honey's reads

One wrong move, one wrong look—

“Andy, can you do my back?”

The soft rhythm of your voice lulls him back to you, eyes blinking away that darkness he tends to find himself struggling to swim in. It’s one of those things that grabs him and pulls him under before he can register the shift himself.

Pope softens when he looks at you, the corners of his mouth feathering up in a ghost of a motion. Somewhere halfway between the beginnings of a smile and a smirk.

A nod of his head is enough of an answer before he’s reaching for your sun lotion, squeezing a generous dollop onto his rough palms.

Nothing goes unnoticed by Pope. He catches the shudder beneath your skin when his flesh touches yours. He notices the way you relax immediately after, takes note of the sigh that falls from your lips when he begins to knead and massage the lotion into your shoulders.

It sends a wave of warmth straight into his chest, one that he’s still learning not to question or refuse.

You turn your head, resting your cheek on the back of your palm as you face him with a lazy smile. “Why aren’t you in the water?”

He shrugs a shoulder, wipes his hands off on a cloth to rid the excess lotion from his skin. “I like sitting with you.”

“You’re sitting like you’re my bodyguard.” The words come out airy on a laugh, eyes playfully squinted when Andrew's eyes harden slightly, not appreciating the tease.

“Forgive me for wanting to make sure my girlfriend can enjoy the sun in peace.” His words are drawled out lazily, a lilt of unbothered sass woven between each syllable.

A louder chuckle escapes you at that and you find yourself sitting up on your knees beside him, hands pawing at his biceps. Pope's skin is hot beneath your touch, freckled from the sun and tinged slightly pink.

He watches you with an intense, heated gaze. Like you're something he struggles to control himself around.

"No one's going to approach me," you try to gently reassure him.

Andrew cocks a brow, unimpressed.

"Do you want me to cover up—"

"No," he cuts you off quickly before softening his tone and hardening expression. "No, you should be able to wear whatever you want."

You regard him for a moment, head tilting like you're trying to read his mind. You don't need to, though. You know how protective he is over you, how the thought of another mans eyes on your body sets his blood on fire.

You're no better when it comes to ogling women—something that your sweet Andy is a bit too unaware of. Maybe it's a good thing he's not in that wetsuit today...

It's without much more of a thought that you lay back down on your towel, head propped up against another rolled up towel, and spread your legs and pat your stomach.

Andrew watches with pinched brows when you pat your abdomen again.

"If you're not going to go in the water, you might as well get comfy."

He takes the offer immediately, shuffling across the towel to lay between your legs. Not the usual situation for this position, but he'll take whatever closeness he can get.

So, Andrew lays on his back—not his stomach, he still wants to be alert— and rests his head against your thigh. He feels motion at the side of his face, notices the brief movement of you reaching for your book.

"Want me to read to you?"

His heart pulsates at the offer. Part of him wants to refuse, something so tender that's usually only shared in the darkness of the night when he can't sleep.

But he can feel himself growing irritable beneath the scorching sun, can feel his shoulders tensing more and more every time someone so much as walks past you.

If anything can begin to soothe him, it's your voice.

You look at her through the rearview mirror with a reassuring smile. She’s dressed in a pair of pink shorts and a Pink Floyd t-shirt, sunnies resting on her nose and hair braided back. “No, baby. Jack’s gonna fix it.”

“Can’t fix it.” Jack appears at the passenger side again, lips curled in a thin line as he rests both forearms on the top of the car, leaning in slightly. “Gonna have to take it to a mechanic. Engine’s fucked.”

“Jack!” Phoebe quickly scolds him for the cuss word, and when you dare to look at her through the mirror again, she wears a furiously disappointed expression.

It’s something she’s picked up on since her little scolding two months ago, when she called Tom an ass. Not that you can really blame her, he’s been radio silent since you sent a few shitty messages expressing your anger. 

Hasn’t shown up on the agreed days to see her, hasn’t even sent a message to check in. And despite it, you’ve still reached out to inform him of her field day today. Another one that’s been left on read and ignored.

Jack at least has the audacity to grimace, spluttering out an apology and offering you a sheepish expression. Your hands drop from the wheel with a sigh, reaching up to pinch the bridge of your nose. 

“Can’t do it now, we’ll miss field day.” Jack shrugs, moving toward Phoebe’s door and tugging it open. 

“I can get my guy to take a look tomorrow. I’ll drive us instead.” 

You don’t know why you even allowed yourself to begin to stress. Of course, Jack will just drive instead. You blame your increased annoyance and stress levels on Tom because your resentment toward him has reached an all time high. 

Phoebe hops out of your car when Jack unclips her, skips toward Jack’s which is quite literally parked beside yours. He’s already unlocked it and Phoebe gets herself into the back while Jack retrieves her carseat from yours. 

It’s far too natural and practiced when he locks your car and carries Phoebe’s seat across to the back row of his vehicle. When he fastens it securely and buckles Phoebe in while you get comfortable in the passenger side. 

Jack’s engine doesn’t rumble or splutter like it’s sick when he starts up. It purrs and vibrates to life and the aircon kicks in immediately. 

You’ve always enjoyed watching Jack drive. His relaxed grip on the steering wheel, the focused set between his brows when he checks it’s safe to pull out and onto the road. There’s also something oddly sexy about the way his biceps flex beneath his cotton-shirt when he turns left with the palm of his hand.

You’re not exactly slick with your admiration, but Jack doesn’t comment on it. He does, however, shoot you a wide glance as a smirk curls at the corner of his mouth. It’s something he’s noticed a lot more over the past six to eight weeks; your seeming infatuation with his arms and muscles. 

You’ve been favouring curling a palm around his biceps on walks a lot more recently, instead of intertwining fingers. Not ever something Jack will complain about. He welcomes the ego boost and reassurance that your attraction to him isn’t just for his personality and heart. It’s his old man looks, too. 

And the more time that passes, the bolder you’re becoming with him. Jack doesn’t mean just sexually, he means in the gentle domestic way, too. 

You’ve relaxed more when it comes to him and Phoebe, like you’re finally understanding that Jack doesn’t plan on going anywhere. He’s been spending the night more often than not; settling Phoebe to bed with you of an evening, and comforting her in the middle of the night when she’s startled awake from a nightmare. 

Or more recently, growing pains in her shins. 

Jack’s found his footing in this little family, has grown comfortable in the warmth of your home and hearts. For months, Jack’s worried about overstepping, of being too present. But when you didn’t ask him to come to Phoebe’s school field day—when you just assumed he’ll be there—Jack realized what this was becoming. 

“Jack, your music isn’t on.” Phoebe whines from the backseat. 

He casts a glance at her through the rearview mirror, grins at the disappointed pout on the kids lips and reaches into the cup holder for his phone. With his eyes back on the road, he passes it to you silently. 

The screen lights up, his lockscreen a photo of Phoebe stuffing her face with pancakes when the three of you went for breakfast a few weeks ago. There’s a dull ache that forms behind your heart at the sight of it, at how openly he loves her. 

You swipe the screen up, typing in his password and making your way to the Spotify app. When you go into his library, there are only three playlists. The first is your Sunday Funk Day mix, the one he asked you to send him almost seven months ago when you were only in that odd texting stage. 

The second one has no playlist cover, a generic title of My Playlist.

But the third one, it takes you a moment before you can click on it. 

My Divas.

The playlist cover is a photo of you and Phoebe asleep on the couch, cuddled up under a knitted blanket with mouths agape and heads lulled back. 

When you click into it, you’re met with a list of songs that tally up to 8 hours and 39 minutes of playtime. You hit shuffle, let the music flow through the cars stereo system. Phoebe’s quick to sing along to the familiar tune and you take a moment to scroll through the list. 

Half of the songs are from your own playlist…the other half, you come to realize, are songs that remind Jack of you and Pheebs. 

You can feel yourself growing warm, can feel a tender sensation wrap around your bones and you lock Jack’s phone, tucking it back into the cup holder. 

It’s been on your mind for longer than you’d like to admit; the change between you both, the heaviness and overwhelming feeling you get in your heart when it comes to Jack. 

But you don’t say anything, even if that feeling does bloom across your chest with each day that passes. Instead, you sing along with them both. You dance in your seat and let the sound of Jack and Phoebe’s laughter wash over you. 

Let yourself understand and accept for the first time, that this may be your forever. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Your palm curls around Jack’s bicep as you walk across the field, a laugh barking out of you as the sound of Phoebe’s loud excitement follows you across the grass. The moment you had taken her to her classmates and dropped her bag and water off with her teachers, she rushed over to her friends and didn’t even offer a second glance at you or Jack. 

It didn’t matter how many times the both of you called out to her, she wasn’t having any of it. 

“She’s gonna be exhausted after this.” Jack comments with a fond tone, cocking his head down just enough to grin at you.

You meet his gaze with the same expression, squeezing the muscle of his arm and practically skipping in step with him. “Hm, maybe she’ll actually sleep through the night, then.” 

Jack hums, leaning down just enough to press a kiss to the top of your head while still walking toward the rest of the parents across the various tracks and equipment set up for the kids. 

“Tony will come by tomorrow morning when I’m back from work to take a look at the car.” 

Your brows knit at his words and you turn to him again, still walking toward where you’ve spotted your parents and friends. 

“You’ve already spoken to him?”

Jack hums. “Shot him a text when we got here. Said I’ll meet him out front at nine.” 

You watch him for a moment, blinking at this capable, honest, strong, observant, sexy man that you somehow get to call your boyfriend. One of the only men that hasn’t disappointed you—a man whose actions always match his words. 

And it’s entirely inappropriate for you to feel so hot about it given your surroundings. 

Just like everything else when it comes to you, Jack notices. The heat that sits at the apples of your cheeks, the slight heaviness that passes over your eyes, the slight dents your fingernails mark in his skin when you grip his bicep a bit tighter. 

He stares down at you with a secret smirk and a quirked brow, amusement licking at the gleam in his eyes.

“Yeah? That gets you going, baby?” His voice is a low murmur, deep, teasing, and only loud enough for your ears alone. 

You suck your bottom lip between your teeth, dig your nails into him a little harder. “Shutup. It’s sexy when you fix things…when you take care of things.”

A dark, breathy chuckle escapes him and his voice lowers even more when you grow closer to your parents and friends. “That right? Just things or you?”

You dare a gaze up at him from beneath your lashes. “Both.” 

His grin turns borderline sinful when he gently unwraps your palm from around his arm and gently pushes you to walk in front of him with his hand on your lower back, squeezing through groups of families to reach your own. 

His body is pressed against the back of yours as he keeps close, and when you’re out of the thick of the crowd, Jack leans down to line his lips with your ear, his stubble grazing deliciously at your jaw.

“For what it’s worth, it’s sexy when you let me.” 

“Honey! Jack!” You’re given no time or chance to recalibrate your mind when your mom is calling out to you both, waving her hands as if you can’t see her from just twelve feet away. 

Jack squeezes your hip, the bastard, and waves back animatedly to your parents. As if he hasn’t just riled you up or short-circuited your brain. 

He jumps straight into conversation with David and Ricky, like he’s known them for years. Talking about what, you’re unsure but somewhere mid conversation with your mom, you notice Jack showing off his prosthetic in his khaki shorts. 

It’s midway through Phoebe’s egg and spoon race that Karis comes hobbling over with Bella. The former holds water while the latter stuffs a hotdog into her mouth like it’s the only sausage she’s found enjoyment in for years. 

“You should not be here, you’re a week overdue!” You greet Karis with a playful scold and she grins in return, spare hand caressing her overly swollen bump. 

You reach for it the moment she’s close enough, palms cupping the fabric of her sundress in hopes of feeling a kick. 

“Jack’s here, so if I go into labor I should be fine.” 

The unexpected joke pulls a laugh out of you, bright and genuine and incredibly amused. Before you can make a joke back about your own incident with your pelvic exam, shouts of angry encouragement sound from beside you. 

“Come on, Phoebe!”

“Take her out, Diva! Keep fucking going!”

Chloe and Leone are red in the face, far too invested as you follow their line of sight to find Phoebe almost sprinting with a spoon in front of her, tediously balancing an egg in the dip of the utensil. 

She approaches one of her classmates, hot on her heels and passing her just at the finish line.

“Good job, kid!” Her head whips around at the sound of Jack’s voice calling out to her in praise, the smile on her face enough to light up a dark room. 

“I did it!” she screams across the field, jumping in her spot as she holds the spoon and egg in the air. 

Prue cackles out a laugh as she videos her granddaughter, laughing louder when Florence races to Pheebs to tackle her in a hug to celebrate. 

Bella snorts from beside you, muttering something about the pair of them being nothing but trouble makers when they’re older. The thought makes you feel proud and sick at the same time. 

You hear Jack’s laughter when the girls start dancing, and when you look across your little group, you find him with his camera facing them, a grin on his face and pride in his eyes. 

The sun beats down on him, casting his skin golden, caressing his freckles, brightening his splatter of grey hairs and glinting off the metal of his leg. For once, Jack doesn’t notice your admiration, doesn’t feel your presence grow closer and closer until you’re by his side. 

The moment he does, it’s instinctive for his arm to snake around your waist, to pull you into him while keeping his attention on Phoebe and Florence.

“She’s having so much fun,” he says softly. 

You hum, watching as Flo runs off for her next course and Pheebs remains in her spot, chugging half a bottle of water and picking flowers from the grass.

“Thank you for coming.” 

Jack looks down at you with a frown at your words, pocketing his phone to turn to you fully; both hands on your hips as you reach to wrap your arms around his neck. 

“Baby, you do not have to thank me for showing up for Pheebs.” He wants to say that it’s his job, that he couldn’t imagine not being there for her for anything, ever. You can tell as much by the hesitancy that flashes across his eyes.

“I know,” you say quietly. “But I want you to know that I notice. I see everything you do for us, I—we—appreaicte it, appreciate you.”

Jack’s gaze softens into something tender and understanding. A hand abandons your waist to cradle your jaw, his thumb soothing across your cheek and you go boneless in his hold. It causes a surge of something hot to swarm Jack’s heart.

Because Jack doesn’t think he’s ever done anything overly special or out of the ordinary for either of you. And yet, you gaze up at him like he’s personally hung every star in the sky.

“I don’t show up to be appreciated, I do it because I lo—”

A nervous call of your name cuts Jack off before he can say it. Both your heads turn to your dad, whose eyes are focused and hard on the field behind you. 

You don’t have any time to dwell on the thumping of your heartbeat, to push for Jack to continue whatever he was going to say. Because when you follow your dad’s line of sight, Phoebe is toe to toe with a boy in her class and her fists are tight at her side. 

You watch in anxious fury when the little blond boy steps closer into Phoebe’s space, but she doesn't back down. She continues to frown, to hold her own with her chin held high. 

The kids lips are moving, snickering but none of you can make out what’s being said. Whatever it is, it makes Pheebs laugh, which in turn seems to make the kid angrier. You feel movement from beside you; Jack itching to cross the field and sort the issue himself, but you reach a hand for his arm to stop him. 

“Just give her a second.”

He blinks, but does not argue, returns to your side while David watches from your other. 

When the boy puts his hands on Phoebe’s shoulders and shoves, your blood roars angry and Jack is struggling to stay beside you. His own fists are curled, eyes scanning the crowd for the boy's father. 

He almost misses when Phoebe quickly finds her balance and shoves the kid back with even more force, knocking him on his ass. A prideful grin curls on Jack’s face, and he’s struck with two thoughts. 

One immediate, the other sobering. 

His first thought is that the idea of someone hurting his little girl is enough to make him feral. To screw the oath he took when he became a doctor and to inflict as much harm as humanly possible to anyone that poses a threat to Phoebe. 

The second thought comes a second too late after the first. Realization catching him deathly still. His little girl. How easy it had been to call her that in his mind, to feel that way about her. How quickly he was willing to go against his oath and word and character. 

His little girl.

His little girl. 

His little girl. 

It sobers him enough to realize just how deep he’s fallen. What little right he actually has to consider her as such. His inner panic is lost on you, your gaze still set on Pheebs, a grin of pride on your own face at how well she handled herself.

Jack looks back across the field, watches the way she sticks her tongue out at the little boy before walking away and lining up for the relay race. She’s so much like you that it hurts Jack’s heart. 

Your smile, your resilience, your strength and your humor. Phoebe has become such a prominent little figure in Jack’s life now. To the point that if, for whatever reason, things don’t work out between the two of you, he could never imagine turning his back on her. 

He’s already made it clear that this is not casual. But now, Jack is met with the very real epiphany that he wants this to be his forever. That he needs to be there to watch Phoebe grow like every father does for their daughter. 

That he will do anything to be offered the privilege of being whatever type of figure you’ll both allow him to be. 

“That’s our girl.” The words fall from yours and David’s mouth at the same time, wearing far too identical grins for a father and daughter through choice and not blood. 

Jack swallows thickly, looses a shaky breath when he feels a warm gust of air caress the side of his face—one he now associates with his late Mary. 

Reassuring him, soothing him. 

Too caught up in his mind, he doesn’t notice your phone pinging consistently from your back pocket, or the dejection that plasters its way across your face. It’s only when you’re resting a palm on his bicep and holding out your phone to him that you catch his attention. 

“I'll be right back. Can you take some photos of Pheebs?”

He hums, takes the phone and puckers his lips when you lean up to kiss him. Jack doesn’t watch you walk away, gets the camera ready instead to record Phoebe’s next race as you excuse yourself. 

Tom’s text still echoes in your mind. 

Can you meet me in the parking lot?

There’s a horrible feeling in your gut. One that promises he’s about to ruin Phoebe’s day with his presence alone. Part of you wonders if he’s seen Jack’s car here instead of yours and is about to refuse to show up unless you make Jack leave. 

When you approach the parking lot and spot Tom leaning against the bonnet of his Audi, you throw your hands up at your sides in both annoyance and exasperation. 

“You ignored me for two months and now you can’t even show your face at your daughter's field day?” you call out across the short distance. 

But as you grow closer, stopping just a few feet from him, Tom doesn’t look angry or resentful. It’s so much worse than that. He looks…regretful. Sad. 

“I didn’t want her to see me.” 

Your brows pinch involuntarily at the sombre sound of his voice. It’s a tone you don’t think you’ve ever heard from him before and you can’t put your finger on it but it’s leaving you very unsettled. 

“What’s going on?” Your voice is careful, tedious. 

Tom’s hands are shoved into his jean pockets, shoulder dropping as he blows out a heavy exhale of air. He doesn’t look at you, keeps his gaze locked on the tarmac beneath his feet. 

“I think I need to take a step back.” Tom lifts his gaze to yours and for the first time in years, you can see the pain in them. 

“I’m not—” he exhales shakily, pulls his hands out of his pockets to run them down his face. “I’m not cut out for this. Being a dad.” 

You blink at him, feel your heart stop in your chest before it begins to ache; like it’s being dragged down to the pit of your stomach. 

“What are you saying?” Your tone is hard, voice close to trembling from the anger and heartache. 

Tom remains silent for a moment, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Like the coward he is, he averts your gaze again, focuses on the way his shoes scuff at the ground. 

“I’m saying that I think I need to step away. For good. I never wanted kids, Y/N. When you told me you were pregnant with Phoebe, that didn’t change for me. I’ve tried to be a dad, but it’s just not the life I’m supposed to live.”

You can feel your blood rushing in your ears, can feel an ache in your fingertips as he speaks. You’re stunned, unable to articulate your thoughts fast enough to compose a sentence. 

...It’s just not the life I’m supposed to live.

You stare at him, at the man you once loved, the father of your child. There’s a ringing in his ears as he continues speaking. Talking about his dreams to travel and explore, how Phoebe does not fit into any narrative of the life he’s created in his head. In any of the plans he’s made for his future. 

Your throat grows tight in anger and resentment, in pure, unadulterated hate. 

Because you changed your life and your dreams to fit around Phoebe. You consider her in every single decision you make, in every tiny thought you have. You’ve sacrificed sleep and relationships and opportunities for her. 

Because that’s what a mother does. It’s what a parent does. 

And here Tom is, making it loud and clear that he does not want her. That he doesn’t want to be her dad, he doesn’t want her in his life. That Phoebe is nothing but a burden to him, something that he never asked for. 

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Your voice is tight with fury when you finally manage to speak. “I have given you every out possible! I never forced this on you, I asked you several times to just fucking walk away. But you just couldn’t take the thought of us doing well without you. You sit there and you disrespect me, you talk shit on Jack– who, by the way, has been more of a father to her than you ever have—”

“I know!” Tom’s voice raises into a shout, one full of his own anger and hatred. You refuse to shrink away from it, from him. 

“She deserves Jack. You deserve Jack. He is a good man and I fucking hate it.” Tom spits the words with so much venom it makes your blood boil and you can’t help but scoff. 

“Is that what this is? Because of Jack? You’re threatened by him?” Your voice rises with every word. “You’re going to walk away from your daughter because another man is more of a father to her than you are!?”

Tom clenches his jaw, jerks his head to look away from you; a tell sign that he’s trying to calm himself down, and it’s absolutely fucking pathetic.

But he doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t argue that that’s not the case, doesn’t push to try to be better for her, or to offer any other reason besides the selfish life he’s carved himself. 

You swallow down the bile that’s rising up your throat. “If you walk away from her now, you are not welcome back. Not ever, and I fucking mean that, Tom.” 

He nods to himself, stands with his hands still tucked into his pockets. “I’m not on her birth certificate so I don’t have any legal rights as a father. But if you want to speak with the courts so it’s all legit, we can. Let me know.” 

You stare at him in astonishment, your breathing ragged and vision blurring as Tom rounds the bonnet of his car to get into the driver's side. He doesn’t offer you another glance when the engine starts and he pulls out of the parking lot. 

You’re still staring at the empty space after he’s gone. Unable to truly process what the fuck has just happened, how absolute he is in his decision to walk out on Phoebe. His daughter, his blood. 

Your movements are mindless and subconscious when you trek back to the field, silent streams of silver that glisten on the warm skin of your cheeks. It doesn’t matter that he was absent anyway, it doesn’t matter that all he’s ever done is disappoint…what matters is that he has never loved Phoebe.

That your sweet girl is going to grow up wondering why she was never good enough for her own father. A feeling you’re far too familiar with and something you never ever wanted her to experience. 

Jack’s the one that notices your return first. A cheer halting from the back of his throat as Pheebs wins another race when he catches sight of you. He moves quickly, eyes wide with panic and concern at the pure shock and devastation on your face. 

“Honey? What’s wrong? Hey, what happened?” 

His palms are cupping your face with a ghost of a touch, not wanting to crowd you but needing to help you snap out of whatever the fuck is going on. The moment you feel his skin on yours, when his scent and comforting presence envelops you, a sob tears through the back of your throat.

He wipes away the tears as quickly as they fall, shushing and cooing and trying to get you to breathe. The sound of your cries and Jack’s slightly panicked tone is enough to catch the attention of the others.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

“Where did you go? What happened?” 

No one touches you but Jack. But your parents stand beside him, Bella too while Karis, Ricky, Leon and Chloe stand back in worry and concern. 

Your friends have been with you since highschool, have watched you through your biggest highs and your lowest of lows. The only other time they’ve ever seen you so distraught is when you lost your fiance. 

It breaks their hearts. 

“Tom was in the parking lot.” You take a breath, struggling to wipe away your tears. 

You feel Jack grow tense at the mention of him and his presence, watch his gaze turn from panic to fury and can tell just by the look on his face that he’s trying to calm down and not cause a scene.

Prue watches with concern, finally finds herself reaching out to rub a gentle hand up and down your arm. David, however, shares the same cold expression as Jack, and he reaches for him with a hand on his shoulder—a silent vow to promise he’ll beat Tom’s ass with him.

“He’s uh…he’s gone.” 

Your mom blinks, shakes her head in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“He’s walking away,” your voice is hoarse. “He said he’ll contact the courts if needed to resign his parental rights over Phoebe.” 

“What?” Jack’s breathless reply is all he can muster up. He can feel his heart sinking to his stomach, the shock and heartache for Phoebe tingling in his fingertips. 

You barely notice movement from your side, don’t turn your head to see Bella stomping off toward the parking lot, don’t hear Karis sending Ricky to follow. But you do hear the cry that slips from your mom, the way she reaches for your dad in comfort.

Because they know what this means for Phoebe. The upset and anger that you went through as a kid toward your biological parents for walking away, is something she will now no doubt struggle with. 

It’s the same thing that’s replaying in your mind, in Jack’s too. It’s enough for him to wrap you in his arms and coddle you to his chest, to cup the back of your head with one hand while the other attempts to soothingly stroke up and down your spine. 

“You are everything that she’ll ever need, okay? She has us. She’ll never not have us.” 

His hold on you is nothing short of secure and safe. A silent promise alongside his words that he is not going anywhere. 

She has us. She’ll never not have us.

Jack pulls away just enough to get a look at you, to wipe the remnant tears from your pretty face. 

“I know she’s better off without him and he has never once been consistent, but I gave him so many chances to walk away, Jack. I told him to leave before she was old enough to understand…”

“I know, baby. I know.” His palms rest on your shoulders, a firm sort of massage to do anything to try and help the tension in your muscles. 

David watches with an ache in his chest, rubbing at the spot with a wide palm like he’s physically pained by the situation. His eyes flicker from you to Bella and Ricky who rejoin the group, shaking their hands that Tom wasn’t there for them to tear into. 

Jack lets his gaze stretch across the field, checking that Phoebe is still okay. She’s none the wiser to the situation, happily skipping through another race where Chloe and Leone have moved closer—most likely to keep her distracted if she looks over and spots the commotion. 

When Jack turns back to you, you’ve wiped your face and appear somewhat more composed on the surface. But he can read you like a book; and he can see the hurt and pain you’re struggling to bury in your eyes. 

“I’ll call in tonight, okay? I’ll get Shen to cover.”

Guilt hits you almost as hard as the hurt and you’re shaking your head before he can finish getting his words out. “No. Work is more important, they need you there.”

He wants to argue otherwise, you know he does. That you are more important right now, that Phoebe is. If his job wasn’t so crucial, you’re ashamed to admit you’d allow him to call in sick, that you’d be selfish enough to ask him to stay with you.

“Hey,” Bella interrupts gently with a soft hand on your arm. “I’ll stay over tonight. The girls can have a sleepover. 

You don’t even consider refusing Bella’s offer. Not because you prefer her comfort or company over Jack's, but because this is something you expect from your best friend. Because you’ve both done it for one another so much over the years. Because you are aunts to one another’s daughters. 

But Jack is just Phoebe’s moms boyfriend. If her own biological father can’t stick around and show up for her, how can you ever expect Jack to. It’s an unfair expectation to have. One that, perhaps you’re not entitled to. 

And he can see it. The thought process as Bella offers herself to you for the evening. He watches all the progress you’ve made together go backwards—watches you sink back into those feelings of unworthiness, of being too much.

Jesus Christ, it breaks his fucking heart. 

And when you nod at Bella through teary eyes and an appreciative smile, he doesn’t even get to pull you aside to talk you down from this undeserving ledge. A gasp sounds from behind you the moment he tries to reach out, and everyone's attention is diverted to a slightly pale Karis and the burst of fluid that’s drenched the grass beneath her feet. 

“Karis…”

“I’m sorry, I think my waters just broke.” 

It’s entirely accidental and completely clumsy when Ricky gently tries to shove through everyone to get to his wife, tripping over his feet and pale in complexion. He doesn’t touch her when he reaches her, hands frozen at his sides as he stares at the wet ground. 

“Okay, uh, we should go…” He sounds so unsure of himself, nothing like the usual Ricky you’ve come to know and love. 

For a split, selfish moment, you forget about everything else around you. It’s shoved to the back of your mind as you watch one of your bestest friends about to become a mother. The hurt and anguish is momentarily replaced with overwhelming joy and excitement. 

But it all comes crashing back to you when you watch Ricky hold Karis so tenderly, when he peppers kisses to her temple and they grin at one another when the shock turns into excitement. It’s a feeling of anguish and envy because that was not the experience you had. 

Tom did not hold or caress you when your labor started. He didn’t breathe with you through contractions, did not hold your hand or reassure you when Phoebe stopped moving and her heartrate began to drop. 

Because Tom didn’t show up. He wasn’t there for any of your appointments, never listened to Phoebe’s heartbeat as she grew. He declined every one of your calls when you tried to tell him you were going into labor, declined your fathers when he tried to update him that you were going for surgery, that there was a possibility that Phoebe wouldn’t make it. 

It makes you feel sick to feel so envious of Karis’ happiness in this moment. She deserves the love and support. She deserves for her birth to feel magical and precious. You didn’t deserve the fear and loneliness of yours, even if your mom was with you. 

But more importantly, it makes you realize that the only thing Tom has ever offered Phoebe is confusion and instability. 

And Jack watches it all like he can see every thought flash across your eyes. The hurt and pain, the mix of envy and happiness. 

