Summary: The mustache is gone and you're not happy about it.
Pairing: Jack Mcbain x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 500+
Warnings: pre-established relationship, a tiny bit angsty
A/N: gif credit to @hat-trick-honey <3 I know Lottie will like this one...another rewrite, another small one. Enjoy!! <3
"Love, come on, you can't still be mad at me?”
"I'm not mad at you.”
"Oh, yeah?" Jack chuckles, observing you, watching you closely, as he stands at the foot of your bed. You were sat up on your side, with your back pressed against the headboard, arms folded tightly across your chest, but more importantly, you still bore the same pout you produced when Jack came through the front door, returning home from another road trip. "Then why am I not seeing that award-winning smile of yours?" He asks, grinning when your eyes flicker to his broad chest as he removes his shirt. He crumbles it up and tosses it off to the side, done because he knows it'll get some sort of reaction from you. "I've missed that smile.”
"Flattery won't make me forgive you.” You turn your head away, peeking out the corner of your eyes. “And don't think you're getting into this bed without picking your shirt up first.”
He kneels on the edge of your bed, ignoring your order, finding only amusement in your current situation. You had barely uttered a word in his direction since he came home, displeased by the disappearance of the mustache he had been sporting when he had left. Were you being dramatic? Possibly.
"Babe-" A hearty burst of laughter escapes from the pit of his stomach as you shush him, your hand thrown up to further silence him. "Sweetheart, it's just a mustache," Jack says, sitting back onto his heels, "it'll grow back, it's how these things work.”
"But I like the mustache," you fired back, unfolding your arms, letting them slump in your lap. With it, he looks like he could've stepped out of the country/cowboy romances you were guilty of filling your Kindle with.
"Do you like it because of how it looks on me?" Jack raises the question, a grin tugging on the corners of his lips. "Or do you just like how it feels-”
"Yes, I like how you look with a mustache, and, yes, it feels nice against my thighs," you cut him off before he has a chance to finish, "but that is not the point I'm trying to make." The pout grows bigger as he shuffles up the bed to you, kneeling at your side, chuckling as you still continue in your refusal to look at him. "You could've warned me," you mumble, it might've softened the disappointment, "it's like you've come back a whole different person."
"You wanted me to have warned you that I had shaved?" Another quick burst of laughter spills from his lips, growing louder as you finally look his way, turning to glare at him. He leans in, quickly pecking your lips before you have a chance to turn her head away again. "You know how quickly it grows back," Jack notes, brushing your hair back from your neck. He nuzzles his face into your neck, and you try not to break as he kisses you softly. "We'll wake up tomorrow and half of it would've already grown back.”
"Better have," you mutter, pushing him away, before moving to lie down, "or else I'm using my makeup and giving you a mustache myself."
YAY! So idk if you know but Jack is a fighter. What about a lowkey hand kink? kissing his bruised knuckles and him going down on reader but linking their fingers together as he holds her down. lots of hickeys as well basically like “the bruises i leave on you are better”
warnings: unprotected p in v, butt stuff (no penetration, it's like titty fucking but with your ass cheeks. ass job?), fingering, sucking on fingers, whatnot. the works.
pairing: jack mcbain x fem!reader
wc: 3,683
fun fact: this is the last fic with my old header. finding pictures for every fic (without re-using any) got to be too difficult. starting next fic you will see an artsy header i made entirely on canva <3 i may not be a photoshop queen but i, at least, think it looks nice. everyone please say goodbye to this header because she served us well over the past 1.75 years!
“Baby,” you say with a deep frown, examining Jack’s knuckles under the light.
He feigns a pained hiss when your thumb passes over the infinitesimal slit on his third knuckle, then grins at you when you look up to check on him.
“Did you have to fight tonight?” you ask. You gently touch your lips to the ridges on the back of his hand, as if you can kiss the injury better.
“It doesn’t even hurt,” Jack tells you, laughing lightly. He shakes his hand free from your grip and wraps his arms around you in a tight hug, your face smushed against his chest. His center rumbles with his next words, proud and goofy. “You were worried about me.”
You groan into his soft cotton t-shirt. Jack loves that you worry about him, wears it like a badge of honor, and sometimes you think he gets into trouble during games just so you’ll fuss over him later.
