almost home - after seventeen years of marriage, one teenage daughter, and a relationship slowly worn thin by exhaustion and grief, you and your husband finally let each other go.
except divorce doesn’t really mean separation when there’s still school pickups, shared calendars, and a daughter determined to keep both her parents stitched into the same orbit. (19.4k-ongoing)
one shots
off your game - you find yourself having an off day during a shift and jack doesn’t let your single mistake slide. (0.8k)
period cramps - you’re on your period and jack offers you the comfort he can. (1.0k)
house tour - when jack cooks for you, you have another idea. (2.1k) NSFW 18+
the shape of wanting - you bring jack as your date to a wedding and he brings everything you’ve both been avoiding. (4.8k)
requests
what’s in a name - maybe dating jack abbot would be easier to if his name didn’t start with a j. (1.0k)
normal girl - at a hospital charity gala, pretending you belong gets a lot harder once jack starts paying too much attention. (2.6k)
love you less - loving jack is the closest you’ve ever come to feeling safe. but safety is a terrifying concept for someone who expects the floor to collapse at any moment, and your defenses are running him ragged. (1.7k)
maggots for brains - overwhelmed by the emotional distance of your careers, you seek a brief moment of comfort from husband amidst the chaos of his hospital shift. (2.4k)
frank langdon
patient: unresolved - after a rough shift in the er, one moment of shared exhaustion between you and dr. langdon turns into something neither of you can take back. (1.1k)
off campus
dean di laurentis
series
sugar talking - you’re done being dean di laurentis’ favourite secret. (1.9k)
sugar talking: two - dean will do anything to win you back, but winning you over proves harder than why he bargained for. (5.9k)
requests
drive, di laurentis - when a bruise sparks his usual protective panic, dean proves his devotion by tag-teaming your cardiology check-up. (1.8k)
while you were sleeping - an encounter in the kitchen reveals dean’s teammate has been paying much closer attention to you. (2.3k) (also tucker x reader)
john tucker
one shot
cranberries, flour & panic - even on friendsgiving in a house full of chaos, you and tucker are the one thing that never cracks. (2.1k)
requests
love on the brain - you’ve months convincing yourself that john tucker only sees you as a friend. you couldn’t be more wrong. (6.9k) NSFW 18+
sunflower vol. 6 - tucker is determined to shower you with what you deserve even when you’re determined to pull away. (2.7k)
while you were sleeping - an encounter in the kitchen reveals dean’s teammate has been paying much closer attention to you. (2.3k) (also dean x reader)
idk if ur still taking requests but olivia rodrigos new album is tearing me apartttt thinking of the song “maggots for brains” specifically im thinking of deeply anxious reader who’s kinda needy about jack because he makes her feel safe 🥲 they have opposite work schedules so its been making it hard for them to see eachother lately and the straw that breaks the camels back is overhearing some nurses talking about “dr. silver fox” when you come in to surprise him one night 🙂↕️
Ik that’s long and tragic but pls feel free to ignore if it doesn’t spark you! you just write angst and longing so beautifully! xoxoxo
maggots for brains
summary: overwhelmed by the emotional distance of your careers, you seek a brief moment of comfort from husband amidst the chaos of his hospital shift. (2.4k)
pairing: jack abbot x reader
content: established relationship, mild intimacy mention, angst with happy ending, implied age gap, hurt/comfort, anxiety.
author’s note: with these types of requests i try my hardest to not make reader come off as like completely dependent on jack etc. which is quite hard to do for some reason. but i hope you like this anon (i did swap the night to earlier morning but i hope that’s okay) and thank you you’re too sweetttt!!
the dashboard clock of your lexus read 7:05 am.
in exactly fifty-five minutes, twenty-one kindergarteners would come bursting through your classroom door.
they would be ready to submerge themselves in a world of neon finger-paint and bright construction paper while you watched on.
you loved your job, and you were good at it; you were the vibrant, patient anchor who spent your days sorting counting bears and gently managing full-blown morning meltdowns over a dropped box of glitter crayons.
but right now, sitting in your car, your own chest felt incredibly tight.
a persistent wave of anxiety had trailed you all morning, starting the moment you woke up to an empty mattress, and you had finally hit a wall.
your yellow school tote bag sat heavy in the passenger seat, stuffed to the brim with flashcards, your green lanyard, plastic math cubes, and a half-finished fiction manuscript you hadn't found the energy to touch in three weeks.
writing used to be your escape, but lately, the words wouldn't come.
you were exhausted, and when your thoughts started to spiral like this, jack was always the one person who could talk you down and make the world quiet down.
you didn't do this.
you never did this.
visiting jack at work was a boundary you both respected; his shifts were a meat grinder, and your own career kept you firmly in your own lane.
but three months of time wasting had finally worn you down to a raw nerve.
you had left early under the guise of needing to prep your classroom, but you had driven here instead.
you just needed to see your husband for five minutes. that’s all you needed.
see the thing was the intimacy between you hadn't died; it had just been compressed into tiny, desperate fragments. it was a hunger that never quite got satisfied, a constant, low-burning longing that made the edges of your vision blur with frustration.
it felt incredibly cruel, considering the two of you were newly married.
you had bought a huge house together, a beautiful, sprawling place with high ceilings and endless natural light.
you had both fallen in love with it initially, but lately, you were starting to really hate it.
all the spare rooms felt completely unlived in, a stark, hollow contrast to the explosion of color and life in your classroom.
at home, the silence echoed off the pristine, neutral walls in a way that felt incredibly heavy.
in moments like that, surrounded by too much empty space, your mind would wander to strange places.
you would think about how easy it would be to fill those rooms with the sound of a full-of-life little girl sprinting down the hallway, or a quiet, shy son reading a picture book in the corner of the living room. or both.
but the thought always dissolved as quickly as it came. the truth was, neither you nor jack wanted children.
you just wanted each other.
you wanted the house to be full of him, not empty square footage that reminded you of his absence.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
the heavy diamond and matching gold band sitting securely on your ring finger were a constant, beautiful reminder of the commitment you had made, but the physical reality of marriage had lately felt like passing notes in the dark across a giant, quiet home.
on the rare nights your schedules miraculously aligned, the air in those high-ceilinged rooms always felt thick with a quiet, starved urgency. the only night you had shared a bed in weeks happened three days ago.
you had been asleep for hours when the mattress shifted, the heavy, now unfamiliar weight of jack sinking into the sheets beside you.
even in your deep sleep, your body instinctively sought his heat, rolling over until your forehead pressed against his bare shoulder.
"hey," he had whispered, his voice a gravelly, midnight rumble. his hand had slid around your waist, pulling you against him. "i didn't mean to wake you."
"you didn't," you lied, blinking through the darkness, your hand coming up to trace the stubble on his jaw, your wedding ring cold against his warm skin.
the anxiety that had been simmering in your chest all day evaporated the second his skin touched yours.
you became entirely needy in those quiet hours, craving the sheer volume of his presence. "just missed you."
jack hadn't answered with words.
he had just shifted, his thighs tangling with yours, his lips finding the sensitive spot beneath your ear.
the lovemaking that followed wasn't fast or frantic; it was deliberate, and heavy with a quiet devotion.
in the dark, jack moved over you like a man trying to imprint himself into your very skin, his fingers locking tightly with yours against the mattress.
every touch was an anchor.
when he buried his face in your neck, his breathing ragged and heavy, you held him just as tightly, wishing you could freeze the clock.
but by 6:00 am, your alarm had shattered the peace.
you had to slide out from under the covers, leaving him buried deep in the mattress, only to return home to an empty house and jack already back in his scrubs, bracing himself for another overnight shift.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
now you walked through the sliding glass doors, holding a bag of fresh breakfast sandwiches. the atmosphere was rushing staff, and shouting, a stark contrast to the quiet morning routine you usually tried to maintain.
"well, look who finally graced us with her presence."
you turned to see robby with a chart tucked under his arm. his eyes widened in genuine surprise at your unexpected appearance.
it had been months since you had last set foot in the hospital. "wow. hey. i honestly forgot what you looked like." he joked as warm smile broke through his fatigue.
"hey, robby," you replied, offering a small, self-deprecating smile as you held up the brown paper bag. "i know it's weird for me to just show up on a weekday. i brought some breakfast. is he... is it a bad morning?"
robby let out a sharp, dry laugh, running a hand over his face. "it's a disaster. we had a six-car pileup on the interstate at 3:00 am. jack's been in surgery or running traumas since midnight." robby's expression softened, his eyes glancing at the bag. "honestly, he's at his breaking point. go on through. he would definitely love to see you today."
"thanks, robby," you murmured, a new layer of worry settling into your stomach.
you hadn't realized how heavy his own day had been. let alone his week.
as you walked toward the presentation boards, you had to pass the main breakroom. the door was ajar by a few inches. you were about to walk past when a burst of sharp laughter cut through the gap, making you slow down.
"oh, come on, you saw the way he handled that chest tube in trauma three," a voice snickered. you recognized the sharp tone of one of the floor nurses. "if dr. silver fox asked me to stay late for a 'private consult' in the call room, i would clock in for a double shift before he could even finish the beginning of the sentence."
"please," another voice chimed in, accompanied by the rustle of a plastic wrapper. "dr. silver fox doesn't do private consults with the staff. he goes straight home to his wife. though, god knows how she keeps his attention. he looks like he could chew glass and she looks like a slightest breeze could knock her over."
a cruel, low laugh followed. "maybe he likes them fragile. easier to manage between shifts. keep them desperate enough on the back burner and they will wait around forever while you play god at work."
the words didn't just hurt but they also confirmed every ugly doubt you had harboured for weeks.
fragile.
desperate.
easier to manage.
waiting around forever.
you hadn't even realized you had dropped the breakfast bag until you were already halfway down the hall, your chest heaving, your feet moving on autopilot until you pushed through the heavy fire door of the stairwell.
now, you sat with your knees pulled to your chest, your chin resting on your arms.
your right thumb was at your left hand, spinning the gold wedding band around your finger.
over and over.
a restless, rhythmic click of metal against diamond that only happened when the walls started closing in.
the heavy fire door groaned open above you.
footsteps descended the stairs—uneven and echoing with a rhythm you had know anywhere. you didn't look up. you just kept spinning the ring.
the scuffed leather of his work shoes halted on the step right below yours.
jack didn't say anything at first. his hazel eyes went straight to your left hand, watching your thumb mindlessly tear at the gold. he knew that gesture. he knew exactly what it meant.
"hey," he said. his voice was breathless, carrying the flat, heavy fatigue of a shift that had already pushed him past his limit. he lifted the crumpled brown paper bag in his hand. "and thank you. for this. i haven't eaten since yesterday."
"i dropped it on the ground," you whispered, your eyes tracing the grease stain on the bottom of the bag. "you should go back... i heard the floor is busy."
jack let out a long, ragged breath. he went to lower himself onto the step below you, but his jaw suddenly tightened as his prosthetic leg caught at a bad angle on the narrow concrete.
he paused, a brief flash of frustration crossing his face as he struggled to find his balance on the cramped staircase.
"i'm fine," he muttered quickly, his stubborn pride flaring as he tried to adjust.
you didn't argue.
you just held a steady hand out to him.
jack looked at your open palm for a split second, let out a quiet sigh, and grudgingly took it. he leaned into your grip just enough to steady his weight, easing his frame down until he was safely settled on the step, setting the food down between his feet.
he dropped his head into his hands, his broad shoulders dropping with sheer exhaustion.
"i told robby to cover," jack muttered into his palms. "if i have to look at another chart or have another administrator talk to me about something unimportant while we're short-staffed, i'm going to go insane." he slowly lifted his head. his eyes were shadowed and laced with a deep, private ache.
he looked at your face, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in your expression. "you bolted away from the break room. what happened?"
he reached out, his palm securely covering your left hand, instantly silencing the frantic movement of your fingers. he squeezed, his grip tight but also comforting.
"nothing," you whispered, trying for a small, fragile smile to deflect. "just... overhearing the nurses. apparently, you're the hottest doctor on the floor. i had to see if the rumors were true."
jack blinked, looking entirely blank for a second as the comment registered. he let out a dry, incredulous huff, gesturing to his heavily shadowed eyes and the faint smudge of standard-issue hospital grime on his scrubs. "the hottest? i look like a corpse, sweetheart."
"shush," you murmured lovingly, leaning down just enough to press your forehead against his temple. "don't say that."
a soft, genuine trace of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he let his head rest heavily against yours for a second. "pretty sure langdon still has better hair than me, even on a double shift."
the brief, oblivious deflection helped the knot in your chest loosen just a fraction, but the reality of why you were hiding on the stairs caught up to you.
"i shouldn't have come," you admitted quietly, your voice dropping. "i have my lesson plans to do but i woke up and the house felt too big. i just wanted five minutes. i didn't mean to bring my mess into yours. i heard what they were saying in there about how much space family takes up on a heavy shift, and i just—i felt like a burden."
jack's jaw clenched, a sudden, sharp anger flaring in his eyes, though it wasn't directed at you.
he shifted up one step, narrowing the space until his chest was inches from your knees.
he didn't let the silence hang between you this time. his hands slid up to your shoulders, his thumbs finding the tight, knotted muscles at the base of your neck.
he began to work them out with a slow, firm, and deeply grounding massage, his touch telling you everything his words hadn't yet.
his hand moved to your face, his thumb catching a stray tear before it could drop.
"don't do that," jack whispered, leaning forward so his forehead came to rest gently against yours.
"don't apologize for needing me, and you think you're the only one losing your mind? i am drowning down there. every person in this building wants a piece of me. they want a miracle, or they want a doctor." he looked at you, his eyes intensely raw. "you're the only person who just wants me as i am."
he leaned in closer, his lips brushing yours in a soft, desperate kiss that tasted like pure relief. when he pulled back just a fraction, he pressed a lingering, heavy kiss right against your forehead.
"i don't need you to be perfect, and i don't need you to be strong all the time," he muttered, his hands sliding down to rub comfortingly across your upper back. "i just need my wife. i feel like i live in this hospital and i'm just a ghost passing through our house. i miss waking up next to you so much it hurts. i need to know there's still a real life waiting for me outside these doors. you're not a chore, sweetheart. you're the only thing keeping me sane."
the weight of his words and the steady, warm rhythm of his hands against your back shifted something tight in your chest.
the distance wasn't a sign of failure; it was just a storm you were both weathering together.
"jack," you breathed, leaning forward into his space as the tension finally began to bleed out of your shoulders.
he pulled your hand up to press a brief, heavy kiss against your knuckles, right over the gold band.
he hovered there for a second, his arms twitching as if he wanted to wrap you up entirely, before he reluctantly let his hands drop back to his sides. "i want to keep holding you," he muttered, a small, frustrated edge to his voice. "but i know you've got to get to school. i don't want to make you late for work."
you let out a soft, breathy laugh at that, the heavy weight in your chest lifting just a little more. "i can stay ten minutes, i'm not going to be late."
"okay so we’ve got ten minutes," jack murmured, shifting so he could pull you against his side. his arm wrapped securely around your waist, his fingers idly stroking your arm as his breathing finally slowed down to match yours. "just sit with me."
you let your head lean against his scrub-clad shoulder, your fingers locking into the fabric.
"ten minutes," you agreed quietly, staring down at your intertwined hands as the chaos of the hospital hummed on the other side of the heavy door.
maybe a fic where reader is with dean (not really a relationship) but there’s something going on between between her and tucker?
while you were sleeping
summary: an encounter in the kitchen reveals dean’s teammate has been paying much closer attention to you.
pairing: john tucker x reader & dean di laurentis x reader
content: emotional infidelity, mild possssive behaviour, temporary unrequited feelings, breaking boy code, language, situationship, guilt, angst, betrayal of trust, mutual pining, dean being dean, love triangle (?).
authors note: i’ve finally got through all my off campus requests (i’m going to take a break from off campus fics for now) but this one took a little longer than i thought it would..but here it is hehehe. i honestly don’t know if this feels on brand for tucker but this was very fun to write so we move.
the energy in dean's bedroom was always impossible to ignore.
between the heavy heat, and the buzzing tv, the room belonged to dean and he didn’t even have to try.
physically, you and dean made complete sense.
he knew exactly how to pull you into his orbit, how to tilt your chin up, and how to make you lose your train of thought with a single, slow kiss against your pulse point.
intimately, there was an explosive, effortless rhythm to the way your bodies fit together in the dark.
but as you sat trapped by his heavy, athletic frame, your laptop balanced precariously on your knees, a cold truth settled deep into your bones.
your bodies were aligned, but your souls were completely out of sync.
the laptop screen cast a sharp, blue glow over your face as you frantically tried to format the final pages of your design portfolio.
it was due for a massive internship review at eight o'clock the next morning, and dean had promised—no actually he had sworn—that he would let you work in peace, maybe even help you proof the layout text.
instead, his own laptop lay closed on the floor.
dean’s thumbs were hooked under the waistband of your joggers, dragging you backward until your spine was pressed against his chest.
his fingers pressed into your skin with an easy, practiced familiarity, his face buried in the crook of your neck.
the distracting heat of his mouth made your finger slip on the trackpad, almost deleting an entire paragraph of text.
