Summary: Struggling with mental health is debilitating but Jack doesn't see it that way. (AKA Jack takes care of reader like the man that he is.)
Warnings: unspecified mental health struggles, being vulnerable (yeah man that's a warning).
Authors note: Okay yall its been a hot fucking minute since I wrote anything so be GENTLE WITH ME OKAY. anyway enjoy.
Word count: 1843
Guilt was a feeling you were strangely comfortable with. From the rush of it after a slight misstep, to the full body encompassing quick sand when you made an actual mistake. It always stood just off to the side, calmly waiting to make another reappearance.
Which is why you should have expected it when Jack offered to drive you home.
The rain had been relentless. From the start of your shift, at the beginning of the night, to the early hours of the morning. You hadn’t even bothered to care when you’d left, too in your head about everything you couldn’t control, but now? You were regretting your negligence.
“You need a ride?” Jack stood next to you in front of the ambulance bay. One hand in his pocket, the other gripping the strap of his camouflage backpack. His hair was slightly mused. His eyes boring into the side of your head. You didn’t bother looking away from the downpour currently pelting the pavement.
“It’s okay, I can just wait it out or sleep in one of the on-call rooms.” He scoffs before you even finish, arms crossing over his chest. The corner of his mouth is lifted.
“You in a rush to start your next shift or something?” his playful demeanor almost causes you to smile. You want to smile but can’t find the energy.
“No, I just- you don’t need to waste your time, I can figure it out.” His eyes soften, like he can see straight through you.
“I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to do it kid. Come on.” He’s walking away before you can argue, you don’t even have a chance to bristle at the nickname he calls you. You just follow.
The ride to your apartment is silent, you can feel Jack peer over at you from time to time, nothing more than a glance before he turns his attention back to the road. The two of you hadn’t been dating long, a couple months at most. he’d seen your home on more than one occasion. He’d hold you on bad days and you did the same for him. You both tried to be a safe place to rest for the other. Yet somehow this ride felt different. Deeper. You knew he would walk you inside, knew he’d see just how bad things had gotten.
To say you’d been struggling was an understatement. You stayed glued to your mattress for the hours you didn’t spend at the hospital, any remaining energy went into feeding yourself and trying desperately to keep just how bad it was from everyone in your life. Which all seemed for not as you stand in front of your apartment entrance.
Guilt cloaks you as you turn your lock, you kick the pile of shoes partially blocking the door more out of the way and reside yourself to how pathetic you feel as Jack steps over a bag left in the entry way. He doesn’t say anything. No remarks about the collection of scrubs sat by the couch, nothing about the dishes piled in the sink. He just takes it all in as if mentally reminding himself to check in on you more often.
“Sorry, I know it’s a mess. I’ve been busy with family stuff.” You end it with an awkward chuckle, bracing your hand at the back of your neck, slowly dragging it back and forth in a grounding motion. To his credit Jack doesn’t mention that he knows you don’t speak to your family.
“Don’t apologize sweetheart.” He bends to pick up a shirt currently tangled on the boot of his prosthetic and you’ve truly never wanted the world to end more than you did right now. What’s worse is you don’t have the energy to help him, or even attempt to fly through your apartment shoving things out of sight until he left. You just stood there, heart in your hand hoping he didn’t break it.
“I’m sorry.” The words stick, forced out through the lump in your throat. Your eyes well and your vision blurs. “I didn’t know it had gotten this bad.” Jack looks back as a quiet sob breaks past your lips. Immediately he’s retracing his careful steps through your messy apartment until he has you braced against his chest, arms around you.
“You’re okay, kid. I’ve got you now.” The two of you stay that way until your sobs ebb and your left feeling even more weighed down then you had this morning. Crying didn’t change anything, you’d done enough of it the last two weeks to know that, yet you still hoped it would fix everything. That maybe crying in Jacks arms would magically make everything disappear.
He doesn’t ask you to talk about it, knows that if you could explain it you would have. So he lifts you, carefully tucking one arm around your back the other under your knees and walks down the hall to your room. When you open your eyes he’s lowering you onto your bed, sheets still rustled, pillows still askew. He doesn’t need to ask what drawer your pajamas are in, he already knows, but his voice breaks the silence when he places them next to your hip.
“You want help?” He’s asking if he can undress you. You know it, so does he. Yet the gesture of knowing he’s seen you naked and still asks opens a window in your closed off soul.
“Yes please.” You’re so far past feeling shame that you’ve become numb. So yeah, he can change your clothes.
