#dr jack abbot

[sebsangell]

Holy fuck

[afterdarkbydel]

Wrong Chat, Right Man

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 7.8k

Summary: You’re getting ready for a night out with the day-shift girls when you decide to show them the new black satin lingerie set you bought that afternoon. There’s just one problem. You send the pictures to Jack Abbot instead. You and Jack have been flirting for weeks without either of you actually doing anything about it, so once the initial mortification wears off and you realize Jack is having a very difficult time forgetting what he saw… your girls’ night suddenly becomes a lot less important.

Warnings: 18+ only, accidental lingerie photos, mutual attraction, age gap, flirting, suggestive texting, reader lies about having a headache to ditch girls’ night lol, kissing/making out, lingerie, nudity, sexual content, fingering, protected sex, condom use, Jack talks you through it, praise, teasing, Jack being smug, reader being a menace, enthusiastic consent throughout

Author’s Note: This one tied in the poll with “how women actually sext” fic, which means you’re getting BOTH. 😂 Apparently we all collectively decided Jack Abbot deserves to suffer through two separate technological disasters involving a woman he’s attracted to. So: Wrong Chat, Right Man is here, and the sexting fic will be posted too. Consider it a little double treat for my lovelies.

Xoxo, Del

You were halfway through finishing your eyeliner when your phone buzzed for what had to be the twentieth time in ten minutes.

You ignored it.

For approximately four seconds.

Then the chorus kicked in from the speaker on your dresser, and you abandoned the eyeliner entirely to dance your way across the bedroom in your robe, one hand wrapped around the makeup brush you had apparently decided was now a microphone.

Your plans for the evening were going very well.

Your makeup was half finished. Your hair was mostly done. There were three different outfits spread across your bed, two pairs of shoes on the floor, and a shopping bag from earlier that afternoon sitting open near the foot of the mattress.

You had absolutely no idea what you were wearing.

But you were having a fantastic time figuring it out.

Your phone buzzed again. Then twice more in rapid succession.

You finally snatched it off the dresser and looked down. The girls’ group chat had accumulated nine new messages.

Of course it had.

Mel had sent a picture of two different tops laid out on her bed and demanded a vote. Santos had already replied that neither of them were acceptable because apparently tonight required cleavage. Javadi had sent a single, deeply unhelpful message informing everyone that she was ready and therefore better than all of you.

You smiled and typed back with one thumb.

You: Javadi, I say this with love, but shut up.

Her response came almost immediately.

Javadi: Jealousy is ugly on you.

You rolled your eyes.

You: Some of us require preparation.

Santos reacted to the message with a heart before another text appeared.

Santos: Some of us bought new underwear today and have yet to provide photographic evidence.

You stopped.

Slowly, your eyes drifted toward the shopping bag on the bed.

Traitor.

You had made the mistake of mentioning the purchase during the afternoon shopping trip.

The set had not even been part of the plan.

You had gone out looking for something to wear tonight and somehow walked out with a black satin bra trimmed in lace and matching underwear that had cost enough to make you briefly reconsider every financial decision you had ever made.

They were also gorgeous.

Which was how you had justified it. Mostly.

Your phone buzzed again.

Mel: Wait, you actually bought it??

You grinned.

You: Maybe…

Three dots immediately appeared.

Santos: SHOW US

Another message landed beneath it.

Javadi: You cannot announce lingerie and then withhold evidence. There are rules.

You laughed, tossing the phone onto the bed.

“Crazy,” you muttered fondly to the empty room.

Your phone buzzed again before it had even stopped bouncing against the comforter.

You reached for it, expecting another demand from the girls.

Instead, Jack Abbot’s name appeared across the screen.

And, embarrassingly, your smile changed. It had been doing that all day. Actually, it had been doing that for several weeks.

You and Jack had reached some strange, undefined place where conversations that had once existed almost entirely inside PTMC now followed you home.

It had happened gradually enough that neither of you had acknowledged it.

A text about a patient update turned into a complaint about the hospital coffee. A complaint about hospital coffee became Jack sending you a picture of an offensively bad vending machine sandwich at two in the morning.

Somewhere along the way, you had started texting him when you were bored.

And he always answered.

Today had been particularly bad. Or good. Depending on how willing you were to admit that you had checked your phone every single time his name appeared.

You opened the message.

Jack: Still alive?

Your smile widened.

He had known you were going shopping because you had mentioned it during the last hour of your shift that morning.

You typed back.

You: Barely.

His response arrived less than a minute later.

Jack: Tragic.

You wandered back toward the mirror and picked up your eyeliner again.

You: You say that like you wouldn’t miss me.

The typing bubble appeared. Stopped. Appeared again.

You waited.

Jack: The department would be quieter.

You snorted.

You: Wow.

You: So you would miss me…

Another pause.

Jack: Didn’t say that.

You smiled at yourself in the mirror.

“You didn’t have to,” you murmured.

You finished one eye while your phone rested beside the sink.

It buzzed again.

Jack: Find anything good?

Your gaze shifted toward the shopping bag again. You immediately decided Jack did not need to know about that purchase.

You: Found an outfit for tonight.

You considered that. Then added:

You: I think.

His reply came back.

Jack: Inspiring confidence.

You capped your eyeliner.

You: It is inspiring. I survived the mall.

Jack: Congratulations.

You: Thank you.

You: I know malls can be intimidating for men your age.

There was a noticeably longer pause this time. You bit back a laugh. Finally, his message appeared.

Jack: My age.

You practically heard the flatness in his voice.

You: Yeah.

You leaned against the dresser, fully committed now.

You: You know…

You: Mall walkers.

Another pause. You could picture his expression perfectly. That made it worse. Or better. Definitely better.

You: Little white sneakers…

You: Power walking before the stores open…

You: Getting your steps in with the other retirees…

His response came so quickly you laughed out loud.

Jack: I’m fifty, not eighty.

You grinned.

You: Exactly what an eighty-year-old would say.

Jack: You’re enjoying this too much.

You: Immensely.

The typing indicator appeared.

Jack: Keep it up.

You stared at that one.

Something warm curled low in your stomach.

Because that was the problem with Jack. 

Half the time, you genuinely had no idea whether he knew how he sounded. The other half, you were increasingly certain he knew exactly how he sounded.

You typed carefully.

You: Is that a threat, Dr. Abbot?

The bubble appeared almost immediately.

Jack: Depends.

Your eyebrows lifted.

You: On?

This pause was longer. Long enough that you found yourself staring at the screen instead of finishing your makeup. Then his response appeared.

Jack: How brave you’re feeling.

Your lips parted.

“Oh,” you whispered.

That was— Okay.

You looked at yourself in the mirror.

Then back at the phone. Weeks. You had been doing this for weeks. Little looks across the nurses’ station. Jack standing just a little too close while pretending to read something over your shoulder. You finding increasingly flimsy reasons to bother him. Him pretending to be annoyed when both of you knew damn well he wasn’t.

Nothing had happened.

Not really.

But lately, it felt like both of you were standing at the edge of something and waiting to see who moved first.

Your phone buzzed again. This time, the girls’ group chat reclaimed your attention.

Santos: HELLO???

Santos: underwear

Mel: We’re waiting.

Javadi: I’m beginning to think she lied.

You laughed and set Jack’s conversation aside before he could say anything else capable of making you reconsider leaving the house entirely.

You: Fine.

You: Give me five minutes.

The reactions came instantly.

You shook your head, smiling as you tossed the phone onto the bed and finally reached for the shopping bag.

The black satin caught the light as you pulled the set free.

You held it up. Still gorgeous. Still completely unnecessary. Still worth it.

Probably.

You glanced toward the mirror.

Then toward your phone.

You slipped out of your robe and pulled on the black satin bra first, adjusting the straps before reaching for the matching underwear.

The second you straightened, you understood why you had bought it.

The satin caught the light every time you moved, smooth and dark against your skin, the lace along the cups softening the sharp lines just enough. The matching bottoms sat high against your hips, edged in the same black lace.

You turned slightly in front of the mirror.

“Oh,” you murmured.

Okay. That was—

Really fucking cute.

You smoothed your hands over your hips, turning a little farther to check the fit from the side.

Worth it. Definitely worth it.

You grabbed your phone and opened the camera.

The first picture was simple.

A full-length mirror shot, your phone partially covering your face, one hip tilted slightly as you angled yourself toward the mirror.

You looked at it. Not bad. You took another.

This one was closer, catching more of the satin and lace detailing.

Better.

Your phone buzzed again while you were looking between the two. A notification from the girls’ chat slid across the top of the screen.

Javadi: Five minutes is up.

You laughed.

“Demanding,” you muttered.

Another notification appeared almost immediately beneath it.

Jack Abbot: You’re awfully quiet.

Your thumb hovered over the screen. You smiled despite yourself. Of course he noticed. You tapped away from the camera and into your messages.

You selected both pictures.

Added:

You: okay fine

Then hit send.

Satisfied, you tossed the phone onto the bed and turned back toward the mirror.

Now you actually needed clothes.

You reached for the black top you had been considering earlier, holding it against yourself while you debated whether it worked better with jeans or the skirt currently hanging halfway off the edge of the mattress.

After another few seconds, you glanced back at your phone.

The girls had been demanding pictures for the last ten minutes. Surely somebody had responded by now.

You picked it up and unlocked the screen.

Then froze.

The conversation at the top of the screen did not say Day Shift Disaster.

It said:

Jack Abbot

Your entire body went cold. “No.”

You stared at the screen. Two photographs. Sent. To Jack.

You shook your head. “No, no, no.”

Your stomach dropped so hard it felt like you had missed a step.

You tapped frantically at the pictures as though there might somehow be a magical button that could pull them back through the internet and return them to your camera roll.

There was not. Obviously.

“Oh my God.” Your fingers flew over the keyboard.

You: oh my god

You sent it.

You: JACK

Sent.

You: DELETE THIS CONVERSATION. 

You: DO NOT LOOK AT THOSE PICS!!!!!

You stared at the screen.

For one hopeful, beautiful second, nothing happened. Then the status beneath the photographs changed.

Read

Your soul left your body. “No.”

You dropped backward onto the edge of the bed. “No, no, no, no.”

The typing bubble appeared. 

You covered your face with one hand. “This is how I die.”

The bubble disappeared. Then a message came through.

Jack: Little late for that.

You made a sound somewhere between a groan and a whimper and fell completely backward onto the mattress.

The ceiling offered no assistance.

Your phone buzzed against your stomach. You lifted it with both hands.

You: I AM SO SORRY

You sent another before he could answer.

You: Those were for the girls.

The typing bubble appeared. You wanted to throw the phone across the room. Instead, you stared at it like it contained your test results. His reply finally appeared.

Jack: Figured.

You blinked.

That was it?

No joke. No comment. No attempt to make this worse. Another message came through.

Jack: You okay?

Some of the panic loosened immediately.

You let out the breath you had apparently been holding. 

Of course. Of course that was what he asked.

You sat up again, pulling your robe around yourself despite the fact that Jack was nowhere near you.

You: Yes.

You hesitated. Then added:

You: Just considering changing my name and leaving the state…

His response appeared quickly.

Jack: Seems excessive.

You huffed out a laugh despite yourself.

You: You just saw me in my underwear.

There was a pause. Then:

Jack: I’m aware.

Heat rushed straight into your face. “Jesus Christ.”

You stared at the message.

There was absolutely nothing inappropriate about it.

And yet.

Something about knowing Jack Abbot was sitting somewhere right now fully aware of exactly what you looked like in black satin made your stomach flip.

You swallowed.

You: Please forget you ever saw those.

This time, he took longer to answer. Long enough that you could feel your heartbeat in your throat. Finally, his message appeared.

Jack: That may be difficult.

You went very still.

The room suddenly felt warmer.

Your eyes moved over the words again. Then once more.

That may be difficult.

Not don’t worry about it.

Not already forgotten.

Not even I’ll try.

Your lips parted slightly. “Oh.”

A different kind of heat curled low in your stomach.

You looked down at yourself. At the black satin. At the lace. Then back at Jack’s message. 

And for the first time since realizing what you had done, embarrassment was not the only thing you felt.

Your phone remained warm in your hand.

You stared at Jack’s last message for another few seconds, pulse beating a little faster than it had any right to.

Then the typing bubble appeared again. You stopped breathing. It disappeared. Appeared again. Whatever Jack was debating saying, apparently he was actually debating it. 

Finally, another message came through.

Jack: You sure you still want to go out tonight?

Your eyebrows lifted. You read it twice.

There were several perfectly reasonable ways to interpret that question.

You ignored all of them.

You: Why?

The typing bubble appeared almost immediately.

Jack: Just asking.

You smiled. Absolutely not. He did not get to send that may be difficult and then pretend he was making casual conversation.

You: No you’re not.

A pause followed. Then:

Jack: No?

You shifted farther back onto the bed, crossing one leg beneath you.

You: No.

You hesitated for half a second before typing again.

You: What exactly are you suggesting Dr. Abbot?

This time, Jack made you wait.

Five seconds. Ten. Long enough for you to become painfully aware that you were still sitting on your bed in the exact black satin lingerie he had just seen. Then his message appeared.

Jack: You could go out with the girls…

You frowned at the screen. Another message arrived before you could respond.

Jack: Or you could come over here.

Your stomach flipped.

“Oh my God,” you whispered.

There it was.

After weeks of flirting. Weeks of looks across the department. Weeks of finding excuses to stand beside each other, tease each other, text each other after shifts that neither of you wanted to admit had absolutely nothing to do with work.

There it fucking was.

You stared at the screen, trying very hard to behave like a woman who had not just been offered exactly what she had wanted for weeks.

You: And what exactly would happen if I came over?

You watched the typing bubble appear. Disappear. Appear again.

Then:

Jack: You really want me to answer that?

A grin pulled at your mouth.

You: I asked.

His answer took longer this time. When it finally appeared, every remaining thought about bars, drinks, or girls’ night evaporated.

Jack: I could do something about those pictures.

Your mouth fell open. “Fuck.”

That was it.

There was no deliberation. No sensible internal debate. No attempt to remind yourself that you had plans. 

You immediately backed out of Jack’s conversation and opened the girls’ group chat.

Mel had sent another outfit picture. Santos had apparently changed shoes twice. Javadi had sent a message informing everyone that if you made her wait more than 15 minutes, she would leave without you. You typed with both thumbs.

You: Guys, I think I’m gonna stay home.

Three dots appeared almost instantly.

Mel: What??

Another message followed.

Santos: you were literally fine twenty minutes ago

You glanced back at Jack’s conversation.

Your pulse skipped.

Fine was becoming an increasingly complicated word.

You: Headache.

There was a pause.

Then:

Javadi: A headache.

You could practically hear her saying it.

You: Yes.

Mel: Are you okay?

A tiny stab of guilt got through the haze.

You: Yeah totally fine just don’t think drinks will help.

Santos responded next.

Santos: you spent all afternoon shopping for tonight

You bit your lip. That was unfortunately true.

You: I know…

You: Sorry 😭

For several seconds, nobody answered. Then Javadi sent:

Javadi: Okay...

You narrowed your eyes. Even through text, the suspicion was obvious.

You: What does that mean?

Javadi: Nothing.

Santos: it means she doesn’t believe you

Javadi: I did not say that.

Mel: You definitely implied it.

You laughed despite yourself.

You: I have a headache.

Santos reacted with a skeptical emoji.

Santos: Fine. Feel better.

Mel followed with a heart.

Mel: We’ll miss you. Text if you need anything.

Javadi’s response came last.

Javadi: I remain suspicious, but feel better.

You smiled.

They had no idea. Thank God.

You backed out of the chat before your conscience could develop any stronger objections and reopened Jack’s conversation. His last message was still sitting there.

I could do something about those pictures.

You stared at it. Then typed:

You: What’s your address?

The typing bubble appeared immediately.

You laughed under your breath.

Apparently Jack had been waiting. His address came through a second later. Then another message.

Jack: Thought you were going out.

You rolled your eyes. Smug bastard.

You: Headache.

There was a pause. Then:

Jack: Miraculous recovery expected?

You smiled so hard your cheeks hurt.

You: Depends…

You waited just long enough to make him suffer.

You: What kind of treatment are you offering?

His response came back almost immediately.

Jack: Get over here and find out.

You stared at the screen.

Then slowly looked down at the black satin still covering your body.

A smile spread across your face.

Maybe you had bought the right thing today after all.

You did not overthink it.

Mostly because if you gave yourself enough time to overthink it, there was a very real chance you would never leave the apartment.

You pulled on the jeans you had abandoned earlier, dragged a black top over your head, shoved your feet into shoes, grabbed your bag, and left before your common sense had a chance to catch up.

The drive across town felt much longer than it actually was.

Your heart sat somewhere between your stomach and your throat the entire way.

By the time you pulled up outside Jack’s place, your palms were warm against the steering wheel, and you had become painfully aware of every place the black satin and lace sat beneath your clothes.

You checked his address one more time. Then looked at the house. Then back at the address.

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered.

You were really doing this.

You got out before you could change your mind.

The walk to his front door somehow felt worse than the drive.

Every step made the denim drag lightly against your thighs, made you think about what you were wearing underneath it, made Jack’s message replay in your head.

I could do something about those pictures.

Your thighs pressed together reflexively.

“Get a grip,” you whispered to yourself.

You knocked.

For one terrible second, nothing happened.

Then you heard movement inside. 

The door opened.

And there was Jack.

Barefoot. Gray sweatpants. A plain T-shirt stretched across his chest.

Hair slightly mussed like he had run a hand through it at some point.

Completely fucking casual.

You stared at him.

This man had made you cancel your plans, lie badly to your friends, drive across town with your heart in your stomach and your thighs pressed together—

and he looked like he had been sitting on the couch watching television.

Jack leaned one shoulder against the doorframe.

His eyes moved over you once.

Slowly. Not crude. Not hurried. Just enough to make every nerve in your body light up.

Then his gaze came back to your face.

“Thought you had a headache,” Jack said.

You narrowed your eyes.

He was enjoying this.

You could see it in the slight pull at the corner of his mouth.

“It got better,” you replied.

Jack’s eyebrows lifted.

“Fast recovery,” he observed.

