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YOU ARE THE REASON

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda

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@serenityxwithin
Permanent Masterlist
Permanent Masterlist
2020 Masterlist
2021 Masterlist
2025 Masterlist
Thomas Shelby
Arthur Shelby
John Shelby
Finn Shelby
Michael Gray
Bonnie Gold
Isaiah Jesus
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Finn Cole
OTPtober
Holiday Prompts
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!! this is for my avoidant girlies :)
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.
Pretty when I cry
Husband!Jack abbot x wife!fem!reader
Authors note 💌- I’ve missed seeing this man on my screen so here you go!!
the way I absolutely loved the look of hatred Perlah gave this woman when she judged Emma for leaving
Emma Nolan, coming in overprepared
Emma Nolan, not showing off her knowledge but rather be open to learn
Emma Nolan, trying to stay calm during unexpected happenings
Emma Nolan, holding Louie's hand during the debrief
Emma Nolan, taking care of the SA victim and encouraging her to finish the rape kit
Emma Nolan, finding the kid of the water slide victim in minutes
Emma Nolan, getting up after being in a headlock and continue to finish her shift
Emma Nolan, reassuring Digby that his family will still recognise him
Emma Nolan, coming back to tell people about Ogilive
Emma Nolan, still smiling and being sweet to everyone she meets
Emma Nolan, guys
SHAWN MENDES via Gucci
Shawn talking about season 3 of The Pitt, Mohabbot, Samira and working with Supriya 🤍
Jack Abbott - The Secrets Out
a/n - just a lil bit more fluff I’ve been working on. I literally write and edit things while I’m at work (yay for wfh) lmao so it takes me FOREVER to get stuff out. Kind of a reference to my lil short on Jack loving capable women. Never really done fluff before but I’m down bad for this man so I’ve got a lot of feelings ok!!!!
———-
The night had started completely normally, you’d gone out with friends. Nothing wild, just drinks, food, and the sort of night that seemed to get harder to recover from the older you got. By eleven o’clock, your friends were ordering another round while you found yourself staring at your half-finished cocktail.
Not because you weren’t having fun, it was fun but you were just tired.
Jack was working nights this week and somewhere along the way your body had adapted to his schedule. Late nights weren’t nearly as appealing as they used to be. So after promising you’d text when you got home, you hugged everyone goodbye and headed towards your car.
But you didn’t make it home, you were in the back of an uber, the sound of tyres squealing and metal crashing together pulling you away from your phone.
The first thing you noticed was the smoke. The second was that traffic had stopped completely.
Cars sat at strange angles across three lanes of the freeway. Hazard lights flashed red and amber through the darkness. A pickup truck rested against the central barrier, two vehicles had somehow ended up facing the wrong direction entirely.
For a second you just sat there, staring at the blur of brake lights. Then somebody started screaming. Everything after that happened so quickly, you clicked your seatbelt free, opened the door and suddenly you were running.
The smell hit you first. Burning rubber, fuel, hot metal.
People were climbing from vehicles looking dazed and confused, some were crying, some were shouting names. Others simply stood there staring at the wreckage in shock.
You remembered thinking: Jack would already know what to do.
Then another thought arrived immediately afterwards.
Well he’s not here.
So you did it.
The first patient you reached was unconscious. Middle-aged, grey hair, no visible injuries, no pulse, not breathing. Fuck.
The guy who pulled him from the wreckage had his hands on the man’s shoulders, shaking and trying to wake him.
“Has anybody called 911?”
Several people nodded, you immediately started compressions. Hard, fast, just like Jack had described a hundred times while telling stories over dinner. Push hard, push fast and don’t stop. You heard his voice repeating in your head like a mantra.
You kept going until your arms burned and your knees ached against the asphalt. The world narrowed to the rhythm beneath your hands. Cars burned somewhere behind you as sirens wailed in the distance. Eventually another bystander found you and took over.
Then someone screamed for help, a woman sat against the barrier clutching her leg, blood was soaking through her jeans and pooling on the rough concrete below her.
So much blood.
You remembered another conversation. Tourniquets. Jack explaining why belts weren’t ideal. Improvised alternatives. You ripped the strap from your handbag and wrapped it above the wound. The woman cried out, you appologised but then tightened it anyway. The bleeding slowed. Good.
Next patient.
A young man sat on the shoulder holding his arm awkwardly against his chest. Dislocated shoulder. Maybe broken? You grabbed the scarf hanging around his neck and borrowed a handful of hair ties from another woman nearby. Not perfect but enough. The sling held and the kid nearly cried with relief. By the time the ambulance arrived you were exhausted. Covered in blood, thankfully just not yours.
Then someone shouted. A car further up the freeway had caught fire. Your stomach dropped, there was still someone inside. You didn’t really remember making the decision. One second you were running. The next you were yanking open a damaged door while people shouted at you to get back. The heat was unbearable. The smoke stung your eyes. The woman inside was conscious but trapped. You grabbed her beneath the arms and pulled. Hard. Metal scraped. Glass shattered somewhere nearby. And finally she came free. You dragged her away from the vehicle moments before flames erupted through the engine compartment. Somewhere in the process, something sliced your calf, it stung but it wasn’t even top ten on your list of problems at that moment.