He doesn’t say anything as he reaches for you, as he tucks you against his chest and rests his chin on the top of your head. But your arms circle his waist and your nuzzle into him, loosing a heavy breath. 

“It’ll be okay, honey.”

The certainty of his reassurance pierces through your heart. And despite your worry that one day Jack could decide to just up and leave, too, you still let yourself wonder why it couldn’t have been him. 

Why you couldn’t have met him sooner, why he couldn’t have been the one to hold your hand and guide your breathing through contractions. Why he couldn’t have been the one to cry with you in surgery. Why he couldn’t be Phoebe’s father.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Phoebe and Florence grin at the camera, three trophies stuffed under their arms and one silver medal hanging from their necks. Their cheeks are flushed, hair windswept and knees grass-stained, but they both beam with so much happiness and pride.

“Hold still…” You manage to snap three photos before Phoebe drops the proof of her achievements and races to the kitchen for food, Florence’s footsteps just as loud and urgent as she follows. 

“No running in the house!” Bella calls after them, nursing an iced tea as she lounges at the kitchen island in Prue and David’s house. 

The girls giggle as they climb to sit at the island with her, chugging their plastic cups of water and stuffing cucumber sticks in their mouths. Your mom watches in fondness, cutting sandwiches into small triangles and placing them on an oval platter. 

“Lunch before playing in the yard. You strong girls need your energy before playing.” She says it in the most lovingly stern voice she can muster, but everyone knows she’ll cave the moment the girls batter their lashes and compliment her hair. 

Smart girls. They’ve got Grandma sussed. 

Jack places the trophies back on the counter, watches in astonishment as the girls eat half their weight in sandwiches and veggie sticks (something that is usually a battle for Pheebs), and then race out to the backyard to play in the Wendy house. 

The moment they are out of earshot, all eyes are turning to you and you fucking hate it. 

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” 

“Honey…” Your mom softens, reaches across the island to brush her fingertips against yours.

You pull away with a shake of your head. Not because her comfort isn’t welcomed, but because if you accept it, you’ll crumble. And you don’t want to cry anymore because of Tom, because of what he’s done to Phoebe. 

“No—I… he’s never been a father to her. Never showed up when it matters, never cared enough to put her first. I’m just—angry. So fucking angry and tired and—”

Your dads arms wrap around you the moment you crumble, and he holds you like you’re a teenager again; angry at the world and confused and lost. 

It feels the same to him, like he’s comforting his little girl, trying to protect her from the evil of the world. But you’re not a little girl anymore, and this is not something that he can protect you from. But he holds you tight, anyway. Lets you cry into his chest and lets you sink because he will always catch you.

David’s chin rests on the top of your head when he casts a glance at Prue, who’s covering her trembling mouth with her palm. Bella, who cries silently because while Florence’s dad has never been in the picture, at least he had the decency to walk away before it began. 

And when David looks toward Jack, he holds you tighter. Jack’s eyes are set on the kitchen counter, knuckles white as he grips the corners, jaw set tight and eyes rimmed with tears. 

The sounds of your cries and sniffles tear his chest apart. In his forty-four years of life, he has never felt such anger, never been riddled with so much hate and disgust for one person. And David can see it in his eyes, can feel those emotions rolling off him. 

He presses a kiss to your forehead as he pulls away and lets you have a moment to wipe your tears. The movement catches Jack’s attention and he turns to David, nose twitching as he tries to reign in his emotions. 

David nods his head briefly to you, a silent command that you need him right now and he doesn’t hesitate. Jack pushes off the counter to move toward you, to stand at your back and place steady hands on your shoulders, to lean down and press a tender kiss to your temple. 

Your shoulders drop at the feel of him so close, like a blanket of safety and comfort has been draped over you. One hand comes up to rest on his; your fingertips tracing his knuckles as your head falls back against his chest with another sniffle. 

“She is going to ask questions,” David says softly. “You did, too. But you have time before that happens. Time to decide what truth you want to tell her.”

You nod as you exhale shakily, fingers wrapping around Jack’s and you squeeze one another in a desperate need of reassurance. 

“But you listen to me good, kid. You are a phenomenal mother. You have sacrificed so much for your daughter, you have shown up for her every day and you have never once put a single thing before her. You are all she has ever needed and all she ever will.”

Your father stares at you with so much love and adoration and respect that you don’t quite know what to do with it. To have made him as proud as you have…it has tears burning at your eyes again. 

And you believe him. You are a good mother, you will always put Phoebe before anything, but you have not done it alone. You’ve had your parents by your side every step of the way. Had Bella and Karis, Chloe and Leone. 

And now, Jack. 

Your sweet, incredible Jack. Who has never once complained when you’ve had to cancel a date. Who has always considered Phoebe and planned dates to accommodate her. Who has come into her life and stayed, never once disappointing or not showing up since the moment they met. 

Jack, who loves Phoebe with every fibre of his being. 

And when David’s eyes flick up from yours to meet Jack’s, his head nods in something subtle. Like a silent way of saying, you too, the both of you is all she needs. 

“Now, we are not going to cry anymore. I am going to make my grandbabies some popcorn and we are going to forget about that little asshole.” 

He calls the girls in while everyone else wipes away their tears, makes a show of getting out a pan for popcorn and when you catch Jack’s gaze, he tilts his head toward the yard in silent invitation. 

The air kisses your warm skin as you take your seats on the patio furniture, pressed into Jack’s side as he curls an arm around your shoulder to keep you close. 

You sit in silence for a minute, like you’re both trying to figure out how to broach the subject, where to go from here.

“Can you promise me something?” Jack asks quietly, voice low and slightly pained. 

You pull away just enough to crane your neck up to look at him at the same time he gazes down at you. And it’s then that you notice the redness of his eyes; the worry and concern and hurt that’s buried itself deep in the lines of his skin. 

“You talk to me.” His voice cracks when he requests it. “You don’t get stuck or lost in your head. You have a concern, you voice it. We talk through it. ‘Cause I’m not going anywhere, and I need you to tell me you understand that.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, the need to argue that if Tom can so easily walk away from Pheebs, what’s to say that he won’t, too.

“I know what you’re thinking, and it’s not going to happen.” Jack rasps like he can read your mind, and you don’t miss the hurt in his voice. The fact that you think he could so easily, so carelessly walk away from either of you like that. 

“You say that now, but what if things change.” He hates the pain in your voice, the worry and fear and heartache.

Jack shakes his head, his hand coming up to caress your jaw and stroke soothingly against your cheek; catching the tears before they can fully fall. 

“Baby, I told you before but I’ll happily tell you again…you and Phoebe are all that I care about. Your happiness, your safety, your health…”

His voice is a wreck as he stares down at you, as he catches the sheer vulnerability in your eyes. It’s on the tip of his tongue, right on the precipice of spilling over. But he catches it before it can. 

“There is nothing that I wouldn't do for you, for Phoebe. And even if you and I don’t work out, or you meet someone younger or better—”

“—there is no younger or better—”

“—I will never turn my back on her. I give you my word, that I will be present in Phoebe’s life, no matter what. In whatever capacity you allow me to be, I will be there. Happily. Willingly.” 

You stare at him in awe, with so much adoration that you feel yourself starting to cry again. You have never felt this way about anyone. Not Tom, not even your beloved lost love. 

He leans down to close the small gap, rests your foreheads together as the tip of his nose brushes down the slope of yours. “You two have made an irrevocable mark on me. You are not something I plan to walk away from.”

Your bottom lip trembles at the sincerity of his words, at the soft and gentleness he’s always given you. You’ve never been cared for so openly, so genuinely. No one has ever been so gentle with your heart and mind. No one has ever watered your soul in hopes that it will bloom and thrive. 

No one but Jack. 

Perhaps it’s wrong to feel so significantly lighter when he intertwines your fingers and guides you back into your parents house. Maybe you should still be hurt and sad and inconsolable over the events of the day. 

But you do. 

You let yourself trust him, his words and his heart. You let yourself laugh loudly when your dad makes his so-called ‘crazy popcorn’, where he lifts the lid of the pan to stress the importance of keeping it on and kernels fly across the kitchen. 

When Phoebe and Florence almost piss themselves from laughing so hard. 

It suddenly makes sense to Jack what Pheebs had meant a couple of months ago when he wasn’t as creative and just made the popcorn in the microwave. A mental note he makes for next time. 

He squeezes your hand gently, trying to catch your attention. And when you turn to him with some of the light back in your eyes, it’s like he visibly relaxes. 

“I’m gonna head back to the apartment. Check on Sally, get some shut eye before shift tonight.” 

The thought of not having him by your side right now isn’t one you’re too thrilled about, but you nod anyway, intertwining your fingers. 

“Alright, we’re gonna stay here for a bit.” 

Jack watches you for a moment, like he’s searching for any split second of hesitancy or unease so can insist on calling in sick and staying with you. But he finds none.

“You sure you’ll be okay?” He asks quietly. 

You’re not sure, not even in the slightest. But you have Bella and the girls. You can’t expect or allow him to put his life on pause because of something another man has done. That’s not fair to him.

So you nod, plaster on a smile that’s as believable as possible. “Yeah. Bella’s gonna stay. And our talk helped.”

Jack squints at you, like he can tell you’re trying to save face for him and he doesn’t like it. But he’a already made it clear to you that he’s here, that he wants to help. He worries that if he pushes more you’ll pull away again. So he relents with a sigh and his hands on your waist, luring you into his arms.

“Okay, you call me if you need me and I'll check in through the night.”

Selfishly, you don’t even consider refusing that. You’ll happily take the calls and texts through his shift, if only until you can be with him again tomorrow. 

Jack leans close to press a tender kiss to your forehead, hands gripping your waist like he’s making sure you’re not about to disappear. And it’s like it physically pains him to pull away to say goodbye to everyone else. 

Prue seeks him out first, wrapping him in a mother’s embrace that he hasn’t felt for himself in many years. She squeezes him like he’s her only son, whispers her thanks for looking after her daughter and grandbaby.

Jack doesn’t have it in him to be able to reply without growing upset. So he smiles through pursed lips and untangles from her hold when David approaches to pat a hand on his shoulder and turns their bodies toward the sink to form a quiet curtain of privacy. 

“I want you to do me a favor.” 

Jack keeps his gaze focused on the faucet as David speaks in a low tone; one that’s rich in pain and protectiveness and he hates that he knows what he's about to be asked. 

“You might feel like it’s not your place, but you cannot allow Tom back into their lives. I know my daughter is a strong woman…but she cannot handle this when it comes to Phoebe.”

Jack cranes his neck to the side to meet David’s desperate gaze. There’s more to it in his eyes, more than just asking a favor for this situation. There’s the worry of who will take care of them when he’s gone. Because the years are passing faster than he can keep up with.

“I’m—” Jack’s voice cracks and he clears his throat, speaking again in a much lower and pained tone. “I’m not sure she’d want me to involve myself.”

David shakes his head before he manages to finish his sentence. “You’re already involved, son. You’re in love with my daughter and you treat Phoebe like she’s your own. They are your family now. As men, we protect our families.”

There’s a stinging sensation behind Jack’s eyes, a throbbing that aches around his heart. David is a smart man, he knows. It’s his way of making sure Jack can take care of you both, his way of accepting him, his silent blessing wrapped in protective ribbon. 

You’re in love with my daughter.

He doesn’t deny it. 

“Yes, sir.” Jack nods, voice gravelly. 

David squeezes his shoulder as a sad sort of grin begins to tug across your father’s mouth. “Just David to you.”

He doesn’t say anything else. Just passes Jack with a fatherly pat on his back before returning his attention to Phoebe and Florence—who Jack had no idea Prue and David also considered to be their granddaughter. 

“I’ll stay with her tonight, promise.”

He turns at the sound of Bella’s voice as she stands beside him, leaning against the kitchen counter with arms crossed over her chest. 

“Thank you.” He looses a sigh, eyes immediately seeking you out across the room as you check your phone for any updates on Karis yet. 

Bella notices, she always does. Follows his line of sight and for the first time, she doesn’t feel protective of you—doesn’t feel like she needs to warn Jack or give him a talking to. Because he watches you with so much devotion and care, so much love it almost chokes her. 

If anyone is deserving of it, it’s you. 

The only time his attention is torn away from you is when small footsteps rush toward him and Pheebs is at his feet, arms in the air as she tries to show him her picture.

Jack doesn’t falter when he lifts her—something she’s very close to being too big for—and rests her on his hip, shifting his weight to his good leg and taking a look at her drawing. 

“Look, it’s us!” She points to each figure as she lists them off. “Mommy, me, you, and there’s Sally!” 

The figures are misshapen and different colors, uncoordinated and chaotic but that’s Phoebe for you. She’s tried to write names at the top—something the three of you have been working on over the past couple of months—and the sight of Jack’s spelt wrong and mostly with shapes and a silver crayon used to draw a line for his prosthetic…it has his throat tightening. 

He decides right then that he’s going to pin it in his locker at work. 

“You are such an artist, Diva. I love it, you even put my leg in there.” 

“Duh,” she says, like it’s the most obvious thing to include. 

And Bella watches the exchange. The way Phoebe’s eyes sparkle when she looks at Jack, the way he holds her tight and kisses the side of her head. She watches how your smile widens when you notice them, when you grin something bright and cosmic, when you stand by Jack’s side and Pheebs shows you the picture. 

She listens when Jack tells Diva to behave for you, when he checks if you need her carseat and you tell him Bella has a spare. When Phoebe wiggles out of his grasp and runs off to Florence, when he waves at them both as they scream a BYE JACK at him.

Bella does have the decency to turn away when he kisses you, though. When he promises to see you in the morning and bring breakfast for everyone. When he jokes about stealing your shower to put the chair you got him to good use. 

She lingers long enough to hear your laugh, to hear Jack’s. Waits a beat too long to see if he’ll say it, if you will. There’s a pregnant pause like you both want to, but neither utter what’s on the tips of your tongues. 

Bella doesn’t think it’ll be long before one of you does. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

You knew the night was going to end in tears. 

To give yourself some grace, you have managed to hold it in until the girls settle for bed. Your bed, to be precise. They’ve commandeered your bedroom, snuggled up under your sheets as they watch Peter Pan and snack on yogurt covered berries. 

And now that you’ve pulled out the couch bed in the living room and sat with a blanket, chinese food and a bottle of wine…life feels like it’s crashing around you. 

Bella’s hand on your thigh is soothing and grounding, firm enough to keep you from completely floating away in your burning mind. 

“I just feel like I’ve failed her.”

Bella’s heart shatters at your words, at the ache in your voice, the tears that continue to pour down your flushed cheeks. “Babe, you have not failed anyone. You are not responsible for his shitty actions, you know that.” 

She’s right, you know she’s right. But you were the one that had a child with him, you were the one that still allowed him to be in her life up until this point. To confuse her. To now disappear out of nowhere and leave her with the same heartache and anger that your biological parents did. 

“I don’t want her to go through what I did.” Your admittance is passed through trembling lips and salty tears.

Bella’s lips turn downward, her own eyes glistening with fresh tears because she knows all too well what you went through. She was the first friend you ever made when you were put in Prue and David’s care, she was the one you’d sneak onto the back field with during class to smoke weed and be angry at the world together. 

She was there through all those confusing feelings, through all the sadness and anger and then the guilt when Prue and David decided to adopt you. 

“It’s not the same, babe. You know it’s not the same thing you went through.” She coos. 

“It’s close enough. She’s going to grow up wondering why her daddy didn’t want her, why he walked away, why she wasn’t good enough—”

“Stop, calm down, come on.” Bella pulls you into her, cradling your head to her chest and rocking you back and forth on the pull-out bed as she smooths down your hair. 

“She is always going to have you. You’re not going anywhere.” Her voice is gentle when she speaks, wobbling from her own anguish at the sight of you. “Jack is not going anywhere.”

You clutch her tighter. “You don’t know that.”

Bella pulls you out of her hold to get a look at you, to cup your face in her palms and wipe away the onslaught of tears that continue to slip. 

“Yes, I do. Honey, he looks at you like you are the only thing in this world that matters. He looks at Phoebe like she is the most precious thing he has ever met. That man is smitten with the both of you, he is not going anywhere.”

You know she isn’t just saying it to make you feel better. You know that Jack cares so deeply for you and your daughter, that he would never dream of walking away like Tom has. But the truth of it doesn’t stop that worry from festering. Doesn’t stop it from taking root in your mind until you begin to believe it. 

“I’m scared,” you whisper. 

“I know,” she whispers back. 

“I’m in love with him.” It comes out as a breathless whine, an admittance that you’ve been keeping buried for the past couple of months. One that’s been suffocating you from the inside out, like it’s never supposed to have been kept to yourself. 

“I know,” Bella whispers again.

Before you can think to dive into your fears of him not feeling as deeply as you do, the gentle pinging of your phone lights up with a text message from Jack and you’re wiping your eyes as you reach for it. 

Jack: Just checking in baby, you doing okay?

You: all ok, we have wine and chinese, hows work

Jack: Work is fine

Jack: Would much rather be at home with my girls

Your heart stutters at the message. Home. My girls. You want to tell him that you wish he was here, too. That part of you regrets not taking him up on the offer of calling in sick. But you know if you say as much, he’ll walk out and come straight back to you.

His job is more important than this. But you’re grateful that Jack is keeping the conversation casual, like he’s purposely trying to keep your mind off the events of today.

You: promise you’re not missing out on anything exciting 

Jack: I’m missing out on you. You’re the most exciting 

You: anyone ever told you that you’re a massive flirt?

Jack: Once or twice. 

Bella catches you grinning at your phone, takes that as her cue to refill your glasses in the kitchen. You barely register her brief departure before you’re receiving another text. 

Jack: I miss you 

Jack: I’m starting to hate my job

You: liar, you love your job 

Jack: I love being with you and Diva more

You: we love being with you too

There’s at least a minute of your text being left on delivered as Bella comes over with another full glass of white wine and a giant tub of ice cream tucked under her arm, causing a wet patch to form on the pyjama shirt she’s borrowed from you.

You take the wine as you blow her a kiss, your mood slowly lifting as the tears begin to dry. You snuggle back against the pillows, curling into yourself and the scent of Jack’s shirt that you’re wearing when your phone vibrates with another text. 

Jack: Mass casualty incoming, I will try and call you later

Jack: Stay out of that beautiful head of yours, I am not going anywhere. We will figure this out together. x

You stare at the message, rereading it over and over and over again. The words are on the tips of your fingers, eager to be typed and sent. But you refuse for that to be how you tell him for the first time. How you confess it properly. 

You: ❤️ u 

It’s much more casual and lightheartened than how you actually feel, but it’s more than either of you have ever said. You send before you can talk yourself out of it, feel the bile rise up your throat when it’s marked as delivered. Feel it threaten to spill out your mouth when it changes to read. 

Not even a heartbeat later, his reply comes through. 

Jack: I know baby 

Jack: ❤️ u too

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

SERIES MASTERLIST — NEXT PART

Tag list for this series has grown way too big for me to keep up with so it’s unfortunately CLOSED. You can however follow the #apt.17 tag instead for updates on the series!

ok unsure what happened before but hopefully this is working now. i am so sad that the next part is the final part and i hate that i did this to pheebs but it's crucial to the storyline like it just had to happen

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Her footsteps pause abruptly, forcing yours to do the same. And when you slowly turn to sneak a glance at her, she’s glaring at you through squinted eyes. 

“Would it hurt you to lie to me, just once in your life?” 

You snort, reaching to loop your arm around hers and effectively drag her across the concrete playground of the girls preschool. 

“Yes, actually, it would. Because I love you and I want only what’s best for you. And unfortunately, you do not share the same sentiment about yourself. 

Bella leans her arm over to pinch your bicep. “I do want what’s best for me.”

“Then maybe you should stop settling.” You muse. 

She rolls her eyes, throwing her head back and the jewellery that decorates her wrists jingles when she throws an arm in the air, the other still hooked around yours. 

“It’s not my fault I seem to only attract douchebags.” Her argument is half fair. She does seem to attract the incompetent men who ask her on a date but can’t afford to pay. Or the ones that still live with their mom at thirty and can’t hold down a job for longer than six weeks. 

But, Bella also entertains those types of men. Gives them the time of day even after they let her down. Not to psychoanalyze your best friend, but you’re almost certain it stems from her father leaving when she was a child. 

The thought has an idea occurring. 

“What about dating someone…older?”

She turns her head to lazily grin at you as you both stop just a few feet outside the doors to the girls classroom. 

“Older like Jack?” She lowers her voice as other parents begin to drift across the playground, searching for their children’s respective classes. “What, you looking for a third?”

You slap her shoulder at the tease, gnaw down on your bottom lip to hide the inappropriate amusement. Her head rolls back in a laugh, hooks her arm around yours tighter. 

“I’m not opposed to someone older. But I haven’t been lucky enough to stumble across someone hot and old like you have.”

You don’t bother hiding your grin this time, or the flush in your cheeks. “He is pretty hot, isn’t he.” 

She rolls her eyes fondly. “He’s obviously doing something right. I’ve never seen you this…glowy over a guy before.”

You shrug, bashfulness overtaking you just briefly. Because Jack is doing more than just something right. He’s considerate, compassionate, patient and kind. He’s funny—so fucking funny—and flirty and cheeky and intelligent in the sexiest way you’ve ever seen. 

More than that, he’s competent, capable. And he listens to learn, not to reply. He problem solves instead of festering in a negative situation. He’s masculine in every healthy way; like your personal repair man who comes over to fix leaky faucets and helps paint new furniture on your balcony that you’ve haggled from Marketplace. 

And the sex…Jesus fucking Christ. 

It’s always so intimate and sensual. Never rushed, no. It’s explorative and exciting. He takes his time to learn your body, notices what you like and what you love. 

And he’s vocal. Talks you through it with praise and encouragement, something you’ve never experienced before him. 

“I’m not glowy.”

Bella scoffs. “Yes, you are. I mean you’ve always been carefree but since meeting him—what, four months ago?—you’re…I don’t know, it’s like your soul has been let free or something.”

A laugh tumbles out of you. “Okay, Shakespeare.”

The doors to the girls’ class swing open before Bella can offer a defensive retort, and Phoebe and Florence come bolting toward you in quick skips and fits of giggles. 

You try not to focus on Bella’s words and observation; try not to admit that she’s right. Because in the four months of dating Jack, you’ve never felt so alive. Not when you were a teenager and sneaking out to smoke joints in the field with your friends, not when you finally left Tom.

You felt alive when you gave birth to Phoebe, when you heard her cries for the first time and felt her body against yours. But it’s a different feeling of liveliness. It’s when a new part of you awakens, when your life shifts from living for yourself to living for another. 

But, Jack…yeah, he makes you feel alive. Not just in the dates he takes you on, or the ones he works harder to plan so Phoebe can join, but in the way that he’s never once tried to snuff out your light, never once complained or grimaced at your weird and wacky personality. 

Maybe Bella is right. He does make your soul feel free. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

“Mom, Jack’s eating the cheese again!”

Your head whips round to the island where both Jack and Phoebe huddle close together, decorating their pizzas to their liking. The former holds an expression of dramatic betrayal while the latter bursts into the dirtiest laugh you think you’ve ever heard from her. 

“You ate some first!” Jack argues, feigning offence and crossing broad, freckled arms across his toned chest. 

Phoebe’s head rolls back in laughter and you watch when Jack quickly untangles his arms to place a hand at her back, steadying her from falling off the stool with the force of her giggles. 

You watch the scene in amusement, a warmth in your chest that you’re finally starting to grow accustomed to when it comes to the devilish duo. 

“Yeah, but I’m just a kid, so I’m allowed.”

Jack turns to you with raised brows, struggling to hide his amusement when he jabs a thumb in Pheebs’ direction as if to say get a load of this.

It was, of course, Jack’s idea to have pizza night. You didn’t put up much of a fight when he suggested it to you after a rough week of drafting, planning and heavy deadlines. 

And when you then proposed it to Phoebe, she had agreed the second you’d mentioned Jack's name; before you even had the chance to tell her what the plans were. 

From the moment Jack walked in an hour ago, she hasn't left his side. Encouraged him to take off his prosthetic by shoving the crutches against his good leg, tucked it away neatly beside the couch when he did as she requested. 

Then she dragged him to the kitchen island where they’ve been for the last forty-five minutes; kneading dough and cutting pieces of meat and vegetables for their pizzas. 

And you’ve watched from across the island, with something both heavy and freeing in your chest. Felt your eyes prickle with tears at every synchronized laugh that fell out of them. 

Phoebe forces Jack to cut peppers into shapes of flower stems and petals, uses little pieces of corn to centre them and cheese scattered only on the bottom half, because according to Phoebe, grass doesn’t have to just be green. 

You decorate your pizza in a similar fashion, using meat as the petals and veggies for the stems and leaves, while Jack creates a bullseye effect with rings of each topping—much to Pheebs’ disgust. 

“Mommy, can we play SingStar while the pizza’s cooking?” She asks, tone sickly sweet as she dries her hands and Jack cleans down the surfaces. 

Like usual, she seems to get what she wants. 

At first, Jack manages to escape the song delegations, entirely evading his turn to duet or sing at all by finding anything else that momentarily needs his attention. 

“I need to check on the pizzas.”

“I’m just going to grab us all a drink.”

“But it’s so much fun listening to you and Mommy!” 

Until you’ve finally had enough. 

“Jack, it’s your turn to sing with Pheebs. I need to finish dinner.” 

Before he can offer to do it instead, you’re shoving the wired microphone into his chest with a feline grin as he glares playfully down at you. 

“Give it your all or she’ll be pissed. Phoebe doesn’t do half-hearted things. It’s a full performance or your head on a stick.” 

Jack's already well aware of the fact. He’s watched you both prance around the living room for the past fifteen minutes, screaming lyrics at the top of your lungs while completing a fully-fledged dance choreography. 

He’s tried his best to put it off—not because he doesn’t want to join in, but because watching his two girls laugh and dance and sing and scream… he doesn’t want to intrude on something that is yours. 

But Phoebe screeches excitedly when she reaches for Jack’s hand and drags him into the middle of the rug as soon as his prosthetic is clipped back on, the coffee table shoved across the room to make space. 

If he’s going to do karaoke, he’s going to do it properly. Phoebe has standards, and Jack’s not the type of man to disappoint. 

The TV screen blinks briefly as Phoebe presses play and a rhythm of drums and something higher begins to sound through the speakers, the words “Ain’t It Fun by Paramore” flashing across the screen. 

While Jack misses the first verse, sings too fast or too slow, unable to catch the tempo and rhythm of lyrics he’s never heard before, Phoebe kills it. Hips jutting with enough sass of a sixteen-year-old, not missing a single word or beat. 

You can’t help but watch through tears of laughter, a sharp ache forming in your sides from the force of it. And by the time it gets to the final round of the chorus, Jack finds himself jumping around the living room with Pheebs—still singing off key and out of tempo, but he copies her dancing the best way he can.

Her infectious laughter bounces off the walls, and when Jack imitates Phoebe by wiggling his hips, the sound of yours is joining hers. He catches your gaze through a wide grin and sparkling eyes, shoots you a wink that does something to your insides. 

The whole thing feels normal, right. Like the sound of Jack’s laughter and the stability of his presence is exactly what’s been missing in your home and hearts. 

He’s tapping out at the end of the duet, saved by you declaring dinner is ready when Pheebs tries to pester him for just one more song. 

Dinner goes down a similar way; giggles and jokes, talking about Phoebe’s week at school and some crazy (but child friendly) stories from Jack’s shifts recently. Your apartment has never felt so full of life and love. 

You’re briefly taken back to when you were a teenager. Riddled with anger and upset and resentment for the world, but sitting at the table and eating with your mom and dad… talking about your day, laughing at stupid things. 

They always had a way of taking that pain away, even if just for a few moments. Because they made you feel loved, feel wanted. 

This feels a bit like that. Family time. Something Phoebe has only ever experienced with you and her grandparents at their house. 

By the time you’ve finished your pizzas, Jack insists on cleaning up while you bathe Phoebe. She splashes and plays for twenty minutes, uses her bath crayons to draw pictures on the porcelain tub before scrubbing them away and getting into some pyjamas. 

When you return to the living room, the lights are off and the sun is setting from outside the balcony windows. The kitchen is spotless where Jack stands, opening a box of microwave popcorn and The Little Vampire already ready on the TV.

Two steaming mugs of tea sit on the coffee table alongside a smaller mug filled with warm milk and a little plate of cookies. You’re too busy smiling to yourself at the little set up that you almost miss Phoebe scolding and judging Jack. 

“That’s not how my grandpa makes it. His popcorn is crazy.” 

You blink over to the kitchen as you sit on the couch, watching Jack’s brows raise as he slides the popcorn into the microwave. He doesn’t question it, he’s learnt not to question some of the things that Phoebe says. 

But despite her disapproval, she watches through the glass as the paper bag expands and rotates, giggles when she’s startled by the popping until Jack’s pinching the pouch with two fingers and pouring the snack into a bowl. 