You shifted your weight and looked him over pointedly. “You seem disappointed.”

Jack’s mouth curved.

“Do I?” he asked.

Your stomach flipped.

This had been easier over text. Much easier. Over text, you had been able to stare at his messages, grin at your phone, type something bold and pretend your pulse was not racing.

Now he was standing directly in front of you.

Warm. Solid. Real.

And looking at you like he knew exactly why you had come.

You suddenly became very aware of your hands. Your breathing. The fact that beneath your jeans and top, you were still wearing the same lingerie he had already seen.

Jack watched you for another second.

Something in his expression shifted. The teasing softened just slightly.

“You can still change your mind,” he said.

There it was.

The out.

Simple. No pressure. No assumption that showing up meant anything beyond showing up.

You looked at him.

At the bare feet. At the sweatpants. At the maddeningly casual T-shirt. Then back at his face.

“I drove across town,” you pointed out.

Jack’s mouth twitched.

“That wasn’t an answer,” he said.

You felt your own smile start.

“No,” you told him. “I’m not changing my mind.”

Jack held your gaze.

“Okay,” he said quietly.

One word. Certain.

Then he stepped back from the doorway.

You walked inside.

Jack closed the door behind you.

The click of the latch sounded strangely loud.

You turned.

He was already looking at you.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

Then Jack glanced down at your jeans.

Back up.

His expression stayed perfectly controlled.

Which somehow made it worse.

“So,” Jack said, drawing the word out slightly.

You folded your arms loosely across your chest. “So.”

His mouth curved again.

“Feeling better?” Jack asked.

You laughed under your breath. “You are incredibly pleased with yourself right now.”

Jack shrugged.

“You came over,” he reminded you.

“You invited me,” you countered.

“I gave you an option,” Jack corrected.

You stared at him.

“Oh, is that what we’re calling it?” you asked.

Jack took one slow step closer.

“That’s what happened,” he said.

You tipped your chin up.

“You told me to come over,” you reminded him.

Jack took another step closer. “I did.”

You blinked at the easy admission.

His mouth curved. “You’re still the one who got in the car.”

Your pulse jumped.

“You seem pretty pleased about that,” you murmured.

Jack’s gaze dropped to your mouth.

“Extremely,” he said.

For a second, you just looked at him.

Then something in you steadied.

Maybe it was the smug little curve of his mouth.

Maybe it was the fact that you had already survived accidentally sending Jack Abbot two pictures of yourself in lingerie and somehow still ended up standing in his living room.

Either way, some of your nerve came back.

You tipped your chin up.

“Well,” you said, letting your eyes move over him slowly, “I’m here.”

Jack’s expression shifted.

Just slightly.

You took a small step closer.

“So what are you going to do about it?” you asked.

His eyes held yours.

There.

That did it.

The teasing did not disappear exactly.

It sharpened.

Jack’s gaze dropped to your mouth again, slower this time, before traveling briefly down the length of you.

When he looked back up, his jaw had tightened.

“You sure you want to ask me that?” Jack asked quietly.

Your stomach flipped.

“You seemed pretty sure over text,” you pointed out.

Jack gave a low huff of amusement.

“Over text, you were across town,” he said.

You raised an eyebrow. “And now?”

Jack stepped into the last bit of space between you.

“Now you’re standing in my living room,” he said.

His voice had dropped low enough that you felt it more than heard it.

You swallowed, but refused to look away.

“Still waiting on an answer,” you murmured.

Jack stared at you for another beat.

Then his hand came up, slow enough that you could have moved away, and settled lightly at your waist.

“You always this impatient?” he asked.

You smiled.

“Only when somebody makes promises he hasn’t kept yet,” you said.

Jack’s thumb moved once against your side. His eyes narrowed.

“I made a promise?” he asked.

“You said you could do something about those pictures,” you reminded him.

Jack’s mouth curved.

“Right,” he said softly.

His gaze dropped to your lips one more time. “Those pictures.”

And suddenly you were very aware of the black satin underneath your clothes.

You held his gaze.

“Still difficult to forget?” you asked softly.

Jack’s thumb stilled against your waist. For one second, neither of you moved. Then his eyes dropped to your mouth.

“Very,” he said.

That single word went straight through you.

You barely had time to inhale before Jack’s hand slid from your waist to the side of your neck.

He moved slowly. Deliberately. 

Giving you every chance to pull away.

You didn’t.

Instead, you leaned into his touch.

That was all it took.

Jack kissed you.

And Jesus Christ.

Weeks of flirting had not prepared you for this.

His mouth was warm and firm against yours, the first kiss almost careful despite everything that had led you here.

Then you grabbed the front of his T-shirt.

Jack made a low sound against your mouth.

The kiss changed.

His hand moved around to the back of your neck, holding you there as he kissed you deeper.

You stepped closer until there was no space left between you.

Jack’s other hand settled at your waist.

Your fingers curled tighter into his shirt.

This.

This was what every lingering look across the department had been building toward.

Every late-night text. Every sarcastic comment that lasted just a little too long. Every time Jack had stood close enough for you to wonder what would happen if you stopped pretending you didn’t notice.

You pulled back just enough to breathe.

Jack followed you.

His mouth brushed yours once.

Then again.

You smiled against his lips.

“You’re awfully controlled for someone who told me to come over,” you murmured.

Jack gave a quiet laugh against your mouth.

“I’m trying,” he said.

You slid your hands up his chest.

“You don’t have to try that hard,” you told him.

Jack went still. His eyes opened. You met his gaze. There was nothing playful in his expression now.

“Careful,” he said quietly.

Your stomach tightened. You let your fingers curl into his shirt again.

“Why?” you asked.

Jack’s mouth curved just slightly. “Because I might believe you.”

You smiled. “Maybe you should.”

Something in his face changed.

Then he kissed you again.

Harder this time.

Your back met the wall before you even realized the two of you had moved.

Jack’s hand slid beneath the hem of your shirt. His palm was warm against your bare skin.

You inhaled sharply.

His fingers spread over your waist.

Then moved higher.

And stopped.

Jack froze.

You knew exactly what he had felt. The smooth edge of black satin.

Slowly, Jack pulled back.

His forehead nearly touched yours. His hand stayed beneath your shirt. His fingertips traced the satin once. Very lightly.

Then his eyes lifted to yours.

“No,” he murmured.

Your lips twitched.

“What?” you asked, fighting a smile.

Jack’s fingers moved over the edge again. Recognition settled across his face.

“You did not,” he said.

You tried for innocence. It lasted approximately half a second.

“What?” You asked again.

Jack stared at you.

Then his mouth curved. “You wore it over here.”

Heat climbed into your face.

You lifted one shoulder. “Maybe.”

Jack closed his eyes briefly.

You laughed softly. That made him look at you again.

“Oh, you think this is funny?” he asked.

“A little,” you admitted.

Jack’s hand tightened gently at your waist.

“You send me those pictures by accident,” he said, “then show up at my house wearing the same thing underneath your clothes.”

You tipped your chin up. “I thought you said you liked the pictures.”

Jack let out a slow breath. “I did.”

Your smile widened.

“Then what’s the problem?” you asked.

Jack looked at you for a long second.

His gaze dropped to your mouth. Then lower. To the place where his hand disappeared beneath your shirt. When he looked back up, whatever restraint he had been clinging to looked considerably thinner.

“The problem,” Jack said quietly, “is that the pictures were already distracting enough.”

Your pulse jumped.

His thumb moved once over the satin.

“And now?” you asked.

Jack leaned closer until his mouth hovered beside your ear. “Now I know you wore it here for me.”

You shivered.

Jack felt it. Of course he did. His mouth brushed lightly along your jaw.

“You did, didn’t you?” he asked.

You swallowed. Then nodded.

Jack pulled back just enough to see your face.

“Say it,” he said.

Your breath caught.

“I wore it for you,” you admitted.

Jack’s eyes darkened.

There.

That was the moment. The last little piece of control gave way.

He kissed you again, one hand still beneath your shirt while the other slid around your waist and pulled you firmly against him.

You laughed softly into his mouth, arms winding around his neck.

Jack kissed the laugh right out of you. 

Then he pulled back. 

His breathing was heavier now. So was yours.

Jack looked at you.

“Bedroom,” he said.

You raised an eyebrow.

“That a question?” you asked.

Jack’s mouth twitched.

He loosened his hold on you just enough to give you space.

“It can be,” he said.

You held his gaze for one beat.

Then you reached for his hand.

“It doesn’t need to be,” you said.

Jack looked down at your joined hands. Then back at you. And smiled.

“Come on,” he said.

Jack led you down the hallway and into his bedroom.

The second you crossed the threshold, whatever fragile little thread of restraint had still been holding between you seemed to snap.

Jack turned toward you.

You barely had time to look at him before his hand found your waist again and his mouth was on yours.

The kiss was different now.

Deeper.

Hungrier.

Still controlled enough that you could feel the effort behind it, but only barely.

You slid your hands up his chest, fingers curling into the soft cotton of his T-shirt as Jack backed you slowly toward the bed.

His mouth moved from yours to your jaw. Then lower. A kiss beneath your ear. Another along the side of your neck.

You tipped your head instinctively, giving him more room.

Jack took it.

His hand slipped beneath the hem of your shirt again, palm spreading over your waist before his fingers found the satin underneath.

This time he did not stop in surprise.

This time he explored.

His fingertips traced the smooth edge of the bra, following the line of satin until it disappeared beneath the lace.

You shivered.

Jack’s mouth paused against your neck.

“Sensitive?” he murmured.

You swallowed.

“A little,” you admitted.

Jack’s thumb moved slowly over the lace.

“Good to know,” he said.

You made a quiet sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a breath.

“Are you taking notes?” you asked.

Jack lifted his head. His eyes met yours.

“Absolutely,” he said.

The answer should not have affected you as much as it did.

It did anyway.

You grabbed the hem of your shirt.

Jack stepped back just enough to let you pull it over your head.

The fabric hit the floor.

Silence.

You looked at him.

Jack looked at you. His gaze moved from your face to the black satin and lace now completely exposed. Then lower. Over the strip of skin between the bra and your jeans. Back up again.

He exhaled through his nose.

You smiled despite the heat already spreading across your chest.

“What?” you asked.

Jack’s eyes lifted to yours.

“The picture wasn’t good enough,” he said.

Your smile widened.

“You were having trouble forgetting it five minutes ago,” you reminded him.

“I was,” Jack said.

He stepped closer again.

One hand settled at your bare waist. 

His thumb traced slowly over your skin. “This is worse.”

Your eyebrows lifted.

“Worse?” you repeated.

Jack’s mouth curved.

“For me,” he clarified.

You laughed softly.

Then Jack kissed you again.

His hands moved differently now that there was nothing between them and your skin.

One slid around your waist.

The other traced slowly along the lace at the bottom of the bra.

Not rushing.

Not immediately trying to remove it. Just touching. Learning.

His fingertips followed the edge where satin met skin, then drifted across your ribs before returning to the lace.

You could feel every pass.

Every slight drag of his fingers. Every place his palm warmed your skin.

Jack kissed along your jaw again while his hand moved over your side.

You let your eyes close.

This was somehow more overwhelming than if he had simply started stripping you.

The fact that he was taking a moment. 

Looking. Touching. Appreciating exactly what he had only been allowed to see by accident an hour ago.

His fingertips traced one of the lace edges again.

“You really bought this today?” Jack asked against your skin.

You nodded before remembering he could not see you.

“Yeah,” you said.

Jack lifted his head.

“For tonight?” he asked.

You smiled. “For me.”

Something in his expression softened for half a second.

Then you added, “Originally.”

Jack gave you a look. You laughed.

“You weren’t part of the shopping plan,” you explained.

“No?” Jack asked.

You shook your head. “Not even a little.”

His thumb moved across your waist again. “And yet here you are.”

You narrowed your eyes. “There’s that smug thing again.”

Jack’s mouth twitched.

“You wore the lingerie over here,” he reminded you.

You slid your hands beneath the hem of his T-shirt. “And you’re still talking.”

That got him.

Jack laughed once, low and surprised.

Then your palms met warm skin. Your breath caught slightly. 

You had seen Jack in scrubs.

You had seen him in tight T-shirts beneath jackets.

You had spent an embarrassing amount of time pretending not to notice exactly how broad his shoulders were.

None of that had prepared you for actually touching him.

You flattened your hands against his stomach.

Jack went very still.

Your fingers moved upward. Slowly. Over firm muscle. Across his chest. You watched his expression change as your hands explored him with the same freedom he had been using on you.

“Fair?” you asked.

Jack’s eyebrows lifted.

“Fair?” he repeated.

“You get to touch.” You pushed his shirt higher. “So do I.”

Jack looked down at your hands. Then back at you.

“I’m not stopping you,” he said.

You nodded once. “Good.” 

You dragged his shirt higher.

Jack lifted his arms and let you pull it over his head.

You dropped it somewhere behind you.

And then it was your turn to stare.

Jack noticed immediately. Of course he did. His mouth curved.

“You okay?” he asked.

You looked back at his face.

“Shut up,” you muttered.

Jack laughed. “Oh, now who’s staring?”

You put both hands on his chest. “I said shut up.”

Jack caught your waist as you pushed him backward.

“Touchy,” he said.

You kissed him before he could say anything else.

Jack’s laugh disappeared into your mouth.

Your palms slid over his shoulders. Down his chest. Back up again.

You wanted to know what all of him felt like.

Weeks of looking. Weeks of flirting. Weeks of pretending neither of you was imagining exactly this.

Jack’s hands settled on your hips. Then moved to the button of your jeans. He pulled back just enough to look at you.

“Can I?” he asked.

Your heart kicked. 

You nodded. “Yes.”

Jack held your gaze for another second. Then he opened the button. Lowered the zipper. His fingers hooked lightly into the waistband.

The jeans slid over your thighs. Then your knees. Then hit the floor. You stepped out of them.

Jack looked down.

Black satin. Matching lace. The exact set from the pictures.

Except now there was no screen between you.

You shifted slightly beneath the intensity of his gaze.

Jack noticed that too. His hands settled gently at your hips.

“Don’t,” he said quietly.

You looked at him. “Don’t what?”

Jack’s thumbs traced lightly along the lace. “Get shy now.”

Your stomach flipped.

“I’m not shy,” you said.

Jack’s eyebrow lifted. “No?”

You caught the waistband of his sweatpants between two fingers. “No.”

Jack’s eyes darkened.

You smiled.

“Your turn,” you said.

Jack’s eyebrows lifted.

“My turn?” he asked.

You hooked your fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants.

“You’ve seen considerably more of me than I’ve seen of you,” you pointed out.

Jack glanced down at your hand, then back at you.

“Keeping score?” he asked.

You gave him a small smile. “Absolutely.”

His mouth twitched.

“Thought you had a headache,” Jack reminded you.

You started pushing the sweatpants down.

“Keep talking, and it might come back,” you warned.

Jack laughed under his breath.

Then you stopped paying attention to his expression entirely.

Your hands moved over warm skin, along his waist and the hard lines of his stomach as you pushed the fabric lower.

Jack watched you. The amusement in his face slowly disappeared.

You looked up at him. “What?”

Jack’s gaze stayed on you.

“Nothing,” he said.

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re staring.”

“So were you,” Jack pointed out.

You shook your head. “That’s different.”

Jack’s hands settled around your waist.

“Sure it is,” he murmured.

You opened your mouth to argue.

Jack kissed you instead.

You forgot what you had been planning to say.

His hands tightened around your waist, and suddenly you were moving backward.

The backs of your knees met the edge of the mattress.

You sat down.

Jack followed.

Your hands found him again as he leaned over you, palms sliding over his shoulders and down his back while his mouth moved slowly against yours.

There was nothing tentative left in the kiss now.

Nothing uncertain.

Weeks of restraint had finally given both of you permission to disappear.

Jack’s hand slid along your side.

Over the satin. Across the lace. Then slowly behind you.

He pulled back just enough to look at you.

“Can I?” Jack asked quietly.

Your heart kicked.

You nodded. “Yes.”

Jack held your gaze for another second before his fingers found the clasp. The bra loosened. He drew it away slowly, like he was in absolutely no hurry now that he finally had you here.

Your breath caught beneath the way he looked at you.

Not rushed. Not greedy. Just completely focused.

You swallowed. “Jack.”

His eyes lifted to yours.

“What?” he asked.

You gestured vaguely between the two of you.

“You’re doing that thing again,” you said.

One corner of his mouth lifted.

“What thing?” Jack asked.

You gave him a look.

“Looking at me like that,” you said.

Jack leaned closer.

“Get used to it,” he murmured.

Then his mouth found your skin.

Your eyes closed.

He kissed slowly along your chest, over your shoulder, down your sternum.

Everywhere his mouth went, his hands followed.

Your waist. Your ribs. Your hips. The backs of your thighs.

You ran your fingers into his hair. Jack kissed lower. Your breathing changed.

He noticed. Of course he noticed. His hand slid along your thigh, slow and deliberate, until his fingers reached the lace at your hip.

He looked up at you. You met his eyes and nodded.

“Yes,” you whispered.

Jack eased the last piece of black lace away.

And his fingers found you.

Warm, careful, and certain. Moving in slow, tight circles. 

He learned you quickly. 

Every shift of your breathing. Every place that made your fingers tighten against him. Every little movement that told him more than words could.

Your head fell back against the mattress.

“Jack,” you breathed.

He lifted his head immediately. His eyes found yours.

“What do you need?” he asked.

Your chest rose and fell beneath him. You reached for him.

“I’m ready,” you said.

Jack went still. The heat in his expression sharpened.

“You sure?” he asked.

You pulled him closer.

“I drove across town wearing lingerie you already saw by accident,” you reminded him, breathless. “I’m very sure.”

A quiet laugh escaped him.

Then his forehead dropped briefly against yours.

“Okay,” Jack murmured.

He kissed you again.

And this time, neither of you had any interest in slowing down.

Jack kissed you until you were breathless beneath him.

Until your fingers were tangled in his hair and his name kept slipping out between kisses. Until all those weeks of careful distance and stolen looks and deliberately harmless flirting felt almost ridiculous.

