, kid!” Her head whips around at the sound of Jack’s voice calling out to her in praise, the smile on her face enough to light up a dark room.
“I did it!” she screams across the field, jumping in her spot as she holds the spoon and egg in the air.
Prue cackles out a laugh as she videos her granddaughter, laughing louder when Florence races to Pheebs to tackle her in a hug to celebrate.
Bella snorts from beside you, muttering something about the pair of them being nothing but trouble makers when they’re older. The thought makes you feel proud and sick at the same time.
You hear Jack’s laughter when the girls start dancing, and when you look across your little group, you find him with his camera facing them, a grin on his face and pride in his eyes.
The sun beats down on him, casting his skin golden, caressing his freckles, brightening his splatter of grey hairs and glinting off the metal of his leg. For once, Jack doesn’t notice your admiration, doesn’t feel your presence grow closer and closer until you’re by his side.
The moment he does, it’s instinctive for his arm to snake around your waist, to pull you into him while keeping his attention on Phoebe and Florence.
“She’s having so much fun,” he says softly.
You hum, watching as Flo runs off for her next course and Pheebs remains in her spot, chugging half a bottle of water and picking flowers from the grass.
“Thank you for coming.”
Jack looks down at you with a frown at your words, pocketing his phone to turn to you fully; both hands on your hips as you reach to wrap your arms around his neck.
“Baby, you do not have to thank me for showing up for Pheebs.” He wants to say that it’s his job, that he couldn’t imagine not being there for her for anything, ever. You can tell as much by the hesitancy that flashes across his eyes.
“I know,” you say quietly. “But I want you to know that I notice. I see everything you do for us, I—we—appreaicte it, appreciate you.”
Jack’s gaze softens into something tender and understanding. A hand abandons your waist to cradle your jaw, his thumb soothing across your cheek and you go boneless in his hold. It causes a surge of something hot to swarm Jack’s heart.
Because Jack doesn’t think he’s ever done anything overly special or out of the ordinary for either of you. And yet, you gaze up at him like he’s personally hung every star in the sky.
“I don’t show up to be appreciated, I do it because I lo—”
A nervous call of your name cuts Jack off before he can say it. Both your heads turn to your dad, whose eyes are focused and hard on the field behind you.
You don’t have any time to dwell on the thumping of your heartbeat, to push for Jack to continue whatever he was going to say. Because when you follow your dad’s line of sight, Phoebe is toe to toe with a boy in her class and her fists are tight at her side.
You watch in anxious fury when the little blond boy steps closer into Phoebe’s space, but she doesn't back down. She continues to frown, to hold her own with her chin held high.
The kids lips are moving, snickering but none of you can make out what’s being said. Whatever it is, it makes Pheebs laugh, which in turn seems to make the kid angrier. You feel movement from beside you; Jack itching to cross the field and sort the issue himself, but you reach a hand for his arm to stop him.
“Just give her a second.”
He blinks, but does not argue, returns to your side while David watches from your other.
When the boy puts his hands on Phoebe’s shoulders and shoves, your blood roars angry and Jack is struggling to stay beside you. His own fists are curled, eyes scanning the crowd for the boy's father.
He almost misses when Phoebe quickly finds her balance and shoves the kid back with even more force, knocking him on his ass. A prideful grin curls on Jack’s face, and he’s struck with two thoughts.
One immediate, the other sobering.
His first thought is that the idea of someone hurting his little girl is enough to make him feral. To screw the oath he took when he became a doctor and to inflict as much harm as humanly possible to anyone that poses a threat to Phoebe.
The second thought comes a second too late after the first. Realization catching him deathly still. His little girl. How easy it had been to call her that in his mind, to feel that way about her. How quickly he was willing to go against his oath and word and character.
His little girl.
His little girl.
His little girl.
It sobers him enough to realize just how deep he’s fallen. What little right he actually has to consider her as such. His inner panic is lost on you, your gaze still set on Pheebs, a grin of pride on your own face at how well she handled herself.
Jack looks back across the field, watches the way she sticks her tongue out at the little boy before walking away and lining up for the relay race. She’s so much like you that it hurts Jack’s heart.
Your smile, your resilience, your strength and your humor. Phoebe has become such a prominent little figure in Jack’s life now. To the point that if, for whatever reason, things don’t work out between the two of you, he could never imagine turning his back on her.
He’s already made it clear that this is not casual. But now, Jack is met with the very real epiphany that he wants this to be his forever. That he needs to be there to watch Phoebe grow like every father does for their daughter.
That he will do anything to be offered the privilege of being whatever type of figure you’ll both allow him to be.
“That’s our girl.” The words fall from yours and David’s mouth at the same time, wearing far too identical grins for a father and daughter through choice and not blood.
Jack swallows thickly, looses a shaky breath when he feels a warm gust of air caress the side of his face—one he now associates with his late Mary.
Reassuring him, soothing him.
Too caught up in his mind, he doesn’t notice your phone pinging consistently from your back pocket, or the dejection that plasters its way across your face. It’s only when you’re resting a palm on his bicep and holding out your phone to him that you catch his attention.
“I'll be right back. Can you take some photos of Pheebs?”
He hums, takes the phone and puckers his lips when you lean up to kiss him. Jack doesn’t watch you walk away, gets the camera ready instead to record Phoebe’s next race as you excuse yourself.
Tom’s text still echoes in your mind.
Can you meet me in the parking lot?
There’s a horrible feeling in your gut. One that promises he’s about to ruin Phoebe’s day with his presence alone. Part of you wonders if he’s seen Jack’s car here instead of yours and is about to refuse to show up unless you make Jack leave.
When you approach the parking lot and spot Tom leaning against the bonnet of his Audi, you throw your hands up at your sides in both annoyance and exasperation.
“You ignored me for two months and now you can’t even show your face at your daughter's field day?” you call out across the short distance.
But as you grow closer, stopping just a few feet from him, Tom doesn’t look angry or resentful. It’s so much worse than that. He looks…regretful. Sad.
“I didn’t want her to see me.”
Your brows pinch involuntarily at the sombre sound of his voice. It’s a tone you don’t think you’ve ever heard from him before and you can’t put your finger on it but it’s leaving you very unsettled.
“What’s going on?” Your voice is careful, tedious.
Tom’s hands are shoved into his jean pockets, shoulder dropping as he blows out a heavy exhale of air. He doesn’t look at you, keeps his gaze locked on the tarmac beneath his feet.
“I think I need to take a step back.” Tom lifts his gaze to yours and for the first time in years, you can see the pain in them.
“I’m not—” he exhales shakily, pulls his hands out of his pockets to run them down his face. “I’m not cut out for this. Being a dad.”
You blink at him, feel your heart stop in your chest before it begins to ache; like it’s being dragged down to the pit of your stomach.
“What are you saying?” Your tone is hard, voice close to trembling from the anger and heartache.
Tom remains silent for a moment, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Like the coward he is, he averts your gaze again, focuses on the way his shoes scuff at the ground.
“I’m saying that I think I need to step away. For good. I never wanted kids, Y/N. When you told me you were pregnant with Phoebe, that didn’t change for me. I’ve tried to be a dad, but it’s just not the life I’m supposed to live.”
You can feel your blood rushing in your ears, can feel an ache in your fingertips as he speaks. You’re stunned, unable to articulate your thoughts fast enough to compose a sentence.
...It’s just not the life I’m supposed to live.
You stare at him, at the man you once loved, the father of your child. There’s a ringing in his ears as he continues speaking. Talking about his dreams to travel and explore, how Phoebe does not fit into any narrative of the life he’s created in his head. In any of the plans he’s made for his future.
Your throat grows tight in anger and resentment, in pure, unadulterated hate.
Because you changed your life and your dreams to fit around Phoebe. You consider her in every single decision you make, in every tiny thought you have. You’ve sacrificed sleep and relationships and opportunities for her.
Because that’s what a mother does. It’s what a parent does.
And here Tom is, making it loud and clear that he does not want her. That he doesn’t want to be her dad, he doesn’t want her in his life. That Phoebe is nothing but a burden to him, something that he never asked for.
“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Your voice is tight with fury when you finally manage to speak. “I have given you every out possible! I never forced this on you, I asked you several times to just fucking walk away. But you just couldn’t take the thought of us doing well without you. You sit there and you disrespect me, you talk shit on Jack– who, by the way, has been more of a father to her than you ever have—”
“I know!” Tom’s voice raises into a shout, one full of his own anger and hatred. You refuse to shrink away from it, from him.
“She deserves Jack. You deserve Jack. He is a good man and I fucking hate it.” Tom spits the words with so much venom it makes your blood boil and you can’t help but scoff.
“Is that what this is? Because of Jack? You’re threatened by him?” Your voice rises with every word. “You’re going to walk away from your daughter because another man is more of a father to her than you are!?”
Tom clenches his jaw, jerks his head to look away from you; a tell sign that he’s trying to calm himself down, and it’s absolutely fucking pathetic.
But he doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t argue that that’s not the case, doesn’t push to try to be better for her, or to offer any other reason besides the selfish life he’s carved himself.
You swallow down the bile that’s rising up your throat. “If you walk away from her now, you are not welcome back. Not ever, and I fucking mean that, Tom.”
He nods to himself, stands with his hands still tucked into his pockets. “I’m not on her birth certificate so I don’t have any legal rights as a father. But if you want to speak with the courts so it’s all legit, we can. Let me know.”
You stare at him in astonishment, your breathing ragged and vision blurring as Tom rounds the bonnet of his car to get into the driver's side. He doesn’t offer you another glance when the engine starts and he pulls out of the parking lot.
You’re still staring at the empty space after he’s gone. Unable to truly process what the fuck has just happened, how absolute he is in his decision to walk out on Phoebe. His daughter, his blood.
Your movements are mindless and subconscious when you trek back to the field, silent streams of silver that glisten on the warm skin of your cheeks. It doesn’t matter that he was absent anyway, it doesn’t matter that all he’s ever done is disappoint…what matters is that he has never loved Phoebe.
That your sweet girl is going to grow up wondering why she was never good enough for her own father. A feeling you’re far too familiar with and something you never ever wanted her to experience.
Jack’s the one that notices your return first. A cheer halting from the back of his throat as Pheebs wins another race when he catches sight of you. He moves quickly, eyes wide with panic and concern at the pure shock and devastation on your face.
“Honey? What’s wrong? Hey, what happened?”
His palms are cupping your face with a ghost of a touch, not wanting to crowd you but needing to help you snap out of whatever the fuck is going on. The moment you feel his skin on yours, when his scent and comforting presence envelops you, a sob tears through the back of your throat.
He wipes away the tears as quickly as they fall, shushing and cooing and trying to get you to breathe. The sound of your cries and Jack’s slightly panicked tone is enough to catch the attention of the others.
“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”
“Where did you go? What happened?”
No one touches you but Jack. But your parents stand beside him, Bella too while Karis, Ricky, Leon and Chloe stand back in worry and concern.
Your friends have been with you since highschool, have watched you through your biggest highs and your lowest of lows. The only other time they’ve ever seen you so distraught is when you lost your fiance.
It breaks their hearts.
“Tom was in the parking lot.” You take a breath, struggling to wipe away your tears.
You feel Jack grow tense at the mention of him and his presence, watch his gaze turn from panic to fury and can tell just by the look on his face that he’s trying to calm down and not cause a scene.
Prue watches with concern, finally finds herself reaching out to rub a gentle hand up and down your arm. David, however, shares the same cold expression as Jack, and he reaches for him with a hand on his shoulder—a silent vow to promise he’ll beat Tom’s ass with him.
“He’s uh…he’s gone.”
Your mom blinks, shakes her head in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“He’s walking away,” your voice is hoarse. “He said he’ll contact the courts if needed to resign his parental rights over Phoebe.”
“What?” Jack’s breathless reply is all he can muster up. He can feel his heart sinking to his stomach, the shock and heartache for Phoebe tingling in his fingertips.
You barely notice movement from your side, don’t turn your head to see Bella stomping off toward the parking lot, don’t hear Karis sending Ricky to follow. But you do hear the cry that slips from your mom, the way she reaches for your dad in comfort.
Because they know what this means for Phoebe. The upset and anger that you went through as a kid toward your biological parents for walking away, is something she will now no doubt struggle with.
It’s the same thing that’s replaying in your mind, in Jack’s too. It’s enough for him to wrap you in his arms and coddle you to his chest, to cup the back of your head with one hand while the other attempts to soothingly stroke up and down your spine.
“You are everything that she’ll ever need, okay? She has us. She’ll never not have us.”
His hold on you is nothing short of secure and safe. A silent promise alongside his words that he is not going anywhere.
She has us. She’ll never not have us.
Jack pulls away just enough to get a look at you, to wipe the remnant tears from your pretty face.
“I know she’s better off without him and he has never once been consistent, but I gave him so many chances to walk away, Jack. I told him to leave before she was old enough to understand…”
“I know, baby. I know.” His palms rest on your shoulders, a firm sort of massage to do anything to try and help the tension in your muscles.
David watches with an ache in his chest, rubbing at the spot with a wide palm like he’s physically pained by the situation. His eyes flicker from you to Bella and Ricky who rejoin the group, shaking their hands that Tom wasn’t there for them to tear into.
Jack lets his gaze stretch across the field, checking that Phoebe is still okay. She’s none the wiser to the situation, happily skipping through another race where Chloe and Leone have moved closer—most likely to keep her distracted if she looks over and spots the commotion.
When Jack turns back to you, you’ve wiped your face and appear somewhat more composed on the surface. But he can read you like a book; and he can see the hurt and pain you’re struggling to bury in your eyes.
“I’ll call in tonight, okay? I’ll get Shen to cover.”
Guilt hits you almost as hard as the hurt and you’re shaking your head before he can finish getting his words out. “No. Work is more important, they need you there.”
He wants to argue otherwise, you know he does. That you are more important right now, that Phoebe is. If his job wasn’t so crucial, you’re ashamed to admit you’d allow him to call in sick, that you’d be selfish enough to ask him to stay with you.
“Hey,” Bella interrupts gently with a soft hand on your arm. “I’ll stay over tonight. The girls can have a sleepover.
You don’t even consider refusing Bella’s offer. Not because you prefer her comfort or company over Jack's, but because this is something you expect from your best friend. Because you’ve both done it for one another so much over the years. Because you are aunts to one another’s daughters.
But Jack is just Phoebe’s moms boyfriend. If her own biological father can’t stick around and show up for her, how can you ever expect Jack to. It’s an unfair expectation to have. One that, perhaps you’re not entitled to.
And he can see it. The thought process as Bella offers herself to you for the evening. He watches all the progress you’ve made together go backwards—watches you sink back into those feelings of unworthiness, of being too much.
Jesus Christ, it breaks his fucking heart.
And when you nod at Bella through teary eyes and an appreciative smile, he doesn’t even get to pull you aside to talk you down from this undeserving ledge. A gasp sounds from behind you the moment he tries to reach out, and everyone's attention is diverted to a slightly pale Karis and the burst of fluid that’s drenched the grass beneath her feet.
“Karis…”
“I’m sorry, I think my waters just broke.”
It’s entirely accidental and completely clumsy when Ricky gently tries to shove through everyone to get to his wife, tripping over his feet and pale in complexion. He doesn’t touch her when he reaches her, hands frozen at his sides as he stares at the wet ground.
“Okay, uh, we should go…” He sounds so unsure of himself, nothing like the usual Ricky you’ve come to know and love.
For a split, selfish moment, you forget about everything else around you. It’s shoved to the back of your mind as you watch one of your bestest friends about to become a mother. The hurt and anguish is momentarily replaced with overwhelming joy and excitement.
But it all comes crashing back to you when you watch Ricky hold Karis so tenderly, when he peppers kisses to her temple and they grin at one another when the shock turns into excitement. It’s a feeling of anguish and envy because that was not the experience you had.
Tom did not hold or caress you when your labor started. He didn’t breathe with you through contractions, did not hold your hand or reassure you when Phoebe stopped moving and her heartrate began to drop.
Because Tom didn’t show up. He wasn’t there for any of your appointments, never listened to Phoebe’s heartbeat as she grew. He declined every one of your calls when you tried to tell him you were going into labor, declined your fathers when he tried to update him that you were going for surgery, that there was a possibility that Phoebe wouldn’t make it.
It makes you feel sick to feel so envious of Karis’ happiness in this moment. She deserves the love and support. She deserves for her birth to feel magical and precious. You didn’t deserve the fear and loneliness of yours, even if your mom was with you.
But more importantly, it makes you realize that the only thing Tom has ever offered Phoebe is confusion and instability.
And Jack watches it all like he can see every thought flash across your eyes. The hurt and pain, the mix of envy and happiness.
He doesn’t say anything as he reaches for you, as he tucks you against his chest and rests his chin on the top of your head. But your arms circle his waist and your nuzzle into him, loosing a heavy breath.
“It’ll be okay, honey.”
The certainty of his reassurance pierces through your heart. And despite your worry that one day Jack could decide to just up and leave, too, you still let yourself wonder why it couldn’t have been him.