Phoebe nestles herself between you and Jack when they join you on the couch, squished between your right thigh and Jack’s left; a thin blanket draped over the three of you while the bowl of popcorn rests in her lap. 

Her eyes dart to the balcony doors and back to the television, like she’s noticing something but too worried to speak up. It causes a frown to pull between your brows as you follow her line of sight. 

But there’s nothing but darkness out on the balcony; the golden light of the lamp and flickers of the TV reflecting on the glass. 

“You okay, Diva? You keep looking outside.” You probe softly. 

You feel her stiffen, just enough for it to feed the concern rushing through you and to grab Jack’s attention. He looks down at her, then at you, his own brows furrowing at her change in body language. 

“It’s night time.” She mutters, but there’s a disappointed lull in her voice. 

You blink, that concern morphing into gentle amusement and lean down at your side to kiss the top of her head. “That’s okay, baby. It’s movie night, you can stay up later.” 

Your confirmation doesn’t do much to shake her tenseness. “But night time means Jack has to go home soon.”

Jack’s eyes snap to meet yours, his lips parted and a softness overtakes him at the realization. She’s sad because she doesn’t want him to go. He leans a hand down to playfully pinch at her purple painted toenails that peek out from the blanket.

“S’okay. I’ll stay for the movie.” Jack coos her, but it still doesn’t seem to be enough.

Even ten minutes later, when The Little Vampire plays on the screen, she’s still tense. 

“Mommy?”

You hum, eyes falling from the TV back to the side of her face. 

“Can Jack have a sleepover tonight?” 

Her request makes you pause, has Jack slowly turning his head to look at you with apprehension. Of all the things Phoebe could have asked, this is not one you could have anticipated. 

Jack…a sleepover. 

Your lips part as you stare at him, trying to silently read what he thinks of it. But before you can consider the question—consider what it would mean for Jack to spend the night while Phoebe is here, he’s talking. 

“But Sally would be all on her own.” He tries gently, looking back down at your daughter as he speaks in a gentle tone. 

His quick answer shouldn’t disappoint you, but it does. Because you’re not sure if you really have an issue with him spending the night; with Phoebe waking up to him in the apartment. 

You’ve slowly been allowing them to spend more time together over the last month, their bond only blossoming into something unbreakable. 

And it’s not like Jack doesn’t already have spare clothes here. On the odd nights that Phoebe is at your moms or at Tom’s and it’s Jack’s night off, he’ll stay here or you’ll stay at his. 

Worry begins to worm its way into your mind. Is that why he doesn’t want to this time? Because it’s not just you he’ll be waking up to, but Phoebe as well?

Jack's been nothing but reassuring, allowing you to run this relationship at your pace… is this where it becomes too much for him? 

“But Sally is all alone when you work at night time.” Phoebe’s counter is one that Jack absolutely cannot argue. 

You have to purse your lips to stifle a laugh when Jack peeks at you. “Alright, that’s fair. But it’s up to Mommy.”

There’s that silent question in his eye when you meet his gaze. Asking if you’re okay with him staying, promising that he understands if you’re not. It’s absolutely ridiculous how quickly you can worry and then become so reassured with him. 

You swallow the lump in your throat and move your head just a fraction—but it’s enough for Jack to see that as permission. Not exactly hesitant, but slow and subtle enough for him to understand the weight of the decision.

As if he didn’t already. 

“Guess I’m having a sleepover then, kid.” 

Probably not the best thing to tell a four-year-old when it’s already well past her bedtime, but the joy on her face… it’s worth it. Jack seems to think so, too. Lets her lay across his lap with her head on his thighs and her calves dangling off yours. 

In Phoebe’s defense, she spends the rest of the movie relatively silent. She stopped reaching for the popcorn about thirty minutes ago, around the time when you relented to the anxious thoughts in your head and curled into Jack's side with your head resting on his shoulder. 

The whole evening feels far too domestic. Too natural, too comfortable. With Jack’s fingers sunken into Phoebe’s hair, scratching gently and soothingly at her scalp. 

You’re only briefly disturbed from your thoughts when Jack shifts subtly, when a soft huff of quiet laughter falls from him. 

“Baby,” he whispers, and you hum, shifting your head enough to look up at him. 

“She’s asleep. Can you get me my leg?” 

It takes you a moment before you move, to comprehend that the reason he’s asking for his leg is because he wants to put her to bed. You nod, humming again, heart warm and fuzzy. You reach for Jack’s leg down the side of the couch, slip from your seat as slowly as you can to not startle Pheebs. 

And Jack stares at you with both shock and reverence when you sit on your heels on the carpet before him, and slowly ease the blanket up to expose his thigh and attach his prosthetic. Something he has never considered or allowed anyone else to do before.

But he doesn’t argue, doesn’t stop you. He finds himself basking in your soft and caring touch, allowing himself to be vulnerable in this moment with you, with Phoebe. With the girls that feel far too much like family these days. 

He shoves down the overwhelming adoration and very meticulously scoops Phoebe into his arms, coddling her head into her chest as she continues to snore quietly. It takes more effort than he’d like to admit to be able to stand without aid of his hands, and though you can see that brief struggle, you don’t offer to help. 

You won’t offend him like that. 

Instead, you gently reach out to brush the hair from Phoebe’s face and bend just enough to plant a tender kiss to her cheek. 

“Night, Diva. I love you,” you whisper. 

When you straighten, Jack beams at you, leaning his head slightly over Phoebe’s frame to meet your lips in a ghost of a kiss. You watch him carry Phoebe down the hall after he pulls away until he disappears into her bedroom.

Jack can’t help but feel a bit shaky as he lowers Phoebe into her bed, as he tugs the duvet over her little frame, as she reaches instinctively for his arm when he tries to pull away. 

Because to be trusted so wholly by you both, to be so accepted and wanted and cherished… Jack never thought this life would ever be possible for him. And yet, here he is, falling for a family that already has each other, and being treated as if he always belonged with them. 

“Jack?” Phoebe’s sleep-laced voice rasps for him. 

He lowers with a quiet grunt to sit on the edge of her little bed, reaches for her even smaller hand that she’s reaching to hold. 

“I’m here kid. Go back to sleep.” He coos. 

Phoebe shifts to lay on her side, tugs her stuffed crocodile to her chest. “Can you sing to me?”

His brow quirks in the darkness of her room, only the faint golden glow of her space-themed night-light illuminating the space. 

“Sure. What do you want me to sing?” He whispers. 

“The Smiths.” She whispers back. 

Jack smiles, hums. “Any specific request?” 

Phoebe doesn’t even think about it, like she knew the song she wanted before she even awoke. “Please, Please, Please song.”

“Let Me Get What I Want?” Jack finishes for her and even in sleep, she manages to beam at him. 

“Yeah, it’s Mommy’s favorite.” 

Jack’s heart thunders in his chest at the thought of it, of how soul-crushing the song is if you really listen. So he doesn’t argue, doesn’t offer something else. 

Jack softly begins to sing, reaches out to brush the hair from her face. She watches him with sleep-ridden eyes as he softly sings to her; verse after verse. 

And when her eyes start to flutter, Jack’s thumb reaches to slowly trace the path from between her brows down the slope of her nose—over and over until her breathing evens out and her body relaxes. 

“So for once in my life, let me get what I want… Lord knows it would be the first time.” His low voice whispers, gently guiding her down a path of gentle dreams and peaceful rest. 

The song, the words… the fact that she wanted him to sing that one only… 

Jack can feel himself choking up at the weight of it. At how heavy and vulnerable it feels for him. Because it doesn’t feel like singing a lullaby. It feels like a loud admittance whispered into a safe and treasured moment. 

He schools himself before his emotions can get the better of him, and gently brushes the last bits of hair from Phoebe’s face before standing with a groan concealed behind gritted teeth. 

Before he can get two steps away from the bed, he’s met the onslaught of toys that are scattered across her bedroom floor. Something he missed when he carried her to bed initially. 

It’s with quiet and somewhat practised ease that Jack very silently begins to tidy up so she doesn’t trip in the night if she awakes. Books are slid back on the case, clothes are thrown into the hamper, Lego blocks are placed beside the tub that usually carries them.

And the action figures, he begins to line them up back beside her dresser when he notices. Not just one doll that’s not quite right, but three. His hands are trembling when he picks them up, when he clutches them in an unsteady hold. 

It’s with blurry vision when he carries them with him out into the hall, toward where you’re folding the blankets on the couch, refluffing the cushions. 

You hear the soft pads of his footsteps approach and freeze when you see the disbelieving, broken look on his face. You don’t even notice what he’s carrying in his hands when you move quickly to reach for him; your worry begins to spiral. 

He speaks before you can. 

“Did you know she’s been amputating her dolls?”

Jack’s voice is thick with emotion, breaking slightly when he utters a truth you’re only just learning for yourself.

“What?” Your voice comes out as a whisper when you finally look down to Jack’s hands. 

Three dolls—Superman, Spiderman, and The Hulk—all missing a leg from the knee down. Just like Jack. 

It feels like you’ve been punched in your chest, like you can’t quite swallow a breath big enough to fill your lungs. Your eyes burn, vision begins to distort as you blink at the dolls and then back at Jack. 

It’s all over his face when he looks at you; the longing, the vulnerability, the thought that he is not deserving of this. Of her. 

“She really does love you, you know.”

He nods, sniffling until a smile begins to pull on the corners of his mouth. “I know,” he rasps. “I love her, too.”

The heaviness of the fact sits thick between you. The truth hidden between the lines—what he’s saying includes what he isn’t. 

But he doesn’t have to, you don’t have to. 

It makes your heart swell and ache, nonetheless. Makes Jack’s try to burst against his ribcage. He doesn’t show it, tries not to, anyway. He gently drops the action figures onto the coffee table and uses his empty hands to reach for your waist. 

You step closer, your palms resting on the hardness of his chest beneath the cotton t-shirt. He leans in close enough to kiss you, but lets the tip of his nose brush yours instead, allowing himself this moment to recenter. 

You give it to him, don’t ask for more, don’t push him away. 

“I’m gonna run back to the apartment quickly to check on Sally. Why don’t you have a bubble bath, hm?”

You know he’s changing the subject, that whatever just happened with him and Phoebe hit too close for him to be comfortable to talk about it right now. 

So you hum, reach up to press a kiss to his mouth—his short stubble scratching at your soft skin. 

“M’kay. Take my key.”

It’s twenty minutes later when you hear him returning. Soft footsteps padding down the hall—stopping briefly outside Phoebe’s door before continuing into your bedroom. 

You’re lounging in a hot bubble bath when he slowly eases into the bathroom, leaning against the doorway. His hair is damp, clothes changed into checkered pyjama pants and a gray t-shirt. Arms fold across a broad chest and he grins at the sight of you soaped up. 

You quirk a brow at him, ignore the flame that burns beneath the skin of your cheeks. 

“You showered when you checked on Sally?”

He hums, moving closer to sit on the lid of the toilet. 

“Yeah, you don’t have a chair.” He explains in a low voice, hand reaching down to dip his fingers into the hot water, finding your knee and gently tracing patterns on the warm skin. 

You don’t comment on the lack of a shower-chair in your apartment, but you do make a mental note to get one ordered in the morning. 

“You know, you can always bring her here, and I’m more than happy to Sally-sit when you’re working.” It’s not the first time you’ve offered and you doubt it’ll be the last. But Jack always argues the same thing—

“I don’t think you or Pheebs would appreciate her pissing everywhere to mark her territory.” 

And as always, it gets a bark of laughter from you. 

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, there was once a time when Phoebe pissed everywhere.” 

Jack grins, leans down to press a kiss to your mouth. “But Diva is infinitely cuter than Sally.” 

You roll yourself with fond adoration and reach up to press another kiss to him. The angle causes the water to slosh in the tub and the bubbles to disperse—momentarily exposing your chest to the cool air of the bathroom.

The change in temperature causes your nipples to pebble at the same time Jack pulls back to look at you. His expression shifts, something darker passing across his eyes as the corner of his mouth curls in the form of a smirk. 

You flush under his gaze, despite how often he’s seen you bare in the past month. It doesn’t matter that his hands have touched your skin more times than you can count now, that he’s already mapped out your body with his hands and mouth—that he’s committed it to memory, along with what makes you squirm and writhe and moan.

“Are you getting out or staying in?” Jack’s voice is low and deep when he speaks, a tone that sends shivers down your spine despite the heat of the water. 

Because you’ve grown to learn what that tone usually means. 

“I’m getting out,” you reply a bit too breathlessly than you mean to. 

With his eyes still on yours, Jack’s hand skims from your knee and down your shin, skipping your foot to reach for the plug where he pushes it down and it pops back up. 

Water swirls at the base of the drain, the tub slowly emptying. Jack reaches to his right for a fluffy cotton towel that hangs on the rail, unfolds it with skilled hands and holds it open wide—a silent invitation for you to step out of the porcelain and into his arms. 

Water sloshes when you stand, drips down the expanse of your body and suds of soap still cling to your skin. He wraps the cotton around you the moment you step out, tucks it over your chest, and guides you through the threshold of your en-suite and into your bedroom. 

The lights are dim, only the small lamp on your nightstand barely able to illuminate the space. It sets a golden hue over your skin and his, blankets the room in familiar intimacy.

“Do you want pyjamas?”

You shake your head, eyes remaining on him through it all. The towel was pointless, really, because the moment Jack is sitting on the edge of the bed, you’re unravelling it from your body and letting it drop to the ground with a quiet thud. 

Jack’s gaze roves over your body in hungry appreciation, his muscles tensing as he shifts and admires you silently. And you let him. The nerves of allowing him to see you so bare dwindled away some time three weeks ago, after he’d spent hours and hours cherishing you, admiring you, reassuring you and proving to you how utterly, devastatingly beautiful you are.

You don’t cower, don’t curl your body into itself. You don’t try to hide your cesarean scar, nor the stretchmarks that adore the podgier skin of your lower stomach. You don’t shy away when his gaze slides over the dips in your hips, the slightly uneven swell of your breasts where the left is just a pinch bigger than the right. 

You let Jack admire, because you’ve never felt safer or more adored than when you’re under his gaze like this. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” His words are whispered to you like a prayer. 

Maybe that’s what gives you the confidence to move a step closer between his thighs, to slowly sink down to your knees. Jack exhales shakily when you do, when your palms slide up his clothed thighs.

It’s silent when he relents and lifts his hips to lower his pyjama pants down to his thighs, silent when you hook your fingers into the waistband to pull them off his legs completely. 

For a moment, you don’t allow yourself to look at him, keep your gaze focused on his prosthetic. You press a gentle kiss just above his knee when your fingers reach the clips to unfasten the metal. Another shaky exhale falls from him when you remove it, gently placing it against the foot of the bed. 

Only then, when you know he’s comfortable, do you return your attention to where it’s needed. 

Long and hard, thick and eager. Jack’s cock stands excitedly as he leans back on his hands to watch, already fisting the sheets in anticipation. 

It’s not like you haven’t done this for him before, because you have; a few times. But Jack usually argues that he needs to get you off first, that your pleasure is more important than his. You’re overwhelmingly pleased that he’s not arguing with you on it tonight. 

But overall, tonight is different. He can’t coax orgasm after orgasm from you when Phoebe is only down the hall. He can’t make you cry and moan as loudly as he likes. So he settles for this—clenching his jaw and fisting the sheets. 

You wrap your hand around him slowly, the movement almost making him jolt. With your bottom lip caught between your teeth, you slowly begin to pump him in your palm, leaning close enough to press hot open-mouthed kisses to his ruddy tip. 

“Fuck, baby,” Jack whimpers breathlessly. 

His eyes are on you when you look up at him through your lashes, dark and blown with lust and arousal. You hum, swirling your tongue around his head before suckling him into your mouth. 

Your lips stretch around him as he fills you, only able to take barely half of his length as you fist the rest of him. Your cheeks hollow and you can feel your cunt fluttering at the taste of him. 

With your eyes still on him, you sneak your spare hand between your thighs—a motion that Jack clocks immediately—and begin to glide your middle finger through your soaked slit. 

“Jesus Christ… you’re so fucking sexy.” The praise has you oozing onto your finger, has you whimpering around his cock. It sends shocks of vibrations through his body, forcing him to fist the sheets harder when you take him deeper. 

Jack watches with hooded eyes as you begin to bob your head on his cock, as he feels his tip prod at the back of your tight throat. Your eyes sting with tears at the intrusion but you don’t stop, keep your gaze locked on him even as your brows begin to furrow. 

“Good girl, baby. Doing so good.” 

The praise makes you work faster, has you rubbing tight motions on your clit as you choke on his cock. Jack’s guttural groan and breathless whimper has your eyes rolling to the back of your head, salty drops of pre-cum coating your tongue. 

His hips begin to move, respectful of what you can handle but enough to encourage you to take more. His chest is heaving with every breath, knuckles white around the handfuls of your sheets. 

And when your hand abandons his cock to tenderly massage his balls, when your mouth opens around him and your tongue strokes the underside of his length as he hits the back of your throat, Jack loses it. 

“Fuck. Ah, shit…so good, baby. Oh, fuck me…yeah, just like that.” His voice is wrecked, whimpering in that higher octave that you’ve associated with a brewing release. 

The sound of it spurs you on as you slip two fingers into your dripping cunt, curling as quick as Jack’s usually do in an attempt to get you to his level. You choke around the thickness of him, moans and whimpers suffocated by his cock.

It’s enough to spur him over the edge, to have him spluttering out, “I can’t—honey, I’m gonna cum. Oh fuck, oh fuck,” and with a choked cry of your own, you’re suctioning your lips again—just around his head—and he’s spilling onto your tongue. 

Your own orgasm crashes into you at the same time, cunt convulsing around your fingers and body shuddering in the same way Jack’s does. His hands give out from holding him up, his back crashing into the mattress as you slowly slide him out of your mouth and swallow down his release. 

Jack can’t catch his breath. With an arm thrown over his eyes and his hard cock glistening and resting against his thigh, you finally manage to heave a breath of your own. 

Tears stain your cheeks as you stand, as you crawl beside him on the bed. Before you can say a word, Jack’s blindly reaching for you. A strong hand wrapping around your arm and dragging you over to straddle his chest.

You’re still trying to catch your breath when Jack moves his arm from his face to hold your hips, when he looks at you like he’s only just getting started. 

He squeezes your hips once, dragging you up his chest until your sopping cunt hovers over his face. “C’mon, baby. Let me clean you up.” 

Neither of you question how natural it is. To have fooled around like usual, with Pheebs sleeping down the hall. Because it feels too normal. Like you’re two parents stealing moments of intimacy when you can. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Laughter is the first thing you hear when you stir from your slumber. 

Two sets of it. One young and high pitched, the other older and deeper. Your arm reaches across the bed in search of Jack who’s no longer there. His side of the bed is cold, sheets still rumpled. 

You blink at the light that filters in through the curtains in your bedroom, eyes catching the alarm clock on your nightstand. 

10 a.m.

Music greets your ears next as you slowly sit up, Michael Jackson blaring from the kitchen. A grin stretches across your sleepy face and you stretch beneath the sheets—still bare, but your body feels lighter after two orgasms and a good night's sleep. 

Dressing in the first pair of pyjamas in the drawer, you follow the sound of happiness down the hall and find the source of the noise in the kitchen, where you’re momentarily stunned.

Phoebe sits on the island, a bowl between her legs as she mixes pancake batter within an inch of her life. Jack stands in front of her, gently easing flour into the mix and playfully flicking some at Phoebe’s face just to hear her laugh again. 

You can’t hide your grin and clear your throat to make your presence known. They both turn to you, rosy cheeked and still slightly sleep ridden. 

“Morning, Mommy.” Their greeting is synchronized, like this is a normal, every day occurrence. 

The kitchen is a mess, the music is too loud, there’s flour and batter in Phoebe’s hair but you can’t bring yourself to care when Jack approaches you with a steaming mug of coffee. 

You take it from him with a bashful grin, and he almost closes the distance between you when he catches himself, realizes that he’s in front of Phoebe and unsure of the boundaries in place when it comes to this—the morning after. 

But you soothe that concern when you reach across the coffee to gently press your lips against his, eyes fluttering closed as he reaches an arm around your waist. 

“Morning,” he whispers against your lips as you whisper it back, pulling away to return to Phoebe and the pancake batter. 

Your eyes skim over the island; pencils and paper litter half of the counter, drawings and practised writing. 

Phoebe leans over to kiss your cheek and reaches for a piece of paper she’s particularly proud of and shoves it in your face. 

“Look! Jack was helping me practice writing.” She beams at you in excitement and pride and when you look down at the paper, your eyes sting with tears. 

M O M in big bulky letters, uneven where jack has dotted the outline for the letters and Pheebs has joined them with shaky lines. You’re too busy staring at the masterpiece that is definitely going to be framed to notice Jack watching you with a fervent softness. 

“This is beautiful, Diva. You are so clever.” 

She ignores the praise when she turns back to Jack, noticing the way he’s watching you. 

“Did you sleep in my mom’s bed last night?”

The question has you choking on your coffee and Jack almost dropping the bowl of pancake batter. You splutter out a string of coughs, steadying the mug on the counter for a moment so you can smack at your chest for come relief. 

“Um, yeah. Jack did.” You answer through another cough, casting a cautious glance over her head at him. 

The confirmation has the girl grinning something dangerous when she looks from you to Jack again. Like she’s purposely posing the questions to him instead of you. 

“So you really are boyfriend and girlfriend.” It’s not a question, she words it like a statement. As if she’s been working hard to get you both to this point. 

You suppose she has, really. If it wasn’t for your meddling child, you’re unsure if you and Jack would be here now. 

“Yeah, Diva,” Jack laughs. “You okay with that?” 

She seems to appreciate the thought of him checking, but doesn’t need to consider it before she nods with resoluteness and sprinkles chocolate chips into the mix in Jack’s hand. 

“Jack is nice and funny,” she says out loud. It causes him to grin wide, to meet your gaze briefly again over the top of her head. 

“Thanks, kid. You’re nice and funny, too.”

She hums. “But Tom is an ass.” 

The room falls silent as the music continues to play. You and Jack still, eyes wide and staring at each other. He has to look away, to turn his back to you both and busy himself at the sink to hide both his shock and amusement. 

You blink at your daughter, moving around the island to face her. “Pheebs—what? One, ass is a bad word, we don’t say that. And two…Tom? You don’t call him that, he’s your dad.”

Phoebe huffs, her shoulders dropping at the scolding and she places the half empty bag of chocolate chips back on the counter.

“I don’t want to call him Dad,” she mutters, keeping her gaze down at her fingers. “I like Jack better. Jack’s nice, and he plays with me. And he makes you happy. Tom is mean to you. He says mean things about Jack, Mommy. It makes me sad and angry.”

Jack feels his heart ache and crack at the watery tone of Phoebe’s voice, of the truth she’s admitting that should never have reached her ears. He can feel bile rise up his throat, his hands scrubbing the dishes a bit too forcefully. 

All you can do is stare at Phoebe in shock, feel your heart ache at how brazen Tom has been to belittle you and Jack in front of her. 

You swallow down the lump in your throat and reach for her hand. “Well, I will talk to your dad about that, okay?” You try to keep your voice calm and smooth, but you’re bubbling with anger beneath the skin. 

“Tom.” Phoebe corrects you, and it’s clear that she’s not going to drop this. 

You purse your lips, heart twisting and breaking at the thought of what’s unfolding in her clever little mind. 

“Tom.” You agree.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

SERIES MASTERLIST — NEXT PART

Tag list for this series has grown way too big for me to keep up with so it’s unfortunately CLOSED. You can however follow the #apt.17 tag instead for updates on the series!

ahhh ok so what did we think of jack's cheeky blowjob and the fact that phoebe is now calling her dad TOM :((( there is a lot to happen in the next two chapters so buckle tf up!! again, thank you SO much for your guys' continuous and unwavering support on this series, sending you all big fat smooches!!

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“Yes, actually, it would. Because I love you and I want only what’s best for you. And unfortunately, you do not share the same sentiment about yourself.

This is quite literally me with my best friends. I love them so much that I refuse to lie to them.

He’s considerate, compassionate, patient and kind. He’s funny—so fucking funny—and flirty and cheeky and intelligent in the sexiest way you’ve ever seen.

He’s masculine in every healthy way; like your personal repair man who comes over to fix leaky faucets and helps paint new furniture on your balcony that you’ve haggled from Marketplace.

He takes his time to learn your body, notices what you like and what you love. And he’s vocal. Talks you through it with praise and encouragement, something you’ve never experienced before him.

oh we’re so gone

and who can blame us

i love him

he’s perfect

i need him

She turns her head to lazily grin at you as you both stop just a few feet outside the doors to the girls classroom.

The doors to the girls’ class swing open before Bella can offer a defensive retort, and Phoebe and Florence come bolting toward you in quick skips and fits of giggles.

I adored this opening scene. I love that you include all aspects of the Reader’s life. And having a dating debrief on our way to pick up our girls just puts me right in the story. Plus, I love that you never put any of the additional characters to the side.

You felt alive when you gave birth to Phoebe, when you heard her cries for the first time and felt her body against yours.

I’m not exaggerating at all; every mention of our motherhood journey makes me so soft. It makes so much sense why people who don’t even want kids get invested in your story. You write the emotions and capture the feelings so well.

As a woman who does want kids, has worked with them for almost a decade, and is getting her teaching credentials, any fics that involve kids make me so soft. I love a man who is good with kids, especially my own kids.

I’m working on reposting some Andrew Cody fics bc the Lena’s babysitter/nanny trope is just so good.

But, Jack…yeah, he makes you feel alive. Not just in the dates he takes you on, or the ones he works harder to plan so Phoebe can join, but in the way that he’s never once tried to snuff out your light, never once complained or grimaced at your weird and wacky personality.

This was gorgeous

Really and truly beautiful

I love that you mentioned this bc it mirrors how we make Jack feel younger. Also, it’s so clearly anti-Tom since he stole our spark during that relationship. He still makes us feel so angry and small all the time. We have a community that helped us to leave him and find ourselves after that relationship, and now Jack has joined our community and family. He wants us to be happy, and he wants to feed our fire and bask in the glow of our joy and success.

Whenever you mention how Jack considers Pheebs in our dating routines, I just melt. The mini bouquets, the easy rescheduling, and now additional planning to include Phoebe in these moments is just so perfect.

“Mom, Jack’s eating the cheese again!”

The former holds an expression of dramatic betrayal while the latter bursts into the dirtiest laugh you think you’ve ever heard from her.

I CAN’T THEY’RE SO CUTE

Phoebe’s head rolls back in laughter and you watch when Jack quickly untangles his arms to place a hand at her back, steadying her from falling off the stool with the force of her giggles.

he’s just so perfect, this moment alone had my ovaries going crazy

Jack turns to you with raised brows, struggling to hide his amusement when he jabs a thumb in Pheebs’ direction as if to say get a load of this.

He’s already having such dad moments. I can’t stop smiling omg

Encouraged him to take off his prosthetic by shoving the crutches against his good leg, tucked it away neatly beside the couch when he did as she requested.

oh my sweet sweet perfect little girl

my precious baby

her heart is just so pure and accepting

and we raised her. we taught her those values.

your writing literally has me maternal and proud of my (sadly) fictional child

He’s tried his best to put it off—not because he doesn’t want to join in, but because watching his two girls laugh and dance and sing and scream… he doesn’t want to intrude on something that is yours.

I love that he’s considerate of every aspect of our relationship and the role he plays in Phoebe’s life, and the space he’s allowed to take up. It fits Jack so well, so it aligns with his characterization. But, it also makes him so much more caring and thoughtful than I thought possible.

It also just makes this relationship much more grounded and real in my eyes. It wasn’t as easy as a simple “yes” and an all-access pass to Pheebs. This is our daughter. There’s a lot to consider, a lot of conversations to be had, and so many aspects of our lives.

I have always enjoyed that you write scenes from all parts of our lives. Even things like a walk to the park or picking up the girls contribute to the narrative, and they make the story feel more alive.

Her infectious laughter bounces off the walls, and when Jack imitates Phoebe by wiggling his hips, the sound of yours is joining hers. He catches your gaze through a wide grin and sparkling eyes, shoots you a wink that does something to your insides.

I love how much he loves her (and us ofc)

It really pulls at my heartstrings.

Seriously, Penny, I’ll say it until I’m blue in the face, but the way your writing makes me feel emotions is so astounding.

Like the sound of Jack’s laughter and the stability of his presence is exactly what’s been missing in your home and hearts.

Family time. Something Phoebe has only ever experienced with you and her grandparents at their house.

You’ve slowly been allowing them to spend more time together over the last month, their bond only blossoming into something unbreakable.

They’re a family 🥹

He doesn’t question it, he’s learnt not to question some of the things that Phoebe says.