"dean, stop, i'm being serious," you muttered, your voice breathless with rising panic as you tried to tilt your head away. "i need to align these final grids or the review board is going to completely throw out the application."
"they're not gonna throw it out, sweetheart," he murmured against your skin, his voice laced with that effortless, devastating confidence.
his lips tracked a slow, burning path up the sensitive line of your jaw, his warm breath fanning across your cheek.
his hands slid up under the hem of your t-shirt, his palms warm and slightly rough against your bare waist, his fingers splaying wide as he tried to subtly pull you down against the pillows beneath him.
"come on. take a break. you've been staring at those pixels for hours."
"because the formatting is wrong," you insisted, your hands coming up to press against his chest, feeling the solid, rhythmic thud of his heartbeat beneath his shirt. "you promised you would let me finish."
dean sighed, a soft, amused sound, and pulled back just enough to look at you. he flashed his signature, crooked smirk—the one that usually made you forget whatever you were complaining about.
he reached out, playfully tapping the tip of your nose with his index finger. "and i will let you finish. later. let's just go to sleep first. or, you know, not sleep." he winked, his eyes dark with a heavy, playful heat as he already began to lean back in for your lips, completely untroubled by the actual panic tightening in your chest.
see he wasn't trying to be malicious, he wasn't the malicious type. dean just assumed everything was always fine.
he couldn't see the quiet fraying of your nerves because he didn't know how to look that closely.
the disconnect made a dull, heavy ache settle in your stomach, cooling the heat his touch had ignited. "i need some water," you said quietly, closing your laptop with a soft click and shifting away from his heavy frame.
dean groaned into the pillow, letting his arms drop limply over the side of the mattress. "bring me one too, please."
you didn't answer him.
you pushed yourself off the bed, stepped over your heavy backpack, and quietly shut his bedroom door behind you.
the house downstairs was dark and freezing.
you padded into the kitchen, your fluffy socks sliding slightly against the cold tile, sending a sharp shiver up your spine.
you opened the fridge, staring blankly into the light of the shelves, feeling a sudden, overwhelming wave of frustration and exhaustion threaten to spill over.
the contrast between the intense, physical heat in dean's room and the cold reality of your deadline tomorrow was dizzying.
you leaned your forehead against the cool edge of the open fridge door, closing your eyes and taking a shaky breath, trying to blink back the hot tears stinging the backs of your eyelids.
"you okay?"
you jumped, the fabric of your fluffy socks catching against the tile as you turned around quickly.
john tucker was standing by the counter, holding a steaming mug of tea.
the dim light from the hallway caught the sharp angle of his jaw, highlighting his deep tan skin and the dark curls that he had tied back out of his face in a loose, low bun.
he wore a faded grey sweatshirt that made his broad shoulders look even wider, casting a long, steady shadow across the room.
"yeah," you lied, your voice cracking slightly. you quickly wiped at your eyes with the back of your hand before a stray tear could fall, clutching a plastic water bottle against your chest like a shield. "yeah, just getting a water."
tucker didn't move.
he set his mug down on the counter with a soft, deliberate click, his warm brown eyes scanning your face with a quiet, intense focus.
he took in the tight line of your shoulders, the way your t-shirt hung loosely off your frame, and the stress written across your brow.
he knew dean loved having you around—he knew dean considered you a permanent fixture in his life—but tucker also knew his best friend could be completely blind to anything outside his own immediate radius.
as tucker looked at you, your mind flashed back through the last few weeks.
this wasn't the first time you had found him down here in the dead of night.
whenever your mind was spinning too fast to sleep, or whenever the casual, superficial nature of things upstairs left you feeling completely untethered, you would slip down to the kitchen under the guise of getting a beverage of sorts.
and almost every single time, tucker would already be there, or he would wander down a minute later, claiming he couldn't sleep either.
those quiet, late-night rendezvous had secretly become the anchor of your week.
you would sit on the counter in the dark, speaking in hushed, rhythmic whispers so you wouldn't wake the rest of the house.
you would talk about your childhood, both your dreams and aspirations, his upcoming games—things you never really spoke about with dean.
tucker would listen with a rare, undivided attention, completely respecting the fact that you were upstairs with his best friend.
but he made it undeniably clear that he saw you in a way dean never could.
where you and dean shared a physical alignment, you and tucker shared a soul-deep connection that grew stronger in the quiet hours of the night.
tucker sighed, a low, heavy sound that seemed to vibrate in the quiet kitchen.
he walked over to the cabinet, pulling out a clean mug, and quietly poured some tea into it.
he slid it across the counter toward you, just like he had on so many of those sleepless nights before.
"sit down," he said softly. "you look like you're about to collapse."
you hesitated, but the warmth radiating from the mug was too enticing to ignore. you sat on one of the barstools, wrapping your cold hands around the ceramic.
"he's just trying to get me to relax," you defended weakly, trying to justify the routine you both knew was wearing you thin. "he doesn't mean anything by it. we're not... you know it's not official or anything. we're just casual."
"i know exactly what you two are," tucker said softly. he didn't corner you against the fridge. instead, he leaned his hip against the counter opposite you, crossing his arms over his chest.
he kept a respectful distance, but his brown eyes were burning with the accumulated weight of the past few weeks. "dean is one of my good friends, and i know he doesn't do it maliciously. but it's killing me."
the air in the kitchen suddenly felt entirely too thick to breathe. "what do you mean?"
"it's killing me to watch from the sidelines, and it's killing me to keep pretending these nights down here don't mean anything," tucker whispered, his voice thick with a painful honesty he had spent months burying.
"i've been keeping it to myself because he got to you first, but seeing you look this exhausted while he's upstairs completely ignoring what you actually need? i just can't look away anymore."
a tear you couldn't stop slipped down your cheek, hot and fast.
this time, tucker didn't control himself. he crossed the small distance between you, his movements slow and deliberate, giving you every chance to pull away.
his thumb brushed against your cheekbone, catching the tear before it could drop.
the touch was entirely different from dean's urgent, possessive grip—it was soft and heavy with a quiet devotion.
his hand lingered against your jaw, the warmth of his palm seeping into your skin, grounding you completely.
"if you were mine," tucker murmured, his voice breaking just a fraction, his thumb tracing a comforting circle against your skin. "you wouldn't be begging for someone to listen to you. you wouldn't just be a late-night option when he feels like it. i don't want to hurt him... but god, i want you."
you sat frozen on the barstool, the physical contact sending an electric, terrifying spark of recognition straight to your core.
your heart was hammering a frantic, erratic rhythm against your ribs, because the truth—the heavy, hidden truth you had been denying during every single one of those midnight talks—flooded your chest all at once.
you wanted him, too. badly.
you remembered crowding onto the living room couch on sunday nights, where you and tucker would always somehow end up sitting next to each other, your knees brushing under the low coffee table.
you hadn't pulled away instead you had leaned into his steady, solid warmth while dean was on the other side of you fully engaged in a different conversation.
for weeks you were lying to yourself, pretending you were just being a good friend to dean's housemate and teammate, when in reality, you were secretly starving for the quiet safety tucker carried with him like a shield.
"tucker," you breathed out, your voice a faint, trembling sound. your hand came up to rest over his wrist, your fingers tightening against his skin.
under your touch, tucker's gaze darkened, his focus snapping completely down to your mouth.
the gravity of the past month, the late-night whispers, the unspoken tension that had been coiling tighter and tighter between you with every passing week, finally broke.
a sharp wave of guilt crashed over you—he was dean's best friend, you were upstairs in dean's bed just minutes ago—and you could see that exact same conflict tearing through tucker's eyes.
his jaw flexed, his chest rising and falling in a ragged breath as the wrongness of it battled the sheer, undeniable desperation of how long he had waited.
but the pull was too strong.
weeks of restraint dissolved in a split second.
tucker leaned down, his face tilting as he slowly closed the final inch between you.
your eyes fluttered shut, your breath hitching as your lips parted, the air between you turning agonizingly hot.
you could feel the warmth of his breath against your mouth, a split second away from a collision that would change everything.
a kiss that felt as inevitable as it did dangerous.
before your lips could actually touch, the heavy wooden stairs groaned loudly in the quiet house.
the sudden noise pulled you apart.
tucker jerked back just a fraction as you both scrambled, guilt and adrenaline making your heart kick violently against your ribs.
a second later, the overhead light clicked on, flooding the room with a blindingly bright glare.
dean was standing at the bottom of the stairs with his phone in his hand, his hair messy from the pillows.
the easy, arrogant smirk was still lingering on his face as he walked in. "hey, what's taking so long with that—"
the words died instantly in his throat.
dean stopped dead in his tracks. even though tucker had pulled back, the thick, undeniable air of emotional and physical intimacy in the room was a physical entity.
dean's blue eyes narrowed sharply, cutting between his best friend and you.
he took in your tear-stained face, the extra mug of tea, the way tucker was still standing entirely too close to you. the breathless, guilty shock written all over your features which was vulnerability you had never once shown him was glaringly obvious.
"hey," dean said.
the usual playful, effortless lilt in his voice was completely gone, replaced by something flat, and sharp.
he stepped fully into the kitchen, trapping the three of you in a suffocating, heavy quiet.
dean looked at you, his eyes scanning your face, then shifted his gaze entirely to tucker.
his jaw tightened so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek as he crossed his arms over his chest. "what the fuck is going on in here?"
tucker didn't back away completely.
he kept his brown eyes locked dead on yours for one final, silent second, a desperate plea burning in his gaze, waiting to see if you were finally going to admit what you both felt.
idk if you spoke on this already but! which off campus boy is ur favorite!!! sincerely signed a tucker gal <3
hii!!! tucker girlies unite 🙂↕️ tucker is very much my favourite by far (i may be a little biased because i love jalen bad). but like if anyone knows a man who even remotely looks and acts like tucker pls pls PLS send him my way im not even kidding…i need that expeditiously.
fluffy fic with tucker whose clingy and sweet but reader is shy and not used to affection/attention and he’s just trying to get her more comfortable with being loved and seen
sunflower vol. 6
summary: tucker is determined to shower you with what you deserve even when you’re determined to pull away. (2.7k)
pairing: john tucker x reader
content: social anxiety, self consciousness, tooth rotting fluff, established relationship, emotional vulnerability, angst if you squint, tucker being touchy as heck.
unfortunately for you, john tucker didn't just give affection.
he completely enveloped you in it.
you were currently functioning as a human mattress, and you were also starting to think your textbook was just for decoration at this point.
tucker was stretched out on the grass near you, his head resting comfortably and happily in your lap.
one of his hands was resting on your knee, his thumb tracing slow, lazy circles through the fabric of your jeans, creating a soothing, radiating warmth.
every couple of minutes, he would shift, tilting his head up just enough to press a soft, lingering kiss to your bare wrist, or whatever patch of skin was closest to his lips, humming contentedly against your skin.
"tuck," you murmured.
you glanced around the sunny campus grounds, your shoulders tensing slightly as a group of students walked past. "you're doing it again."
he looked up at you, a lazy, utterly content smile spreading across his handsome face. "doing what?" he asked, his voice smooth, gentle, and thick with affection.
"you know what i mean," you said, as you could feel a familiar embarrassment coming over you once again. "we're outside. literally anyone could walk by."
see, thing was it wasn't that you didn't love him.
you loved him fiercely, but you also inherently preferred the quiet corners of life.
you kept your head down and preferred to keep your personal life strictly personal. it wasn't some dramatic defense mechanism, nor did you think you were superior for being low-key.
you liked your privacy. it was your way of life.
any sudden influx of attention made you instinctively guarded, and tucker's open, unashamed affection was honestly a lot to adjust to.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
truthfully, his intensity was the exact reason you had been so reluctant to have anything to do with him in the first place.
you had met at a mutual friend's birthday dinner at a diner off-campus. you had been trying to quietly eat your burger and chat with the girls next to you when tucker sat across from you, completely throwing you off balance.
you would’ve liked to say it was because he lacked charm but it wasn’t that because he had too much of it. he was effortlessly sweet, attentive, and so insanely attractive that it made you nervous.
when he asked for your number at the end of the night, you had actually hesitated, gently telling him that you didn't think you were his type.
you assumed his interest was a passing whim and you didn't particularly want to get swallowed up by his massive social world.
unfortunately for you, tucker had been relentlessly patient. he didn't push, but he didn't disappear either.
he would prove, look by look, that he was willing to learn your boundaries if it meant getting close to you. he respected your wishes, but he also made it clear with every sweet text and gentle smile that he wasn't necessarily going to be going anywhere.
little by little, those boundaries started to soften. you found yourself looking forward to his goodnight texts, and your heart would do a dangerous little skip whenever you saw his name pop up on your phone.
you were falling for him and there was absolutely nothing you could do about it.
as it turned out, tucker was in the exact same boat. for all his easy confidence, he had been entirely helpless against how deeply he was tumbling for you, completely enchanted by the grounding presence you brought into his world.
a few weeks later he had offered to walk you to your car after a long afternoon of studying, and right before you got in, he gently pulled your heavy class textbook out of your arms.
you watched in confusion as he opened it up to the exact page you had bookmarked, sliding a custom, glossy card stock bookmark inside.
right in the center of the it you read: i know i'm not your usual type, but will you let me be your boyfriend anyway?
below it, tucker had checked a tiny box next to the words 'yes', 'definitely yes', and 'ask me again after practice'.
when you looked up, the athlete was flushing a faint pink, holding the textbook out to you like a nervous kid handing over a valentine.
you had taken a pen from your bag and checked 'definitely yes' on the spot.
but the first real test of your tolerance for exposure had happened a couple of weeks into dating, during a weekend beach trip.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
the beach was beautiful, but it was vast and incredibly loud.
the shoreline was dotted with young adults, families, and tucker's rowdy teammates playing an aggressive game of beach volleyball a few yards away.
you weren't particularly miserable, but you were definitely feeling the pressure of your surroundings.
you were sitting near the back of the sand, your knees pulled casually to your chest, with a large pink beach towel completely wrapped around your shoulders.
your sunglasses covered your eyes, acting as a kind of protective barrier between you and the crowded shoreline.
"hey, we're heading down to the water, do you want to come?" allie asked, jogging up to you with a bright smile, her sunglasses pushed up into her wavy hair.
you offered her a genuine, easy smile, pulling the pink towel just a little tighter around your shoulders.
you liked allie immensely, but you simply didn't have the energy to engage in socialising just yet. "go ahead without me. i'm actually good right here. just taking it all in."
"are you sure?" allie checked, looking at you closely to make sure you weren't just being polite. "i don't want you feeling left out."
you reassured her that it was okay, your tone warm and entirely steady.
"alright, but i am stealing you for food later." she called out with a laugh as she turned back toward the water.
you watched her go, satisfied with your spot, until a shadow fell over you.
tucker had just jogged over from the volleyball game, glistening with sweat and sea spray, his curls damp and wild. he looked vibrant, perfectly at ease in his own skin, and entirely in his element.
he dropped to his knees on the sand next to you, kicking up a tiny spray, completely unbothered by the chaos around him.
"you're missing a legendary comeback, sweetheart," he breathed, flashing a bright, dimpled grin as he reached for his water bottle.
his eyes scanned your posture—from the pink towel clutched tightly at your throat to the slight tension in your jaw. his smile softened instantly into something incredibly tender. "hey. you doing okay out here?"
"yeah," you said, your voice steady, though you kept your eyes on the horizon. "it's nice. just a lot of people."
without a word, he smoothly shifted his body, positioning his broad frame directly between you and the crowded shoreline, effectively blocking out the rest of the beach.
it was a deliberate, protective move, creating a physical wall of privacy just for you.
he reached out, his cool, damp hands gently nudging your ankles, encouraging your legs to uncurl from your chest.
you gave him a dry look, but the steady, patient humor and warmth in his eyes made you yield.
you guided your legs out straight, and he immediately laid down right beside you, propping his head up on his hand, his shoulder firmly and comfortingly pressed against yours.
"talk to me," he murmured, his thumb brushing over your ankle. "are the guys being too loud?"
"the guys are fine," you whispered, adjusting your sunglasses. "it's just... never mind."
tucker looked at you for a long moment, his chest rising and falling with a slow, deliberate breath.
he reached over, his fingers gently sliding your sunglasses down the bridge of your nose just enough so he could look directly into your eyes.
there was no pity in his gaze, only an immense, grounding warmth that felt entirely safe.
"look at me," he asked softly, to which you did.
"who's on this beach right now?"
"garrett, dean, allie, logan... a million other people." you sighed.
"no," tucker interrupted, a small, heart-melting smile tugging at his lips. he leaned a fraction closer, shutting out the rest of the world. "right here. in this particular square foot of sand. who is here?"