⸻
Back at The Pitt, nobody was having a particularly good night. The pile-up had hit the department like a bomb. Trauma bays filled almost immediately, stretchers lined hallways. Staff moved at a sprint. Lena was already reorganising assignments. Whitaker was helping move patients and Santos looked annoyingly excited for somebody dealing with mass casualties. Jack barely had time to think, patient after patient rolled through the doors. The woman with the leg injury arrived first.
“Improvised tourniquet on scene,” the paramedic reported.
Jack looked down. The application wasn’t perfect. But it was good. Really good. The woman winced as Jack did his exams and looked over the strange wrapped around her thigh.
“Some girl did it.”
“What girl? A nurse?”
The patient shook her head “No idea. Just appeared out of nowhere.”
Jack moved onto the next patient, it was the young guy with the sling.
“Heard somebody made this for you?”
The kid laughed weakly.
“Yeah.”
“You catch who it was? Nurse? Doctor?”
“No clue.”
Same storA woman. Nobody knew her name. Nobody knew where she’d gone. Just that she’d helped. Then came the CPR patient, the one everyone had been worried about.
The paramedics reported early bystander CPR. Immediate intervention. Good compressions. Enough to keep blood running until they arrived. Again, the mystery woman. Jack registered it. Then immediately forgot about it. There were too many patients and far too much happening.
And as far as he knew, you were still drinking cocktails with your friends.
⸻
An hour later you limped in with the help of the paramedics, you’d refused to be wheeled in, you’d rather hobble in than be laid on a stretcher. Your newest friend, EMT Mike kindly announced your arrival.
“Got a bystander from the freeway accident. Cut her calf helping people before we got there. Refused transport twice, so if she tries to leave that’s on you.”
Jack glanced over automatically then froze. For a second his brain simply stopped working. You stood near the nurses’ station. Hair messy. Dress stained. Blood on your arms. A cut running down your calf.
“What in the fuck?” He yelled, not angry just shocked and concerned.
Your eyes widened. Immediately regretting coming here. Jack crossed the department in seconds.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“It’s not mine-.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
His hands were already checking your arms. Your shoulders. Your face. Looking for injuries. Looking for proof you were actually okay. The entire nurses’ station had gone suspiciously quiet. Lena looked deeply confused. Santos looked confused and delighted. You looked trapped.
“Jack.”
“Sit.”
“Why?”
“Just sit.”
The attending voice had appeared. The scary one. You sat immediately.Jack pointed at the chair. Then pointed at Lena.
“Don’t let her leave.”
Lena raised an eyebrow.
“Seriously?”
“Do not let her out of your sight.”
Then he disappeared back into a trauma bay before you could argue. Leaving everyone watching utterly bewildered.
⸻
Fifteen minutes later, the woman with the tourniquet spotted you. Her eyes widened immediately.
“That’s her!”
Half the department looked up. You immediately knew this wasn’t going to end well.
“Her?” Whitaker asked.
The woman pointed directly at you.
“The girl from the freeway.”
Silence.
“The one who did my tourniquet.”
Now everybody was staring. Wonderful. A second patient overheard.
“The CPR girl?”
You closed your eyes. Santos practically levitated from her chair “The what?”
Before you could answer, another voice spoke. A woman, older, shaky. Everyone turned. The wife of the CPR patient stood near the hallway entrance. Her eyes immediately locked onto you. Then filled with tears.
“Oh my God.”
The entire department fell silent. The woman crossed the room quickly. You of pure instinct you stood, nervous and slightly confused.She reached you and grabbed both of your hands tightly, like she was afraid you might disappear.
“It was you.”
You blinked.
“You helped my husband, they told me you helped”
Her voice cracked. Realisation hit.
“Oh- yes I tried my best”
The woman’s eyes overflowed “They told me somebody started CPR before the ambulance arrived.”
The room was completely silent now. Even Santos stopped talking. The woman sniffled through her tears.
“They said if nobody had started when they did…” She couldn’t finish. Her hand squeezed yours.
“They said he would’ve died right there, alone..”
Your throat tightened immediately. Across the nurses’ station, Lena looked away. Whitaker suddenly became very interested in a computer screen. The woman smiled through tears.
“You gave him a chance to come home. I’ll never be able to tell you how thankful I am for that”
Nobody spoke. The weight of it settled over the room, heavy and real.
The woman’s shoulders shook as she hugged you. You wrapped your arms around her automatically. For a second she simply held on.
Then whispered:
“Thank you.”
When she finally stepped away, your own eyes looked suspiciously glassy.
“I’m really glad I could help .”
The woman nodded ad she gave your hands a final squeeze.
“So am I.”
⸻
Jack was watching the whole time, arms folded, his face a mix of pure terror, utterly enamoured and gobsmacked. His brief break was cut short by monitors beeping as he swung back into the trauma room.
The woman finally stepped away, wiping tears from her face. Her husband was alive, not out of the woods but alive. The reality of it all seemed to settle over the department at once. For a moment nobody spoke. Then Santos ruined it.
“Okay.”
Everyone looked over. She pointed directly at you.
“The CPR thing is insane.”
“Yeah” you winced.