“You were turned on, too,” Jack adds in a low voice, “Weren’t you?”
You pull back and stare at him, unsure what to say.
You think back a few hours, when you were sitting in the crowd and looking up at the jumbotron as Jack carelessly tossed his stick and gloves aside after the draw and went after that Flames player. The fight was brief, only a few seconds long, but the cameraman had gotten a good shot of Jack’s bearded face and the scab along the bridge of his nose while he sized the other man up and decided his best approach. You recall how he sniffed and shook the tension out of his shoulders before tying up with his opponent and swinging. When they showed him in the box, eyes narrowed and mouth scowling, you couldn’t deny the urge to squeeze your thighs together and bite your lower lip. Jack must have noticed your lingering glances in the car.
A slow smile spreads over his face. “Weren’t you?” Jack repeats, his eyes flickering over your full body.
Nothing comes out when you open your mouth to respond, lips parted in surprise from being called out, but quirked up at the corners. The miniature, subtle smile reveals your truth.
“I knew it,” Jack confirms in a smug voice. He wastes no time, sweeping you into his arms and beginning the short trek down the hall to your bedroom. “You got hot, huh, baby? Had to cross your legs so no one could tell how badly you actually wanted to spread them?”
“Jack,” you laugh, but you don’t challenge his statement. You toss your arms over his shoulders for leverage, then nuzzle the thick column of his neck. His beard is scratchy against your nose, the coarse hairs rubbing your skin the wrong way.
“No, no, you don’t have to pretend with me,” Jack continues, nearly boasting now. He pushes the bedroom door open with his elbow and muscles through the frame. “I know how dirty your mind is.”
“It’s not as dirty as yours,” you reply. Your back hits the mattress of your shared king-sized bed and Jack spreads your knees with his large hands.
Jack just hums in lieu of a response, already nuzzling your inner thighs as he makes quick work of your pants. His fighting hands drag your bottoms down your legs and then smooth up the recently shaved skin. He squeezes the meat of your thighs and fits his hands around your hips as his lips near the edge of your panties, a light kiss brushing the junction where your leg meets your abdomen. He licks a long strip over your slit, eyes peering up at you, before he removes your panties.
You don’t know where it comes from, but Jack has always had a Thing for eating you out over your panties. Sometimes it lasts minutes and other times, like today, Jack is satisfied with spending only a few seconds with your clothed core. Maybe it’s impatience rather than satisfaction that has him peeling your panties away after that initial lick.
He descends on your cunt before he can even get your panties all the way down, sucking your clit into his mouth and contentedly grunting when you gasp. He rolls your sensitive bud against his tongue until you’re clenching around nothing, muscles tense and heart rate erratic. At the same time, he absentmindedly plays with your entrance.
Jack’s fingertips spread your lower lips and dip into your wetness, the pads of his fingers skimming the expanse of your pussy. He circles your tight hole with the tip of his middle digit but doesn’t push past yet.
Your fingers go to his dark hair, strands spiking up between your knuckles like grass growing between slabs of concrete beside the road. Your hips roll, out of your control, begging Jack to fill you wordlessly.
“Ow,” Jack mumbles, shaking his head between your thighs until you loosen your grip. “Too tight, baby. Be nice.” His injured, bruised, unsightly hand travels over your waist with his words, then jumps to your wrist. Jack moves your hand so it’s extending away from your body, then he intertwines your fingers.
The back of your hand presses into the mattress and Jack’s red, scraped knuckles are on display for your hooded, fluttering eyes, which have been drawn by the movement. Jack gives your hand a squeeze and continues his task, reattaches his smart pink lips to your slippery pussy.
With his eyes closed, Jack’s tongue flicks over your clit rapidly. His middle finger dares to invade your cunt, pumping methodically into your depths and back out.
It’s not enough, but it’s so good– you’re torn between either tossing your head back and grinding against Jack’s face or craning your neck to see the way your slick clings to his facial hair. Jack’s messiness and devotion to drawing an orgasm out of you with just his tongue and one finger makes him all the more attractive. His dark features grow clouded and his face flushes from how turned on he is, not to mention how he groans and growls each time you moan or whimper.
Your thighs tremble, squeezing his head between your thick, plush muscles. Jack can hardly breathe, you know it, but his wanton moan sends vibrations up your body and leaves you squeaking between gasps.