Jack doesn’t need to be told twice, he makes quick work of replacing your scrubs with something softer, more suited for sleep. Places a kiss to your forehead and tucks your comforter under your chin.
“Get some sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up.” Your eyes are already half way closed when you nod, no longer concerned with anything but rest.
The smell of food is what rouses you. You know Jack said he would be here when you woke up, knew that he was a man of his word yet some how you still believed you’d be alone. You don’t get up right away, limbs still heavy and mind still loud. You close your eyes and listen to Jack moving throughout your space. He sounds like he belongs here. In your kitchen cooking himself breakfast at the end of a long shift. The thought is gone as soon as it arrives. Your aching heart pushing away everything good in favor of prolonging your suffering.
You stop delaying the inevitable and push your blankets off. When you sit up your met with the sight of your bedroom floor, no piles of dirty clothes, no clutter.
Then he appears.
Jack is dressed in a black shirt and camo cargo pants, a plate in one hand and a mug in the other.
“Did I wake you?” Its simple really, a yes or no answer yet you just stare at him. Eyes taking in the soft afternoon light breaking past your curtains and showering him in an ethereal glow. Unlike you he doesn’t falter, just raises and eyebrow and waits.
“No.” Your voice is rough, you clear your throat without thinking.
“Good. I made you something to eat, you want it in here or out there?” He gestures towards your living room with the mug still in his careful grasp. You don’t respond verbally this time, choosing to lift your chin in the direction he motioned towards. You follow him out, mind reeling as you see the state of things.
Jack hadn’t just made you food. He had spent his time cleaning your mess. Your living room was void of piles of clothes, the dishes were done, the layers of dust that had collected were gone. The smell of lemon cleaner now permeated through out your home. You felt nauseous and relieved at the same time. Heart full yet cracked at the thought of him wasting his time.
“Jack…” You were kidding yourself if you thought you had words to chide or thank him. You had nothing. No air, no words. Just silence.
“I called a laundry service that Robby uses, they picked your clothes up an hour ago, should have them back by the end of the day.” He isn’t put off by your stillness. Just places your plate on the coffee table then retreats to your kitchen to grab his own. You sit when he returns, joining him like he didn’t just change everything.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Sweetheart, you don’t have to say anything. Why don’t you eat and we can talk about it after?” When you look over at him you swear you can see your heart sitting in his palm, cradled gently so it doesn’t shatter, his own beside it. You eat without arguing, figuring that’s the least you could do for the man that just cleaned your whole apartment after working the same grueling shift you had. You pause a moment, realizing that you hadn’t had half of the things you were eating in your fridge. You had run out of eggs three days ago. Bread had been missing from your cabinets for even longer. Yet your plate was piled with just that. A tear falls before you can stop it, silently slipping down your cheek. For the first time in weeks, it doesn’t feel heavy. It falls from your chin to your chest and relieves some of the trapped pressure there. Your plate is on the coffee table before you can overthink it, you place his in the spot next to yours before climbing into his lap, head buried in his neck.
“Baby?” For the first time since he dropped you off Jack pauses. He doesn’t tense, doesn’t push you away. Just worries that maybe he had over stepped. That his help had pushed you into feeling worse rather than better.
“Thank you.” Its quiet, full of wet stutters as the dam finally breaks. You push further into him, soaking the front of his shirt with your exhaustion and self-hatred. One of his warm hands traces your spine, the other cradles you into him by the back of your neck. His cheek is placed at your crown, lips occasionally pressing there.
“Don’t have to thank me. You’d do the same for me, no questions asked.” You unfurl yourself from him then, glassy eyes locking on to his steady ones. The kiss you share is full of relief and longing, every moment you had spent feeling alone had been doubled for him. Your unintentional disappearance? He had watched it happen from the sidelines. Yet still, he stayed. Didn’t waver, didn’t push. Just waited for the moment he could go to war with you like the solider he was.
God you loved him.
The two of you stayed like that for the rest of the day, Jack a steady presence that pulled you back together, and you the weight that kept him grounded. Two pieces of the perfect puzzle.
content. brett richards x reader. pørn w/o plot (once again lol). dry humping. unprotected. dumbification (if you squint). praise kink. fingers in mouthhhhh. yeah. 🫡
brett richards who comes over smelling like smoke and sweat from another shift of putting out a forest fire that could’ve gotten real bad.
you liked being able to loosen him up. let him fuck you dumb until he could relax.
he’s pulling off his boots and tugging off his shirt as he eyes you with hunger. you lay back on the bed just in your lace panties palming your boob as you watch him strip.