"just you," you whispered.
"just me," he agreed firmly.
he reached out and gently nudged the edges of the large pink towel away from your chest, his movements slow, deliberate, and free of any rush.
he peeled the fabric back from your shoulders, letting the warm sun hit your skin.
your instinct was to pull it back around yourself, but tucker immediately placed his warm palms flat against your collarbones, smoothing down over your bare shoulders, melting your tension away.
he shifted, draping his large, heavy arm over your waist and pulling your back flush against his chest, tucking you perfectly into his side while the pink towel now draped loosely over both of your laps.
all wrapped in his scent and his heat, the crowded beach completely faded away.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
but even after that afternoon on the sand, navigating his complete lack of a filter when it came to affection was still a daily exercise.
just yesterday, you had been waiting for him in the stands after hockey practice. you had chose a seat a few rows up, fully expecting to just wave, wait for him to change, and walk out together like normal.
but tucker had spotted you instantly. he didn't care that he was still half-dressed in his gear, or that the rest of the team was skating by.
he had jogged right up the bleachers, his skates clacking loudly and heavily, drawing everyone's eyes right to your row.
when he reached you, he had wrapped his arms around you, planting a lingering, unapologetic kiss right on your cheek, murmuring how glad he was that you came.
you had frozen up as you felt the weight of his teammates' teasing glances from the ice. you could hear garrett shouting a joke over his shoulder, and while you knew it was all in good fun, you wished he would have just saved the enthusiasm for the privacy of the car.
tucker had noticed your sudden stiffness then, his expression shifting to something more mindful, but the self-consciousness of the moment had lingered.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
tucker noticed that same familiar, reserve taking over your features right now against the tree on the campus lawn.
the playful smirk faded from his lips, replaced by a gaze so soft and fiercely tender it made your breath hitch.
he didn't move away. instead, he rolled over completely, propping his elbows on either side of your thighs so he was hovering over you, creating a little bubble just for the two of you.
he reached up, his knuckles lingering against your flushed cheek, rubbing a gentle circle there. his deep brown eyes held yours with absolute certainty.
"let them look," tucker said softly, addressing the silent hesitation from yesterday. "i just care about you."
"it's just a lot sometimes. not you, tuck. just... yesterday at the rink, i felt like i was part of a show," you sighed, looking down at his collarbone because looking into his eyes felt too intense.
tucker understood completely. he knew you valued your privacy and that it took time for you to let someone into your space, and he wanted nothing more than to make sure you felt secure.
he made it his personal mission to meet you halfway and make sure you always felt safe with him.
he gently caught your chin, tilting your face back up. when you looked at him, his smile was so sweet, so full of pure, unadulterated adoration, that your heart did a clumsy flip.
"i'm sorry about yesterday, i got ahead of myself," he promised, leaning up to press a soft, slow, lingering kiss to your lips. completely private and entirely for you.
"but i'm never gonna stop wanting to show you off. you're the best thing in my life. you're allowed to be held, you know. anywhere." he whispered.
a soft, amused laugh escaped you, the lingering tension in your chest finally unraveling into pure warmth. "you're actually so ridiculous."
"i'm crazy about you, there's a difference," he grinned, his beautiful dimples flashing.
he shifted, laying his head back down in your lap, but this time he took your hand, intertwining his fingers perfectly with yours and resting them directly over his racing heart. "see? look at that smile. i love seeing you happy."
you let out a soft breath, finally relaxing completely against the tree. you didn't look around to see if anyone was watching. you just looked down at tucker, whose eyes were closed as he contentedly soaked up your presence like.
you hesitantly brought your free hand up to slide your fingers through his soft curls, gently twisting the thick strands and massaging his scalp.
tucker let out a low, pleased hum, burying his face closer into your thigh, pressing a sweet, hidden kiss there.
because you weren't one for big declarations or public displays, you poured your love for him into the quiet, invisible details of his life.
tucker loved purely and loudly, but you loved him intentionally.
he didn't know it yet, but you were the one who always made sure his favorite gatorade flavor was stocked in the fridge.
you had also quietly started reading up on hockey regulations just so you could fully understand the plays he talked about with such wild passion.
you showed up for him in the background, anchoring him while he took center stage.
behind closed doors, away from the crowds and the watchful eyes of the campus, your own form of affection came alive.
it had taken you a while to get there, a steady building of trust as tucker proved time and time again that your boundaries were safe with him.
but when it was just the two of you in the quiet, cozy sanctuary of his bedroom, you didn't hold back.
you were the one who would pull him down by his collar, losing yourself in deep, unhurried kisses that left him completely breathless and reeling.
in those private hours, you would map the line of his spine with your fingers, holding his heavy body close against yours, letting him know exactly how deeply he was wanted.
you just preferred saving the best parts of your love for an audience of one.
"stay like this for a bit?" he mumbled, his voice thick with a sudden wave of sleepiness, his chest rising and falling in a steady, comforting rhythm beneath your intertwined hands.
"i have chapters to read, tuck," you teased softly, though your fingers didn't stop moving through his hair, untangling the stubborn knots with gentle, loving precision.
"the book can wait. i can't," he murmured, tightening his grip on your hand just a fraction and pressing closer to you.
you smiled, the last remnants of your apprehension melting away into the warm, quiet afternoon.
"ten minutes," you bargained softly, though your fingers didn't stop their soothing rhythm through his hair. "and then i'm turning the page. if your head is in the way, i'm using your forehead as a bookrest."
tucker let out a low, vibrating chuckle against your thigh, his eyes remaining closed, a soft smile playing on his lips. "deal. you're ruthless, you know that?"
"someone has to keep you in line," you murmured.
you leaned your head back against the rough bark of the tree, finally letting the rest of the campus blur into completely irrelevant background noise.
you didn't need to change who you were to fit into his world, and he didn't need to dim his light to fit into yours.
you were two entirely different speeds, but right here, in the quiet, warm shade of the afternoon, the rhythm was exactly right.
summary: when chase is rushed to the er with a severe allergic reaction, you and jack are forced to face the crisis together. (4.1k)
pairing: jack abbot x reader
content: divorce/separation, co-parenting dynamics, tension, language, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, emotional distress, descriptions of a severe, life-threatening allergic reaction (the info of which may be a little inaccurate), self-blame/guilt.
authors note: it shouldn’t have taken me this long to drop this but i had to briefly go back to the drawing board (we back tho). in my head there’s about three ish parts left (i don’t want to let them go they’re my children).
this particular shift had been bad for jack from the moment it began. it was a slow-burning fuse that had finally exploded into a marathon.
by 9:25 p.m., everyone had long past the point of ordinary fatigue and slipped into something more frantic and overheated.
the air tasted stale, heavy with the sharp tang of floor cleaner, and the unmistakable scent of human sweat. the overhead lights hummed a low, vibrating note that seemed to bore straight into the back of jack's skull.
down the corridor near triage, someone in a severe psychiatric crisis was screaming raspy obscenities at security. their words were muffled but pounded against thick glass.
a pretty normal thursday night.
jack exited trauma three, peeling off bloody nitrile gloves with a sharp snap that echoed sharply in the corridor.
dr. parker ellis followed two steps behind him, talking too fast, her fingers flying across an ipad.
"the repeat lactate's worse, and radiology still hasn't called back about the abdominal ct—"
"then call them again." jack said, his tone carrying a tired but dryly amused smirk as he tossed his gloves into the biohazard bin.
"i did."
"well then call them louder."
ellis let out a theatrical puff of air, her own lips twitching slightly. "that's not a real medical instruction, abbot."
"it is if you say it with authority." jack smiled faintly, though it quickly faded as the sheer exhaustion of the night settled back in.
his scrub top stuck unpleasantly between his shoulder blades from sweat.
he hadn't eaten since six—unless stale graham crackers from the patient nutrition room counted as a food group—and his lower back ached with the deep, familiar throb that meant he had been standing too long again.
at the nurses' station, lena was arguing with mateo over which patient stole hospital socks from supply.
"they're hospital socks, mateo."
"it's the principle."
jack reached across the desk, snatching a chart from the top of the pile. "tell psych in room nine if he throws one more urinal at my staff, i'm going to be the one sedating him personally."
lena pointed a finger at him immediately. "see? that's leadership."
mateo sighed, tapping his stethoscope against his clipboard. "you people are why i've been considering blood pressure medication."
against jack's thigh, his phone vibrated.
he almost ignored it. on a thursday night, a vibration meant a page, a lab alert, or a consult.
but a specific, rhythmic pulse against his hip made him pause.
he pulled it out, glanced down at the screen, and saw your name.
everything inside him stilled.
the flatlining beep of a heart monitor down the hall and the squeak of sneakers on linoleum all of it compressed into static because you didn't call him during shifts anymore.
recently, it had been a carefully curated dance of text messages. you both kept it strictly to short, sterile logistics, mostly because of a strange new tension that had started bleeding into every single interaction.
neither of you wanted it there. you were fiercely determined to keep your boundaries razor-sharp.
jack felt the exact same way. he respected your life, and he had no intention of complicating things again.
which meant he was working twice as hard to lock his own thoughts down.
he pressed the phone to his ear, stepping away from the desk. "hey," he answered normally, his voice natural, but already laced with an undercurrent of sudden, sharp focus.
there was chaos bleeding through the receiver.
the distinct, terrifying sound of heavy footsteps on pavement and people talking over one another in a panic.
"jack—"
every nerve ending in his body snapped painfully awake. he straightened, his spine cracking, a motion so sudden and violent that lena's banter died instantly. she looked up, her eyes narrowing as she read the sudden rigor in his posture.
"what happened?" jack asked, his voice dropping an octave.
your breathing sounded wrong. you weren't crying and the thing is crying he could handle, crying was a release.
this was worse.
this was the ragged, suffocating sound of someone trying desperately not to break apart in public.
"chase, she—she had something with cashews, they think. she was at sarah's house and her mom used an epipen and they're taking her to—"
"here?" jack was already moving before you could finish your sentence. dr. ellis jumped back as jack blew past her like a freight train toward ems intake. "when did symptoms start?"
"i don't know maybe like eight minutes ago? they said she was having trouble breathing and—"
his stomach dropped, a cold, violent plunge into freefall. panic, sharp and suffocating, clawed at the back of his throat, but years of trauma medicine forced his voice to do the exact opposite.
he clamped down hard on his own terror, deliberately softening his tone into something reassuring for you.
"hey," he murmured, his voice smoothing out, thick with a warmth he hadn't used in years. "hey, breathe. it's going to be okay. i promise you, she is going to be completely fine."
"i think so, but sarah's mom sounded panicked, jack, and i—"
"i know, i know," he interrupted gently, his heart hammering against his ribs as he kicked open the heavy double doors of the ambulance bay, stepping out into the thick, humid evening air.
"listen to me. the epi is most likely already working, and i am standing right out in the bay waiting for her. she's coming straight to me."
silence stretched over the line, save for the low hum of your car's air conditioning blasting on your end.
then your breathing caught, a hard, broken sound.
jack closed his eyes briefly, leaning his forehead against the brick wall of the bay, his own chest aching with a phantom tightness. "how far out are you?"
"thirty minutes. maybe forty five with all this stupid fucking traffic."
"okay. do me a favor and drive safely. take your time, don't speed."
"our daughter can't breathe and you're telling me not to speed?"
fear always made you sound angry first.
even now. even after everything that had torn you apart, he knew the cadence of your terror perfectly.
jack gripped the aluminum railing of the bay. "i just need you getting here in one piece," he said, his voice dropping into something quiet, incredibly tender, and devastatingly familiar.
"let me handle this part. i've got her, okay? i won't let anything happen to her. i promise."
a long pause. the anger drained out of you, leaving only a fragile, trembling "yeah."
he hung up just as the red and white lights of the ambulance flooded the bay, the tires screeching softly against the dry asphalt.
the back doors swung open before the vehicle had even fully stopped.
and suddenly, the rest of the world ceased to exist.
"sixteen-year-old female," the paramedic started breathlessly, guiding the stretcher down the ramp.
"known tree nut allergy, likely cashew exposure approximately twenty minutes ago at a friend's residence. one epi administered on scene by the friend's mother—"
jack's eyes flicked to the side as sarah's mother scrambled out of the back of the rig behind the stretcher.
she was shaking, and visibly sweating from the summer heat. "dr. abbot, i am so sorry, they were just watching a movie and i didn't realize the snack mix had—"
"you gave her the epi," jack cut her off, his voice firm but surprisingly gentle as he placed a brief hand on her shoulder.
"you did what you could" he reassured her.
he gestured toward the double doors, where mateo was already jogging out. "get her checked in at the desk, get her a cold water, and keep her updated."
"on it." mateo said, quickly guiding the distraught mother inside.
then jack looked down at the stretcher to his daughter.
she looked so small, curled slightly inward on the stretcher beneath the thin, scratchy ambulance blankets.
her face was blotchy with angry, blooming hives and her eyes behind her glasses were terrified. her breathing was shallow, a whistling sound catching in her throat.
something primitive and terrifying ripped straight through jack's chest, tearing away the doctor, the degrees, the decades of experience. for one half-second, he wasn't a doctor. he was just a father watching his baby girl struggle for air.
the cold, brutal machinery of his training slammed back into place, locking down the panic.
"hey, bug."
chase's head lolled toward him, her eyes tracking his face. "dad."
her voice sounded rough and sandpapered.
jack stepped alongside the moving stretcher, keeping pace as they wheeled her through the trauma intake doors. "can you take a deep breath for me, sweetheart?"
her chest hitched, her shoulders tensing as she winced.
his heart nearly stopped, but his hands remained perfectly steady. "okay. that's okay. you're doing so great."
dr. john shen appeared beside him instantly, already snapping on a pair of fresh gloves. "what've we got?"
"anaphylaxis. epi given about fifteen minutes ago. airway is tight but patent."
shen nodded once, sharply, and immediately began hooking chase up to the monitors. "hey, your dad is pretty important here as you know, which means we're going to take extra good care of you."
chase nodded weakly, her head heavy against the thin pillow.
mateo pushed into the room next, a syringe already primed. "steroids and benadryl are ready. going into the iv now."
everything moved with the fluid, practiced speed of controlled chaos. jack took a stethoscope from around his neck and listened to chase's lungs himself.
he trusted everyone in this room with his life but he physically could not stop his own hands from checking.
a faint wheeze but it was improving.
thank fuck.
"bp's pretty stable," shen announced, eyeing the monitor. "tachy at 132."
"expected post-epi," jack answered automatically, his voice a flat line of professional calm.
but his body language said otherwise.
only the people who had bled with him on the night shift for years would notice the telltale signs.
the white-knuckle grip he had on the stethoscope, the rigid tension locked across his broad shoulders, and the fact that he hadn't looked away from chase's face for more than three seconds.
shen noticed. he caught his eye briefly over chase's chart, giving him a microscopic nod. i've got it. go be her dad.
jack exhaled once through his nose, the air hot and shaky.
on the bed, chase shifted weakly against the pillow, the color slowly returning to her cheeks as the steroids kicked in. shen and mateo quietly slipped out of the room to grab a warm blanket and update the desk, leaving father and daughter alone for the first time.
"dad?"
he stepped closer instantly, taking her small, cold hand in both of his. "i'm right here, bug."
"is mom coming?" her raspy voice cracked, her fingers tightening around his with a sudden burst of anxiety.
"she's on her way," jack murmured, his tone incredibly soft as he used his free hand to carefully brush damp, dark curls back from her forehead. "she's driving through the city right now."
chase swallowed hard, her eyes pooling with sudden, glassy tears. "she's going to be so fucking mad at me. i didn't check the bowl, dad. i just took a handful. she always tells me to check."
he winced at her language but a breathless, choked laugh escaped his throat. it nearly destroyed him, the sheer vulnerability of her fear.
he forced his features into a warm, unshakable smile, leaning in a little closer to ground her.
"your mom is not going to be mad at you, sweetheart. she loves you more than life itself. she would never, ever think that, okay? you don't get to worry about anything except resting."
her mouth twitched into a faint, exhausted smile, the tension draining from her small frame. "okay. i'm sorry."