He never parts from you for long, never moves his lips from your clit unless he needs to breathe. His long, spindly finger pumps inside of you, stroking your inner walls patiently and pointedly, with one thing in mind. Jack’s persistence is what draws you over the edge. Your body arcs into Jack, free hand once again finding his hair. Your intertwined hands are tightly locked, knuckles white, Jack’s minor cuts and scrapes blooming a renewed red. He grounds you. He has something else in store for you, you know it, but he wants this first climax to leave you drawn out and pent up.
You gnaw on your bottom lip as Jack sucks harshly around your clit, his rhythmic wet slurping harassing your ears more than the foreign, high-pitched whines and “Oh”s that fall from your lips.
You sound desperate, feel suspended above the ground, and Jack curls his middle finger to touch your spongy sweet spot.
It unravels you, hips bucking upward as you come. Jack’s finger continues to thrust inside of you, accompanying you through each tremor until your breathing has evened again.
It’s only then that Jack pulls away from you, his ring finger joining its brother and stretching your entrance.
“You like my bruises,” Jack muses, his statement trailing off like he has more to add, half-smirking up at you before turning his head and mouthing over your inner thigh. He nibbles the cellulite there, his smile heating your skin.
Before you know it, he’s kissed over both of your thighs, leaving small nips and hickeys behind like animal print.
Jack moves up to your hips and abdomen, marking you over and over.
It tickles, but you try to stay still beneath Jack. Each kiss is wrapped in love, like a little present, and each blemish is a reminder of that affection.
You giggle as Jack makes his way to your underboob, laughing fondly at the way he takes your supple skin into your mouth and lathes his tongue along the underside of your breast. He’s sweet, and his eyes are closed like he’s in heaven, leaving a few more marks on your chest before he makes his way up to your neck.
Now your eyes roll back, closing in pleasure. Jack’s hot breath washes over your skin and pollutes the air between you with unadulterated lust. His licking is zealous, suction needy, and your hand cradling the back of his head and holding him in place is no less insistent.
With his free hand, Jack guides your leg over his hip. His cock probes your entrance and you look down in surprise. When did he have the time to take his pants off? You didn't notice, probably too swept up in your orgasm and his kissing, but you welcome the hot rod in. It slides past your slick rim into your depths and Jack breathes out a long, relieved, satisfied sigh.
Your jaw drops open in a silent moan. You’ve never gotten used to the way Jack fills you, your walls clamping down on his length in order to keep him inside as long as possible.
He starts to thrust, slowly at first. He wants your attention more than anything else. You can tell by the way his lips nudge your own, poised mere millimeters apart.
“And I like yours,” Jack says, finally finishing the start of his sentence from before he started kissing up your body reverently. His hips speed up, his hard thrusts going through you like electrical shocks.
You moan aloud, connecting his sentences together despite the fact that there was so much time between them. Of course Jack likes when you’re marked up– he’s always the one biting you until a blemish stays, not the other way around. You do your fair share of kissing and sucking and mouthing over the long, hard, sculpted planes of his body, but Jack takes all the more time to worship you.
Jack’s hands roam over your torso. He palms your breasts, squishing the soft flesh a few times for good measure.
You giggle against his mouth and squeeze his biceps. “What else do you like about me?” you tease, goading Jack into giving you compliments. “I know there’s a lot, too much to list probably…”
“Hm, you’re funny,” Jack murmurs. He kisses you deeply and his fingertips trail over your collarbones and shoulders, making their way to your wrists and hands. He interlocks your fingers with his and raises your hands over your head, pushing them into the soft surface beneath you.
“But do you like it?”
He breathes out a laugh and thrusts hard into your core, your stomach reeling from the force behind his movement. “I love it. Love how much you worry about me and how you take care of me, love how you take me, fuck, love how you sound, how you taste… everything, baby, everything.”
“I love your hands,” you whisper, tongue rolling into his. “Even when they’re bruised and red and messy.”
“Especially when,” Jack corrects, half-interrupting you. He taps your nose with his own, an affectionate nudge that makes you blush.
“Wish they were on me all the time,” you continue softly.