“The tourniquet thing is insane.”
“That’s fair.”
“The sling thing?”
“It worked.”You shrugged.
Whitaker stared.
“You’re saying that like it’s normal.”
“It felt normal at the time.” You defended.
“It is absolutely normal for us, are you a nurse?”
“No I work in IT” you answered.
Santos folded her arms.
“So how’d you even know how to do any of that?”
You blinked, the answer seemed obvious.
“Jack talks about work stuff all the time.” Your finger pointing in his direction.
A small silence followed.
Whitaker frowned.
“Jack Abbott?”
“Yeah.” You nodded.
Santos looked confused.
“How do you know Abbott? Why would he be telling you stories about work?”
You looked around the nurses’ station. Then laughed “Ohhh.”
Suddenly everybody was staring. Lena had stopped typing. Whitaker had stopped pretending to chart. Even Shen looked up from his computer.
“Because he’s my boyfriend.”
The silence that followed was genuinely impressive, You frowned “What? He’s my boyfriend?”
Whitaker looked personally offended.
“YOU’RE JACK ABBOTT’S GIRLFRIEND?”
You laughed.
“Well yeah, it’s not a big deal, we’ve been together over a year.”
“A year?” Santos repeated, eyes wide “A YEAR?”
You nodded.
Lena pinched the bridge of her nose.
“Oh my God.”
Poor Whitaker looked like he might pass out. Garcia appeared carrying coffee, took one look at the scene and sighed.
“I knew.”
“Of course you did,” Whitaker muttered.
Questions immediately started flying.
“How did you meet?” “Do you live together?” “How long have you lived together?” “Is he always grumpy?” “Does he really do naked yoga?”
That one made you laugh. Across the room, the trauma bay doors opened and Jack stepped out.
The laughter immediately caught his attention. Then he saw you. Still sitting exactly where he’d left you. Surrounded by half the department. Immediately suspicious.
“What’s goin’ on now?”
Nobody answered. Which was so much worse. Jack looked at Lena. Lena looked at Jack. Then pointed at you.
“Your secret’s out.”
Jack closed his eyes, once and slow before rubbing his hands over his face.
“Oh for fucks sake.”
Santos looked delighted. Whitaker looked betrayed. Garcia looked unsurprised. You just looked confused.
“What?”
Jack opened his eyes and immediately pointed toward an empty treatment room.
“Come on.”
“What?”
“Now.”
You blinked.
“Jack—”
“You’re bleeding.”
“It’s barely a scratch.”
“Baby, you pulled someone out of a burning car.”
The entire nurses’ station fell silent again. Jack looked around. Realised what he’d just said. Everyone looked at you. Then back at him, then back at you. Santos gasped and right then Jack immediately regretted everything.
“Room. Now.”
You couldn’t stop giggling as he steered you away by the shoulder, ignoring the chorus of questions following behind.
The door shut the second you stepped inside. Silence. Finally. Jack grabbed supplies while muttering under his breath. You sat on the edge of the stretcher. Trying not to smile. He turned around holding saline, gauze and steri-strips. Then looked at you. Really looked at you. The blood. The torn dress. The cut on your leg. The soot smeared across your arms. The reality of what could have happened finally catching up with him. His shoulders dropped. Some of the adrenaline leaving him.
“You scared the hell outta me.”
The words came out quieter than you’d expected. You softened immediately.
“I’m sorry.”
Jack shook his head. Then crouched in front of you to clean the wound. The antiseptic hit. You hissed at the cold sting. For a moment neither of you spoke. Then Jack glanced up.
“You did CPR on a freeway?”
“Yeah.”
“Then made a tourniquet?”
“Mmhm.”
“And a sling?”
You nodded.
“Then pulled somebody out of a burning car?”
“Well when you say it like that…”
Jack just stared at you. Half proudc kind of horrified yet completely in love. Before interrupting.
“How the hell did you know what to do?”
The question was genuine. You smiled softly.
“You tell a lot of stories.”
Jack paused.
“Oh.”
“You talk about patients all the time and explain what you’ve done, or usually what people haven’t done”
“I do.” His hands slowed as he looked up at you.
“And you listened to all that?”
“Jack, I listen to it all” You laughed.
For a second he just looked at you. Then shook his head. A disbelieving smile appearing despite himself.
“Unbelievable.”
You grinned.
“That’s what everyone else said.”
Jack rolled his eyes and pressed a kiss against your forehead before going back to fixing your leg.
Outside the room, Santos was almost certainly telling everyone she knew that Abbott’s mysterious girlfriend had accidentally become a trauma nurse for the evening.
Inside, Jack was quietly wondering how he’d managed to end up with someone brave enough to run toward a burning car, yet take no credit for the heroics. Also, whether he was ever going to recover from the heart attack you’d just given him.
Vacation - Aaron Hotchner
word count: 1165
summary: after weeks of back-to-back cases, exhaustion is written all over you— and Aaron Hotchner notices. When a relaxing dinner at Rossi’s confirms his fears, your husband takes matters into his to his own hands with a surprise getaway designed to remind you how it feels to simply breathe and relax again
Aaron Hotchner x Reader
authors note: haven’t updated in daysss.. because writers block sucks and I’ve also been really busy with work. So if there’s anyone out there with any ideas, please help me 🙏 alsoo, I hope you enjoy reading this one! 💗💗
The first thing Aaron notices is that you’re rubbing the back of your neck again.