His mouth moved to your jaw. Then your neck. One of your hands slid across his shoulder, holding him close.

“Jack,” you breathed.

He lifted his head immediately. 

“Right here,” Jack murmured.

Something about the answer made your stomach tighten.

Not what? Not yeah? Just— Right here.

His hand moved slowly along your side while he watched your face.

“You have any idea how long I’ve wanted this?” Jack asked quietly.

You smiled, still trying to catch your breath.

“A few hours?” you teased.

Jack gave you a look. You laughed softly. His hand tightened slightly at your waist.

“Try again,” Jack said.

You traced your fingers over the back of his neck.

“A week?” you guessed.

Jack shook his head. “Longer.”

Your smile faded into something softer.

“How long?” you asked.

Jack looked at you for a moment. Then he exhaled.

“Long enough that you leaning over the desk beside me has become a problem,” he admitted.

You laughed. Jack’s mouth curved.

“You think I’m kidding,” he said.

“A little,” you admitted.

“I’m not,” Jack told you.

His thumb moved slowly against your skin.

“You walk into the department, start giving me shit before you’ve even put your bag down,” Jack continued, “and then you spend twelve hours looking at me like you know exactly what you’re doing.”

Your eyebrows lifted. “I do not.”

Jack stared at you. “You absolutely do.”

You bit back a smile. “Maybe sometimes,” you conceded.

“Yeah,” Jack murmured. “Sometimes.”

His gaze dropped slowly over you. The teasing in his expression disappeared.

“I’ve thought about this,” he admitted.

Your breath caught slightly. Jack noticed. His eyes came back to yours.

“A lot,” he added.

Your fingers moved slowly over his shoulder.

“What exactly have you thought about?” you asked.

Jack gave a quiet laugh. “That feels like a dangerous question.”

“You brought it up,” you reminded him.

“I did,” Jack agreed.

His gaze stayed on yours. 

Then his voice dropped. “I’ve wondered what it would be like to finally get my hands on you without having to pretend I didn’t want to.”

Your pulse jumped. Jack’s fingertips traced slowly along your waist.

“I’ve wondered what you’d feel like,” he admitted.

Your lips parted. Jack leaned closer.

“What you’d taste like,” he murmured.

You swallowed. His mouth brushed yours.

“What sounds you’d make when you stopped trying to be a smartass for five minutes,” he added.

You immediately narrowed your eyes. 

“I can multitask,” you informed him.

Jack laughed against your mouth. “I’m starting to realize that.”

You kissed him again. Hard enough this time that Jack’s amusement disappeared almost immediately. His hand found your waist. Yours slid along his back. 

When the kiss finally broke, both of you were breathing harder. Jack rested his forehead against yours.

“I’m gonna tell you something now,” he said.

You opened your eyes.

“That sounds ominous,” you murmured.

Jack’s mouth twitched. “It’s not.”

He hesitated. For perhaps the first time all night, Jack actually looked a little sheepish. Your smile immediately appeared.

“Oh my God,” you whispered. “What?”

Jack gave you a warning look. “Don’t.”

“You’re embarrassed,” you said, delight creeping into your voice.

His eyes narrowed. “I’m reconsidering telling you.”

You tightened your arms around his shoulders.

“No, no,” you said quickly. “You started this. Finish it.”

Jack stared at you. Then sighed.

“I’m not going to last very long tonight,” he admitted.

You blinked.

There was a beat of silence. Then your mouth curved. Jack immediately narrowed his eyes.

“Don’t,” he warned again.

You tried. You really did. But the smile kept growing.

“Jack Abbot,” you murmured, “are you telling me I’ve compromised your legendary self-control?”

Jack dropped his head with a groan. You laughed.

“This is adorable,” you told him.

“Nothing about this is adorable,” Jack muttered against your shoulder.

You ran your fingers gently through his hair. “I disagree.”

Jack lifted his head.

His expression had changed again. Still amused. Still Jack. But there was something rawer beneath it now.

“I’ve spent weeks thinking about you,” he said quietly.

Your smile softened. Jack held your gaze.

“Then you accidentally send me pictures of yourself wearing that,” he continued, glancing toward the discarded black satin nearby, “and an hour later you’re in my bed.”

Heat rushed through you again. His thumb brushed slowly along your side.

“So yeah,” Jack admitted. “You’re probably going to have to lower your expectations for round one.”

You stared at him.

“Round one?” you repeated.

That smug little smile finally returned.

“I’m fifty,” Jack reminded you. “Not dead.”

A laugh burst out of you.

“You’re never letting the mall thing go, are you?” you asked.

“Absolutely not,” Jack said.

You pulled him closer.

“Good,” you murmured.

Jack kissed you once. Slowly. Then again. When he pulled away, his expression turned serious.

“You still want this?” he asked.

Your answer came without hesitation.

“Yes,” you said.

Jack studied your face.

“Tell me if anything doesn’t feel right,” he said.

“I will,” you promised.

“And if you want me to stop?” Jack asked.

“I’ll tell you,” you assured him.

Jack nodded once. “Okay.”

He reached toward the nightstand.

You watched him open the drawer and retrieve a condom.

Something about that tiny, practical movement made everything suddenly feel very real.

Jack looked back at you. His expression softened when he caught whatever had crossed your face.

“You okay?” he asked.

You nodded.

“Yeah,” you said. “Just realizing this is actually happening.”

Jack smiled. “Having second thoughts?”

You shook your head immediately. “Not even a little.”

“Good,” Jack murmured.

He leaned down and kissed you again.

You pulled him closer.

And when the last distance between you finally disappeared and he pushed into you, Jack stayed exactly as attentive as he had promised.

He watched your face.

Kept one hand wrapped around yours.

Talked to you in that low, steady voice that somehow made everything more intense.

“There you go,” Jack murmured when your fingers tightened around his.

You let out a shaky breath. Jack kissed your temple.

“I’ve got you,” he said quietly.

Your free hand moved around his shoulders. Jack’s eyes stayed on yours.

“So fucking beautiful,” he murmured.

Your breath caught. Jack smiled faintly.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “I’ve wanted to tell you that for weeks too.”

You pulled him down and kissed him before he could say anything else.

After weeks of wondering, weeks of flirting, weeks of both of you pretending this thing between you could stay contained…

Jack finally stopped pretending.

And he made damn sure you knew exactly how badly he had wanted you.

@nosebeers @moonz33, @littlewolfbird, @tubby23, @gandalfthegoatsblog, @melslavalampapp, @marauvderss, @supernaturalcat7,@jennataurus, @itwas-maroon16 , @nizzasspot, @meadow0434, @chezze-its, @callmefatherr, @amacphet, @imabapical, @ifyoubewooedingoodtime, @justreadinghere7, @rabbotseatcarrots, @vicky066, @manly-man-whore, @rosiepoise88, @alittlerayof-pitchblack,@woodxtock, @mafercita101, @kiatjuddae, @lacy1986, @cajunebugg76, @kittenmittensssworld, @generation-zero, @taniamiller, @countryandsweetbabygirl, @fantasyreader130, @thehockeynerd30 @angelryex, @michasia24, @itzpixieba, @scott-890, @disappearintofanfiction, @laughsandlivia, @missmillivanilli, @normanscupcake, @tlc3802, @donttalktosposts, @sparklemermaidprincessgirl, @realwhoreforfictionalmen, @meowtortellini, @voidsagent, @miahelen, @milesawayyy, @mkiving, @lanadelrey10, @doesanyonereadthis, @punkshyteee, @mayawainfleet, @longfulforlee, @sleepylunarwolf, @butarealgoodtime, @user153639937, @chattyotter14, @tallaennatargaryen, @kittymeowmeow17, @vicky066

[starlitspiders]

“dad’s best friend this, dad’s best friend that”, like, damn, no shade but my dad needs better friends

[shadeofpeach]

Fixing us (3) (final)

Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x nurse!girlfriend!reader Warnings: age gap relationship dynamics, minor physical injury, wound care, emotional confrontation, angst with a happy ending, reconciliation. Summary: ​From quiet gifts to a long overdue conversation under the stars, Jack is forced to confront his own arrogance and prove that he views you not as someone to control, but as his partner. Disclaimer: This story is pure fiction and written solely for entertainment purposes. This isn't a standalone, read the previous parts! — Hurtful words Fic .⁠‧₊˚ 1. Words you can’t unsay 2. It's temporary, right? 3. Fixing us

The anxiety from Jack’s text clung to you all through the night, keeping deep sleep entirely out of reach.

By 6 AM, you gave up on resting.

Beyond the lingering anxiety about Thursday, the throbbing pain in your forearm had been progressively worsening over the past forty-eight hours.

Peeling back the bandage, the bathroom light revealed a sharp redness along the edges. It wasn't infected, you knew the signs, but it was irritated and definitely not closing as cleanly as it should have.

Deciding to handle it before your shift started, you arrived at the ER early, stepping in at 06:30 AM.

The night shift was in its final hour, which meant one thing: Jack was still on the floor.

You kept your head down, avoiding the central nurses' desk where he usually wrapped up his charts. Every shadow of a man in dark scrubs made your pulse leap into your throat, but you managed to slip unnoticed into an empty room in the back.

"You're in early."

You flinched, turning around to find Shen.

"Holy shit Shen you scared me."

"Yeah, I know. Saw you avoiding every attending on the floor," Shen said, walking over and pulling a pair of gloves from the wall box. "I saw your message earlier, let me see your arm."

You sat on the examination table, unwrapping the gauze. Shen leaned in, gently probing the skin around the jagged slice with gloved fingers. You winced slightly as his touch hit a tender spot.

"It’s not infected," Shen noted. "But the margins are pull stressed. You’re moving it way too much. Day shift has you hauling heavy trays, doesn't it?"

"A bit," you admitted, staring at your arm. "I guess I haven't been keeping it as immobilized as I should."

"You don't have to prove you're fine and strong, woman," Shen observed. He picked up a strip of butterfly closures and fresh sterile tape, expertly re dressing the wound. "You need to keep a soft sling on it for the next couple of days during heavy lifting. And stop overworking yourself."

"Thanks, Shen," you murmured as he smoothed the tape down.

"He's in the breakroom, by the way," Shen added casually as he stripped off his gloves and tossed them into the bin. "Jack. He's finishing his sign out. If you're trying to dodge him, you might want to head to the staff locker room now before the night shift officially hands over."

"Is it that obvious?"

"You've been hovering near the wall like a ghost since you walked in," Shen said with a smirk. "Go on. I'll cover you."

"Thanks, Shen," you murmured. You paused, picking at a loose thread on your scrub top before looking up at him. "How... how is he doing? Jack?"

Shen leaned against the counter, crossing his arms.

"He looks like a man surviving strictly on caffeine and intense brooding," Shen said dryly. "He spent half his shift pacing the floor and checking his phone every ten minutes like a anxious resident waiting for board results."

You let out a nervous breath, looking at your newly bandaged arm.

"Though," Shen added with a playful smirk, "I might have heard that you have a day off coming up real soon. He may have asked me if I could cover him."

Your head snapped up, your eyes widening in immediate suspicion. "What? What do you know about that?"

"Me?" Shen raised his hands in mock innocence, taking a slow step toward the door. "Oh, nothing at all. Maybe I know something, maybe I don't... and maybe I'm definitely not telling you."

"Shen! Come on," you groaned. "Did Jack say something to you?"

"My shift ends in ten minutes, nurse, I have to sign out," Shen chuckled as he backed right out into the hallway. "Start your shift, keep that arm still... and have fun on Thursday!"

Before you could demand another answer, he disappeared, leaving you there as your mind raced with a million new questions.

Four days felt agonizingly long.

Day one of the countdown pulled you through another exhausting twelve hours on the day shift. By 7 PM, all you wanted was to take off your shoes, collapse onto your couch, and pretend Thursday wasn't creeping closer.

You walked down the hallway of your apartment building, dragging your feet, keys already jingling in your hand.

But as you reached your door, you froze.

Sitting squarely on the welcome mat was a big stunning bouquet of red roses. The rich and sweet scent of fresh petals hit you before you even stepped closer.

You stood there for a long moment, staring down at them with tears in your eyes. Tucked securely between two blooms was a white envelope.

You leaned down, carefully picking up the heavy bundle and stepping inside your apartment. Setting the flowers down on the kitchen counter, you pulled the small card from its envelope. Written in Jack’s sharp distinctive handwriting were just three simple words:

Three days left.

A gasp escaped your lips. Your chest tightened.

With unsteady hands, you pulled out your phone, snapped a quick photo of the roses sitting on your counter with the card resting beside them.

You [07:33 PM]: [Image attached]

You [07:33 PM]: What is this?

You barely had time to set the phone down before it buzzed in your hand.

Jack [07:34 PM]: Flowers. Red roses.

A faint blush hot on your cheeks as you stared at the screen.

You [07:35 PM]: I'm serious. Why?

Jack [07:37 PM]: I wanted to.

Jack [07:37 PM]: Put them in water.

Jack [07:39 PM]: And get some rest, beautiful.

You [07:42 PM]: You're making me really nervous about Thursday.

Jack [07:40 PM]: I know.

Jack [07:50 PM]: I am, too.

You stared at his last message and bit your lip, wondering what on earth he had planned.

-

Day two brought a sky gray with light rain. You were standing by your kitchen island, sipping warm coffee and staring out at the street below, wondering how you were going to handle another busy shift while keeping your arm still.

Your phone buzzed against the counter.

A banking notification popped up first, followed immediately by a text from Jack. You tapped the screen, your eyes widening as you read the transfer details.

Jack Abbot sent you $150.

Jack [06:18 AM]: For your Uber to and from work today, don't even think about standing in the rain waiting for the bus.

Before you could even begin typing a response to protest the amount, a second text arrived right behind it.

Jack [06:20 AM]: The rest is for you. Buy something nice to wear on Thursday.

You stared at the phone, speechless.

You [06:22 AM]: First, good morning.

You [06:23 AM]: Second, $150??? I can pay for my own clothes, and I definitely don't need a whole new outfit!

Jack [06:25 AM]: You deserve nice things, baby. And I want to spoil you.

You [06:25 AM]: You are insufferable.

Jack [06:27 AM]: Yeah, I’ve been told.

You held your phone against your chest as your heart hammered wildly remembering all the times you have told him that. Looking across the room at the crimson roses, the quiet reality of his gestures began to sink in. He wasn't just checking-in anymore.

When you returned from your day shift and spent the evening on a shop nearby your apartment, your phone vibrated on the table as you devored dinner.

Jack [11:50 PM]: Two days left.

Jack [11:55 PM]: Anxious to see you.

-

On day three, by 12 PM, the floor was at its usual chaotic rhythm. You were standing at the central desk, holding a clipboard.

"Special delivery for you."

You turned to see Robby leaning against the counter. In his hands, he held a little dark blue box with a silver ribbon.

"What's this?" you asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Abbot had a courier drop it off ten minutes ago," Robby said, sliding the box toward you. "He specifically instructed that it be handed directly to you, and warned me that if I let you lift anything heavy today, he'd personally murder me. Damn, you're making my man suffer."

Warmth rushed straight to your cheeks.

"Robby, stop."

"I'm just the messenger!" Robby chuckled, raising his hands. "Open it. I want to see."

You pulled the ribbon and lifted the box lid. Tucked inside was a small glass bottle of scar healing oil. And next to it, was a card with Jack’s sharp handwriting:

Shen told me you're moving your arm too much, this will help with the healing.

One day left.

Your breath caught in your throat.

You went to the bathroom and gently peeled back the edge of the gauze covering your wound. You applied a little of the oil to it, which instantly soothed the rough edges. Then you took out your phone and snapped a quick picture in the mirror, showing your arm.

You [12:22 PM]: [Image attached]

You [12:23 PM]: Robby delivered it. You are unbelievable.

You [12:25 PM]: (And it actually feels amazing, thank you).

Your phone buzzed almost instantly in your hand.

Jack [12:26 PM]: It's the same kind of oil you gave me for the knee. This one is for injuries. Heard it helps.

You [12:28 PM]: Thank you.

Jack [12:32 PM]: :) <3

You stared at his reply. You were still hurt, but maybe, deeply, he was trying to make the right thing.

-

By 10 PM, on day four, the silence in your apartment was thick with anticipation. Thursday was officially tomorrow.

Your phone screen lit up with an incoming videocall. You answered, seeing Jack standing on the hospital rooftop.

"Hey," A smile broke across his face the moment he saw your face. He really missed his girl. "I only have some minutes before I have to get back down."

"Hey," you murmured softly, leaning your chin on your hand. "Robby told me you're doing extra hours today. Because of tomorrow"

"It's fine, beautiful," he said, his eyes searching your face through the screen with intense hunger. "Counting down the hours. How’s the arm feeling?"

"Much better," you said, glancing down at the injury. "The oil actually helped with the tightness."

"Good," he murmured. "That's-"

The buzzer of your apartment door rang out, cutting him off.

You blinked, startled. "... Did you send something? This late?"

"Maybe... Go check," Jack said, as he watched you prop your phone up against a cushion so he could still see you.

You hurried to the front door, pulling it open. A courier stood in the hallway, holding a small velvet jewelry box.

"Package for you, from Abbot." the man said, handing it over, he made you sign a paper and left.

Confused, you brought the box back to the living room, setting it right in front of the phone screen.

"Jack... what is this?" you asked, nervously.

"Just open it," he said gently.

With trembling fingers, you lifted the velvet lid.

Sitting neatly inside, nestled against white silk, was a delicate silver chain holding a small intricate locket.

Your breath hitched violently in your throat.

Your hands froze over the box.

It was your grandmother's necklace, the only piece of her you owned, the one you thought you had lost forever weeks ago.

You had spent nights crying quietly over it, convinced it had been swept into a biohazard bin or fallen down an elevator shaft.

You lifted it out with shaky hands. The delicate silver chain, which had snapped near the clasp the night it vanished, was seamlessly repaired.

"Jack..." you choked out, tears spilling over your face before you could stop them. "Where... how did you find it?"

On the screen, Jack looked down for a second, running a hand over his mouth before meeting your eyes through the phone.

"It fell between the cushions of my sofa a few weeks back," he confessed. "I found it the night, after the… the night of our fight."