"nope. it's not your fault. it's never your fault."
mateo quietly stepped back into the room, adjusting a freshly warmed blanket higher over chase's shoulders and dimming the overhead trauma lights. the small, human kindness of the gesture hit jack unexpectedly hard.
because suddenly, the adrenaline began to clear, and the reality of the situation rushed in to fill the vacuum.
you weren't here yet.
which meant you were out there, somewhere in the dark, driving through the warm summer night, trapped between panic and catastrophe.
you were probably gripping the steering wheel until your fingers bled, blaming yourself for letting her go to a friend's house, trying not to cry so you wouldn't blur your vision on the highway.
the thought landed badly. heavy with the weight of old ghosts and broken promises.
jack crushed it immediately. not tonight.
still, a quiet, heavy realization settled deep beneath his ribs.
in the worst moment of your day, when the world was spinning out of control and your daughter couldn't breathe... the first person you called was him.
not just because he was a doctor. not entirely.
but because somewhere underneath all the wreckage between you, some stubborn, unbroken part of you still believed when things fall apart, jack would show up.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
the doors of the er lobby hissed open, letting in a brief gust of the late sticky, muggy summer night air.
jack knew your stride before he even saw your face. through the low hum of the waiting room, it pulled his head up instantly.
the lobby around you was loud and suffocatingly crowded. a man three chairs down was groaning into a plastic basin and an overworked triage nurse was repeatedly shouting a patient's name.
people bumped shoulders, and muttered in the cramped space, but when your gaze locked onto jack's through the chaos, the rest of the room faded into a distant hum.
you looked entirely consumed by panic. you looked smaller than usual, your eyes wide and frantic as they swept the crowded room, looking for the only anchor that mattered.
the breath left your lungs in a visible shudder.
jack was across the floor before you could take another step, deftly navigating around a security guard and a family waiting near the vending machines.
he didn't think about the logistics, or the rules, or the boundary lines that had been carefully drawn over the last twenty-four months.
he just reached out, his hands catching your upper arms to steady you before your knees could give out right there in the middle of the crowded lobby.
at the sudden, heavy contact, a sharp tremor went through you.
instinctively, your body remembered the boundaries of your new life, and you involuntarily flinched, pulling back half an inch.
jack froze. his hands dropped instantly, his chest tightening with a familiar, dull ache. the rejection was silent, but it cut through the lingering adrenaline like ice.
an orderly pushed past them with a rattling linen cart, forcing jack to step a little closer to keep you from being bumped.
"sorry," he muttered quickly, his voice dropping into a rough, defensive register as he took a half-step back, shielding you from the passing foot traffic. "i didn't mean to—"
"no, it's okay," you interrupted breathlessly, shaking your head, your hands waving through the air between you as if you could physically push the awkwardness away. "it's fine. just... tell me. please."
a loud burst of static whined from the overhead pa system, followed by a monotone page for a doctor in triage, but you didn't even blink. you didn't have the emotional bandwidth to unpack the sudden, overwhelming intimacy of his touch right now.
that flinch was a symptom of a much larger complication—one you would have to dissect later, in the quiet of your own mind.
right now, your entire universe was narrowed down to one terrifying question.
"she's okay," he said immediately, his voice dropping into that low, authoritative frequency he kept specifically for you, easily cutting through the surrounding chatter of the waiting room.
it was the tone that meant the crisis was finally over. "she's okay. airway is clear. lungs are clear. she's resting.
you let out a broken, choked sound, your shoulders finally dropping from around your ears. a couple walking past glanced over at the sound, but you didn't care. "i thought—the nurse said she couldn't breathe, jack. i couldn't get the car to start, and the traffic on the bridge—"
"hey. have i ever lied to you?"
you swallowed hard, your eyes swimming with unshed tears as you searched his features. the familiarity of his face was almost painful.
technically, he had.
he had lied once, in a tailored suit, when he looked you in the eyes and swore before god and everyone you knew that he would love you until death did you part.
"no," you whispered despite yourself.
"she's fine. the epi worked, we hit her with steroids and benadryl, and she's already complaining about my bedside manner. you can go back right now."
a tear finally spilled over your lashes. jack's hand twitched, wanting to brush it away, but he kept his fingers firmly locked at his sides this time.
your eyes flicked past his shoulder toward the main entrance doors, and whatever fragile bubble you were in popped completely.
"is she alright?" daniel asked as he reached you, his hand immediately settling on the small of your back.
it was a protective, possessive gesture, and jack's tired eyes tracked it.
"she's stable," jack answered for you. "she's back in trauma 4. only one person can go back at a time while we finish the observation period, though."
daniel looked at you, his thumb rubbing small, comforting circles into your lower back. "go," he urged gently, raising his voice slightly over a sudden argument at the triage desk. "i'll wait out here and grab us some coffee. call me if you need me to come back."
you nodded weakly, offering daniel a small, grateful smile. "thank you."
jack turned, leading the way through the secure double doors, leaving the roaring chaos of the lobby behind for the slightly more clinical hum of the secure corridor.
he stopped outside the door to trauma 4, his hand on the stainless-steel handle. he turned back to look at you, his voice private again, shielded from the noise of the hallway where nurses were hurriedly moving between rooms.
"you did good. keeping your head on the drive. you did exactly what you were supposed to do."
you looked up at him, your fingers twisting together, the guilt that had been clawing at your throat finally spilling over.
"daniel wanted to drive," you admitted quietly, your voice cracking as you looked down at your boots. "but i couldn't... i knew if you told me she was going to be alright, i'd believe it. because jack... it's my fault. it's entirely my fault."
jack frowned, taking a half-step closer, his professional detachment slipping despite the staff bustling around them. "what are you talking about?"
"she's had this allergy her whole life, jack. sixteen years, and i have always stayed on top of it. i vet every single kitchen, i read every single label twice, i'm the one who handles the logistics," you whispered, your chest heaving as the tears finally came fast and hot.
you felt utterly distraught, stripped bare by the realization of how close you had come to losing her. "i let my guard down. i let her go over there without calling sarah's mom first to double-check. i got careless. if she had—if the epi hadn't worked, it would have been because i failed her."
"hey," jack said, his voice dropping into that fierce, unyielding gravity he used when he absolutely refused to let you sink. "she's still a child. she went to a friend's house and had a freak exposure. you have carried the weight of keeping her safe every single second of her life, and you have done a flawless job. this is not your fault. it is nobody's fault."
you swallowed down a sob, staring at his chest, desperately wanting to believe the absolute certainty in his voice.
the admission hung between you, heavy and deeply complicated.
it wasn't a betrayal of daniel—not explicitly—but it was an acknowledgment of a ghost that still lived between you.
the fact that in your darkest moment of self-blame, you needed his absolution.
before jack could let himself reach out again, he pushed the door open, stepping aside to let you pass.
chase was propped up on the pillows, the color finally returning to her cheeks, though she still looked exhausted.
the moment you saw her, you crossed the room in three strides, dropping into the bedside chair and wrapping your arms carefully around her shoulders. "oh, baby," you breathed, burying your face in her hair, the lingering terror making your touch slightly fierce.
"i'm okay, mom," chase mumbled, her voice still a little raspy, but her arms tightened around your waist. "dad saved me."
"the paramedics and sarah's mom saved you," jack corrected smoothly, stepping up to the opposite side of the bed.
but there was a softness in his eyes that usually took a three-day weekend to appear. he reached down, checking the line of her iv with practiced, gentle fingers.
for the next twenty minutes, the rhythm of the room shifted into something kind of complicated.
you could say it was the domestic muscle memory of a family that had been broken but never entirely destroyed.
"you look exhausted," jack murmured, his voice laced with a quiet, familiar fondness that made your throat ache with the weight of things left unsaid.
"look who's talking," you replied softly, a faint, genuine smile tugging at your lips. "when was the last time you drank water?"
"i had coffee at four."
"that doesn't count, jack."
"it technically has water in it."
it was an automatic exchange, spoken with the rhythm of a conversation you had had a thousand times before.
the first time, chase had been barely three years old, a heavy, warm weight balanced against your hip as you hurried down the hallway of your old house.
jack had been halfway out the door, already late for a shift, and you had been chasing him down with his silver water bottle in your free hand.
he had stopped, turning around with that tired, handsome smile that always softened just for you. “what would i do without you?” he had murmured, pressing a warm, lingering kiss to your lips before leaning down to press another against chase's forehead.
the memory snapped back to the present, leaving a cold, hollow ache in its wake.
the words had slipped out so naturally, driven entirely by pure, mindless habit, that a sudden, suffocating stillness fell over the small space the moment the sentence ended.
pulled under by a wave of sudden self-consciousness, you shifted your gaze down to the floor, intentionally creating distance.
jack cleared his throat, pulling his eyes away just as quickly, his fingers suddenly very busy adjusting the side rail of the bed.
the tension in the air was thick, heavy with the silent realization of how dangerous that familiarity still was.
from her spot against the pillows, chase watched the entire exchange, her glassy eyes darting back and forth between you.
she saw the way her dad's shoulders had finally unknotted the second you walked into the room.
she saw the specific, heavy way the two of you looked at each other—like you were the only two people in the entire hospital who spoke the same language.
daniel was nice, but daniel was a guest in your lives. daniel didn't look at you like you were the only thing that was keeping his lungs full of air.
not like this.
chase leaned her head back against the pillow tonight had been a complete, terrifying accident, and she would never actually put herself or her parents through that kind of horror on purpose.
but looking at you both now, the desperate, childish part of her couldn't help the thought from forming anyway.
if this is what it takes, she thought to herself, her chest aching with a weird mixture of physical exhaustion and sudden, fierce hope.
if it takes me almost dying to get them to actually look at each other again... i would eat a whole bowl of cashews tomorrow.
"what are you smirking at, bug?" jack asked, his voice breaking the silence as he caught the tiny twitch of her lips, his hand dropping away from the bed.
chase looked at her parents, who were now standing shoulder-to-shoulder by her bedside, your shadows overlapping on the floor in the dim light of the trauma room.
"nothing," chase said innocently, closing her eyes as a sleepy, knowing smile spread across her face.
i really do love pope cody as much as the next person (like that’s pookie) but it has to be said…. if i knew such a man in real life i would genuinely be terrified of him.
badly need a tucker x reader fic where she falls first and he falls harder
love on the brain.
summary: you’ve months convincing yourself that john tucker only sees you as a friend. you couldn’t be more wrong. (6.9k)
pairing: john tucker x reader.
content: smut 18+ (MDNI), pining, alcohol, angst, hurt/comfort, idiots in love, tucker being down bad, language, friends to lovers, language, karaoke scenes (it’s a little bit corny but we move).
author’s note: i had to post this request in honour of hitting 600 followers (wtaf is going on) thank you so so much my sweet angels, im indebted to you all ☹️🫀
you were currently pressed flat against the kitchen counter, gripping a plastic cup filled with a concerning ratio of vodka to blackcurrant squash.
you were trying your hardest to look microscopic but for the last ten minutes, a guy you vaguely knew from the theatre club had you pinned in place.
his arm was thrown against the cupboard right next to your head, his alcohol-sour breath fanning over your face.
you were nodding, forcing your most polite, people-pleasing smile, uttering empty "oh, totallys" because you didn't know how to tell him to back off without causing a scene.
the kitchen had exactly everything that the college parties that you had went to occasionally had.
desperate guys, cheap beer, and the overwhelming heat of too many bodies packed into a single room.
you shouldn't even have been here. you weren't a big party person, but john tucker had personally texted you earlier that afternoon, asking if you wanted to come.
and you really couldn't say no to tucker.
you never could, not since the very first semester of freshman year.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
you had been stranded in the commuter parking lot during a freezing september downpour, staring hopelessly at a completely dead engine and crying, when tucker had pulled up in his massive truck.
he hadn't just lent you jumper cables which would've been more than enough.
he had stood out in the freezing rain, hooking up the batteries, talking you through exactly what was wrong and then waited until you safely cleared the campus gates.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
now, a year later into your sophomore year, you two were inseparable.
you weren't just classmates anymore. you had become really good friends. he was one of your anchors on campus, a person you trusted.
and for over a year—for as long as you had known him, really—you had been desperately, quietly drowning in love with him.
your best friend, nadia, had been pushing you for months to just give in and finally make a move, insisting that the chemistry was entirely there.
but you would honestly rather walk face-first into oncoming traffic than risk your friendship by putting yourself out there like that.
so, you had chosen to keep it buried, agonizingly silent.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
you had been able to pinpoint the exact moment you truly fell for him, too.
it was during a chaotic karaoke night at malones.
tucker had practically dragged you up onto the sticky stage to sing mr. brightside with him.
he had wrapped a heavy, protective arm around your shoulder, holding the microphone directly in front of both of you as you both screamed the lyrics.
you had sung quite badly on your end, but he hadn't cared at all.
you even let out a breathless, private kind of laugh as you yelled the words, because the lyrics about jealousy and watching someone else with the person you wanted were so brutally, painfully ironic.
at the time, tucker was kind of seeing another girl, and it had lowkey broke your heart every single time you thought about it.
still, the entire bar had cheered for you, and when the song finished, amidst the flashing lights and laughing crowd, he had leaned down and kissed your forehead.
it was a completely casual, affectionate gesture to him, but it had sent a seismic shock through your chest, and you had had to fight with every ounce of your willpower just to stay composed.
your heart wasn't hammering against your ribs.
not at all.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
the air in the crowded kitchen shifted.
a shadow fell over you, and the oppressive weight of the room seemed to lift.
"hey," a low, steady voice rumbled.
you looked up to see tucker was standing there. he was wearing a black t-shirt that stretched across his shoulders, his curly dark hair slightly mussed from the humidity.
he didn't look angry, just looked immovable.
tucker's eyes flicked briefly to the guy's hand near your head, then down to your face. he read the tight, exhausted strain in your smile instantly.
"sorry to interrupt," tucker said to the guy, his voice entirely polite but carrying an undercurrent that brooked zero argument.
he looked back at you, his brown eyes softening. "but you dropped your sweater on the stairs earlier. want to go grab it before someone spills something on it?"
"oh. uh yes. thank you," you breathed, the relief so sharp it made your knees weak.
the guy blinked and slowly backed away, raising his cup in a silent surrender.
tucker didn't look at him again. instead, he placed a warm, heavy palm against the small of your back.
the heat of his hand burned straight through the thin fabric of your top, guiding you through the crushing crowd and up the stairs toward the quieter, dimly lit second floor.
"you okay?" he asked as soon as the noise of the downstairs dropped by half. he stopped in the hallway, turning to face you fully.
he kept a respectful distance, but his eyes were entirely locked onto yours. "you looked like you were about to faint down there."
"i was just... trying to be nice," you murmured, staring at the collar of his shirt because looking into his eyes felt too dangerous. "i didn't want to make it weird. since you invited me, i didn't want to seem ungrateful."
tucker let out a soft, huffed breath, a mixture of amusement and genuine concern. "you don't have to be nice to people who don't respect your space. you are allowed to say no." he stepped a fraction closer, his head tilting down to catch your gaze. "if you want to leave, i can drive you. my truck is right outside."
you looked up at him then. tucker was the resident 'good guy' of the hockey team. he was the one who did the grocery shopping, the one who cooked the meals, the one who always seemed to have his life entirely together.
he was your friend, the boy who sat next to you in class with perfect posture, taking meticulous notes, always completely steady.
"i don't want to go home yet," you whispered, the alcohol in your system giving you a sudden, terrifying burst of reckless courage. "but i really don't want to go back downstairs either."
tucker's chest rose and fell in a slow, deep breath.
his eyes darkened, the easygoing, polite classmate fading away to reveal something much heavier, much hungrier. "okay," he said, his voice dropping an octave, becoming a rough murmur. "well you know my room is at the end of the hall."
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
you knew exactly which room it was.
you had been in tucker's room to study on multiple occasions before, whenever the house was chaotic and the living room was completely unusable.
you had sat cross-legged on his floor with your notebooks spread out whenever dean decided he was going to aggressively make out with some girl on the couch.
when garrett and logan would yell at each other while playing video games at maximum volume you had sat in his swivel chair.
back then, tucker's room had been a platonic sanctuary.
but the moment the bedroom door clicked shut behind you tonight, the polite boundaries dissolved.
tucker didn't pounce. he moved with a deliberate, agonising slowness that made your blood sing.
he walked up to you, his hands rising to gently cup the sides of your face. his thumbs traced your cheekbones, his callouses catching slightly against your skin.
he waited, his eyes searching yours in the dim light of his bedside lamp. "are you sure? tell me to stop if you want me to stop."
"don't stop," you choked out, reaching up to grip his wrists.
when his mouth finally met yours, it was like a dam breaking. tucker was patient, but there was an underlying desperation in the way he pulled you against him.
his hands moved down your bare back where the halter top exposed your skin, his fingers locking around your waist and lifting you slightly so you were flush against chest.
he tasted like mint and the dark beer he had been sipping, his tongue sliding against yours with a deep, consuming rhythm that made your head spin.
he guided you backward until the backs of your knees hit the edge of his mattress, and then you were falling, tucker coming down with you.
every single movement was an exercise in communication. even when his hands were trembling with the effort to hold himself back, he kept checking in.
"too much?" he whispered, his lips brushing the sensitive skin right beneath your ear, making an involuntary shiver rip through your body.