Can I just point out that the last part started with us saying that we had learned to pick our battles when it comes to parenting and Jack has also learned that same lesson 👀

Also, I recently saw a clip of Ruth from New Girl and now she’s the voice that I hear when I think of Pheebs.

You feel her stiffen, just enough for it to feed the concern rushing through you and to grab Jack’s attention.

Honey, I’m not gonna lie, I thought she was going to tell us that something happened at Tom’s place, but now she’s scared of the dark. I don’t play about my baby girl, I locked in real fast.

Jack’s eyes snap to meet yours, his lips parted and a softness overtakes him at the realization. She’s sad because she doesn’t want him to go.

I was so relieved that she was sad that Jack was going to go, rather than having acquired a fear of the dark or nighttime monsters. Now I’m back to admiring how sweet their relationship is.

“But Sally would be all on her own.” He tries gently, looking back down at your daughter as he speaks in a gentle tone.

There’s that silent question in his eye when you meet his gaze. Asking if you’re okay with him staying, promising that he understands if you’re not.

He’s so careful and considerate when it comes to letting us pace his place in Phoebe’s life. And he never questions our decisions.

god he’s perfect

Lets her lay across his lap with her head on his thighs and her calves dangling off yours.

With Jack’s fingers sunken into Phoebe’s hair, scratching gently and soothingly at her scalp.

This was such a gorgeous image

Seriously, I’m feeling tears as I reread to write this

It takes you a moment before you move, to comprehend that the reason he’s asking for his leg is because he wants to put her to bed.

the words are lodged in my throat bc i’m trying not to cry

and I say that knowing what’s coming up next and that it just gets even more emotional

And Jack stares at you with both shock and reverence when you sit on your heels on the carpet before him, and slowly ease the blanket up to expose his thigh and attach his prosthetic. Something he has neverconsidered or allowed anyone else to do before.

I will never get tired of the emotional intimacy that you write. It’s everything. I can’t believe that I get to read all of this for free.

Because to be trusted so wholly by you both, to be so accepted and wanted and cherished… Jack never thought this life would ever be possible for him. And yet, here he is, falling for a family that already has each other, and being treated as if he always belonged with them.

So I recently reread this whole series from pt. 1, and oh my god, I wanted to fall apart when I remembered how much Jack loved and cared for Phoebe from the moment he met her. The way he was practically yearning for a child because of her, and now we’re here, and it’s so beautiful.

Because it doesn’t feel like singing a lullaby. It feels like a loud admittance whispered into a safe and treasured moment.

I’m going to cry with him and I swear on Sally that I’m not being dramatic

It’s with quiet and somewhat practised ease that Jack very silently begins to tidy up so she doesn’t trip in the night if she awakes.

hehe I can’t wait to read your Andrew Cody fics (if you really are entering that era) bc of how much he cleans and you already write Jack as always taking care of the messes

Not just one doll that’s not quite right, but three. His hands are trembling when he picks them up, when he clutches them in an unsteady hold.

my heart legitimately skipped a beat when I read this

Three dolls—Superman, Spiderman, and The Hulk—all missing a leg from the knee down. Just like Jack.

ok before I lose my mind, I had to pause because these are all superheroes

Is it bc Pheebs only has male dolls that are superheroes, or was it meant to highlight the fact that she views Jack as a hero

“Did you know she’s been amputating her dolls?”

It’s all over his face when he looks at you; the longing, the vulnerability, the thought that he is not deserving of this. Of her.

hold on I need to get a tissue

istg I’m getting so emotional over this

penny please please please believe me when I say your writing brought me to tears (in a good way!!!!)

He nods, sniffling until a smile begins to pull on the corners of his mouth. “I know,” he rasps. “I love her, too.”

The heaviness of the fact sits thick between you. The truth hidden between the lines—what he’s saying includes what he isn’t.

im falling apart over here this was so beautiful oh my god

He leans in close enough to kiss you, but lets the tip of his nose brush yours instead, allowing himself this moment to recenter.

I love these moments of intimacy

Soft footsteps padding down the hall—stopping briefly outside Phoebe’s door before continuing into your bedroom.

he stopped to check on Phoebe????

that’s literally his daughter and no one is allowed to tell me otherwise

I know she isn’t and we’re a while a ways from that because we have to be stupid, resposible adults bc this story is so wonderfully grounded in reality, but let me be delusional

“Yeah, you don’t have a chair.” He explains in a low voice, hand reaching down to dip his fingers into the hot water, finding your knee and gently tracing patterns on the warm skin.

ugh this had me melting, it’s just so deliciously domestic and intimate

I love how comfortable he is about his disability now. He can just take off his prosthetic when he gets in the house, and he can mention a shower chair without getting rigid or feeling shame.

It doesn’t matter that his hands have touched your skin more times than you can count now, that he’s already mapped out your body with his hands and mouth—that he’s committed it to memory, along with what makes you squirm and writhe and moan.

With his eyes still on yours, Jack’s hand skims from your knee and down your shin, skipping your foot to reach for the plug where he pushes it down and it pops back up.

You don’t try to hide your cesarean scar, nor the stretchmarks that adore the podgier skin of your lower stomach. You don’t shy away when his gaze slides over the dips in your hips, the slightly uneven swell of your breasts where the left is just a pinch bigger than the right.

I love that you included all of this, it was such a beautiful appreciation and I love that you mention how Jack just admires everything

You press a gentle kiss just above his knee when your fingers reach the clips to unfasten the metal. Another shaky exhale falls from him when you remove it, gently placing it against the foot of the bed.

Don’t get me wrong, what’s to come is steamy and hot and perfect, but it’s also so full of adoration and appreciation, and that is not lost on us.

“Fuck, baby,” Jack whimpers breathlessly.

you really got me addicted to the idea of us making him lose his breath or whimper bc we make him feel so good

and the image of him doing everything he can to stay quiet and gripping the bedsheets? perfection

The praise has you oozing onto your finger, has you whimpering around his cock. It sends shocks of vibrations through his body, forcing him to fist the sheets harder when you take him deeper.

“Good girl, baby. Doing so good.”

His hips begin to move, respectful of what you can handle but enough to encourage you to take more.

i’m speechless that was so good

i forced myself to only pull three quote but good lord that was fantastic

A strong hand wrapping around your arm and dragging you over to straddle his chest.

“C’mon, baby. Let me clean you up.”

and this????

Like you’re two parents stealing moments of intimacy when you can.

this is exactly what I was thinking when we started and I love that you mentioned it

Music greets your ears next as you slowly sit up, Michael Jackson blaring from the kitchen.

Jack stands in front of her, gently easing flour into the mix and playfully flicking some at Phoebe’s face just to hear her laugh again.

The way that Phoebe is so happy to share this routine with Jack 🥹

And considering the fact that Jack was hesitant to be a part of your traditions with Pheebs just the night before, and now he’s participating in this (arguably most sacred) routine??? MY HEART

“Morning, Mommy.” Their greeting is synchronized, like this is a normal, every day occurrence.

This took me out oh my god

genuinely

my ovaries

they’re going wild

my biological clock is ticking doctor abbot…what are you going to do about it 👀

You take it from him with a bashful grin, and he almost closes the distance between you when he catches himself, realizes that he’s in front of Phoebe and unsure of the boundaries in place when it comes to this—the morning after.

But you soothe that concern when you reach across the coffee to gently press your lips against his, eyes fluttering closed as he reaches an arm around your waist.

I love all of these moments we’re learning to be a couple, especially since we’re always considering Pheebs. From him showing up with pizza after she was upset at Tom’s, going on the double date, the dinner/sleepover last night, and now this morning.

M O M in big bulky letters, uneven where jack has dotted the outline for the letters and Pheebs has joined them with shaky lines.

HE MADE THE OUTLINE FOR HER

“Did you sleep in my mom’s bed last night?”

Like she’s purposely posing the questions to him instead of you.

who needs a bestie interrogation from Bella when we have our daughter

(bestie interrogations are non-negotiable in my world that’s a story for another time lol)

She seems to appreciate the thought of him checking

It causes him to grin wide, to meet your gaze briefly again over the top of her head.

no joke, they’re my everything

“But Tom is an ass.”

“I don’t want to call him Dad,” she mutters, keeping her gaze down at her fingers. “I like Jack better. Jack’s nice, and he plays with me. And he makes you happy. Tom is mean to you. He says mean things about Jack, Mommy. It makes me sad and angry.”

Jack feels his heart ache and crack at the watery tone of Phoebe’s voice, of the truth she’s admitting that should never have reached her ears. He can feel bile rise up his throat, his hands scrubbing the dishes a bit too forcefully.

MY BABY

I’m back to fighting tears y’all

seriously this simultaneously made me mad and broke my heart.

First of all, how dare Tom be using such language in front of MY DAUGHTER. I don’t care that he has genetic claims, she is my daughter. I’ve never left her. She’s my everything. She’s my first priority above everything else.

It’s not even that he says mean things about me, it’s the fact that he’s talking poorly about anyone. How dare you use such cruel language in front of her? She got the word “ass” from someone and it sure as hell wasn’t us. He’s teaching her bad morals (but our baby girl is perfect so she knows right from wrong), and you’re UPSETTING HER. Was he saying these things to Pheebs or just somewhere that she could hear? Either way it’s bad but the first option is dfintely worse.

And yes, it’s upsetting that he talks poorly about us and Jack to her but my main focus is Phoebe rn.

Second of all, it’s like I said, IT’S UPSETTING HER. She doesn’t want to be around Tom, and she doesn’t want to recognize him as her dad. She’s in PRESCHOOL, but she knows enough that Tom doesn’t act like her dad. My heart shattered.

We ride at dawn.

my dear, lovely, perfect, pretty Penny, this was WONDERFUL!!

oh my gosh it was such an emotional rollercoaster but is was so beautiful and perfect and I loved it. You have such a wonderful talent for showing us how these characters all love one another and it tugs at my heart every time.

Seriously, the way you describe your scenes in such a way that I get immersed in the story, walk me through the emotions in a way that gets me to feel things rather than tell me how I’m feeling, and piece everything together so wonderfully always takes my breath away. I can’t believe this series is coming to an end soon, but I can’t wait to read the next part 🫶

You make a show of dropping your purse on the kitchen counter, making your way to the fridge to pull out a bottle of water instead. Phoebe still doesn’t move, not even an inch. It’s from across the lounge that Jack has to stifle a laugh by pursing his lips, angling his head so he’s not staring at the back of Phoebe’s outfit. 

He doesn’t interfere, finds it quite amusing to watch the way Phoebe stubbornly tries to take control of your parenting. It’s like she’s waiting you out, like she knows it’s a matter of time before you cave and just let her go out in what she’s chosen. 

In any other instance, maybe you would. Pick your battles and all that. But not when it's roasting hot outside and she won’t be able to breathe. Phoebe isn’t the only stubborn one in this apartment. She got it from someone, and that someone is you. 

Jack watches in amusement as you sit at the kitchen island and take a sip from your water bottle, the silence so loud he’s worried that if he even breathes out a laugh, this frustration and stubbornness on both of your sides will then be directed at him. 

But five minutes pass. Then ten. And neither you nor Phoebe have moved. 

“Jack, if you’d like to go and get ice cream without us, go ahead.” You speak in a feigned, professional tone. The sound of it quirks Jack’s brow, but it still doesn’t make Phoebe move.

He cranes a neck to look around her, to meet your gaze. You nod your head to Phoebe, eyes wide and brows raised, a silent command for him to try instead. It causes a ruckus of movement in his stomach at the suggestion, at the approval from you to do so. 

But Jack doesn’t exactly have a whole lot of experience with disciplining stubborn kids, so he swallows thickly when he approaches the table to stand in front of Pheebs instead of behind her. 

“Diva,” he regards her softly, though there's a kink in his tone that she’s never heard from him before. One that holds something like authority.

Her head twitches, but ultimately, she ignores him like she’s ignored you. 

With a sigh, Jack leans down with his legs spread, his eyes level with hers, palms resting on his lower thighs. “Spider-Girl…”

Phoebe, the little shit, turns her head to look at him fully at that. Jack can just about make out the blinking of her eyes beneath the mesh mask as she shifts in her Spider-Man costume. 

“I know you wanna save the city, kid. But, it's too hot today for you to wear this outside.” 

You watch the interaction with squinted eyes and a racing heart. Jack is soft when he speaks with her, gentle yet firm enough that she knows not to argue with him the way she will with you. 

“Peter Parker doesn’t wear his Spidey stuff every day and he still manages to save people without it, right?” 

Her head dips until her chin is pressed to her chest. “I guess so.” Her words are muffled through the fabric of the mask. 

Jack hums, like he understands her upset and inner turmoil. “So, why don’t we change into something else? Maybe a pretty dress like Mommy? Or some shorts like me? Plus, you don’t wanna spill ice cream down your Spidey outfit.” 

It’s with a heavy sigh that Phoebe pinches the mask at the top of her head and pulls it off. Her cheeks are flushed red, hair an unruly mess despite you fixing it just an hour ago. Jack grins at her, stands back at his full height and tenderly smoothes down her wanton strands like he’s slicking them. 

You watch the exchange, heart lodged in your throat at how easy it is between them—how natural he is with her, how quickly they understand each other. Phoebe jumps down from the coffee table and trudges back into her bedroom to change and you watch Jack watch her go. 

Quietly, you stand and approach him and Jack meets your gaze with hesitancy. 

“Was that okay?” He asks lowly. 

Your bottom lip is sucked into your mouth as you nod your head, wrapping your arms around his broad waist when you reach him. “Uhuh,” you hum, pressing your lips to his slowly. 

Jack kisses you gently, slowly, lets his tongue swipe against yours only once before he pulls away with a crooked grin. 

“Yeah?” His tone is suggestive, amused, and you both love and hate how easily he can read you. 

That he knows you liked watching him step just slightly into the threshold of parenthood, that it rattled you a little to watch him be so respectful and kind but authoritative at the same time. That you liked how natural it was for him, how easily Phoebe listened. 

You roll your eyes at him but the act is nothing but fond and affectionate. 

You’ve felt much braver, secure, since your talk at the beginning of the week. Since Jack told you he was happy that Phoebe had been calling him your boyfriend. Since you became his girlfriend.

He’s been touchier since. Given, you’ve only been able to see him yesterday and now, but there’s a noticeable change between you both; in your actions and in the air. The hesitancy when reaching for one another is gone, no more reservations or timid uncertainty. 

And you love it. 

You love even more when Phoebe runs down the hall in a summer dress and twirls around, when Jack offers her a dramatic applause and then bows at the waist like a Jester would to his Queen. 

“You are an absolute fashionista, Pheebs.” He compliments, your daughter's grin stretching wider across her face. 

The sight of her unbridled joy does something sinister to Jack’s chest. He knows the sensation of self-sabbotage far too well, knows he’s beginning to get stuck in his head with guilt and shame for playing happy families.

He feels a sense of betrayal to his wife. Even though he knows she would want him to move on and find happiness again, even though he visited her just yesterday morning after shift and sat with her for hours. 

Talking, reminiscing, apologizing for beginning to fall for someone who wasn’t her. Explaining that he isn’t sorry for meeting someone new, he isn’t sorry for how deeply he feels for both you and Phoebe, but that he’s wholly and irrevocably distraught because he knows he’s truly moving forward from her. 

He sat and cried when he admitted to her gravestone that he no longer wears his ring on his finger, but that he keeps it on a chain close to his heart instead. And when a gentle breeze caressed his face right after, he let himself believe that Mary was there with him; soothing him, silently accepting his words and praising him for finding happiness. 

Despite how much lighter he’s been feeling today… there’s still that stab of guilt that lodges in his throat. Only briefly, not long enough for you to notice a change, but it’s there. Jack knows it’s there. 

He blinks it back when you smother suncream across every inch of Phoebe’s exposed skin, cracks a smile when she grimaces and whines when you smear it across her entire face and accidentally forces her to taste some of it. 

And when you’re out on the streets, with Pheebs walking between you; a hand in yours and a hand in Jack’s, he feels that gentle breeze caressing his face again. Tender and warm, most likely just the sun, but his shoulders ease at the feeling of it. 

At the thought of Mary supporting him. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

After ice cream and a quick trip to the park, you all make your way back to the apartment —Phoebe on Jack’s back and you following close behind, sneakily snapping photos of them together. 

It’s sly when Jack winks at you when you’re in the elevator and Pheebs is too busy blowing kisses to herself in the mirror that encases the back wall. You stifle a laugh at the sight, stepping into Jack’s side and he instinctively wraps an arm around your shoulder to keep you close. 

“Hey, Diva?” Jack calls her softly. 

She perks up at the name, turns to him with raised brows and an expectant expression. Jack rolls his lips between his teeth in amusement before speaking. “You wanna meet someone?” 

You frown to yourself as you look at him, unsure who he’s referring to and why he wouldn’t run something like this by you first. But he squeezes your shoulder in a silent form of reassurance as the doors open on your floor. 

“Are they nice?” She questions with a frown and Jack barks out a laugh.

Instead of turning left to your apartment, Jack turns you both right with Phoebe skipping ahead, like she already knows 

“Yeah, she’s friendly.”

You blink as a smile curls its way into the corners of your mouth, piecing together just who exactly Jack is talking about. Phoebe stops outside Jack’s door, the fact that she’s remembered which one is his after only stopping by once to drop off cakes is a little insane. 

Jack opens the door slowly and Pheebs wanders inside like she owns the place. Jack ushers you in after her with a palm ghosting your lower back and you take in the difference of his apartment compared to yours. 

You’ve not been inside properly before—most dates start with him coming over if Phoebe is in bed or him picking you up and dropping you back after. 

Jack’s place is a mirror layout to yours with a small entrance hall that breaks directly into the lounge and open kitchen space. But unlike your mismatched fabrics and colors, Jack’s is much more cohesive in an organised way. 

Rustic dark wood coffee table and matching TV console, twin brown leather couches and black lamps in the corners of the room. A solid, dark oak bookcase and leather arm chair in the place where you cram a small dining table. 

His refrigerator isn’t littered with magnets like yours, but it does have a few that pin up several of Phoebe’s drawings that she’s made over the past few months. It’s a bit overwhelming to be in his home, with Phoebe. To be fully surrounded by his scent. 

It’s a reminder of the very different lives you live. Jack has no mess, everything has a place. There are no buckets of toys tucked away, no wanton blocks of Lego stuffed beneath the couch. Perhaps it's cruel to think, but his apartment does not feel like a home. 

You wonder briefly if he feels the same way. If that’s why he’s never really brought you into his space before.

“You have a kitty!” Phoebe’s shrill excitement breaks you from your spiralling thoughts and you’re quick to shush and scold her.

“Baby, inside voices. You don’t want to scare Sally.” 

“Sally!?” She coos, dropping on her knees and slowly crawling toward the fat cat that stares at the new guests. 

Jack watches in amusement, wraps his arms around you from behind and nuzzles his chin into the crook of your neck. You melt into him, arms wrapping around his as you watch Phoebe introduce herself to Sally and giggle uncontrollably when she nuzzles into the kids' touch. 

“We should’ve done this sooner. They’re little besties.” You giggle.

Jack hums, lets himself bask in the feel of you in his arms—uses it to reassure himself that this is okay. To have you and Phoebe in his space, to share what little he has considering you’ve shared so much already. 

It doesn’t matter that you’ve only been here for a few minutes. The apartment already feels less quiet as Phoebe’s infectious laughter worms its way into the crevices of every room.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Jack can’t take his eyes off you. 

And not like in the way he’s used to struggling, where every five minutes he has to look at you and just admire for a moment. No. Right now, he physically cannot take his eyes off you as you saunter down the hall from your bedroom and toward where he lounges on the couch.

Chocolate brown midi dress with a subtle draping through the waist, sheer dark brown tights that disappear into a pair of simple heels. You’ve painted your face in a way he’s only ever known you to; subtle enough for it to not be dramatic, yet precise enough to see the effort. 

There’s a familiar heat that’s curling in his lower tummy; a tightness that’s beginning to strangle and suffocate his muscles. Your delicate heels click elegantly across your hardwood floors, arms bent as you reach up to slip an earring in. 

Your eyes are focussed on your feet as you move, brows pinched just slightly in concentration as you attempt to clip the jewellery in place. 

Jack leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs and he takes your moment of distraction to drink you in greedily

Jesus fucking Christ.

“You look incredible.”

Your eyes snap up to his at the sound of Jack’s raw voice. You don’t miss the hunger in his tone, the darkness that pools in his eyes. He’d let himself in five minutes ago like you’d told him to, had gotten himself comfortable on your couch while he waited.

And he looked nothing short of delicious. A simple white button up shirt beneath a black blazer, his thighs almost bursting at the seams in his tailored trousers. It’s a conscious effort not to bite down on your freshly glossed lip. 

The compliment sends a jolt of excitement through you. 

Clearly the two fancy dates he’s taken you on isn’t enough for him to get used to you being dressed up this way. You think it’s fair, though. You haven’t got used to him dressing like this either. 

“And you look delicious.” You drawl playfully, but it’s flirtatious enough for him to know that you mean it. 

He grins, crookedly, and rises from the couch to move closer to you. His eyes hover over your waist before replacing the tender gaze with a delicate touch. Your heels keep you face to face, your hands reaching to rest on his shoulders.

“Do we have to go to this?” You pout at him; the sight causes his grin to grow in adoration and he squeezes your hips reassuringly. 

“It’s for the best. It’s for Pheebs, not us or them.” He offers in a gentle tone, pulling you closer until your chest presses against his and your breath catches in your throat. 

It’s not lost on either of you the path tonight will likely take. How the double date will no doubt end with you at his place or him at yours. That it will end in an intimacy you’re yet to explore with one another. 

And despite the underlying assumption of it, there’s no pressure of expectation. Neither of you feel like it’s owed to each other because it’s been three months of nothing but kissing and dry humping. But tonight—perhaps it’s something in the air, or the fact that this double date makes things even more real between you—it feels like the right time. 

You’re fretting on the walk down to Jack’s car, picking at your freshly polished nails as he pulls out of his allocated parking spot and follows the route to Preston’s. 

You feel sick with nerves and annoyance. Angry at the fact that this is happening under Tom’s terms, anxious at the things he may try to say; Jack’s opinions on you that he might try to change. But more than that, there’s something fierce that’s bubbling beneath your skin. 

Hot, fiery, protective. After the years of being in a relationship with Tom and now trying to co-parent (if it can even be considered that, given how little he shows up for Phoebe), you’ve grown more than accustomed to his spiteful tongue and manipulative tendencies. 

You’re not prepared for Jack to be subjected to it—to bear witness to his passive cruelty. 

And Jack, being ever observant, takes note of your unusual quietness, your fidgety demeanor. It makes his heart sink, has him assuming the worst that this double date has sobered your rose-tinted view of him and the relationship. That you’re making a grave mistake with him. 

Still, he reaches a hand across the console to intertwine his fingers with yours, breaking your anxious habit. 

“Talk to me.” 

You chew on the inside of your cheek, gripping Jack’s hand much harder than you ever have before. But the feel of his skin on yours brings at least a little bit of comfort. He’d be disgusted to know you’re considering that Tom will have any sway on Jack’s view of you. 

You loose a breath, let your head roll back against the headrest, turning slightly to admire the side of his face as he keeps his focus on the road again. You let your fingers on your spare hand trace patterns across his knuckles.

“Just anxious. I don’t like being around him. I don’t like knowing you’re going to be around him.” You explain quietly, allowing your eyes to flutter closed as you take a moment to try to compose your breathing.

You feel Jack squeeze your hand tenderly. “Honey, however tonight plays out…it won’t change a thing between us. His behavior is not going to change how I feel about you.” 

You nod at his words, forcing yourself to sit up straighter and heave a heavy breath again. 

“I know. I just—he can be an ass. And he’s self-absorbed, and he… he twists things so well…”

“Baby,” Jack cuts you off with a soft chuckle, chucks an admiring gaze at you before looking back at the road ahead. “From what little you’ve told me about him, he seems like some douchey finance bro that probably thinks he’s too big for this world because he had one successful trade in Crypto. Someone like that is not going to scare me away.”

A laugh tumbles from you before you can even stop it. “Douchy finance bro? I haven’t even told you what he does for work.” 

Jack shrugs, a smirk pulling on his lips. “Don’t care what he does for work. Just the vibe I get.”

It’s enough to quell that crippling anxiety, enough to force it to pry its claws out of your skin. You release another breath, let your gaze fall to the window as the streets blur into soft strokes of color as you pass. 

“Have I told you yet that you look beautiful?” His voice causes heat to curl up your neck and all you can do is laugh breathlessly.

“Yes.” You turn to look at him but his eyes are back on the road again.

Jack nods. “Good. Because you do. Ridiculously so.”

Your lips curl to hide your bashful grin, but Jack can feel your skin warming, thinks he can actually hear your heartrate picking up in the silence of the car. 

But the moment Jack pulls up, your momentary relaxation is short-lived. You’re gnawing on your glossy bottom lip, effectively smearing it away as you look at the passenger window and directly at the entrance of Preston’s.

“What do you say about a quick tequila shot when we get in there?”

Your eyes close as you huff out a laugh, actually quite thankful for how easy he is to calm you down. And you’re also not at all opposed to a bit of hard liquor to take the edge off. 

You turn to him with a nervous smile, still worrying your bottom lip and Jack reaches a hand to caress your jaw, to pull your lip from between your teeth. 

“If it gets too much, or you just want to leave, say Poughkeepsie.”

You raise a brow at him in a mixture of confusion and amusement. 

“Poughkeepsie?” You deadpan. “As in a safe word?”

Jack pulls a face of consideration. “Maybe more of a distress signal.”

That gets a real laugh out of you—one that’s unrestrained and entirely unapologetic. Jack thinks it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard, thinks you look nothing short of angelic when your nose crinkles and your shoulders shake. 

You don’t tell him that you don’t need a distress signal. That you have absolutely zero problem with telling Tom exactly what you think of him and leaving without looking back. But the light that shines in Jack’s eyes when you laugh at his suggestion, when you lean in to kiss him with everything that you feel for him, you can’t bring yourself to tell him so. 

“Okay,” you agree with a giggle against his lips. “Poughkeepsie, it is.” 

He kisses you again, but it’s all teeth; both of you grinning too wide to really press your lips in the ways you want to.

Jack doesn’t let you open your door yourself. He rounds the car to open it for you, to press a hand on your lower back as he guides you into Preston’s. 

You hate that Tom suggested the double date to be here. It’s one of your favorite restaurants and bars in the city. Classy enough to require an effort, common enough for there not to be a three month wait list for a table. 

It’s very moody, the interior. Industrial loft style with expensive furniture and dim, golden lighting. Nothing harsh, nothing performative. It’s a place to eat and drink and enjoy yourself and your company. It’s just a shame your company tonight is about as interesting as a spam email. 

True to his word about some liquid courage, Jack keeps his hand on your lower back as you move past the hostess stand and straight for the bar. But it’s only three steps in that you clock a familiar face amongst the tables and stop dead in your tracks with a huff.

“So much for that tequila shot.” You mutter and Jack frowns slightly, trying to follow your line of sight. 

He sees it then. Them. A brunet and a blonde sat at a table, eyes sharp and looking between you and Jack. It takes him a moment to register that this brown-haired pretty boy is Tom. That the doe-eyed blonde sitting beside him is Kirsty. 

He feels your spine stiffen beneath his touch and he snakes his arms around your waist, to keep you close, to keep you grounded. 

You sigh, swallowing. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

Your nerves are rolling off you violently, despite Jack’s comforting touch. He can feel how tense you are, like you’re already in fight or flight by just seeing Phoebe’s dad. It makes Jack’s skin crawl, makes him angry and frustrated and helpless.

It’s only now, that Jack is moving closer to the table and getting a clearer look at your ex, that Jack realizes just how much Phoebe looks like you. Your hair, your eyes, your smile. Diva holds little to no physical resemblance to Tom, and it makes a sick part of Jack happy. 

You stop at the table as Tom watches with the eyes of a shark. He doesn’t move, not even when Kirsty stands with a nervous smile and soothes out the non-existent creases in her dress. 

You glance at her, force your features to soften, to appear friendly. Jack doesn’t exactly offer the same courtesy. He stays neutral. No smile, no frown. 

“Hi, I’m Kirsty. It’s so nice to meet you!” 

Her voice is soft, kind, gentle. It makes you pause, a little stunned. She’s beautiful. Glass-like skin with a slim and slender build. She extends a hand across the table to you and you don’t have enough animosity to reject it. 

As quickly as you shake her hand, she offers it to Jack. “And you must be Jack! Nice to meet you.” 

Unfortunately, Jack does crack a soft smile at that. Does let his hand shake hers politely. You were both expecting Kirsty to be a complete and utter bitch. And yet… she’s kind, soft, just as nervous as you are. 

The little bubble of mutual caution is popped, though, when you look down at Tom who remains in his seat. Expressionless, yet relaxed. Lounging back in his chair with an arm thrown over the back of Kirsty’s empty one. 