A sob escaped your lips.

"The chain was snapped," Jack continued. "I knew how much it meant to you. I knew it was the last thing you had from her. So I took it to a jeweler downtown last week. I wanted... I wanted to fix it before I give it to you."

"I thought I lost it forever, I searched everywhere for it, Jack..."

"You didn't lose it," Jack whispered, his voice trembling slightly, wishing more than anything in the world that he could reach through the screen and wipe your tears away himself. "It was safe. It’s always been safe with me."

You looked up at the screen, tears blurring your vision as you looked at the man on the rooftop, tired, worn out, and completely devoted to repairing the pieces of your heart he had bruised.

"Thank you," you choked out, clutching the small locket tightly in your palm.

Jack let out a shaky breath.

"I love you, baby" he rasped, looking down at the ambulance bay where one was arriving. He sighed, rubbing his eyes before looking back at you one last time. "Trauma's calling me back down. Put it on tomorrow, get a good night's sleep..."

"Be careful down there," you whispered through your tears.

"Always," he replied softly. "Goodnight, my girl."

You wiped the remaining tears from your cheeks. "Go. Save some lives, Dr."

Jack hold your gaze through the screen.

"Tomorrow?" he murmured.

"Tomorrow." you promised before the screen went black, leaving you sitting in silence, counting down the hours.

-

He pulled up to your apartment at precisely 8 PM.

When you stepped out, dressed in the new burgundy sweater you’d bought and your grandmother’s silver locket resting over your collarbone, Jack was already standing by the passenger door.

His eyes fixed on you and your pulse instantly went erratic.

"Hey," he said, low and calmly. He stepped forward to open the door for you.

"Hi," you replied, keeping your posture stiff as you slid into the leather seat.

You expected him to drive to a restaurant downtown, but instead, the car glided toward the highway, leaving the city behind.

For nearly forty minutes, the drive was filled with a heavy silence. Except for one or two updates from your shifts.

You sat close to the door, staring out at the darkening trees, your guard held high.

Finally, the car bumped along a quiet dirt trail, winding up to an isolated overlook. The sky above was a pitch black velvet canopy, completely unpolluted by city lights and dusted with thousands of stars.

Jack turned off the ignition, got out and opened your passenger door. "Come on," he said softly. "Leave your coat, I brought blankets."

Then, he walked to the trunk, popping it open to reveal two thick blankets and insulated thermoses filled with hot cocoa, your favorite one.

The night's chill hit your face as you sat at a wooden picnic table of the place. You both sat with one leg on each side of the bench, facing each other. Despite the knot of anxiety in your stomach, you looked up and sighed as he covered you with a blanket.

"Jack... Oh..." you whispered. "You can actually see the constellation of Scorpio... and Saturn is right there near the horizon tonight."

Jack watched you in the pale moonlight. He had spent hours the days before reading about astronomy, Googling the exact coordinates of this overlook just to give you something that was entirely yours.

"I know how much you love the stars," Jack murmured, pouring a cup of cocoa and handing it to you carefully, making sure his fingers didn't force a touch. "You used to point them out on the hospital rooftop."

"Yeah," you said as you wrapped both hands around the warm mug, hiding behind the safety of small talk. "Saturn's rings are at an angle right now. In ancient astrology, Saturn represents boundaries, structure, responsibility... learning things the hard way."

You let out a small laugh, taking a sip. "Pretty fitting, honestly."

Jack chuckled. He set his own cup down and his hand reached into your space.

"Baby," he said gently, his voice thick with unsaid things.

His hand hovered near yours before gently trying to take your fingers in his. You pulled your hand back, wrapping your arms tightly over your chest, your chin lifting in immediate defense.

The quiet air suddenly snapped with all the unspoken anger, hurt, and exhaustion you’d been carrying for two weeks.

"Ja- Jack, I..." you said, your voice trembling as you met his eyes.

Jack stopped, his hand dropping slowly to his lap, his face etched with pain. "Talk to me. Please."

"What do you want me to say?" you fired back, tears suddenly prickling the backs of your eyes as the defensive walls began to crack. "You spent four days sending me... details. And it's sweet, Jack, it really is. But none of that changes what happened."

"I know-"

"No, please, let me finish." you demanded. "I've thinking about it these two weeks. The way you looked at me that night, and the way you... you said those words, it's really haunted me. At shifts, I had this strange feeling of being too young for the job. And at home it felt like I was taking a place in your life I shouldn't be occupating. Why I am taking the place of a woman you should see as an equal? Not a young naive girl. And then, one evening, after one of the shifts, I understood it. You looked at me like I was some incompetent girl who didn't know how to-"

"Baby, you know th-" he interrupted you.

"Don't deny it!" you snapped, your voice came out louder this time. "You took my arm and talked down to me in front of everyone, and then you acted like you needed to save me from myself, and like this age gap we have gave you the right to treat me like that. You even tried to take care of my injury on that authority tone, calling me hysterical..."

You took a shaky breath, bit your lip and looked up the pretty stars, trying to stop the tears as the memory of that night night flooded back. Jack sat there, taking every word.

"I sat in my apartment for days feeling small," you sobbed, wiping the tears away with the back of your sleeve. "And then, by working at day shifts, I realised I'm not. I am younger than you, yes. I still need to learn things and do not make reckless or impulsive decisions, yes. But I don't deserve being treated and humillated like that just because you think your fucking age and experience gives you the right to scream at me like I'm a child being scolded. And the worst part is that I say how you used the trust in our relationship as an excuse to do it; just because we're a couple it gives you the right to speak to me like this. Who do you think you are? You don't yell at Shen like that. Or at Ellis. Only at me."

Your hands trembled; you felt all the emotions and pain you had accumulated over the past two weeks crumble at once. You kept your hands in your lap, trying to focus on them and not on the memories of that night. Jack saw the pain in your eyes and felt the tremor in your voice. His heart broke to see you maintaining your defenses, your distance, trying to suppress your pain, defending yourself against the person who had yelled at you, but whom, deep down, you loved.

"Tell me the truth, Jack. Have you noticed what I'm telling you? Are you going to treat me properly after this?" you asked, looking up at him from your lap. "Or are you just waiting for things to go back to normal so you can play protector again? And make me feel like a young stupid girl again?"

The questions hung in the air.

Jack took a slow breathe. He sat there, completely stripped of his authority, stripped of his pride, looking at you like you were his entire world; a world he had shattered.

"I felt so... lost," Jack confessed. "When you walked away from me that morning... I didn't realized how much I hurted you until then. I was terrified when the patient attacked you. I’ve been doing this job for years, and the thought of losing you... it drove me out of my mind. So I tried to control it. To control you. I tried to pull rank, and in doing that, I acted like a arrogant fool and hurt the only person I care about." He reached out slowly, giving you every chance to pull away, and gently cupped your face in his hand.

"And then, when I saw you handling the cases through Robby's eyes, when I heard you talking these last days about work... I realized how stupid and blind I’d been." Jack admitted. "I've been blinded for so long by this prejudice that in a relationship, because you're much younger, I'd have to take care of you in so many ways. But it's stupid to think that way; I don't understand how I was so idiotic as to let myself be swayed by it. And somehow, understanding and letting go of that way of thinking scares me. The idea of ​​you realizing you don't actually need me scares me…"

His thumbs wiped the wet tears from your cheeks.

"You are not a girl who needs saving, or an old man protection," Jack rasped. "You are the strongest, most grounded, most incredible nurse on that floor. And you are my equal in every single way, sweetheart. And I don't want to… overshield you. Do I want to keep caring and loving you? Yes. But I want to do it standing right beside you, not over you. I still have things to learn, especially from you. Because I see that you still love me even though I hurt you, that you're trying to understand and work things out. And I want to do the same; I'm still believing in us. Because I love you. And I want to dedicate the rest of my life to showing you that I see you for who you are, not just as a young girl I'm in a relationship with."

A sob escaped your lips at his words. "Jack..." you whispered.

"I'm so sorry, baby," Jack murmured.

"Are you?" The question came out sharp with protective instinct. You kept your hands in place, resisting the urge to sink into the warmth of his body, refusing to let two weeks of quiet agony be erased by a single whispered apology.

You knew the weight and meaning of his words, but your trust was broken. Jack froze as he felt the physical resistance in your body, the deliberate barrier you were keeping between his chest and yours.

Slowly, he moved closer on the bench. He didn't force you. He waited for your response, looking at you, until you moved closer to him, close enough to feel his warm breath.

"I am," Jack whispered, his voice trembling. "I am completely sick with myself for what I did to you. And for how I made you feel." He firmly took your hands, bringing them to his mouth to kiss your knuckles. He held them there for a second, anchoring himself to you.

He had missed kissing you so much.

"I spent years convincing myself that I could control everything, because I built my whole life on being the authority, the person who always has the answers, the man who never loses his composure." Jack confessed against your skin. "And when you stood up to me that night, I think my pride kicked in before my heart could," he rasped, his thumbs softly tracing the backs of your hands. "I hid behind my title because it was easier to treat you like a subordinate than to admit that you completely undid me by defending yourself alone in that room. I broke your trust to save my own pathetic ego."

A tear slipped down his cheek.

"And these past few days I've been thinking about how, in the instant I fell in love with you, all of that authority was completely useless compared to loving a person, to loving you. It's so wrong to be that kind of person. I'm so sorry for the way I treated you, for thinking that way. I still refuse to believe I humiliated you, and it's something I'm going to have to work on if I want you to trust me again. It scares me, you know? To think that I have to work on a part of myself to love you properly, but I want to do it, because I've spent every second of the last two weeks hating the man I was that night."

He lowered his head, his forehead coming to rest against yours. "I don't expect you to just forgive me because I brought you out here," Jack murmured, his voice breaking on a desperate plead. "I don't expect a bouquet of roses or a mended necklace to fix the way I made you feel. But if you give me the chance, I will spend every shift, every day, and every moment for the rest of my life proving to you that I see you as my equal, as my partner. As the smartest, most capable nurse on that floor, and as the only woman who holds my entire world in her hands."

He closed his eyes, his grip on your fingers loosening just enough to give you full control.

"You don't have to let your guard down tonight, just tell me you'll let me earn you back."

The honesty of his confession shattered the wall around your heart. Your fingers softened and slided upward to wrap around the back of his neck. You pulled him down to you as he wrapped his arms around your waist, dying inside to be this close to you again.

"You're an idiot," you said. "An arrogant, idiot, old man."

"I know," Jack rasped, his arms instantly sweeping around you, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he held you like you were the only solid thing in his universe. "God, I know."

"I... I believe you," you whispered, your fingers gently tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck.

Jack’s entire frame seemed to soften. But before he could sink entirely into that relief, you pulled back to look him in the eye, your hands coming to rest firmly against his chest.

"I believe you," you repeated, your voice steady and clear. "But words are easy to say, Jack. When I come back to night shift... If we're doing this... I need to see it. I need to see the change in how you talk to me, how you treat me in front of the team, and how you respect my professionalism as a nurse. And I need to see it on our daily life, too. I know our age gap, but I need to see you respect me and see me as a partner, not someone inmature you're casually dating."

Jack held your gaze, his jaw set, listening with absolute focus to every word.

"And when I see that," you added, a small warmth softening the edges of your expression, "then I’ll think about forgiveness. A-And if I want to keep doing this. Because if you don't see me that way, I don't know if I can continue being with you."

He nodded. There was no argument, no defensive pushback, no doctor trying to negotiate terms. He took your face in his hands and pressed a kiss to your temple, then to your cheek, holding you.

"Yes, okay, baby, it's only fair," Jack rasped, his voice heavy with a resolute promise that settled in your chest. "You set the terms. I’ll earn every inch of it back."

He pulled you close, your legs straddling his hips, finally closing the distance between you. His hands rested at your lower waist, while yours encircled his neck.

He didn't press the boundary you had just drawn. He didn't pull you into a passionate kiss.

"Thank you for giving me the chance," he murmured against your skin.

For a long time, neither of you spoke. You just sat together, wrapped in the warm blanket, holding each other under the infinite blanket of stars. Then, his hands framed your face, his thumb gently tracing the line of your lower lip.

"Night shift isn't the same without you," he murmured. "Lena is so annoying because you're not there, she keeps ordering me to bring you back."

"I miss her. I love Dana, but I miss my daily mother-daughter fights with Lena," you told him with a tender smile. "And I expect you not to fight me and to respect me on the floor, Dr. Abbot."

Jack let out a soft laugh, pressing a kiss to your cheek, then to the corner of your lips, before his lips finally found yours in a slow kiss that tasted like tears and hope.

"Yes, ma'am," Jack whispered against your lips as the stars glowed above you.

-

The two weeks of day shift had finally run their course. Stepping through the sliding glass doors of the ER at 7 PM felt like crossing a threshold back into a former life.

You walked toward the central nurses' station, your hair pinned back, and your healing forearm completely bare; the bandage finally gone.

"Traitor!"

Robby’s exaggerated voice boomed across the desk before you could even set your bag down. He stood there with his arms crossed over his chest, a dramatic scowl plastered across his face as he shook his head at you.

"I take one day off, and you abandon us?" Robby said dramatically. "We had synergy! We were the dream team! Who’s going to help me handle the chaos now?"

A laugh escaped you. "You'll survive, Robby. You managed just fine before I took those two weeks."

"It's not the same," he huffed, though the affectionate spark in his eyes gave him away. "Night shift doesn't deserve you."

"Ignore him," a warm voice chimed in.

Lena rounded the corner from Trauma 2 with a broad smile. She practically marched over and hugged you tightly.

"God, it’s so nice to have you back, my baby," Lena said. "Day shift was stealing my best nurse. The floor felt completely wrong without you."

"It's good to be back, Lena," you said softly.

"Are you ready for the late night madness, or did the daylight ruin your tolerance for—" Lena cut herself off as the double doors hissed open.

Jack walked onto the floor.

He wore his dark navy scrubs with a brown undershirt, his stethoscope draped loosely around his neck. His brow furrowed in that intense focus he always carried at the start of a shift.

"Evening, everyone," Jack said smoothly. He threw a quick look toward Robby. "Michael. Don't steal my nurse again."

"Don't remind me, brother," Robby groaned. "I'm still grieving the loss of my best day shift partner."

Jack smirked, then turned to Lena. "How are we looking on the board?"

"Busy," Lena replied, tracking his movements carefully. "Trauma 1 and 2 are prepping for incomings."

Finally, Jack turned his eyes to you.

"Good evening, beautiful," Jack said. He gave you a nod: polite and professional. "Welcome back to night shift."

"Thank you, baby," you replied.

Jack held your gaze, his jaw tightening slightly before he turned, picking up a file and heading toward Trauma 1.

Lena stood still, her eyes darting from Jack’s back straight to you. Her eyebrows pulled together, her forehead creasing with suspicion. She had worked with Jack long enough to know how he looked at you when things were good; and that stiff, guarded, overly polite greeting was entirely wrong.

As soon as Jack was out of earshot, Lena leaned over the desk.

"Okay... what was that?" Lena asked, her eyes searching yours with concern. "Is everything okay between you two?" Lena asked. "Because if he's still giving you a hard time about—"

"Everything is fine," you interrupted, offering her a reassuring smile. "We're just... finding our footing again."

Lena studied your face for a long second, taking in your posture and the quiet authority in your eyes. She let out a breath, nodding slightly.

"Alright," Lena murmured, though her eyes lingered on the double doors of Trauma 1. "Just make sure you keep him in line."

"Count on it," you said, turning to follow Jack into the bay, feeling his quiet eyes on you the second you pushed the doors open.

An incoming rollover crash threw Trauma 1 into immediate chaos.

In the past, Jack would have hovered, barked orders, and treated you like a liability. But tonight, there was zero micro managing.

He watched you prep the equipment with calm trust, calling for a needle and chest tube while looking to you not as a subordinate to manage, but as an essential partner.

You moved in flawless sync.

When the patient stabilized and was wheeled to CT, the quiet shift in your dynamic settled in. Later, as you stepped into a quiet corridor near the supply room to restock a tray, footsteps approached from behind.

Jack stopped just beside you.

"Your reaction time with that pressure bag saved us critical minutes," he said softly. "Your work was seamless tonight."

"Just doing my job, Dr.," you replied, looking up to meet his eyes.

"You executed it brilliantly," Jack murmured. "Just like you always do."

He stepped closer and leaned down, pressing a slow kiss to your cheek. His lips were warm against your skin, lingering just long enough for his breath to tickle before he pulled back.

"I've got a consult in Bed 10," he whispered before turning down the hall. "It's good to have you back."

Standing alone in the quiet corridor, your skin still tingling where his lips had rested, a soft warmth bloomed in your chest.

You smoothed down your scrubs, catching yourself smiling. You actually missed it: the subtle brushes of his hand, the low spoken words, and the quiet affection between cases.

And the space you had put between you, in fact, seemed to be working.

Stepping back and letting you, and him, breathe hadn't just given him time to reflect, it had given you the room to realize how strong you actually were. Drawing a firm line and refusing to settle for anything less than complete respect had changed things.

It was the beginning of something entirely different. He still had a long way to go to earn back your full trust and you were going to make him work for every single inch of it.

Note to self: never let a grumpy older man use a twenty year age gap as an excuse to talk down to you.

⋆｡˚☤🩺✧˖°.｡⋆💉

A/N: I needed a happy ending but not the typical one where they end up making out on the couch hehe, hope y'all enjoyed this story, thank you for reading <333

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[ruth-belcher]

“Bet You Can’t.”

Sure, you work out buuut your old man is still pretty strong...

Warnings: 18+ / smut / age gap (reader is in her 30s) / bullying Jack (trust me, he likes it) / Jack bullying you back, lol (you also like it) / a random The Sopranos season 2 spoiler, if you care / pussy spanks and a lil a**hole play / brat tamer trope (reader isn’t really a brat but she bruises Jack’s ego a lil so 😁)

It wasn’t exactly “play fighting” because Jack was too old for that shit. Not like it was beneath him at his big age but that he literally wasn’t sure if he could get up off the floor if you knocked him down onto it while wrestling because while he was in pretty good shape, he wasn’t as spry as you. It was just the reality of dating a woman 14 years younger than him.