"no. it's perfect. please, tuck."
he groaned, a low, guttural sound that vibrated against your collarbone. his hands moved to the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it over his head, a few stray dark curls falling into his eyes before his fingers reached for the ties of your top.
he paused for a fraction of a second, waiting until you arched into his touch and gave him the unspoken permission he required.
with a gentle tug, he undone the straps, pulling the fabric away. his eyes roamed over your skin with a reverence that felt almost sacred.
he looked at you like he worshipped you.
his mouth followed the path of his hands, leaving a trail of burning, wet kisses down your throat, across the curve of your shoulder, down to the soft skin of your stomach.
when he finally rid himself of the rest of his clothes, the sheer scale of him took your breath away—all hard muscle and tan skin.
but when he slid between your thighs, he was incredibly gentle. he braced his weight on his forearms, framing your head, his fingers tangling in your hair, winding through it.
"hey, look at me," he asked you softly.
you opened your eyes, blinking through the haze of pleasure. tucker was staring down at you, his jaw clenched, a bead of sweat tracing the line of his temple. his eyes were burning, completely stripped of his usual easygoing charm.
"it's just you and me," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "just us."
you gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders as a wave of intense, blinding heat flooded your system.
tucker froze, letting you adjust, his chest heaving against yours. he kissed away the tear that leaked from the corner of your eye, murmuring a stream of praise against your skin. "you're so beautiful. come here, sweetheart, i've got you."
you silently choked at the compliment, it almost felt real. but you knew what this was.
when he started to move, the pace was agonizingly perfect. it wasn't the frantic, uncoordinated fumbling you had experienced with other guys. tucker knew his body, and he wanted to know yours.
he set a slow, deep, devastating rhythm, his hips rolling into yours with a physical certainty that had you sobbing his name into the quiet of his room within minutes.
every time you tried to pull away from the sheer intensity of it, his grip on your waist tightened.
he anchored you to him, pulling you deeper into the sensation until the entire world narrowed down to the sound of his ragged breathing and the friction of skin against skin.
you felt the overwhelming, terrifying realization that you were completely, utterly undone by him.
when he finally came, his head buried in the crook of your neck and he gripped you so tight you could barely breathe.
and you held him just as hard, believing, with every fiber of your being, that everything had changed.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
what you could only describe as a cacophony of metal and chaos was coming from the kitchen downstairs.
the alcohol had completely worn off, leaving behind a pounding headache and a sudden, suffocating wave of reality.
the room was cold, but the heater in the corner clicking loudly. next to you, tucker was still asleep, lying on his stomach, the sheets pooled around his lower back, exposing the muscular expanse of his spine.
you sat up slowly, pulling the duvet tightly against your chest, and looked around.
tucker’s hockey gear was stacked neatly in the corner. his textbooks were lined up on his desk. everything about john tucker's life was orderly, structured, and deliberate.
and then there was you.
a heavy, sickening dread began to pool in your stomach. your brain, always hyper-tuned to the threat of rejection, immediately went into overdrive.
what did you do? the unwelcome voice whispered.
he's your friend. you've studied in this exact room so many times as just a friend, completely terrified of ruining what you had, and now you've gone and done exactly that because you basically threw yourself at him.
you remembered how he had said, "we don't have to make a big deal out of this," to a girl at a party a few weeks ago who had been clinging to his arm. you remembered how he valued his peace.
he's going to wake up, look at you, and realize he made a massive mistake and completely ruined our friendship, you thought, the humiliation already burning in your throat.
you wanted to disappear. to protect your own fragile pride, your defenses immediately slammed down.
you pulled your knees to your chest, your expression suddenly turning tight, closed-off, and rigid.
tucker stirred, a low groan escaping his throat as his eyes slowly blinked open.
he turned over, his face soft with sleep, a faint, instinctive smile forming on his lips as he looked at you.
"hey," he rasped, his voice incredibly deep from sleep. he reached out, his hand moving to rest on your thigh over the blanket. "how you feeling?"
you didn't move into his touch. you stayed perfectly still, your voice coming out clipped and distant. "i'm fine. i should probably get going before nadia thinks that i died."
tucker's smile faltered. his hand remained on your thigh, but his fingers went still.
his brown eyes, usually so warm, sharpened as he scanned your face. he saw the tension in your jaw, the way you were holding the blanket like a shield, the complete lack of warmth in your eyes.
he misread it instantly.
to tucker, a guy who prided himself on reading people and making them feel safe, your rigid posture looked like pure, unadulterated regret.
he thought you woke up, looked at him, and wished with everything you had that you hadn't slept with your friend.
a sharp pang of guilt sliced through his chest, followed closely by a dull, hollow ache. his jaw clenched, and he slowly pulled his hand back, tucking it under the pillow.
"right," tucker said. the softness vanished from his voice, replaced by that careful, polite, emotionally controlled tone he used when he was trying to manage a difficult situation.
he didn't want to pressure you. he didn't want to make you feel worse than you clearly already did. "yeah, of course. don't stress about it."
he sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, keeping his back to you as he grabbed his sweatpants from the floor.
"we don't have to make a big deal out of this," tucker murmured, his voice entirely deadpan as he pulled the fabric up.
he turned his head slightly, offering you a small, forced smile that didn't reach his eyes. "it was a crazy night. we're good. i can drive you home, or i can just head down to the kitchen and give you some space to get dressed. whatever you want."
to your ears, it was the ultimate rejection.
we don't have to make a big deal out of this, translated to: it was a mistake. let's forget it happened so our friendship isn't ruined.
"the kitchen is fine," you said, your voice entirely hollow. "and i can walk home. it's close."
tucker swallowed hard, the muscle in his jaw jumping. "okay. uh i'll see you later in class then."
he walked out, closing the door quietly behind him. and you sat in his bed, wrapped in his scent, feeling smaller than you ever had in your life.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
the library basement was freezing.
up on the main floors, people actually studied, but down here in the archives, the air tasted like dust and old paper.
it was the perfect place to hide.
"if we use the third-quarter data for the mock marketing pitch, professor hayes is going to lose his mind," tucker's voice broke through the silence, rich and steady, dragging you back to the present.
you blinked before focusing on the heavy textbook open between you. this was your usual routine. monday and thursday afternoons, tucked away in the back corner, acting like you hadn't map-read every inch of each other's bodies three months ago.
you had become masters at it. you had learned how to position your notebooks so your elbows never brushed. you had learned how to look at his forehead instead of his lips when he spoke.
for three months, you had forced yourself into a grueling routine of emotional detachment. you had systematically taken every memory of that night and buried them under layers of cold logic.
you had forced yourself to fall out of love with him, day by agonising day, because surviving his presence required it.
and the hardest part?
tucker was a good communicator. everyone knew that about him. he was the stable one, the guy who spoke his mind, the guy who handled problems head-on.
so when he had gone completely silent about that night, you hadn't viewed it as hesitation. you had viewed it as an answer.
you assumed his silence meant he didn't want you.
you assumed that to him, it had just been a momentary lapse in judgment, an itch scratched with a convenient friend.
you had no idea how beautifully, tragically wrong you were.
you didn't see the war he was fighting every single day.
tucker wasn't silent because he didn't care.
he was silent because he was terrified.
in his mind, he had already crossed the ultimate line by having sex with you and he was absolutely paralyzed by the fear of losing the only thing he had left.
your friendship.
he was suffocating in his own caution, desperately trying to protect your comfort while his own heart tore itself to pieces in the process.
"right. third-quarter data," you muttered, your fingers hovering uselessly over your keyboard before you typed a string of nonsense sentences just to look busy.
beside you, tucker shifted. even without looking, you were acutely aware of him—the heat radiating off him in the drafty basement, the scent of his laundry detergent mixed with the crisp air he had brought in with him.
your phone buzzed on the wood. the screen lit up, cutting through the dimness of the booth.
isaiah: can't do dinner tonight, forgot i have a group project meeting. come over after? like 11?
you had started hooking up with isaiah a month ago after meeting him at a seminar.
you didn't even like him that much. he was careless, he left you on read for hours, and he never supported your goals.
just last week, when you told him about the competitive summer internship you were applying for, he had barely looked at you, and said, "why do that to yourself? it's a lot of work for a low payoff."
but isaiah was safe. he didn't know the exact cadence of your laugh. he didn't make your chest ache with a heavy, hollow longing every time he walked into a room.
most importantly, isaiah didn't make you feel like you were a mistake.
he was the buffer you needed to prove to yourself that you were over john tucker.
you reached out, your thumb hovering over the screen to type a quick no worries, see you then, but you never got the chance.
a hand suddenly moved across the desk and clamped down around the edges of your phone, and with a swift, deliberate motion, tucker flipped it face-down against the wood.
the sharp clack of the plastic hitting the table echoed in the quiet corner.
but he didn't pull his hand away.
his fingertips brushed against your knuckles, just a fraction of a second too long, a heavy, desperate warmth that sent a jolt straight up your arm.
you looked up, startled, your breath catching in your throat.
tucker was staring at you. the easy, relaxed posture he usually maintained was entirely gone. his jaw was clenched so tight a small muscle was leaping under his tan skin.
he had seen the text. because he sat right next to you, because he was always hyper-aware of your movements, he always saw.
"don't," tucker said.
"tucker, it's fine," you said, your voice shaking slightly as you reached out to pull your phone back.
you tried for a casual, dismissive shrug, but it felt brittle. "it’s just casual—"
"it's not fine," he interrupted.
he leaned forward, planting his forearms on the table, and his massive shadow completely eclipsed you, cutting off the rest of the library.
the polite, stable classmate you had forced yourself to get used to evaporated in a single exhale. in his place was something raw, volatile, and entirely starved.
"he treats you like a late-night option, and you just take it because you think that's all you're worth," tucker hissed, his dark eyes boring into yours, practically stripping away every defense you had spent months building. "it kills me. it is physically killing me to sit here every week, pretending to read these damn chapters, and watch you let him do it."
his gaze dropped to your lips for a devastating, lingering second—a look full of so much unsaid hunger, regret, and agonizing yearning that it made your chest ache.
he looked like a man dying of thirst, staring at water he wasn't allowed to drink.
your breath hitched, your heart hammering a frantic, erratic rhythm against your ribs.
for a second, the sheer intensity in his eyes made you dizzy.
but then, the reality crashed back over you, and the sheer hypocrisy of his words flared a sudden, angry fire in your chest.
"you don't get to say that to me" you whispered fiercely, leaning in too, refusing to let him back you into a corner.
"you don't get to judge who i spend my time with, tucker. not when you're the one who walked out of your room the next morning and told me not to make a big deal out of it. you're a communicator, tucker. you talk when something matters to you. you set the rules with your silence, and i'm just following them."
tucker flinched as if you had physically struck him.
the irony of your words clearly cut him to the bone. his desperate attempt to communicate respect had been read as total indifference.
when his eyes snapped back to yours, they were blazing, but the truth he so desperately wanted to scream was choking him.
he couldn't say it. not here.
not when he was still terrified that pushing too hard would make you run away forever.
he swallowed hard, his throat bobbing, his jaw working as he forced the raw, aching desperation back down, locking it behind a wall of sheer willpower.
"i told you that because you looked like you were going to cry," he said, his voice dropping to a harsh, strained whisper that vibrated with everything he was keeping back.
he ran a hand through his hair, gripping the strands tightly before letting go. his eyes searched yours, pleading, absolutely drowning in a longing he felt entirely unequipped to handle. "i thought i crossed a line. i thought i ruined us."
he looked down at your face-down phone, his mouth pulling into a grim, tight line, his hand twitching on the table as if he was fighting every instinct in his body to reach out, pull you against him, and never let you go.
when he looked back up, the vulnerability was guarded, but his eyes were still heavy with a crushing, silent ache.
"go to his place if you want to," tucker said softly, though the tension in his rigid shoulders betrayed him completely.
he picked up his pen again, his fingers gripping it so hard it looked ready to snap. "but don't pretend you're doing it because you actually want him."
the silence that followed his words was thick enough to suffocate.
tucker didn't look back up at you. he kept his eyes pinned to his textbook, his broad shoulders practically rigid as he turned a page with a sharp, aggressive snap that nearly ripped the paper.
he was completely retreating back into himself, locking the doors and pulling the blinds, leaving you stranded in the wreckage of whatever the hell had just happened.
your chest heaved as you stared at the side of his face.
you wanted to scream at him. you wanted to demand he explain what those words meant, what that look meant, why he was acting like your choices were tearing him apart when he was the one who had drawn the boundary lines in the first place.
but the sheer exhaustion of the last few months caught up to you all at once.
the anger drained out, leaving nothing but a hollow, heavy ache.
so without a word, you reached out, snatched your phone from beneath his hand and shoved it into your pocket.
you didn't text isaiah back and for the remaining forty minutes of the study session, neither of you spoke.
the only sounds were the scratching of tucker's pen and the frantic, chaotic thoughts screaming inside your own head.
when the clock finally hit four, you packed your laptop so fast the zipper caught on your cord, and you left without saying goodbye.
he didn't try to follow you.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
what followed was a brutal, agonizing stretch of silence that lasted for days. you skipped your usual thursday afternoon study slot, pretending you had a sudden conflict, unable to face the suffocating atmosphere again.
tucker noticed. of course he did.
by thursday night, the texts started coming. your phone would buzz against your nightstand, and every time you saw his name flash across the screen, your throat would go tight.
j.tucker: hey. can we talk? about tuesday.
you read it from your lock screen, then cleared the notification.
an hour later, another one.
j.tucker: i shouldn't have judged your situation. it wasn't my place. i'm sorry.
you actually opened that one. you let the chat stay open, letting the 'seen' status flash right back at him, a deliberate, quiet retaliation for the months of silence he had handed you first.
it felt petty and cruel, but it was the only armor you had left.
around midnight, one final text slipped through.
j.tucker: please don't freeze me out. i just want to make it right.
you left him on seen for that one, too, staring at the ceiling until three in the morning, wondering how a guy who was usually so perfect at finding the right words could have spent three months completely misreading yours.
you were trying so hard to stay mad at him, because being mad was infinitely easier than acknowledging the terrifying truth.
the truth was that his words had shaken every single defense you had built.
the friction of it all made everything else feel completely unearned.
by friday afternoon, looking at your phone felt like a chore, especially when a text from isaiah popped up asking if you were still coming over later.
tucker's words hung over your head like a dark cloud.
unfortunately he was right. you were using isaiah as a shield, and it wasn't fair to anyone.
so, you called him. it took less than two minutes. you told him it wasn't working out, that you weren't looking for the same things anymore. isaiah barely even sounded surprised—just muttered a careless "alright, cool, catch you around" before hanging up.
it didn't even hurt.
if anything, the lack of effort on his end only proved how right tucker had been.
but dumping him didn't fix the hollow ache in your chest.
it just stripped away your final buffer, leaving you entirely unprotected against the thought of tucker.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
by friday night, you were a complete wreck, which was the only reason you let your friends drag you to malones. it was suffocatingly hot, packed wall-to-wall with sweaty students looking to forget about midterms.
"nadia shoved a plastic cup of mystery liquid into your hand and yelled over the noise vibrating through the floorboards. "stop thinking about isaiah. stop thinking about everything. we are getting drunk."
"i'm trying," you lied to nadia, taking a sip that tasted mostly like foam.
you weren't thinking about isaiah. you were looking for a specific head of curly hair in the crowd, even though you told yourself you hoped he wouldn't show up.
the opening notes of a song started pulsing through the bar's speakers, cutting through the generic pop remixes the student dj had been spinning. it was slow, heavy, and drenched in bass.
love on the brain by rihanna.
a loud cheer went up near the small, makeshift karaoke stage in the corner.
"oh, shit, look who's up," nadia laughed, nudging your shoulder.
your eyes snapped toward the stage.
tucker was standing there, looking like he had been completely hijacked into doing this. he had a beer in one hand and the mic in the other, wearing a simple yellow t-shirt, his shoulders dropped in a lazy, unbothered posture.
down in the front row, dean di laurentis was leaning against a high-top table, a massive, shit-eating grin plastered across his face as he raised his glass toward the stage.
it took you exactly one second to realize what had happened.
dean had requested it.
he was the one who had submitted tucker's name to the dj and picked the track, completely intending to instigate.
dean had been watching the two of you dance around each other for months, picking up on the sharp drops in temperature whenever you walked into a room, and he was clearly done waiting for tucker to make a move.
tucker looked out over the crowd and gave dean a slow, warning glare, pointing a finger at him and mouthing you are dead toward the front row.
he was trying so hard to play it off perfectly—just a guy getting forced into a bad slot on the karaoke wheel by his roommate, keeping it light, keeping it casual so nobody would think twice about it.
but as he leaned into the mic and the first verse started, the athlete front began to quiet down.
tucker didn't do the usual dramatic karaoke bit. he didn't try to perform or work the room.
it was smooth, effortless, and entirely devoid of any theatricality. it was just him.
he kept his eyes on the back wall for the first few bars, entirely focused on maintaining that unbothered, nonchalant vibe.
but as the heavy, aching longing of the chorus started to swell, his focus shifted.
he didn't scan the crowd. his eyes cut through the haze of the bar, landing on the shadow of the pillar where you were standing with a sudden, quiet precision.
he didn't hold your gaze like a man putting on a show.
it was a heavy look—the kind that felt entirely accidental but completely deliberate.
in the brief moments his eyes locked onto yours, the casual act he'd been putting on for the room completely vanished.
the lyrics didn't feel like a performance instead they felt like a confession he was trying very hard to suppress.
his eyes stayed anchored to yours through the bridge. there was a raw, quiet desperation in his expression that he couldn't hide behind a grin anymore.
the noise around you seemed to dull into background static. you couldn't move.
you just watched him, the truth he had been suffocating under laying entirely bare between you across the crowded room.
he wasn't silent because he didn't care.
he was silent because he was drowning.
don't you stop loving me.
his eyes never breaking from yours for even a fraction of a second.
despite how hard he had tried to play it off just moments ago, john tucker was down on his knees, begging you to understand.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
the second the song ended, the bar erupted.
his teammates started shouting, slamming their cups against the tables, and dean was laughing loudly, clapping tucker on the back as he stepped off the low stage.
but tucker didn't look at any of them.
his eyes stayed pinned to yours for one last, heavy second before the moving bodies of the crowded bar finally cut off his view.
