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[p1stach-io]

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.

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.

"okay," you whispered.

[girlmeetsworld2005]

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!!

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: rude patients PROTECT OUR NURSES!!, crying, fluff, kissing, pet names (sweetheart) and Age gap even thought it’s not directly discussed

Masterlist

The ER at three in the morning had a strange kind of stillness.

Not quiet, but calmer than it had been a few hours earlier when ambulances seemed to arrive every ten minutes and every room had been full.

You adjusted your scrub top as you walked out of Room 12, rubbing at the ache in your shoulders. Night shift was almost over.

You just had to survive one more patient. Unfortunately, that patient seemed determined to make your night miserable.

“You call this care?” the man snapped the second you stepped into the room with his medication. “I’ve been waiting forever.”

You kept your voice professional. “I understand you’re frustrated, sir. We’ve had several critical patients come in tonight, but I’m here now.”

“Don’t give me excuses.”

The words hit harder than they should have. Normally you could brush comments off. Working in the ER meant dealing with stressed, scared, angry people every day.

But tonight had already been exhausting.

You hadn’t sat down once and

You hadn’t eaten since midnight.

And every muscle in your body felt like it was running on fumes.

“I’m not making excuses,” you said gently. “I’m just explaining the delay.”

The patient scoffed.

“Maybe if you spent less time standing around and more time doing your job.”

The comment stung.

You felt your face warm.

Still, you stayed calm.

“Sir, I’m trying to help you.”

“Then do it correctly.”

You handed him the medication and completed the rest of the interaction as professionally as possible, but every rude remark seemed to chip away at you.

By the time you finally left the room, your chest felt tight. The door clicked shut behind you.

You stared at the floor for a moment.

Then took a slow breath.

“It’s not personal,” you whispered to yourself.

But it still hurt.

Across the nurses’ station, Jack looked up from a chart.

Your husband had been working the opposite side of the ER most of the night. Normally you checked in with each other constantly, stealing coffees and exchanging quick smiles whenever your paths crossed.

Tonight had been too busy.

He frowned slightly.

You immediately forced a smile.

Jack’s expression didn’t change. He knew you too well.

But before he could ask anything, a trauma alert came overhead.

Both of you were pulled in different directions again.

The next few hours passed in a blur.

Patients.

Charting.

Medication.

Vitals.

Questions.

More questions.

By six-thirty in the morning, the sun was beginning to lighten the horizon outside. Day shift started trickling in, and everyone looked exhausted.

You finished your final chart and practically collapsed into a chair.

Your feet hurt.

And despite your best efforts, the rude patient’s words kept replaying in your mind. Maybe because they had hit on a bad day.

Maybe because you were tired.

Maybe because you cared too much.

Whatever the reason, it lingered.

“You ready to go home?”

Jack appeared beside you.

His dark hair was slightly messy from running his hands through it all night. There were faint shadows beneath his eyes.

And somehow he still looked ridiculously handsome.

You smiled weakly.

“Absolutely.”

His gaze narrowed.

That weak smile hadn’t fooled him either.

But he didn’t push.

“Come on.”

Together, you headed toward the employee parking garage.

The cool morning air felt nice after hours inside the hospital. You climbed into the passenger seat of Jack’s truck while he settled behind the wheel.

For a moment neither of you spoke.

The engine hummed quietly.

Jack pulled out of the parking garage.

The city was just beginning to wake up.

Finally, he glanced over.

“What happened?”

You looked out the window.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been upset for hours.”

Your throat tightened.

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

His voice was gentle.

Not accusatory.

Just concerned.

“You know you don’t have to pretend with me.”

That almost made it worse.

Because Jack was the one person you never wanted to hide things from.

You stared at your hands.

“It’s stupid.”

“If it’s bothering you, it’s not stupid.”

The sincerity in his voice made your eyes burn.

You blinked quickly.

“It was just a patient.”

Jack immediately frowned.

“A patient?”

You nodded.

“He was rude.”

The grip on the steering wheel tightened.

“How rude?”

You hesitated.

“Just…mean.”

Jack was quiet.

“Mean how?”

You laughed weakly. A shaky sound.

“He kept saying I wasn’t doing my job. That I was lazy. That I didn’t care.” The words sounded even worse out loud.

Jack’s jaw clenched.

“He said that to you?”

You shrugged.

“It’s not a big deal.”

“It is to me.”

Your eyes started burning again.

Jack noticed instantly.

His expression softened.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

That was it. The tears came before you could stop them.

Not dramatic sobs.

Just exhausted tears.

The kind that appear after a long night when you’ve been holding everything together for too long.

You quickly wiped at them.

“Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.”

“I’m being ridiculous.”

“You’re not.”