Jack hums appreciatively, shifting your position. You go from missionary to on your side and he fills you again, his vigor renewed. Your body feels like a twisting gnarl of heat and nerves, your arm hair standing on end. Jack’s cockhead presses deep inside you, its bulbous shape bullying your inner walls. Your eyes roll back and Jack’s mouth descends on yours. You’re oversensitive. The responsive bundle between your legs aches and begs to be touched. Jack answers its call, sliding his palm over your hip before diving into the action.
“Jack,” you mewl. Sweat beads on your hairline.
“‘S okay,” Jack assures you. He taps your clit with his fingertip. “So good, sweet girl. Want you to moan for me, be loud, honey, let me hear you.”
“Please, harder,” you say. “Talk to me, J.”
“Don’t need to,” he says. He kisses your cheek, positioning his mouth right next to your ear. “Listen. Don’t you hear her? Your pussy is making enough noise for the both of us.”
The smacking between your bodies is loud, you’ll give him that. Your breaths, and his, fill the room, but you want more. You want his low, rumbling voice to wash over your skin and creep through your orifices until it fills your body and overflows from you.
“Need it,” you reiterate, blinking widely over your shoulder.
Jack’s lips curl into a slow smile and he softens. Guiding you onto your stomach while he remains inside, Jack pushes one of your legs into a high bend. Your knee digs into the mattress, parallel with your ribcage. Jack swats your behind, a slight stinging heat lingering on your supple skin. Then, he plasters himself to your back and pounds into you, lips poised at your jaw.
“I saw you,” he whispers, then kisses your neck delicately. “In the stands while I was in the box. Saw you bite your nail when you looked at the screen. You always do that when you’re trying not to be obvious.” His voice drops and his teeth find your earlobe, nibbling. “Distracted me. Couldn’t stop thinking about what I wanted to do with you.”
“Didn’t you have a game to play?”
“Hey, I locked in,” Jack jokes. He pinches your bottom lip with his thumb and forefinger gently, fondly. “But for five minutes… you know what I kept thinking?”
“Hm, what?” Your voice breaks on your second word, clenching down on Jack’s next thrust.
His middle two fingers enter your mouth. He settles on your tongue and gags you with them, a pleased smirk on his face. A kiss falls behind your ear. “This.”
You make a pleased sound around his fingers, sucking around the long digits.
“You make such a big stink about not liking my fights, but you have this fixation with my fingers,” Jack murmurs in a low, soothing voice. “You always want them in you, baby. In your pussy, in your mouth. I make them pretty for you, you know.”
“Pretty, huh?” you ask, words muffled and garbled beneath his touch. “They’re battered.”
Jack thrusts his fingers down your throat, dangerously close to triggering your gag reflex. He fills you entirely from the other end as well, knocking the breath from you as his cock pounds against your cervix. “Don’t talk back,” he says. “I know you better than anyone. You think my hands are pretty, especially when they’re like this.”
You bite your tongue and focus on the sensations running through your being. Jack’s hips work into you like a strong beat, your muscles stiff yet shaky and your pleasure wholly under Jack’s mercy. Your body doesn’t feel like yours when he’s fucking you, rather, it feels like his. Jack knows where you need to be touched, how you need to be spoken to, how you need to be held in this moment. You belong entirely to him, and though you’re not giving him the exact same comfort he’s giving you, you can tell that he has given himself entirely back to you.
“Fuck, baby, sucking my fingers so sweet,” Jack praises. He nibbles the shell of your ear and tilts his hips to fuck into you deeper. “You feel so good. Love how tight you are, so warm around me, babe. Feel like it’s the first time every time, you never– mmph– shit, you always squeeze me just right.”
“Oh, Jack,” you mewl. Your pelvis has started moving in slight circles, your form working unconsciously to bring you to your highest peak.
“That’s my girl,” Jack coos. “That’s all I want to hear, my name falling from those pretty lips.”
Repeating yourself, you fall into Jack’s gravitational pull. You immerse yourself in a rush of shooting white stars and the chill that you’ve started to associate with Jack, cold hands and feet and the tip of his nose against your neck. He’s always cold from the rink, but it doesn’t take long to warm back up, not when you’ve got the perfect nook for him to fit into.