“Tom.” You greet him bluntly.

“Y/N.” He returns it, just as dry.

He stares at you, though. Something like disbelief and disgust battling for first place in his expression. You don’t need to ask to know why. 

Because while you’re not sure what exactly Phoebe has told him about Jack, you know for a fact she hadn’t mentioned his age. If Tom’s shock is anything to go by. 

Jack watches Tom as Tom watches you. It sets his blood on fire in something both protective and disgusted. And when Tom’s eyes leave you to look at him with someone less than pleased in his expression, it takes every ounce of Jack’s patience to not hurl you over his shoulder and walk out the door. 

“Tom Scavo.” His voice drips off his tongue like silk when he introduces himself to Jack. 

It’s a voice that feigns confidence and security. It’s hard not to laugh in his face at how unironically wrong it is. 

“Jack Abbot.” He replies, and his voice is much deeper, raw and husky and something that promises comfort and stability. 

Not that it matters, Jack isn’t about to get into a pissing contest with your ex—with Phoebe’s dad—who holds all the arrogance and entitlement in the world on his face. 

You’re staring down at the table, trying to regulate yourself and not spiral on how fucking awkward and uncomfortable this entire situation is. Kirsty isn’t faring much better, but she’s not as good at hiding it. Wide eyes flickering between Jack and Tom like ones about to shoot and the other is about to pounce. 

It’s Jack who moves first, unwinding his arm around your waist to pull your chair out for you, sitting close beside you and resting a heavy palm on your upper thigh beneath the table. 

You could really do with that tequila shot right about now. 

Jack can sense as much when you subtly turn to side-eye one another; one of his brows slightly raised in amusement while your lips struggle not to curl in response. 

The private glance helps, though. Reminds you that you’re not in this alone. And you know that despite how shitty this evening might grow, one look at him and you can find the light in the darkness. 

You’re saved by the waiter, who introduces himself as Martin. He takes note of Tom’s red wine and Kirsty’s fruity cocktail and asks what he can get for you and Jack. 

“I’ll have a white wine spritzer, please.” 

“Make that two. Thank you.” Jack smiles briefly at Martin as he saunters away toward the bar. 

Jack doubling your order has you looking at him, amused. “What about the car?” It’s a quiet tease, one only meant for his ears. 

He grins down at you, fights back the urge to kiss your full lips. Because Jack only plans on having one glass of wine, and he knows you know he’s not a lightweight to get even tipsy off one drink. 

“Well, I was only intending to have one, but if you’re planning on taking advantage of me later, we can come back for the car tomorrow.”

It’s entirely instinctive when your hand comes up to swat his chest at the playful but suggestive remark. It’s also entirely involuntary when your cheeks burn and flush with heat at the thought. 

You have to hide your face behind the menu for a moment, feigning consideration of your meal. The act causes you to miss the disgusted glare Tom throws at you and the soft longing in Kirsty’s eyes as she watches yours and Jack’s private exchange. 

“Jack, I hear you’re a doctor?” Kirsty asks softly, and a pang of guilt sears through you at the fact that she is the one to have to try and make conversation. 

Jack nods, keeps his tone and expression polite and kind toward her. “Yeah, I’m an attending physician over at PTMC.” 

Her eyes dazzle slightly in wonder as you lower the menu to force yourself to engage in the conversation. She’s about to open her mouth to say something else when Tom beats her to it. 

“That’s a senior position, I’m assuming.”

You narrow your eyes at his smug tone but keep your mouth closed when Jack offers a reassuring squeeze to your thigh. 

“What about you, Y/N?” Kirsty asks the question so quickly it’s like she can sense the route Tom is trying to go down and she’s desperate for that not to happen. 

Your stomach curls in bitterness toward yourself, for thinking so negative of her before even meeting her. 

“Oh, I work in pub—“

“She’s an aspiring author.” Tom cuts you off with a dig and a really fucking low blow. 

Because he’s always known you’ve kept your job under wraps. That you use a pseudonym for a reason, because you don’t want to be known publicly. 

Martin arrives and places two chilled glasses of white wine before you and Jack, about to ask if you’re ready to order food before sensing the tension off the table and thinking better of it, walking away. 

Jack reels back slightly. 

“You’re an author?” Kirsty asks with wide eyed excitement. 

“Aspiring.” Tom mutters under his breath but it’s loud enough for the table to hear—clear enough for Jack’s jaw to twitch. 

You blubber for a moment, torn between glaring at Tom and smiling kindly at his girlfriend that he is undeserving of. 

“Uh, yeah— I go under a pseudonym, though. I don't really like the idea of my name being out there like that.” You laugh, nervous and completely out of your element. 

Jack knows that’s not the only reason. That your primary concern has and always will be Phoebe, and the asshole kids as she grows up. That you don’t want to subject her teenage years to bullying because her mom writes erotic romances. 

He looks at Tom, keeps his expression friendly when he corrects him. “A New York Times Bestseller says a lot more than aspiring, don’t you think?” 

You dip your head to hide the flush on your cheeks and the curve of your mouth at Jack’s boyish defence of you. You already knew tonight would be a struggle of both of your patience, but you should’ve known that Jack will defend you. 

Even if he has to do it passive aggressively. 

He refuses to sit back and allow anybody to disrespect you. 

“Wow, that’s incredible.” Kirsty gushes, beaming wide and you meet her gaze with something guilty. 

You can’t help but wonder how the fuck she’s ended up with someone as awful as Tom. He hasn’t got much else but his face going for him. You know the sex is boring and his personality is drier than a desert. 

“What about you?” You ask Kirsty. 

Her smile shifts into a look of shy apprehension and she tucks locks of blonde hair behind a pierced ear. “Oh, I’m twenty, so I’m still in college. Lots of time to figure it out, though, right?” She laughs nervously. 

You blink at the information, feel Jack still slightly beside you. Christ. Kirsty looks young but…twenty? Tom’s freshly thirty-three.

“Yeah, loads of time!”

A smile forces its way on your lips as you drag your gaze to briefly meet Tom’s. But he’s already looking at you with barely contained disdain. Like he’s daring you to say something when your age gap with Jack is three years bigger than theirs. 

Both you and Jack reach for your drinks at the same time, suffocating your unfair judgement with wine. But is it entirely unfair when you’re a fully grown woman and Kirsty is barely legal?

“And obviously, you already know Tom works in Crypto exchange.” 

Jack chokes on his wine with a fit of splitting coughs when the words fall from Kirsty’s mouth. He places his glass down a bit too unceremoniously, dabbing his mouth and chin with a napkin as he struggles to breath through the coughing. 

“Sorry,” he apologizes and it takes everything in you to hold back your laughter. 

Jack reaches for his water instead to try and soothe the burn the alcohol has left in his throat. His hand remains in your thigh throughout the exchange and squeezes with a playful warning. 

Maybe you should’ve warned him in the car that his perception of Tom was a little too accurate. Even down to his job. 

But every movement the two of you make is observed and noted by Tom. He doesn’t say anything at first about it, remains polite when Martin returns to take your food order, to refill your drinks. 

It’s mostly Jack and Kirsty keeping the conversation afloat throughout dinner, weaving around Tom’s animosity. 

In all honesty, you’ve enjoyed sitting on the sidelines and watching. Maybe it’s the wine that’s relaxed you, or maybe it’s the fact that Jack goes out of his way to politely disagree with everything that Tom says. 

“Crypto is the way for the future of money.” 

“Nah, can’t go wrong with cash.”

“Don’t you think cash is a little outdated? Old fashioned?”

“I think it’s good to be prepared for an emergency.”

“Cash is pointless. A bit like romance novels.”

“You’re not a romantic, Tom?”

“I just think they’re unrealistic. All a bit of make believe, really.”

“Ah, I have to argue otherwise. Maybe I can lend you my copy of Y/N’s book. You might learn a thing or two.”

“Oh, I would actually love that, if the offer extends to me?” Kirsty asks around a mouthful of food, palm covering her lips as she speaks—like she’s too excited by the idea to wait to finish her food. 

You laugh under your breath and find yourself nodding, completely unaffected by Tom’s attempt at belittling you and your career. It’s a bit hard for him to hit how he wants when the other two people at the table disagree with him. 

“Sure. Just—beware, they're a bit…spicy.” 

Her eyes light up at the warning as she swallows her food, lowering her hand to offer a conspiratorial smile. 

“I say the spicier the better.” 

Tom grimaces at the interaction, something that sends a jolt of smugness through Jack. Good. Let him fester in his girlfriend praising you, in her clear excitement toward your career that Tom does everything he can to belittle. 

Let that jealousy explode in his eyes at the thought of you and Jack together like that. He doesn’t plan on correcting him that nothing has happened yet. 

“Where’s Phoebe tonight?” Kirsty asks as she takes a sip of her third cocktail. 

“She’s with my parents for the night. Her favorite kind of sleepover.” 

She beams at that. “She’s such a great kid. I don’t think she likes me very much, though. I didn’t mean to upset her last weekend…I only asked if she wanted to listen to music and make some breakfast together.” Kirsty admits sheepishly, upset evident in her tone. 

Your heart cracks at that. Because Kirsty was only being kind and friendly to Phoebe. Offering to do something that you and Pheebs do every Sunday. And Phoebe… had she thought that her dads new girlfriend was trying to replace you? 

Jack seems to come to the same conclusion, you can practically smell the pity rolling off him. 

You chew on the inside of your cheek. “No, it’s okay. You don’t need to apologize for anything. It takes her time to open up to people sometimes.” You offer. 

“She seemed to take to Jack pretty quickly.” Tom comments in a bitter tone and you hate the way that Kirsty seems to shrink into herself at that. 

The same way that you used to. 

“There were no labels or expectations when she met Jack.” You’re quick to defend, the hand in your lap reaching beneath that table to rest on Jack’s thigh. 

You don’t tell him that the first time Phoebe met Jack was accidental, that it was also your first time meeting him, too. You don’t have to explain yourself. You refuse to. 

“He’s all she seems to talk about. Jack’s a doctor. Jack’s fun. Jack makes Mommy laugh. Jack’s a silver fox.” Tom continues and you still at that, eyes hardening as Tom glares at you, his anger and disbelief leaking out of his pores. 

“Really? That’s the type of shit you’re saying in front of our daughter?” His tone takes a spiteful turn. One that, despite your years apart, you still feel the hairs on the back of your neck standing up at. 

Jack’s struggling to keep his cool, to not step in. Because he can handle Tom’s futile attempts of making Jack insecure, of focusing on his age and comments that come with it. But Jack cannot handle the blatant disrespect and nasty tone Tom’s directing at you. 

“No. She overheard me on the phone.” You explain through gritted teeth.

Tom cocks a brow. “And that makes it better? She’s fucking four and you’re teaching her this shit?” 

You frown. He’s good at this, manipulating things into something that they’re not. Like you’re going out of your way to educate your child on something inappropriate. 

“I’m not teaching her that, Tom. She overheard a conversation.” You’re speaking through gritted teeth, your anger beginning to boil over. 

He scoffs, opening his mouth to say something else but you stand abruptly before he can. “I’m going to the restroom.”

Something aches in you when Kirsty stands, too, offering an apologetic smile. “I’ll come, too many cocktails.” She tries to diffuse your well-placed anger with a light joke but she knows it’s not really any use. 

You turn to look at Jack, swallowing down the lump in your throat when you notice the conflict of anger and devastation in his eyes. You bend at the waist to press a kiss to his cheek, a silent apology of leaving him alone with Tom, before you and Kirsty make for the ladies room. 

Jack doesn’t watch you go, but Tom does. Metaphorical daggers stabbing into your back with every step and Jack’s knee begins to bounce beneath the table. 

“You talk to her like that in front of Phoebe?” Jack asks, his mouth set in a firm line of barely restrained anger. 

“Let’s get one thing clear. I’m Phoebe’s dad. Not you.” Tom’s tone isn’t angry or rash. But it is accusing. 

Yes, maybe he has the right to make such a statement. Yes, he may be Phoebe’s father but he does not exactly qualify for the title of Dad. 

In another circumstance, maybe Jack would find the statement amusing. But not in this one. In this one, it makes Jack angry. All Tom is doing is portraying his bitterness of you finding someone else as a proud father setting boundaries. 

It’s anything but. 

A dry, humorless chuckle escapes Jack.

“Oh, I understand perfectly that I have no right or opinion when it comes to Phoebe. But as for her mother, I have every right to tell you to watch your fucking mouth when you’re speaking with her.”

The sheer venom in his words sets Tom slightly on edge. Because Jack’s threat lingers in his calm demeanor. His relaxed position in his seat, his warm and raw tone that turns grave at the end of his sentence. 

The soft clicking of your heels on the marble floor drifts closer until your presence is warm against the back of Jack’s chair. You sense the tension immediately, the hard set in Tom’s jaw as he stares at Jack. 

“What did we miss?” You ask carefully, dragging your eyes to assess Jack for any hint of emotion. 

He cranes his neck to look up at you. “Nothing, baby. Was just telling Tom about my trip to Poughkeepsie last year.”

You stare down at him, heart thumping at the ridiculous distress signal Jack came up with in the car. In all honesty, you assumed he was only teasing when he suggested it, or that if it needed to be used, it would be by you. 

But he sits there, looking up at you with a smile that does not reach his darkening eyes and you realize that he’s serious. He’s ready to leave before he does something to make matters so much fucking worse.

His hand reaches for yours that rests on the back of his chair, a touch so tender and reassuring. Because he doesn’t want you to worry, doesn’t want you to think that this abysmal night changes anything between you. 

You’re both too caught up in one another to notice the yearning look that Kirsty watches with. The realization that occurs to her when she sees what love and care and adoration is supposed to look like. 

You turn to her with an apologetic smile, not deigning to give Tom a glance. “We’re gonna head out. Pheebs is back early tomorrow.”

She nods, eyes crinkling when she moves across the table to wrap you in a friendly embrace. And you let her, allow yourself to relax against her because Kirsty is nothing but good. Her reassurance and apology on Tom’s behavior in the bathroom was unnecessary but appreciated all the same. 

It’s not her fault he’s a fucking cunt. 

“It was so lovely to meet you.” You both offer the sentiment at the same time, a laugh tumbling right after and she pulls away to respectfully shake Jack’s hand when he stands. 

Much like when you arrived, Tom remains seated. He doesn’t even feign niceties of a goodbye and instead relaxes into his seat with the smugness of a Persian Prince. 

Like he’s won this round. 

And Jack, ever the gentleman and bigger person, extends a hand across the table to Tom. 

Tom regards it as a test, of sorts. One that he surveys with scrutiny, like he’s just been dealt the losing hand. Whether he accepts or not, Jack wins. 

Only it’s not offered as a test. It’s out of Jack’s respect for you and his love for Phoebe that he puts his anger and hatred aside to offer his hand. It shouldn’t come as a surprise to you when Tom ultimately focuses his attention on his empty plate instead. 

But there’s that sinking feeling of anger and upset when he does. 

When he leaves your Jack standing with his hand still extended.

It’s not a bruise to Jack’s pride or ego, though. He has to hide his amusement at Tom’s childishness and retrieves his hand to dig into the inner pocket of his suit jacket. He pulls out his wallet, plucks a hundred and a fifty and sets the bills softly onto the table. 

“That should cover ours and a tip.”

Tom doesn’t look up, just burns holes into the cash he’s left when Jack turns to you and helps ease your purse over your shoulder. You offer a tight-lipped smile to Kirsty as you curl your palm around Jack’s elbow before you’re both weaving through tables for the exit. 

The moment the cool evening air hits you and your feet meet the sidewalk, neither of you stop. Jack unlocks the car with the press of a button on his keys, and opens and closes your door for you. You’re still holding your breath when Jack gets in the drivers side, still trying to process the night you’ve just had. 

He doesn’t start the engine straight away, just stairs ahead at the people that pass, the cars that drift. It’s eating at him, what he’s done. How he lost his cool just enough for him to have cross words with Tom. If he had it his way, Jack would’ve done a lot more than a verbal scolding. But the guilt of that alone is eating at him. 

“I threatened Tom.” He finds himself blurting quietly. 

Your head whirls around to look at him, eyes wide and heart stammering at the weight of what he’s just said. Of what he’s done. 

“You did what!?”

“Not—not physically, not properly. I—” He’s stammering, anxious that he’s overstepped and despite his reasoning for it, he knows it’s not good enough. 

Your eyes somehow grow wider at his attempted retraction. “You either threatened Phoebe’s dad or you didn’t. Which one is it, Jack?”

He turns to you with a frown, with agony in his eyes. “I didn’t threaten Phoebe’s dad. I threatened your ex.” He’s trying to paint it clearer for you, to understand the difference between the figures. 

And you do. Your shock and frustration shifts, your lips part and your eyes begin to hood. Because you’re picking up what he’s putting down; reading between the lines that Jack had clearly had enough of Tom’s belittling. 

“I spoke to him as a man who will not tolerate anybody disrespecting his girlfriend. Correct me if I’m wrong, but do I not have every right to do that? As your partner?” 

You blink at him, brows softly pinching together as your shoulders drop and you realize exactly where he’s coming from. That he bit his tongue when it came to all the times Tom has and continues to let Phoebe down. Because it’s not his place. Because in the face of Phoebe’s father, he has no right. 

Your eyes close as you release a heavy sigh and you find yourself nodding softly. “Yeah, baby. You do. Of course, you do.”

He watches you carefully when you open your eyes and lean your head against the headrest, when you turn just slightly to look at him with exhaustion and apprehension. 

“I won’t apologize for it.” He tells you, bluntly. 

You huff a laugh through your nose at that, reach a hand lazily across the console to intertwine your fingers. “I’m not asking you to.”

Jack squeezes your hand with a nod, brings your knuckles to his lips where he kisses them tenderly. 

“He’s a fucking asshole.” Jack says, his eyes locked on yours like he can’t quite understand what you ever saw in him. Like he’s distraught that that piece of shit is Phoebe’s father. 

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Kirsty seems nice, though.” 

“Mmh,” Jack hums. “Poor girl.”

You don’t say anything, just watch him for a moment. Trying to let your body relax now that you’re out of Tom’s presence. Trying to read Jack’s emotions that he struggles to keep off his face. 

He only did have one glass of wine, so you know whatever is running through his head is completely valid and justified. 

“Thank you, for coming and sitting through that. And I’m sorry that you had to.” You say softly, untangling your fingers to caress his stubbled jaw. 

Jack leans into the touch, lets his hand wrap around your wrist to keep you there. Christ, he’s so fucking handsome. 

“Honey, you don’t need to thank me. And you have absolutely nothing to apologize for. It’s not your fault Tom’s an asshole and has the personality of a piece of drywall.”

A giggle tumbles out of you and you stroke your thumb across the soft skin of his cheekbone. 

He intertwines your fingers again as he begins to drive back to the apartment complex. The radio plays in the background and he listens to the sound of your voice as you single along softly. 

He finds peace in it, in the rolling of your tongue as the lyrics almost sigh out of you. Focusing on that helps to take his mind off his simmering anger. The frustration and hatred that’s still brewing toward Tom. 

He doesn’t mention how devastating it was to watch you curl into yourself in Tom’s presence. How infuriating and disgusting it was to hear the way he speaks to you, how uncaringly he belittles you. 

Instead, Jack drives silently, singing along every now and then with you to take his mind off it. To calm himself down and remind himself that that treatment will remain in the past. That you will never, ever experience a lover like that again so long as he is by your side. 

He opens the car door for you, closes it. Intertwines your fingers again as you walk into the complex together. You catch sight of a few of your neighbors. Deborah from downstairs who grins to herself at the sight of you both, Chirpy from apartment twelve that gives you both a less than pleased look, while the newly wed Mr and Mr Hammond wiggle their brows at you as you join them in the elevator. 

The ride to yours and Jack’s floor is silent but not uncomfortable. You let the pair of husbands leave first, both of you left lingering in the hall as the elevator goes back down empty. 

Jack turns left toward your apartment when you stop walking and squeeze his hand. He turns to you with a furrow. 

“Can we go back to yours tonight instead?” 

He blinks, then softens. This afternoon was the first time you really came into his space, any other time he’s always come to you. 

“Yeah, baby. Let’s go.” His heart swells when you both begin to walk to his front door, when he opens it and you immediately crouch down to pet a waiting Sally. 

She purrs beneath your touch as you scratch behind her ears, laughing when you stand to take off your heels and she nuzzles at your ankles. 

Jack shuts the door with a quiet click, keeps his own shoes on and tosses his keys in the bowl at the small entrance table. You place your bag beside the bowl, pad through the apartment to follow him into the kitchen and make yourself comfortable on one of the stools. 

There’s a stiffness in Jack’s posture. It’s evident he’s never really had a woman in his space like this since his wife. It makes you wonder if you’ve pushed too hard. That maybe you should’ve just agreed to go back to yours instead. 

But the gentle clinking of a wine glass being set atop marble before you catches your attention. Jack takes a heavy gulp of his own before shrugging off his jacket and throwing it over a stool. 

He rests a palm on either side of the island, leaning his weight into it and the motion is far more sinful than he intends for it to be. 

You’re left with nothing to do but reach for your wine and guzzle down half of it. Jack cocks a brow in amusement, in silent question and you place it back with a laugh. 

“We are never doing that again.” 

He grins. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

He moves swiftly, despite the slight ache in his leg from being on it all day. You turn in the stool to face him as he cups your cheeks in his palms and leans down to press his lips against yours. 

You both sigh into the kiss, tasting each other and hints of elderflower. He pulls away to rest his forehead against yours, heaving in a breath. 

“Do you have any idea how gorgeous you looked tonight? How hard it was to not kiss you the entire time?” 

You beam at him, eyes fluttering closed and relief is finally beginning to settle within you. The date already forgotten about, Tom’s spiteful words and childish behavior shoved to the very back of your mind. 

You lean closer to kiss him again. It’s needy and hungry and sensual, and Jack returns it with even more vigor. 

“Jack,” you whimper against his mouth, hands reaching for his chest, fingers fumbling with the small buttons on his shirt. 

He makes a sound from the back of his throat, lets his hands wander from your face and down your neck, reaching to the back of your dress as his fingers trace the zipper down your spine. 

You pop a button and then another. Grow frustrated with how long it takes and sneak your hands beneath the fabric to feel his warm, hard chest. 

Jack whimpers at the sensation, pinches at the zip and slowly tugs it down the track. 

“Jack,” you breathe again, fingers curling until your nails scratch gently at the skin of his chest. “Jack, take me to bed.” 

You don’t know what comes over him, what you’ve said or done that makes him snake his arms around your waist and lift you. Your legs wrap around his hips, your fingers tangle into his hair and he does not break the kiss as he somehow manages to carry you from the kitchen, down the hall, and into the dim lighting of his bedroom. 

You’re offered no time to look as Jack gently eases you back on your feet, returning his attention to the zipper at your back. He tugs it all the way down when his lips begin to travel from your mouth to your neck; licking and nipping hungrily. 

Your head rolls back as he pulls the shoulders of your outfit down your arms, as the dress pools at your ankles and leaves you in nothing but a bra, panties, and brown tights. 

He pulls away to look at you with blown eyes and swollen lips. He drinks you in like a man starved, hands covering over your hips like he doesn’t know if he wants to touch you there or somewhere else. 

Your skin burns under his attentive gaze, arousal almost gushing between your thighs. Your heart stammers sporadically as your hands find their way back to the buttons of his shirt again, desperately fumbling to pop them open. 

“Look at you.” Jack’s voice is wrecked; the words are so broken it makes you pause. “You’re so fucking beautiful, baby.” 

Your lungs are on fire, can’t quite seem to catch a deep enough breath at how he’s looking at you. It makes you frustrated and you find yourself gripping either side of his partly open shirt and ripping it open. 

Buttons pop and clatter on hard wood in every direction. Freckled skin meets your line of vision; his torso toned and hard and hot beneath your touch. And when you peek up at Jack, he’s already smirking down at you. 

“Sorry,” you laugh breathlessly. 

He says nothing as he tugs the sleeves down his arms, throws the fabric haphazardly across the room. Jack catches your lips in a kiss again, tongues swirling in something erotic and entirely uncoordinated. 

“Lay down on the bed for me, Angel.” He commands softly against your mouth. 

The new pet name has your head spinning. You don’t argue, far too excited to even consider not giving him everything he wants from you. 

You keep your eyes on him when you move backward until the foot of the bed hits the backs of your knees. You sit down, shuffling backward until your head is resting on his pillows and you’re enveloped in the comforting scent of him. 

Jack moves slowly, admiring the sight of you sprawled out on his bed. His chest heaves with every breath and your eyes track his hands when they reach for the belt wrapped around his waist. 

An involuntary whine slips past you as he unbuckles it. “Take your tights off, baby.”

There’s something so incredibly sexy at how naturally he’s taken control. At how earnestly he speaks to you, at how devotedly he stares down at you. 

You move quickly, hooking your fingers in the thin waistband of your sheer tights and tugging them off as gracefully as you can. You’re left almost bare. In just a little black thong and a matching balcony bra. 

Jack swallows at the sight of you and abandons his belt, wrapping his hands around your ankles and gently tugging you down the bed until your ass is flush with the edge. 

“Now, spread your legs.” 

He eases himself to his knees as smoothly as he can at the same time as you parting your thighs. His hands soothe up the soft skin of your calves, tracing the flesh of your inner thighs. 

You prop yourself up on your elbows to watch him with hooded eyes. And Jack thinks he’s about to pass out. 

There’s a prominent wet patch on the dark fabric of your panties, goosebumps pebbling on your skin as he hooks fingers into the underwear and slowly eases them down your legs. 

When he throws them to the ground and you drop your legs open again, Jack groans. 

He’s seen you before. But this is different. This time you’re willing and excited and desperate. This time you’re in his fucking bed, not behind a hospital curtain. 

And above all, this time, Jack allows himself to really look. To admire you. To touch. 

You moan when he parts your lips with his index and middle finger, when you feel the warmth of his breath ghost over your clit. 

“Prettiest fucking cunt.” He praises roughly, salivates when he watches how you pulse because of it. 

“You’re soaked, baby.” 

His lips tease with open-mouthed kisses across your inner thighs, causing them to quake. His stubble grazes deliciously against the tender skin, but it only fuels the fire. 

You whine again, hips bucking toward his face. Desperate for something, anything. 

Jack relents, eager to taste you. His cock is throbbing against the confinements of his pants and boxers, eager to be buried to the hilt. 

His thumb swipes at the wetness at your puckering entrance, all the way up to your clit. He keeps it there for a moment when you gasp, rubs lazy circles around the little nub until you’re whimpering and begging for more. 

He’s a generous man. Not one to deny a woman of anything. Especially not you. 

It’s without another thought that Jack moves closer to swipe his tongue in the same way he did with his thumb. Laps at your cunt, eyes rolling back at the taste of you and all restraint is lost. 

His hands grip at your waist to keep you still, gripping with enough force to mark but not to bruise. Your back arches at the feel of his mouth on you—skilled and messy, worshiping every inch. 

“Jack, oh, fuck!” 

His guttural moan sends vibrations through your nerves as he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks. His tongue flicks against it at the same time, burying his face between your thighs. 

His short stubble scratches deliciously at your sensitive skin, a welcome burn grazing at your entrance and inner thighs. It only makes you needier. 

He’s completely drunk on you. So much so that he doesn’t even notice the ache forming below his knee, the discomfort that’s usually enough to cripple him. 

Your back drops onto the bed, head digging into the sheets as your hands fly to his hair, gripping and pulling until your nails are scratching at his scalp. 

He pulls off to heave a breath, to release one hip and circle your entrance with a finger. 

“You taste so fucking good.” He slowly pushes between your walls, curling against the tightness. 

A sharp cry sounds from the back of your throat when he returns his mouth to its rightful place, when he curls his finger faster and rubs the flat of his tongue against your clit when he sucks between his lips. 

The thickness of his fingers is unfamiliar but most welcomed. And the praise of how you taste goes straight to your head. 

Has your toes curling and eyes rolling. That familiar burn at the bottom of your spine creeps up on you like a freight train. You have no time to warn Jack when you clamp down on his finger, when you shudder and spasm beneath his hold. 

You have no time to warn him because the breath is stolen from your lungs and you’re gushing as release paralyzes you. 

And Jack…he drinks you like a starving man. Abandons your clit and removes his finger to lap at your pulsing hole; swirling his tongue and slurping like he can’t fucking get enough. 

You’re struggling to catch your breath when he’s struggling to stand again, your vision is nothing but a kaleidoscope gaze. All you can think is to scold yourself for waiting as long as you fucking have for that to happen. 

And when you blink through the distortion, you catch your orgasm coating Jack’s chin and mouth. The sexiness of it is short lived when you realize how his mouth is slightly curved into a grimace and he’s favoring his weight on his good leg. 