Why you couldn’t have met him sooner, why he couldn’t have been the one to hold your hand and guide your breathing through contractions. Why he couldn’t have been the one to cry with you in surgery. Why he couldn’t be Phoebe’s father.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
Phoebe and Florence grin at the camera, three trophies stuffed under their arms and one silver medal hanging from their necks. Their cheeks are flushed, hair windswept and knees grass-stained, but they both beam with so much happiness and pride.
“Hold still…” You manage to snap three photos before Phoebe drops the proof of her achievements and races to the kitchen for food, Florence’s footsteps just as loud and urgent as she follows.
“No running in the house!” Bella calls after them, nursing an iced tea as she lounges at the kitchen island in Prue and David’s house.
The girls giggle as they climb to sit at the island with her, chugging their plastic cups of water and stuffing cucumber sticks in their mouths. Your mom watches in fondness, cutting sandwiches into small triangles and placing them on an oval platter.
“Lunch before playing in the yard. You strong girls need your energy before playing.” She says it in the most lovingly stern voice she can muster, but everyone knows she’ll cave the moment the girls batter their lashes and compliment her hair.
Smart girls. They’ve got Grandma sussed.
Jack places the trophies back on the counter, watches in astonishment as the girls eat half their weight in sandwiches and veggie sticks (something that is usually a battle for Pheebs), and then race out to the backyard to play in the Wendy house.
The moment they are out of earshot, all eyes are turning to you and you fucking hate it.
“I don’t wanna talk about it.”
“Honey…” Your mom softens, reaches across the island to brush her fingertips against yours.
You pull away with a shake of your head. Not because her comfort isn’t welcomed, but because if you accept it, you’ll crumble. And you don’t want to cry anymore because of Tom, because of what he’s done to Phoebe.
“No—I… he’s never been a father to her. Never showed up when it matters, never cared enough to put her first. I’m just—angry. So fucking angry and tired and—”
Your dads arms wrap around you the moment you crumble, and he holds you like you’re a teenager again; angry at the world and confused and lost.
It feels the same to him, like he’s comforting his little girl, trying to protect her from the evil of the world. But you’re not a little girl anymore, and this is not something that he can protect you from. But he holds you tight, anyway. Lets you cry into his chest and lets you sink because he will always catch you.
David’s chin rests on the top of your head when he casts a glance at Prue, who’s covering her trembling mouth with her palm. Bella, who cries silently because while Florence’s dad has never been in the picture, at least he had the decency to walk away before it began.
And when David looks toward Jack, he holds you tighter. Jack’s eyes are set on the kitchen counter, knuckles white as he grips the corners, jaw set tight and eyes rimmed with tears.
The sounds of your cries and sniffles tear his chest apart. In his forty-four years of life, he has never felt such anger, never been riddled with so much hate and disgust for one person. And David can see it in his eyes, can feel those emotions rolling off him.
He presses a kiss to your forehead as he pulls away and lets you have a moment to wipe your tears. The movement catches Jack’s attention and he turns to David, nose twitching as he tries to reign in his emotions.
David nods his head briefly to you, a silent command that you need him right now and he doesn’t hesitate. Jack pushes off the counter to move toward you, to stand at your back and place steady hands on your shoulders, to lean down and press a tender kiss to your temple.
Your shoulders drop at the feel of him so close, like a blanket of safety and comfort has been draped over you. One hand comes up to rest on his; your fingertips tracing his knuckles as your head falls back against his chest with another sniffle.
“She is going to ask questions,” David says softly. “You did, too. But you have time before that happens. Time to decide what truth you want to tell her.”
You nod as you exhale shakily, fingers wrapping around Jack’s and you squeeze one another in a desperate need of reassurance.
“But you listen to me good, kid. You are a phenomenal mother. You have sacrificed so much for your daughter, you have shown up for her every day and you have never once put a single thing before her. You are all she has ever needed and all she ever will.”
Your father stares at you with so much love and adoration and respect that you don’t quite know what to do with it. To have made him as proud as you have…it has tears burning at your eyes again.
And you believe him. You are a good mother, you will always put Phoebe before anything, but you have not done it alone. You’ve had your parents by your side every step of the way. Had Bella and Karis, Chloe and Leone.
And now, Jack.
Your sweet, incredible Jack. Who has never once complained when you’ve had to cancel a date. Who has always considered Phoebe and planned dates to accommodate her. Who has come into her life and stayed, never once disappointing or not showing up since the moment they met.
Jack, who loves Phoebe with every fibre of his being.
And when David’s eyes flick up from yours to meet Jack’s, his head nods in something subtle. Like a silent way of saying, you too, the both of you is all she needs.
“Now, we are not going to cry anymore. I am going to make my grandbabies some popcorn and we are going to forget about that little asshole.”
He calls the girls in while everyone else wipes away their tears, makes a show of getting out a pan for popcorn and when you catch Jack’s gaze, he tilts his head toward the yard in silent invitation.
The air kisses your warm skin as you take your seats on the patio furniture, pressed into Jack’s side as he curls an arm around your shoulder to keep you close.
You sit in silence for a minute, like you’re both trying to figure out how to broach the subject, where to go from here.
“Can you promise me something?” Jack asks quietly, voice low and slightly pained.
You pull away just enough to crane your neck up to look at him at the same time he gazes down at you. And it’s then that you notice the redness of his eyes; the worry and concern and hurt that’s buried itself deep in the lines of his skin.
“You talk to me.” His voice cracks when he requests it. “You don’t get stuck or lost in your head. You have a concern, you voice it. We talk through it. ‘Cause I’m not going anywhere, and I need you to tell me you understand that.”
You swallow the lump in your throat, the need to argue that if Tom can so easily walk away from Pheebs, what’s to say that he won’t, too.
“I know what you’re thinking, and it’s not going to happen.” Jack rasps like he can read your mind, and you don’t miss the hurt in his voice. The fact that you think he could so easily, so carelessly walk away from either of you like that.
“You say that now, but what if things change.” He hates the pain in your voice, the worry and fear and heartache.
Jack shakes his head, his hand coming up to caress your jaw and stroke soothingly against your cheek; catching the tears before they can fully fall.
“Baby, I told you before but I’ll happily tell you again…you and Phoebe are all that I care about. Your happiness, your safety, your health…”
His voice is a wreck as he stares down at you, as he catches the sheer vulnerability in your eyes. It’s on the tip of his tongue, right on the precipice of spilling over. But he catches it before it can.
“There is nothing that I wouldn't do for you, for Phoebe. And even if you and I don’t work out, or you meet someone younger or better—”
“—there is no younger or better—”
“—I will never turn my back on her. I give you my word, that I will be present in Phoebe’s life, no matter what. In whatever capacity you allow me to be, I will be there. Happily. Willingly.”
You stare at him in awe, with so much adoration that you feel yourself starting to cry again. You have never felt this way about anyone. Not Tom, not even your beloved lost love.
He leans down to close the small gap, rests your foreheads together as the tip of his nose brushes down the slope of yours. “You two have made an irrevocable mark on me. You are not something I plan to walk away from.”
Your bottom lip trembles at the sincerity of his words, at the soft and gentleness he’s always given you. You’ve never been cared for so openly, so genuinely. No one has ever been so gentle with your heart and mind. No one has ever watered your soul in hopes that it will bloom and thrive.
No one but Jack.
Perhaps it’s wrong to feel so significantly lighter when he intertwines your fingers and guides you back into your parents house. Maybe you should still be hurt and sad and inconsolable over the events of the day.
But you do.
You let yourself trust him, his words and his heart. You let yourself laugh loudly when your dad makes his so-called ‘crazy popcorn’, where he lifts the lid of the pan to stress the importance of keeping it on and kernels fly across the kitchen.
When Phoebe and Florence almost piss themselves from laughing so hard.
It suddenly makes sense to Jack what Pheebs had meant a couple of months ago when he wasn’t as creative and just made the popcorn in the microwave. A mental note he makes for next time.
He squeezes your hand gently, trying to catch your attention. And when you turn to him with some of the light back in your eyes, it’s like he visibly relaxes.
“I’m gonna head back to the apartment. Check on Sally, get some shut eye before shift tonight.”
The thought of not having him by your side right now isn’t one you’re too thrilled about, but you nod anyway, intertwining your fingers.
“Alright, we’re gonna stay here for a bit.”
Jack watches you for a moment, like he’s searching for any split second of hesitancy or unease so can insist on calling in sick and staying with you. But he finds none.
“You sure you’ll be okay?” He asks quietly.
You’re not sure, not even in the slightest. But you have Bella and the girls. You can’t expect or allow him to put his life on pause because of something another man has done. That’s not fair to him.
So you nod, plaster on a smile that’s as believable as possible. “Yeah. Bella’s gonna stay. And our talk helped.”
Jack squints at you, like he can tell you’re trying to save face for him and he doesn’t like it. But he’a already made it clear to you that he’s here, that he wants to help. He worries that if he pushes more you’ll pull away again. So he relents with a sigh and his hands on your waist, luring you into his arms.
“Okay, you call me if you need me and I'll check in through the night.”
Selfishly, you don’t even consider refusing that. You’ll happily take the calls and texts through his shift, if only until you can be with him again tomorrow.
Jack leans close to press a tender kiss to your forehead, hands gripping your waist like he’s making sure you’re not about to disappear. And it’s like it physically pains him to pull away to say goodbye to everyone else.
Prue seeks him out first, wrapping him in a mother’s embrace that he hasn’t felt for himself in many years. She squeezes him like he’s her only son, whispers her thanks for looking after her daughter and grandbaby.
Jack doesn’t have it in him to be able to reply without growing upset. So he smiles through pursed lips and untangles from her hold when David approaches to pat a hand on his shoulder and turns their bodies toward the sink to form a quiet curtain of privacy.
“I want you to do me a favor.”
Jack keeps his gaze focused on the faucet as David speaks in a low tone; one that’s rich in pain and protectiveness and he hates that he knows what he's about to be asked.
“You might feel like it’s not your place, but you cannot allow Tom back into their lives. I know my daughter is a strong woman…but she cannot handle this when it comes to Phoebe.”
Jack cranes his neck to the side to meet David’s desperate gaze. There’s more to it in his eyes, more than just asking a favor for this situation. There’s the worry of who will take care of them when he’s gone. Because the years are passing faster than he can keep up with.
“I’m—” Jack’s voice cracks and he clears his throat, speaking again in a much lower and pained tone. “I’m not sure she’d want me to involve myself.”
David shakes his head before he manages to finish his sentence. “You’re already involved, son. You’re in love with my daughter and you treat Phoebe like she’s your own. They are your family now. As men, we protect our families.”
There’s a stinging sensation behind Jack’s eyes, a throbbing that aches around his heart. David is a smart man, he knows. It’s his way of making sure Jack can take care of you both, his way of accepting him, his silent blessing wrapped in protective ribbon.
You’re in love with my daughter.
He doesn’t deny it.
“Yes, sir.” Jack nods, voice gravelly.
David squeezes his shoulder as a sad sort of grin begins to tug across your father’s mouth. “Just David to you.”
He doesn’t say anything else. Just passes Jack with a fatherly pat on his back before returning his attention to Phoebe and Florence—who Jack had no idea Prue and David also considered to be their granddaughter.
“I’ll stay with her tonight, promise.”
He turns at the sound of Bella’s voice as she stands beside him, leaning against the kitchen counter with arms crossed over her chest.
“Thank you.” He looses a sigh, eyes immediately seeking you out across the room as you check your phone for any updates on Karis yet.
Bella notices, she always does. Follows his line of sight and for the first time, she doesn’t feel protective of you—doesn’t feel like she needs to warn Jack or give him a talking to. Because he watches you with so much devotion and care, so much love it almost chokes her.
If anyone is deserving of it, it’s you.
The only time his attention is torn away from you is when small footsteps rush toward him and Pheebs is at his feet, arms in the air as she tries to show him her picture.
Jack doesn’t falter when he lifts her—something she’s very close to being too big for—and rests her on his hip, shifting his weight to his good leg and taking a look at her drawing.
“Look, it’s us!” She points to each figure as she lists them off. “Mommy, me, you, and there’s Sally!”
The figures are misshapen and different colors, uncoordinated and chaotic but that’s Phoebe for you. She’s tried to write names at the top—something the three of you have been working on over the past couple of months—and the sight of Jack’s spelt wrong and mostly with shapes and a silver crayon used to draw a line for his prosthetic…it has his throat tightening.
He decides right then that he’s going to pin it in his locker at work.
“You are such an artist, Diva. I love it, you even put my leg in there.”
“Duh,” she says, like it’s the most obvious thing to include.
And Bella watches the exchange. The way Phoebe’s eyes sparkle when she looks at Jack, the way he holds her tight and kisses the side of her head. She watches how your smile widens when you notice them, when you grin something bright and cosmic, when you stand by Jack’s side and Pheebs shows you the picture.
She listens when Jack tells Diva to behave for you, when he checks if you need her carseat and you tell him Bella has a spare. When Phoebe wiggles out of his grasp and runs off to Florence, when he waves at them both as they scream a BYE JACK at him.
Bella does have the decency to turn away when he kisses you, though. When he promises to see you in the morning and bring breakfast for everyone. When he jokes about stealing your shower to put the chair you got him to good use.
She lingers long enough to hear your laugh, to hear Jack’s. Waits a beat too long to see if he’ll say it, if you will. There’s a pregnant pause like you both want to, but neither utter what’s on the tips of your tongues.
Bella doesn’t think it’ll be long before one of you does.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
You knew the night was going to end in tears.
To give yourself some grace, you have managed to hold it in until the girls settle for bed. Your bed, to be precise. They’ve commandeered your bedroom, snuggled up under your sheets as they watch Peter Pan and snack on yogurt covered berries.
And now that you’ve pulled out the couch bed in the living room and sat with a blanket, chinese food and a bottle of wine…life feels like it’s crashing around you.
Bella’s hand on your thigh is soothing and grounding, firm enough to keep you from completely floating away in your burning mind.
“I just feel like I’ve failed her.”
Bella’s heart shatters at your words, at the ache in your voice, the tears that continue to pour down your flushed cheeks. “Babe, you have not failed anyone. You are not responsible for his shitty actions, you know that.”
She’s right, you know she’s right. But you were the one that had a child with him, you were the one that still allowed him to be in her life up until this point. To confuse her. To now disappear out of nowhere and leave her with the same heartache and anger that your biological parents did.
“I don’t want her to go through what I did.” Your admittance is passed through trembling lips and salty tears.
Bella’s lips turn downward, her own eyes glistening with fresh tears because she knows all too well what you went through. She was the first friend you ever made when you were put in Prue and David’s care, she was the one you’d sneak onto the back field with during class to smoke weed and be angry at the world together.
She was there through all those confusing feelings, through all the sadness and anger and then the guilt when Prue and David decided to adopt you.
“It’s not the same, babe. You know it’s not the same thing you went through.” She coos.
“It’s close enough. She’s going to grow up wondering why her daddy didn’t want her, why he walked away, why she wasn’t good enough—”
“Stop, calm down, come on.” Bella pulls you into her, cradling your head to her chest and rocking you back and forth on the pull-out bed as she smooths down your hair.
“She is always going to have you. You’re not going anywhere.” Her voice is gentle when she speaks, wobbling from her own anguish at the sight of you. “Jack is not going anywhere.”
You clutch her tighter. “You don’t know that.”
Bella pulls you out of her hold to get a look at you, to cup your face in her palms and wipe away the onslaught of tears that continue to slip.
“Yes, I do. Honey, he looks at you like you are the only thing in this world that matters. He looks at Phoebe like she is the most precious thing he has ever met. That man is smitten with the both of you, he is not going anywhere.”
You know she isn’t just saying it to make you feel better. You know that Jack cares so deeply for you and your daughter, that he would never dream of walking away like Tom has. But the truth of it doesn’t stop that worry from festering. Doesn’t stop it from taking root in your mind until you begin to believe it.
“I’m scared,” you whisper.
“I know,” she whispers back.
“I’m in love with him.” It comes out as a breathless whine, an admittance that you’ve been keeping buried for the past couple of months. One that’s been suffocating you from the inside out, like it’s never supposed to have been kept to yourself.
“I know,” Bella whispers again.
Before you can think to dive into your fears of him not feeling as deeply as you do, the gentle pinging of your phone lights up with a text message from Jack and you’re wiping your eyes as you reach for it.
Jack: Just checking in baby, you doing okay?
You: all ok, we have wine and chinese, hows work
Jack: Work is fine
Jack: Would much rather be at home with my girls
Your heart stutters at the message. Home. My girls. You want to tell him that you wish he was here, too. That part of you regrets not taking him up on the offer of calling in sick. But you know if you say as much, he’ll walk out and come straight back to you.
His job is more important than this. But you’re grateful that Jack is keeping the conversation casual, like he’s purposely trying to keep your mind off the events of today.
You: promise you’re not missing out on anything exciting
Jack: I’m missing out on you. You’re the most exciting
You: anyone ever told you that you’re a massive flirt?
Jack: Once or twice.
Bella catches you grinning at your phone, takes that as her cue to refill your glasses in the kitchen. You barely register her brief departure before you’re receiving another text.