It was you and your Pilates class after work three times a week, your morning jogs with your bestie and your doggo before work, and your two wrestling classes you recently signed up for at your gym when you saw the training was free.

And all Jack did to stay limber was Yoga in the mornings and lifting the spare weights he had in his garage. But his heavier weight plates had a fine layer of dust on them.

“Come on, Jack. Try to pin me. Bet you can’t.”

“Sit down before I make you,” he threatened but his voice shook a tiny bit with a chuckle because you kept tugging at his sweatpants leg before his t-shirt that clung to his shoulders because it was making you chuckle, too, to see him get worked up. And do nothing about it.

“Then do it. You scared?” You pinched at the fabric of his sleeve again before he swatted at your hand but then grabbed your opposite wrist, taking you by surprise. You gasped but a big grin started to take over your face because finally. Some action. “Gonna try and pin me, peepaw?”

That made him turn a light pink but he grinned back at you. A bit smug, you noticed.

“Not try,” Jack hissed when you gripped the forearm with his hand attached around your wrist, trying to make him loosen his hold on you by letting your fingernails nip into his skin. You caught him biting his lip, though. Um, that was supposed to hurt him a little.

“Yeah, right,” you giggled louder than you meant to because his other forearm looped around you, snatching you to him where he sat on the sofa. Not exactly a straddle but more like he forced you to collapse on top of him, digging his fingers into the exposed skin of your hip where your shirt had shifted and locking you in place as he kept his fingers bound to your wrist, leaving you one handed. You could still make this work, though, you were certain. You were just as strong as him, after all, you thought.

You used your free hand to gently mush his cheek, soft skin yet prickly with the salt and pepper beard he was growing in, and his head tilted with a huff and a strained, “Ah, that’s not playin’ fair,” before he unhooked his arm from your waist to seize your other wrist now, too. Damn, he had a good hold on you because when you bucked, you thought you’d pry yourself away. But instead, you jolted yourself backwards and started to tip toward the floor.

“Oh, shit!” you yelped.

Jack toppled over with you with a small grunt because he wouldn’t let go of you, and thank goodness you didn’t have a coffee table in the way that you would have crashed into. Your plushy rug caught your landing and you caught Jack, both of you colliding with a thud on the floor that made you both laugh until you were out of breath because, “Oops. Sorry.” God forbid you accidentally break your boyfriend with a bad fall.

“Not gonna cut it,” he said back, just as out of breath as you as he’d been quick to scramble onto his knees to avoid letting all of his weight crush you when you both went down. Except it was at an awkward angle, one of his knees between your thighs and the other boxing your right thigh in between them. You smirked in his face when you considered you had the advantage if you wanted to play dirty and nudge his dick and balls with your knee to remind him who was still winning…but you wouldn’t do him like that. You wanted to beat him fair and square.

However, his hands were clamped around your wrists like cuffs and he had them nailed to the rug. Each time you wriggled, he squeezed them like a reminder of who was on top, literally. Your eyes darted left and right to his freckled arms next to your head, extended with his biceps and triceps bulging from using his strength to keep you pinned right where you were, his long veins prominent and making your pussy tingle before your gaze flitted back to his on you when he spoke. “Gotchu pinned. Now what?” Jack taunted above you, his warm breath washing over you and making you tingle again from the toxic honey in his voice, the sweet mint you could smell on it.

He’d just brushed his teeth and threw on his jammies like you did before him because you both were going to go to bed after you watched a few episodes of The Sopranos…but he kept tickling you after you told him to stop because you couldn’t stop remarking at how adorable he was when his eyes got wet seeing Big Pussy get the smoke. It was Jack’s first time watching the show and your third, and you found it so cute how much he loved Puss—and hated Tony for “what he thought he had to do,” his words.

And now here you were, under him, being humbled as he remarked when you parted your lips to speak, “Tell me you’re sorry again.” Talking over you and, of course, he was wearing a sexy, albeit shit-eating grin.

“Nah, you already won. Up you go,” you replied with a quirk of your eyebrow when you fidgeted and used all your might to lift your wrists from the rug where the fabric was making them burn as he held you down on and into the faux fur. You almost had it that time, getting your wrists up maybe a half inch before Jack pushed you back down. Uh oh.

“Tell me…you’re sorry…before I make you regret it…” He’d dipped his head and let his lips on your chest and neck fill the brief gaps of silence as he kissed on you before you felt his breath next to your ear and your body forsake you with a shiver. He felt you, too, because he’d also lowered himself flush against you, pinning you with his heft and now you couldn’t move at all.

“Nope…” You were stubborn.

“Have it your way…” He was, too.

But your way wasn’t yours at all because Jack was stronger than he thought as he wrestled you onto your knees, wrangling you to him with his hands cinching your hips as he guided you to bend over the couch with your knees still on the rug. You didn’t make it easy on him because you were trying to prove to yourself that you could out maneuver your old man but he had you beat when he got his grip around your wrists again with one hand this time. 

He pinned them above your head and to the sofa cushions where your face was buried as he yanked down your sweatshorts just enough for him to wedge all four of his fingers between your thighs, along your slit, and over your clit that peeked out the more he carefully rubbed on you. He added a thumb that he pressed to your asshole as his fingers caressed up and down your pussy folds lightly, slowly. No doubt trying to see if you’d cave and apologize because he and you both knew you wanted more pressure. Your hips kept tilting and he kept pulling back a bit. Not even parting you but just feeling…feeling how hot, silken, and slick your pussy was, your wet already coating your outer folds, getting slippery and sticking to his fingertips the more he took his time teasing you open.

“Still not gonna say i-it,” you reminded him, even though your voice hitched when you stammered because you pulsed right where Jack was sinking the tip of his thumb into one hole as his middle fingers grazed your other wet, little hole to gather that wet and drag his fingers up to trace your clit, puffy and sensitive now when he swirled a single fingertip there at first before you let out a low moan. He had his bulky thigh lodged between yours now to keep you spread with your wrists still in his clutches, and you were growing less and less inclined to escape. Still wanted to prove a point but…

“You still think that’s my priority?” He let out a husky sound, something like a groan, before you caught him biting that lip again in the corner of your eye with your cheek smudged to the cushion. His eyes were fixed on where his fingers continued to play in your pussy, working you open with the thick pads of them nudged to your clit before he patted it firmly with all four fingers again.

Made you squirm with a single flutter around his thumb that slipped in deeper and felt so good in rhythm with the circles he drew on your clit…before he spanked it…harder…and rubbed it again. Then smacked your pussy even harder. The sweet pain shot through your body and made your moans longer yet airier, needier, because he was getting his revenge in the way he liked most, in the way he knew would make you come so hard your eyes would roll back in your head.

And when you felt the pull in your tummy turn into a full body tremble and hot flutter around his thumb and beneath his fingertips as he stroked more swift, little circles on your clit, you cried for him and bucked against his palm…but he wasn’t going to end it there because your boyfriend wanted to prove a point, too. 

You shouldn’t have been as surprised as you were when he let go of your sore wrists for a moment to tug down his pants and line up his dick that you felt poking at your pussy as he got the tip of himself wet with your cum, smearing it up through your pussy as it made a sticky, sloshing sound and stuck to your inner thighs. You heard him moan all breathy and roughly behind you from how wet you’d gotten, how wet he’d made you.

He kept his thumb right where it was and it kept you weak as he filled you up again when he pushed inside of you in just two long thrusts, you were so soaked and ready for him. He trapped your wrists again when you tried to reach around and grab at him anywhere you could, just so you could touch him, caress him, but he stopped you.

“Come on. Try to touch me. Bet you can’t, baby,” Jack threw your words back at you with a shallow grunt because you kept clenching around him when he held still after every snap of his hips. Your boyfriend was older but he wasn’t too old to pound that pussy into submission.

Author’s Note: Here’s my “play fighting with [insert Shawn character]” imagine because I am a sucker for this trope but also @ickology inspired me! 🤭

Fic Masterlist / Divider by @/strangergraphics

[hollowhuntress]

⌖highly inappropriate.

jack abbot x fem!reader

➶➴ an accidental text leaves jack seeing far more than he was ever supposed to.

➶➴ content: [mdni] accidental suggestive pics, workplace flirting, attending/nurse dynamic, sexual tension & situationship.

wc: ~1.5k

the alarm went off, pulling you straight out of a heavy, exhausted sleep. between the relentless back-to-back codes in the emergency department and the sheer volume of trauma rolling through the doors, your brain felt like static. you dragged yourself out of bed, and got ready for your shift, and grabbed your phone off the charger.

your thumb flicked the screen open just as you were locking the front door, and a text popped up from your situationship -

𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙚: 𝙞 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪.. 𝙨𝙚𝙣𝙙 𝙥𝙞𝙘𝙨?

you let out a tired sigh, unlocking the car and tossing your bag into the passenger seat. you didn't have time for this—not with a grueling twelve-hour night shift ahead at the hospital.

your phone buzzed again against the center console as you backed out of the driveway. by the time you hit the freeway, traffic was already bumper-to-bumper, crawling at a dead stop.

panic setting in, you quickly pulled up jack abbot’s contact info and tapped out a fast text while inching forward in the gridlock -

𝙮𝙤𝙪: 𝙧𝙪𝙣𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙗𝙚𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙙, 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙛𝙛𝙞𝙘 𝙞𝙨 𝙖𝙣 𝙖𝙗𝙨𝙤𝙡𝙪𝙩𝙚 𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙚. 𝙜𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝟭𝟱 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙨 𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙚.

you hit send, tossed the phone onto the passenger seat, and gripped the steering wheel, dreading the inevitable eye roll and sharp, clinical reprimand waiting for you when you walked through those sliding glass doors.

sure enough, jack’s reply buzzed through before you even reached the hospital parking garage -

𝙟𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙖𝙗𝙗𝙤𝙩: 𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙩 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚, 𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙠 𝙙𝙞𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙡𝙮. 𝙞’𝙢 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙘𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙢𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙖𝙜𝙚𝙨 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙚 𝙬𝙚’𝙧𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙖𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙪𝙢𝙖 𝙗𝙖𝙮𝙨.

you groaned out loud, locking your car and jogging across the lot.

the moment you stepped into the high-octane chaos of the pitt, the night dissolved into an absolute blur. it was endless adrenaline—running labs, holding pressure, dodging flying equipment, and listening to jack bark orders across the trauma bays. when you handed him a set of stat lab results a bit too flustered, he didn't just take them; he held them up, glanced between the paper and your face, and drawled, “quick with the labs. shame that urgency didn’t extend to getting here on time.”

aside from that dry jab, he kept it professional, though you spent the rest of the shift interpreting every clipped command and sharp look through your own lingering annoyance.

by hour eleven, your nerves were entirely frayed. as the shift finally wound down toward the last twenty minutes, the trauma bay quieted down into a manageable lull.

exhausted, irritable from the long hours, and just wanting to finally answer your situationship so you wouldn't have to hear about it later, you slipped away from the nurses' station and ducked into a quiet, out-of-use staff on-call bathroom down the hall.

you locked the door behind you. running on pure fatigue and a reckless spark of defiance, you didn't even think twice. you pulled your scrub top up, leaving your lace bra still securely on, and snapped a quick selfie framed from your mouth downward. one arm raised, your fingertip hovering near your mouth as you caught the edge of your nail between your teeth, your cleavage pushed together and bunched up by the pose. then, turning around, you pulled the waistband of your scrub bottoms down past the swell of your ass just to snap a second quick photo of your lower back and ass poking out over the fabric, your lace panties perfectly on display.

you tapped your messages, attached the photos and hit send -

𝙮𝙤𝙪: 𝙨𝙤𝙧𝙧𝙮 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙧𝙚𝙥𝙡𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙨𝙤 𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙚, 𝙝𝙤𝙥𝙚𝙛𝙪𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙨𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙞𝙩 𝙪𝙥 𝙩𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪.

you tucked your phone into your pocket, washed your hands, straightened your scrubs, and headed back out to finish out the last few minutes of your shift. jack was standing by the central desk, looking over a stack of discharge summaries with a deeply scowling expression.

“thought you might have abandoned ship early,” jack muttered, not even looking up as you approached.

“just stepping away to use the restroom, dr. abbot,” you bit back sweetly, a sudden, wicked rush of amusement hitting you as you realized just how close you were to walking out those doors and going home.

eventually, your shift officially ended. you clocked out, grabbed your belongings, and practically flew out to the lot. jack’s truck was parked right next to yours. you both slid behind the wheels of your respective vehicles, started them, and sank back against the headrests with long, satisfying exhales simultaneously.

you finally pulled your phone out of your pocket, and the screen lit up inside your still-open chat thread with jack -

𝙟𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙖𝙗𝙗𝙤𝙩: 𝙟𝙚𝙨𝙪𝙨 𝙘𝙝𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙩. 

your blood ran ice cold. you froze, sitting stock-still behind your steering wheel, and slowly turned your head to look over at jack’s truck.

through the glass, you could see him sitting in the driver's seat, his lip slightly pulled between his teeth, his brow deeply furrowed in confusion as he stared down at his phone.

you had sent the photos to jack by accident.

panic overtaking reason, your thumbs flew across the screen -

𝙮𝙤𝙪: 𝙞 𝙖𝙢 𝙨𝙤 𝙨𝙤𝙧𝙧𝙮! 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙣’𝙩 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪.

heat rushed into your face, burning every inch of skin.

a second later, his phone buzzed in real time. you watched him read it, his jaw tightening.

𝙟𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙖𝙗𝙗𝙤𝙩: 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙝𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙡𝙮 𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙖𝙩𝙚.

jack backed out of the spot without another glance in your direction and pulled away. you didn’t dare look over as he left, bringing both hands up to cover your face as humiliation swallowed you whole. before you took off, you grabbed your phone and changed jack’s contact name to something impossible to miss, determined to make sure the mistake never happened again.

you slept like shit, tossing and turning. before you knew it, it was another shift with jack. you contemplated quitting by text several times, or simply not showing.

when you walked through the doors for your next shift, your stomach was already tied in painful, nauseating knots. you half-expected jack to hand you over to someone else just to get you out of his sight, or to tear into you the second you stepped foot past the threshold.

instead, he was already there by the central desk, dark, fitted scrubs molded to his broad frame. the second you walked in, his eyes locked onto yours. it wasn't a glare of professional fury; it was something heavier, something deliberate and entirely undivided.

he didn't wait for you to approach. he handed his chart off to a passing tech, closed the distance between you in a few long strides, and stepped right into your space, lowering his voice to a rough, gravel-laced murmur that barely carried over the monitors.

“you look like hell,” jack said, his gaze sweeping over your pale face, tracking every twitch of your nervous throat.

“you have a way with words… i didn't sleep well,” you whispered, staring fixedly at the collar of his scrubs, your face instantly burning. “look, dr. abbot—about yesterday—”

“don't,” he cut you off, a muscle ticking sharply in his jaw.

he took a half-step closer. his eyes dropped to your mouth for a fraction of a second before locking back onto yours, burning with a quiet, suppressed intensity that made your chest tighten.

“you're already on thin ice for your time management,” jack murmured, his voice dropping an octave, rough around the edges, trying very hard to keep it administrative. “i don't need you losing your mind over a misdirected text. consider it a lesson in double-checking your recipients.”

“it won't happen again. i swear,” you breathed out, terrified and entirely captive to the space he was holding you in.

“good,” he said, holding your gaze for a beat too long before he finally stepped back, rolling his shoulders. “bay two needs you. no distractions.”

he turned on his heel, leaving you a nervous wreck.

a few hours later, you caught him looking.

you were bent over the central desk, scribbling something onto a chart when you glanced up and found jack’s eyes already on you from across the nurses’ station. his gaze dropped away almost immediately, jaw tightening as he reached for the nearest tablet.

“you finish the repeat labs on four?” he asked, tone clipped and entirely clinical.

you blinked at him. “five minutes ago.”

“solid work.”

the shift ground on like a slow torture. hours blurred into a chaotic mess of blood, monitors, and frantic running. by four in the morning, your bladder was screaming at you from chugging too much cheap breakroom coffee. desperate for a second to breathe, you slipped away from the floor down the quiet, dimly lit hallway toward the back staff bathrooms.

it was the exact same on-call bathroom. the wooden door, the narrow mirror, the stark fluorescent lights. a cold wave of phantom embarrassment crashed over you the second you stepped inside, your stomach dropping as muscle memory replayed the reckless, sleepy mistake you made just twenty-four hours ago.

you washed your hands, pulling your phone out to check the time.

right as the screen unlocked, a notification popped up.

𝙟𝙖𝙘𝙠𝙖𝙨𝙨, 𝙢.𝙙.ᐟ.ᐟ: 𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚?

you rolled your eyes, a laugh slipping out when you saw the contact name you’d completely forgotten about. a sudden spark of returning adrenaline cut straight through the lingering mortification. your thumbs moved fast over the glass.

𝙮𝙤𝙪: 𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙩 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚, 𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙢𝙚 𝙙𝙞𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙡𝙮 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙚𝙭𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙙𝙤𝙘.

you pressed send, holding your breath as the little typing bubble flickered at the bottom of the chat thread.

for a terrifying, heart-stopping moment, you were entirely certain you had pushed it too far. you stared at the blank screen, the quiet hum of the fluorescent lights overhead suddenly feeling deafening. you pictured him somewhere out on the floor reading it, jaw tightening as he realized you’d just thrown his own words directly back in his face.

you slowly reached for the handle and pulled the door open, stepping out into the dim corridor.

jack was seated at one of the workstations, but his phone was dark in his hand, held loosely against his thigh, and his eyes were locked entirely on you as you emerged.

the air between you felt thin, pulled taut like a wire right before it snaps.

he didn't say a word, but as you walked past him back toward the chaos of the trauma bay, you didn't miss the slow drag of his gaze following every step you took—or the twitch at the corner of his mouth he was trying very hard to suppress.