Not absentmindedly, either.
It’s the slow, exhausted kind of movement that comes from days of too little sleep, too much coffee, and one case bleeding straight into the next before you’ve had time to breathe.
The BAU has been running nonstop for almost three weeks.
A kidnapping in Ohio.
A spree killer in Colorado.
A family annihilator in Virginia.
By the time the jet touches down after the latest case, everyone is running on fumes.
Even you.
Especially you.
Aaron watches from across the aisle as you stare blankly out the window, your FBI jacket folded in your lap. Your eyes are heavy. Your shoulders are tight.
You don’t even notice him looking.
His chest aches.
Because he knows you.
He knows every version of you.
The one who laughs so hard you snort when Garcia sends ridiculous memes to the team.
The one who steals fries from his plate and pretends you didn’t.
The one who curls up beside him on the couch with a book after a long week.
And right now?
You’re none of those things.
You’re exhausted.
“Sweetheart.”
You blink and turn toward him.
“Hm?”
Aaron offers a small smile.
“We’re home.”
You glance around as if you’ve forgotten where you are.
“Right.”
The concern settles deeper in his chest.
—
Two nights later, Rossi insists on hosting dinner.
“Nobody is allowed to talk about serial killers,” he announces as everyone arrives. “Or paperwork. Or psychological profiling.”
Garcia points dramatically toward him.
“You’re taking away eighty percent of our personalities.”
Rossi laughs.
“Then discover the other twenty.”
The evening turns out exactly how everyone needs it to.
Wine flows.
Music plays softly through the house.
Emily and Morgan argue over some ridiculous story from years ago.
Garcia keeps stealing food from everyone’s plates.
JJ laughs harder than you’ve heard her laugh in months.
For a while, the tension eases.
For everyone except Aaron.
Because even as you’re smiling, he notices the little things.
The way you lean heavily against the kitchen counter.
The tired shadows beneath your eyes.
The way your smile fades whenever you think nobody is watching.
And Aaron is always watching.
Not in a profiler way.
In a husband way.
A deeply, hopelessly in-love husband way.
Later, while everyone is gathered around Rossi’s patio table, you sit beside him with a glass of wine cradled between your hands.
The evening air is cool.
Comfortable.
You seem calmer.
But still tired.
Aaron slides a hand onto your knee beneath the table.
Your fingers immediately find his.
A habit.
An instinct.
His favourite one.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
You smile.
“Just tired.”
“That’s what you’ve been saying for weeks.”
Your expression softens.
“I know.”
Neither of you speaks for a moment.
The conversation around the table continues.
Morgan is teasing Reid.
Garcia is threatening violence.
Rossi is pretending not to enjoy the chaos.
Aaron squeezes your hand.
Then he says casually,
“Take next week off.”
You nearly choke on your wine.
“What?”
“Take next week off.”
“Aaron—”
“I’m serious.”
You stare at him.
“We have paperwork.”
“It’ll survive.”
“Cases.”
“We have a team.”
You narrow your eyes.
“What are you planning?”
The corner of his mouth twitches.
A dangerous sign.
For you, anyway.
Because whenever Aaron Hotchner gets that look, he’s already made up his mind.
“A vacation.”
You blink.
“A vacation?”
“Yes.”
“Those are real?”
He actually laughs.
A genuine laugh.
And the sound makes your heart do embarrassing things.
“Apparently.”
You stare.
Aaron simply sips his wine.
Calm
Collected.
As if he hasn’t just suggested something completely insane.
“Aaron.”
“Hm?”
“You hate vacations.”
“I don’t hate vacations.”
“You brought case files on our honeymoon.”
“I brought one case file.”
“You brought three.”
Aaron wisely decides not to argue.
—
Three days later, you’re standing beside him at a small lakeside cabin several states away from Virginia.
No phones ringing.
No briefing room.
No crime scenes.
No paperwork.
Just trees.
Water.
Quiet.
The kind of quiet you forgot existed.
You stand on the porch staring out across the lake.
A breeze brushes against your skin.
Somewhere nearby, birds chirp.
The water glitters beneath the afternoon sun.
And for the first time in weeks…
You feel your shoulders relax.
Aaron appears beside you carrying two mugs of coffee.
“Still think this was a bad idea?”
You take the mug.
“Ask me tomorrow.”
He smirks.
“Fair.”
The next few days pass slowly.
Wonderfully slowly.
You sleep in.
You read books.
You take long walks along the shoreline.
You spend entire afternoons doing absolutely nothing.
At first it feels strange.
Your brain keeps waiting for a phone call.
A case.
A crisis.
Something.
But nothing comes.
And gradually, you stop waiting.
Aaron notices before you do.
The tension leaves your shoulders.
The crease between your eyebrows disappears.
Your laughter comes easier.
Your smile becomes genuine again.
One evening you’re sitting together on the dock as the sun begins to set.
Your legs dangle over the edge.
The lake reflects streaks of gold and orange.
Beautiful.
Peaceful.
You lean your head against Aaron’s shoulder.