Jack: I miss you
Jack: I’m starting to hate my job
You: liar, you love your job
Jack: I love being with you and Diva more
You: we love being with you too
There’s at least a minute of your text being left on delivered as Bella comes over with another full glass of white wine and a giant tub of ice cream tucked under her arm, causing a wet patch to form on the pyjama shirt she’s borrowed from you.
You take the wine as you blow her a kiss, your mood slowly lifting as the tears begin to dry. You snuggle back against the pillows, curling into yourself and the scent of Jack’s shirt that you’re wearing when your phone vibrates with another text.
Jack: Mass casualty incoming, I will try and call you later
Jack: Stay out of that beautiful head of yours, I am not going anywhere. We will figure this out together. x
You stare at the message, rereading it over and over and over again. The words are on the tips of your fingers, eager to be typed and sent. But you refuse for that to be how you tell him for the first time. How you confess it properly.
You: ❤️ u
It’s much more casual and lightheartened than how you actually feel, but it’s more than either of you have ever said. You send before you can talk yourself out of it, feel the bile rise up your throat when it’s marked as delivered. Feel it threaten to spill out your mouth when it changes to read.
Not even a heartbeat later, his reply comes through.
Jack: I know baby
Jack: ❤️ u too
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
SERIES MASTERLIST — NEXT PART
Tag list for this series has grown way too big for me to keep up with so it’s unfortunately CLOSED. You can however follow the #apt.17 tag instead for updates on the series!
ok unsure what happened before but hopefully this is working now. i am so sad that the next part is the final part and i hate that i did this to pheebs but it's crucial to the storyline like it just had to happen
Thank you very much for reading! Feedback really means a lot so I would love to hear your thoughts and ideas for where you think this will go!! Reblogs helps to boost stuff for more people to reach so if you enjoyed it please consider reblogging!!
SUMMARY: Pizzas, karaoke, movies and a sleepover. All at Phoebe’s request, of course, for Jack to spend Saturday night with them. And when Sunday morning rolls around, she’s got some things that she needs to get off her chest.
WARNINGS: swearing, phoebe borderline disowning her dad, mentions of toxic men and weaponized incompetence. smut; kissing, teasing, swearing, dirty talk, slight praise kink, masturbation, oral (both receiving), face sitting.
A/N: okay i'll be so real, i've struggled with writing this series atm as we're so close to the end. after lots of back and forth and debating, i have decided to keep part 10 as the finale of this story and i am very upset by it :(( thank u for being patient with waiting for an update, life has been super busy but it is here!
PAIRING: Jack Abbot x Single Mom!Reader
WORD COUNT: 7.1k
PREV. PART — SERIES MASTERLIST
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
If there’s one thing in life that makes you angry, it’s deadbeat fathers and weaponized incompetence. Naturally, you received your share of a lifetime of such with Phoebe’s father, as did Bella with Florence’s.
However, you learnt your lesson from past mistakes. Listened to the Universe when it silently told you it was time to walk away and break a cycle before it began.
Bella, unfortunately, has not taken the same approach.
“I just don’t get it! Why is that you manage to find someone as wonderful and sexy as Jack, and I’m stuck here settling for barely average dick and men with the personality of a fucking sponge? Which is ironic because they don’t absorb anything other than my fucking happiness and spark.”
Your lips roll between your teeth to hide both your amusement and annoyance on the matter.
“Because I wasn’t looking for anything when I met Jack. I love you, Bella, but you’re on Tinder like, all the time. You settle too easily.”
Her footsteps pause abruptly, forcing yours to do the same. And when you slowly turn to sneak a glance at her, she’s glaring at you through squinted eyes.
“Would it hurt you to lie to me, just once in your life?”
You snort, reaching to loop your arm around hers and effectively drag her across the concrete playground of the girls preschool.
“Yes, actually, it would. Because I love you and I want only what’s best for you. And unfortunately, you do not share the same sentiment about yourself.
Bella leans her arm over to pinch your bicep. “I do want what’s best for me.”
“Then maybe you should stop settling.” You muse.
She rolls her eyes, throwing her head back and the jewellery that decorates her wrists jingles when she throws an arm in the air, the other still hooked around yours.
“It’s not my fault I seem to only attract douchebags.” Her argument is half fair. She does seem to attract the incompetent men who ask her on a date but can’t afford to pay. Or the ones that still live with their mom at thirty and can’t hold down a job for longer than six weeks.
But, Bella also entertains those types of men. Gives them the time of day even after they let her down. Not to psychoanalyze your best friend, but you’re almost certain it stems from her father leaving when she was a child.
The thought has an idea occurring.
“What about dating someone…older?”
She turns her head to lazily grin at you as you both stop just a few feet outside the doors to the girls classroom.
“Older like Jack?” She lowers her voice as other parents begin to drift across the playground, searching for their children’s respective classes. “What, you looking for a third?”
You slap her shoulder at the tease, gnaw down on your bottom lip to hide the inappropriate amusement. Her head rolls back in a laugh, hooks her arm around yours tighter.
“I’m not opposed to someone older. But I haven’t been lucky enough to stumble across someone hot and old like you have.”
You don’t bother hiding your grin this time, or the flush in your cheeks. “He is pretty hot, isn’t he.”
She rolls her eyes fondly. “He’s obviously doing something right. I’ve never seen you this…glowy over a guy before.”
You shrug, bashfulness overtaking you just briefly. Because Jack is doing more than just something right. He’s considerate, compassionate, patient and kind. He’s funny—so fucking funny—and flirty and cheeky and intelligent in the sexiest way you’ve ever seen.
More than that, he’s competent, capable. And he listens to learn, not to reply. He problem solves instead of festering in a negative situation. He’s masculine in every healthy way; like your personal repair man who comes over to fix leaky faucets and helps paint new furniture on your balcony that you’ve haggled from Marketplace.
And the sex…Jesus fucking Christ.
It’s always so intimate and sensual. Never rushed, no. It’s explorative and exciting. He takes his time to learn your body, notices what you like and what you love.
And he’s vocal. Talks you through it with praise and encouragement, something you’ve never experienced before him.
“I’m not glowy.”
Bella scoffs. “Yes, you are. I mean you’ve always been carefree but since meeting him—what, four months ago?—you’re…I don’t know, it’s like your soul has been let free or something.”
A laugh tumbles out of you. “Okay, Shakespeare.”
The doors to the girls’ class swing open before Bella can offer a defensive retort, and Phoebe and Florence come bolting toward you in quick skips and fits of giggles.
You try not to focus on Bella’s words and observation; try not to admit that she’s right. Because in the four months of dating Jack, you’ve never felt so alive. Not when you were a teenager and sneaking out to smoke joints in the field with your friends, not when you finally left Tom.
You felt alive when you gave birth to Phoebe, when you heard her cries for the first time and felt her body against yours. But it’s a different feeling of liveliness. It’s when a new part of you awakens, when your life shifts from living for yourself to living for another.
But, Jack…yeah, he makes you feel alive. Not just in the dates he takes you on, or the ones he works harder to plan so Phoebe can join, but in the way that he’s never once tried to snuff out your light, never once complained or grimaced at your weird and wacky personality.
Maybe Bella is right. He does make your soul feel free.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
“Mom, Jack’s eating the cheese again!”
Your head whips round to the island where both Jack and Phoebe huddle close together, decorating their pizzas to their liking. The former holds an expression of dramatic betrayal while the latter bursts into the dirtiest laugh you think you’ve ever heard from her.
“You ate some first!” Jack argues, feigning offence and crossing broad, freckled arms across his toned chest.
Phoebe’s head rolls back in laughter and you watch when Jack quickly untangles his arms to place a hand at her back, steadying her from falling off the stool with the force of her giggles.
You watch the scene in amusement, a warmth in your chest that you’re finally starting to grow accustomed to when it comes to the devilish duo.
“Yeah, but I’m just a kid, so I’m allowed.”
Jack turns to you with raised brows, struggling to hide his amusement when he jabs a thumb in Pheebs’ direction as if to say get a load of this.
It was, of course, Jack’s idea to have pizza night. You didn’t put up much of a fight when he suggested it to you after a rough week of drafting, planning and heavy deadlines.
And when you then proposed it to Phoebe, she had agreed the second you’d mentioned Jack's name; before you even had the chance to tell her what the plans were.
From the moment Jack walked in an hour ago, she hasn't left his side. Encouraged him to take off his prosthetic by shoving the crutches against his good leg, tucked it away neatly beside the couch when he did as she requested.
Then she dragged him to the kitchen island where they’ve been for the last forty-five minutes; kneading dough and cutting pieces of meat and vegetables for their pizzas.
And you’ve watched from across the island, with something both heavy and freeing in your chest. Felt your eyes prickle with tears at every synchronized laugh that fell out of them.
Phoebe forces Jack to cut peppers into shapes of flower stems and petals, uses little pieces of corn to centre them and cheese scattered only on the bottom half, because according to Phoebe, grass doesn’t have to just be green.
You decorate your pizza in a similar fashion, using meat as the petals and veggies for the stems and leaves, while Jack creates a bullseye effect with rings of each topping—much to Pheebs’ disgust.
“Mommy, can we play SingStar while the pizza’s cooking?” She asks, tone sickly sweet as she dries her hands and Jack cleans down the surfaces.
Like usual, she seems to get what she wants.
At first, Jack manages to escape the song delegations, entirely evading his turn to duet or sing at all by finding anything else that momentarily needs his attention.
“I need to check on the pizzas.”
“I’m just going to grab us all a drink.”
“But it’s so much fun listening to you and Mommy!”
Until you’ve finally had enough.
“Jack, it’s your turn to sing with Pheebs. I need to finish dinner.”
Before he can offer to do it instead, you’re shoving the wired microphone into his chest with a feline grin as he glares playfully down at you.
“Give it your all or she’ll be pissed. Phoebe doesn’t do half-hearted things. It’s a full performance or your head on a stick.”
Jack's already well aware of the fact. He’s watched you both prance around the living room for the past fifteen minutes, screaming lyrics at the top of your lungs while completing a fully-fledged dance choreography.
He’s tried his best to put it off—not because he doesn’t want to join in, but because watching his two girls laugh and dance and sing and scream… he doesn’t want to intrude on something that is yours.
But Phoebe screeches excitedly when she reaches for Jack’s hand and drags him into the middle of the rug as soon as his prosthetic is clipped back on, the coffee table shoved across the room to make space.
If he’s going to do karaoke, he’s going to do it properly. Phoebe has standards, and Jack’s not the type of man to disappoint.
The TV screen blinks briefly as Phoebe presses play and a rhythm of drums and something higher begins to sound through the speakers, the words “Ain’t It Fun by Paramore” flashing across the screen.
While Jack misses the first verse, sings too fast or too slow, unable to catch the tempo and rhythm of lyrics he’s never heard before, Phoebe kills it. Hips jutting with enough sass of a sixteen-year-old, not missing a single word or beat.
You can’t help but watch through tears of laughter, a sharp ache forming in your sides from the force of it. And by the time it gets to the final round of the chorus, Jack finds himself jumping around the living room with Pheebs—still singing off key and out of tempo, but he copies her dancing the best way he can.
Her infectious laughter bounces off the walls, and when Jack imitates Phoebe by wiggling his hips, the sound of yours is joining hers. He catches your gaze through a wide grin and sparkling eyes, shoots you a wink that does something to your insides.
The whole thing feels normal, right. Like the sound of Jack’s laughter and the stability of his presence is exactly what’s been missing in your home and hearts.
He’s tapping out at the end of the duet, saved by you declaring dinner is ready when Pheebs tries to pester him for just one more song.
Dinner goes down a similar way; giggles and jokes, talking about Phoebe’s week at school and some crazy (but child friendly) stories from Jack’s shifts recently. Your apartment has never felt so full of life and love.
You’re briefly taken back to when you were a teenager. Riddled with anger and upset and resentment for the world, but sitting at the table and eating with your mom and dad… talking about your day, laughing at stupid things.
They always had a way of taking that pain away, even if just for a few moments. Because they made you feel loved, feel wanted.
This feels a bit like that. Family time. Something Phoebe has only ever experienced with you and her grandparents at their house.
By the time you’ve finished your pizzas, Jack insists on cleaning up while you bathe Phoebe. She splashes and plays for twenty minutes, uses her bath crayons to draw pictures on the porcelain tub before scrubbing them away and getting into some pyjamas.
When you return to the living room, the lights are off and the sun is setting from outside the balcony windows. The kitchen is spotless where Jack stands, opening a box of microwave popcorn and The Little Vampire already ready on the TV.
Two steaming mugs of tea sit on the coffee table alongside a smaller mug filled with warm milk and a little plate of cookies. You’re too busy smiling to yourself at the little set up that you almost miss Phoebe scolding and judging Jack.
“That’s not how my grandpa makes it. His popcorn is crazy.”
You blink over to the kitchen as you sit on the couch, watching Jack’s brows raise as he slides the popcorn into the microwave. He doesn’t question it, he’s learnt not to question some of the things that Phoebe says.
But despite her disapproval, she watches through the glass as the paper bag expands and rotates, giggles when she’s startled by the popping until Jack’s pinching the pouch with two fingers and pouring the snack into a bowl.
Phoebe nestles herself between you and Jack when they join you on the couch, squished between your right thigh and Jack’s left; a thin blanket draped over the three of you while the bowl of popcorn rests in her lap.
Her eyes dart to the balcony doors and back to the television, like she’s noticing something but too worried to speak up. It causes a frown to pull between your brows as you follow her line of sight.
But there’s nothing but darkness out on the balcony; the golden light of the lamp and flickers of the TV reflecting on the glass.
“You okay, Diva? You keep looking outside.” You probe softly.
You feel her stiffen, just enough for it to feed the concern rushing through you and to grab Jack’s attention. He looks down at her, then at you, his own brows furrowing at her change in body language.
“It’s night time.” She mutters, but there’s a disappointed lull in her voice.
You blink, that concern morphing into gentle amusement and lean down at your side to kiss the top of her head. “That’s okay, baby. It’s movie night, you can stay up later.”
Your confirmation doesn’t do much to shake her tenseness. “But night time means Jack has to go home soon.”
Jack’s eyes snap to meet yours, his lips parted and a softness overtakes him at the realization. She’s sad because she doesn’t want him to go. He leans a hand down to playfully pinch at her purple painted toenails that peek out from the blanket.
“S’okay. I’ll stay for the movie.” Jack coos her, but it still doesn’t seem to be enough.
Even ten minutes later, when The Little Vampire plays on the screen, she’s still tense.
“Mommy?”
You hum, eyes falling from the TV back to the side of her face.
“Can Jack have a sleepover tonight?”
Her request makes you pause, has Jack slowly turning his head to look at you with apprehension. Of all the things Phoebe could have asked, this is not one you could have anticipated.
Jack…a sleepover.
Your lips part as you stare at him, trying to silently read what he thinks of it. But before you can consider the question—consider what it would mean for Jack to spend the night while Phoebe is here, he’s talking.
“But Sally would be all on her own.” He tries gently, looking back down at your daughter as he speaks in a gentle tone.
His quick answer shouldn’t disappoint you, but it does. Because you’re not sure if you really have an issue with him spending the night; with Phoebe waking up to him in the apartment.
You’ve slowly been allowing them to spend more time together over the last month, their bond only blossoming into something unbreakable.
And it’s not like Jack doesn’t already have spare clothes here. On the odd nights that Phoebe is at your moms or at Tom’s and it’s Jack’s night off, he’ll stay here or you’ll stay at his.
Worry begins to worm its way into your mind. Is that why he doesn’t want to this time? Because it’s not just you he’ll be waking up to, but Phoebe as well?
Jack's been nothing but reassuring, allowing you to run this relationship at your pace… is this where it becomes too much for him?
“But Sally is all alone when you work at night time.” Phoebe’s counter is one that Jack absolutely cannot argue.
You have to purse your lips to stifle a laugh when Jack peeks at you. “Alright, that’s fair. But it’s up to Mommy.”
There’s that silent question in his eye when you meet his gaze. Asking if you’re okay with him staying, promising that he understands if you’re not. It’s absolutely ridiculous how quickly you can worry and then become so reassured with him.
You swallow the lump in your throat and move your head just a fraction—but it’s enough for Jack to see that as permission. Not exactly hesitant, but slow and subtle enough for him to understand the weight of the decision.
As if he didn’t already.
“Guess I’m having a sleepover then, kid.”
Probably not the best thing to tell a four-year-old when it’s already well past her bedtime, but the joy on her face… it’s worth it. Jack seems to think so, too. Lets her lay across his lap with her head on his thighs and her calves dangling off yours.
In Phoebe’s defense, she spends the rest of the movie relatively silent. She stopped reaching for the popcorn about thirty minutes ago, around the time when you relented to the anxious thoughts in your head and curled into Jack's side with your head resting on his shoulder.
The whole evening feels far too domestic. Too natural, too comfortable. With Jack’s fingers sunken into Phoebe’s hair, scratching gently and soothingly at her scalp.
You’re only briefly disturbed from your thoughts when Jack shifts subtly, when a soft huff of quiet laughter falls from him.
“Baby,” he whispers, and you hum, shifting your head enough to look up at him.
“She’s asleep. Can you get me my leg?”