“keep your boxers on,” you tell him.
the corner of his lips tilt into a half smile as he chuckles under his breath. he unbuckles the belt and lets his pants fall, squinting up at you, “you givin me orders now?”
“perhaps,” you smile.
he grabs your ankle and drags you down to him in one pull. leans over you until his chest presses against yours, hard and warm, dusted with greying hair. his mouth finds yours and a hum bleeds out of him into your kiss. relief and hunger all at once. you smile against his lips, fingers lacing into his dark grey hair.
your mouth opens for him and he takes. teeth catching your lip, spit-slick and shameless, tongue and the wet drag of his mouth until you’re gripping his hair just to hold on.
he pulls your hand away from your boob and replaces it with his mouth.
he suckles your nipple until it peaks hard against his tongue, groaning low against your skin like the sound was pulled out of him.
he switches to the other, mouthing at it deep and greedy, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet room, until it’s just as red and pulls off with a soft pop that makes your breath hitch.
your thighs start to closes and he smacks the inside of your thigh.
"keep them open."
you do.
he settles between them, grey boxers against your panties. he rolls his hips into yours. the cotton friction makes you gasp, feeling every ridge of him through the thin fabric. he does it again, watching your face.
“brett一”
the corner of his lips tilt up in satisfaction. he hums against your skin and mouths at your chest again like he's feasting. muffled groans bleeding into your skin, stubble dragging rough where his mouth is soft, hips keeping that same grinding rhythm.
you pull at his hair and a deep grunt spills out of him. he finally lifts his head, eyes gone almost all black, mouth wet. he looks at you like he’s deciding something.
“nine days,” you say. recounting the days it had been since your last escapade in your apartment.
“nine days,” he repeats, voice rough. his hips press into yours harder and you inhale sharp.
he pulls back just enough and you take the opportunity. hands planting on his chest, you push him down onto the bed and swing your leg over him.
you settle onto his lap and feel it immediately. the damp patch on the front of his boxers, dark grey fabric clinging where he’s been leaking for you. your hips sink down against it and a groan tears out of you before you can stop it.
brett’s jaw tightens. his hands find your hips.
“yeah,” he says quietly. the corners of his eyes crinkle, satisfaction written into every line of his face.
you roll your hips and feel the wet cotton drag against your panties, the outline of him thick and obvious beneath you. your head tips back.
“god,” you breathe.
his thumbs dig into the soft of your hips, watching you work yourself against him with that infuriating face of his. grey threading through his hair, lines carved deep around his mouth, and still he looks at you like you’re the most interesting thing he’s ever seen.
he flips you before you can catch your breath. back hitting the mattress, his weight settling over you. he pulls your panties down and off in one motion and tosses them in the background.
he settles between your thighs, and instead of pushing in he just pauses. looking at you spread open for him, wet and wanting.
his thumb finds your clit.
“oh–“ the sound jumps out of you.
he rubs slow, easy circles, watching your face with that same dark patience. "need t'get you ready to take me, baby." his voice is low, a little rough around the edges.
"been a while."
"i can take it," you breathe.
"mm." unconvinced. his thumb keeps moving, and he dips two fingers in without warning, feeling how you clench around them. he groans quietly at that. "yeah? feel how tight you are?"
your hips roll up into his hand. he lets you.
"there she goes," he murmurs. "good girl. jus' like that."
he works you open slow, fingers curling, thumb never stopping, until you're slipping wet around him and whining with it. until you're so soft and swollen and desperate that when he finally lines himself up and pushes in, thick and veined and achingly warm, it makes your breath leave your body all at once.
he stills. jaw tight, chest heaving.
“fuck,” he exhales. “so warm. so fuckin’ perfect.”
he starts to move. slow, deep strokes that have you feeling every ridge of him, the thick drag along your walls, your body gripping him like it’s trying to pull him back every time he pulls out.
“brett—“
“i got you,” he murmurs. “i got you.”
he grips your jaw and tips your head back, kissing you messy and unhurried. all tongue and heat, spit slick at the corner of your mouth. you groan into it and he swallows the sound greedily.
his thumb finds your clit again, rubbing lazy circles while he moves, and the combination makes your vision blur. you grab at his forearm, his shoulder, anything to hold on to.
he pulls back from the kiss just enough to look at you. lips glistening, pupils blown. “mhmm,” he hums. “you like that?”