Jack’s free hand glances over your hip, skims your waist. You feel his touch like a line of fuel igniting from a single match. He sketches the planes of your body, lingering in your softer spots and teasing the thin skin over your ribs and collarbones. His long form comes to a rest behind you, both of you laying on your sides, and you lean back into his torso. Jack plants a kiss squarely on the back of your neck and tugs your nipple with a deft pair of fingers, flinging you from the precipice of your orgasm with a mere twist.
You’re wracked with shivers and quivers as you come, trembling in Jack’s arms. He’s taken you under his wing and carefully surrounded you in a strong refuge, all the while touching his lips to your racing pulse.
“Angel,” Jack whispers. He says it again, slower, softer. “Angel.”
You know he means you, and you quite feel like one: floating above the Earth with the gravity of your world keeping you tethered to this plane from behind.
Jack breathes with you through your come-down.
You realize, through the haze of it all, but Jack is still hard inside of you. That he hasn’t come. That he leaks into you and that his jaw is tight against your shoulder, the vein on his forehead bulging with the effort to restrain himself.
He retracts himself from your heat with a grimace, which you can feel against the back of your head, and his cock is slippery and visibly wet after fucking you to climax.
You make a disgruntled noise, whining at the loss. “Not fair,” you mumble.
Jack lets out a breathy chuckle and fits his cock between the globes of your ass. “You came,” he teases. “Don’t tell me about fair. It’s my turn.”
He starts to rut between your cheeks, self-indulgent and slow. His exhale tickles the peach-fuzz on your neck. You’re warm. Comfortable. Secure.
“Feels so fucking good, baby,” Jack says in his low, gravelly voice. He holds his hands on your behind, pushing your glutes together into a tight, plush space just for him to enjoy. He isn’t doing anything more, but you can tell from his pleased groans that he doesn’t need anything more.
Your pussy clenches on nothing when Jack’s pelvis meets your ass, as if anticipating every thrust. You expect to feel it deep inside of you, but you don’t, and that unsettles you… but you can’t say that you hate it. Especially not when Jack’s hand trails down your body, fingers still wet with your spit, and starts to circle your clit.
His hips move quicker, jaw dropping at the same time yours does. You moan in tandem. You curl into each other simultaneously, your back arching and head lolling onto Jack’s shoulder. His lips catch on your neck and then his teeth graze your pulse point.
Jack’s cock twitches, then you feel thick, hot stripes of cum spurt across your skin. He releases a shattered sound, biting your skin to stifle himself. It stings, but his tongue soothes the indentations as he trembles through the aftershocks of his orgasm.
Jack’s fingers never stop moving over your sensitive, slick bundle of nerves.
“Let go,” he nudges in a soft voice. “One more, with my fingers on you.”
You succumb to him immediately. A rush passes through your body and unravels the pit deep inside your abdomen. Even with your eyes squeezed shut, you can see stars. They twinkle and glint at you against a dark background and it takes a while, longer than you realize, to catch your breath.
By the time you come back to him, Jack has reached past you to grab a tissue from the box on the nightstand. He’s cleaning your thighs meticulously, peering over your shoulder and kissing each freckle that dots your skin.
You find the hand splayed over your hip and fit your fingers between Jack’s. You duck your head to look at the perfect fit you’ve created. Your favorite puzzle is the way these ten digits link together.
Jack notices you staring and smirks, laughing to himself silently, but oh-so fondly. He peppers your body with pecks, turning you onto your back and settling between your thighs. He pushes your legs apart and cleans between your thighs. His thumb skims the inside of your leg in soothing passes.
“How was that?” Jack asks. “Everything you wanted?”
You nod. “And more.”
“Mm.” He nuzzles your stomach. “Glad to be of service.”
“No more fighting,” you murmur.
Jack hides a smile against your belly. “Yes, more fighting,” he replies. “It makes you hot. The more penalty minutes, the better.”
“You’re silly,” you tease, threading your fingers through his messy hair and smiling down at your doting boyfriend. “I don’t think Coach wants you in the box all the time, honey.”
“Coach likes when I stick up for the boys,” Jack says. He blows a raspberry into the curve of your waist. “I’m the muscle of the Mammoth.”
You toss your head back with laughter. “Right,” you say. “With this big body.”
“I’m big,” Jack insists. He crawls up your body and lays against you. “You just felt how big I am. You loved it.”