It takes you a moment before you move, to comprehend that the reason he’s asking for his leg is because he wants to put her to bed. You nod, humming again, heart warm and fuzzy. You reach for Jack’s leg down the side of the couch, slip from your seat as slowly as you can to not startle Pheebs.
And Jack stares at you with both shock and reverence when you sit on your heels on the carpet before him, and slowly ease the blanket up to expose his thigh and attach his prosthetic. Something he has never considered or allowed anyone else to do before.
But he doesn’t argue, doesn’t stop you. He finds himself basking in your soft and caring touch, allowing himself to be vulnerable in this moment with you, with Phoebe. With the girls that feel far too much like family these days.
He shoves down the overwhelming adoration and very meticulously scoops Phoebe into his arms, coddling her head into her chest as she continues to snore quietly. It takes more effort than he’d like to admit to be able to stand without aid of his hands, and though you can see that brief struggle, you don’t offer to help.
You won’t offend him like that.
Instead, you gently reach out to brush the hair from Phoebe’s face and bend just enough to plant a tender kiss to her cheek.
“Night, Diva. I love you,” you whisper.
When you straighten, Jack beams at you, leaning his head slightly over Phoebe’s frame to meet your lips in a ghost of a kiss. You watch him carry Phoebe down the hall after he pulls away until he disappears into her bedroom.
Jack can’t help but feel a bit shaky as he lowers Phoebe into her bed, as he tugs the duvet over her little frame, as she reaches instinctively for his arm when he tries to pull away.
Because to be trusted so wholly by you both, to be so accepted and wanted and cherished… Jack never thought this life would ever be possible for him. And yet, here he is, falling for a family that already has each other, and being treated as if he always belonged with them.
“Jack?” Phoebe’s sleep-laced voice rasps for him.
He lowers with a quiet grunt to sit on the edge of her little bed, reaches for her even smaller hand that she’s reaching to hold.
“I’m here kid. Go back to sleep.” He coos.
Phoebe shifts to lay on her side, tugs her stuffed crocodile to her chest. “Can you sing to me?”
His brow quirks in the darkness of her room, only the faint golden glow of her space-themed night-light illuminating the space.
“Sure. What do you want me to sing?” He whispers.
“The Smiths.” She whispers back.
Jack smiles, hums. “Any specific request?”
Phoebe doesn’t even think about it, like she knew the song she wanted before she even awoke. “Please, Please, Please song.”
“Let Me Get What I Want?” Jack finishes for her and even in sleep, she manages to beam at him.
“Yeah, it’s Mommy’s favorite.”
Jack’s heart thunders in his chest at the thought of it, of how soul-crushing the song is if you really listen. So he doesn’t argue, doesn’t offer something else.
Jack softly begins to sing, reaches out to brush the hair from her face. She watches him with sleep-ridden eyes as he softly sings to her; verse after verse.
And when her eyes start to flutter, Jack’s thumb reaches to slowly trace the path from between her brows down the slope of her nose—over and over until her breathing evens out and her body relaxes.
“So for once in my life, let me get what I want… Lord knows it would be the first time.” His low voice whispers, gently guiding her down a path of gentle dreams and peaceful rest.
The song, the words… the fact that she wanted him to sing that one only…
Jack can feel himself choking up at the weight of it. At how heavy and vulnerable it feels for him. Because it doesn’t feel like singing a lullaby. It feels like a loud admittance whispered into a safe and treasured moment.
He schools himself before his emotions can get the better of him, and gently brushes the last bits of hair from Phoebe’s face before standing with a groan concealed behind gritted teeth.
Before he can get two steps away from the bed, he’s met the onslaught of toys that are scattered across her bedroom floor. Something he missed when he carried her to bed initially.
It’s with quiet and somewhat practised ease that Jack very silently begins to tidy up so she doesn’t trip in the night if she awakes. Books are slid back on the case, clothes are thrown into the hamper, Lego blocks are placed beside the tub that usually carries them.
And the action figures, he begins to line them up back beside her dresser when he notices. Not just one doll that’s not quite right, but three. His hands are trembling when he picks them up, when he clutches them in an unsteady hold.
It’s with blurry vision when he carries them with him out into the hall, toward where you’re folding the blankets on the couch, refluffing the cushions.
You hear the soft pads of his footsteps approach and freeze when you see the disbelieving, broken look on his face. You don’t even notice what he’s carrying in his hands when you move quickly to reach for him; your worry begins to spiral.
He speaks before you can.
“Did you know she’s been amputating her dolls?”
Jack’s voice is thick with emotion, breaking slightly when he utters a truth you’re only just learning for yourself.
“What?” Your voice comes out as a whisper when you finally look down to Jack’s hands.
Three dolls—Superman, Spiderman, and The Hulk—all missing a leg from the knee down. Just like Jack.
It feels like you’ve been punched in your chest, like you can’t quite swallow a breath big enough to fill your lungs. Your eyes burn, vision begins to distort as you blink at the dolls and then back at Jack.
It’s all over his face when he looks at you; the longing, the vulnerability, the thought that he is not deserving of this. Of her.
“She really does love you, you know.”
He nods, sniffling until a smile begins to pull on the corners of his mouth. “I know,” he rasps. “I love her, too.”
The heaviness of the fact sits thick between you. The truth hidden between the lines—what he’s saying includes what he isn’t.
But he doesn’t have to, you don’t have to.
It makes your heart swell and ache, nonetheless. Makes Jack’s try to burst against his ribcage. He doesn’t show it, tries not to, anyway. He gently drops the action figures onto the coffee table and uses his empty hands to reach for your waist.
You step closer, your palms resting on the hardness of his chest beneath the cotton t-shirt. He leans in close enough to kiss you, but lets the tip of his nose brush yours instead, allowing himself this moment to recenter.
You give it to him, don’t ask for more, don’t push him away.
“I’m gonna run back to the apartment quickly to check on Sally. Why don’t you have a bubble bath, hm?”
You know he’s changing the subject, that whatever just happened with him and Phoebe hit too close for him to be comfortable to talk about it right now.
So you hum, reach up to press a kiss to his mouth—his short stubble scratching at your soft skin.
“M’kay. Take my key.”
It’s twenty minutes later when you hear him returning. Soft footsteps padding down the hall—stopping briefly outside Phoebe’s door before continuing into your bedroom.
You’re lounging in a hot bubble bath when he slowly eases into the bathroom, leaning against the doorway. His hair is damp, clothes changed into checkered pyjama pants and a gray t-shirt. Arms fold across a broad chest and he grins at the sight of you soaped up.
You quirk a brow at him, ignore the flame that burns beneath the skin of your cheeks.
“You showered when you checked on Sally?”
He hums, moving closer to sit on the lid of the toilet.
“Yeah, you don’t have a chair.” He explains in a low voice, hand reaching down to dip his fingers into the hot water, finding your knee and gently tracing patterns on the warm skin.
You don’t comment on the lack of a shower-chair in your apartment, but you do make a mental note to get one ordered in the morning.
“You know, you can always bring her here, and I’m more than happy to Sally-sit when you’re working.” It’s not the first time you’ve offered and you doubt it’ll be the last. But Jack always argues the same thing—
“I don’t think you or Pheebs would appreciate her pissing everywhere to mark her territory.”
And as always, it gets a bark of laughter from you.
“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, there was once a time when Phoebe pissed everywhere.”
Jack grins, leans down to press a kiss to your mouth. “But Diva is infinitely cuter than Sally.”
You roll yourself with fond adoration and reach up to press another kiss to him. The angle causes the water to slosh in the tub and the bubbles to disperse—momentarily exposing your chest to the cool air of the bathroom.
The change in temperature causes your nipples to pebble at the same time Jack pulls back to look at you. His expression shifts, something darker passing across his eyes as the corner of his mouth curls in the form of a smirk.
You flush under his gaze, despite how often he’s seen you bare in the past month. It doesn’t matter that his hands have touched your skin more times than you can count now, that he’s already mapped out your body with his hands and mouth—that he’s committed it to memory, along with what makes you squirm and writhe and moan.
“Are you getting out or staying in?” Jack’s voice is low and deep when he speaks, a tone that sends shivers down your spine despite the heat of the water.
Because you’ve grown to learn what that tone usually means.
“I’m getting out,” you reply a bit too breathlessly than you mean to.
With his eyes still on yours, Jack’s hand skims from your knee and down your shin, skipping your foot to reach for the plug where he pushes it down and it pops back up.
Water swirls at the base of the drain, the tub slowly emptying. Jack reaches to his right for a fluffy cotton towel that hangs on the rail, unfolds it with skilled hands and holds it open wide—a silent invitation for you to step out of the porcelain and into his arms.
Water sloshes when you stand, drips down the expanse of your body and suds of soap still cling to your skin. He wraps the cotton around you the moment you step out, tucks it over your chest, and guides you through the threshold of your en-suite and into your bedroom.
The lights are dim, only the small lamp on your nightstand barely able to illuminate the space. It sets a golden hue over your skin and his, blankets the room in familiar intimacy.
“Do you want pyjamas?”
You shake your head, eyes remaining on him through it all. The towel was pointless, really, because the moment Jack is sitting on the edge of the bed, you’re unravelling it from your body and letting it drop to the ground with a quiet thud.
Jack’s gaze roves over your body in hungry appreciation, his muscles tensing as he shifts and admires you silently. And you let him. The nerves of allowing him to see you so bare dwindled away some time three weeks ago, after he’d spent hours and hours cherishing you, admiring you, reassuring you and proving to you how utterly, devastatingly beautiful you are.
You don’t cower, don’t curl your body into itself. You don’t try to hide your cesarean scar, nor the stretchmarks that adore the podgier skin of your lower stomach. You don’t shy away when his gaze slides over the dips in your hips, the slightly uneven swell of your breasts where the left is just a pinch bigger than the right.
You let Jack admire, because you’ve never felt safer or more adored than when you’re under his gaze like this.
“You’re so fucking beautiful.” His words are whispered to you like a prayer.
Maybe that’s what gives you the confidence to move a step closer between his thighs, to slowly sink down to your knees. Jack exhales shakily when you do, when your palms slide up his clothed thighs.
It’s silent when he relents and lifts his hips to lower his pyjama pants down to his thighs, silent when you hook your fingers into the waistband to pull them off his legs completely.
For a moment, you don’t allow yourself to look at him, keep your gaze focused on his prosthetic. You press a gentle kiss just above his knee when your fingers reach the clips to unfasten the metal. Another shaky exhale falls from him when you remove it, gently placing it against the foot of the bed.
Only then, when you know he’s comfortable, do you return your attention to where it’s needed.
Long and hard, thick and eager. Jack’s cock stands excitedly as he leans back on his hands to watch, already fisting the sheets in anticipation.
It’s not like you haven’t done this for him before, because you have; a few times. But Jack usually argues that he needs to get you off first, that your pleasure is more important than his. You’re overwhelmingly pleased that he’s not arguing with you on it tonight.
But overall, tonight is different. He can’t coax orgasm after orgasm from you when Phoebe is only down the hall. He can’t make you cry and moan as loudly as he likes. So he settles for this—clenching his jaw and fisting the sheets.
You wrap your hand around him slowly, the movement almost making him jolt. With your bottom lip caught between your teeth, you slowly begin to pump him in your palm, leaning close enough to press hot open-mouthed kisses to his ruddy tip.
“Fuck, baby,” Jack whimpers breathlessly.
His eyes are on you when you look up at him through your lashes, dark and blown with lust and arousal. You hum, swirling your tongue around his head before suckling him into your mouth.
Your lips stretch around him as he fills you, only able to take barely half of his length as you fist the rest of him. Your cheeks hollow and you can feel your cunt fluttering at the taste of him.
With your eyes still on him, you sneak your spare hand between your thighs—a motion that Jack clocks immediately—and begin to glide your middle finger through your soaked slit.
“Jesus Christ… you’re so fucking sexy.” The praise has you oozing onto your finger, has you whimpering around his cock. It sends shocks of vibrations through his body, forcing him to fist the sheets harder when you take him deeper.
Jack watches with hooded eyes as you begin to bob your head on his cock, as he feels his tip prod at the back of your tight throat. Your eyes sting with tears at the intrusion but you don’t stop, keep your gaze locked on him even as your brows begin to furrow.
“Good girl, baby. Doing so good.”
The praise makes you work faster, has you rubbing tight motions on your clit as you choke on his cock. Jack’s guttural groan and breathless whimper has your eyes rolling to the back of your head, salty drops of pre-cum coating your tongue.
His hips begin to move, respectful of what you can handle but enough to encourage you to take more. His chest is heaving with every breath, knuckles white around the handfuls of your sheets.
And when your hand abandons his cock to tenderly massage his balls, when your mouth opens around him and your tongue strokes the underside of his length as he hits the back of your throat, Jack loses it.
“Fuck. Ah, shit…so good, baby. Oh, fuck me…yeah, just like that.” His voice is wrecked, whimpering in that higher octave that you’ve associated with a brewing release.
The sound of it spurs you on as you slip two fingers into your dripping cunt, curling as quick as Jack’s usually do in an attempt to get you to his level. You choke around the thickness of him, moans and whimpers suffocated by his cock.
It’s enough to spur him over the edge, to have him spluttering out, “I can’t—honey, I’m gonna cum. Oh fuck, oh fuck,” and with a choked cry of your own, you’re suctioning your lips again—just around his head—and he’s spilling onto your tongue.
Your own orgasm crashes into you at the same time, cunt convulsing around your fingers and body shuddering in the same way Jack’s does. His hands give out from holding him up, his back crashing into the mattress as you slowly slide him out of your mouth and swallow down his release.
Jack can’t catch his breath. With an arm thrown over his eyes and his hard cock glistening and resting against his thigh, you finally manage to heave a breath of your own.
Tears stain your cheeks as you stand, as you crawl beside him on the bed. Before you can say a word, Jack’s blindly reaching for you. A strong hand wrapping around your arm and dragging you over to straddle his chest.
You’re still trying to catch your breath when Jack moves his arm from his face to hold your hips, when he looks at you like he’s only just getting started.
He squeezes your hips once, dragging you up his chest until your sopping cunt hovers over his face. “C’mon, baby. Let me clean you up.”
Neither of you question how natural it is. To have fooled around like usual, with Pheebs sleeping down the hall. Because it feels too normal. Like you’re two parents stealing moments of intimacy when you can.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
Laughter is the first thing you hear when you stir from your slumber.
Two sets of it. One young and high pitched, the other older and deeper. Your arm reaches across the bed in search of Jack who’s no longer there. His side of the bed is cold, sheets still rumpled.
You blink at the light that filters in through the curtains in your bedroom, eyes catching the alarm clock on your nightstand.
10 a.m.
Music greets your ears next as you slowly sit up, Michael Jackson blaring from the kitchen. A grin stretches across your sleepy face and you stretch beneath the sheets—still bare, but your body feels lighter after two orgasms and a good night's sleep.
Dressing in the first pair of pyjamas in the drawer, you follow the sound of happiness down the hall and find the source of the noise in the kitchen, where you’re momentarily stunned.
Phoebe sits on the island, a bowl between her legs as she mixes pancake batter within an inch of her life. Jack stands in front of her, gently easing flour into the mix and playfully flicking some at Phoebe’s face just to hear her laugh again.
You can’t hide your grin and clear your throat to make your presence known. They both turn to you, rosy cheeked and still slightly sleep ridden.
“Morning, Mommy.” Their greeting is synchronized, like this is a normal, every day occurrence.
The kitchen is a mess, the music is too loud, there’s flour and batter in Phoebe’s hair but you can’t bring yourself to care when Jack approaches you with a steaming mug of coffee.
You take it from him with a bashful grin, and he almost closes the distance between you when he catches himself, realizes that he’s in front of Phoebe and unsure of the boundaries in place when it comes to this—the morning after.
But you soothe that concern when you reach across the coffee to gently press your lips against his, eyes fluttering closed as he reaches an arm around your waist.
“Morning,” he whispers against your lips as you whisper it back, pulling away to return to Phoebe and the pancake batter.
Your eyes skim over the island; pencils and paper litter half of the counter, drawings and practised writing.
Phoebe leans over to kiss your cheek and reaches for a piece of paper she’s particularly proud of and shoves it in your face.
“Look! Jack was helping me practice writing.” She beams at you in excitement and pride and when you look down at the paper, your eyes sting with tears.
M O M in big bulky letters, uneven where jack has dotted the outline for the letters and Pheebs has joined them with shaky lines. You’re too busy staring at the masterpiece that is definitely going to be framed to notice Jack watching you with a fervent softness.
“This is beautiful, Diva. You are so clever.”
She ignores the praise when she turns back to Jack, noticing the way he’s watching you.
“Did you sleep in my mom’s bed last night?”
The question has you choking on your coffee and Jack almost dropping the bowl of pancake batter. You splutter out a string of coughs, steadying the mug on the counter for a moment so you can smack at your chest for come relief.
“Um, yeah. Jack did.” You answer through another cough, casting a cautious glance over her head at him.
The confirmation has the girl grinning something dangerous when she looks from you to Jack again. Like she’s purposely posing the questions to him instead of you.