➶➴ a/n: jumping on this tiktok trend because why the hell not. oh, to accidentally text 𝙟𝙖𝙘𝙠𝙖𝙨𝙨, 𝙢.𝙙.ᐟ.ᐟ

[r4bidabbott]

widow reader meets jack

prev part.

the morning came too quickly. you weren't even sure you had really slept. you really came to around six in the morning with a dull, relentless ache pounding behind your eyes. for several second, you had no idea where you were. the ceiling above you was too white, whiter than your apartment. fluorescent lights glowed dimly behind a plastic panel, and somewhere beyond the curtain, there was the steady beeping of machines. voices drifted through the emergency department, nurses calling names, doctors talking amongst each other, wheels squeaking against the polished floor. you blinked slowly a few times before beginning to move, pain immediately shooting through the back of your head. you winced immediately, hand reaching to touch the bandage. everything came rushing back.

the fall. the kitchen floor. the blood. the drive through the rain. and him. andrew's face. no. not andrew. jack. you had spent the entire night replaying the conversation in your head, every word, every expression. 'because he existed. because loving someone doesn't stop just because they are gone.' you couldn't help but swallow hard as your eyes fluttered shot. the sentence had followed you into your sleep and replayed over and over again in your dreams. the curtain rustling open caused your eyes to open back up, jack stepping inside.

he looked so different in the morning. there were faint shadows underneath his eyes, his hair was slightly messier than it had been the night before, his scrubs not as crisp as they were at the beginning of his shift. one hand held a cup of coffee, the other held a clipboard with a chart. "morning," you spoke, your voice sounding so rough it scared you a little. he smiled a little, grabbing the same stool he sat in yesterday to sit at your bedside once again. "morning. how's the head?" he hummed, pulling that little flash light once again to look into your eyes. you thought about it for a moment, thought about lying. pope's voice popped in your head. don't lie. tell him the truth. "feels like someone dropped a bowling ball on it," you mumbled, rubbing your eyes a little as he pulled away, a small chuckle leaving his lips.

"that's reassuring," he mumbled, your eyes staring at him tiredly as he took a sip of his coffee. your head rested gently back against the bed, eyebrows raised slightly. "is it?" you spoke softly, arms stretching a little bit to shake the sleep form them. "no not at all," he chuckled, shaking his head quickly. a quiet laugh escaped your lips, one that surprised you. you couldn't remember the last time you'd laughed without forcing yourself. jack noticed it too, his smile softening as he looked over your chart. he ran through the things you needed to do at home to care for yourself, your eyes staying shut as he talked.

"your scan was clear other than the concussion, so that's good news. the staples are holding. you're going to have a headache for awhile, probably some fatigue, maybe some light or noise sensitivity," he went on and on, your head only nodding. you were actually listening, just didn't want to continue to gawk at him. "you're going to need to rest," he spoke as he stood up, grabbing your jacket from the floor that must have fallen in your sleep to lay next to you. a loud groan left your lips as you opened your eyes to look at him, eyebrows furrowed slightly. "you're doing that doctor thing again," you grumbled, moving to fully sit up now.

his lips formed into a smile as he looked down his nose at you, an eyebrow raised slightly. "i am a doctor," he reminded you, your eyes rolling playfully at him as you moved to swing your legs to dangle off the bed, wincing a little bit from the pain in your head. "unfortunately," you teased, a small laugh leaving his lips. "you're lucky i didn't charge you extra for the attitude," he shot back, sliding your shoes to the side of your bed that you kicked off when you arrived. "you can't do that," you spoke as you looked up at him, a smile at the corner of your mouth. "i can emotionally," he shrugged, glancing towards the door. you couldn't help but laugh again, rubbing your arm gently. for a second, everything felt strangely normal.

"i'll get your discharge paperwork to you. someone will need to take you home," he hummed, making his way to stand in the frame of the door to your room. you were quick to shake your head as you slipped the shoes onto your feet. "i drove here. got here just fine," you shrugged, pulling the bloodied sweatshirt back over your body. "that was a terrible decision. got you here with a concussion somehow," he mumbled, shaking his head at you. a small sigh left your lips as you played with the sleeve of the hoodie, speckles of dry blood littering the fabric. "i'll call you an uber," he hummed with a nod, walking out before you could protest.

he came back rather quickly with your discharge paperwork and aftercare instructions, running over everything with you. "take this," he spoke quietly, a small piece of paper with a number scribbled down on it. you looked at it with furrowed eyebrows before slowly back up at him. he seemed suddenly uncomfortable, not exactly nervous. just careful. "i know this is probably a little unconventional but i remember what it was like," he spoke, his voice cracking a little bit as he watched you shove the piece of paper into the sweatshirt pocket. your eyebrows raised a little, your eyes slightly glossed over. "being the person everyone thinks should be okay because enough time has passed. people mean well. they call. they ask how you're doing. then they eventually stop because they think you're better," his words struck you right in the chest. they struck you so hard because they were so accurate.

"if you ever need someone to talk to, you can call. sometimes you need someone who isn't going to tell you to move on," he shrugged, his voice softening even more. like he was getting shy. you nodded slowly, forcing a small smile onto your lips as you continued to look up at him before looking away quickly. "you don't have to call. if you don't want to, that's okay too," he spoke quickly, trying his hardest not to make you uncomfortable. "i know," you whispered, nodding before he was giving you one last smile. "take care of yourself," he spoke after a moment, clearing his throat before he was making his way out into the emergency room. you stared at him as he walked off, your heart beating so fast. you had no intention of calling him. at least, that was what you told yourself.

for the next week, the number stayed in the pocket of your sweatshirt. you didn't look at it, you didn't need to. you knew it was there. and somehow, that was enough. you followed jack's instructions as much as you could. you ate when you remembered. you took the medication. you stayed away form bright screens. you even listened when the discharge paperwork told you to rest. but emotionally? emotionally you were a mess. a mess because every time you thought about jack, you felt guilty. it wasn't that you wanted him. you didn't. not really. at least, you didn't think you did.

you liked talking to him and liked the way he listened. you liked that you didn't have to explain what it felt like to wake up every morning and forget for half a second that the person you loved was dead. you liked that he understood why you still talked to andrew when you were alone. you liked that he didn't look uncomfortable when you said his name. and that terrified you. terrified you because you had spent three months trying to prove to yourself that you weren't moving on. you didn't want to move on because moving on felt like leaving pope behind. like if you laughed too much, you were forgetting him. if you had a good day, you were betraying him. if you enjoyed someone's company, you were somehow replacing him. and jack.. jack made you feel like maybe none of those things were true. that scared you more than anything. so you didn't call. you left he number untouched. until thursday.

laundry day. you were beyond exhausted, still distracted with your unpacked home, and still dealing with the occasional headache. you gathered your clothes from around the apartment and threw them into the washing machine, sweatshirt included. you didn't even think about the piece of paper that remained in the pocket. not until the washing machine had finished. you had pulled everything out and shoved it into the dryer, about to close the lid again when you noticed something white stuck against the inside of the drum. your stomach immediately dropped. the paper. "no, no, no," you immediately gasped as you pulled it out, the ink was gone. the paper had turned soft and thin and the numbers were smeared beyond recognition.

you tried everything to fix it. flattening it on the counter, drying it with the hair dryer, holding it under the kitchen light. nothing. you had ruined it. you sat down on the floor, and for some reason tears began to fill your eyes. it was ridiculous, it was just a phone number. but it wasn't. it was proof that someone had offered you something without expecting anything in return. it was a little piece of kindness and you had destroyed it. you couldn't stop staring at the ruined paper before you began to laugh through your tears. "of course," you mumbled between laughs, the tears still rolling down your cheeks. of course you had managed to wash the one thing you were supposed to keep.

you looked around your apartment, at the cheap curtains, the dying plants, the boxes you still hadn't unpacked. suddenly you realized something. you didn't want the number because you wanted something from jack. you wanted it because you wanted to say thank you. you wanted him to know that what he'd said mattered. and maybe you wanted to see him again. just once. that didn't mean anything. right? you stood slowly as you wiped your eyes, your eyes scanning around your kitchen when pope's words rang out in your ears again. cookies. do something nice. he was always the first one to encourage you to do something nice for others, himself to prideful to do it. he loved that about you, loved that you were willing to do anything for someone else.

the emergency room was just as busy as you remember. the waiting room full of people groaning, complaining and yelling. you just stood by the door, suddenly wondering if this was a terrible idea. you had spent the entire drive over telling yourself it was simple. drop off cookies. say thank you. leave. you didn't even realize you were walking right back outside until the cold pittsburgh air was hitting you in the face. "hey i remember you, you're the staples from last week," a woman's voice interrupted your thoughts, your head snapping to look at her. you looked her up and down slowly, her face familiar but you weren't sure of her name. your eyes landed on the badge that hung at her waste. 'dr. ellis" it read. you nodded a little, forcing a smile onto your lips.

"how's the head?" she spoke as she approached, eyes glancing down at the box of cookies you held before she was smiling back up at you. "it's good. i just wanted to drop these off for jack," you mumbled quickly, glancing around in hopes that for some reason he wasn't here yet. you didn't miss the smirk that fell upon her face, your cheeks immediately burning with embarrassment. "for all of you! for being so good to me," you shot immediately, a small laugh leaving her lips before she was nodding her head for you to follow. you swallowed hard as she lead you through and back through the double doors that opened up into the actual emergency room, unfamiliar faces from your night here everywhere.

she lead you right up to the nurses' station, nodding to an older blonde woman who stood there. "abbot in yet?" she spoke, the older woman looking between the both of you. god you just wanted to crawl into a hole and die. "should be any minute. who's this?" she hummed as she shot you a smile, your hands gripping the box of cookies so tight you felt like it was going to explode. "i'm just dropping off these cookies. he was good to me last week. just tell him i said thank you," you spoke quickly as you set the box gently on the counter, scratching at the back of your neck awkwardly. "cookies?" dana, which you read on her tag, spoke with a small smirk on her lips as doctor ellis wandered away.

it felt like you were going to crumple up and die of embarrassment as you stood there, hand shaking slightly. "not like that. can you just make sure he gets them?" you spoke quickly as you glanced around, suddenly so nervous that he was going to appear. "give what to who?" another voice interrupted, a taller older doctor coming to stand next to you. "cookies for jack," dana spoke, the man's eyebrows raising with surprise a little bit. you couldn't help the groan that left your lips as you rubbed at your eyes, glancing down at the man's name tag. robinavitch. "you made them?" he asked, a little shocked as he smiled just slightly. "yes. why does everyone sound so surprised?" you shot back, more rudely than you intended. there was that voice in your head again. be nice.

"he doesn't get cookies often. well ever actually," he laughed, your blush only getting worse. you continued to glance back at the door, eyes landing back on the nurse in front of you. "i better get going. just tell him thank you," you nodded, smiling at both of them. she nodded, the ambulance bay doors opening a few feet behind you. you noticed the way her eyes flicked past you, how the smile on dr. robinavitch's face changed. then that familiar voice spoke. "evening." your entire body went still. you slowly turned around to face him, his own face looking a bit shocked at the sight of you.

both of you stood in silence for a moment, just looking at each other. "you came back," he spoke softly, his eyes scanning your face before glancing down at the box of cookies in your hand. you didn't see the way the other doctor only slid down slightly so he was still in range that he could hear your conversation. or the way nurse dana sat down at the computer pretending to be busy but was eavesdropping every second of your conversation with him. "i brought you cookies. to say thank you," you spoke quietly, tearing your eyes away from his to stare down at the floor that seemed much more interesting now. "you didn't have to do that. you feeling okay?" he asked quietly, a warm smile on his face as he leaned against the counter next to you. you couldn't help the slight butterfly that floated in your stomach, swallowing hard to try to rid yourself of the feeling.

"following all the discharge instructions?" he spoke again, your eyes immediately looking right up at him before rolling. "don't start," you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. you didn't see the way dana and robby glanced at each other before they continued to watch you and jack. "there she is," jack teased, eyes scanning around the department before they were back on you. he had a job to do. you need to leave. "well thank you again. for everything. bye," you mumbled awkwardly before you were dropping your head down, rushing back out the ambulance bay doors.

all three stood watching as you walked out, the smile never leaving jack's face as he watched you walk out. he looked down at the box of cookies before back to the door. "she made these just for you? must have been real nice to her," dana teased him, all three of them now huddled around the box of cookies. he could only shrug, the smile softening but not leaving his lips. "you gave her your number, didn't you?" robby spoke with a raised eyebrow, jack's eyes immediately rolling as he glared over at his friend. "just in case she needed to talk to someone who understands what she is going through," he shrugged, pushing open the box. "you gave a grieving patient your number," robby spoke as he rubbed his hands over his tired face. hr nightmare.

"what's that?" dana spoke as her eyes landed on the cookies, a small piece of paper shoved in the corner of the box. jack was quick to pull it out and unfold it, his eyebrows lifting a little. it was your number. robby was quick to peek at it, a small laugh leaving his lips. "you gave her your number, she apparently lost it, and now she's giving you hers," he hummed, patting his friend on the back. jack couldn't stop staring at the piece of paper, his head spinning a little bit. "shouldn't you be finish up your shift?" jack mumbled to him as he held the paper, robby only laughing. "yes, romeo," robby mumbled before he was walking away.

you didn't know what would come of leaving your number behind, but for the firs time in a while, you found yourself looking forward to finding out.

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kay's note: i am genuinely obsessed with these two i had to write more.

[afterdarkbydel]

False Advertising

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 7.3k

Summary: After spending an entire night sexting Jack through his shift, you finally get to enjoy the payoff when he comes over in the morning. Unfortunately for Jack, the post-sex glow comes with a devastating revelation: while he was at work imagining you in bed, half naked and desperate for him, you were actually on the couch in an old sleep shirt, fuzzy socks, under-eye patches, watching Vanderpump Rules and eating popcorn. Even worse? Apparently, this is just what women do.

Warnings: 18+ only, established relationship, sexting, suggestive photos, sexual humor, implied sex, post-sex cuddling, nudity, mentions of masturbation, mentions of erections, Jack’s ego taking catastrophic damage, grocery store sexting, lots of teasing, fluff, humor

Author’s Note: This fic tied in the poll with the accidental lingerie picture fic, so naturally you lovelies are getting both. That one is posted as well as this one! Thank you for once again enabling me to put Jack Abbot through increasingly ridiculous situations. I hope you enjoy his discovery that apparently women have been casually sexting men while doing the most mundane shit imaginable this entire time.

Xoxo, Del

Jack should have been asleep.

Technically, he should have gone home after his shift, showered, climbed into bed, and slept until sometime that afternoon.

Instead, he had driven straight to your apartment.

Which, considering the messages you had been sending him for the better part of eight hours, had been inevitable.

Now morning light barely slipped through the curtains, the bedroom dim and warm around you. Your sheets were twisted around both of your legs, your clothes abandoned somewhere between the front door and the bed, and Jack was stretched out beneath you, looking far too satisfied with himself for a man who had been awake all night.

You were sprawled half across his chest, naked and pleasantly boneless, while his fingertips drifted lazily up and down your back.

For the first time since his phone had buzzed sometime around ten the night before, neither of you seemed particularly interested in tormenting the other.

Jack exhaled slowly, his hand settling at the base of your spine. “You’re a fucking menace.”

You smiled against his chest. “Good morning to you too.”

Jack gave your hip a lazy squeeze beneath the sheet. “That started eight hours ago. You’ve been making my life difficult since before midnight.”

You lifted your head enough to look at him. “You kept answering.”

Jack’s eyebrow rose. “That’s your defense?”

You traced one fingertip through the hair on his chest. “You could’ve ignored me.”

His expression made it very clear what he thought of that suggestion.

You grinned. “Exactly.”

Jack shook his head, but his mouth twitched.

His palm moved slowly along your back again.

Jack looked down at you. “You have any idea what you did to me all night?”

The pleased little curl in your stomach returned immediately.

You rested your chin on his chest. “I have a general idea.”

Jack’s fingers tightened slightly around your hip. “No, I don’t think you do.”

You smiled up at him. “Tell me.”

Jack studied you for a second, eyes still heavy from lack of sleep and everything that had happened since he walked through your door.

He dragged his thumb slowly over your side. “Every time my phone went off, I knew it was going to be something I had no business looking at while I was working.”

You tipped your head. “You still looked.”

Jack huffed out a quiet laugh. “Every goddamn time.”

You laughed softly.

His gaze drifted over your face before settling on you again. “That picture you sent around one nearly killed me.”

You knew exactly which one.

You gave him an innocent look. “The good one?”

Jack’s mouth twitched. “They were all good.”

You smiled brightly. “That’s very sweet.”

Jack narrowed his eyes. “I’m not complimenting you. I’m explaining the problem.”

You pressed a kiss to his chest. “Sorry.”

The complete lack of sincerity in your voice earned you another look.

Jack glanced toward the ceiling for a moment before his eyes dropped back to you.

His fingers traced slowly along your waist. “I spent half the night imagining you at home.”

Your smile softened.

Jack’s palm flattened against your side. “In bed.”

You went still for half a second.

He didn’t notice.

Jack’s eyes grew a little darker as he continued. “Wearing something little. Probably that black set I like.”

You bit your lip.

His thumb brushed over your skin. “Or nothing by the time you sent that last picture.”

A laugh threatened somewhere in your chest.

Jack watched your face. “Touching yourself between texts. Getting more worked up every time I answered.”

You pressed your lips together.

His brow furrowed. “What?”

You tucked your chin against his chest. “Nothing.”

Jack narrowed his eyes at you, but the suspicion passed quickly enough.

His hand drifted lazily along your waist again. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you lying in bed waiting for me. All worked up. Desperate for me to get off shift.”

You made the mistake of correcting him before you could think better of it.

You traced a small circle over his chest. “I wasn’t in bed.”

Jack’s hand stopped. Completely.

You stared very intently at his chest.

There was a beat.

Then another.

Jack looked down at you. “You weren’t in bed?”

His voice was still relaxed.

Mostly.

You could already feel yourself starting to smile.

You shook your head. “No.”

Jack watched you carefully. “Where were you?”

You lifted one shoulder. “The couch.”

His brow furrowed.

Jack repeated it slowly. “The couch.”

You nodded against his chest. “Mhm.”

His hand started moving over your back again, but there was something different about it now.

A couch was apparently still compatible with whatever fantasy he had built.

Then his eyes narrowed.

Jack tipped his head. “What were you wearing?”