Another tear slipped down your cheek. Jack immediately reached over, taking your hand. His thumb brushed across your knuckles.

“You spent twelve hours taking care of people.”

You swallowed hard.

“You always do.”

He squeezed your hand.

“You show up every night and give everything you’ve got.”

More tears appeared.

“Jack..”

“No.”

His voice was firm.

“You are one of the hardest working nurses I’ve ever met.”

Your chest tightened.

“You care about every patient.”

“You have to say that. You’re my husband.”

A small smile appeared on his face.

“I was saying it long before I became your husband.”

That made you laugh softly through your tears.

Jack continued.

“One angry patient doesn’t get to decide what kind of nurse you are.”

You looked down.

“I know.”

“Do you?”

The question hung in the air.

Because the truth was you weren’t sure. Not when someone’s words had found every insecurity you tried to ignore.

Jack must have seen the answer on your face.

His expression softened even more.

“You know what I saw tonight?”

You glanced at him.

“What?”

“I saw you skipping your break because you were helping a family.”

You looked away.

“Jack—”

“I saw you comforting a scared kid.”

He kept going.

“I saw you stay twenty extra minutes with an elderly patient because she was lonely.”

Your eyes filled again.

“I saw three different nurses ask you for help because they trust you.”

The tears spilled over.

Jack shook his head.

“So no. I’m not going to let one miserable guy convince you that you’re bad at your job.”

The lump in your throat became impossible to ignore.

You squeezed his hand.

The truck stopped at a red light.

Jack turned toward you fully.

“You hear me?”

You nodded.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Words.”

A tiny smile appeared despite everything.

“I hear you.”

“Good.”

The light turned green, and Jack started driving again.

Silence settled comfortably between you.

Just peaceful.

The kind of silence that only existed between people who knew each other completely.

After a minute, you spoke quietly.

“I hate that it got to me.”

“You’re human.”

“I should be used to it.”

“Maybe.”

You looked over.

Jack shrugged.

“Or maybe caring means things hurt sometimes.”

You considered that. Maybe he was right. Maybe the fact that the comments hurt didn’t make you weak. Maybe it just meant you cared.

And caring was never a bad thing.

Even in the ER.

The closer you got to home, the lighter you felt. Not because the night had magically disappeared. But because you weren’t carrying it alone anymore.

Jack had always had that effect on you. Somehow he made difficult things feel manageable.

You pulled into the driveway.

The truck rolled to a stop.

For a moment neither of you moved. You leaned your head back against the seat.

“Tired?”

Jack asked.

“Very.”

He smiled.

“Me too.”

You finally looked at him.

The concern was still there.

The protective anger over what happened was still there too.

But mostly there was love.

Steady and unwavering.

The kind that never left.

The kind that had carried both of you through years of difficult shifts and sleepless nights.

Jack reached over and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

His fingers lingered against your cheek.

“You okay?”

You thought about it.

Then nodded.

“Yeah.”

His smile grew.

“Good.”

You leaned toward him.

He met you halfway.

The kiss was soft.

Slow.

Just warmth and reassurance and home.

When you pulled back, Jack pressed another kiss to your forehead.

Then another to your temple.

And finally one more to the corner of your mouth.

A laugh escaped you.

“What was that?”

“Making sure you know you’re loved.”

Your heart melted.

“I think I got the message.”

“Hmm.”

He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer.

“I’m still going to be annoyed at that patient.”

You laughed.

“I know.”

“For at least a week.”

“A week?”

“Maybe longer.”

You shook your head.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I love you too.”

The words came automatically.

Easy.

Natural.

“I love you too.”

Jack smiled.

The exhaustion was still there.

The difficult shift was still there.

But somehow neither felt quite as heavy anymore.

Because the night was over.

You were together.

And no matter what happened in the ER, you never had to face it alone.

[csoorin]

the way I absolutely loved the look of hatred Perlah gave this woman when she judged Emma for leaving

[silostosstuff]

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

[joenateuser]

SHAWN MENDES via Gucci

[shawnyhatsvideos]

Shawn talking about season 3 of The Pitt, Mohabbot, Samira and working with Supriya 🤍

[nowbeagoodgirlforme]

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.

[alicewritezz]

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.

[willgrahamscock]

the generational gap between me and the chronic complainers in fandom tags for every little thing

[sailermoon]

I’m such a “yay <3” person like unironically a hip hip hooray type of personality

[mortalscience]

luke what is your face: a gifset

[softtachycardia]

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! ♡

Everybody knew Jack Abbot had a wife. The silver band on his ring finger told the whole story. Everybody also knew Jack Abbot‘s wife had died, and the ring that stayed on his finger was something that kept her memory alive. 