But he tries to soldier through it. To drop his trousers to his ankles, to hook his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers. 

It’s more effort than you care to admit to sit up. Your body spent but still aching for more. You rest your palms on the outsides of his muscular thighs, let your nose brush against his navel, pressing open mouthed kisses to the burning skin. 

“Take it off.” Your words are drunken and muffled but Jack hears them. Understands them. 

“I’m fine.” His voice is raw when he speaks, dripping with lust so much it almost masks his discomfort. 

“You’re not. Take it off, baby. I don’t care.” You insist, still peppering hot kisses across his waist, dragging your tongue across the path. 

Jack sighs shakily, relenting. And when he bends down with one hand on the bed and the other reaching to unclasp his prosthetic, you crawl backward on the bed until your head is resting on his pillows again. 

You spread your legs for him, let your hand snake down between your thighs to touch yourself while you wait. You’re dripping onto his sheets, unapologetic and when Jack looks up with his prosthetic off, he whimpers at that sight. 

“Jesus Christ, baby.” He’s almost drooling at the sight, still using one hand to balance and the other hooks into the waistband of his boxers and tugs them down. 

Your eyes bulge. He’s fucking big. Long and fat and veiny. Slapping against his navel when it’s free, red and neglected. You feel your chest tighten, feel yourself drip between your thighs. 

“Holy shit.” You pant. 

He crawls into the bed and between your thighs with a bashful smirk; his cheeks dusted pink and eyes twinkling with something like excitement and nerves. 

It’s then that he really notices the small scar just above your pubic bone. The evidence of the life you carried and birthed. It only intensifies his feelings toward how. Reminds him of how much you trust him. 

You swallow, unable to take your eyes off his cock. But you’re not dumb on it yet, still able to consider him in these final few moments. 

“Do you want me to—“

“No. Fuck no.” He knows what you’re going to say before you say it. Does he want you to do the work, does he want to lie down so it’s easier on his leg. 

The answer is a resounding not a fucking chance in hell. 

“Baby, I am more than happy for you to ride me whenever you want. But not—fuck—not tonight.” He’s panting out his words, like he’s already on the verge of release and he’s not even inside you yet. 

His hands block you in on either side of your head, thighs slotting between yours and when he lowers his hips, his cock brushes against your soaked folds. 

There’s a sobering moment that hits him the second he feels you. He doesn’t have any condoms and he doesn’t quite know how to broach the subject of asking if you do without breaking the moment. 

But it’s like you read his mind, or maybe you can just read the hesitancy on his face. “It’s okay. I’m clean. I haven’t—I haven’t been with anyone in a while.”

Jack looses a breath at your admittance. Lets his head drop so his forehead rests against yours. Your words send a strike to his cock, the reminder of your IUD, the thought of feeling you bare. “Me too.” 

You swallow, breaths mingling and your hand leaves your pussy to wrap around his cock, pumping slowly and Jack shudders. 

“So, we take it slow. No expectations, right?” 

Jack practically melts at your tone and your words, at how easy everything is with you. How right it all feels. 

“Yeah, baby. No expectations.” 

You nod again, as much as you can, and guide the tip of his swollen cock to your fluttering entrance. A shudder runs through you both, anticipation crawling at your spines. 

Jack’s hips move slowly, easing into you in a way that makes you relax enough to take him. Inch by inch, whimper by whimper, until his hips are flush against yours and you’re both panting. 

“Give me— fuck, give me a second. Jesus fucking Christ—baby, you’re…you’re so fucking tight.”

“Big,” you gasp through a heavy breath, nails scratching down the wide expanse of Jack’s muscled back. You can’t form a coherent word, far too overwhelmed. 

“I know.” He coos, holding his weight above you on one hand by your head when the other reaches between your chests to slowly fold your bra down, exposing your breasts. 

The whimper that slips out of him is almost enough to make you cum. Your supple breasts spill out, nipples perk and he flicks a thumb over one, pinches gently when you whine for more. 

“You’re doing so well for me, baby. So good.” 

You mewl at the praise again, something you’ve never once experienced in bed. But now that you have, you know you could never go without it again. 

Jack moves his hips gingerly, pulling out a few inches before slowly sheathing himself back in. You’re far too tight around him to remain composed; cunt soaked and sucking him in like it’s where he belongs. 

“Keep going, feels so good. So big.” You whine. 

“Yeah?” Jack asks breathlessly, rolling his hips with a tedious rhythm, like he’s experimenting what works best for you. 

You’re too caught up in the pressure and stretch of him to realize just how much strength it takes for him to hold his weight on one hand, fuck you like he loves you, and pinch your nipples like you’re nothing but his good girl. 

All with one leg. All with barely contained restraint. 

Your hips begin to roll against his, bucking up to meet his thrusts and he gets the hint that you need more. 

But you’re tight, pulsing, sucking him deeper with every thrust. Until you’re both panting and Jack’s bed is creaking. Until moans are slipping from your lips instead of breaths. Until Jack’s whimpering and moaning and whining into the crook of your neck. 

He abandons his assault on your nipple, rises to his hands at either side of your head to watch your face, to flicker his gaze between your thighs to watch you stretch around his thick girth. 

His cock is slick with your arousal, a creamy ring of white at the base of him. 

“Fuck, baby.” His voice is slightly higher pitched now. Whining in a way that has you bucking up against his in urgency. 

That burning returns in the base of your spine, tingles zapping up and down your navel as your orgasms balloons. 

“Jack! Oh fuck, baby—I’m…I’m gonna cum… oh fuck…”

“Yeah? You gonna come on my cock? Come on, baby. Let me feel you.”

It doesn’t crash into you this time, doesn’t sneak up on you and paralyze you like the last one. No, this time it sets your body alight; bursts from you from within. 

You shudder and spasm, sob and moan and whine and claw at Jack’s back. He feels you tighten impossibly, feels your cunt attempt to gush around him. 

It drags his own release from him, and he hates how quickly and harshly he pulls out of you so he doesn’t spill inside. His cock drops heavily on your cunt, ribbons of creamy release spurting across your lower stomach as you shudder through the remnants of your orgasm. 

Despite how fucked out you are, you still hear the whimper of a moan that falls from Jack’s, the praise that follows when he cums across your abdomen. 

You’re struggling to catch your breath, blinking away the white spots that mask your vision. But you feel the bed dip as Jack collapses beside you on his back, the heavy rise and fall of his chest as he pants breathlessly. 

You turn your head to him in a lazy motion, an arm thrown over his eyes while the other reaches out for his hand to hold your thigh. His cock lays heavy on his leg; still glistening in your excitement and still incredibly big as he softens. 

“Remind me again why we waited so long to do that.” You laugh through a heavy breath, and it makes Jack chuckle heartily. 

With as much energy as you can muster, you try to sit up to clean yourself but Jack moves faster. Grips your thigh harder and turns to you beneath the arm over his eyes. 

“Don’t you dare move.” His voice is gravelly, slightly broken. “I’ll clean you up, just give me a second.”

But you don’t listen. Jack watches with disdain as you sit up and round the bed, disappearing into the bathroom just beside his bedroom door. 

It’s pure inadequacy that he feels. Like he’s unable to do something as simple as clean you up and take care of you after sex. A bare minimum act that you don’t let him complete. 

He spirals in the two short minutes you’re gone, and when you come back clean and naked with a wash cloth in your hands, it only intensifies the feeling tenfold. 

“I could’ve done that, sweetheart.” He tells you when you had him the cloth and sit on your heels on the bed beside him. 

“I know.” 

You don’t elaborate on the fact that he’s always taking care of you. Coming over to fix the sink or the dryer, helping you build a new bookcase or unclogging the toilet after Phoebe stuffed a whole roll of toilet paper down it. 

You don’t want to make a thing out of it. 

“Do you have a t-shirt I can borrow?” You ask instead. 

Jack blinks when he takes the wash cloth from you, pointing silently to the second drawer of the dresser in the corner of the room. 

You make quick work on shaky legs of standing and pinching a gray t-shirt from the draw. It swallows you whole, the hem reaching just below your ass and the arms almost reaching your elbows. 

Jack’s chest seizes when you turn to him, an uncontrollable wave of adoration and slight possessiveness strokes through him. The latter is something he’s not exactly proud of. 

But you’re in his apartment, in his room, wearing his shirt, blissed out from his cock…

It takes him a moment or two to regulate his emotions. The internal battle of pinning you beneath him again to coax another orgasm out of your body and just coddling you close to his chest all night. 

So he’s a little thrown off when you remain standing at the foot of the bed and ask, “Where do you keep your lotion?” 

“My lotion?” He blinks. 

“For your leg.” 

His eyes betray him as they flicker toward the bathroom and you’re sauntering off before he can even stop you. 

When you return with the bottle in hand and sit on your heels again beside him on the bed, he doesn’t stop you when you squeeze a dollop into your palms. Doesn’t comment when you warm it between your hands before gently massaging it across his tender skin. 

He watches, reverently. In complete adoration and disbelief that you could ever be real. That this isn’t a figment of his imagination. 

But it is real. 

And when you curl up into his side beneath the covers like you’ve only ever belonged there, in this moment, Jack finds himself battling with three words that threaten to spill from his lips. 

Too caught up in the moment and intensity of the night as you and Jack drift off to sleep, both of you miss the fact that neither of you are wearing your rings around your neck. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

SERIES MASTERLIST — NEXT PART

Tag list for this series has grown way too big for me to keep up with so it’s unfortunately CLOSED. You can however follow the #apt.17 tag instead for updates on the series!

OKAY IM SORRY THIS WAS SO LONG BUT I DID WARN YOU IN THE LAST CHAPTER!! lots to unpack in this one; tom's behavior, kirsty being a poor little sweetheart, jack being hot as fuck and of course, the smut!!!! from here on out, things take a big change and there is lots to happen and get through, so chapters will likely be this length or longer!

Thank you very much for reading! Feedback really means a lot so I would love to hear your thoughts and ideas for where you think this will go!! Reblogs helps to boost stuff for more people to reach so if you enjoyed it please consider reblogging!!

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She got it from someone, and that someone is you. 

But five minutes pass. Then ten. And neither you nor Phoebe have moved. 

I will forever and always love your characterization of the Reader and Phoebe. And the consistency in which you carry across all parts is gorgeous.

Plus I love that you add these moments of silly disagreements and picking/choosing your battles bc being a parent is not easy even when you're raising the most perfect little girl.

It causes a ruckus of movement in his stomach at the suggestion, at the approval from you to do so. 

“Diva,” he regards her softly, though there's a kink in his tone that she’s never heard from him before.

omg this made me want to squeal. It was just so perfect. I love reaidng how our relationship has evolved and you show us how we are slowly opening up and trusting Jack with more of ourselves in every chapter.

Also, this moment just highlights that Jack truly does care about us and Pheebs. There is less and less reason to question his devotion, especially with how he consistently shows up and after the conversation at the end of pt. 6

Jack hums, like he understands her upset and inner turmoil. “So, why don’t we change into something else? Maybe a pretty dress like Mommy? Or some shorts like me? Plus, you don’t wanna spill ice cream down your Spidey outfit.” 

The way he knows how to talk to her makes me want to melt omg.

And the pretty dress comment is just so so adorable, bc he's made comments like that before. Like when you went to your mom's retirement party or when he brought pizza when Pheebs was upset. OR when he was texting us after the first kiss.

And giving her examples of different outfit options and connecting them to him or us was just so perfectly domestic I can't.

Jack grins at her, stands back at his full height and tenderly smoothes down her wanton strands like he’s slicking them. 

That he knows you liked watching him step just slightly into the threshold of parenthood, that it rattled you a little to watch him be so respectful and kind but authoritative at the same time. That you liked how natural it was for him, how easily Phoebe listened. 

yes. yes, it was attractive but also insanely darling. two things can be true at the same time.

The hesitancy when reaching for one another is gone, no more reservations or timid uncertainty. 

the comfort and absolute domesticity are killing me. I'm going to die of a heart attack because I love him too much.

You love even more when Phoebe runs down the hall in a summer dress and twirls around, when Jack offers her a dramatic applause and then bows at the waist like a Jester would to his Queen. 

god, she's his daughter already. I know you probably won't include it in this series bc reality and all that (it's appreciated don't get me wrong) but dear lord I need a one shot or snippet where Pheebs calls him dad for the first time. I might end up in the hospital bc of it but I need it.

I swear it's like I'm addicted.

Explaining that he isn’t sorry for meeting someone new, he isn’t sorry for how deeply he feels for both you and Phoebe, but that he’s wholly and irrevocably distraught because he knows he’s truly moving forward from her.

He sat and cried when he admitted to her gravestone that he no longer wears his ring on his finger, but that he keeps it on a chain close to his heart instead.

And when you’re out on the streets, with Pheebs walking between you; a hand in yours and a hand in Jack’s, he feels that gentle breeze caressing his face again.

You write his grief and healing so well, it makes me want to cry. It's so beautiful to read about his healing as well as those distressing thoughts about moving on. I quite literally feel something tugging at my heart.

It's like you mentioned in a previous part, time doesn't heal, it just lets you grow around your pain. And you show that so beautifully in Jack and how he navigates these complex emotions while falling in love with you and finding a family in Pheebs and us.

It’s sly when Jack winks at you when you’re in the elevator and Pheebs is too busy blowing kisses to herself in the mirror that encases the back wall.

ugh this was such a beautiful every day moment that grounded the story but also captured the progression of our relationship. I love that you include moments like this.

But he squeezes your shoulder in a silent form of reassurance as the doors open on your floor. 

idk if you realize you're doing this, but you include moments that juxtapose Jack's clear appreciation and care for us with Tom's disrespect, and it's gorgeous.

When I look back on them, they feel very intentional, so I assume you include them in your outline or consider them as you write. If you're doing it by accident, I hope my pointing it out doesn't pull you out of your creative process.

And if you're doing it on purpose, please know that your attention to detail and devotion to this story are immensely appreciated (by me and the many other fans of this fic).

Bc the latest issue with Tom is that he introduced a person to Pheebs without telling us, which was a clear rule and boundary that we set. And Tom has no issue with picking or turning everything into a fight, belittling us, and being disrespectful.

We've also learned to expect no consistency from him and his constant disappointment. But Jack always shows up, does anything he can to make us feel better, shows us that he cares with his actions, doesn't hide away from the hard conversations, and is present to comfort us–whether it's with words or a comforting touch.

And right now, when he brings up meeting someone to Pheebs without running it past us, he provides that silent reassurance that it's going to be okay. He understands your rules and has probably heard why you're so frustrated at Tom rn; He knows that introducing a new person is a huge no, and knows that showing Pheebs Sally is okay. Plus, you've talked about introducing the two of them before (I think in pt. 4.5).

Phoebe stops outside Jack’s door, the fact that she’s remembered which one is his after only stopping by once to drop off cakes is a little insane. 

The way Phoebe and Jack are so deeply connected is so darling.

It’s a bit overwhelming to be in his home, with Phoebe. To be fully surrounded by his scent. 

To have you and Phoebe in his space, to share what little he has considering you’ve shared so much already. 

The apartment already feels less quiet as Phoebe’s infectious laughter worms its way into the crevices of every room.

The complexity and symbolism of entering Jack's space and Jack inviting you into his space were so artfully woven into this chapter.

Considering that this part starts with mentions of him talking to his wife's gravestone and it ends...the way it ends, being present in his apartment is very meaningful, and you wrote it with such artistry.

Your eyes snap up to his at the sound of Jack’s raw voice. You don’t miss the hunger in his tone, the darkness that pools in his eyes.

PENNYYYYYYYY

He’d let himself in five minutes ago like you’d told him to, had gotten himself comfortable on your couch while he waited.

the absolute trust and devotion that is shown in this chapter has me falling apart at the seems

even without the smut, it's so full of care and love and commitment

not that the smut isn't appreciated it was literally perfection and i cannot wait for more

“It’s for the best. It’s for Pheebs, not us or them.” He offers in a gentle tone, pulling you closer until your chest presses against his and your breath catches in your throat. 

The way that he cares so much for Phoebe just melts my heart every damn time. Especially since this dinner isn't just about him being able to interact well with Pheebs–it's about him being present as your partner.

And the way that he's always here for a comforting word and touch??? I love him. I love them. I love us.

Angry at the fact that this is happening under Tom’s terms, anxious at the things he may try to say; Jack’s opinions on you that he might try to change.

You’re not prepared for Jack to be subjected to it—to bear witness to his passive cruelty.

You write the Reader's mannerisms and inner monologue, as someone who has overcome an emotionally manipulative relationship, so well.

Because yes, we are no longer in a relationship with Tom but that time certainly left a mark, and then there is the added layer that he is still present in our lives. Any sort of negative relatioship affects your behaviors and attitudes when you come across those similar traits in other people, and certianly when you are faced with that same person again. The reader's inner turmoil and protectiveness is perfectly aligned with her background.

And speaking of her protectiveness, I loved how it was depicted. Although you later mention that we're worried that this night will change how Jack views us, there is also a natural desire to keep Jack away from Tom that makes perfect sense. Because why would anyone want to expose another human being to someone so manipulative and passively hostile? Add on the fact that we care about Jack, and our general attitude towards Tom is defensive (bc of our background)? Of course, we're going to feel protective.

"Talk to me."

I love him so much, I don't think I can put it into words. I genuinely feel so addicted to your depiction of Jack throughout this whole series. It's done so well.

I adore this moment so much because Jack is naturally very observant. It comes from him being an ER and trauma medic. It's also one of the reasons why he met us to begin with (not that we were quiet with our music, but he noticed Pheebs and us through our silhouettes).

But now we have titles, and we've declared our relationship. We've had many vulnerable conversations, including the one about our doubts and worries about this relationship–the same conversation that ended in the exchange of titles. Now that the last reservation that made conversations scary is gone, Jack can just ask. And it doesn't feel scary. It doesn't feel like we're going to scare one another away by voicing our feelings, because we know who we are to one another and can seek comfort in each other.

“I know. I just—he can be an ass. And he’s self-absorbed, and he… he twists things so well…"

You characterize emotionally manipulative relationships hauntingly well.

“Have I told you yet that you look beautiful?” His voice causes heat to curl up your neck and all you can do is laugh breathlessly.

Jack nods. “Good. Because you do. Ridiculously so.”

“What do you say about a quick tequila shot when we get in there?”

What do you say about a quick tequila shot when we get in there?”Your eyes close as you huff out a laugh, actually quite thankful for how easy he is to calm you down.

He's so freaking cute and it has me all giggly.

I also love the way that you are showing how this relationship makes him feel young again. Not that an older man isn't capable of this without a younger person to bring it out in them, but these casual, playful moments really show this sentiment. He's so at ease and comfortable. And it's not just in those bigger moments, like when he realizes he has a crush or that he's completely enamored with us. It's at every moment and at any time.

I also adore the way that you write Jack talking us down or comforting us. It never feels like he's just trying to talk us out of anxiety-induced psychosis or trying to get us to move on because our anxiety is running rampant. I always feel like he validates our emotions or understands why our brain could make us so unsure or worried about something. He helps us be grounded and find comfort in the truths he shares.

Even when he segues out of a serious conversation, it doesn't feel like he's just trying to distract us. I feel and know that he has given us enough time and space to feel our emotions and process whatever he contributed to the conversation. And I've said this before, but the way that your writing has me really and truly feeling emotions cannot be applauded enough.

“If it gets too much, or you just want to leave, say Poughkeepsie.”

okayyyy supernatural reference, i see you

That gets a real laugh out of you—one that’s unrestrained and entirely unapologetic.

I love when you mention the Reader's laugh because I also laugh loudly and I can't control the noises that come out of my mouth sometimes. Honestly, sometimes I wish I could control or restrain myself because an insane noise will come out of my mouth (that I truly don't understand how I made) and I will sit there praying that whatever noise I just heard didn't come from me.

I feel like this is something that is typically mentioned when a character feels at ease because it's a signifier that they don't have to mask or hold themselves in, (and I'm not trying to diminish any authors when I say this) but I genuinely feel so comforted and loved when I read this in your fics. Because I already feel so loved by Jack and because your world building and consistency across characters and the build of the relationship is so natural and real that I feel myself inserted into this world.

He kisses you again, but it’s all teeth; both of you grinning too wide to really press your lips in the ways you want to.

god how do you even think of this stuff or where did you get this from bc it was so freaking cute

He can feel how tense you are, like you’re already in fight or flight by just seeing Phoebe’s dad. It makes Jack’s skin crawl, makes him angry and frustrated and helpless.

I'm going to come back to this point but I love that you include Jack's observations of how our mannerisms change when we're faced with Tom.

It sets his blood on fire in something both protective and disgusted.

yessssss protective jack!!!!!

“Jack Abbot.” He replies, and his voice is much deeper, raw and husky and something that promises comfort and stability. 

YES YES IT DOES

and he provides it, he doesn't just talk, he shows us

and I always enjoy when you provide examples of how Jack is so different than Tom and how he is such a good man

And yet… she’s kind, soft, just as nervous as you are.

Kirsty isn’t faring much better, but she’s not as good at hiding it. Wide eyes flickering between Jack and Tom like ones about to shoot and the other is about to pounce.

I was really looking forward to seeing how you were going to write Tom's girlfriend and you totally delivered.

I will say, there were times that I would slightly step out of the role of the Reader because I was so concerned and worried for Kirsty bc I know way too many girls who have been taken advantage of by older men when they were freshly 18 or just way too young. And that's just me bringing my own experience to the reading experience, not a critique in any way. If anything, you can certainly tell that the Reader is also sympathetic to Kirsty's struggles during this dinner, but our experiences with Tom and doing what's best for Pheebs definitely take over that concern.

“Well, I was only intending to have one, but if you’re planning on taking advantage of me later, we can come back for the car tomorrow.”

I'm going to get hospitalized for heart palpitations.

he's so cheeky and I fear I love him more for it

The act causes you to miss the disgusted glare Tom throws at you and the soft longing in Kirsty’s eyes as she watches yours and Jack’s private exchange. 

I loved this line because it's slightly more layered than it initially reads. Obviously, there's already some impact and meaning (Tom and Kirsty's reactions vs. our experience). But in addition, we know that the Reader is frequently uncomfortable in restaurants, and we avoid these sorts of date nights in favor of our comfort. And yet, despite the tensions and anxieties surrounding this dinner, we are comfortable and even able to enjoy this playful moment with Jack because he is our source of comfort.

“That’s a senior position, I’m assuming.”

At least my partner's frontal lobe is developed.

You dip your head to hide the flush on your cheeks and the curve of your mouth at Jack’s boyish defence of you.

Even if he has to do it passive aggressively. He refuses to sit back and allow anybody to disrespect you. 

ugh and the way he does it with such charm and grace has me swooning fr

“Oh, I’m twenty, so I’m still in college. Lots of time to figure it out, though, right?” She laughs nervously. 

this killed me

truly the only way that you could've made it worse is if you told me that she was working on campus.

also before I start my tangent, I just realized that this means she isn't even able to legally drink

Now, if I may get on my soapbox for a moment...this honestly broke my heart. Like I mentioned, I know way too many young girls who have ended up in relationships with grown men who are way too old for them. That is my personal experience with these sorts of age gaps (Kirsty's not ours). I truly hope that what I have to say doesn't come across as condescending, but I do hope it is something to consider for any young people (I'd argue less than 25) who are thinking about getting together with a much older person.

As I get off my soapbox, I do understand that this is a nuanced conversation. As I said, I am trying and hoping that this doesn't come off as condescending. I am speaking as someone who has seen many people they care about live through terrible relationships and has supported many victims through their relationships, and helped them through leaving and recovering after a relationship.

Also, as a recent college grad (I'm 22), I always felt very maternal and protective over the younger girls I worked with. They often came to me for advice (about school, work, or life) and I tried my best to help. When it came to relationships, I learned more patterns and behavioral red flags as I got older that I could pass on to them.

And before anyone calls me a hypocrite for being in my early twenties but crushing on this older man, this is fiction and I always imagine myself older when I read these fics

He places his glass down a bit too unceremoniously, dabbing his mouth and chin with a napkin as he struggles to breathe through the coughing.

This was so funny, it was fantastic.

“You’re not a romantic, Tom?”

BAHAHAHA I love the way that he's able to have this banter with Tom that is just so perfectly passive.

Kirsty asks around a mouthful of food, palm covering her lips as she speaks—like she’s too excited by the idea to wait to finish her food. 

I literally had to pause bc this is something I do too. She's just a girl 😭

Usually, my similarities with the Reader make me feel all warm and fuzzy bc I'm even more aligned than your writing makes me feel, and Jack is literally enamored with everything about me.

But this??? OMG KIRSTY RUN

Her eyes light up at the warning as she swallows her food, lowering her hand to offer a conspiratorial smile.

“I say the spicier the better.” 

I'll give you all the copies you want if you LEAVE THAT THING

“She seemed to take to Jack pretty quickly.” Tom comments in a bitter tone and you hate the way that Kirsty seems to shrink into herself at that. 

This was one of those moments that had me feeling so bad for Kirsty. Like this poor girl. How is she even in this relationship??? Does she live on campus or in an apartment?? Does she have friends or is she isolated?? Is she just struggling to leave because she can't recognize Tom's negative and narcissistic behaviors, or does she keep forgiving him?? Is she struggling to leave because she's worried about not having anyone after she leaves???

You don’t tell him that the first time Phoebe met Jack was accidental, that it was also your first time meeting him, too. You don’t have to explain yourself. You refuse to. 

This inner monologue is the thought of a woman who has experienced pain and done the work to heal and process it. This is the affirmation of a woman who had to survive and get through an unhealthy relationship.

It characterizes the Reader as the strong, feisty woman we know we are, but also is a great example of casually weaving how the Reader's background influences her behaviors.

He’s good at this, manipulating things into something that they’re not. Like you’re going out of your way to educate your child on something inappropriate. 

Again, you write these unhealthy relationships and behaviors too well. And, please, continue to do so. It's grounded in reality and characterizes Tom very thoroughly.

The way he can manipulate things so easily and present a very convincing argument is done very well. Because if the Reader hadn't left Tom so many years ago, had enough distance to recover from that relationship, and find her own way to cope with him still being in her life, it would make sense if she had folded under his manipulation. But thankfully, she has a community to support her and she is able to look past Tom's false charms.

Plus, it explains why the Reader was so worried about Tom's ability to change Jack's feelings about us. Jack is so committed and has made his feelings very clear, but the Reader knows Tom's manipulation better than anyone, and she knows what he's capable of.

Kirsty asks the question so quickly it’s like she can sense the route Tom is trying to go down and she’s desperate for that not to happen.

She tries to diffuse your well-placed anger with a light joke but she knows it’s not really any use.

Old Fashioned by Maisie Peters started playing as I was writing and it's alarmingly fitting to how I see Tom and what he did to us and is probably going to do to Kirsty

Yes, he may be Phoebe’s father but he does not exactly qualify for the title of Dad. 

I know one person at this table who does qualify 👀 and it's not Tom

Also, I did my thoughts on this scene here. I'm probably not going to re-react bc Tumblr already limits my photo reactions lol

“Oh, I understand perfectly that I have no right or opinion when it comes to Phoebe. But as for her mother, I have every right to tell you to watch your fucking mouth when you’re speaking with her.”

I couldn't help it. This moment is just sooooo good.

Oh, protective Jack, how I love you. Also, I adore how he knows he can't cross the line with Phoebe, despite us knowing how devoted he is to making sure she's okay and happy.

If I may bc Jack needs to keep his medical license, and he cares for us so much that he doesn't want to stir up any issues:

Because he doesn’t want you to worry, doesn’t want you to think that this abysmal night changes anything between you. 

I love the way that you utilize comforting touches in this part. It makes sense since you mentioned it at the beginning, but I love how consistently you integrate it throughout this chapter. They were all placed so perfectly.

The realization that occurs to her when she sees what love and care and adoration is supposed to look like. 

oh this poor girl. the way that you mention these realizations at the beginning and end of the double date, oh my heart is breaking for her.

Her reassurance and apology on Tom’s behavior in the bathroom was unnecessary but appreciated all the same. 

#FreeKirsty

Only it’s not offered as a test. It’s out of Jack’s respect for you and his love for Phoebe that he puts his anger and hatred aside to offer his hand.

This was such a gorgeous line and obviously I'm going to tell you (if you can't already tell, I like to ramble and I love this series).

First of all, it's such a beautiful scene to visualize. To think of Jack standing with his hand out, so gentlemanly and civilized. Our lovely man, who is here because of his devotion to Pheebs and us. Our boyfriend, who will protect and not let anyone talk down to us.

But the clarification that this is not a test or a passive moment to assert his power over Tom. Because he's not Tom and he's not like Tom at all. His movements aren't tests. He doesn't move to manipulate our behaviors or passively falunt how he's better. He isn't controlling Tom's behaviour or forcing his hand.