"holy shit," nadia breathed next to you, her jaw practically on the floor.
you couldn't even hear her. your lungs felt entirely empty. the heat in the bar was suddenly suffocating, and the walls felt like they were closing in on you.
"i need air," you choked out, not waiting for nadia's response as you shoved your cup into her hand and began pushing your way through the dense crowd toward the exit.
you spilled out of the heavy front doors and into the cool, crisp friday night air.
you walked a few yards down the pavement, ducking into the dim, quiet alleyway beside the building just to get away from the bass vibrating through the brick walls.
you leaned your back against the cool brick, closing your eyes and trying to force your heart to slow down.
don't you stop loving me.
the words were still ringing in your ears, wrapped in that low, gravelly register.
"you left your drink with nadia."
your eyes snapped open.
tucker was standing at the mouth of the alley. the neon red light from the bar's sign caught the edge of his jaw, throwing the rest of his face into deep shadow.
he had his hands buried in his pockets, his shoulders slightly hunched against the night breeze.
he looked completely depleted, the confident front he had maintained on stage entirely gone.
"i didn't want it anyway," you whispered, your voice shaking.
tucker took a slow, deliberate step into the alley, his heavy boots clicking against the pavement.
"didn't know you had a future in r&b, tuck. that was... intense." you said not meeting his eyes.
"dean's a fucking idiot," he said quietly, his voice rough. "he thinks he's funny. i didn't mean to put you on the spot like that."
"didn't you?" you asked, a sudden spark of that old defense mechanism flaring up in your chest to keep you from crying. "because you looked right at me, tucker. you looked right at me and you sang those words like you wanted to kill me."
tucker stopped walking. he was only a few feet away from you now, his frame completely blocking out the streetlights behind him. he pulled his hands out of his pockets, his knuckles twitching.
"i looked at you because i couldn't help it," he confessed, his voice dropping into that low, raw register from the library basement. "i've been trying to help it for months, and i'm done. i'm entirely empty. i have nothing left to fight you with."
"you're the one who started the fight" you cried out, your voice breaking as the tears you had been holding back all week finally blurred your vision.
"you walked out of that room the next morning, tucker. you told me it wasn't a big deal. do you have any idea what that did to me? i had to force myself to fall out of love with you because i thought i was a mistake to you!"
tucker flinched as if you had physically struck him. the word love seemed to hang in the space between you, heavy and terrifying.
"you weren't a mistake," he choked out, stepping closer until the heat radiating off him completely wrapped around you.
his hands came up, hovering just inches from your face, his fingers trembling. "you were the only thing that felt real. i told you that because when i woke up, you were staring at the ceiling looking like you regretted every single second of it. you looked terrified. i thought if i pushed you, i would lose you completely."
he let out a ragged, broken laugh, his eyes swimming with the exact same yearning that had been burning on that stage.
"so i stayed silent. i tried to be the good guy. i tried to be respectful while you started going out with isaiah," tucker hissed, his jaw clenching. "and it was killing me. every single day. i didn't want to break the rules, but then i realized my silence didn't protect you at all. it just let someone else ruin you."
he looked down at his shoes, then back up at you, his eyes entirely bare. "today i saw you standing there, and i realized i would rather dean mock me for the rest the year than spend another day letting you think i didn't want you. it was killing me. you have no idea how much it was killing me."
you stared at him, your heart turning over in your chest.
all this time you thought you were the one drowning, but tucker had been completely underwater.
"i broke it off with him," you whispered.
tucker froze. his chest stopped heaving. "you what?"
"i called isaiah this afternoon. i broke it off," you said, looking up at him through your eyelashes. "because you were right. i was using him as a shield because being with him was safe. it wasn't fair to him, and it wasn't fair to me. because he isn't you."
a soft, fractured sound ripped from tucker's throat.
the next second, his hands were in your hair, his large palms cupping the back of your head as he tilted your face up and brought his lips down against yours.
it was like pouring rain after a drought. the kiss was deep, heavy, and desperate, his mouth moving against yours with a fierce, possessive hunger that made your knees go entirely weak.
you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, tangling your fingers in the short hairs at the nape of his neck as you completely gave in.
tucker groaned against your lips, his hands moving down to grip your waist, lifting you slightly off the ground to press you firmly against the brick wall.
he kissed you like he was trying to make up for every single day of silence, every single unread text, and every single second he had spent starving for you since october.
when he finally pulled back, just an inch, his forehead rested against yours. his breath was coming in short, ragged gasps, his eyes still dark and heavy with emotion as he looked down at you.
"i'm not backing off this time," tucker whispered fiercely, his thumbs wiping the stray tears from your cheeks with a tenderness that made your heart swell. "i don't care about the rules. i don't care about being casual. we are doing this right."
you let out a shaky, breathless laugh, burying your face in the crook of his neck. "okay." you whispered against his skin.
"about fucking time!"
the loud, booming voice shattered the quiet of the alleyway, making both of you jump.
you blinked against the sudden glare of the streetlights as you peeked over tucker's shoulder.
dean and logan were standing at the mouth of the alley, leaning against the brickwork like a pair of absolute menaces.
dean had his arms crossed over his chest, his trademark smug grin practically splitting his face in two, while logan stood beside him, shaking his head with a slow, amused chuckle.
tucker didn't let go of you. if anything, his grip on your waist tightened, a heavy protective weight as he let out a low, deeply irritated sigh.
"go away," tucker muttered, his voice still thick and rough from the kiss, not even turning around to face them.
"oh, come on, tuck, show me some gratitude," dean scoffed, taking a sip from a fresh plastic cup of beer. "i literally orchestrated your entire romantic awakening tonight. if it weren't for my flawless track selection on that karaoke machine, you would still be pining."
"he's right, you know," logan chimed in, tossing an arm over dean's shoulder with a lazy smirk. "we've been suffering through the tension in that house for months. we practically had to hold a house meeting just to discuss how miserable you were."
"seriously," dean agreed, shaking his head dramatically. "the yearning was getting a little pathetic. we had to intervene for our own sanity."
tucker finally turned his head just enough to give his teammates a deadly, unamused glare. "if you two aren't gone by the count of three, i'm letting garrett know who actually broke the blender last weekend."
logan's smirk instantly vanished, and dean straightened up, clearing his throat.
"okay, okay, we're leaving," dean said, raising his hands in surrender as he started to back away toward the bright, noisy entrance of the bar. "but for the record, you're welcome!"
"don't forget to thank us in your wedding speech!" logan shouted back, laughing as dean shoved him back into the crowded bar.
the heavy metal doors slammed shut behind them, cutting off the bass and leaving the alleyway quiet once again.
tucker let out a soft huff of laughter against your hair, the rigid tension finally leaving his shoulders as he looked back down at you.
his eyes were softer now, warmer, but the heavy heat from moments ago was still simmering right beneath the surface.
a slow smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he leaned back in, closing the distance between you again.
You and Dean take your three year old son, Addison-Maxwell, skating for the first time.
snuggling with dean on a rainy day | @deansbrat
FORBIDDEN LINE | @darkkdamsel00
Hockey player Dean Di Laurentis, falls for his teammate’s sister
HIS JERSEY | @goldsainz
you’re officially dating dean, which means wearing his jersey to his hockey games and having him go crazy for it.
PAYBACK | @/goldsainz
dean tries to act unbothered by the growing relationship between you, so you kiss his best friend as payback.
I told you so, part 2 | @railingsofsorrow
Dean is there for you, even when you think he shouldn’t be.
What, like it’s hard? | @alierecss
Dean Dilaurentis has been the only person in your class who comes close to your grade. You’ve been pretending not to notice him for three months. Then a professor pairs you together for a semester project, and suddenly you have no choice but to sit very close to him in a library for five weeks and figure out what to do about that.
All This Time | @yvaineseleneposts
dean di laurentis x retired figure skater!reader | @daystarpoet
you know how to skate?! | @/daystarpoet
dean di laurentis was being serious about a girl for the first time in his life. the final stage of his plan was taking you ice-skating, where you would fall for him—for good.
Truth or Dare? | @vampysuccubus
It’s your first week in college when Hannah drags you to the Kappa Chi house party when you are playing truth or dare you are dared to kiss Dean.When you are on the way to your dorm you received a message from who can it be and what will happen next?
The Alchemy | @starksrealdaughter
you are the new social media manager for the hockey team of briar university. and you catch someone's eye...
Oblivious | @pinkfairydreamgirl
You know Dean Di Laurentis to be loud, a player, and a bit of a meathead. Basically your exact opposite. So why is he talking to you all of a sudden? Why is he dramatically inserting himself into your life? He can’t be interested in you romantically. Right?
Three times is a pattern | @newobsessionweekly
You transferred to Briar U to become a ghost, desperate to outrun your controlling ex. When your past finally catches up to you in the middle of a lecture hall, Dean Di Laurentis makes one thing perfectly clear: you are under his protection now.
Pucks and Pilates | @mattsmadness
When the Briar hockey team dismisses pilates as an easy workout, she stages a surprise conditioning session that leaves the elite athletes sweating and completely dismantled.
A LOT MORE TO LOVE | @melwnst
being plus size means talking down on yourself when you think every outfit makes you look terrible. Allie and Hannah are here to remind you look beautiful, while Dean has other interesting ways of showing it.
SHE’S SITTING WITH ME ! | @worldimaginedreaming
When Dean gets unexpectedly jealous at a Briar party and pulls you onto his lap in front of everyone, the line between friendship and something more suddenly disappears.
It Was Just A Kiss | @berrychaivibe
You and Dean never crossed path until tonight
sugar talking | @p1stach-io
you’re done being dean di laurentis’ favourite secret.
You’re Losing Me | @munsonsmixtapes
It’s New Year’s Eve, and after not seeing Dean for weeks after hooking up for months, you each have some news for each other.
BF!DEAN WHEN HE’S JEALOUS | @lacyydollette
Missing shoe | @xxmmandyxx
She Always Won. | @sasaririri
you dressed like a princess for him. turns out the kingdom was never yours to begin with.
Intervention | @/sasaririri
the aftermath doesn’t get easier. one week of silence, one unexpected visit from logan, and dean showing up outside your door with reasons he should’ve said a long time ago. but is it too late?
More than something | @momoxluv
The morning after an eventful night with Dean, you overhear him talking with Tucker...
hi lovely :) wanted to say that you inspired me to write for funsies too!! can’t wait for the next part of going home 🪽
hi angel !!!! this has made my DAY AHHH i’m so so glad!!! best of luck in your writingggggg ☹️🫀oh and the next part should be dropping very very soon…😼
summary: dean will do anything to win you back, but winning you over proves harder than why he bargained for. (5.9k)
pairing: dean di laurentis x reader
content warning: relationship dysfunction, dean di laurentis is a mess, yearning, jealousy, language, alcohol, hurt/comfort.
authors note: this is for everyone who wanted to see how taking him back would play out. this may be the longest piece i’ve wrote on record but i couldn’t let this man get off so easily…
part one.
the tail-lights of suni's honda civic bled into the darkness of the gravel driveway, leaving nothing behind but the exhaust fumes and a hollow, ringing silence.
dean stood frozen under the dim glow of the porch light, his hand still half-raised in the air as if he could somehow catch the car and pull it back.
the cold night air slapped against his face, a brutal contrast to the suffocating heat of the house behind him, but he couldn't feel it.
his mouth was slightly open and his throat was completely dry.
i am officially withdrawing my terms.
the words repeated in his head, sharp and clinical, cutting right through the lingering buzz of the alcohol in his system.
dean di laurentis didn't get left hanging on driveways.
dean di laurentis didn't get tongue-tied.
he was the guy who always had the perfect pivot, the effortless laugh, the smooth reassurance that smoothed over any wrinkle.
but as he stared at the empty space where you had just been standing, a sickening wave of realization crashed over him.
he hadn't been playing a game.
you had just seen right through the defense mechanism he had been using his entire life.
the heavy front door thudded open behind him, letting out a brief burst of blaring music before closing again.
two sets of footsteps crunched on the gravel.
"hey, man."
a heavy hand came down on his shoulder.
dean flinched, snapping his head around to see tucker standing there, his face tight with a mixture of pity and disappointment.
right next to him was beau maxwell. his arms crossed over his chest and his usual laid-back energy completely gone, replaced by a rare, dead-serious frown.
"i told you, dean," tucker said quietly, looking down the empty road. "i warned you that she doesn't do the whole half-in, half-out thing."
"i wasn't half-in," dean snapped, his voice suddenly raw, a dangerous edge cracking through his usual easy-going demeanor.
he ripped his shoulder away from tucker's grip, running a frantic hand through his blonde hair. "i was going to tell her tonight. i was waiting for the house to clear out so i could ask her to stay. permanently."
beau let out a low, heavy sigh, shaking his head. "then why didn't you say it in front of everyone? why did you let her watch you flirt with some sophomore if she's the one you wanted? you can't treat a girl like a secret and then expect her to treat you like a priority."
tucker nodded in agreement. "beau's right. you let her think she was just another hookup that half the campus has already been with. you can't blame her for cutting you off."
dean quickly opened his mouth to defend himself.
he wanted to explain that the girl by the keg meant absolutely nothing, that it was just muscle memory.
it just the casual persona he put on so nobody looked too closely at how much he actually cared.
but the words died in his throat.
i know when someone is just trying to win over a crowd.
you had called it.
every single bit of it.
he had been so terrified of admitting, even to himself, that he had finally found the right girl. the one he had been passively waiting for his entire life.
but he had treated her like a secret and in doing so, he had completely destroyed the only real thing he had.
"i fucked up, guys," dean whispered, his voice dropping into a register they had never heard from him before.
it was entirely stripped of pride, heavy with a terrifying, sudden desperation. "i really, really fucked up."
beau looked at tucker, then back at dean, his expression softening into something deeply sympathetic. "yeah. you did. and if i know her? she's not the type to give you a second chance just for the sake of it. you're going to have to actually work for this one."
dean didn't go back inside the party.
he walked straight up the stairs to his room, locked the door, and sat on the edge of his bed in the dark.
the scent of your coconut shampoo still lingered faintly on his pillow.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
the hum of the tires against the asphalt was the only sound inside suni's car for the first three miles.
after the oppressive, vibrating bass from earlier, the silence inside the sedan felt less like an absence of noise and more like a physical weight, settling deep into your bones.
you blankly stared out the passenger window, watching the streetlamps bleed past in long, blurry streaks of amber.
"do you want me to say it?" suni asked quietly, her brown eyes fixed on the dark road ahead.
her hands were gripped tight on the steering wheel, still vibrating with that protective adrenaline.
"say what?" you murmured, your forehead resting against the cool glass.
"that you are an absolute fucking badass," she said, a small, fierce smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
"i mean it. people don't just walk away from dean. girls usually dissolve into a puddle when he looks in their general direction, and you just destroyed him on his own driveway."
you let out a breath that was half-laugh, half-sigh, feeling the tight knot in your chest loosen just a fraction. "i don't feel like a badass. i feel hollow."
"that's just the detox," suni promised gently, reaching over to give your knee a supportive squeeze before putting both hands back on the wheel.
"it's the sugar crash after two months of eating nothing but empty calories. it'll pass."
she was right.
it was a crash.
but as you pulled up to your apartment building, the relief you expected to feel was shadowed by a lingering, dull ache.
you had drawn the line. you had won the argument.
so why did it feel like you were the one recovering from a blow?