“So you really are boyfriend and girlfriend.” It’s not a question, she words it like a statement. As if she’s been working hard to get you both to this point.
You suppose she has, really. If it wasn’t for your meddling child, you’re unsure if you and Jack would be here now.
“Yeah, Diva,” Jack laughs. “You okay with that?”
She seems to appreciate the thought of him checking, but doesn’t need to consider it before she nods with resoluteness and sprinkles chocolate chips into the mix in Jack’s hand.
“Jack is nice and funny,” she says out loud. It causes him to grin wide, to meet your gaze briefly again over the top of her head.
“Thanks, kid. You’re nice and funny, too.”
She hums. “But Tom is an ass.”
The room falls silent as the music continues to play. You and Jack still, eyes wide and staring at each other. He has to look away, to turn his back to you both and busy himself at the sink to hide both his shock and amusement.
You blink at your daughter, moving around the island to face her. “Pheebs—what? One, ass is a bad word, we don’t say that. And two…Tom? You don’t call him that, he’s your dad.”
Phoebe huffs, her shoulders dropping at the scolding and she places the half empty bag of chocolate chips back on the counter.
“I don’t want to call him Dad,” she mutters, keeping her gaze down at her fingers. “I like Jack better. Jack’s nice, and he plays with me. And he makes you happy. Tom is mean to you. He says mean things about Jack, Mommy. It makes me sad and angry.”
Jack feels his heart ache and crack at the watery tone of Phoebe’s voice, of the truth she’s admitting that should never have reached her ears. He can feel bile rise up his throat, his hands scrubbing the dishes a bit too forcefully.
All you can do is stare at Phoebe in shock, feel your heart ache at how brazen Tom has been to belittle you and Jack in front of her.
You swallow down the lump in your throat and reach for her hand. “Well, I will talk to your dad about that, okay?” You try to keep your voice calm and smooth, but you’re bubbling with anger beneath the skin.
“Tom.” Phoebe corrects you, and it’s clear that she’s not going to drop this.
You purse your lips, heart twisting and breaking at the thought of what’s unfolding in her clever little mind.
“Tom.” You agree.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
SERIES MASTERLIST — NEXT PART
Tag list for this series has grown way too big for me to keep up with so it’s unfortunately CLOSED. You can however follow the #apt.17 tag instead for updates on the series!
ahhh ok so what did we think of jack's cheeky blowjob and the fact that phoebe is now calling her dad TOM :((( there is a lot to happen in the next two chapters so buckle tf up!! again, thank you SO much for your guys' continuous and unwavering support on this series, sending you all big fat smooches!!
Thank you very much for reading! Feedback really means a lot so I would love to hear your thoughts and ideas for where you think this will go!! Reblogs helps to boost stuff for more people to reach so if you enjoyed it please consider reblogging!!
SUMMARY: When the double date from Hell rolls around, you're left with a new friend while Jack is struggling to come to terms with the type of person Phoebe is stuck with as a father. But despite that, it doesn't stop you and Jack from ending your evening with a bang.
WARNINGS: big screen time for tom in this chapter ladies, i do apologize, narcissistic tendencies, slight mentions of emotional abuse and mental manipulation, swearing, protective!jack, flirting, teasing, smut; oral (female receiving), biting, praise kink, protected p-in-v...
A/N: girls i am literally at out at the bar rn trying desperately to get this out on time!! i am so so excited to share this, it's the long awaited chapter of tom and jack finally meeting!! i promised i would have it out by the weekend so here you go! <3 also there's two big references in here... whoever gets them wins smooches
PAIRING: Jack Abbot x Single Mom!Reader
WORD COUNT: 12.2k
PREV. PART — SERIES MASTERLIST
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
You stare at Phoebe.
She stares at you.
She doesn’t move, but you can see the brief flick of her eyes beneath the mesh sockets of her mask. Her hands are fisted, resting on narrow hips as she stands on the coffee table, refusing to see reason.
“Baby, it is eighty degrees outside.” Your words squeeze through gritted teeth, patience wearing thin from this argument lasting ten minutes already.
Frustration is showing in the form of tight lips and beads of sweat that dots your hairline, the clamminess of your palms. But Phoebe does not budge. Her stance remains steady on the oak, fists pressing firmly onto her hips. You blink at her, at the fucking nylon fabric that’s borderline suffocating every single inch of her skin.
“Fine.” Your voice is tight when you speak. “Then we’re not going out for ice cream.”
You make a show of dropping your purse on the kitchen counter, making your way to the fridge to pull out a bottle of water instead. Phoebe still doesn’t move, not even an inch. It’s from across the lounge that Jack has to stifle a laugh by pursing his lips, angling his head so he’s not staring at the back of Phoebe’s outfit.
He doesn’t interfere, finds it quite amusing to watch the way Phoebe stubbornly tries to take control of your parenting. It’s like she’s waiting you out, like she knows it’s a matter of time before you cave and just let her go out in what she’s chosen.
In any other instance, maybe you would. Pick your battles and all that. But not when it's roasting hot outside and she won’t be able to breathe. Phoebe isn’t the only stubborn one in this apartment. She got it from someone, and that someone is you.
Jack watches in amusement as you sit at the kitchen island and take a sip from your water bottle, the silence so loud he’s worried that if he even breathes out a laugh, this frustration and stubbornness on both of your sides will then be directed at him.
But five minutes pass. Then ten. And neither you nor Phoebe have moved.
“Jack, if you’d like to go and get ice cream without us, go ahead.” You speak in a feigned, professional tone. The sound of it quirks Jack’s brow, but it still doesn’t make Phoebe move.
He cranes a neck to look around her, to meet your gaze. You nod your head to Phoebe, eyes wide and brows raised, a silent command for him to try instead. It causes a ruckus of movement in his stomach at the suggestion, at the approval from you to do so.
But Jack doesn’t exactly have a whole lot of experience with disciplining stubborn kids, so he swallows thickly when he approaches the table to stand in front of Pheebs instead of behind her.
“Diva,” he regards her softly, though there's a kink in his tone that she’s never heard from him before. One that holds something like authority.
Her head twitches, but ultimately, she ignores him like she’s ignored you.
With a sigh, Jack leans down with his legs spread, his eyes level with hers, palms resting on his lower thighs. “Spider-Girl…”
Phoebe, the little shit, turns her head to look at him fully at that. Jack can just about make out the blinking of her eyes beneath the mesh mask as she shifts in her Spider-Man costume.
“I know you wanna save the city, kid. But, it's too hot today for you to wear this outside.”
You watch the interaction with squinted eyes and a racing heart. Jack is soft when he speaks with her, gentle yet firm enough that she knows not to argue with him the way she will with you.
“Peter Parker doesn’t wear his Spidey stuff every day and he still manages to save people without it, right?”
Her head dips until her chin is pressed to her chest. “I guess so.” Her words are muffled through the fabric of the mask.
Jack hums, like he understands her upset and inner turmoil. “So, why don’t we change into something else? Maybe a pretty dress like Mommy? Or some shorts like me? Plus, you don’t wanna spill ice cream down your Spidey outfit.”
It’s with a heavy sigh that Phoebe pinches the mask at the top of her head and pulls it off. Her cheeks are flushed red, hair an unruly mess despite you fixing it just an hour ago. Jack grins at her, stands back at his full height and tenderly smoothes down her wanton strands like he’s slicking them.
You watch the exchange, heart lodged in your throat at how easy it is between them—how natural he is with her, how quickly they understand each other. Phoebe jumps down from the coffee table and trudges back into her bedroom to change and you watch Jack watch her go.
Quietly, you stand and approach him and Jack meets your gaze with hesitancy.
“Was that okay?” He asks lowly.
Your bottom lip is sucked into your mouth as you nod your head, wrapping your arms around his broad waist when you reach him. “Uhuh,” you hum, pressing your lips to his slowly.
Jack kisses you gently, slowly, lets his tongue swipe against yours only once before he pulls away with a crooked grin.
“Yeah?” His tone is suggestive, amused, and you both love and hate how easily he can read you.
That he knows you liked watching him step just slightly into the threshold of parenthood, that it rattled you a little to watch him be so respectful and kind but authoritative at the same time. That you liked how natural it was for him, how easily Phoebe listened.
You roll your eyes at him but the act is nothing but fond and affectionate.
You’ve felt much braver, secure, since your talk at the beginning of the week. Since Jack told you he was happy that Phoebe had been calling him your boyfriend. Since you became his girlfriend.
He’s been touchier since. Given, you’ve only been able to see him yesterday and now, but there’s a noticeable change between you both; in your actions and in the air. The hesitancy when reaching for one another is gone, no more reservations or timid uncertainty.
And you love it.
You love even more when Phoebe runs down the hall in a summer dress and twirls around, when Jack offers her a dramatic applause and then bows at the waist like a Jester would to his Queen.
“You are an absolute fashionista, Pheebs.” He compliments, your daughter's grin stretching wider across her face.
The sight of her unbridled joy does something sinister to Jack’s chest. He knows the sensation of self-sabbotage far too well, knows he’s beginning to get stuck in his head with guilt and shame for playing happy families.
He feels a sense of betrayal to his wife. Even though he knows she would want him to move on and find happiness again, even though he visited her just yesterday morning after shift and sat with her for hours.
Talking, reminiscing, apologizing for beginning to fall for someone who wasn’t her. Explaining that he isn’t sorry for meeting someone new, he isn’t sorry for how deeply he feels for both you and Phoebe, but that he’s wholly and irrevocably distraught because he knows he’s truly moving forward from her.
He sat and cried when he admitted to her gravestone that he no longer wears his ring on his finger, but that he keeps it on a chain close to his heart instead. And when a gentle breeze caressed his face right after, he let himself believe that Mary was there with him; soothing him, silently accepting his words and praising him for finding happiness.
Despite how much lighter he’s been feeling today… there’s still that stab of guilt that lodges in his throat. Only briefly, not long enough for you to notice a change, but it’s there. Jack knows it’s there.
He blinks it back when you smother suncream across every inch of Phoebe’s exposed skin, cracks a smile when she grimaces and whines when you smear it across her entire face and accidentally forces her to taste some of it.
And when you’re out on the streets, with Pheebs walking between you; a hand in yours and a hand in Jack’s, he feels that gentle breeze caressing his face again. Tender and warm, most likely just the sun, but his shoulders ease at the feeling of it.
At the thought of Mary supporting him.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
After ice cream and a quick trip to the park, you all make your way back to the apartment —Phoebe on Jack’s back and you following close behind, sneakily snapping photos of them together.
It’s sly when Jack winks at you when you’re in the elevator and Pheebs is too busy blowing kisses to herself in the mirror that encases the back wall. You stifle a laugh at the sight, stepping into Jack’s side and he instinctively wraps an arm around your shoulder to keep you close.
“Hey, Diva?” Jack calls her softly.
She perks up at the name, turns to him with raised brows and an expectant expression. Jack rolls his lips between his teeth in amusement before speaking. “You wanna meet someone?”
You frown to yourself as you look at him, unsure who he’s referring to and why he wouldn’t run something like this by you first. But he squeezes your shoulder in a silent form of reassurance as the doors open on your floor.
“Are they nice?” She questions with a frown and Jack barks out a laugh.
Instead of turning left to your apartment, Jack turns you both right with Phoebe skipping ahead, like she already knows
“Yeah, she’s friendly.”
You blink as a smile curls its way into the corners of your mouth, piecing together just who exactly Jack is talking about. Phoebe stops outside Jack’s door, the fact that she’s remembered which one is his after only stopping by once to drop off cakes is a little insane.
Jack opens the door slowly and Pheebs wanders inside like she owns the place. Jack ushers you in after her with a palm ghosting your lower back and you take in the difference of his apartment compared to yours.
You’ve not been inside properly before—most dates start with him coming over if Phoebe is in bed or him picking you up and dropping you back after.
Jack’s place is a mirror layout to yours with a small entrance hall that breaks directly into the lounge and open kitchen space. But unlike your mismatched fabrics and colors, Jack’s is much more cohesive in an organised way.
Rustic dark wood coffee table and matching TV console, twin brown leather couches and black lamps in the corners of the room. A solid, dark oak bookcase and leather arm chair in the place where you cram a small dining table.
His refrigerator isn’t littered with magnets like yours, but it does have a few that pin up several of Phoebe’s drawings that she’s made over the past few months. It’s a bit overwhelming to be in his home, with Phoebe. To be fully surrounded by his scent.
It’s a reminder of the very different lives you live. Jack has no mess, everything has a place. There are no buckets of toys tucked away, no wanton blocks of Lego stuffed beneath the couch. Perhaps it's cruel to think, but his apartment does not feel like a home.
You wonder briefly if he feels the same way. If that’s why he’s never really brought you into his space before.
“You have a kitty!” Phoebe’s shrill excitement breaks you from your spiralling thoughts and you’re quick to shush and scold her.
“Baby, inside voices. You don’t want to scare Sally.”
“Sally!?” She coos, dropping on her knees and slowly crawling toward the fat cat that stares at the new guests.
Jack watches in amusement, wraps his arms around you from behind and nuzzles his chin into the crook of your neck. You melt into him, arms wrapping around his as you watch Phoebe introduce herself to Sally and giggle uncontrollably when she nuzzles into the kids' touch.
“We should’ve done this sooner. They’re little besties.” You giggle.
Jack hums, lets himself bask in the feel of you in his arms—uses it to reassure himself that this is okay. To have you and Phoebe in his space, to share what little he has considering you’ve shared so much already.
It doesn’t matter that you’ve only been here for a few minutes. The apartment already feels less quiet as Phoebe’s infectious laughter worms its way into the crevices of every room.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
Jack can’t take his eyes off you.
And not like in the way he’s used to struggling, where every five minutes he has to look at you and just admire for a moment. No. Right now, he physically cannot take his eyes off you as you saunter down the hall from your bedroom and toward where he lounges on the couch.
Chocolate brown midi dress with a subtle draping through the waist, sheer dark brown tights that disappear into a pair of simple heels. You’ve painted your face in a way he’s only ever known you to; subtle enough for it to not be dramatic, yet precise enough to see the effort.
There’s a familiar heat that’s curling in his lower tummy; a tightness that’s beginning to strangle and suffocate his muscles. Your delicate heels click elegantly across your hardwood floors, arms bent as you reach up to slip an earring in.
Your eyes are focussed on your feet as you move, brows pinched just slightly in concentration as you attempt to clip the jewellery in place.
Jack leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs and he takes your moment of distraction to drink you in greedily
Jesus fucking Christ.
“You look incredible.”
Your eyes snap up to his at the sound of Jack’s raw voice. You don’t miss the hunger in his tone, the darkness that pools in his eyes. He’d let himself in five minutes ago like you’d told him to, had gotten himself comfortable on your couch while he waited.
And he looked nothing short of delicious. A simple white button up shirt beneath a black blazer, his thighs almost bursting at the seams in his tailored trousers. It’s a conscious effort not to bite down on your freshly glossed lip.
The compliment sends a jolt of excitement through you.
Clearly the two fancy dates he’s taken you on isn’t enough for him to get used to you being dressed up this way. You think it’s fair, though. You haven’t got used to him dressing like this either.
“And you look delicious.” You drawl playfully, but it’s flirtatious enough for him to know that you mean it.
He grins, crookedly, and rises from the couch to move closer to you. His eyes hover over your waist before replacing the tender gaze with a delicate touch. Your heels keep you face to face, your hands reaching to rest on his shoulders.
“Do we have to go to this?” You pout at him; the sight causes his grin to grow in adoration and he squeezes your hips reassuringly.
“It’s for the best. It’s for Pheebs, not us or them.” He offers in a gentle tone, pulling you closer until your chest presses against his and your breath catches in your throat.
It’s not lost on either of you the path tonight will likely take. How the double date will no doubt end with you at his place or him at yours. That it will end in an intimacy you’re yet to explore with one another.
And despite the underlying assumption of it, there’s no pressure of expectation. Neither of you feel like it’s owed to each other because it’s been three months of nothing but kissing and dry humping. But tonight—perhaps it’s something in the air, or the fact that this double date makes things even more real between you—it feels like the right time.
You’re fretting on the walk down to Jack’s car, picking at your freshly polished nails as he pulls out of his allocated parking spot and follows the route to Preston’s.
You feel sick with nerves and annoyance. Angry at the fact that this is happening under Tom’s terms, anxious at the things he may try to say; Jack’s opinions on you that he might try to change. But more than that, there’s something fierce that’s bubbling beneath your skin.
Hot, fiery, protective. After the years of being in a relationship with Tom and now trying to co-parent (if it can even be considered that, given how little he shows up for Phoebe), you’ve grown more than accustomed to his spiteful tongue and manipulative tendencies.
You’re not prepared for Jack to be subjected to it—to bear witness to his passive cruelty.
And Jack, being ever observant, takes note of your unusual quietness, your fidgety demeanor. It makes his heart sink, has him assuming the worst that this double date has sobered your rose-tinted view of him and the relationship. That you’re making a grave mistake with him.
Still, he reaches a hand across the console to intertwine his fingers with yours, breaking your anxious habit.
“Talk to me.”