His arm settles around your waist.
For a long time, neither of you says anything.
You simply watch the sunset.
Eventually you glance up at him.
“Thank you.”
Aaron kisses the top of your head.
“For what?”
“For this.”
His gaze remains fixed on the water.
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“I do.”
Aaron is quiet for a moment.
Then he turns slightly toward you.
The setting sun catches the softness in his eyes.
The expression only a handful of people ever get to see.
You.
Jack.
His family.
“Honey,” he says gently, “I don’t like seeing you exhausted.”
Your heart melts instantly.
“You worry too much.”
“I do.”
“At least you’re honest.”
Aaron smiles.
Then he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear.
A touch so tender it steals your breath.
“I like seeing you like this.”
You tilt your head.
“Like what?”
“Happy.”
The answer comes so quickly that you know he didn’t have to think about it.
Not even for a second.
Aaron presses a kiss against your forehead.
Then another.
And another.
Until you’re laughing.
A real laugh.
Light and carefree.
The kind he hasn’t heard in weeks.
Aaron smiles against your skin.
Because that’s exactly why he brought you here.
Not for the lake.
Not for the cabin.
Not even for the vacation.
But for this.
For the sound of your laughter.
For the sight of you relaxed and smiling in his arms.
For the reminder that the world can wait for a little while.
And as the sun disappears beneath the horizon and Aaron pulls you closer against his side, you realize something.
Maybe rest isn’t a luxury.
Maybe it’s necessary.
And maybe being loved by Aaron Hotchner means having someone who notices when you’re carrying too much long before you’re willing to admit it yourself.
the generational gap between me and the chronic complainers in fandom tags for every little thing
I’m such a “yay <3” person like unironically a hip hip hooray type of personality
luke what is your face: a gifset
Again and Again
Pairing: Jack Abbot x Reader
Word Count: 2k
Summary: When a new resident's comments about your relationship with Jack cause old anxieties to resurface. You start to wonder if your differences in education, age, or money mean you might not be enough for him. In the aftermath of a long shift and the comfort of normalcy, you reveal your fears to Jack, and he reveals some of his too.
Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Patient Death Mentioned, Workplace Harassment (Kind of)
Notes: This was barely proofread! Sorry for any mistakes! ♡
COMMUNITY | 3.04, “Remedial Chaos Theory”
jack abbot x fem!reader hurt/comfort, reader doubts self divider by @/diviniyae
"why are you still here?"
jack turns around, not sure if it's a trick question. he's in your shared apartment -- his that you moved into -- drinking a beer.
you’d stormed out earlier to cool off after your argument. it had started over something stupid and spiraled into something worse. you snapped at him unfairly, shoved a mug off the counter by accident, watched it shatter across the floor, then left before he could say anything.
now, the mess is gone, jack had cleaned it up. and it makes you feel all the more guilty.
there's relief in his face when he sees you're back looking okay, yet also worried.
"where else am i supposed to be?"
"i mean, why are you still here?
and then jack realizes what you're actually asking him.
"i don't know, sweetheart. you're funny, you're mean, you steal my fries and the duvet--"
"jack."
"okay, okay." he stops joking. "because i love you."
"that's not an answer."
"yes it is."
you shake your head, "no, it's not. don't do that thing where you make it sound simple because it is not simple."
jack stays quiet and watches you.
"there are women out there who are better than me. better for you. they're easier. kinder. they don't wake up every morning waiting for something to go wrong."
"sweetheart--"
"you can be with someone better, jack."
jack knows you well enough to understand that this isn't self-pity. this is actual fear.
"sweetheart, look at me."
you don't. so he steps closer to you and lifts your chin up.
"you think i'd rather be with someone else?"
"i think maybe one day you're gonna wake up and realize you hate me."
jack shakes his head immediately. "no. don't do that."
"i just... i know what it's like to love someone like me. it drains you. eventually, you'll resent me."
jack is fully cupping your face in his hands now. "i'm not trapped, sweetheart."
"not yet."
"stop."
you go quiet.
"you keep talking like loving you is some kind of punishment," jack says, keeping eye contact, "it's not."
"you say that now."
"no, i say after thr fights. the arguments. after seeing you scared, angry, and convinced you ruin every single thing you touch." he counters, "i'm still here."
you let out a shaky breath.
"you know what i see every time you screw up?"
"a disaster?"
"someone who thinks one bad moment erases every good thing about her."
you're quiet again, tears pooling in your eyes.
"you may think you have baggage and that you're damaged. but that doesn't scare me."
you're crying now, face crumpling, years of shame suddenly too heavy to hold up by yourself.
"you wanna know why i stay?" jack softens, "because every version of you is still you. even the bad ones. i'm not in love with some imaginary version of you that only exists on your good days."
"besides, i wouldn't even know what to do with someone healthy." he finishes, and you finally crack a tiny smile.
and jack knows you're not just gonna believe him right away. but he'll show you every day.
Pittsburgh heat was stifling. The air hung heavy and thick, making even the simplest task like breathing feel like a chore. The heat felt even worse when your boyfriend, Jack, refused to turn the AC on at night. He insisted that "the heat was all in your head" and "the nights cooled off significantly." He was, unfortunately, right part of the time, the heat wasn't unbearable when you were in bed alone which was most nights.