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
four days passed in a tense, quiet limbo. you stayed away from the standard student hangouts.
you kept your head down, and entirely avoided the athletic side of campus.
which was much easier said than done.
it was actually hannah wells who broke the radio silence when you bumped into each other at work.
you two weren't particularly close outside of your shifts, but you had always been good coworkers, and she gave you a sympathetic look the second she saw you.
she admitted right off the bat that garrett had practically begged her to feel you out and see if you would be willing to hear dean's side of things.
but hannah made it clear she wasn't actually pushing his agenda.
you let her know, gently but firmly, that you just didn't want to hear him out right now.
she nodded immediately, completely understanding.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
you were halfway through your shift at malone's when the bell over the front door chimed and beau maxwell walked in from the cold.
the dinner rush hadn't started yet, leaving the restaurant washed in a warm, lazy quiet.
soft music drifted through the speakers. behind the bar, hannah was busy polishing glasses, while allie was sitting in one of the booths near the window. she was seemingly looking over her homework but clearly tuned into the room.
you looked up from the hostess stand and immediately narrowed your eyes.
beau rarely came here unless dean dragged him.
and judging by the guilty, deeply uncomfortable look on his face, this definitely wasn't a social visit.
"it's that bad, huh?" you asked dryly before he could even open his mouth to speak.
beau blinked. "what?"
"you drew the short straw." you crossed your arms. "dean sent you to talk to me."
hannah stopped wiping her glass, an amused smirk spreading across her face. the fact that beau's expression instantly gave him away nearly made you laugh.
"oh my god," you said, an incredulous smile finally breaking across your face. "he did."
"to be fair," beau said carefully, raising his hands in surrender, "i volunteered. mostly because i couldn't take another night of him pacing the living room floor like a caged animal."
allie leaned out of her booth slightly. "wait. dean di laurentis is sending representatives now?"
hannah leaned her elbows on the bar, looking entirely entertained. "please tell me he at least prepared a speech."
beau groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. "you people are evil."
"no," you corrected lightly, grabbing a stack of menus from the counter beside you, "he's pure evil."
that earned you a reluctant laugh from beau. he shoved his hands into his pockets, looking both amused and slightly helpless.
"okay," he admitted. "maybe this does look a little pathetic."
"a little?" allie echoed from her booth, shaking her head. "beau, i don't know why you're doing this for him."
hannah pointed a bar towel at you. "his approval ratings are in the toilet."
you pressed your lips together, fighting another smile.
it was ridiculous.
dean was apparently moping around because you stopped answering his texts.
a month ago, the idea would've satisfied you.
now it mostly just felt surreal.
beau's expression softened as your smile faded slightly. "i've known dean a long time," he said quietly. "and i've honestly never seen him like this before."
you focused on straightening the menus in your hands even though they were already perfectly aligned. "beau—"
"no, seriously." he leaned against the hostess stand, dropping his voice. "the guy is a disaster. garrett says he's playing like crap at practice because he's distracted all the time. coach yelled at him so hard yesterday his face literally turned purple.”
“and logan threatened to throw dean's phone into a lake because he keeps checking if you texted him back every thirty seconds. he doesn't sleep. he just... he stares at his phone."
a reluctant laugh slipped out before you could stop it, but it died quickly.
"this is insane," you muttered, covering your face briefly with your hand. "he's literally running a pr campaign."
"that's actually exactly what tucker called it," beau admitted.
the amusement faded entirely after a second, though, something heavier settling back into your chest. because underneath all the ridiculousness... there was still hurt.
a deep, aching bruise left by a boy who thought everything in life came easy.
you slowly lowered your hand. "did he send you because he thinks if enough people tell me he's miserable, i'll magically forget why i left?"
the teasing atmosphere immediately evaporated. beau straightened slightly, his voice turning serious.
"no." he shook his head.
"i came because he knows he hurt you. and because for once in his life, he's too scared to make it worse. he's terrified that if he pushes you, you'll completely erase him."
that caught you off guard.
even hannah went quiet behind the bar, returning to her glasses. you looked down at the menus in your hands, tracing your thumb absentmindedly along the edges.
beau hesitated before continuing. "he's not trying to charm his way out of this anymore," he said carefully. "honestly? i think that's freaking him out the most. he doesn't know how to exist without his armor."
before you could respond, the front door opened again and a group of customers entered, breaking the moment apart. hannah immediately pushed off the bar, professional mode clicking back in. "right, back to it before della catches us."
allie slid back into her booth to give the customers room. beau stepped away from the hostess stand, giving you one last careful look. "i'm not saying you should forgive him," he said gently. "that's your call. but i do think losing you finally forced him to become a person instead of just a personality."
and annoyingly enough, that line stayed with you long after he left.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
by the end of the week, the hurt had hardened into a reckless, heavy spike of anger.
suni practically forced you out the door to the pre-game mixer at the phi kappa house. "you need to show up, look stunning which isn't hard for you, and prove you aren't hiding in your room crying over a some hockey player," she insisted.
the house was a sensory overload—a wall of thumping bass, sticky floors, and sweat-fogged windows.
it took exactly five minutes for the room to feel subtly dialed into your arrival. across the crowded living room, the hockey team was gathered near the back patio.
and right in the center was dean.
he looked exhausted, his gaze drifting aimlessly until logan nudged him, pointing in your direction. the moment dean's blue eyes locked onto yours, his entire posture changed.
his chest rose sharply, and he took an instinctive step forward, completely abandoning his conversation.
his eyes flared with a sudden, desperate hope.
you felt the invisible weight of the room watching, waiting for the classic fallout. a dark, defiant spark ignited in your chest.
dean had spent months keeping your relationship a secret, acting like a casual observer while he entertained a crowd.
two can play that game.
you deliberately tore your eyes away from him, turning your gaze toward liam. liam was a handsome football player who had been hovering in your orbit since the start of the academic year.
he was tall, built, and more than happy to have your sudden, undivided attention.
out of the corner of your eye, you saw dean freeze. the hope on his face shattered.
you leaned in close to liam, letting your laughter trail off into something softer, low and intimate.
you stepped directly into his space, your hand sliding deliberately up his arm to rest against his shoulder, your fingers brushing the nape of his neck.
liam's eyes darkened instantly with surprise and heat. his hand came up, wrapping firmly around your waist and pulling you flush against him.
across the room, dean looked like he had been physically struck.
you could see his jaw clenching so hard a muscle jumped in his cheek, his knuckles turning stark white as his grip tightened around his red cup.
garrett muttered something in his ear, placing a grounding hand on his shoulder, but dean brushed him off as his eyes burned into you with a raw, bleeding agony.
you didn't look back at him. instead, you leaned up on your toes, your eyes dropping to liam's lips.
"you're incredibly beautiful tonight," liam murmured, his voice thick, his thumb sliding beneath the edge of your top, tracing the bare skin of your hip.
"thank you," you breathed out, tilting your head up slightly. "liam?"
"mhm?"
"kiss me."
he didn't hesitate. liam leaned down, slanting his mouth over yours.
he didn't hold back at all. his lips were warm and demanding, his hand pressing firmly into the small of your back to hold you tight against his chest.
you let your eyes close and leaned into the weight of him, wrapping your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss into something slow, deliberate, and deeply sensual.
you made sure it lingered, playing your part perfectly for the crowd.
and for the specific boy breaking apart by the doors.
a low ripple of whispers washed through the immediate room. the kiss was thick with heat, but it didn't ignite that familiar, electric ache you only ever felt with a certain stupid idiot.
when you finally pulled back, liam was breathing heavily, a dazed, smug smile tugging at his lips.
you offered him a quiet, heavy-lidded smile before finally looking past his shoulder.
the satisfaction immediately turned to ash in your throat.
dean looked physically ill. the fierce, possessive anger had completely drained out of him, leaving behind a hollow, entirely defeated devastation.
his face was completely pale, his eyes wide as he stared at you. it was like he was looking at the end of his life.
watching you give someone else that kind of intimacy had entirely undone him.
dean's fingers slacked. his cup slipped from his hand, clattering against the floor and splashing beer across his shoes, but he didn't even notice.
he turned on his heel and blindly pushed through the crowd, fleeing out the back doors into the freezing night air.
beau shot you a heavy, disappointed look before turning to follow him out.
you stood frozen beside liam, the adrenaline completely evaporating, leaving behind a bitter, hollow ache in your chest. you had hurt dean exactly the way he hurt you.
so why did you feel like throwing up?
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
dean didn't find you until two weeks later. it took him two full weeks after that party to gather the courage to approach you again. when he finally did, it wasn't at a party, or in his bedroom, or under dim lights where he could press his mouth against yours and make you forget.
it was the middle of the afternoon in the campus library.
you were sitting cross-legged in one of the armchairs near the back windows, a stack of annotated articles spread across the table beside you.
for a long minute, he just stood at the end of the aisle.
god, he looked awful. the sharp jawline you used to trace was covered in a rough, uneven stubble. his signature silver-tongued confidence was entirely absent.
you sensed him before he even spoke. your eyes lifted slowly from your laptop. no warmth or softening. just... nothing.
dean flinched. "hey," he said, his voice raw and stripped of its usual smooth cadence.
you looked back down at your laptop screen, your voice flat. "dean."
he swallowed hard, stepping closer, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as if to keep himself from reaching out. "can we talk for maybe a second? please. just... two minutes. i'll leave right after, i swear."
"i'm really busy right now, dean."
"i know. i know you are." his voice cracked. he hesitated, his eyes flashing with a sudden, sharp spike of residual pain from the party. he swallowed hard, trying to keep his composure, but his voice shook. "are you... are you seeing him? liam?"
you didn't even look up from your screen. "that's really none of your business."
"none of my—" dean let out a bitter, breathy laugh, his eyes swimming. he leaned slightly over the table, his voice dropping to a harsh, desperate whisper. "that was low, you know. even for you. putting on a show like that in front of everyone just to rub my face in it?"
you finally shut your laptop softly, leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms.
you scoffed at him, a cold, mocking sound that cut right through his defense.
"low?" you repeated, your voice slicing through him. "you should worry less about who i'm kissing, dean, and worry a lot more about yourself. you don't get to lecture me about public displays when you practically pioneered them."
the reality of your words hit him like a physical punch to his ribs. he actually took a half-step back, his chest heaving as the hypocrisy collapsed on him.
he was desperate to know if you were talking to liam. he was paralyzed by the thought that you had moved on, but he knew he had no right to ask.
"i'm sorry," he whispered, the defensive edge completely evaporating, leaving him entirely exposed. "you're right. i have no right. i just... i think i genuinely don't know how to handle this."
"i think you genuinely don't understand why you hurt me in the first place," you countered calmly, the honesty of it cutting deeper than your anger ever could.
"you understand that i left. you understand that your bed is empty and your ego is bruised. but i don't think you actually understood what it felt like to stand next to you and constantly feel temporary. to feel like a placeholder until someone better, or flashier, caught your eye."
dean went completely still.
"i liked you so much, dean," you admitted quietly. it made you almost sick to say it. the words tasted bitter and heavy as they left your tongue, but unfortunately it was true.
"it was enough to make excuses for things i normally wouldn't tolerate. i let myself believe you actually cared, and you made me feel stupid for it. you treated my feelings like they were disposable. i'm not doing it anymore. i'm done."
"please," he whispered, his voice dropping to a raw, desperate plea. "don't say it's over. just give me something to fix. tell me what to do."
"there's nothing to do," you said, your heart aching behind the wall you had built, but you forced your voice to remain steady. "i just need you to leave."
he stood there for a long, agonizing beat, looking at you like a man watching his life sentence being handed down.
finally, he closed his eyes, took a shaky, ragged breath, and nodded.
"okay," he sighed, his shoulders hunched in complete defeat. "okay. i'm sorry."
he turned around and walked away, his heavy footsteps fading down the library aisle, leaving you alone with a crushing, heavy silence.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
two more weeks passed. then three.
if dean's initial reaction to the "breakup" was a loud, messy public moping tour, his reaction to the library confrontation was a total blackout.
the campus gossip machine slowed down because dean stopped giving them material.
he wasn't partying.
he wasn't hovering at the edges of your vision.
but he hadn't given up instead he had just changed his tactics.
the loud gestures were replaced by quiet, undeniable consistency.
every tuesday and thursday morning—the days you had an 10.00 am seminar on the opposite side of campus—there was a large vanilla latte waiting for you at the barista counter, already paid for.
no note.
just your exact, complicated order.
when you tried to refuse it, the barista just shrugged. "he said if you don't take it, i have to throw it out. every day."
you left it on the counter the first three times.
by the fourth time, the cold winter air bit too hard, and you took it.
it tasted like an apology.
then came the hockey games. suni dragged you to the friday night game against yale.
you sat twelve rows up, determined to look indifferent.
but the moment the team skated onto the ice, it was clear dean wasn't playing for the scouts or the crowd anymore.
he played with a brutal, self-punishing intensity. and when he scored the game-winning goal in the third period, the stadium erupted.
normally, dean would skate a lap, flashing his devastating smile to the student section, soaking in the god-like adoration.
instead, he skated straight to the center line, stopped, and looked directly up into the stands. right at you.
he didn't smile. he just held your gaze for three agonizing seconds, chest heaving, before skating back to the bench.
"okay," suni muttered beside you, watching him go. "that was... actually kind of miserable. he didn't even wink at the girls."
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
the next afternoon, you were heading out of the science building when a shadow fell over you.
you braced yourself, expecting to see blue eyes and a desperate expression, but when you looked up, it was tucker.
he stepped right into your pace, unceremoniously slinging his heavy arm over your shoulders, pulling you briefly into his side to shield you from a sudden blast of freezing wind.
"hey," tucker said quietly, giving your shoulder a firm, reassuring squeeze before letting his arm drop back to his side. "you got a minute? i'm not here on his orders, i swear. he doesn't even know i'm talking to you."
you didn't walk away, but you still kept your guard up. "tucker, if this is about dean—"
"it is," he interrupted gently. he gestured toward a quiet bench under a bare oak tree.
once you both sat down, he leaned his elbows on his knees, looking at you with complete sincerity.
"i'm not here to tell you he's miserable, because you already know that, and honestly, he deserves to be. but he's always been the guy who keeps one foot out the door because he thinks if he doesn't fully commit, nothing can actually hurt him."
you let out a bitter, breathy sigh, looking down at your boots. "so i'm just supposed to wait around while he plays psychologist with himself?"
"no," tucker said firmly, catching your eye.
"absolutely not. you did the right thing by walking away. you forced him to look in a mirror, and he hated what he saw. but what i'm trying to tell you, as your friend he's not trying to trick you back. he's genuinely terrified because he realized his own cowardice cost him the only real thing he's ever wanted."
tucker leaned back slightly against the bench. "i've never seen dean look at a girl the way he looks at you. he's not trying to smooth things over anymore, he's just trying to figure out how to be a man you could actually trust. i'm not asking you to take him back. i'm just asking you not to completely write him off before you let him speak."
you sat in silence for a long moment, the weight of tucker's words sinking deep into your chest.
tucker wasn't an enabler. he was your friend, and he was the moral compass of that friend group.
if he was defending the sincerity of dean's change, it had to mean something.
"thank you, tuck," you murmured softly.
he gave you a brief, supportive nod, standing up from the bench. "just think about it, okay? see you around."
you watched him walk away, your mind a chaotic blur.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
a few days later, you were sitting on the couch in your apartment, staring blankly at a textbook, when suni dropped a mug of tea onto the coffee table in front of you.
"you're thinking about him," she said flatly, crossing her arms as she leaned against the back of the chair.
you let out a long sigh, rubbing your temples. "i don't want to be. but it's been a month, suni. he's not stopping. every time i turn around, there's a coffee, or he's clearing out of a room the second i walk into it so i don't feel uncomfortable. and his friends are trying to reason with me. it's infuriating."
"why is it infuriating?"
"because it's working," you admitted, your voice cracking. "it's making me remember why i fell for him before he started acting like a coward. but i'm terrified. if i let him back in, what happens when he gets bored of making amends? what happens when the crowd calls his name again?"
suni searched your face, seeing the deep, defensive armor you had built. she slid onto the couch next to you, pulling your hand into hers.
"then you make him earn the right to even ask that question," suni said softly, squeezing your fingers.
"you don't fold just because he's acting like a human being now. that's the baseline expectation, not a reward. if you want to talk to him, talk to him. but don't let him off the hook until you are 100% sure he knows he's lucky to breathe the same air as you."
just promise me you walk away if he slips back into his old habits." she sighed holding onto your hands.
"i promise," you whispered, a sudden wave of clarity washing over you.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
you didn't go to the rink to find him.
it was close to midnight when you found yourself walking toward the athletic center to drop off a borrowed, heavily annotated textbook for hannah.
but as you stepped into the corridor, the muffled, echoing thwack of a puck against boards drew you toward the main arena doors.
armed with suni and tucker's advice echoing in your head and a tug in your chest you couldn't ignore anymore, you pulled open the heavy side doors of the rink.
the stadium was dark, except for the bright, stark floodlights illuminating the pristine white sheet of ice.
dean was alone.
he was stripped down to his practice jersey and skates. there was no crowd to impress, no scouts watching, no teammates to joke with.
it was just him, a puck, and a net.
he was doing suicide drills—skating full sprint to the blue line, stopping hard enough to spray a cascade of ice shavings, skating back, and doing it again.
he was panting, his blonde hair soaked with sweat, his movements driven by a furious, desperate energy.
he was trying to skate away from his own head.
you stood by the player's bench, your arms crossed, watching him coolly.