You chew on the inside of your cheek, gripping Jack’s hand much harder than you ever have before. But the feel of his skin on yours brings at least a little bit of comfort. He’d be disgusted to know you’re considering that Tom will have any sway on Jack’s view of you.
You loose a breath, let your head roll back against the headrest, turning slightly to admire the side of his face as he keeps his focus on the road again. You let your fingers on your spare hand trace patterns across his knuckles.
“Just anxious. I don’t like being around him. I don’t like knowing you’re going to be around him.” You explain quietly, allowing your eyes to flutter closed as you take a moment to try to compose your breathing.
You feel Jack squeeze your hand tenderly. “Honey, however tonight plays out…it won’t change a thing between us. His behavior is not going to change how I feel about you.”
You nod at his words, forcing yourself to sit up straighter and heave a heavy breath again.
“I know. I just—he can be an ass. And he’s self-absorbed, and he… he twists things so well…”
“Baby,” Jack cuts you off with a soft chuckle, chucks an admiring gaze at you before looking back at the road ahead. “From what little you’ve told me about him, he seems like some douchey finance bro that probably thinks he’s too big for this world because he had one successful trade in Crypto. Someone like that is not going to scare me away.”
A laugh tumbles from you before you can even stop it. “Douchy finance bro? I haven’t even told you what he does for work.”
Jack shrugs, a smirk pulling on his lips. “Don’t care what he does for work. Just the vibe I get.”
It’s enough to quell that crippling anxiety, enough to force it to pry its claws out of your skin. You release another breath, let your gaze fall to the window as the streets blur into soft strokes of color as you pass.
“Have I told you yet that you look beautiful?” His voice causes heat to curl up your neck and all you can do is laugh breathlessly.
“Yes.” You turn to look at him but his eyes are back on the road again.
Jack nods. “Good. Because you do. Ridiculously so.”
Your lips curl to hide your bashful grin, but Jack can feel your skin warming, thinks he can actually hear your heartrate picking up in the silence of the car.
But the moment Jack pulls up, your momentary relaxation is short-lived. You’re gnawing on your glossy bottom lip, effectively smearing it away as you look at the passenger window and directly at the entrance of Preston’s.
“What do you say about a quick tequila shot when we get in there?”
Your eyes close as you huff out a laugh, actually quite thankful for how easy he is to calm you down. And you’re also not at all opposed to a bit of hard liquor to take the edge off.
You turn to him with a nervous smile, still worrying your bottom lip and Jack reaches a hand to caress your jaw, to pull your lip from between your teeth.
“If it gets too much, or you just want to leave, say Poughkeepsie.”
You raise a brow at him in a mixture of confusion and amusement.
“Poughkeepsie?” You deadpan. “As in a safe word?”
Jack pulls a face of consideration. “Maybe more of a distress signal.”
That gets a real laugh out of you—one that’s unrestrained and entirely unapologetic. Jack thinks it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard, thinks you look nothing short of angelic when your nose crinkles and your shoulders shake.
You don’t tell him that you don’t need a distress signal. That you have absolutely zero problem with telling Tom exactly what you think of him and leaving without looking back. But the light that shines in Jack’s eyes when you laugh at his suggestion, when you lean in to kiss him with everything that you feel for him, you can’t bring yourself to tell him so.
“Okay,” you agree with a giggle against his lips. “Poughkeepsie, it is.”
He kisses you again, but it’s all teeth; both of you grinning too wide to really press your lips in the ways you want to.
Jack doesn’t let you open your door yourself. He rounds the car to open it for you, to press a hand on your lower back as he guides you into Preston’s.
You hate that Tom suggested the double date to be here. It’s one of your favorite restaurants and bars in the city. Classy enough to require an effort, common enough for there not to be a three month wait list for a table.
It’s very moody, the interior. Industrial loft style with expensive furniture and dim, golden lighting. Nothing harsh, nothing performative. It’s a place to eat and drink and enjoy yourself and your company. It’s just a shame your company tonight is about as interesting as a spam email.
True to his word about some liquid courage, Jack keeps his hand on your lower back as you move past the hostess stand and straight for the bar. But it’s only three steps in that you clock a familiar face amongst the tables and stop dead in your tracks with a huff.
“So much for that tequila shot.” You mutter and Jack frowns slightly, trying to follow your line of sight.
He sees it then. Them. A brunet and a blonde sat at a table, eyes sharp and looking between you and Jack. It takes him a moment to register that this brown-haired pretty boy is Tom. That the doe-eyed blonde sitting beside him is Kirsty.
He feels your spine stiffen beneath his touch and he snakes his arms around your waist, to keep you close, to keep you grounded.
You sigh, swallowing. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”
Your nerves are rolling off you violently, despite Jack’s comforting touch. He can feel how tense you are, like you’re already in fight or flight by just seeing Phoebe’s dad. It makes Jack’s skin crawl, makes him angry and frustrated and helpless.
It’s only now, that Jack is moving closer to the table and getting a clearer look at your ex, that Jack realizes just how much Phoebe looks like you. Your hair, your eyes, your smile. Diva holds little to no physical resemblance to Tom, and it makes a sick part of Jack happy.
You stop at the table as Tom watches with the eyes of a shark. He doesn’t move, not even when Kirsty stands with a nervous smile and soothes out the non-existent creases in her dress.
You glance at her, force your features to soften, to appear friendly. Jack doesn’t exactly offer the same courtesy. He stays neutral. No smile, no frown.
“Hi, I’m Kirsty. It’s so nice to meet you!”
Her voice is soft, kind, gentle. It makes you pause, a little stunned. She’s beautiful. Glass-like skin with a slim and slender build. She extends a hand across the table to you and you don’t have enough animosity to reject it.
As quickly as you shake her hand, she offers it to Jack. “And you must be Jack! Nice to meet you.”
Unfortunately, Jack does crack a soft smile at that. Does let his hand shake hers politely. You were both expecting Kirsty to be a complete and utter bitch. And yet… she’s kind, soft, just as nervous as you are.
The little bubble of mutual caution is popped, though, when you look down at Tom who remains in his seat. Expressionless, yet relaxed. Lounging back in his chair with an arm thrown over the back of Kirsty’s empty one.
“Tom.” You greet him bluntly.
“Y/N.” He returns it, just as dry.
He stares at you, though. Something like disbelief and disgust battling for first place in his expression. You don’t need to ask to know why.
Because while you’re not sure what exactly Phoebe has told him about Jack, you know for a fact she hadn’t mentioned his age. If Tom’s shock is anything to go by.
Jack watches Tom as Tom watches you. It sets his blood on fire in something both protective and disgusted. And when Tom’s eyes leave you to look at him with someone less than pleased in his expression, it takes every ounce of Jack’s patience to not hurl you over his shoulder and walk out the door.
“Tom Scavo.” His voice drips off his tongue like silk when he introduces himself to Jack.
It’s a voice that feigns confidence and security. It’s hard not to laugh in his face at how unironically wrong it is.
“Jack Abbot.” He replies, and his voice is much deeper, raw and husky and something that promises comfort and stability.
Not that it matters, Jack isn’t about to get into a pissing contest with your ex—with Phoebe’s dad—who holds all the arrogance and entitlement in the world on his face.
You’re staring down at the table, trying to regulate yourself and not spiral on how fucking awkward and uncomfortable this entire situation is. Kirsty isn’t faring much better, but she’s not as good at hiding it. Wide eyes flickering between Jack and Tom like ones about to shoot and the other is about to pounce.
It’s Jack who moves first, unwinding his arm around your waist to pull your chair out for you, sitting close beside you and resting a heavy palm on your upper thigh beneath the table.
You could really do with that tequila shot right about now.
Jack can sense as much when you subtly turn to side-eye one another; one of his brows slightly raised in amusement while your lips struggle not to curl in response.
The private glance helps, though. Reminds you that you’re not in this alone. And you know that despite how shitty this evening might grow, one look at him and you can find the light in the darkness.
You’re saved by the waiter, who introduces himself as Martin. He takes note of Tom’s red wine and Kirsty’s fruity cocktail and asks what he can get for you and Jack.
“I’ll have a white wine spritzer, please.”
“Make that two. Thank you.” Jack smiles briefly at Martin as he saunters away toward the bar.
Jack doubling your order has you looking at him, amused. “What about the car?” It’s a quiet tease, one only meant for his ears.
He grins down at you, fights back the urge to kiss your full lips. Because Jack only plans on having one glass of wine, and he knows you know he’s not a lightweight to get even tipsy off one drink.
“Well, I was only intending to have one, but if you’re planning on taking advantage of me later, we can come back for the car tomorrow.”
It’s entirely instinctive when your hand comes up to swat his chest at the playful but suggestive remark. It’s also entirely involuntary when your cheeks burn and flush with heat at the thought.
You have to hide your face behind the menu for a moment, feigning consideration of your meal. The act causes you to miss the disgusted glare Tom throws at you and the soft longing in Kirsty’s eyes as she watches yours and Jack’s private exchange.
“Jack, I hear you’re a doctor?” Kirsty asks softly, and a pang of guilt sears through you at the fact that she is the one to have to try and make conversation.
Jack nods, keeps his tone and expression polite and kind toward her. “Yeah, I’m an attending physician over at PTMC.”
Her eyes dazzle slightly in wonder as you lower the menu to force yourself to engage in the conversation. She’s about to open her mouth to say something else when Tom beats her to it.
“That’s a senior position, I’m assuming.”
You narrow your eyes at his smug tone but keep your mouth closed when Jack offers a reassuring squeeze to your thigh.
“What about you, Y/N?” Kirsty asks the question so quickly it’s like she can sense the route Tom is trying to go down and she’s desperate for that not to happen.
Your stomach curls in bitterness toward yourself, for thinking so negative of her before even meeting her.
“Oh, I work in pub—“
“She’s an aspiring author.” Tom cuts you off with a dig and a really fucking low blow.
Because he’s always known you’ve kept your job under wraps. That you use a pseudonym for a reason, because you don’t want to be known publicly.
Martin arrives and places two chilled glasses of white wine before you and Jack, about to ask if you’re ready to order food before sensing the tension off the table and thinking better of it, walking away.
Jack reels back slightly.
“You’re an author?” Kirsty asks with wide eyed excitement.
“Aspiring.” Tom mutters under his breath but it’s loud enough for the table to hear—clear enough for Jack’s jaw to twitch.
You blubber for a moment, torn between glaring at Tom and smiling kindly at his girlfriend that he is undeserving of.
“Uh, yeah— I go under a pseudonym, though. I don't really like the idea of my name being out there like that.” You laugh, nervous and completely out of your element.
Jack knows that’s not the only reason. That your primary concern has and always will be Phoebe, and the asshole kids as she grows up. That you don’t want to subject her teenage years to bullying because her mom writes erotic romances.
He looks at Tom, keeps his expression friendly when he corrects him. “A New York Times Bestseller says a lot more than aspiring, don’t you think?”
You dip your head to hide the flush on your cheeks and the curve of your mouth at Jack’s boyish defence of you. You already knew tonight would be a struggle of both of your patience, but you should’ve known that Jack will defend you.
Even if he has to do it passive aggressively.
He refuses to sit back and allow anybody to disrespect you.
“Wow, that’s incredible.” Kirsty gushes, beaming wide and you meet her gaze with something guilty.
You can’t help but wonder how the fuck she’s ended up with someone as awful as Tom. He hasn’t got much else but his face going for him. You know the sex is boring and his personality is drier than a desert.
“What about you?” You ask Kirsty.
Her smile shifts into a look of shy apprehension and she tucks locks of blonde hair behind a pierced ear. “Oh, I’m twenty, so I’m still in college. Lots of time to figure it out, though, right?” She laughs nervously.
You blink at the information, feel Jack still slightly beside you. Christ. Kirsty looks young but…twenty? Tom’s freshly thirty-three.
“Yeah, loads of time!”
A smile forces its way on your lips as you drag your gaze to briefly meet Tom’s. But he’s already looking at you with barely contained disdain. Like he’s daring you to say something when your age gap with Jack is three years bigger than theirs.
Both you and Jack reach for your drinks at the same time, suffocating your unfair judgement with wine. But is it entirely unfair when you’re a fully grown woman and Kirsty is barely legal?
“And obviously, you already know Tom works in Crypto exchange.”
Jack chokes on his wine with a fit of splitting coughs when the words fall from Kirsty’s mouth. He places his glass down a bit too unceremoniously, dabbing his mouth and chin with a napkin as he struggles to breath through the coughing.
“Sorry,” he apologizes and it takes everything in you to hold back your laughter.
Jack reaches for his water instead to try and soothe the burn the alcohol has left in his throat. His hand remains in your thigh throughout the exchange and squeezes with a playful warning.
Maybe you should’ve warned him in the car that his perception of Tom was a little too accurate. Even down to his job.
But every movement the two of you make is observed and noted by Tom. He doesn’t say anything at first about it, remains polite when Martin returns to take your food order, to refill your drinks.
It’s mostly Jack and Kirsty keeping the conversation afloat throughout dinner, weaving around Tom’s animosity.
In all honesty, you’ve enjoyed sitting on the sidelines and watching. Maybe it’s the wine that’s relaxed you, or maybe it’s the fact that Jack goes out of his way to politely disagree with everything that Tom says.
“Crypto is the way for the future of money.”
“Nah, can’t go wrong with cash.”
“Don’t you think cash is a little outdated? Old fashioned?”
“I think it’s good to be prepared for an emergency.”
“Cash is pointless. A bit like romance novels.”
“You’re not a romantic, Tom?”
“I just think they’re unrealistic. All a bit of make believe, really.”
“Ah, I have to argue otherwise. Maybe I can lend you my copy of Y/N’s book. You might learn a thing or two.”
“Oh, I would actually love that, if the offer extends to me?” Kirsty asks around a mouthful of food, palm covering her lips as she speaks—like she’s too excited by the idea to wait to finish her food.
You laugh under your breath and find yourself nodding, completely unaffected by Tom’s attempt at belittling you and your career. It’s a bit hard for him to hit how he wants when the other two people at the table disagree with him.
“Sure. Just—beware, they're a bit…spicy.”
Her eyes light up at the warning as she swallows her food, lowering her hand to offer a conspiratorial smile.
“I say the spicier the better.”
Tom grimaces at the interaction, something that sends a jolt of smugness through Jack. Good. Let him fester in his girlfriend praising you, in her clear excitement toward your career that Tom does everything he can to belittle.
Let that jealousy explode in his eyes at the thought of you and Jack together like that. He doesn’t plan on correcting him that nothing has happened yet.
“Where’s Phoebe tonight?” Kirsty asks as she takes a sip of her third cocktail.
“She’s with my parents for the night. Her favorite kind of sleepover.”
She beams at that. “She’s such a great kid. I don’t think she likes me very much, though. I didn’t mean to upset her last weekend…I only asked if she wanted to listen to music and make some breakfast together.” Kirsty admits sheepishly, upset evident in her tone.
Your heart cracks at that. Because Kirsty was only being kind and friendly to Phoebe. Offering to do something that you and Pheebs do every Sunday. And Phoebe… had she thought that her dads new girlfriend was trying to replace you?
Jack seems to come to the same conclusion, you can practically smell the pity rolling off him.
You chew on the inside of your cheek. “No, it’s okay. You don’t need to apologize for anything. It takes her time to open up to people sometimes.” You offer.
“She seemed to take to Jack pretty quickly.” Tom comments in a bitter tone and you hate the way that Kirsty seems to shrink into herself at that.
The same way that you used to.
“There were no labels or expectations when she met Jack.” You’re quick to defend, the hand in your lap reaching beneath that table to rest on Jack’s thigh.
You don’t tell him that the first time Phoebe met Jack was accidental, that it was also your first time meeting him, too. You don’t have to explain yourself. You refuse to.
“He’s all she seems to talk about. Jack’s a doctor. Jack’s fun. Jack makes Mommy laugh. Jack’s a silver fox.” Tom continues and you still at that, eyes hardening as Tom glares at you, his anger and disbelief leaking out of his pores.
“Really? That’s the type of shit you’re saying in front of our daughter?” His tone takes a spiteful turn. One that, despite your years apart, you still feel the hairs on the back of your neck standing up at.
Jack’s struggling to keep his cool, to not step in. Because he can handle Tom’s futile attempts of making Jack insecure, of focusing on his age and comments that come with it. But Jack cannot handle the blatant disrespect and nasty tone Tom’s directing at you.
“No. She overheard me on the phone.” You explain through gritted teeth.
Tom cocks a brow. “And that makes it better? She’s fucking four and you’re teaching her this shit?”
You frown. He’s good at this, manipulating things into something that they’re not. Like you’re going out of your way to educate your child on something inappropriate.
“I’m not teaching her that, Tom. She overheard a conversation.” You’re speaking through gritted teeth, your anger beginning to boil over.
He scoffs, opening his mouth to say something else but you stand abruptly before he can. “I’m going to the restroom.”
Something aches in you when Kirsty stands, too, offering an apologetic smile. “I’ll come, too many cocktails.” She tries to diffuse your well-placed anger with a light joke but she knows it’s not really any use.