Jack is here; he came to this dinner and supported us throughout it because he cares about us. He offered his hand to Jack because he respects us. Because he understands that Tom, unfortunately, is a part of your life, and you let him be around so that Phoebe can have the choice when she's older. He understands that you push through your discomfort and anxiety for your daughter, and he respects you enough to help you through that. Not only is he there as a comfort, but he also understands that he will have tomorrow as part of his life. He wants to be a part of our lives, so his actions reflect respect for our choices and maintain niceties for Pheebs and us.

“That should cover ours and a tip.”

This was ridiculously attractive. Love that he mentions tip.

And ofc it's in cash bc you can never go wrong with cash 🤭

It’s eating at him, what he’s done.

“I threatened Tom.” He finds himself blurting quietly. 

This was such a great moment. It honestly made me laugh. Not because it didn't fit the story, but because the image was just so funny. It was lowkey giving sitcom (in a good way!!!).

Because the image of Doctor Jack Abbot, ER Attending Physician, SWAT Medic, sitting in his car, hands on the wheel, blurting this bc he was nervous is so freaking funny.

It could've been a whispered confession, but no, he blurts it.

And I love it. Let this man keep his awkward tendencies. He has awkward moments in The Pitt that also make me laugh, so this was a fun moment that I really enjoyed.

“I didn’t threaten Phoebe’s dad. I threatened your ex.” He’s trying to paint it clearer for you, to understand the difference between the figures. 

“I spoke to him as a man who will not tolerate anybody disrespecting his girlfriend. Correct me if I’m wrong, but do I not have every right to do that? As your partner?” 

I freaking love him so much and I adore the way that he doesn't say Tom's name.

I know it's meant to be Jack's way of explaining himself, but it also shows how Tom isn't important enough to be truly recognized as a person. Sure, he is a person, but, as far as Jack is concerned, he's only a person in relation to how it impacts your life.

“I won’t apologize for it.” He tells you, bluntly. 

Again, I love that you let him keep these moments of awkwardness. Because they're so earnest, and I can fully envision him doing it.

"Poor girl"

hear me out...we haven't left yet...we could just go get her and have a runaway bride moment

that being said, I want this man badly...I need it...I deserve it

we can save Kirsty another day #FreeKirsty

He doesn’t mention how devastating it was to watch you curl into yourself in Tom’s presence. How infuriating and disgusting it was to hear the way he speaks to you, how uncaringly he belittles you. 

The way that you include Jack's observations of how our behavior changes when Tom is around is such a beautiful narrative decision.

Yes, the reader mentions how Tom's actions or being in is pressence makes us feel, but there are most likely changes that we aren't even aware of. And that makes sense, because in highly emotional situations we are bound to miss some things, and our bodies are going to respond without our conscious decision.

So, including Jack's observations lets you share these behaviors with the reader and emphasize how closely Jack observes and cares for us. Plus, it further implies how terrible our relationship with Tom was and still is.

It makes you wonder if you’ve pushed too hard. That maybe you should’ve just agreed to go back to yours instead. 

So ngl, the significance of going to Jack's place lowkey went over my head (this is not a critique of your writing, please don't change anything, I enjoyed this little critical thinking/literacy exercise). You kind of explain it, but I had the sinking feeling that there was more to this than just being present in his space.

So, if I'm completely off or there's something more that you were thinking of, please tell me. I love hearing an authors intention when they were writing or making decision.

I feel like Jack having you in his space was a mirror to him, letting his last wall fall when it came to our relationship. Not that he was really keeping us out or pushing us away. We had many honest and vulnerable conversations, including the final talk at the end of pt. 6 where we finally assigned labels to this relationship.

But, when it comes to Jack's experience of this relationship, he has been struggling with this grief and the idea of finding a family in us and being in a committed relationship after losing his wife. Yet, we started this chapter with him talking to his wife, a very domestic morning with Pheebs and us, and him welcoming both of us into his apartment for the first time. He told Dana that he knew what he was signing up for before their first date, and he's done nothing but show us how dedicated he is ever since.

We've defined this relationship and we've invited to interact with Phoebe as more than just Mommy's friend. He met Tom and Kirsty for Phoebe's sake; so that he could support you, and because he's dedicated to being your partner.

He feels safe enough, safe in us and safe in his grieving process, that he can let you into his apartment. Something that he hasn't done with anyone since his wife.

This is a big step for him, which matches the fact that you're about to engage in a big step for your relationship. In this part, you've captured both symbolic and physical milestones in this relationship.

He pulls away to rest his forehead against yours, heaving in a breath. 

oooh the forehead touch

“Jack, take me to bed.” 

I'm so serious, I'm going to pass out and we just started.

Your legs wrap around his hips, your fingers tangle into his hair and he does not break the kiss as he somehow manages to carry you from the kitchen, down the hall, and into the dim lighting of his bedroom. 

OKAY DOCTOR ABBOT

“Look at you.” Jack’s voice is wrecked; the words are so broken it makes you pause. “You’re so fucking beautiful, baby.” 

At how earnestly he speaks to you, at how devotedly he stares down at you. 

I can't fucking breathe

He’s seen you before. But this is different. This time you’re willing and excited and desperate. This time you’re in his fucking bed, not behind a hospital curtain. 

And above all, this time, Jack allows himself to really look. To admire you. To touch. 

Yes, yes I am. And, yes, yes, he can.

Laps at your cunt, eyes rolling back at the taste of you and all restraint is lost.

A sharp cry sounds from the back of your throat when he returns his mouth to its rightful place

And Jack…he drinks you like a starving man.

oh good lord, his rightful place??? hell yeah it is

“You’re not. Take it off, baby. I don’t care.” You insist, still peppering hot kisses across his waist, dragging your tongue across the path. 

I love how you write Jack's disability and you consider it during all of your scenes.

You spread your legs for him, let your hand snake down between your thighs to touch yourself while you wait.

The evidence of the life you carried and birthed. It only intensifies his feelings toward how. Reminds him of how much you trust him. 

How right it all feels. 

The absolute devotion and sentiment that you are capturing in this scene is going to give me whiplash.

“Baby, I am more than happy for you to ride me whenever you want. But not—fuck—not tonight.”

well if you say so doctor

You can’t form a coherent word, far too overwhelmed. 

literally me except for the fact that I'm reading this like this:

You mewl at the praise again, something you’ve never once experienced in bed. But now that you have, you know you could never go without it again. 

soooooo smut brainstorming session with Jack, where we simply must reenact all of our thoughts in the name of writer's accuracy, when?

You’re too caught up in the pressure and stretch of him to realize just how much strength it takes for him to hold his weight on one hand, fuck you like he loves you

All with one leg. All with barely contained restraint. 

I'm serious, whiplash

The whimper that slips out of him is almost enough to make you cum.

Until Jack’s whimpering and moaning and whining into the crook of your neck.

Despite how fucked out you are, you still hear the whimper of a moan that falls from Jack’s

ok, just like that scene in pt. 5 where Jack gets off to that picture of us, I don't usually find men's whimpers that attractive but OH MY GOD

The idea of him making all those noises and whimpering bc we're making him feel so good while he's making us feel so good???? I'm going to finish too, girl.

A bare minimum act that you don’t let him complete. 

I love them so much. But ofc I am her, therefore, I love us.

But you’re in his apartment, in his room, wearing his shirt, blissed out from his cock…

hell yeah, I am, babe. Be possessive. from you?? it's hot 🙂‍↕️

When you return with the bottle in hand and sit on your heels again beside him on the bed, he doesn’t stop you when you squeeze a dollop into your palms.

My heart omg I love him so much.

And when you curl up into his side beneath the covers like you’ve only ever belonged there, in this moment, Jack finds himself battling with three words that threaten to spill from his lips. 

OH MY GOD PENNY!!! and the rings???? dear lord omg.

"Primary survey," Abbot says.

Parker looks up from the head of the bed. "Airway patent."

You slip your stethoscope into your ears. The patient's respirations are fast and uneven. You listen to the right, then the left. "Markedly reduced breath sounds on the left."

"What's your next step?" Abbot asks.

"Treat the breathing first. Likely a pneumothorax."

"How?"

"Insert a chest tube."

He nods once. "Good. Do it."

Without hesitation, you pull open the sterile tray as Parker preps the left side. Abbot remains just behind your shoulder. Close enough that you're aware of him. Far enough that he never gets in your way.

"Find your landmarks."

You palpate along the ribs. "There."

"That's it, Trouble," he murmurs into your ear.

You make an incision.

"Steady," Abbot says.

You spread the tissues with the clamp. His shoulder brushes yours as he leans in to watch. With one final push, you enter the pleural space.

"Go on."

You withdraw the clamp and slide a gloved finger into the opening. A sharp hiss of escaping air fills the room.

"Good. You're in," Abbot says quietly.

You sweep once, confirming the tract before guiding the chest tube along your finger and into the pleural space.

"Breath sounds improved," Parker calls, listening with her stethoscope.

You secure the tube while Vivi connects it to the drainage system. Abbot reaches in briefly to inspect the dressing before stepping back.

"Good placement," he murmurs before shifting his focus to the pelvis. Your heart skips a beat, but it's probably just the adrenaline.

The rest of the trauma goes smoothly. Parker secures the pelvic binder while you help splint the femur. Massive transfusion is activated, and the patient's blood pressure begins to climb. Once the primary and secondary surveys are complete, the patient heads to CT.

As the bed disappears through the doors, the room finally exhales. You strip off your gloves and gown before making your way back to the hub.

Abbot trails behind you. "Good work in there," he says, resting a hand against the counter beside you.

You grin. "You're a good teacher."

"Careful," he says, the corner of his mouth lifting. "You'll give me an ego."

Before you can answer, a plastic cup lands beside your elbow with a quiet thud, ice cubes clinking against each other.

You glance up, where Shen offers you an apologetic smile. "For jinxing your night. Hope you can forgive me."

You laugh. "I wasn't really mad."

"Still." He rubs the back of his neck. "You've got a rep—I'd rather stay on your good side." He nudges the coffee toward you before giving your shoulder an easy pat as he steps away.

When you turn back, Abbot is staring after him. His eyes are slightly narrowed.

"He said the Q-word," you explain.

One brow lifts. His eyes drop to the coffee.

You lift it slightly. "Want a sip?"

"No." Silence settles between you. He picks up a tablet, his thumb hovering over the screen. "...Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"You transferred to nights."

You nod, turning the lid to catch the straw. "Yeah?"

He glances toward the hallway where Shen disappeared, then back at you. "Shen works nights."

You pause halfway to taking a sip. "…He does."

"Was that part of the reason?"

You stare at him for a second, then you laugh. "Oh my God."

"What?"

"You think I switched shifts for Shen?"

He studies you for a moment before answering. "You didn't?"

You shake your head. "I switched because I wanted more trauma."

"And not because of Shen?"

You smile. "Is that what you've been thinking?"

He looks away. Something almost imperceptible loosens in his posture. "Maybe."

You look at him for a moment, tapping the plastic slowly with your fingers. "You've been thinking about why I changed shifts?"

Abbot hesitates. "…I was curious." He glances at the board before looking back at you. "I've been trying to get you onto nights for months."

You hum.

He gives a small shrug. "Then you suddenly transferred."

"And you thought it was because of Shen?"

Another shrug. "It crossed my mind."

"Well, it wasn't." A smile tugs at your lips. "But I'm flattered you noticed."

He meets your eyes, chin dipping. "I pay attention to everyone I work with."

You fight back a smile. "Mm."

His brows knit slightly as he turns more toward you. "You got plenty of trauma on days, though."

"Not like this."

"What's different?"

"The volume. The acuity."

He waits.

You shrug. "There's more trauma overnight."

"Is that all?"

You suck in your cheek. "…And the teaching."

He nods once. "The teaching?"

"Yeah."

"What about it?"

You look at him. "Well... You..." The word slips out before you can stop it. "I mean—you explain things well."

His eyebrows lift. "You switched because of me?"

Heat rushes into your face. "No—that's…"

"No?"

"That's not what I meant."

"Could've fooled me." Abbot's mouth twitches. His lips part to say something, but the slam of the ambulance bay doors cuts him off.

Across the department, Shen catches your eye and throws both hands into the air. "Sorry!"

You laugh.

Beside you, Abbot bumps your shoulder lightly. "Ready for another one, Trouble?"

You set the untouched coffee back on the counter and give him a sideways look. "With you? I suppose I could do worse."

"I know. I'm apparently a good teacher."

For the past three weeks, you’ve hardly had time to see them. Motivation for your final installment finally hit about two weeks ago. And between that, Phoebe, and seeing Jack at any off-chance you can, your schedule hasn’t lined up with your friends until now. 

That’s not to say you haven’t been in contact. The group chat seems to blow up every time you let them know you have plans with Jack, which, in all honesty, has been quite often. 

Over the past three weeks, you don’t think you can actually count how many little dates he’s taken you on. Dinner, lunch, early morning coffees after you drop Phoebe to school and he finishes a night shift. 

Any free moment you both get that coincides with the other, you make the most of it. Whether it’s for twenty minutes to grab some breakfast after shift and drop off, or two hours in the afternoon or evening when Pheeb’s is asleep for dinner and a very sneaky but hot make-out session. 

And of course, Bella is the one that insists on photos of said dates. Sometimes you just send a photo of your food and drinks, Jack’s hand around the mug or his chest at the back of the frame. More recently, however, like the last few dates, you’ve sent them selfies. 

Goofy ones, where Jack is feeding you a forkful of pasta in your kitchen. Candid ones, where he’s walking ahead slightly but his arm is stretched behind him, his fingers intertwined with yours. And sometimes, photos together; both grinning or pulling a face into the camera—cheeks pressed against one another and eyes sparkling with someone you don’t want to acknowledge just yet. 

You’ll never admit just how often you find yourself looking through your camera roll for them, how long you spend admiring them, how warm your cheeks grow and how wide your grin stretches. 

But your friends, they know. Of course, they know. Bunch of fucking busybodies. 

“When are you gonna bring Jack to brunch, then?” Chloe asks over the rim of her water. “He could’ve tagged along today.”

You scoff a laugh out at that, shaking your head and pinching up a piece of lettuce that slipped from your sandwich. 

“You want me to bring the guy I’m dating to girls brunch?” You ask. “When have any of us either done that? It’s a silent rule that men are forbidden from our brunches.” 

Bella shrugs with a smirk, leaning over to steal a french fry from your plate. “A one-off wouldn’t hurt, would it?”

You roll your eyes with fondness. You know what she’s doing. That she wants to see you and Jack in each other's space for herself. Wants to watch the way he interacts with you, wants to know exactly what he does to make you the way you are. 

Happy. Relaxed. 

“He’s busy today.”

“Overtime?” Leone speaks around a mouthful of food. 

You heave a breath, gently placing your chicken sandwich back on the plate. The girls know that movement. It’s a tell you have when you’re about to drop a piece of information that may either excite them or anger them.

“He has a SWAT shift.” 

You expected the silence, the wide eyes, the blinking. You knew they would smirk, shrill, smack you for keeping something so interesting to yourself. 

But you didn’t expect all of them to start fucking swooning. Chloe and Leone are fucking lesbians, for fucks sake. 

Karis leans closer with wide eyes. This is probably the most interest she’s shown in your involvement with Jack that isn’t just a soft smile or engaging eye contact. “SWAT? As in…”

“He’s a medic. Goes in with the team in case any one gets hurt.” 

Bella blinks at you, slight hurt in her eyes that you didn’t tell her but the shock and excitement is much more prominent. Her expression morphs into something feline and a smirk curls at the corners of her mouth. 

“He must be dicking you down so good.” She laughs, eyes flickering around the group. “You just know he talks her through it.” 

You can’t hide the heat that rises to the apples of your cheeks. She whirls to look at you again. 

“A man in two uniforms… you lucky bitch.” 

Karis splutters into her water, Chloe quickly reaches an arm around her to pat her back but Leone is staring at you and your warm face with squinted eyes. 

“No…” she says slowly, like she can sense what you’re not admitting just by the look on your face. 

You turn to her, subtly shaking your head with a hard look in your eyes to shut the fuck up. But Bella catches it, lets her eyes dart between you both as the smirk turns to confusion. 

“What?” she asks, voice a bit shrill. 

Leone keeps her accusing gaze on you when she speaks again. “You haven’t slept with him yet?” 

The table stills, so does Karis’ coughing fit. All eyes turn to you. Not just shock or bewilderment this time, but… disgust? Pinching brows and grimacing lips. They look at you like you’ve got three fucking heads. 

Your hands drag down your face as you sink back into your chair. You didn't want to have this conversation with them. Not out of embarrassment or hesitation, but because they’re nosy and know how out of character it is for you to be seeing someone for a month and not have some form of sex with them.

Karis leans closer to the table, napkin clutched in her dainty fingers. 

“Is it… is it because he can't?” She’s polite enough to almost whisper the question, to look sheepish and afraid of offending. 

The laugh that bubbles in your throat is completely involuntary. Because you’re hit with an onslaught of mini-memories. Remembering all the dry-humping and the fact that you’ve definitely felt just how hard he does get. 

“He’s forty-four. Believe me, he can get it up.” 

Chloe shakes her head at you, like your answer isn’t good enough. “Then, why…”

You shrug. “We’re just… taking our time. We really like each other and I—I have Phoebe to consider, you know? We get along great without the sex, and I just…”

You can’t explain it to them. Not really. It’s odd, wanting to keep it a secret, the fact that both you and Jack agreed you didn’t want to rush this. That you both wanted to take your time. It doesn’t help that you don’t know what the fuck you are, but not having sex yet… It feels like the right call to make. 

You don’t think they’ll understand that, and that’s okay. 

Karis is tied down and expecting. Chloe and Leone have been together since high-school and sometimes they invite a third. And Bella… Well sex is very important to Bella. 

You don’t want teasing, don’t want judgement. You like whatever the fuck is going on with Jack. You love your friends, but you don’t want their opinions on the matter. Don’t want them interfering with what you have. 

You find yourself overcompensating for it and speaking again. 

“We’re keeping it platonic around Phoebe. She loves him, it’s not a secret, but I’m kinda trying to limit how often they see each other. I don’t want her getting confused.”

The truth of it seems to soften their judgement and confusion. Bella moreso. Because she does the same. No man she dates ever meets Florence unless she’s absolutely certain they will be a stable figure in their lives. It doesn’t affect her from dating shamelessly and fucking anything she find a attractive, but she doesn’t allow that to touch her daughters life. 

The realization of just how much you like Jack is quite clarifying for her. 

“But, isn’t he okay about Phoebe? He was great with her at the birthday party.” She probes softly and you find yourself mirroring her expression, warmth filling you.

“He’s so natural with her. They’ve got such an intense bond, it’s odd. They just get each other, I don’t know. And he always asks about her. If we go on a date or he comes over when she’s sleeping, he’ll always bring something for her. A toy, or a treat.” 

And it’s true. 

Jack understands that you’re a mother before anything else. That Phoebe comes before anything else. He respects it, understands it. Adopts it, even. If you’ve had to cancel a date, he’s more than happy to rearrange. He lets you choose what will work best for you and her. Shows interest in her little life and the things she likes. 

And it’s fucking terrifying.

Because you’ve never dated someone that cares enough about you to care about her, too. Never met a man who isn’t bothered by you having a child, who accepts it and embraces it, who understands and considers it with everything he does that regards you. 

It makes you realize just how phenomenal Jack is. And how desperately you want whatever you have with him to keep growing. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

If there’s one thing you hate about dates, it’s the fancy dinners in expensive restaurants and the overwhelming expectations that comes with them. 

In the past three months of dating Jack, you’ve only been on two of those said dates. The first one was fine, wonderful, even. The food was gorgeous, even if the portions were slightly too-small and the cost was incredibly over-priced. The atmosphere was gentle and intimate and it felt good to dress up more than you usually did. 

But you felt out of place. Your personality felt squished into a suffocating bubble. Too aware of how loud your laugh was. You felt like you were performing, something you’ve never done before and it left a bitter taste in your mouth. 

The second one, though, was awful. The moment you sat down, next to a group of women that were Jack’s age, you felt an uncomfortable gaze on the side of your face. At first, you assumed it was judgement. That you were younger than him by a fair few years. 

But when a woman approached and laid a hand on Jack’s shoulder like she was familiar with him, you quickly understood. She introduced herself as an old friend of Jack’s from fucking highschool, though the slightly familair sparkle in her eye suggested it was a little more than that. 

Demi, her name was. Out for drinks with her friends. Devastatingly beautiful, long legs peeking through a black cocktail dress and silky hair that curled around her shoulders. She was the complete opposite of you in every sense imaginable. A successful lawyer, naturally stunning beyond belief. She was graceful in how she spoke and held herself; glowing skin and perfect posture. 

Angelic, if you were being honest. And not to mention, Jack’s age. There was that familiar tilt of an aching pain when you watched her talk with him, when you observed just how perfect they actually looked together. 

But despite her silky voice and perfectly manicured fingers, her captivating face and entrancing eyes, Jack did not encourage it, did not allow the encounter to move past pleasantries. Because Demi hadn’t paid no mind to you; had been rude enough to ignore your presence, to impose on what was very clearly a date. 

Jack was respectful when he cut her off, when he introduced you. When he said it was nice to see her again before angling his chair closer to you and refusing to offer her even another glance. Demi, to her credit, got the hint and left. 

But it had put a sour on your mood and Jack could sense it. You’d tried to continue through the date, to not allow doubt to wedge its way into your mind. But like last time, you felt out of place. The feeling had grown tenfold and it was Jack’s decision to throw cash on the table and guide you out of the restaurant with his fingers curled around yours. 

“That place was a drag.” He’d grinned at you, and twenty minutes later, you both found yourselves singing karaoke in a dive bar. 

It was a silent understanding then, that the both of you preferred dates that had a bit of personality to them. 

After that night, unless it was an impromptu coffee catch-up or takeout at your apartment, dates consisted of watching weird movies at the theater, bowling, arcades, crazy golf, karaoke or, like two days ago, a fucking panic room.

Tonight is supposed to be no different. Burgers and drinks and a comedy show. Somewhere along the past three months, these get-togethers have been feeling less like dates and more like hanging out with your best friend. 

And not in an awkward shift of feelings type of way. No. It’s in a way that makes you feel like you’ve known Jack for years, that he’s always been a figure in your life. His presence is now familiar, like he’s slotted perfectly into your life like a missing piece. 

Despite minimizing how often he and Phoebe see one another, he asks about her constantly. Before every date—if he comes to yours or picks you up—Jack will bring a little bouquet of flowers for her. Or a bracelet making kit, or an action figure she’s fixated on, or a CD for her little stereo in her room. 

Phoebe draws him pictures a lot, asks far too often when she’ll get to see him next. And on the very odd occasion when you invite Jack to the park with you both, or he stops in for a coffee or to help fix something broken, they’re like two best friends finally reunited. 

It both warms and breaks your heart at the same time. You’ve done everything you can to not allow them to form too deep of a connection, and yet it’s happened anyway. 

And Jack, he understands. He’s respected your decision since day one, when you made it clear that Phoebe comes first. He’s agreed, never once grown frustrated when you’ve had to cancel a date because she’s unwell or just wants you. 

You can’t help but feel guilty when you do cancel. Can’t help but feel like Jack deserves someone who does have the time for him that’s undisturbed. That he should pursue someone that doesn’t have the added responsibility of a child like you do. 

Maybe that’s why your stomach feels like it’s in knots when Tom calls to tell you that he’s bringing Phoebe home now, at 4 p.m. instead of tomorrow morning. You feel like nothing short of a let down as you type yet another apology text to Jack for the sixth time this month alone. 

You: are those tickets for the show tonight refundable? 

Jack: No, but they were only twenty dollars each. Do we need to cancel?

You: pheebs is coming home now

Jack: Is she okay?

You: yeah, he said she’s upset and wants to come home… think she just wants to be with me. I’m sorry jack 

Jack: Don’t ever be sorry, honey. Diva comes first always

Your heart feels heavy when you read over his final text again and again. You don’t get any time to write a reply because there’s a knocking on your front door the moment your fingers hover over the keyboard, about to tell him that maybe he should go with someone else instead. 

Phoebe all but barrels into the apartment when you open the front door. You watch the blur of her form race down the short hall and into her bedroom, slamming the door with more force that a four-year-old should have. 

You turn slowly back to Tom who stands at the threshold, your brows raised as you blink. 

“What’s the deal with her?”

There's a bitter look on Tom’s face—his screwed together and lips curling in a grimace. You know this look far too intimately. He’s angry. He doesn’t even pass you Phoebe’s weekend bag, just swings it into the corner of your entrance hall.

“We need to have a little conversation.” His tone is cruel, belittling. It makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end and you instinctively reach for the front door, almost preparing yourself to slam it in his face if necessary. 

“I’d prefer to know why Phoebe is upset first.” 

Tom scoffs at that, at your strict yet unbothered tone. “And that’s why we need to have a talk. She’s been nothing but rude to Kirsty all weekend. Refused to talk to her since she woke up this morning and now has a problem with me, because I scolded her for it.”

Your own face screws up at his word, almost mirroring his own expression. 

“I’m sorry, who the fuck is Kirsty?” 

“My girlfriend.”

Your eyes are blinking far too quickly, lips parting and your head begins to shake as you try to remember him ever mentioning the fact that he was seeing someone or that he was considering allowing them to meet your fucking daughter.

“Girlfriend?” It almost comes out as a shriek. “Since when? And why the hell is she around Phoebe before I’ve even met her?”

You don’t think it’s an unfair thing to get upset over. Tom is known for his lengthy track record in flings and short-lived relationships. When he decided to be more involved in Phoebe’s life, you had made it clear that he wasn't to subject Phoebe to any of his flings or so called relationships unless he spoke about it with you first. Unless you met them first or that he had at least been with them for longer than a fucking month. 

You never wanted that around Phoebe, for her father to parade a new woman every three weeks and it confuse her, for her to think it’s fucking normal. 

But the look of Tom’s face turns from disgust to outright anger. 

“Who’s Jack?” 

That causes you to pause. To blink. To consider how the fuck he knows who Jack is. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Who’s Jack, Y/N?” His voice is growing louder, his tone turning darker. “Because I’ve had the pleasure of hearing that name for the past three weeks. Non-stop.”

Now it’s your turn to get a bit angry. A scoff escapes you before you can stop it, your hip cocking to one side as you rest a hand on it. “Okay first of all this is the third time you’ve seen Phoebe in the past three weeks. And second, Jack is my neighbour.”

Tom’s arms cross over his chest, fury burning in his gaze. “Phoebe said he’s your boyfriend.” 

You’re left stunned, yet again. 

Jesus Christ, Pheebs.

You’ve tried so hard to remain platonic in front of her, not wanting to confuse your little girl when neither you or Jack really know what is going on between you. You’ve been mindful of him not being around her too much, of not blurring any lines in front of her. 

“We’ve been on a couple of dates. It’s completely platonic in front of Phoebe. Not that I have to explain myself to you.” Your own tone is growing bitter, annoyance bleeding through every word. 

Tom takes a step closer, imposing in your personal space. “You want to meet Kirsty? That’s fine. But I want to meet Jack.” 

You scoff, about to burst into argument when Tom cuts you off. 

“You don’t get to be in control all the time. You might be her mother but I am her father.” 

The rage begins to bubble over and you step toward him, closing the distance with nothing but resentment in your eyes. The thought of breaking his fucking nose is all you can think right now. 

“Actually, Tom, I do. Because I am her mother always. Day and night, rain or shine, I show up for her. You pick and choose when you want to be her fucking dad.”

His jaw ticks, you can see how he clenches his teeth. Those nostrils flare the same way they used to when he’s trying to control his anger. Just as quickly as you think he’ll snap, he steps away. 

“I’m not budging on this. Get your mom to have Phoebe on Friday night. Preston’s at 8. You bring Jack and I will bring Kirsty.” 

Your instant reaction is to shut him down. To tell him to fuck off and slam the door on his face. But Phoebe is your main concern above all. The last thing you want is for him to take this out on her, to stop seeing her just to spite you. 

So you stare at him, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of you giving in. But your duty as a mother is much stronger than your pride. 

“Fine.” 

You don’t wait for another word to leave him. You keep your eyes on him as you shut the door on his face and then you’re leaning against it, loosing a frustrated breath before your ears perk up at the sound of One Direction blaring from Phoebe’s room. 

You knock on her bedroom door as you open it, halting at the doorway. She lays on her tummy on her bedroom floor, feet kicked up in the air as she colors in a page of her Spider-Man book. Her little stereo still sits on her dresser and you slowly approach to turn it down a few buttons. 

You join her on the floor, mirroring her position and picking up a blue crayon to color in a car stuck in Spider-Man’s web. 

“So, you’re back early.” You comment casually.

She doesn’t answer. 

“I was thinking we could have a pizza night?” You try again. 

“Sure.” The words are small when they come out of her and you frown. 

“Do you want to talk about what’s upsetting you?” 