“yes—yes—“
“good.” his pace stays frustratingly measured. his hand slides up to grip your face, fingers pressing into your cheeks, holding you still. and then he licks into your mouth. slow and filthy, tongue dragging against your teeth, taking his sweet time. you try to kiss back but he doesn’t let you. just holds you there and takes.
he pulls back with a wet sound and pushes his thumb past your lips.
you close around it without thinking. sucking obediently, tongue pressing up against the pad of it, and the sound he makes low in his throat tells you exactly what that does to him.
“good fuckin girl,” he murmurs.
he leaves his thumb there and drops his mouth to your cheek. your jaw. the soft skin beneath your ear. trails down your throat, sucking a bruise into the pulse point without apology. lower, mouthing at your collarbone, your chest, until he’s got your nipple between his teeth again and you’re moaning around his thumb like you’ve lost your mind.
his hips keep that same devastating pace the whole time. never speeding up. just deep and measured and relentless, feeling you get slicker and softer around him with every stroke.
“brett,” you whine. “please.”
he looks up at you from your chest. the lines of his face cast in shadow, grey hair mussed, mouth swollen. he looks absolutely ruinous.
"there it is," he says quietly.
and then he gives it to you.
his hips snap forward and you gasp, hands flying to grip the sheets. he sets a pace that's immediately relentless, deep and punishing, the wet sounds filling the room obscenely. your thighs are trembling. your eyes are burning.
"oh. oh fuck—"
"yeah," he grunts out, eyes locked on your face.
"there you go."
his thumb presses down harder on your clit and whatever sentence you were forming dissolves completely. just a broken sound spilling out of you instead.
“brett i—i–“ you lose your train of thought halfway through. you try again. “please, ’m—”
“you’re what.” he asks low and amused.
you have no idea. you genuinely cannot remember.
his thumb’s relentless on you. “don’t need you thinkin’ right now anyway.”
“f—fuck, brett—” your hips jerk up uselessly. “‘s too—i can’t—i don’t—”
“i know.” he coos. “i know, baby.” he doesn’t stop.
your eyes roll back. mouth slack, sounds coming out of you that you’d be embarrassed about if you could think straight. but you can’t. there’s nothing left up there. just him and the drag of him and the filthy wet heat of it all.
“jus’ take it,” he murmurs. “there’s my girl.”
it hits you like a wave you didn’t see coming.
your whole body locks up, thighs clamping around him, a broken sound tearing out of your throat as you clench around him and fall apart. vision whiting out at the edges, toes curling, fingers twisting helplessly in the sheets.
he works you through it. slowing down.
“brett—” your voice comes out sweet and wrecked. you’re oversensitive and shaking. “i just—”
“i know.” he tuts, unbothered. “not done with you.”
“i can’t—”
“you can.”
he reaches over without a word and grabs the pillow, sliding it under your hips. the angle shifts and you immediately feel the difference, hips tilted up, legs spreading open just a little more.
he drives into it. again and again, deep and focused, hitting that soft mushy place inside you that makes your whole body seize up and your thoughts go completely white. the sounds coming out of you are barely coherent. you’re saying his name like a prayer.
you think you might be seeing stars. the edges of the room going soft and swimmy.
and then you feel his lips press to your forehead. grounding you.
“stay with me,” he mumbles. you exhale shakily. he keeps moving, chasing that high, his breathing gone ragged against your skin, hips driving deeper, harder against that soft spot.
“come with me,” he grits out.
and your body listens.
you cum with a full body shudder, thighs jerking, a broken sound tearing out of you as you clench around him and your vision goes completely white. your hands fly to his back, nails dragging down and leaving red marks in their wake, something between a sob and a moan spilling out of you.
he follows seconds later with a low curse, pulling out and fisting himself, spilling hot and white across your stomach and your thighs. his whole body shudders through it, head dropping to your chest, a long ragged groan punched out of his chest.
the room is quiet except for the sounds of you both trying to catch your breath.
he lifts his head and takes you in. your hair splayed out and tangled against the pillow, chest heaving, lips swollen and parted. eyes glassy and far away.
he cups your cheek in his palm. thumb stroking slow beneath your eye.
“hey,” he says quietly. the lines around his mouth softening.
you blink up at him. barely there.
he leans down and kisses you. soft this time, nothing like before. just his mouth, pressing once, twice, against your lips gently.
“you did so good for me,” he murmurs against your mouth. another kiss to the corner of your lips. your cheek. “so good.” his thumb keeps caressing your cheek until a tear slips from the corner of your eye.
“too much for you, wasn’t it.” his voice is low and rough at the edges, a little undone himself. his thumb sweeps the wet from your cheek.
you nod slowly.
he makes a quiet sound. almost a laugh under his breath.