You turn to look at Jack, swallowing down the lump in your throat when you notice the conflict of anger and devastation in his eyes. You bend at the waist to press a kiss to his cheek, a silent apology of leaving him alone with Tom, before you and Kirsty make for the ladies room.
Jack doesn’t watch you go, but Tom does. Metaphorical daggers stabbing into your back with every step and Jack’s knee begins to bounce beneath the table.
“You talk to her like that in front of Phoebe?” Jack asks, his mouth set in a firm line of barely restrained anger.
“Let’s get one thing clear. I’m Phoebe’s dad. Not you.” Tom’s tone isn’t angry or rash. But it is accusing.
Yes, maybe he has the right to make such a statement. Yes, he may be Phoebe’s father but he does not exactly qualify for the title of Dad.
In another circumstance, maybe Jack would find the statement amusing. But not in this one. In this one, it makes Jack angry. All Tom is doing is portraying his bitterness of you finding someone else as a proud father setting boundaries.
It’s anything but.
A dry, humorless chuckle escapes Jack.
“Oh, I understand perfectly that I have no right or opinion when it comes to Phoebe. But as for her mother, I have every right to tell you to watch your fucking mouth when you’re speaking with her.”
The sheer venom in his words sets Tom slightly on edge. Because Jack’s threat lingers in his calm demeanor. His relaxed position in his seat, his warm and raw tone that turns grave at the end of his sentence.
The soft clicking of your heels on the marble floor drifts closer until your presence is warm against the back of Jack’s chair. You sense the tension immediately, the hard set in Tom’s jaw as he stares at Jack.
“What did we miss?” You ask carefully, dragging your eyes to assess Jack for any hint of emotion.
He cranes his neck to look up at you. “Nothing, baby. Was just telling Tom about my trip to Poughkeepsie last year.”
You stare down at him, heart thumping at the ridiculous distress signal Jack came up with in the car. In all honesty, you assumed he was only teasing when he suggested it, or that if it needed to be used, it would be by you.
But he sits there, looking up at you with a smile that does not reach his darkening eyes and you realize that he’s serious. He’s ready to leave before he does something to make matters so much fucking worse.
His hand reaches for yours that rests on the back of his chair, a touch so tender and reassuring. Because he doesn’t want you to worry, doesn’t want you to think that this abysmal night changes anything between you.
You’re both too caught up in one another to notice the yearning look that Kirsty watches with. The realization that occurs to her when she sees what love and care and adoration is supposed to look like.
You turn to her with an apologetic smile, not deigning to give Tom a glance. “We’re gonna head out. Pheebs is back early tomorrow.”
She nods, eyes crinkling when she moves across the table to wrap you in a friendly embrace. And you let her, allow yourself to relax against her because Kirsty is nothing but good. Her reassurance and apology on Tom’s behavior in the bathroom was unnecessary but appreciated all the same.
It’s not her fault he’s a fucking cunt.
“It was so lovely to meet you.” You both offer the sentiment at the same time, a laugh tumbling right after and she pulls away to respectfully shake Jack’s hand when he stands.
Much like when you arrived, Tom remains seated. He doesn’t even feign niceties of a goodbye and instead relaxes into his seat with the smugness of a Persian Prince.
Like he’s won this round.
And Jack, ever the gentleman and bigger person, extends a hand across the table to Tom.
Tom regards it as a test, of sorts. One that he surveys with scrutiny, like he’s just been dealt the losing hand. Whether he accepts or not, Jack wins.
Only it’s not offered as a test. It’s out of Jack’s respect for you and his love for Phoebe that he puts his anger and hatred aside to offer his hand. It shouldn’t come as a surprise to you when Tom ultimately focuses his attention on his empty plate instead.
But there’s that sinking feeling of anger and upset when he does.
When he leaves your Jack standing with his hand still extended.
It’s not a bruise to Jack’s pride or ego, though. He has to hide his amusement at Tom’s childishness and retrieves his hand to dig into the inner pocket of his suit jacket. He pulls out his wallet, plucks a hundred and a fifty and sets the bills softly onto the table.
“That should cover ours and a tip.”
Tom doesn’t look up, just burns holes into the cash he’s left when Jack turns to you and helps ease your purse over your shoulder. You offer a tight-lipped smile to Kirsty as you curl your palm around Jack’s elbow before you’re both weaving through tables for the exit.
The moment the cool evening air hits you and your feet meet the sidewalk, neither of you stop. Jack unlocks the car with the press of a button on his keys, and opens and closes your door for you. You’re still holding your breath when Jack gets in the drivers side, still trying to process the night you’ve just had.
He doesn’t start the engine straight away, just stairs ahead at the people that pass, the cars that drift. It’s eating at him, what he’s done. How he lost his cool just enough for him to have cross words with Tom. If he had it his way, Jack would’ve done a lot more than a verbal scolding. But the guilt of that alone is eating at him.
“I threatened Tom.” He finds himself blurting quietly.
Your head whirls around to look at him, eyes wide and heart stammering at the weight of what he’s just said. Of what he’s done.
“You did what!?”
“Not—not physically, not properly. I—” He’s stammering, anxious that he’s overstepped and despite his reasoning for it, he knows it’s not good enough.
Your eyes somehow grow wider at his attempted retraction. “You either threatened Phoebe’s dad or you didn’t. Which one is it, Jack?”
He turns to you with a frown, with agony in his eyes. “I didn’t threaten Phoebe’s dad. I threatened your ex.” He’s trying to paint it clearer for you, to understand the difference between the figures.
And you do. Your shock and frustration shifts, your lips part and your eyes begin to hood. Because you’re picking up what he’s putting down; reading between the lines that Jack had clearly had enough of Tom’s belittling.
“I spoke to him as a man who will not tolerate anybody disrespecting his girlfriend. Correct me if I’m wrong, but do I not have every right to do that? As your partner?”
You blink at him, brows softly pinching together as your shoulders drop and you realize exactly where he’s coming from. That he bit his tongue when it came to all the times Tom has and continues to let Phoebe down. Because it’s not his place. Because in the face of Phoebe’s father, he has no right.
Your eyes close as you release a heavy sigh and you find yourself nodding softly. “Yeah, baby. You do. Of course, you do.”
He watches you carefully when you open your eyes and lean your head against the headrest, when you turn just slightly to look at him with exhaustion and apprehension.
“I won’t apologize for it.” He tells you, bluntly.
You huff a laugh through your nose at that, reach a hand lazily across the console to intertwine your fingers. “I’m not asking you to.”
Jack squeezes your hand with a nod, brings your knuckles to his lips where he kisses them tenderly.
“He’s a fucking asshole.” Jack says, his eyes locked on yours like he can’t quite understand what you ever saw in him. Like he’s distraught that that piece of shit is Phoebe’s father.
“Yeah,” you sigh. “Kirsty seems nice, though.”
“Mmh,” Jack hums. “Poor girl.”
You don’t say anything, just watch him for a moment. Trying to let your body relax now that you’re out of Tom’s presence. Trying to read Jack’s emotions that he struggles to keep off his face.
He only did have one glass of wine, so you know whatever is running through his head is completely valid and justified.
“Thank you, for coming and sitting through that. And I’m sorry that you had to.” You say softly, untangling your fingers to caress his stubbled jaw.
Jack leans into the touch, lets his hand wrap around your wrist to keep you there. Christ, he’s so fucking handsome.
“Honey, you don’t need to thank me. And you have absolutely nothing to apologize for. It’s not your fault Tom’s an asshole and has the personality of a piece of drywall.”
A giggle tumbles out of you and you stroke your thumb across the soft skin of his cheekbone.
He intertwines your fingers again as he begins to drive back to the apartment complex. The radio plays in the background and he listens to the sound of your voice as you single along softly.
He finds peace in it, in the rolling of your tongue as the lyrics almost sigh out of you. Focusing on that helps to take his mind off his simmering anger. The frustration and hatred that’s still brewing toward Tom.
He doesn’t mention how devastating it was to watch you curl into yourself in Tom’s presence. How infuriating and disgusting it was to hear the way he speaks to you, how uncaringly he belittles you.
Instead, Jack drives silently, singing along every now and then with you to take his mind off it. To calm himself down and remind himself that that treatment will remain in the past. That you will never, ever experience a lover like that again so long as he is by your side.
He opens the car door for you, closes it. Intertwines your fingers again as you walk into the complex together. You catch sight of a few of your neighbors. Deborah from downstairs who grins to herself at the sight of you both, Chirpy from apartment twelve that gives you both a less than pleased look, while the newly wed Mr and Mr Hammond wiggle their brows at you as you join them in the elevator.
The ride to yours and Jack’s floor is silent but not uncomfortable. You let the pair of husbands leave first, both of you left lingering in the hall as the elevator goes back down empty.
Jack turns left toward your apartment when you stop walking and squeeze his hand. He turns to you with a furrow.
“Can we go back to yours tonight instead?”
He blinks, then softens. This afternoon was the first time you really came into his space, any other time he’s always come to you.
“Yeah, baby. Let’s go.” His heart swells when you both begin to walk to his front door, when he opens it and you immediately crouch down to pet a waiting Sally.
She purrs beneath your touch as you scratch behind her ears, laughing when you stand to take off your heels and she nuzzles at your ankles.
Jack shuts the door with a quiet click, keeps his own shoes on and tosses his keys in the bowl at the small entrance table. You place your bag beside the bowl, pad through the apartment to follow him into the kitchen and make yourself comfortable on one of the stools.
There’s a stiffness in Jack’s posture. It’s evident he’s never really had a woman in his space like this since his wife. It makes you wonder if you’ve pushed too hard. That maybe you should’ve just agreed to go back to yours instead.
But the gentle clinking of a wine glass being set atop marble before you catches your attention. Jack takes a heavy gulp of his own before shrugging off his jacket and throwing it over a stool.
He rests a palm on either side of the island, leaning his weight into it and the motion is far more sinful than he intends for it to be.
You’re left with nothing to do but reach for your wine and guzzle down half of it. Jack cocks a brow in amusement, in silent question and you place it back with a laugh.
“We are never doing that again.”
He grins. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”
He moves swiftly, despite the slight ache in his leg from being on it all day. You turn in the stool to face him as he cups your cheeks in his palms and leans down to press his lips against yours.
You both sigh into the kiss, tasting each other and hints of elderflower. He pulls away to rest his forehead against yours, heaving in a breath.
“Do you have any idea how gorgeous you looked tonight? How hard it was to not kiss you the entire time?”
You beam at him, eyes fluttering closed and relief is finally beginning to settle within you. The date already forgotten about, Tom’s spiteful words and childish behavior shoved to the very back of your mind.
You lean closer to kiss him again. It’s needy and hungry and sensual, and Jack returns it with even more vigor.
“Jack,” you whimper against his mouth, hands reaching for his chest, fingers fumbling with the small buttons on his shirt.
He makes a sound from the back of his throat, lets his hands wander from your face and down your neck, reaching to the back of your dress as his fingers trace the zipper down your spine.
You pop a button and then another. Grow frustrated with how long it takes and sneak your hands beneath the fabric to feel his warm, hard chest.
Jack whimpers at the sensation, pinches at the zip and slowly tugs it down the track.
“Jack,” you breathe again, fingers curling until your nails scratch gently at the skin of his chest. “Jack, take me to bed.”
You don’t know what comes over him, what you’ve said or done that makes him snake his arms around your waist and lift you. Your legs wrap around his hips, your fingers tangle into his hair and he does not break the kiss as he somehow manages to carry you from the kitchen, down the hall, and into the dim lighting of his bedroom.
You’re offered no time to look as Jack gently eases you back on your feet, returning his attention to the zipper at your back. He tugs it all the way down when his lips begin to travel from your mouth to your neck; licking and nipping hungrily.
Your head rolls back as he pulls the shoulders of your outfit down your arms, as the dress pools at your ankles and leaves you in nothing but a bra, panties, and brown tights.
He pulls away to look at you with blown eyes and swollen lips. He drinks you in like a man starved, hands covering over your hips like he doesn’t know if he wants to touch you there or somewhere else.
Your skin burns under his attentive gaze, arousal almost gushing between your thighs. Your heart stammers sporadically as your hands find their way back to the buttons of his shirt again, desperately fumbling to pop them open.
“Look at you.” Jack’s voice is wrecked; the words are so broken it makes you pause. “You’re so fucking beautiful, baby.”
Your lungs are on fire, can’t quite seem to catch a deep enough breath at how he’s looking at you. It makes you frustrated and you find yourself gripping either side of his partly open shirt and ripping it open.
Buttons pop and clatter on hard wood in every direction. Freckled skin meets your line of vision; his torso toned and hard and hot beneath your touch. And when you peek up at Jack, he’s already smirking down at you.
“Sorry,” you laugh breathlessly.
He says nothing as he tugs the sleeves down his arms, throws the fabric haphazardly across the room. Jack catches your lips in a kiss again, tongues swirling in something erotic and entirely uncoordinated.
“Lay down on the bed for me, Angel.” He commands softly against your mouth.
The new pet name has your head spinning. You don’t argue, far too excited to even consider not giving him everything he wants from you.
You keep your eyes on him when you move backward until the foot of the bed hits the backs of your knees. You sit down, shuffling backward until your head is resting on his pillows and you’re enveloped in the comforting scent of him.
Jack moves slowly, admiring the sight of you sprawled out on his bed. His chest heaves with every breath and your eyes track his hands when they reach for the belt wrapped around his waist.
An involuntary whine slips past you as he unbuckles it. “Take your tights off, baby.”
There’s something so incredibly sexy at how naturally he’s taken control. At how earnestly he speaks to you, at how devotedly he stares down at you.
You move quickly, hooking your fingers in the thin waistband of your sheer tights and tugging them off as gracefully as you can. You’re left almost bare. In just a little black thong and a matching balcony bra.
Jack swallows at the sight of you and abandons his belt, wrapping his hands around your ankles and gently tugging you down the bed until your ass is flush with the edge.
“Now, spread your legs.”
He eases himself to his knees as smoothly as he can at the same time as you parting your thighs. His hands soothe up the soft skin of your calves, tracing the flesh of your inner thighs.
You prop yourself up on your elbows to watch him with hooded eyes. And Jack thinks he’s about to pass out.
There’s a prominent wet patch on the dark fabric of your panties, goosebumps pebbling on your skin as he hooks fingers into the underwear and slowly eases them down your legs.
When he throws them to the ground and you drop your legs open again, Jack groans.
He’s seen you before. But this is different. This time you’re willing and excited and desperate. This time you’re in his fucking bed, not behind a hospital curtain.
And above all, this time, Jack allows himself to really look. To admire you. To touch.
You moan when he parts your lips with his index and middle finger, when you feel the warmth of his breath ghost over your clit.
“Prettiest fucking cunt.” He praises roughly, salivates when he watches how you pulse because of it.
“You’re soaked, baby.”
His lips tease with open-mouthed kisses across your inner thighs, causing them to quake. His stubble grazes deliciously against the tender skin, but it only fuels the fire.
You whine again, hips bucking toward his face. Desperate for something, anything.
Jack relents, eager to taste you. His cock is throbbing against the confinements of his pants and boxers, eager to be buried to the hilt.
His thumb swipes at the wetness at your puckering entrance, all the way up to your clit. He keeps it there for a moment when you gasp, rubs lazy circles around the little nub until you’re whimpering and begging for more.
He’s a generous man. Not one to deny a woman of anything. Especially not you.
It’s without another thought that Jack moves closer to swipe his tongue in the same way he did with his thumb. Laps at your cunt, eyes rolling back at the taste of you and all restraint is lost.
His hands grip at your waist to keep you still, gripping with enough force to mark but not to bruise. Your back arches at the feel of his mouth on you—skilled and messy, worshiping every inch.
“Jack, oh, fuck!”
His guttural moan sends vibrations through your nerves as he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks. His tongue flicks against it at the same time, burying his face between your thighs.
His short stubble scratches deliciously at your sensitive skin, a welcome burn grazing at your entrance and inner thighs. It only makes you needier.
He’s completely drunk on you. So much so that he doesn’t even notice the ache forming below his knee, the discomfort that’s usually enough to cripple him.
Your back drops onto the bed, head digging into the sheets as your hands fly to his hair, gripping and pulling until your nails are scratching at his scalp.
He pulls off to heave a breath, to release one hip and circle your entrance with a finger.
“You taste so fucking good.” He slowly pushes between your walls, curling against the tightness.
A sharp cry sounds from the back of your throat when he returns his mouth to its rightful place, when he curls his finger faster and rubs the flat of his tongue against your clit when he sucks between his lips.
The thickness of his fingers is unfamiliar but most welcomed. And the praise of how you taste goes straight to your head.
Has your toes curling and eyes rolling. That familiar burn at the bottom of your spine creeps up on you like a freight train. You have no time to warn Jack when you clamp down on his finger, when you shudder and spasm beneath his hold.
You have no time to warn him because the breath is stolen from your lungs and you’re gushing as release paralyzes you.
And Jack…he drinks you like a starving man. Abandons your clit and removes his finger to lap at your pulsing hole; swirling his tongue and slurping like he can’t fucking get enough.
You’re struggling to catch your breath when he’s struggling to stand again, your vision is nothing but a kaleidoscope gaze. All you can think is to scold yourself for waiting as long as you fucking have for that to happen.