“I suppose I do.” You pick at the scabs on his knuckles and pucker your lips to kiss him for a final time tonight. “Thank you for thinking of me,” you add in a whisper, looping your arms around Jack’s neck and hugging him.
“Always,” Jack promises.
a/n: started writing this after the first mammoth/flames game when klapka and mcbain fought heavy. didn't finish it 'til december. had to schedule it for farther out! so sorry this wasn't on theme guys but that's ok <3 xo
Summary: Y/n makes a TikTok using the “This is my emergency contact” trend, featuring chaotic, lovable clips of Jack.
Words: 505
Y/n hadn’t expected the trend to suit him so well. But after watching a few videos titled “This is my emergency contact,” she couldn’t not think of Jack.
It wasn’t just that he was her boyfriend - it was the sheer Jack-ness of him. Loud, lovable, protective, constantly hungry, and unpredictable.
So, she started putting together videos of those moments.
The first clip was simple: Jack bursting into their shared apartment, breathless with excitement, balancing three bulk-sized Costco boxes in his arms while Dylan trailed behind, visibly defeated.
“Babe!” Jack yelled. “We didn’t even need paper towels, but it was such a good deal.”
Y/n flipped the camera to Dylan, who mouthed, “Help.”
Then came the footage of Jack trying to cook. He set off the smoke alarm twice, accidentally burned everything, and still somehow managed to smile like Gordon Ramsay at the final product. “Honestly? Not bad,” he said proudly, holding up a half-burnt grilled cheese.
Another clip showed Jack yelling out of their car window because someone cut them off. “YOUR BLINKER EXISTS FOR A REASON, KAREN!” Then, immediately turning to Y/n with the softest voice ever: “Do you want to grab a coffee?”
In another video, he visited Y/n at work while he was returning from Costco.
Jack: “I’ve made a mistake.”
Y/N: “What did you do?”
Jack: “I went there for protein bars and ended up buying a kayak. I think it’ll come in handy in summer.”
Another clip showed Jack at a park, yelling at a bird that flew by and stole his hotdog.
Then came the hockey clips, the ones that really made the whole thing hit. One showed Jack slamming into the glass, wild grin on his face as he skated to the bench. Another had him tossing his gloves mid-game, not for a fight, but to give a kid in the stands a puck. The most chaotic? Him crashing into the boards during warmup because he was waving at Y/n and not looking where he was going.
Y/n stood in front of the mirror, phone in hand. “Jack?” she called.
He appeared in the doorway, shirt half-tucked, holding a random jug of juice and a stuffed animal from Costco. “What’s up?”
She smiled. “You’re my emergency contact.”
He paused, then set everything down. “Wait… seriously?”
Y/n nodded.
Jack blinked, then crossed the room to kiss her forehead. “I’ll always be your emergency contact,” he murmured. “Even if I have no idea what I’m doing, I’ll figure it out.”
That night, they watched the video go viral. Comments flooded in:
“This is the perfect mix of chaos and comfort.”
“I want a McBain in my life so bad.”
“Dylan deserves a peace prize 😭”
“HE BOUGHT A KAYAK AND A STUFFED BEAR. I LOVE HIM.”
Jack pretended to be smug, scrolling through the comments.
But later that night, when Y/n leaned her head on his chest and whispered, “Thanks for being mine,” he kissed her hair and said quietly, “Always. Even when I’m 90 and yelling at birds.”
v' album
pairing: Jack McBain x fem!reader
summary: when you finally moved on with your life after breakup with jack, he's back in her life
warnings: mention of sex (nothing graphic)
After graduation, you escaped Boston and the ghosts of the past. You moved from the east to the west wing. You went to Salt Lake City. Far away from your college and from hockey. The change of environment was something needed and you finally thought it might be helping.
In Boston you’ve been dating Jack. He was a great guy until one day, he suddenly changed. He was less caring and less interested in you. He hadn't broken up with you, he was taking you for granted. You let him. You were blindly in love but closer to the end, you made the call and dumped him.
Jack didn’t fight back for you. He just accepted this and let you go. He was hurt inside and he knew he’s the one to blame but he wasn’t gonna fight for this relationship when he saw that you’re already made your decision.