What most people didn’t know was that Jack Abbot remarried. He met you three years ago at a conference in Pittsburgh about new innovations in cardiac intervention for patients experiencing ST-Elevation Myocardial Infarction. 

You were bright, could hold your own, and scrub in to assist some of the toughest cardiologists in Pittsburgh. You also cared deeply about each patient you were helping. Each case you worked on was handled meticulously and thoughtfully. 

Rarely did you get to see each other at work. The cath lab operated on scheduled procedures unless it was an emergency. Jack mostly worked nights. After the wedding, you were able to arrange an alternate schedule with your manager that allowed you to work 12-hour shifts to be on call in the evenings on certain days. 

So on the occasion there was a patient in the Pitt who needed to be sent up to the cath lab, Jack always made his way up to see you. It wasn’t frequent that you had time to go down to visit him, so most people in the Pitt never knew about you. 

Jack liked it that way. Fewer questions, fewer comments. You were his little escape from everything he experienced at work. 

New residents always had a learning curve, and sometimes that meant learning how to be a professional. You knew Jack was handsome, and you knew that meant sometimes other people would try to make a move on him. Usually, their interest in him was quelled the minute they saw his wedding band. 

That didn’t stop Rachael. She was a fresh grad, someone who apparently couldn’t read the room and understand that no means no. 

Jack was charismatic; he knew that. It helped him connect with his patients and build rapport with his students. So at first, when Rachael stuck by his side, he assumed it was because she was eager to learn and thought he was one of the nicer attending physicians. 

———

You make your way down from the cath lab after a hard case. Your patient nearly coded on the table, and the images you got were shit, which meant the cardiologist wasn’t able to visualize which vessel the stent was in, which led to a delay in how quickly the occluded artery was repaired. 

You stop by the nutrition room to grab a coffee for you and Jack. When you make your way around the corner to the nurses’ station, you see her. Looking up at him with stars in her eyes, nearly hanging off his arm as she laughs at something he said. 

And as much as you’d love to let it bother you, you see Jack. He takes a step back and keeps a friendly smile, but nothing that would encourage her to continue throwing herself at him. 

You walk up behind him and hold the coffee in front of his face. 

“Thought you might need this,” You tease. 

He reaches for the coffee, and you pull it away, forcing him to turn around and look at you. 

“Uh uh uh, what’s the password?” You say smiling 

He rolls his eyes and puts a hand along your jaw before kissing you. It isn’t passionate or shy, just deliberate. 

You pull away and hand him his coffee with a grin. 

“Thanks, sweetheart.” He says, hugging your side, “How’s it been up there in the cave?” 

You inhale deeply, but as you’re about to answer, Rachael walks up behind him, “Dr. Abbot, I didn’t know you had a girlfriend!” She exclaims, and you can hear the fake enthusiasm in her voice. 

“Rachael, this is my wife,” he says as he introduces you. You have never gotten used to the excitement you feel when your name falls off his lips. 

Her breath catches only momentarily before she smiles and turns to you, “You also work at the hospital? What kind of doctor are you?” 

“Oh, I’m not a doctor,” You say with a laugh, “I’m a rad tech.” 

Her head tilts to the side as if she’s evaluating some complex subject. She shakes her head and chuckles, before looking at Jack, “I just didn’t think someone so educated would find a partner in someone with…what is it? An associate’s degree?” 

Jack visibly bristles and takes an almost defensive stance in front of you. He opens his mouth to speak before you scoff, “Obviously, it’s not required to have a brain to get a doctorate.” 

Jack purses his lips in a small line, trying not to laugh. 

“My wife,” He emphasizes, “Is one of the smartest people I know. You’ll quickly learn as a doctor to respect everyone in allied health.” 

“Dr….Is it Sievert? Are you planning on staying in emergency medicine? Or do you want to specialize somewhere else?” You ask.

She stammers trying to get her thoughts in order, “I- I- I’m interested in cardiology.” 

It’s almost as if the stars aligned just to allow you to be present for this moment alone. 

“Cardiology? I’m a tech up in the cath lab!” You say excitedly, “I’ll absolutely tell Dr. Kaur what a pleasure it’s been to speak with you today.” 

Her face goes red. She tries to stammer something about not meaning her earlier comment the way it was taken, but Jack interrupts her, “My wife has scrubbed in to more cases than you’ve witnessed in your entire education. She’s one of the main reasons that the lab can operate so that patients survive after hours.” 

Your pager beeps, and you look down to see what the call is. “Speaking of, we’ve got a SCAD coming in from another hospital. Got to go. Love you, honey. And Dr. Sievert, I hope I get to see you in the department,” you smirk. 

You kiss Jack on the cheek before turning to head up to the lab. The next few hours of your shift are chaotic. The emergency patient from the other hospital ended up being sent up to the OR for open-heart surgery, but the damage from the dissection was too severe. They didn’t make it. 