Tonight was not one of those nights.
Tonight, Jack was glued to your back, thick arms wrapped around your waist with a leg thrown over your own. You usually loved having Jack home, you loved going to sleep with him instead of missing him as you slid beneath crisp sheets on your own, but god, not tonight. You were miserable, slick with sweat and wishing it would magically become twenty degrees cooler.
You'd been awake for hours, trying to wiggle away from Jack since the second you woke up practically drowning in your own sweat. Each escape attempt was unsuccessful and harder than the last. Each wriggle made Jack tighten his hold, let out a sleepy sigh, and nuzzle closer to you.
You groaned, kicking your legs off the edge of the bed in frustration. You inhaled deeply and threw yourself forward with all your anger-fueled strength. You sat up, a triumphant and shocked laugh escaping you. A feeling of triumph that was too soon quelled when that same heavy hold wrapped itself around your waist and dragged you back down to hell.
"Stop squirming," Jack rasped, his hot breath fanning the back of your neck.
You whined, kicking your legs petulantly, "let go of me."
"Wanna cuddle with you, sweetness," he replied, dragging the tip of his nose up and down the slope of your neck, "we never get to do this."
"Then let's cuddle with the AC on! I'm swimming in my own sweat, you're a human furnace, and I'm suffering. You're making me suffer!" You exclaim while helplessly trying to wriggle away from Jack's embrace.
Jack chuckles, rolling onto his back with a loud yawn, "you're cranky when you're hot."
"Jack! We're living in hell! My rich, hot doctor boyfriend likes to reminisce on his days before central cooling was invented and it's torturous!" You wail dramatically, "what is the point of having these luxuries if we don't even use them!?"
He continues to chuckle, dragging a tired hand down his face, "are you this dramatic when I'm not here?"
You sit up with your eyes ablaze with anger, "I sleep just fine when you're at work. Wanna know why? There's not a huge, hot man laying next to me and wrapping me in sweltering heat! I'm done with this!"
You stand from the bed and angrily begin to slam the windows shut around the room before stomping out to close the rest windows around the house. It doesn't take to long for Jack to hear the familiar sound of the AC kicking on which only makes him smile.
Your glare hasn't softened, in fact, it sharpens as you make your way back to your shared bedroom and lay down with a huff, "I'll send you money for the energy bill since my misery is so entertaining to you."
Jack settles on his half of the bed, missing the feeling of you in his arms, but he knows better than to push you to your limits right now. He fluffs his pillow and turns onto his side to face you, "don't you dare send me money for any bills. I cover household expenses and you know that."
You exhale sharply, closing your eyes and willing the cold air to cool you off even faster. After some time, you feel yourself begin to drift off, feeling fresh and sleepy.
You're just minutes away from a deep sleep when you reach for Jack's hand, tugging softly. He hums sleepily, roused from his sleep at your touch. You curl onto your side and blink slowly at him, "why aren't you cuddling me?"
Jack sighs, tugging you into his chest. His heart skips a beat at the content hum you let out before you both succumb to sleep. He thinks you can be a total pain in the ass, but god, he loves you.
feedback is appreciated! divider from cursed-carmine <3
Move-in Day
Summary: you finally move into jack abbott’s house and he’s way more emotional about it than he expected to be. between unpacking boxes, teasing each other nonstop, and realizing you’re really staying, the entire day turns painfully soft and domestic. by the end of the night, jack’s so overwhelmed with love and relief that things get a little heated.
Cw: fluff, established relationship, domestic intimacy, kissing, suggestive content, soft possessiveness, emotional vulnerability, jack being deeply in love, happy ending
Wc: 2k
An: inspired by the fact I’m hopefully moving soon
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The first box you unpack in Jack’s house is labeled Mugs in your messy handwriting.
Which feels stupidly fitting, honestly, because Jack Abbott leans against the kitchen counter watching you with the softest expression you’ve ever seen on his face while you unwrap ceramic after ceramic like they’re priceless artifacts.
“You brought all six?” he asks.
You look over your shoulder. “Excuse you. The frog mug is emotionally important.”
Jack huffs a laugh through his nose, crossing his arms over his chest. Gray Henley. Dark sweats. Bare feet against hardwood floors. Domesticity looks terrifyingly good on him.
“The frog mug says ‘World’s Okayest Bitch,’” he points out.
“And yet you still love me.”
His mouth twitches.
“Unfortunately.”
You grin and toss a dish towel at him.
He catches it easily, eyes never leaving you.
That’s the thing about Jack. He watches you like he still can’t believe you’re real.
Like every moment together surprises him.
Even now—after over a year together, after late-night shifts and takeout dinners and falling asleep tangled together in his bed three nights a week before this—he still looks at you with this quiet kind of awe that sneaks under your ribs and stays there.
You turn back to the cabinet, stretching up onto your toes to reach the top shelf.
A warm hand lands on your waist instantly.
“Baby.”
“I’ve got it.”
“You’re climbing cabinets again.”
“I am vertically challenged, Jack. Not helpless.”
“Mhm.”
He moves behind you anyway, chest pressing lightly to your back as he reaches over your head to place the mugs onto the shelf.