In Utah, you had a fresh start. You didn’t know anyone and you were all alone. Lucky for you, people at your work and your neighbours were really nice. You started going out more, at least once a week having dinner in a restaurant. During weekends, you could be often spotted in a bar.
Years later, you were a successful woman. Excellent in your work field and with lovely people around you. You were standing on your two feet grateful for how your life turned out. The only thing that you were missing was a boyfriend. Your friends tried to set you up on dates but you never had been interested.
You could confess that you’re not that versatile. You were saying that you’re good without a partner but you might be in denial. You just couldn’t trust anyone. In the back of your head you had the thought that after some time, the guy will lose his interest in you and again, you’ll be taken for granted.
One sunny April day turned your life around. You woke up and like always you went to make yourself a cup of coffee. When you grabbed your phone to check messages you saw a name that you hoped to never see again. Jack.
You wanted to ignore it but the curiosity why he is texting you after all those years won. You saw the message and your phone fell from your hand. He was coming to Salt Lake City. He was about to appear in your life again. After you ran away, he caught you.
It took you a couple days to respond. You decided to act like an adult and texted him back that you’d love to help him. You started thinking about the good days in your relationship and how you two actually broke up because of the lack of communication rather than anything bad.
You helped Jack in his new house, you showed him all of your favorite spots to go out and eat. This was supposed to be one thing. You were telling yourself that you two would never be a thing together. Although life had different plans. Jack was texting you and you always answered.
It’s not even been a month when you ended up in a bed with Jack. He knew your body perfectly and the sex was great, just like you remembered. Almost like you never broke up. This is how your life is looking like now. You and Jack had been seeing each other and hooking up but nothing bonding.
Shut it down that you tried a couple of times and didn't work out. Each time you were telling him that this is the last time. That you can’t do it anymore. Then he was coming around. He didn’t even have to try to convince you. You were always there when you saw a notification from him.
You wanted to burn the steam in the gym. It’s been three months and you couldn’t escape it. The gym had been your getaway from every problem. You felt like this was the only place where you could be with yourself and no one could bother you. After your workout, you saw a text from Jack. He needed help with decorating the house for thanksgiving. You told him that you’ll be there in 30 minutes.
How’d I get from the gym to your couch? Oh how? That’s what you’ve been asking yourself. You should be in a store with him, buying all the cheap decorations. Instead you’ve been laying naked next to him in his living room. You didn’t move, you just sighed defeated.
When you got back home, you knew it had to end. This whole situation was draining you but you missed Jack. Maybe you still loved him. You’ve been thinking about this scenario and you couldn’t find an answer to this.
You tried to call him off like a bad habit but you kept coming back like a revolving door. You were saying to everyone that you couldn’t want him less, that this is nothing but in reality you just wanted him more. After each of that kind of conversation, you’d run to him and hope that maybe you’ll see how bad this is.
Jack liked you. He still had feelings towards you so when knew that he’s moving to the same city you’ve been living in, he knew he had to fight for you. He had to do this after he let you go. He never put any pressure on you and he didn’t have any idea how difficult it might be for you to call him off. You mentioned this once but then you were back in his arms so he treated this as some kind of a joke.
Jack changed your mind so much that it became exhausting. But you wanted him, you missed him. You still thought about that night out in Boston when you two had met. He was the charming, silly guy that made you laugh the whole night. All the three years you spent together were the best years of your life. You couldn’t let him go away like you did last time.
It was a rainy January night in Utah. You were coming back home from work but suddenly you turned around and drove to Jack’ house. You rang the bell and he saw you standing there all soaked up. Immediately you broke down in tears. He tried to hug you but you pushed him away from you.
You told him that you’re more hurt that you would admit it. How you felt at the end of a relationship and how you feel now. How he was draining you emotionally and how dumb you were to let him do it. Jack was standing there and listening to your every word. He knew that you’re gonna cut him off from your life again. What he didn’t expect was you admitting that you still love him.
Jack was looking at you like he couldn’t believe what he just heard. He was speechless. You took it as a no and wanted to leave his house but he stopped you. He pulled you into a kiss and told you everything you wanted to hear. How sorry he was for how things ended up. How he regretted not fighting for you back then but now, he promised you to fight for you and never let you go again.