It’s a very subtle movement when she shakes her head and your heart feels heavy. You’ve decided you already fucking hate this Kirsty for whatever she’s done to upset your daughter. But you won’t push her to talk. 

The whole situation is a bit sobering, if you’re being honest. Like it’s an insight to how Phoebe will be when she’s a teenager riddled with confusing feelings and hormones. You won’t force her, won’t push her. 

“Okay, well… if you want to talk, you know Mommy will always listen, right?” 

You spend the next twenty minutes with her, coloring in silence. You sing along softly under your breath to the songs that play on her stereo, and after a little while, when you purposely start to sing the words wrong, you get a laugh out of her. 

Another ten minutes, and she agrees to leave her room. She lets you turn off the music and sits at the kitchen island while you unpack her box of Play-Doh and tip out all of her cutters. 

You’re about to reach for your phone to order in some pizza when there’s a knock at your front door and your entire body stills. The last thing you need right now is Tom showing back up to throw another fit and for Phoebe to be a witness to it. 

So it’s quite carefully that you approach the door, only now in this moment hating the fact that you don’t have a little peephole. But the anxiety is quickly diminished the second you wrap a hand around the handle and a familiar voice calls from the hall. 

“Pizza and ice cream delivery for two beautiful girls in apartment seventeen.” 

You swing the door open with a grin, eyes drinking over his attire; khaki trousers, a black t-shirt…simple and yet you think he looks better and better every time you see him. 

He grins a bit boyishly when you beam at him, his previous worry of you scolding him for showing up when Phoebe is with you unannounced quickly fading. 

She hears him before you can speak, jumps off the stool at the kitchen counter to race for him, his name screeching out of her as she barrels into his good knee. 

Jack somehow manages to balance the two boxes of pizza and tub of ice cream on one hand while the other reaches down to cradle the back of Phoebe’s head. He smiles softly down at her, lets his fingers scratch soothingly at her scalp before looking back up to meet your eyes. 

The hesitancy in them is clear to you, it's the same thing that shines on your face. The desire to reach across for a kiss, a hug. But he stretches out the hand holding the food toward you instead. 

“Just dropping these off.” He explains, voice rugged and it comforts the tense corners of your body and mind. 

Your gaze softens as Phoebe unwraps herself from Jack’s leg and reaches for his spare hand to drag him into the apartment. “Mom just set up my Play-Doh!”

You stop her with the gentle call of her name and she frowns at you for the interruption. “Go wash your hands, Diva. Pizza then Play-Doh.”

She huffs but releases Jack’s hand and drags her feet down the hall to the bathroom. Jack stifles a laugh as he watches, walks toward the counter to place the boxes down and quickly scoops you into his arms when he hears the water running. 

Your arms snake around his waist, nuzzling your face into his cotton shirt and savoring the scent of him and his cologne. Jack kisses the top of your head, a soothing hand stroking up and down your back. 

“I’m sorry for just showing up without asking first. Just wanted to do something for you both.” 

You shake your head against him, against his apology. Craning your neck up enough to look at his face, your lips pucker in a silent request for a kiss. Jack obliges with a lopsided grin, gently pressing his mouth to yours and humming at the familiar taste of you. 

It’s not enough, but it’ll have to do. The water turns off and you gently untangle yourself from Jack’s hold, feeling the tenseness of Tom’s visit return the moment that you do. 

“No, she needed it. I needed it. You’ll stay?” 

Jack’s shoulders drop in something that looks like relief. He nods, fights off a grin that’s forming, but you catch it anyway. Don’t mean for the look to set your stomach ablaze and into a fit of stompeding elephants, but you’ve quickly come to terms with the fact that you have little control over how your body and mind reacts when it comes to Jack. 

Phoebe doesn’t leave Jack alone when you eat together. She sits with her stool pressed closely against his, clinks her bottle of water against his glass every time he or she takes a sip. 

She catches him up about the things she’s been doing since she saw him last two weeks ago. And Jack listens, pretends you haven’t already told him. 

After dinner, she forces him to sit on the living room rug with her, superhero figures scattered across the ground and Lego blocks thrown everywhere from Hulk smashing buildings apart. 

It’s terrifying how natural and domestic it all feels. You and Jack are on the floor with her, playing and laughing. He fits in too easily. Like he was supposed to have been here a long time ago. You know he can sense how tense you are, that there’s more to it than having to pretend you’re just friends for Phoebe’s sake. 

After an hour playing on the ground, you take note of the small grimace Jack tries to conceal, the awkward way he stretches out his leg. You disappear with the excuse of grabbing a drink but you return with a pair of crutches in your hand. 

Jack blubbers out a laugh at the sight and frowns when you give them to him. 

“Take it off, know it’s bothering you. She won’t care.” 

He blinks at you, back at the crutches while Phoebe talks in a deep voice with the dolls. 

“What the f—” he catches himself before the curse can slip out. “Where did you get these? Why do you have these?” 

You shrug, returning to the floor with your legs folded beneath you. “They were left in the laundry room when we moved in. Kept them in case they were needed one day.”

Phoebe watches Jack’s movements closely from the corner of her eye as he stands with a grunt and sits on the couch. She keeps her dolls moving but her focus is entirely on him, when he rolls his pant leg up to reveal metal, when the click sounds through the room and a sigh slips from his mouth. 

She hides her shock well for a four-year-old when Jack removes the metal completely. Like she’s now only just realizing that the prosthetic means he only actually has one real leg. It causes a pinch to form between her brows, her gaze to flicker over to her dolls that have two legs. Plastic, yes, but two legs that are the same. 

She turns back to look at him fully this time, her dolls long forgotten. “Jack?”

He peeks up at her, still leaning over himself slightly to massage the tender part below his knee. “What’s up, kid?” 

Pheebs ponders for a moment, chewing on her inner cheek. “What happened to your leg?” 

It’s a loaded question, one you both knew she would ask eventually. But you still catch the way Jack stiffens slightly; your own body locking up a bit at the sight. You don’t intervene, even if a suitable answer is on the tip of your tongue. 

It’s Jack’s story, not yours. And if he needs an out, he’ll look to you for it.

But he doesn’t. He keeps his tender gaze on Phoebe and leans forward to rest his elbows on his lap. “It got hurt a long time ago. So, the doctors had to give me a new leg.” 

She frowns harder. “But you’re a doctor.” 

Jack smiles at that, at how her mind is trying to understand. “Yeah. But, you know…some things can’t be fixed no matter how hard you try.” 

You watch Pheebs as she tries to absorb the truth of Jack’s words. Can see her brain filtering every syllable, like she’s storing the information away for later use. You don’t chime in, don’t try to overwhelm her with an explanation or an example. 

Eventually, she shrugs. “I don’t care if you have an old leg or a new one. Or even just no leg.” She giggles at that last part. 

Jack’s eyes soften impossibly at her bluntness, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth as he regards the kid with more tenderness than you’ve ever seen.

“Yeah?” 

She nods. “I still wanna be like you when I’m big.”

It’s such a simple statement to her, but one that cleaves your heart in two and almost shatters Jack completely. The only man to have ever made such a positive impact on Phoebe’s life is your father. 

Tom has never had the connection that Jack has bloomed with her. She has never trusted anyone so easily and so lovingly as she does Jack. 

Perhaps it’s his kind and calming nature, his softness and security that bleeds from him whenever he’s in your presence. Or perhaps, Phoebe just senses things. Perhaps she knows Tom will never truly be something stable in her life, but Jack…she looks at him like he’s such a wonder to this world.

Like he’s something so incredibly stabilizing to her. 

It reinforces that anxiety; of being a single mom and finding love again. Of trusting someone enough to let them in, to believe they won’t walk away when the going gets tough. Your mind feels like a broken record. The doubts of you and Phoebe being too much, both of your needs and requirements being more than someone initially signed up for. 

But Jack stares at your daughter like she’s a gift he’s always wanted but never allowed himself to have. Like she’s breathed a new lease of life into him. Like he’ll love and protect and guard her with his life until his final breath. 

He looks at her like a father should look at a daughter. And that scares the living shit out of you. 

Because it’s been three months. Three months of dates and kisses and falling for a man so much older than you. Three months of trying to keep him and Phoebe separated so as to not confuse her. Three months of trying to juggle parenthood and a career and a love life and not allow yourself to get too swept up or lost in the moments. 

Three months and everything you’ve tried to prevent is happening anyway. 

You’ve been foolish to keep them apart, maybe. To put a wedge between their bond. But you couldn’t have either of them growing attached to the other only for it to go to shit in two months time. You’d handle the fall out like you have done with everything else in the past. 

But not them. You could never put either of them through that. 

Anxiety lodges deep within you at the realization of it. Fear cripples you from the inside out; wrapping around your bones before seeping into your organs. It’s like you’re struggling to breathe, the beginnings of a panic attack right on the precipice of dragging you under. 

You force yourself to break their gentle moment, to shatter the internal peace and acceptance that Jack has found with how easily Phoebe saw past his disability.

You feel sick to your stomach for doing it. 

“Okay, Diva. Bath time.” 

When you look over to Jack, he’s already gazing at you. There’s a longing look in his eyes and a deep rooted wave of peace and fear and conflict passes over him. He offers a tearful, thin-lipped smile and your shoulders sag as Phoebe rushes off to her bedroom in search of pyjamas. 

“Are you okay?” Your voice is soft when you ask him, gentle. 

Jack holds out a hand to reach for you and you slowly move closer to him, standing between his parted knees. His hands settle on the outsides of your thighs, his touch tender and careful. Your fingers find his peppered curls, nails gently scratching at his scalp in soothing movements. 

He leans his head against your lower tummy, thumbs tracing patterns over your jeans. 

“I don’t have words to describe how beautiful that kid’s soul is.”

Tears well in your eyes at his broken words, the sound of his voice so vulnerable and so proud. You can’t help the sniffle that escapes you, the pride that swells within you and the adoration that your heart bursts with. 

Not just for Phoebe, but for him. 

“You are an incredible mother, baby.” 

You laugh through a soft cry because you’ve lost count of how many times he’s told you this; how wonderful you are with Phoebe, what a fantastic parent you are. You’ve always known you’ve tried your best, always believed yourself to be a good Mom.

But Jack, he makes you know it. 

You slowly sink down to your knees in front of him, hands moving to cup his face as his reaches up to hold gently at your elbows. His eyes are wet when he looks at you, face pink like he’s trying to keep in his tears. 

It only makes yours fall more. 

Your thumbs brush soothingly over his high cheekbones, a smile pulling on the corners of your mouth before you lean in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. 

He lets you walk away, watches your every step through distorted vision until he hears the melodic laugh of yours and Phoebe’s in the bathroom when the water begins to run. 

Jack doesn’t move at first. He lets himself bask in the sound of your happiness, lets it fester in that crevice of his heart—no, not fester—grow. It spreads gently, warm and certain, nestles so deep into him that he can physically feel weight lift off his mind and soul. 

For a moment, Jack lets himself believe. 

He lets himself ignore those worrying thoughts; not good enough, too old, not whole. He allows himself to accept Phoebe’s words, the weight of them, the truth in them. Lets himself believe your eyes when you look at him, the relief in your body when he’s close, the lightness in your presence in his company. 

He’s noticed how he seems to take your worry away a lot of the time, just from being near you. How your stress fizzles into something you allow yourself to think about later. Like he’s more important than it. 

More than that, he notices your hesitancy when it comes to Phoebe. It’s something he understands, undoubtedly. Something he respects and refuses to ever push or question you on. Because there’s no label on what you are, nothing to reassure you he won’t just stop texting or calling or showing up one day. 

It puts a bitter taste in his mouth, makes shame swell along with that dangerous feeling he gets around you or when he thinks about you. 

Makes him realize that Jack really is a mess of mixed emotions. Full of desire and want and adoration, and yet too careful because he doesn’t want to push; reserving himself and his actions because he doesn’t want to be too much, to overstep. 

The only thing he can do to stop himself from spiraling, is clean. 

He tidies away Phoebe’s toys, refluffs the cushions on the couch and turns on the lamps in the living area. He clears the kitchen; loading the dishwasher and breaking down pizza boxes to fit in your little recycling bin under the sink. 

It’s when he’s wiping down the sides that he hears your footsteps and Phoebe’s quicker ones following. Hears your gentle voice telling Phoebe to say goodnight. 

He turns with a smile, still leaning against the sink with the crutches propped up by the fridge. An act that he usually wouldn’t be so open to commit in front of someone new. To be vulnerable enough to hobble on crutches with his leg off. “Look at this Diva, all fresh and in the pyjamas I got you!”

She beams at him, offering a twirl. “Jack, can you take me to bed?” 

His eyes snap to yours, brows raised at her proposal. You stifle a laugh, relieved to see him a bit more himself and despite your previous need to keep them separated, you find yourself shrugging. 

Jack looks back down to Phoebe with a grin. “Sure, kid. Say night to Mommy.” 

You try to ignore the way that makes you feel when it rolls off his tongue. How natural for him to say Mommy and not your Mommy like Tom does. Try to ignore how easily and quickly Pheebs listens to him. 

You crouch down to give her a squeeze, peppering playful and exaggerated kisses across her cheeks and under her chin. Her laughter bubbles out of her little body; loud and unapologetic. 

“I love you, Diva. See you in the morning.” 

“Love you, bestie.” She gives you one last squeeze before pulling away and leading Jack down to her bedroom. 

He offers you a wink as he passes, heat curling at your insides. And you watch as Phoebe races into her bedroom, and don’t hide the fact that you’re ogling Jack’s ass when he follows on his crutches. 

In the ten minutes it takes for Jack to settle her to bed, you manage to finish the rest of the kitchen and brew two mugs of steaming hot tea and get settled onto the couch, flicking through Netflix to find something for you both to watch. 

When you’re scrolling through the comedy section, Jack returns with a gleam in his eyes that you’ve never once seen before. 

You squint at him. “Did she settle okay?”

He hums, rests the crutches against the wall and settles beside you on the couch. His arm is immediately thrown over the back of it and you’re instinctively reaching to hand him his tea before curling into his side. 

“Yeah, out like a light. Read her that Peter Pan book, sang to her.”

Your head whips up to look at him with wide eyes and a grin tearing your face in half. Jack looks down at you with lopsided amusement. “You sang to her? Can’t believe I missed that.”

His once amused expression morphs into something almost predatory, a taunting glint in his eye and a sinful curve to his mouth. It turns your insides molten. 

“You want me to sing to you, sweetheart?” His voice drops an octave, something you’ve noticed is unintentional and only seems to come out when he flirts intimately. 

You can’t help the giddy smile that worms its way onto your face. His eye contact is still something you’ve not yet grown completely accustomed to. Intense in the way that it feels like he’s looking directly into your soul. 

It makes you forget momentarily about everything around you.

All you can do is close the distance to press your lips against his, grinning against his mouth so wide that he feels it, mirrors it. When he pulls away, Jack brushes the hair from your face and you have to busy yourself with reaching for your tea before you get sucked under his spell. 

“Did she tell you why she was upset?” He asks softly. 

You lean back into him with a sigh, blowing softly at the steam rising from your mug. “No, but it seems like Tom’s had another woman around her and she doesn’t like it.” 

Jack’s brows raise involuntarily and he’s thankful you’ve got your gaze locked on the TV, back to flicking through Netflix. He hums, instead. Keeps his mouth shut tight on what he thinks about that. 

It’s not his place.

“She’s been mentioning you to Tom.” Your voice is quieter when you speak again, but the words ring loud in Jack’s head. 

He’s already staring down at you when you move your head to sneak a glance up at him before returning your attention to the screen across the room.

“Phoebe called you my boyfriend.” 

Jack blinks, momentarily stunned by the information. A mixed array of emotions swirls through him. Relief, uncertainty, hope, excitement. But more than that, understanding. You’ve been tense all evening, unsure in your movements, a little unlike yourself. 

He swallows down the lump in his throat as dread and doubt begins to bubble. Has it made things too real for you? Made you realize that you’re not ready for that? That perhaps entertaining him has been a mistake? 

He clears his throat, still looking down at you despite your attention not being on him. “Is that why you’ve been on edge this evening?” 

You chew on the inside of your lip, considering. “No—yes, no—I don’t—”

Your chest is heaving slightly, words contradicting the other, your thoughts. But Jack lets you do it, lets you try to sort through your jumbled mind and heart. He doesn’t push, he never has. He waits, patiently. Even if his mind is tearing him apart in the process. 

It's that idea that forces you to turn beside him; knees folded and pressing against his hip, his arm still thrown over the back of the couch and his fingers reach to brush tenderly across your shoulder. 

There’s a calmness in his eyes that isn’t in yours, a silent reassurance that whatever you’re feeling—thinking—is okay. That whatever you decide is okay. He’ll respect it. Respect you and Phoebe. 

“What is this, Jack? Us?” Your voice is quiet, tone breaking just slightly when you speak. “Because I can’t—I don’t do casual. Phoebe comes first in everything that I do and this can’t be any different. We’ve been nothing but friendly in front of her and she’s going around telling people that you’re my boyfriend and I—”

“Hey, woah. Okay, breathe.” Jack coos as you begin to spiral, shifting slightly to reach for your hand and chase your frantic gaze. 

“Listen. Us—whatever this is—it’s whatever you want or need it to be. But no one said anything about casual. Nothing about you or Phoebe or us is casual to me.” 

Jack’s tone is resolute, punctuating every word he speaks like he needs you to understand what he’s saying. That every syllable is true and genuine. It’s enough to make you finally meet his gaze.

“So, what is this, then? What are we?” You hate the desperation in your voice; the sheer vulnerability that bleeds from your heart and drips off your tongue. 

Jack’s expression softens impossibly further and he rests his tea on the arm of the couch before reaching to cradle your jaw. He watches you for a moment, admires. His thumb reaches to smooth the elevens creasing between your brows, to trace the slope of your nose.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but…I kind of like the title that Phoebe has given me.” 

The string of anxiety snaps clean, shoulder dropping noticeably in relief. Your lashes flutter at him, heart thumping like the wings of a wild bird. “Yeah?”

Jack hums, a tick of a smile daring to pinch his cheeks. “Yeah.” 

Your tongue licks across your dry bottom lip, pulls it back between your teeth as you regard him. The gentleness he possesses for you, the tenderness in which he holds you. 

“It’s not too soon?” You whisper. 

He frowns at that, rolls his own bottom lip between two rows of teeth. “I know it’s been a while since I’ve been on the dating scene, but I don’t think you know just how much you both mean to me.” 

Even with your bottom lip sucked into your mouth, it doesn’t stop the slight trembling of your chin, or the silver that begins to line your eyes. Jack’s head cocks slightly to the side at the sight. 

“Baby, I know you want to protect Phoebe in everything you do. I respect that. I admire it. But, I want to make it clear to you that I understand that you two are a package deal. And my interest and care for you doesn’t end with you. It includes Pheebs.”

It makes you pause, forces tears to spill down your warm cheeks. His care for you. For Phoebe. It’s the most he’s ever verbally clarified about this relationship, about how he feels about you. It doesn’t extend to Phoebe, doesn’t stretch to her. It includes her. Wholly. 

And Jack notices the way you fixate on his words, on his admittance. That it’s not lost on you how vulnerable and open he’s being. But he gives you the time to consider what he’s said. To let you interpret them in whatever way you need to. 

Because he’s not ready to truly admit just how far he’s falling. Not just yet. Jack doesn’t want to scare or overwhelm you. He meant what he said when he told you it’s whatever you want it to be. That you have and always will have control.

With a shaky breath, you nod, and he wastes no time in pulling you back into his side, cradling your body close to his. 

“Don’t ever get lost in that pretty head of yours. Just talk to me, baby.” He kisses the top of your head, reaches a hand to smooth down your flyaways.

The tender touch soothes what’s left of your anxiety and you finally feel yourself begin to relax fully. His scent envelops you in the most gentle of ways; something that has grown to be familiar and comforting. 

Your neck twists so you can look back up at him, lips puckering slightly but it’s enough for Jack to understand what you’re asking for. He gives it to you with a breathy chuckle, capturing your lips in a tender kiss—soft and gentle and intimate and…sure. 

But when you pull away with hesitancy in your eyes, that certainty curdles into worry. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks carefully. 

You smile, but it’s nervous. “You’re not working Friday night, right?”

Jack’s brows raise slightly, comically. Were you nervous about asking him out on a date? He squints at you, pecking your lips again. “No, baby. Night off. You wanna do something?” 

You grin but it's emotionless, fingers tracing the buttons on the TV remote.

“Actually, we have a double date Friday night with Tom and his girlfriend.” 

You peck his lips once more before shifting to look at the screen and press play on the movie. Jack blinks at the side of your face, slightly in confusion, more so in disbelief. He barely watches any of the film, too caught up in his head. 

Too busy figuring out how he’ll sit through dinner with Phoebe’s father without ending the night in a fucking jail cell. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

SERIES MASTERLIST — NEXT PART

Tag list for this series has grown way too big for me to keep up with so it’s unfortunately CLOSED. You can however follow the #apt.17 tag instead for updates on the series!

this chapter is a belated happy birthday to my very loyal reader @cafereads and a belated graduation present to one of my lovely anons!! <3

OKAY, AGAIN I AM SO SORRY FOR IT BEING SUCH A LATE UPDATE BUT I PROMISE WE ARE SOOOO BACK!!! Next chapter is going to EAT i promise you, it's my most anticipated chapter to get to in this series. Also, a lil updated, I have decided that chapter 10 of this series will be the FINAL PART!! i will definitely come back and revisit them for check-ins but as it stands, pt.10 will be the finale of this series and while i will be so sad to see it end, i am also super excited to be able to move onto other fics i have plans for and drafts that are taunting me lol

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"You talk to her like that in front of Phoebe?"

The way that Pheebs is also very high in his priority list is so special to me.

"But as for her mother, I have every right to tell you to watch your fucking mouth when you're speaking with her."

THAT'S MY MAN THAT'S MY MAN HELL YEAH

I love this protective side of him so much

"Nothing, baby. Was just telling Tom about my trip to Poughkeepsie last year."

Is it wrong that I found this insanely hot? The way he just switches back. The way he was protecting us (and Pheebs) and lowkey still is by not making this a huge fight in the middle of the restaurant.

Also, I can just imagine him sitting all handsome just ugh I can't wait

And I love when he calls us baby. Especially when we're out. It's just so casual and rolls of his tongue.

Your heart broke each time, and every time it became harder and harder to bite your tongue because of how protective Dean was, and how willing to let go and accept it, Sam was.

But you weren't. You didn't like Mary. You didn't like the way she was raised from the dead and shoved into the boy's life like she still belonged. Like she'd been there the whole time.

You especially didn't like the way she disregarded her youngest son, your husband, just because she knew Dean longer.

She wouldn't even try.

At first, you thought maybe it was because she felt guilty or weird, but the way she clicked with Dean made it obvious she wasn't having any trouble being a mother.

The straw that broke the camel's back was the morning Sam had invited you and Mary to watch a movie together. Something fun- a movie he had picked and loved for years. You, of course, obliged because it was Sam and you could never resist his pretty puppy eyes.

You made yourself comfortable at Sam's side, and he wrapped you in his arms. Sam's eyes lit up when his mom walked into the room, taking a seat closer to the end of the couch than him. Just that small action made him deflate a little, and you again bit your tongue. Instead, you pressed a subtle kiss to his forearm and intertwined your fingers with his.

A little way through the movie, you had excused yourself to the bathroom, and when you got back, the movie was paused, and neither Sam nor Mary was anywhere to be seen.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you walked around the bunker, checking in all of the usual places Sam liked to hide out in. All spots came up empty.

The last stop you made was to your shared bedroom, where Sam was sitting on the corner of the bed with his hands in his hair and tears falling down his face.

"Baby?" You gently called as you approached. Sam didn't hide from you, he looked up at you, sad and teary-eyed. The sight made your chest constrict. "Oh, Sam," you whispered, stopping in front of him.

You put your hand on his face, wiping away the tears that kept falling. "Talk to me, honey. What happened?" You question gently.

Sam wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer as he buries his head in your chest. You resisted the urge to let tears fall yourself. You brushed your hands through his beautiful brown locks, scratching gently, and the base of his skull in the way he always found comfort in.

"Baby, tell me what's wrong," you urged him. You knew already, you knew Mary had yet again crushed his heart and hopes that one day he could really have his mama back.

"I-" Sam began, but his voice broke. You shushed him, "Take your time, honey… I'm not going anywhere," you continued, running your hands through his hair.

"I just… want her to see me." His voice strained. Your heart shatters. "The way she does Dean. I don't have any bond with her and she won't- she won't even try"

You bit your lips, trying to contain the heat boiling in your chest. "I know." You hated that it was the only thing that you could say.

Right now, as Sam clutched you closer, your mind had set. Mary would hear a price of your mind. You'd argue with Sam, you'd argue with Dean, if Mary can sit and choose favorites, you won't let her hear the end of it.

You sat with Sam for about an hour until he fell asleep. You pressed a kiss onto his forehead, giving him one last glance to make sure he was really asleep before slipping out of his arms.

You tiptoed out of the room and down the hallway.

You found Mary in the kitchen, chopping vegetables. She froze momentarily when she saw you.

You took a seat at the table. "We need to talk," you said, interlocking your hands. Mary finished chopping the tomatoes and set them aside. "What about?" She glanced at you.

You huff a laugh, "Sam." Your tone is harsh but still respectful. She looked off, as if she already knew it was coming, "What about him?" She sighed.

You rolled your eyes. "Look, I'm not gonna sugarcoat anything, you're an adult. You can take it." Your gaze on her hardens. "You have to stop treating him like some guy you met on the street."

"I don't"

You pinched the bridge of your nose, sighing in an attempt not to lose your cool. "You do. You're his mother, and you act as if you hate him."

She avoided your eyes, and you saw right through her. "You think he doesn't see the way you avoid him? That he doesn't see your favoritism for Dean? Sam's not an idiot, and he knows how to read a room."

"I don't try-" "No, you're right, you don't. I don't care what your problem is, but I advise you to fix it. He's been to hell and back, he lived with the guilt of your death and every one he's ever lost his whole life." You cut her off.

Your mind wandered back to an hour ago, when he was crying because the woman who gave birth to him would barely sit in the same room as him.

She folded her arms over her chest, looking as if she was trying to shrink into herself.

"And you know the worst part?" She looks at you questioningly, "The worst part is he's so much like you. he never wanted this life. None of it. He wanted to find love, build a home, and have a normal family. Ring any bells?"

Mary shook her head, sucking in a harsh breath. "I'm sorry- but I. I can't. I don't even know where to start with him."

You scoff, "How about an apology. Tell him you love him, get to know him. Him, not stories, not rumors. Him."

Mary leans against the counter, facing away from you. You could see the contemplation on her face, which irritated you further. How did anything requiring her son have to be contemplated?

You scoffed, standing up from your seat, "You know what- forget it. You obviously don't want anything to do with him. Just know this, he would've done anything to spend just a few hours with you when you were dead." You walked to the door, pausing. "Imagine how he feels watching you walk around his home and still making no effort."

You walk back to you and Sam's bedroom. He was no longer asleep; instead, he was standing in the middle of the room, looking like he was thinking too hard.

"Hey," you say, eyeing him. He turned towards you, a small smile lit his face, and his eyes were no longer red. Instead, they sparkled in their usual hazel color.

He walked towards you, wrapping his arms around you tight and secure, "Oh- what's this for?" You let out a surprised laugh, hugging him back.

Sam kissed your forehead, "for loving me. And taking care of me, even behind my back"

Oh.

You look up at him, "You know, it's rude to eavesdrop," you joked, trying to gauge his feelings. He shrugged, "You left me."

"Clingy"

"Only for you"

This makes you laugh, relieved he wasn't upset about you confronting his mom. You sighed, "If I crossed a line, I'm sorry. I can't stand to watch you wait for her to see you. It's not fair."

Sam frowns to himself, "It's okay, honey-"

"Except it's not. You and Dean have been without a parent for so long. Now she's here, and I can't even begin to imagine how it feels."

Sam's jaw clenched. He shook his head before picking you up bridal style. "I got you, though. And dean. That's all I really need. I mean, yeah- it sucks, but what's new."

You felt a pang in your chest, you opened your mouth to say something, but Sam cut you off with a kiss.

You melted into him without a fight. He laid you on the bed, then lay down himself. "Don't wanna talk about it anymore. Just wanna sit n lay with you." He muttered.

You smiled, "I think I can make some arrangements"

He gives you an 'oh really?' look. "Oh, can you? Wouldn't wanna ruin your busy schedule"

You snort, pressing a kiss to his lips. "Never too busy for you," you promise.

Sam smiled into the kiss, pulling you closer.

The anger directed towards his mother didn't leave. It wouldn't, not until she fixes her act, if she ever does. But Sam had a way of melting away your anger like no other, and right now, all you wanted was to focus on him. Because that's what he deserves.