You feel his smile against your hair.
Your entire body melts a little.
God. Living together is going to ruin you.
“You know,” you murmur, “normal people hire movers for this.”
“You wouldn’t let strangers touch your books.”
“That is because they bend pages.”
“You threatened a college kid at the last apartment.”
“He folded a paperback in half.”
“Yeah,” Jack says dryly. “And then you told him you’d ‘wear his spine as a necklace.’”
“He learned something.”
Jack laughs outright this time.
The sound fills the kitchen warm and low and gorgeous.
You turn in his arms before he can step away, hooking your fingers into the hem of his shirt.
His expression softens immediately.
There it is again.
That look.
Like home.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
The question catches you off guard.
Not because it’s unusual. Jack asks you that constantly. Checks in on you in tiny ways nobody else notices.
But because you realize—
He’s nervous.
Jack Abbott, trauma surgeon extraordinaire, who can handle chaos and blood and screaming patients without blinking, is nervous about you moving in.
Your chest aches.
“You think I’m gonna change my mind?” you ask softly.
“No.”
Immediate.
Certain.
But his jaw flexes afterward anyway.
You brush your thumb along it.
“Jack.”
He exhales slowly.
“It’s a big thing,” he admits. “You giving up your apartment. Moving your stuff in here. I just…” His eyes flick away for a second. “I want this to feel like yours too.”
The sincerity in his voice nearly kills you.
You slide your arms around his waist.
“It already does.”
His hands settle automatically at your lower back.
“You sure?”
“Jack, I basically live here already.”
“Yeah, but now your terrifying frog mug lives here too.”
You snort.
“And my seventeen skincare products.”
“You have twenty-three.”
“You counted?”
“You left them alphabetized on my sink.”
“That was organizational foreplay.”
His eyebrows lift.
“Was it now?”
You grin.
“Maybe.”
He shakes his head like you’re impossible, but he’s smiling when he leans down to kiss you.
Slow.
Easy.
The kind of kiss that says there’s nowhere else either of you need to be.
You hum against his mouth.
The afternoon sunlight spills through the kitchen windows warm and gold while half-unpacked boxes clutter the floor around you. Your socks slide slightly on hardwood as Jack pulls you closer.
Domestic.
Safe.
Real.
It almost scares you how badly you want this.
“How many more boxes?” he murmurs against your lips.
“Bedroom stuff mostly.”
“Books?”
“Books.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“You love me.”
“I do,” he sighs dramatically. “Against my better judgment.”
You kiss him once more before stepping away.
He immediately follows.
Like a giant, emotionally repressed shadow.
You point toward the living room. “Go unpack something.”
“I am unpacking something.”
“You’re hovering.”
“I’m supervising.”
“You’re staring at my ass.”
“That too.”
You laugh so hard you nearly drop a plate.
—
Three hours later, the house finally starts looking shared instead of singular.
Your blankets are folded over the couch.
Your shoes sit beside his near the front door.
Your shampoo crowds his in the shower.
Tiny pieces of you everywhere.
Jack stands in the bedroom doorway watching while you struggle to shove clothes into the dresser.
“You fold shirts like a psychopath,” he says.
You glare at him from inside the drawer. “Leave me alone.”
“That is not a folding method. That’s violence.”
“You’re so judgmental for a man who owns fourteen identical gray shirts.”
“They’re practical.”
“They’re boring.”
“They’re comfortable.”
“You know what else is comfortable?” You shove another hoodie into the drawer. “Color.”
Jack walks over slowly.
You’re still kneeling on the floor when he crouches beside you.
“Hey.”
You glance over.
His gaze is softer now. Quieter.
“Thank you,” he says.
Your chest tightens.
“For what?”
“For being here.”
The simplicity of it nearly undoes you.
You stare at him for a second before reaching up to touch his face.
“You don’t have to thank me for loving you.”
Something flickers across his expression then.
Something raw.
Jack leans forward suddenly, forehead pressing against yours.
His eyes close.
You know enough about him now to understand what that means.
Too much feeling.
Too much vulnerability.
Not enough words.
So you wrap your arms around his neck and hold him there quietly on the bedroom floor while the late afternoon light stretches long across unpacked boxes.
After a moment, he mutters, “You stole my side of the dresser.”
You gasp. “There are no assigned sides.”
“There absolutely are.”
“Says who?”
“Says me. This is my house.”
You pull back slowly.
“Oh?”
Jack immediately realizes his mistake.
His eyes widen a fraction.
You sit back dramatically. “Your house.”
“Baby—”
“Interesting.”
“You know what I meant.”
“No no,” you say solemnly. “Clearly I’m but a humble tenant.”
Jack grabs your waist before you can escape, hauling you directly into his lap with a surprised yelp.
“You are such a pain in my ass.”
You grin against his mouth when he kisses you hard enough to shut you up.
“You love my ass,” you mumble.
“Obsessively.”
“Well. That’s healthy.”
He kisses you again.
And again.
Longer each time.
Your laughter fades somewhere in the middle of it.
Because Jack’s hands start lingering.
One sliding beneath your shirt, warm palm against bare skin.
His breathing deepens slightly.