"you're slacking on your defense di laurentis," you called out. your voice echoed sharply in the cavernous, empty arena.
dean froze.
his skates dug into the ice with a harsh screech, breaking the silence.
he snapped his head around, his chest heaving as he stared at you.
for a second, he looked entirely paralyzed, as if he thought he was hallucinating.
"you're here," he breathed, slowly skating toward the boards. he stopped a few feet away, looking up from the ice.
"i'm here," you said softly, your tone steady, giving him absolutely nothing to work with. no smile or softness. you unlatched the heavy wooden door of the player's bench. "i think you've done enough pacing around campus, dean. come here."
before he could answer, you took a tentative step out onto the ice. you were wearing regular winter boots, completely unequipped for a freshly zambonied sheet of ice.
"wait, wait, hold on—" dean warned, his eyes widening in alarm.
naturally, you didn't listen. your heel hit a patch of smooth ice, and your balance instantly vanished. your arms flailed as you slipped backward, a short gasp escaping your throat.
but you didn't hit the ice.
dean moved with the terrifying speed of a professional athlete. in a fraction of a second, he closed the distance, his strong gloved hands catching you right around the waist. he hauled you against his chest, his skates digging hard into the ice to anchor both of your weights.
you gasped, your hands automatically flying up to grip his broad shoulders. you were pressed flush against him, the cool scent of the ice and his familiar cologne enveloping you completely.
"gotcha," dean whispered, his breath puffing white in the cold air.
he didn't let go.
his hands stayed firmly clamped around your waist, pulling you so close that you could feel the rapid, thumping beat of his heart against your chest.
he was looking down at you like you were the only thing left in the entire world, his eyes intense, wide, and bright with unshed tears.
no armor. just dean.
but even wrapped in his arms, you kept your gaze sharp.
you didn't melt….. just yet.
"you're a fucking idiot," you murmured, your voice level and direct. "you really messed up, dean."
"i know," he whispered, his voice cracking as a tear finally slipped down his cheek, cutting through the sweat on his face. he didn't even try to brush it away.
"i'm the biggest idiot. i ruined everything. the night you left... i sat in my room and i realized i've spent my whole life making sure nobody could ever reject me by making sure i never fully committed to anything.” he continued.
“and then i met you. and i was so terrified of how much power you had over me that i tried to make you small so i could feel big."
he took a shaky breath, his grip tightening around your waist as if you might vanish if he let go.
"seeing you with liam? it nearly killed me. but the worst part wasn't jealousy. the worst part was realizing i was the one who drove you into his arms. i am so sorry. i am so, so sorry for making you feel like a secret. i swear to god, i love you. i don't want anyone else. i just want you."
you stood steady in his hold, letting the weight of his words hang in the freezing air.
your heart was pounding, but you kept your hands firm against his shoulders, maintaining your boundary.
"words are easy for you, dean," you said quietly.
"you've always been good with a crowd. you've always known exactly what to say to smooth things over. i don't want a public spectacle. i care about what this is."
"this isn't a performance," he choked out, his shoulders hunching in complete defeat, entirely exposed to you. "tell me what to do. anything. i don't care how long it takes."
you looked at him for a long moment, watching the genuine, stripped-back desperation in his eyes. only then did you let a very small, guarded smile touch your lips. it wasn't a total surrender, but it was a crack in the ice.
"i'm not ready to give you a second chance," you told him firmly, your voice unwavering.
"and i'm definitely not ready to forget how you treated me. but i am willing to stop running so if you want to try and earn my trust back, you can start by taking me on a real date. next friday. and if you slip back into your old habits even once? i'm gone. do you understand me?"
a breathless, stunned laugh escaped dean's lips. it wasn't his usual confident chuckle.
it was a sound of pure, unadulterated relief, heavy with the realization of just how close he had come to losing you.
"yes," he whispered fiercely, his eyes shining as he looked down at you. "yes, absolutely. whatever you want. however long it takes. i'll be exactly who you need me to be."
you let your eyes drop to his lips, then back to his eyes, finally allowing yourself to relax against his chest. "show me."
dean didn't hesitate.
he leaned down and captured your lips in a deep, desperate, passionate kiss.
it wasn't the smooth, practiced kiss of a guy trying to charm his way into a girl's room.
it was heavy with weeks of longing, raw with the terror of almost losing you, and overflowing with a profound, aching relief.
he poured everything he couldn't put into words into the press of his mouth against yours, his fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck, holding you to him as if he could bind your paths together right then and there.
when he finally pulled back, just an inch, his forehead rested against yours. both of you were breathing heavily, the white puffs of your breath mingling together in the cold air.
dean let out a soft, shaky laugh, a brilliant, breathtaking smile finally spreading across his handsome face—the first real smile he had had in weeks.
"so," dean murmured, his thumb gently tracing your jawline, though his eyes still held that cautious, vulnerable edge. "does this mean my approval ratings are finally going up?"
you let out a genuine laugh, but you didn't let him entirely off the hook. "don't push your luck, di laurentis. you are still on probation."
"i'll take it," he whispered, before leaning right back down to kiss you again, your laughter echoing beautifully in the empty arena.
Hi! Would you please do a piece about reader having an anxious but avoidant attachment style with Jack? Something like this: https://vm.tiktok.com/ZNRWrh8ek/
Up to you if he tries harder with her / puts up with it or gets tired of her since it wears him out and he breaks up with her.
If that’s okay and if you like the idea. Thank you!
love you less
summary: loving jack is the closest you’ve ever come to feeling safe. but safety is a terrifying concept for someone who expects the floor to collapse at any moment, and your defenses are running him ragged. (1.8k)
pairing: jack abbot x reader
content: heavy angst, emotional exhaustion, brief mention of vomiting, severe anxiety, fear of abandonment, verbal confrontation.
authors note: anon i hope this is kind of what you were hoping for!!
the first time you realized you loved jack abbot, you had went straight home and threw up.
it wasn't a romantic epiphany in the slightest.
it was a violent, full-body rejection of the fact that another person now had some form of control over your nervous system.
you had barely made it through your front door before the cold sweat broke out, your chest tightening so hard you couldn't draw a clean breath.
the realization hadn't felt like warmth.
it felt like an invasion, a hostile takeover of your carefully guarded independence.
you had slumped over the bathroom toilet, your knees hitting the tile as your stomach painfully violently seized, purging the sudden, suffocating weight of needing someone that much.
it was the pure terror of the stakes finally being too high, your body physically trying to eject the vulnerability before it could kill you.
that visceral fear set the tone for everything that followed. for five years, your relationship had been a volatile loop of high-stakes rewinding and fast-forwarding.
breaking up when the intimacy got suffocating, and crashing back together when the loneliness became a physical ache.
and god, the crashing back together was always intoxicating.
when the distance became too much to bear, you would show up at his door or he would find you in the dark, and the reunion was always a quiet, desperate collision.
he would pull you against him with a fierce, possessive hunger that made your brain shut off.
in his bed, away from the world, you didn't have to think.
his hands were always warm. hands that knew exactly where to press to soothe the ache, smoothing over your skin until your breathing finally synced with his.
in those silent hours, buried beneath his sheets with his lips pressed to the crown of your head, you allowed yourself to be held.
it was a wordless truce where you could melt completely, safe in the knowledge that for the next few hours, neither of you had to explain a gthing.
now, you shared a lease, a kitchen, and a goofy, ninety-pound golden retriever named milo who currently sat between the two of you. his tail was giving a hesitant, confused thump against the hardwood floor.
you should have known better from the very beginning.
you had met jack at a loud, crowded benefit dinner where you had spent the first hour hiding near the catering staff just to avoid small talk.
and then jack had appeared, completely out of place in a stiff tuxedo, carrying two plates of tiny appetizers and smiling with a warmth that felt entirely too bright for the dark corners you usually lived in.
he had bumped your shoulder, offered you a crooked grin, and cracked a joke that melted your armor in seconds.
you were struck by him.
you were struck by the effortless way he moved through the world, by the genuine, intense focus he gave you the moment you started speaking.
later that same night, when he walked you to your car, that intense focus had shifted into something heavy and magnetic.
he hadn't tried to push his way into your apartment.
instead, he had just stepped close, his thumb brushing a stray strand of hair away from your cheek, his touch lingering against your jawline just a second too long.
the casual, effortless sensuality of it had sent a shiver straight down your spine.
when his lips finally met yours, it wasn't a rushed goodbye—it was a slow, deliberate promise that left you breathless and terrified of how much you already wanted him.
but even then, as your heart hammered against your ribs, a quiet, cold warning had echoed in the back of your mind.
this is doomed, it whispered.
he will see right through you, and then he will leave.
you had ignored it, drunk on his charm, but you had never truly forgotten it.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
it was hard not to bring your job home with you when your entire worldview was built on the guaranteed decay of intimacy.
you spent ten hours a day watching love self-destruct in real-time. you weaponised people's worst flaws for financial gain and drafting the autopsies of dead marriages.
to you, relationships weren't sanctuaries.
relationships were volatile liabilities that were bound for failure.
so with that you treated your own romance like an impending disaster.
you were constantly scouring the situation for the exit strategy.
you refused to let your guard down because you knew exactly how ugly the fallout could get when things finally ended.
but jack wasn't a case file. he was a man who lived in the loud, messy chaos of the present, and your preemptive defenses were finally running him into the ground.
it was a tragic contrast to the quiet dome of safety you usually managed to build together when things were good.
you loved the domestic rhythm you had secretly grown addicted to.
jack standing behind you at the stove, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in your neck. his breath warm against your skin while you pretended to complain about him suffocating you.
you loved the way he would absentmindedly rub your thighs with his hands while you read on the couch, a grounding, physical wire that kept you attached to the earth.
he was so naturally affectionate, so deeply giving and it was the only time your hyper-vigilant mind ever truly went quiet.
but thing is usually, you were the quiet one.
outside of work, you were shy by nature, soft-spoken to a fault, the kind of person who shrank into the background of a room.
but your instinct to protect yourself wasn't passive it was more of a sleeping predator.
when jack tried to peel back your quiet exterior to see the raw panic underneath, your shyness evaporated.
it became replaced by a sharp, icy precision. you didn't slam counters or throw things.
instead, your voice found a cold, biting volume that cut through the room like a razor, weaponizing words to scorch the earth so he wouldn't want to come back.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
tonight, the trigger had been tiny.
he had asked, with genuine, exhausted vulnerability, why you still hadn't unpacked the last three boxes of your books into the living room bookshelf.
"why are you keeping your things packed?" he had asked.
to jack, it was just a question about furniture and to your hyper-vigilant brain, it was an interrogation.
it meant he was building a case against you. he was realizing you were a burden, laying the groundwork to kick you out.
"if my boxes bother you so much, jack, i can have them and the rest of my shit gone by morning," you said, your tone dropping into that fierce, hyper-articulate edge.
it was loud enough to fill the quiet kitchen, the sudden sharpness making milo instantly drop his head onto his paws.
jack didn't flinch at your word. he never did.
he didn't even yell back.
he just looked at you, his eyes hollowed out by a profound, bone-deep weariness that cut worse than any shout.
"we have been doing this for five years. and your first instinct is still to threaten to leave over a cardboard box." jack said, his voice a flat, exhausted whisper.
the silence that followed was suffocating.
you stood there, your chest heaving and your hands trembling with a toxic cocktail of adrenaline and shame.
your throat burned with the sharp, defensive arguments you had just used as weapons to protect yourself.
jack ran a hand over his face, his broad shoulders slumping as he sat down heavily at the kitchen table.
he didn't look angry, just completely defeated.
"i'm so tired," he breathed into his palms. "i love you so much, but i am completely out of gas. i can't keep fighting you just to get you to admit that you're scared."
for a heart wired to run from safety, this was the worst-case scenario.
the aggression was a shield and without it, you were entirely exposed.
your instinct screamed at you to run to the bedroom, lock the door, and start packing those boxes for real.
the urge to flee was a physical pull in your gut.
you took a step backward, your eyes darting toward the hallway.
"don't," jack said, not looking up. "if you walk away right now, don't come back. i mean it. i can't sign up for another round of this."
you froze.
the floor felt like it was genuinely disintegrating beneath your feet. your breath hitched, a small, choked sound escaping your throat.
you were trapped between the terror of staying and the agony of losing him for good.
the exit route was right there, wide open, and it terrified you to your core.
slowly, milo got up, his nails clicking on the floor, and nudged his wet nose against your trembling hand.
jack finally raised his head. seeing the sheer, paralyzed panic in your eyes, the hardness in his expression softened just a fraction.
he reached out across the table, his palm open and flat on the wood.
he wasn't reaching to grab you or force you into anything.
he was just offering a bridge.
"i'm not asking you to give up everything," jack murmured, his voice cracking with fatigue. "and i'm not going to throw you out. but you have to stop treating me like the enemy the second things get heavy. sit down. please."
every muscle in your body resisted. sitting down meant admitting you wanted to stay. it meant risking the rejection you had spent years trying to beat him to.
you crossed the kitchen, your legs feeling like lead, and sank into the chair opposite him.
you didn't take his hand but you didn't run.
jack let out a long, ragged breath, his fingers twitching toward yours. "we're keeping milo, we're keeping the apartment, and we're keeping the boxes," he said softly, his tired eyes locked onto yours, refusing to let you drift away. "but you have to start trusting that i'm not looking for a reason to leave you. can we just try that for tonight?"
you looked down at milo, then back at jack's worn, familiar face.
the safety felt terrifyingly huge, something you couldn't control, but for the first time in awhile, you let your hand slide across the table until your fingers touched his.
the contact was like a sudden thaw in the icy armor you had built around yourself.
jack didn't squeeze your hand immediately.
he just let his calloused fingers curl slightly under yours, his thumb tracing the back of your knuckles in a slow, rhythmic stroke that was agonizingly tender.
he was offering a truce, not just with words, but with the quiet promise of his skin against yours.
Summary: Tucker tries to make cookies, you just mess around, ending with him mad at you. Luckily, you know what to do to stop him from being mad at you (he literally melts into your kisses).
Disclaimer: English is not my first language, so I apologize if there are any spelling or grammatical errors.
You were just playing around the kitchen while your boyfriend tried to cook something. You don't really know how to cook anything without burning it, so you couldn't really help him, but you definitely didn't want to wait in his room. So, as an incredibly supportive girlfriend, you were bothering him.
You took a little flour and threw it at him, giggling when he did the same to you. But sadly, it came to a point where Tucker decided to really lock in on the recipe and stop laughing at your attempts to start a food fight.
“Babe, this is serious, my mom finally shared her recipe with me and I want to try it,” he calls out to you, frustrated by your lack of seriousness.
You didn't think that he was being serious, so you kept bothering him until he stopped laughing or smiling and frowned, mad, and stopped answering you or looking at you.
It's then that you understand that you have screwed up.
Tucker had his arms crossed and didn't look at you at all until you put a hand on his chin, making him look at you, and pressed your lips to his slowly. His frown disappeared, his arms dropped immediately, placing them on your waist. He kissed you back without hesitation, melting slowly into your touch.
“It’s not fair,” he mumbled into the kiss.
You giggle, breaking the kiss.
“You can't do that when I'm mad at you,” he mumbled again, completely lost in your eyes.
“I love you,” you respond, smiling widely when you see how his eyes shine at the words.
“I love you too, beautiful,” he kissed you, dragging you closer to him.
“I thought we were baking cookies,” you mumble mid kiss.
“Fuck the cookies,” he answered back, turning the sweet kiss into a deeper one, placing your body between his and the kitchen counter.
It could have gone farther if it wasn't for Dean walking into the kitchen.
“Wow, wow guys, there is something called rooms upstairs if you want to try it.”
You flip him off, kissing Tucker again, way hungrier than before. You could hear Dean gagging at it.
“Seriously, please not in the kitchen,” he cried out, looking away from both of you, finding the ceiling way more interesting.
“It's not like you used it anyway, man,” Tucker answered him, unable to think properly because you trailed your kisses from his lips to his jaw and neck, leaving marks there.
“Okay, I'm out.” Dean walked away, mumbling something about never using the kitchen again.
Not like he did anyway.
Tucker started to lead you both to the stairs until you stopped.
“The cookies,” you pout, looking at the chocolate chip dough balls arranged on the baking tray on the counter.
“I’ll bake them for you later,” he answered quickly, taking your hand and running upstairs.
You just giggle because who would have thought that trying to cook cookies would have ended up this way.
Because you definitely didn't kiss him with that intention.
Right?
This is a short one but I can't stand how Tucker is not receiving the attention he deserves 😔