You hesitated. His hand stopped again. Jack’s eyebrow slowly lifted. You immediately knew you had made another mistake.

He studied your face. “What were you wearing?”

You tucked your chin closer to his chest. “My sleep shirt.”

Jack stared at you. “The gray one?”

You avoided his eyes. “Maybe.”

His expression shifted. “The giant gray one with the hole in the hem?”

You frowned up at him. “It’s comfortable.”

Jack went quiet.

You could almost see the black lace disappearing from his imagination. He shifted higher against the pillows, one arm still around you.

Then Jack looked at you more carefully. “Were you touching yourself?”

You stared at him. He stared back.

You tried to buy yourself time. “I was thinking about you.”

Jack’s expression flattened. “That wasn’t my question.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. His eyes narrowed.

Jack gave your hip a small squeeze. “Were you?”

You looked away. “…No.”

Jack blinked. His expression changed just slightly.

He lifted his head from the pillow. “No?”

You shook your head. Jack stared at you for another second.

Then his voice went suspiciously calm. “What were you doing?”

And that was where you knew you were in trouble.

Jack stared at you for another second. Then his eyes narrowed.

Jack asked again, slower this time, “What were you doing?”

You shifted against his chest. “Watching TV.”

Jack’s expression stayed carefully neutral as he asked, “What were you watching?”

You hesitated. That was enough.

His eyebrow lifted. “What were you watching?”

You tucked your chin against him. “Vanderpump Rules.”

Jack blinked.

He repeated it slowly. “You were watching Vanderpump Rules.”

You nodded against his chest. “Yeah.”

Jack kept his eyes on your face. “While we were sexting.”

You gave him a small shrug. “I can multitask.”

Jack’s mouth flattened.

You could feel the suspicion building now.

He tipped his head. “What else?”

You frowned up at him. “What do you mean?”

Jack’s hand settled firmly at your waist. “What else were you doing?”

You tried for innocence. “Nothing.”

Jack gave you a look.

You lasted maybe two seconds before admitting, “I was eating popcorn.”

His face changed.

Not much.

Just enough.

You pressed your lips together.

Jack stared at you. “Popcorn.”

You nodded.

He looked away for a moment, gaze landing somewhere near the foot of the bed.

Then he looked back.

Jack narrowed his eyes. “And?”

You blinked at him. “And what?”

His hand tightened slightly at your waist. “There’s an and.”

You started smiling.

Jack pointed at you. “There is absolutely an and.”

You buried your face against his chest.

His arm tightened around you before you could escape.

Jack’s voice dropped into warning. “Baby.”

You laughed into his skin. “I had wine.”

Jack went completely still.

You lifted your head.

He was staring at you like something fundamental had just shifted beneath his feet.

Jack repeated it carefully. “You had wine.”

You nodded. “A glass.”

His brows drew together. “That doesn’t make it better.”

You smiled. “I wasn’t trying to make it better.”

Jack dragged one hand slowly down his face.

You bit back another laugh.

He looked at you again. “You mean to tell me I had to step into the bathroom, lock myself in a stall for ten fucking minutes, and wait for my boner to go away—”

Your eyes widened.

Jack pointed directly at you as he continued, “—while you were sitting on the couch watching Vanderpump Rules, eating popcorn, and drinking wine?”

The laugh escaped before you could stop it.

His jaw dropped.

Jack stared at you. “Don’t laugh.”

You immediately covered your mouth with one hand. “I’m sorry.”

Jack shook his head. “You’re not sorry.”

Your shoulders started shaking.

You shook your head through your laughter. “No, I’m really not.”

Jack dropped his head back against the pillow. “Jesus Christ.”

You curled closer against him, laughing softly. “I was still thinking about you.”

His head turned toward you immediately. “You were eating popcorn.”

You lifted one shoulder. “I can do both.”

Jack stared at you. “And drinking wine.”

You frowned. “That doesn’t make me less horny.”

Jack opened his mouth.

Nothing came out.

You smiled.

He stared at you for a long moment before his expression shifted again.

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “The picture.”

Your smile faltered.

He caught it immediately.

Jack pushed himself a little higher against the pillows. “You took the shirt off for the picture.”

You hesitated. “Yeah.”

His suspicion deepened. “And then what?”

You looked down and started smoothing a wrinkle from the sheet over his stomach.

Jack watched your hand.

His voice dropped. “Baby.”

You kept your attention on the sheet. “What?”

His fingers closed around your wrist, gently stilling your hand. “What did you do after you sent the picture?”

You bit your lip.

Jack’s eyes narrowed.

You finally looked at him. “I put my shirt back on.”

Silence.

His face went blank.

Jack repeated it. “You put it back on.”

You nodded. “I was cold.”

He stared at you.

You could actually watch him processing it.

Jack spoke slowly. “I was in a hospital bathroom trying to think about kidney function.”

You started laughing again.

His eyes widened. “I’m serious.”

You pressed your lips together, desperately trying to stop.

Jack gestured between the two of you. “I was standing in a stall trying to get myself under control because you sent me a picture of your tits.”

You nodded, already losing the battle.

His expression turned increasingly betrayed. “And you took your shirt off for thirty seconds, sent me the picture, and put it back on because you were cold.”

That did it.

You dissolved against him.

Jack watched you laugh with an expression of pure offense.

He shook his head. “This is devastating information.”

You buried your face against his shoulder. “Oh my God.”

Jack tightened his arm around you when you tried to hide. “No. Look at me.”

You shook your head against him.

His hand slid into your hair, gently pulling you back just enough that he could see your face.

Jack stared at you. “I had a whole image in my head.”

You were still laughing when you answered, “I know.”

Jack frowned. “No, clearly you don’t. You were supposed to be at home losing your mind.”

You wiped beneath one eye. “I was turned on.”

Jack pointed toward you. “You were watching Bravo.”

You gave him a look. “Those things are not mutually exclusive.”

Jack looked deeply unconvinced.

You smiled at him.

His eyes narrowed again.

Then something seemed to occur to him.

Jack asked carefully, “What else were you wearing?”

You froze.

He saw it.

Immediately.

Jack’s face changed. “Oh, no.”

You looked away.

His hand tightened around your waist. “What else were you wearing?”

You tried to dismiss it. “Nothing important.”

Jack stared at you. “That is not an answer.”

You tried to tuck yourself back against his chest.

He stopped you.

Jack gave you a pointed look. “Sweetheart.”

You sighed. “Socks.”

Jack blinked. “Socks.”

You nodded.

His suspicion only deepened. “What kind of socks?”

You said nothing.

Jack just looked at you.

Then he asked again, more slowly, “What kind of socks?”

You mumbled the answer.

Jack frowned. “What?”

You looked at him reluctantly. “Fuzzy socks.”

He closed his eyes.

You started laughing again.

Jack kept his eyes shut. “Of course.”

You nudged his side. “They’re warm.”

He opened his eyes. “You were wearing fuzzy socks.”

You nodded. “Yes.”

Jack gestured vaguely toward your chest. “While you sent me that picture.”

You bit back a smile. “Yes.”

Jack stared at the ceiling.

You tried very hard not to laugh.

Then you made the mistake.

You shrugged. “At least you couldn’t see the eye patches.”

Jack’s head snapped toward you.

You stopped breathing.

His eyes locked onto yours.

Jack’s voice went flat. “The what?”

You immediately looked away. “Nothing.”

Jack pushed himself fully onto one elbow. “What did you just say?”

You tucked the sheet higher around yourself. “Nothing.”

His eyebrows lifted. “You said eye patches.”

You tried to look confused. “Did I?”

Jack stared at you in disbelief. “Were you wearing fucking eye patches?”

You bit your lip.

His mouth fell open.

Jack looked horrified. “The little gold ones?”

Your silence answered for you.

He dropped his head back slightly. “Oh my God.”

You started laughing again.

Jack pointed at you. “No. This isn’t funny.”

You grinned. “It’s a little funny.”

He shook his head. “It is not.”

You tried to defend yourself. “You couldn’t even see them.”

Jack stared at you. “That is not the point.”

You raised your eyebrows. “What is the point?”

His expression suggested he couldn’t believe you needed to ask.

Jack gestured sharply. “The point is that while I was at work imagining you in some little lace thing, touching yourself, waiting for me to get home—”

You pressed your lips together.

He continued, looking more offended by the second, “—you were sitting on the couch in a giant sleep shirt, fuzzy socks, and fucking eye patches, watching Vanderpump Rules and eating popcorn.”

You lifted one finger. “And drinking wine.”

Jack closed his eyes.

You immediately started laughing.

He dropped back against the pillow. “Stop adding details.”

You curled into his side, still grinning. “I’m just making sure the record is accurate.”

His head turned slowly toward you.

Jack repeated, “The record.”

You nodded solemnly. “Very important.”

Jack stared at you for a long moment.

Then his gaze narrowed.

He asked, “You know what that is?”

You smiled. “What?”

Jack pointed at you. “False advertising.”

Your mouth dropped open.

He gestured toward you. “That picture was false advertising.”

You started laughing again. “It was literally a picture of my actual tits.”

Jack’s expression remained grave. “Presented without material context.”

You stared at him. “Material context?”

He nodded once. “Yes.”

You lifted your hands. “You wanted a picture of my tits.”

Jack nodded. “I did.”

You pointed toward yourself. “I sent you a picture of my tits.”

Jack countered immediately, “You concealed the fuzzy socks.”

You laughed so hard you had to press your face into his shoulder.

He continued over your laughter. “And the eye patches.”

You pulled back enough to look at him. “You wouldn’t have wanted those in the picture.”

Jack stared at you. “That is not for you to decide.”

You blinked at him. “Jack.”

His expression stayed completely serious. “I should have been given all relevant information.”

You were openly crying with laughter now.

Jack watched you for a second, still offended.

Then his eyes narrowed again.

You noticed.

Your laughter slowly faded.

You frowned. “What?”

He studied your face.

Jack’s voice went suspiciously quiet. “This wasn’t the first time.”

You went very still.

His expression changed immediately.

Jack pushed himself up again. “Oh, fuck me.”

You looked away.

He stared at you. “How often do you do this?”

You pulled the sheet around yourself. “Do what?”

Jack immediately shook his head. “Don’t do that.”

You blinked innocently. “Do what?”

He pointed at you. “How often are you sitting around doing God knows what while you’re sexting me?”

You hesitated.

His eyes widened.

Jack stared at you. “No.”

You bit your lip.

He shook his head slowly. “No, no. Don’t make that face.”

You frowned. “I’m not making a face.”

Jack pointed at your expression. “You are absolutely making a face.”

You tried to suppress a smile.

He looked increasingly alarmed. “How often?”

You glanced toward the ceiling.

Jack’s voice dropped. “Baby.”

You looked back at him.

His eyebrows were raised now, waiting.

You gave him the smallest shrug. “Most of the time?”

Jack went completely silent.

You watched his face.

He blinked once.

Then twice.

Jack repeated slowly, “Most of the time.”

You winced.

He stared at you like you had just confessed to living a second life.

And somehow, despite everything the two of you had done in this bed less than half an hour ago, you had never seen him look more personally betrayed.

You tried not to smile.

You failed almost immediately.

Jack stared at you. “Don’t.”

You pressed your lips together. “I didn’t say anything.”

His eyes narrowed. “Your face did.”

You shifted closer beneath the sheet and rested one hand against his chest. “Jack, this is normal.”

His expression turned incredulous. “Normal.”

You nodded. “Yes.”

Jack looked at you for a long moment. “You’re telling me this is normal.”

You gave his chest a small pat. “Very.”

His brow furrowed. “For who?”

You blinked. “Women.”

Jack went still.

You watched the information land.

He repeated carefully, “Women.”

You nodded again. “Yeah.”

Jack looked toward the ceiling.

You bit back another smile. “Why do you look like that?”

He kept his eyes fixed above him. “I’m processing.”

You tucked yourself closer against his side. “Processing what?”

Jack turned his head slowly toward you. “Apparently an entire gender has been lying to men.”

A laugh burst out of you.

His eyebrows shot up. “You think this is funny?”

You covered your mouth. “You said an entire gender.”

Jack pushed himself higher against the pillows. “You just told me this is something women do.”

You shrugged beneath the sheet. “It is.”

His expression darkened with disbelief. “How?”

You frowned. “What do you mean, how?”

Jack gestured vaguely toward you. “How are you simultaneously sexting somebody and watching television?”

You gave him a look. “Multitasking.”

His mouth flattened. “Multitasking.”

You nodded. “We’re very talented.”

Jack stared at you.

You smiled.

He rubbed one hand over his face. “Jesus Christ.”

You caught his wrist and pulled his hand away. “It doesn’t mean I’m not turned on.”

Jack gave you a skeptical look.

You squeezed his hand. “I mean everything I send you.”

His expression softened a fraction.

You continued, “If I tell you I want you, I want you.”

Jack watched you.

You brushed your thumb over his knuckles. “If I send you a picture, it’s because I want you to see it.”

His face eased another fraction.

You added, “I just might also be folding laundry.”

Jack’s expression immediately hardened again.

You laughed.

He pointed at you. “That.”

You grinned. “What?”

Jack looked genuinely pained. “That is exactly what I’m talking about.”

You tilted your head. “I don’t understand the problem.”

His eyebrows climbed. “You don’t understand the problem.”

You shook your head. “No.”

Jack stared at you like he was trying to decide where to begin. “You cannot tell a man you want his mouth between your legs and then immediately go fold towels.”

You shrugged. “Why not?”

His jaw tightened.

You waited.

Jack finally said, “There should be some kind of transition.”

You blinked. “A transition.”

He nodded firmly. “Yes.”

You felt another laugh threatening. “Between being horny and doing laundry.”

Jack pointed at you. “Exactly.”

That was enough to send you laughing again.

He watched you with deep offense. “I’m serious.”

You wiped beneath one eye. “I know. That’s why it’s funny.”

Jack shook his head. “This is unbelievable.”

You settled back against him. “You’re making it into a much bigger thing than it is.”

His arm came around your waist almost automatically, even while he glared at you. “I spent all night thinking you were lying here barely holding it together.”

You smiled. “I was horny.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “You were eating popcorn.”

You lifted one shoulder. “Horny people need snacks.”

His mouth opened. Then closed.

You grinned.

Jack looked away again.

You studied him for a moment before saying, “I promise you, this is not just me.”

He looked back at you. “You keep saying that like it makes me feel better.”

You smiled. “It should.”

Jack shook his head. “It does not.”

You reached toward the nightstand.

His eyes tracked the movement immediately.

Jack frowned. “What are you doing?”

You grabbed your phone. “Proving it.”

His expression changed. “No.”

You unlocked the screen. “Yes.”

Jack reached for the phone. “Absolutely not.”

You pulled it out of his reach, laughing. “Why?”

His eyes narrowed. “Because I don’t like the look on your face.”

You opened your messages. “I’m texting McKay.”

Jack stopped reaching. His whole expression fell.

“No,” he said.

You looked at him. “Why not?”

Jack pointed at the phone. “Do not involve McKay in this.”

You smiled. “She’ll tell you I’m right.”

His face twisted. “That is exactly what I’m afraid of.”

You started typing.

Jack leaned closer, trying to read over your shoulder. “What are you asking her?”

You angled the phone away. “None of your business.”

He stared at you. “It is literally my business.”

You laughed under your breath and finished the message.

You: Quick question. When you sext a guy are you usually actually doing something sexy or are you also doing completely unrelated shit?

You hit send.

Jack watched the screen like it contained test results.

You glanced at him. “Nervous?”

His eyes stayed on your phone. “No.”

You smiled. “You look nervous.”

Jack gave you a flat look. “I look tired.”

Your phone buzzed. You looked down.

McKay had answered.

Cassie: lmao unrelated shit.

Your entire face lit up.

Jack saw it. His expression dropped.

You turned the phone toward him triumphantly. “See?”

He read the message. Then he stared at it again.

Jack frowned. “That proves nothing.”

You laughed. “She literally just agreed with me.”

His finger pointed toward the screen. “That could mean anything.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What exactly do you think unrelated shit means?”

Jack looked at you. “Ask her for an example.”

You blinked. “Seriously?”

His expression was completely earnest. “Yes.”

You started laughing again. “You’re conducting a survey now?”

Jack folded one arm behind his head. “You said this was normal. I want data.”

You shook your head as you started typing. “You are insane.”

Jack watched your fingers move. “Ask her.”

You sent another message.

You: Jack wants an example. 

The reply came quickly.

Cassie: Last time I was sexting someone I was at Trader Joe’s.

You made a small victorious noise.

Jack’s face went blank.

You held the phone toward him. “Trader Joe’s.”

His eyes moved over the message.

Then he looked at you.

Jack asked slowly, “She was grocery shopping.”

You nodded, delighted. “Apparently.”

He stared at the phone again. “While sexting.”

You grinned. “That is what she said.”

Jack’s jaw tightened.

Then he pointed toward your phone. “Ask her what she was doing.”

You stared at him. “Jack.”

His eyes narrowed. “Ask.”

You laughed. “She was grocery shopping.”

Jack shook his head. “Specifically.”

You looked at him for another second.

Then you started typing.

You: He wants to know what you were doing specifically.

Jack watched the screen.

McKay answered almost immediately.

Cassie: Buying groceries???

You broke.

A laugh tore out of you so hard you had to curl forward.

Jack stared at the three question marks like they had personally insulted him.

You could barely breathe. “Oh my God.”

His expression tightened. “She doesn’t need to be an asshole about it.”

You looked at him through watering eyes. “She’s not.”

Jack pointed at the phone. “There are three question marks.”

You laughed harder.

Another message appeared.

Cassie: I think I was picking out yogurt when he sent me a dick pic.

You went completely silent.

Jack read over your shoulder. His entire face changed.

You looked at him. He looked at you.

Then Jack slowly leaned back against the headboard.

He stared straight ahead. “Yogurt.”

You pressed your lips together.

His eyes remained fixed on nothing. “She was picking out yogurt.”

You nodded solemnly. “That’s what she said.”

Jack exhaled through his nose.

You watched him try to recover.

Then your phone buzzed again.

Cassie: Why are you asking me this?

You smiled.

Jack immediately looked suspicious. “Don’t.”