“made me so proud, baby.” he presses his lips to where the tear was. then your cheekbone. your temple. working across your face. “so fucking proud.”
another tear slips and he catches that one too.
his forehead drops to yours. eyes closed, chest still heaving faintly, sweat cooling on his skin. the grey at his temples damp. “you’re alright,” he murmurs. “i’ve got you.”
Jacks kids flinching when he come near them. Everyone in the Pitt witnesses this happen more then once so it can’t be a coincidence. Finally robby consults him like. “Dude. Why do your kids flinch when you get to close.” And obviously Jack is like “WHAT?!?!” And so he goes over to his oldest daughter, stands right I front of her and she flinches. Bringing up her hands close to her body as if ready for impact. Jack is SHOCKED, and sad. And confused. So with a heavy heart he asked “why did you do that 🥺” and his daughter simply states. “I thought you were going to tickle me.”
Warnings: domestic fluff, established relationship.
Summary: when the winter blankets get too hot and you get tangled in your pajamas, he's right there to help you out and cuddle you back to sleep.
Disclaimer: This story is pure fiction and written solely for entertainment purposes.
The house is dead quiet at 4:00 AM. Andrew is sitting on the edge of the bed. Nights like this are frequent for him some weeks, when his mind refuses to quiet down, leaving him trapped in a restless limbo.
The only grounding force in the room is the soft sound of your breathing.
Because it’s the dead of winter, you’re buried under a mountain of blankets, wearing your thickest pajama pants to combat the chill. But the human body is unpredictable, and at some point, the trap of insulation catches up to you.
You stir, letting out a frustrated whine. The sudden shift from freezing to burning hot breaks through your heavy layer of sleep. Blinkingly, your eyes half open, completely dazed and disoriented by the warmth suffocating your legs.
Andrew turns his head instantly, his sharp eyes softening the moment he looks at you.
"You okay, baby?" he murmurs, his voice rasps from hours of silence.
You don't really answer. Instead, you kick weakly at the heavy duvet, trying and failing to wriggle out of your pajama pants. Your limbs feel completely uncooperative in your sleepy state. You manage to hook your thumbs into the waistband, tugging them down past your hips, but get hopelessly tangled around your knees, letting out another pathetic sigh.
A faint smile touches Andrew’s lips. He moves closer, shifting his weight onto the mattress beside you.
"Let me help you," he whispers.
His hands are surprisingly gentle as they slide under the covers. He grips your pants, smoothly sliding them down your thighs. As he works, his lips trace a path of quiet adoration along your skin. He presses a soft kiss to your hip, another to your thigh, and a lingering one against your knee as he pulls the fabric completely free and tosses it to the floor.
The cool air hits your bare legs, bringing instant relief.
Instinctively, you lurch forward into his space, your hands blindly reaching out through the dark. "Andy..." you mumble.
"I'm right here," he replies softly.
You find his chest, burying your face into the crook of his neck, seeking his familiar scent and warmth.
Andrew wraps his arms around you, pulling you securely against his chest. He shifts so he’s lying down completely, bringing you with him, cradling you like you're the most precious thing in his chaotic world.
He doesn't stop kissing you. It’s a slow trail, pressing soft lips to your shoulder, up the column of your neck, and finally against your forehead.
His hands rest on your lower back, his fingers moving in slowly against your skin.
The tension completely melts out of your body.
And the cool air feels good for a second, but it doesn't take long for the winter chill to creep back into the bedroom.
Andrew notices the slight shiver that runs through you before you even do. Stretching his arm just enough to reach the edge of the heavy duvet, he tugs the thick blankets back up, burying you safely up to your shoulders.
You let out a whine from the sudden return of the heavy warmth. Your brow furrows in a sleepy pout, and you make a weak attempt to kick the covers back down.
Andrew lets out a low huff, his legs catching your ankle under the sheets to stop your escape.
"Stay under," he murmurs, his voice vibrating against your hair. "You're gonna get cold, baby."
You don't have the energy to fight him. You just sigh, letting your forehead sink right back into the center of his chest.
"Love you, my Andy," you mumble against his skin.
Andrew’s heart does a heavy thud. He tightens his grip around you, pressing a long kiss into your hair.
"Love you too, my baby," he whispers into the dark, keeping you safe and warm as you drift right back to sleep.
please understand when I say The Cody Boys™ I am almost always referring to Deran, Craig, and Pope specifically. Baz is not welcome into my home. J is allowed on the lawn sometimes but I am not answering the door for him.