And when you blink through the distortion, you catch your orgasm coating Jack’s chin and mouth. The sexiness of it is short lived when you realize how his mouth is slightly curved into a grimace and he’s favoring his weight on his good leg.
But he tries to soldier through it. To drop his trousers to his ankles, to hook his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers.
It’s more effort than you care to admit to sit up. Your body spent but still aching for more. You rest your palms on the outsides of his muscular thighs, let your nose brush against his navel, pressing open mouthed kisses to the burning skin.
“Take it off.” Your words are drunken and muffled but Jack hears them. Understands them.
“I’m fine.” His voice is raw when he speaks, dripping with lust so much it almost masks his discomfort.
“You’re not. Take it off, baby. I don’t care.” You insist, still peppering hot kisses across his waist, dragging your tongue across the path.
Jack sighs shakily, relenting. And when he bends down with one hand on the bed and the other reaching to unclasp his prosthetic, you crawl backward on the bed until your head is resting on his pillows again.
You spread your legs for him, let your hand snake down between your thighs to touch yourself while you wait. You’re dripping onto his sheets, unapologetic and when Jack looks up with his prosthetic off, he whimpers at that sight.
“Jesus Christ, baby.” He’s almost drooling at the sight, still using one hand to balance and the other hooks into the waistband of his boxers and tugs them down.
Your eyes bulge. He’s fucking big. Long and fat and veiny. Slapping against his navel when it’s free, red and neglected. You feel your chest tighten, feel yourself drip between your thighs.
“Holy shit.” You pant.
He crawls into the bed and between your thighs with a bashful smirk; his cheeks dusted pink and eyes twinkling with something like excitement and nerves.
It’s then that he really notices the small scar just above your pubic bone. The evidence of the life you carried and birthed. It only intensifies his feelings toward how. Reminds him of how much you trust him.
You swallow, unable to take your eyes off his cock. But you’re not dumb on it yet, still able to consider him in these final few moments.
“Do you want me to—“
“No. Fuck no.” He knows what you’re going to say before you say it. Does he want you to do the work, does he want to lie down so it’s easier on his leg.
The answer is a resounding not a fucking chance in hell.
“Baby, I am more than happy for you to ride me whenever you want. But not—fuck—not tonight.” He’s panting out his words, like he’s already on the verge of release and he’s not even inside you yet.
His hands block you in on either side of your head, thighs slotting between yours and when he lowers his hips, his cock brushes against your soaked folds.
There’s a sobering moment that hits him the second he feels you. He doesn’t have any condoms and he doesn’t quite know how to broach the subject of asking if you do without breaking the moment.
But it’s like you read his mind, or maybe you can just read the hesitancy on his face. “It’s okay. I’m clean. I haven’t—I haven’t been with anyone in a while.”
Jack looses a breath at your admittance. Lets his head drop so his forehead rests against yours. Your words send a strike to his cock, the reminder of your IUD, the thought of feeling you bare. “Me too.”
You swallow, breaths mingling and your hand leaves your pussy to wrap around his cock, pumping slowly and Jack shudders.
“So, we take it slow. No expectations, right?”
Jack practically melts at your tone and your words, at how easy everything is with you. How right it all feels.
“Yeah, baby. No expectations.”
You nod again, as much as you can, and guide the tip of his swollen cock to your fluttering entrance. A shudder runs through you both, anticipation crawling at your spines.
Jack’s hips move slowly, easing into you in a way that makes you relax enough to take him. Inch by inch, whimper by whimper, until his hips are flush against yours and you’re both panting.
“Give me— fuck, give me a second. Jesus fucking Christ—baby, you’re…you’re so fucking tight.”
“Big,” you gasp through a heavy breath, nails scratching down the wide expanse of Jack’s muscled back. You can’t form a coherent word, far too overwhelmed.
“I know.” He coos, holding his weight above you on one hand by your head when the other reaches between your chests to slowly fold your bra down, exposing your breasts.
The whimper that slips out of him is almost enough to make you cum. Your supple breasts spill out, nipples perk and he flicks a thumb over one, pinches gently when you whine for more.
“You’re doing so well for me, baby. So good.”
You mewl at the praise again, something you’ve never once experienced in bed. But now that you have, you know you could never go without it again.
Jack moves his hips gingerly, pulling out a few inches before slowly sheathing himself back in. You’re far too tight around him to remain composed; cunt soaked and sucking him in like it’s where he belongs.
“Keep going, feels so good. So big.” You whine.
“Yeah?” Jack asks breathlessly, rolling his hips with a tedious rhythm, like he’s experimenting what works best for you.
You’re too caught up in the pressure and stretch of him to realize just how much strength it takes for him to hold his weight on one hand, fuck you like he loves you, and pinch your nipples like you’re nothing but his good girl.
All with one leg. All with barely contained restraint.
Your hips begin to roll against his, bucking up to meet his thrusts and he gets the hint that you need more.
But you’re tight, pulsing, sucking him deeper with every thrust. Until you’re both panting and Jack’s bed is creaking. Until moans are slipping from your lips instead of breaths. Until Jack’s whimpering and moaning and whining into the crook of your neck.
He abandons his assault on your nipple, rises to his hands at either side of your head to watch your face, to flicker his gaze between your thighs to watch you stretch around his thick girth.
His cock is slick with your arousal, a creamy ring of white at the base of him.
“Fuck, baby.” His voice is slightly higher pitched now. Whining in a way that has you bucking up against his in urgency.
That burning returns in the base of your spine, tingles zapping up and down your navel as your orgasms balloons.
“Jack! Oh fuck, baby—I’m…I’m gonna cum… oh fuck…”
“Yeah? You gonna come on my cock? Come on, baby. Let me feel you.”
It doesn’t crash into you this time, doesn’t sneak up on you and paralyze you like the last one. No, this time it sets your body alight; bursts from you from within.
You shudder and spasm, sob and moan and whine and claw at Jack’s back. He feels you tighten impossibly, feels your cunt attempt to gush around him.
It drags his own release from him, and he hates how quickly and harshly he pulls out of you so he doesn’t spill inside. His cock drops heavily on your cunt, ribbons of creamy release spurting across your lower stomach as you shudder through the remnants of your orgasm.
Despite how fucked out you are, you still hear the whimper of a moan that falls from Jack’s, the praise that follows when he cums across your abdomen.
You’re struggling to catch your breath, blinking away the white spots that mask your vision. But you feel the bed dip as Jack collapses beside you on his back, the heavy rise and fall of his chest as he pants breathlessly.
You turn your head to him in a lazy motion, an arm thrown over his eyes while the other reaches out for his hand to hold your thigh. His cock lays heavy on his leg; still glistening in your excitement and still incredibly big as he softens.
“Remind me again why we waited so long to do that.” You laugh through a heavy breath, and it makes Jack chuckle heartily.
With as much energy as you can muster, you try to sit up to clean yourself but Jack moves faster. Grips your thigh harder and turns to you beneath the arm over his eyes.
“Don’t you dare move.” His voice is gravelly, slightly broken. “I’ll clean you up, just give me a second.”
But you don’t listen. Jack watches with disdain as you sit up and round the bed, disappearing into the bathroom just beside his bedroom door.
It’s pure inadequacy that he feels. Like he’s unable to do something as simple as clean you up and take care of you after sex. A bare minimum act that you don’t let him complete.
He spirals in the two short minutes you’re gone, and when you come back clean and naked with a wash cloth in your hands, it only intensifies the feeling tenfold.
“I could’ve done that, sweetheart.” He tells you when you had him the cloth and sit on your heels on the bed beside him.
“I know.”
You don’t elaborate on the fact that he’s always taking care of you. Coming over to fix the sink or the dryer, helping you build a new bookcase or unclogging the toilet after Phoebe stuffed a whole roll of toilet paper down it.
You don’t want to make a thing out of it.
“Do you have a t-shirt I can borrow?” You ask instead.
Jack blinks when he takes the wash cloth from you, pointing silently to the second drawer of the dresser in the corner of the room.
You make quick work on shaky legs of standing and pinching a gray t-shirt from the draw. It swallows you whole, the hem reaching just below your ass and the arms almost reaching your elbows.
Jack’s chest seizes when you turn to him, an uncontrollable wave of adoration and slight possessiveness strokes through him. The latter is something he’s not exactly proud of.
But you’re in his apartment, in his room, wearing his shirt, blissed out from his cock…
It takes him a moment or two to regulate his emotions. The internal battle of pinning you beneath him again to coax another orgasm out of your body and just coddling you close to his chest all night.
So he’s a little thrown off when you remain standing at the foot of the bed and ask, “Where do you keep your lotion?”
“My lotion?” He blinks.
“For your leg.”
His eyes betray him as they flicker toward the bathroom and you’re sauntering off before he can even stop you.
When you return with the bottle in hand and sit on your heels again beside him on the bed, he doesn’t stop you when you squeeze a dollop into your palms. Doesn’t comment when you warm it between your hands before gently massaging it across his tender skin.
He watches, reverently. In complete adoration and disbelief that you could ever be real. That this isn’t a figment of his imagination.
But it is real.
And when you curl up into his side beneath the covers like you’ve only ever belonged there, in this moment, Jack finds himself battling with three words that threaten to spill from his lips.
Too caught up in the moment and intensity of the night as you and Jack drift off to sleep, both of you miss the fact that neither of you are wearing your rings around your neck.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
SERIES MASTERLIST — NEXT PART
Tag list for this series has grown way too big for me to keep up with so it’s unfortunately CLOSED. You can however follow the #apt.17 tag instead for updates on the series!
OKAY IM SORRY THIS WAS SO LONG BUT I DID WARN YOU IN THE LAST CHAPTER!! lots to unpack in this one; tom's behavior, kirsty being a poor little sweetheart, jack being hot as fuck and of course, the smut!!!! from here on out, things take a big change and there is lots to happen and get through, so chapters will likely be this length or longer!
Thank you very much for reading! Feedback really means a lot so I would love to hear your thoughts and ideas for where you think this will go!! Reblogs helps to boost stuff for more people to reach so if you enjoyed it please consider reblogging!!
you were awoken, rather abruptly, by the sound of toys clattering down your side. blinking sleep away, you groan softly, before you’re face to face with your little toddler, her little ringlets messy and sticking up in every direction. she blinks at you. you blink at her.
“g’mo’ning, mama,” she says, in something akin to a whisper, but it comes out more just like hot toddler breath in your face. you can smell coffee wafting from the kitchen.
“mm, baby, what’re you doing?” you croak, lifting a sleepy hand to move the sheets off of you when you’re instead met with a small plastic toy car. then, a little train. then — ah! another toy! this time, in the form of a small cloth bee stuffed with pellets. there’s a damp spot on its antennae, where your darling daughter had no doubt chewed on it just moments ago.
she blinks at you again, extending a little pointer finger towards the collection of trinkets now placed on your stomach. “play.”
“play?” you ask, as she hands you yet another toy from her chubby fingers. she must’ve gotten out of her crib somehow, and judging from the fact that jack’s side of the bed is empty, that’s probably how. “where’s papa?”
“ou’side.” she says, walking the little bee plush along your blanketed stomach. “mama, play.”
“mm.” you groan slightly. you give her one last look before resigning to your newly appointed role as a play-mat. the books did say to encourage spontaneous play. “m’kay.” you pick up the little car, rolling it along your torso as she mimics the buzzing of a bee.
her cheeks are flushed a sleepy pink as her brows furrow in concentration. freckles dust her little nose, and the person who gave them to her walks into the bedroom. jack, still in his sleep shirt and plaid pajama pants leans against the doorframe, as a warm smile graces his aged features.
“there you are, buggy,” he says, as your daughter’s head whipped over her shoulder to look at him. jack cocks his head behind him. “pancakes’re ready,” he smiles.
then, your daughter turns to you. “mama, pancakes.”
“mm, i’ll be there in one sec, baby,” you nod, still wearing off the last of your grogginess as you sit up, the toys clattering into your lap. your daughter, sweet and full of energy as she is, waddles her way out of the bedroom with the soft pitter-patter of her feet following her. as she rounds the door into the hallway, jack extends a hand to cup the back of her little head, gentle.
then, he turns to you, a bright glint in his eyes. “she wanted to play.”
a little smile graces your lips. “yeah, she did,” you murmur, stretching your arms over your head.
rubbing your sleep from your eyes, the comfortable silence is broken by the sound of your toddler shouting, “mama! papa!” from the kitchen, the clumsy clanging of her plastic utensils against her paw patrol plate joining her.
you can’t help the laugh that leaves you, and jack’s chuckles join you.
“she’s a tyrant,” you sigh with affection, kicking the duvet away from you as you stand, approaching jack. you rest your hand on his lower back as his drapes over your shoulder, and he presses a soft kiss to your forehead before walking the both of you out in the hall, muttering, “yeah, but, i mean, look at her,” he says, nodding in the direction of where she tries to climb into her high chair. “she makes for a pretty fuckin’ cute one.”
꒰ ⟡ 𝟣𝟪+ blurb — ❤︎ 𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐎𝐓 & 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐅𝐅 . . It’s longer, a gleaming silver, gilding over his chin and jaw, while you’re forced to feel it. That thickened, rough, unshaven texture alongside every thick, wet lap he makes at your little puffed-up pussy. His tongue, licking and slipping through sticky folds, soft and sweet in contrast to the sharp texture of his facial hair, which is unintentionally marking up your thighs. It has just grown so much, prickly and nearly white, rubbing against your tender, pulsing hole while his tongue licks up in languid glides. His chin firms itself on your perineum to feel your pulsing little slit rubbing against the coarseness; to feel his baby grinding up on his own face. Jack just wants you shuddering, helpless and humping his silvered, rough-fuzzed jaw. His lips part to slick you up with saliva, allowing a thick, wet string to connect his face to your needy, swelling pussy. The wetness pools up in the seam of your clit, and he spreads his tongue onto you, flat and demanding, stiffening it for a moment on your needy bud, before licking and kissing into where your clit hood is exposed — pulled back, alit, and inflamed, all from his face between your thighs.
"Gonna lick you 'til you're raw." Jack admits hoarsely into your little cunt. "Just need to have my mouth on you, honey."
He wraps himself on the thickened flesh of your bulbed-up clit, suckling wildly and coating his chin in you during his latch. His thicker scruff frictions right against the skin of your chubby and delicate pussy lips, before his tongue swirls hard, just once more, and retracts away from where you're spread. His fat, aged and freckled hands keep your soft thighs speared wide open, just to observe your desperate, aching hole. You’re beard-burned and sensitive, a soppy little cunt rubbed raw from his face; chafed up, creamy, and fluttering wetly around nothing. Jack's jaw is steeped in you, wet on the growth that shrouds the curve of his face and neck. He takes a long, rough breath, an open-mouthed aspiration to taste your sweetness through the air, swallowing the scent as his head lilts in working condescension. Silver curls, dampened with his own sweat, swath over his lined forehead with the tilt.
“Aww, pumpkin… does she like it? Little pussy likes my scruff? I think she does…" Jack coos, his voice enough to make your legs quiver under his pinion. He inhales, puckers his lips, and effuses a jet of his hot breath, runneled right to your needy hole. His lips upturn, thumbs pinching deeper into your thighs.
"Look at her. She’s already clamping up – just ‘cause Daddy had his mouth on you…”
A finger glides through the mess, thick and seeping down irritated, velveted flesh, clinging to the sheets below your puckered hole. Jack can't halt his hand, which lifts to press his thumb pad to the cleft of your ass, like he's surveilling the vicious throb of you through your puddle of arousal.
“Is it all stingy, baby? Should Daddy shave so he doesn't hurt your little pussy anymore?”
Your head shakes violently, writhing on the sheets, whimpering as you gush out more between your forcedly spread thighs.
“No? You like it? I can tell. My baby’s already too close…” Jack sighs with a sated grin, and his digits ascend back up to your throbby little hole.
“Should we let her, hm? Let your little cunt just cum – all messy on Daddy’s beard?” It’s rhetorical, plainly mean, and Jack completely rescinds a response from you when his jaw presses right up against where you're pulsing. He fucks his tongue inside, driving it in deep, without warning or clemency.
Jack adheres his face and stubbly bristles to your soft, sloppy folds, prompting you to leak, fresh and hot, all over him. The strong muscle licks inside at inner walls, his fingers rubbing at your quivering clit to feel you grip onto him in tighter, cinching pulses. He pulls away just enough to watch your tiny hole cling to his tongue, his scratchy fuzz slick and sticking to your slit, and then he's lapping at you, from entrance to bud once more. He curves his lips onto your swelled clit, suckling and licking into the fleshy rift. Your whines crack open to sharp-pitched moans when your orgasm torments every nerve ending, muscle, and cell. Your belly swoops, warming in your release, riveting the heat through to your trembling thighs. Your eyes shimmer with tears through the cascades of pleasure and the prickle of his chin, which Jack rubs over your poor pussy well into the aftershocks. And he still doesn’t stop – his silver hair is lambent and streaked with your cum, and he strokes his mouth down you to elicit a shiver, patting your hip in coax. “That’s it – My good little girl. Daddy’s just gonna get you real clean now.”