You feel the shift immediately.
Not rushed.
Not hungry exactly.
Just… full of affection so intense it spills over into touch.
You pull back enough to look at him.
His hair’s messy from unpacking. His cheeks slightly flushed. Eyes dark and fixed on you like he can’t stop looking.
“Hi,” you whisper.
“Hi.”
“You getting emotional on me, Abbott?”
“Maybe.”
You smile softly.
He presses his face briefly into your neck with a groan.
“This is embarrassing.”
“It’s cute.”
“I’m not cute.”
“You’re literally cuddling me on the floor.”
“I’m a terrifying man.”
“You bought me dinosaur-shaped pasta because it ‘looked like something I’d enjoy.’”
“It did look like something you’d enjoy.”
You laugh quietly, fingers threading through his hair.
Jack kisses just below your jaw.
Then lower.
Slow warm kisses along your throat that make your breath hitch.
“You know what keeps happening?” he murmurs against your skin.
“What?”
“I keep realizing you’re not leaving tonight.”
Heat curls low in your stomach.
“Oh.”
“Like every five minutes.” Another kiss. “I keep thinking about waking up with you tomorrow.” Kiss. “And the next day.” Kiss. “And next month.”
Your heart does something dangerous.
“Jack…”
His hands tighten on your waist.
“I know it’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid.”
His eyes lift to yours.
“So you’re really staying?”
The vulnerability in that question nearly wrecks you.
You cup his face instantly.
“I’m really staying.”
Jack kisses you like that answer means everything.
Deep and slow and emotional enough to make your chest ache.
You melt into him completely.
The kiss turns heavier after that.
Not abrupt.
Natural.
His hands sliding beneath your shirt fully now, palms warm against your back while yours drift under his Henley.
Skin against skin.
He makes a low sound in his throat when your nails scrape lightly over his stomach.
“Fuck,” he murmurs softly.
You smile against his mouth. “Hi.”
“Don’t start.”
“Start what?”
“That thing you do.”
“What thing?”
He gives you a look.
You absolutely know what thing.
The teasing.
The sweet innocent voice while your hand drifts lower.
You brush your fingers along his waistband lazily.
Jack exhales sharply.
“Baby.”
“You seem tense.”
“I wonder why.”
You kiss him once, deliberately soft.
Then whisper against his lips, “Maybe moving in stressed you out.”
His laugh comes out breathless.
“You’re evil.”
“And yet.”
“And yet I’m completely in love with you,” he says immediately.
The words hit you so hard you stop moving for a second.
Jack notices instantly.
His expression gentles.
“What?”
“You said it weirdly casual.”
“I say it all the time.”
“Yeah but usually after I say it first.”
He shrugs slightly, suddenly looking almost shy.
“I just thought you should know.”
Your entire body goes warm.
“You giant sap.”
“Don’t ruin this for me.”
You kiss him before he can say anything else.
And this time it turns needy fast.
Jack’s hand slides into your hair, tilting your head back while he kisses you deeper.
Months of sleeping beside each other.
Weeks of discussing moving in.
All that anticipation winding tight until now.
His hands roam everywhere like he still can’t quite believe he gets to touch you whenever he wants.
Your shirt disappears somewhere onto the bedroom floor.
Then his.
Then you’re laughing breathlessly because he nearly falls backward trying to stand while holding you.
“Careful, old man.”
“Keep talking.”
You wrap your legs around his waist when he lifts you effortlessly.
The bedroom still smells faintly like cardboard boxes and detergent and Jack’s cologne.
Home already.
He lays you carefully onto the bed like something precious.
The look on his face afterward almost undoes you.
All wonder.
All affection.
You reach for him immediately.
“C’mere.”
Jack climbs over you, kissing you slowly while his hand traces your waist, your hips, your thigh.
No rush.
Like he wants to memorize this version of you here in his bed.
Your bed too now.
The thought sends heat straight through you.
You whisper it against his mouth.
“Our bed.”
Jack actually groans.
“Jesus Christ.”
You laugh softly.
“That got you?”
“You have no idea.”
His forehead drops briefly to your shoulder.
Then he kisses down your body with maddening patience until your breathing turns uneven.
Every touch feels different tonight.
More intimate somehow.
Not just sex.
Not just want.
Something deeper threaded through it.
Belonging.
You tug him back up eventually, kissing him hard enough to make him lose composure for a second.
That earns you a rough sound from deep in his chest.
“There she is,” he murmurs.
“She?”
“The menace.”
You grin breathlessly.
“You like the menace.”
“I’m obsessed with the menace.”
Jack touches you like he means it.
Careful hands turning reverent and hungry all at once until you’re clinging to him, laughing one second and breathless the next.
The teasing fades eventually into something softer.
Slower.
His mouth against yours while your fingers comb through his hair.
The room dim around you.
Half-unpacked life waiting outside the bedroom door.
And Jack looking at you afterward like he still can’t believe this is real.
You brush your thumb over his cheek.
“What?”
His lips curve sleepily.
“You live here.”
You laugh quietly.
“I do.”
He kisses your palm.
Then pulls you impossibly closer beneath the blankets.
“Good,” he murmurs against your hair. “You’re never leaving.”
Mwahhh xx