Loss always hits hard, even after years of working, you made sure to keep your empathy. Which meant after shifts like these, all you wanted to do was go home and curl up to Jack and forget about work altogether.

You made your way down from the lab to meet Jack by his locker. In the hallway, you overheard Dr. Sievert talking with some of the other new doctors.

“I just can’t believe someone as smart as him would go for someone without a proper education. Also, she looks like she’s 28; I’m sure she’s only married to him for his money. He could do so much better than her…” 

You bite the inside of your cheek and adjust your bag on your shoulder, sneaking past the hallway and into the staff lounge, where Jack is at his locker gathering his things. 

Your arm snakes around his, and you rest your head on his shoulder. He can sense something’s off, but now is not the time or place for a moment of intimate comfort. Instead, he squeezes your hand and presses a soft kiss to your temple. 

The ride home is too quiet. Normally, after a shift, you play DJ and force Jack to sing along to whatever hyper fixation you have at the time. Tonight, though, you’re resting your head on the window and looking out as the street lights blur by. 

Jack’s hand finds home on your thigh, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over your scrubs. A silent anchor, letting you know he’s there. 

He sees the distant look on your face and recognizes that this is more than just a bad day at work. Something else is causing the storm of emotion that rolls off you like thunder. 

When you’re home, you go through the motions of your routine. Shower, pajamas, skincare, teeth, bed. Jack peppers you with gentle kisses and words of affirmation. His hand stayed glued to your waist. 

When you’re finally under the covers, he probes, “Baby, what’s going on?” 

You sniffle and curl into his chest, “I just can’t get out of my head.” 

His thumb brushes against your shoulder, and he places a soft kiss in your hair, “You don’t have to get out, you can just let me in,” he whispers. 

There’s a long pause before either of you speaks again. And you hate that. You hate that it reminds you of just how well Jack knows you, how he’s always been such an intimate and patient partner. 

“Does it ever bother you?” You whisper, feeling yourself wanting to pull away. Regretting asking the question before it even passes your lips. 

Jack doesn’t stiffen; he stills, “Does ‘what’ ever bother me? Sweetheart, you gotta be a little more direct than that.” 

His hand squeezes your shoulder in reassurance. Before you know it, the levee breaks and every anxiety, no matter how insignificant, comes tumbling out. 

“I mean, does it bother you that you’re always paying for dinner, or that your name is the one on the deed, or that I don’t have a doctorate. I mean, I never wanted your job, Jack. That’s not who I am. I love my job. But is that enough for you? I mean, am I lacking in some fundamental way? Would you be happier with someone who has the same job? Or someone who was born in the same decade? Or am I just holding you back from something that-“ 

Jack cradles you to his chest and tucks your head under his chin, “Shh shh shh, baby, just breathe for a sec, okay?” 

You don’t realize how worked up you are until it takes a few shaky breaths before your chest finally loosens while Jack gently strokes your hair and counts each breath, “In…two…three…four. Good. Out…two…three…four, just like that.” 

There’s a pause, and he pulls away so he can see your face, “You okay?” He murmurs.

“No…” You admit. 

He sighs, kisses your forehead, and places a hand on your jaw, making sure that you’re looking at him before he speaks, “First, I love you. I would not have married you if that weren’t true. Second, I don’t care about paying for dinner or the house or contributing more to our bills because you help me out in so many other ways. Third, I work with doctors every day, and their title isn’t what tells me how competent or compassionate they are. Your skill and dedication to your patients and your career have always been enough…baby, you’ve always been enough. How long have you been worried about this?” 

Your lower lip wobbles before you speak, and suddenly you’re not only anxious, but also embarrassed, “I mean…people talk, Jack.” 

He hums, “You know I used to worry after she died that I wouldn’t find this kind of intimacy again. I definitely didn’t expect it from you. You’re right, people talk, why would an old veteran widower with a missing leg and no hobbies other than putting himself in danger have to offer for a smart, capable woman who could’ve gone for someone younger, less complicated?” 

You frown, “Jack, I’ve never once felt like any of those things stopped me from wanting you…” 

“I know. You show up every day and remind me. I don’t want you to let some stupid comments from someone who doesn’t even know us make you worry. And if you do worry, I want you to come to me. I’m here to remind you why I chose you. Why I’ll always choose you.” He says. 

The sound of an ambulance gets muffled by the window. Birds are chirping outside. The sun is continuing to rise. Tucked away behind blackout curtains and a heavy duvet, lay you and Jack, holding each other and showing up. Again and again. 

[andremichaux]

COMMUNITY | 3.04, “Remedial Chaos Theory”

[bitters-n-sweets]

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.

[justalittlepitt]

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

[gragrace]

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