You glanced at him. “I have to answer.”

His hand closed around your wrist. “You absolutely do not.”

You laughed and pulled free. “She asked.”

Jack watched in mounting horror as you typed.

You: Jack just found out I was watching Vanderpump eating popcorn and drinking wine while we were sexting last night and apparently he thought I was lying in bed touching myself the whole time.

You hit send.

Jack stared at you.

You looked up innocently. “What?”

His eyes widened. “You did not need to include all of that.”

You smiled. “Context matters.”

Jack’s jaw dropped slightly. “Now context matters?”

You immediately started laughing again.

He pointed at you. “Oh, that’s bullshit.”

Your phone buzzed.

You looked down.

Then your smile widened.

Jack saw it and groaned. “I don’t want to know.”

You turned the screen toward him anyway.

Cassie: Oh Abbot…

Jack closed his eyes.

You bit your lip. “She said—”

His hand came up. “I can read.”

You started laughing.

He kept his eyes closed. “I hate this.”

Another message appeared.

Cassie: Wait… did he think you were actually touching yourself the entire time 😭

You slowly looked over at him.

Jack opened his eyes.

You stared.

His expression became defensive immediately.

You lifted your eyebrows.

Jack pointed at you. “Don’t.”

Your mouth fell open in delighted realization. “Oh my God.”

His face tightened. “No.”

You pushed yourself up onto one elbow. “You did.”

Jack shook his head. “We already discussed this.”

You stared at him. “You actually thought I was touching myself between every message.”

His eyes narrowed. “Not every message.”

You grinned. “Most of them?”

Jack looked away.

You gasped dramatically.

His gaze snapped back to you. “Do not make this worse.”

You laughed. “Baby.”

Jack pointed at the phone. “Tell McKay to mind her business.”

You looked down and started typing.

His eyes widened. “I didn’t mean actually text her.”

You laughed as you sent the message.

You: He says mind your business.

McKay’s answer came almost instantly.

Cassie: Tell him welcome to women.

You made a strangled sound.

Jack snatched the phone out of your hand.

You collapsed against the pillows, laughing.

He read the message himself.

His jaw tightened.

Then he locked the screen and dropped your phone onto the mattress.

Jack stared toward the foot of the bed. “I was happier yesterday.”

You rolled toward him, still laughing. “You were ignorant yesterday.”

His head turned slowly toward you. “I was at peace.”

You tucked yourself closer against him. “You’ll recover.”

Jack’s arm tightened around your waist. “I don’t think I will.”

You smiled against his chest. “It’s really not that serious.”

Jack looked down at you. “I was hiding a boner in a hospital bathroom while you were eating popcorn.”

Jack stayed quiet for a few seconds after McKay’s last text.

Too quiet.

You knew that look.

It was the same one he got when he was trying to work through something complicated and had already decided he was not going to let it go until he understood every piece of it.

You shifted carefully against him. “What?”

Jack turned his head toward you. “How often has this happened?”

You frowned. “How often has what happened?”

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t.”

You bit back a smile. “I’m asking for clarification.”

Jack gave you a flat look. “How often have you been sexting me while doing something completely unrelated?”

You looked away.

His expression changed immediately.

Jack pushed himself higher against the pillows. “Oh, Jesus Christ.”

You laughed softly. “It’s not that bad.”

His eyebrows lifted. “You looked away.”

You frowned. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

Jack pointed at you. “It means there are examples.”

You pulled the sheet a little higher over your chest. “Maybe.”

His jaw tightened. “How many?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Jack stared at you. “You know.”

You smiled sheepishly. “I don’t keep a log.”

His expression went blank. “Apparently I should.”

You laughed.

Jack shifted onto his side to face you fully. “Give me one.”

You blinked. “One what?”

“One example,” Jack said, his hand settling at your waist.

You thought for a second.

That alone seemed to upset him.

His eyes widened slightly. “You have to choose?”

You laughed. “There have been a few.”

Jack closed his eyes.

You rubbed your hand over his chest. “Okay, okay.”

He opened them again.

You tried to remember. “One time I was at Target.”

Jack went still.

His hand stopped against your waist.

“You were at Target,” Jack repeated.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

His brow furrowed. “While we were sexting.”

You gave him a small shrug. “Apparently.”

Jack stared at you. “What were you doing at Target?”

You looked confused. “Shopping.”

His mouth flattened. “I understand the general purpose of Target.”

You laughed.

Jack pointed at you. “What were you shopping for?”

You thought about it. “I think shampoo.”

His face fell.

You grinned. “Maybe conditioner.”

Jack looked toward the ceiling.

You tried to help. “Could’ve been toothpaste.”

He turned his head back toward you. “Stop.”

You started laughing again.

Jack rubbed one hand over his face. “Which conversation was that?”

You froze.

His hand dropped.

Jack caught the expression immediately. “Oh, no.”

You bit your lip.

He stared at you. “Which one?”

You tried to wave him off. “I don’t remember.”

His eyes narrowed. “Bullshit.”

You laughed nervously. “There have been a lot of conversations, Jack.”

He shook his head. “That is not helping your case.”

You thought for another second. Then recognition hit. Your face must have given it away.

Jack pointed at you. “You remember.”

You winced. “Maybe.”

His voice dropped. “Tell me.”

You looked at him. “It might have been the wall one.”

Jack went completely still.

You immediately started laughing.

His expression turned almost wounded. “The wall one.”

You covered your mouth.

Jack stared at you. “You told me you wanted me to pin you against the wall.”

You nodded through your laughter.

His eyebrows rose. “From Target.”

You tried to defend yourself. “I meant it.”

Jack’s mouth opened. “You were buying shampoo.”

You shrugged. “And thinking about you.”

He stared at you for a long moment.

Then Jack shook his head. “Unbelievable.”

You smiled. “You asked.”

His eyes narrowed again. “Another one.”

Your smile faltered. “What?”

Jack shifted closer. “You said there were a few.”

You groaned. “Jack.”

His hand tightened around your waist. “Another one.”

You sighed dramatically and thought.

Then you remembered.

Your mouth twitched.

Jack immediately noticed. “What?”

You tried not to laugh. “I was painting my toenails once.”

His expression went blank.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

Jack stared at you. “Painting your toenails.”

You lifted one shoulder. “They needed it.”

His jaw tightened. “Which conversation?”

You looked away again.

Jack groaned. “For fuck’s sake.”

You laughed.

His fingers squeezed your side. “Tell me.”

You thought about it. “I think that was the night you were on shift and I told you I wanted you to—”

You stopped.

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Wanted me to what?”

You smiled. “You know.”

His face shifted. Then recognition hit him.

Jack stared at you. “No.”

You started laughing.

His eyes widened. “That one?”

You nodded.

Jack pushed himself upright. “You were painting your fucking toenails?”

You laughed harder. “Yes.”

His hand went to his chest. “I had to stop charting.”

You wiped beneath one eye. “I remember.”

His expression turned offended. “You remember?”

You nodded. “You told me.”

Jack stared at you. “And you were applying nail polish.”

You tried to explain. “I was waiting between coats.”

His mouth dropped open.

You immediately knew that had made it worse.

Jack pointed at you. “Between coats?”

You covered your face.

He shook his head in disbelief. “So I was losing my mind over you, and you were letting your toes dry.”

You laughed into your hands. “Basically.”

Jack leaned back against the headboard. “Jesus Christ.”

You peeked at him through your fingers.

He looked deeply, sincerely wounded.

You lowered your hands. “Do you want me to stop?”

Jack’s eyes snapped to yours. “No.”

You smiled.

His mouth tightened. “I want to know how bad this gets.”

That made you laugh again.

You settled against his shoulder. “You really don’t.”

Jack looked down at you. “I really do.”

You hesitated.

His suspicion returned instantly.

Jack’s brow furrowed. “There’s a worse one.”

You said nothing.

He stared at you.

Your mouth twitched.

Jack’s eyes widened. “There is.”

You tried to hide against his shoulder.

His arm tightened around you. “Tell me.”

You shook your head. “No.”

Jack pulled back just enough to see your face. “Now you have to.”

You started laughing. “You’re going to hate it.”

His expression went grim. “I already hate all of this.”

You took a breath.

Then you admitted, “One time I was getting my oil changed.”

Silence. Complete silence.

Jack stared at you. You stared back. His face did not move.

You started smiling.

Jack finally blinked. “You were what?”

You bit your lip. “Getting my oil changed.”

He looked genuinely stunned. “In your car?”

You laughed. “No, Jack. I was sitting in the waiting room.”

His expression darkened. “That is somehow worse.”

You tucked the sheet around yourself, already shaking with laughter.

Jack stared at you. “Which conversation?”

You immediately looked away.

His eyes closed.

He shook his head slowly. “Of course.”

You laughed. “I don’t know if you want to know.”

Jack opened his eyes. “I absolutely need to know.”

You thought for a second. Then your face warmed. His expression sharpened.

Jack pointed at you. “Oh, that’s bad.”

You tried to hide your smile. “It was pretty explicit.”

His jaw tightened. “Tell me.”

You glanced at him. “I think that was the kitchen counter one.”

Jack froze. You bit your lip. His mouth fell open.

Jack stared at you. “The kitchen counter.”

You nodded.

He looked almost personally injured. “You told me you wanted me to bend you over the kitchen counter.”

You gave him a small smile. “I did.”

Jack gestured helplessly. “While you were getting your oil changed.”

You started laughing again.

He stared at you in disbelief. “There were mechanics around.”

You shrugged. “They were in the garage.”

Jack’s eyes widened. “That is not the point.”

You laughed harder.

He leaned toward you. “You were sitting in one of those terrible little waiting rooms with the bad coffee and the daytime television.”

You nodded. “Pretty much.”

Jack’s expression turned horrified. “And sending me that.”

You shrugged. “I was bored.”

His mouth fell open.

You immediately covered your face because you knew what you had done.

Jack stared at you. “Bored.”

You laughed into your hands.

His voice rose slightly. “I thought you were so horny you couldn’t think straight.”

You lowered your hands. “I was horny.”

Jack pointed at you. “You were waiting for an oil change.”

You laughed. “Those things can coexist.”

His eyes narrowed. “They should not.”

You curled into his side, still grinning.

Jack shook his head slowly. “Unbelievable.”

You pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “You asked for examples.”

His arm wrapped around you automatically.

Jack stared toward the foot of the bed. “I wish I hadn’t.”

You smiled against his skin.

A few seconds passed.

Then Jack looked down at you again.

His expression was suspicious.

You lifted your head. “What now?”

He studied you. “How often are you actually touching yourself when we sext?”

You froze. 

Jack saw it. His eyes widened.

You started to laugh.

He pointed at you. “No.”

You bit your lip.

Jack shook his head. “No, no, no.”

You tucked your face against his chest.

His hand slid up your back. “Sweetheart.”

You mumbled against his skin, “Sometimes.”

Jack went completely still.

You felt his chest rise beneath your cheek.

Then his voice came out dangerously calm. “Sometimes.”

You lifted your head carefully. “Yes.”

His expression was devastated.

You tried to reassure him. “That doesn’t mean I’m not turned on.”

Jack stared at you. “I know.”

You blinked.

His mouth flattened. “That is no longer the issue.”

You started laughing again.

Jack pointed toward you. “The issue is that I have apparently been constructing elaborate scenarios in my head while you’re wandering through Target.”

You grinned. “Not always Target.”

His eyes narrowed.

You immediately regretted that.

Jack shook his head. “I don’t want any more examples.”

You smiled sweetly. “Good.”

He looked at you for another long moment.

Then his expression shifted into something almost solemn.

Jack said, “From now on, I’m asking.”

You frowned. “Asking what?”

His hand settled firmly on your hip. “What you’re doing.”

You started laughing.

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Every time.”

You shook your head. “You cannot interrogate me every time I send you something dirty.”

His expression stayed completely serious. “Watch me.”

You grinned. “That’s ridiculous.”

Jack gave your hip a small squeeze. “I need context now.”

You laughed. “You ruined sexting for yourself.”

He stared at you. “You ruined sexting for me.”

You leaned up and kissed him. “You’ll survive.”

Jack kissed you back before pulling away just enough to look at you.

His mouth twitched despite himself. “Next time I get a picture, I want to know what’s outside the frame.”

You smiled. “That sounds dangerous.”

Jack’s eyebrow lifted. “So is Target, apparently.”

A week later, Jack was standing in the grocery store with one hand on the cart and the other holding his phone when your name lit up across the screen.

He looked down at it. Then immediately narrowed his eyes.

Your first message was innocent enough.

You: Miss you…

Jack’s mouth twitched. He typed back with one thumb.

Jack: Miss you too.

Your reply came almost instantly.

You: How much…?

Jack stopped beside a display of pasta sauce. He stared at the screen. 

Then he looked around the aisle like the answer might somehow be hidden between marinara and vodka sauce.

His phone buzzed again.

You: Because I can think of a few ways you could prove it…

Jack’s eyebrows lifted.

There it was.

He looked at the message for another second before typing.

Jack: Nice try.

The little typing bubble appeared.

You: Excuse me?

Jack pushed the cart forward again.

Jack: I don’t trust this anymore.

Your reply came back immediately.

You: You don’t trust me???

Jack snorted under his breath.

Jack: I don’t trust the circumstances.

There was a pause.

Then your next message appeared.

You: Oh my god.

Jack smiled to himself as he turned into the next aisle.

Jack: What are you doing right now?

The typing bubble appeared again. Stopped. Started. Then your answer came through.

You: Seriously?

Jack reached for a box of crackers.

Jack: Very.

Another pause. Then:

You: You’re never letting this go, are you??

Jack dropped the crackers into the cart.

Jack: You sent me a picture of your tits in fuzzy socks and eye patches while watching Vanderpump Rules.

Your response came back almost immediately.

You: You couldn’t SEE the fuzzy socks!!!

Jack shook his head.

Jack: Material context.

A few seconds passed. Then his phone buzzed again.

This time, it was a picture.

Jack stopped walking. Completely.

The cart rolled another few inches before he caught it.

There you were.

In bed.

Actually in bed.

Sheets rumpled around you.

Hair loose over the pillow.

And wearing the little black set.

The one he had spent that entire night imagining.

Jack stared at the screen.

Then stared a little longer.

Your next message appeared beneath it.

You: There. Full context.

Jack swallowed. Another message followed.

You: In bed. black set. No fuzzy socks. No popcorn. No Vanderpump.

Then:

You: Happy?

Jack looked down at the cart.

Then back at the picture.

His jaw tightened.

He typed carefully.

Jack: Very.

Your reply came through.

You: Good.

Jack started moving again, though considerably slower now.

He made it approximately ten feet before your next message arrived.

You: Want another one?

Jack stopped beside the frozen vegetables.

He closed his eyes.

Then opened them again.

Jack: You know I’m in public.

Your answer came instantly.

You: You asked for context…

Jack stared at the message.

Then another picture appeared.

You had slipped the bra off this time, one arm positioned just carefully enough across yourself while your other hand rested low against the black lace at your hips, fingertips hooked teasingly along the waistband. 

He inhaled sharply and immediately angled his phone toward his chest.

A woman pushing a cart past him gave him a vaguely curious look.

Jack cleared his throat and pretended to be deeply interested in frozen peas.

You apparently sensed weakness.

You: Still shopping?

Jack typed back.

Jack: Unfortunately.

Your reply appeared.

You: What are you buying?

Jack looked down at the bag currently in his hand.

He sighed.

Jack: Peas.

There was a pause. Then:

You: Oh my god

Jack’s eyes narrowed.

Jack: Don’t.

Your next message came through.

You: Jack Abbot is sexting me while holding frozen peas…

Jack put the bag into the cart with more force than necessary.

Jack: I am not sexting you.

The typing bubble appeared.

You: You’re standing in the frozen aisle staring at a topless picture of me…

Jack stared at the screen.

Your next message came through.

You: That feels pretty involved.

Jack pushed the cart toward the dairy section.

Jack: I’m leaving soon.

You replied:

You: Look at you multitasking!

Jack stopped.

He stared at that message for several seconds.

Then slowly looked around the grocery store.

Cart. Shopping list. Phone. A picture of you in black lace still open on the screen.

His face fell.

“Oh, fuck,” Jack muttered under his breath.

A man reaching for cottage cheese glanced over.

Jack ignored him.

Jack typed back with considerably more irritation than the situation warranted.

Jack: Now I’m the one sexting while grocery shopping.

The typing bubble appeared immediately. Then disappeared. Then appeared again.

Jack could practically hear you laughing.

Your reply finally came through.

You: WELCOME TO WOMEN

Jack closed his eyes.

He could picture your face perfectly.

That smug little smile.

The laugh you were almost certainly trying to contain.

He typed back.

Jack: I hate you.

Your response appeared.

You: No you don’t.

Jack reached for a gallon of milk.

Jack: No. I really don’t.

Another message followed.

You: Awww

Jack put the milk in the cart.

Jack: Don’t make this sentimental.

Your reply came instantly.

You: Sorry baby.

Then:

You: Still want me?

Jack stared at the question. Then at the picture above it. He typed back.

Jack: You know I do.

Your next message appeared.

You: Then hurry home.

Jack immediately turned the cart toward the registers.

He made it three steps before his phone buzzed again.

You: Wait!

Jack stopped. His eyes narrowed suspiciously before he opened the message.

You: Don’t forget milk!

Jack looked down at the gallon sitting in his cart.

Then he typed back.

Jack: Already got it.

Your reply came through.

You: Wow.

Then:

You: Sexting AND grocery shopping.

And finally:

You: I’m so proud of you!

Jack stared at the screen.

His jaw worked. Then he typed:

Jack: I liked you better before I knew any of this.

Your answer came back almost immediately.

You: No you didn’t.

Jack looked at the picture again.

No.

He absolutely did not.

He pushed the cart toward the checkout and typed one final message.

Jack: Black set stays on.

Your reply came through before he even reached the register.

You: Yes doctor…

Jack stopped walking.

His eyes closed. For fuck’s sake.

A week ago, he had considered sexting while grocery shopping an unforgivable offense.

Now he was standing in the dairy aisle with a hard-on and a gallon of milk.

Karma, apparently, was a bitch.

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