You like the first option, but you much prefer the second one. It’s quieter up there, calming, and there’s a boyishness to Jack’s face when he is completely relaxed, not thinking about work and patients, only thinking about what you’ll have for dinner, if he wants to take you hiking or fishing that weekend, or about the amount of orgasms he is planning on giving you.

It’s sweet, the way his shoulders drop, relax, when you’re sat in the car with your feet in his lap, humming along to whatever song is playing. He lets you pick the music as long as you “control” google maps, because he doesn’t get it, it stresses him out. He tells you if it was for him, people would still be carrying folded maps in their glovebox and using those, in fact he still has one there. “It’s for emergencies, what if there’s no service…what if…google crashes, huh?” and you just roll your eyes, press the balls of your feet against his growing erection and tell him “Are we there yet? I’m bored…”

And it’s about the thirtieth time you’ve asked that, so he says “…No, sunshine, we’re not. Like I said before. Twenty more minutes, yeah?” and he’s pawing at your feet, trying to get them off of his cock, but hou just push and prod further, giggling. You can be such a brat sometimes, but that’s okay, he’ll fix your attitude later. But for now he lets you be, lets you entertain yourself so you won’t complain about being bored and your tiktok not working throughout the entire car ride.

He turns the music down when you fall asleep, props your head to the side so you don’t hurt yourself, and keeps on driving. When you get to his cabin, he won’t wake you, not if he can help it. He’ll unbuckle you, lift you up in his arms and carry you to the couch, before returning to the car to take out all your bags.

You wake up on the couch, near the backyard windows, watching as he grills something for dinner. He looks good like that, with his shirt off and his guard down, soft for you, just for you. You walk up behind him, socked feet padding through hardwood floors, then grass.

And your arms wrap around his thick torso, and you rest your head in between his shoulder blades. “Hi daddy…” You greet him sleepily, pressing yourself against his freckled back, and Jack thinks he could get used to this…to early afternoons with you pressed against him, speaking softly to each other, no rush, no talking shop. Maybe when he retires he will retire you too, and he’ll bring you out here, away from the noise of the city and the pitt.

“Hey, sweetheart, sleep okay?”

“Mhm…told you to stop carrying me inside, you’re not thirty anymore, Jackie.” You mumble against his back.

“Alright, alright.” He turns around to face you, hands coming up to brush a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Go take a shower, I’ll get dinner ready.”

He likes doing things for you, likes when you don’t have to lift a finger, when you don’t have to worry. He knows all too well what it feels like when the hospital becomes your life, when the burden follows you home, so he won’t let you feel like that.

He likes teaching you, too. Jack thinks an independent, intelligent, young woman should know how to do certain things herself, like change a tyre, or fish a cod. So he has you sit and watch as he fiddles around with the tyres in his car, as he screws on and off and pushes and pulls, he has you repeat all of his actions and he watches you with devotion.

And late at night, when you’re laying in bed together, your head on his chest, limbs tangled together, he kisses the top of your head and watches you fall asleep. Who knew someone could get so tired of…being a passenger princess and napping.

————————————————

“Sit up, sweetheart.” “Uncross your legs.” “Laptop higher.” “Relax your jaw.” 

He knows he’s a perpetual nuisance, aware he sounds like someone’s dad, can practically hear the eye-roll you swallow every time. 

He also knows it embarrasses you, especially at work, where your face goes warm when he corrects you within earshot of other people. And it isn’t that he sets out to make you squirm, though he’d be lying if he said he got nothing out of that quick little fluster he can pull from you with a word, a hand, a look. 

It’s just that once he notices you folded in on yourself for too long, something in him firms. His voice drops into that clipped, authoritative register, flipping a switch to brisk certainty and command, and by then it’s already too late to pretend you’re not going to listen. 

So when he catches you slouched at the station again, practically kissing the monitor, he doesn’t hesitate.

Steps in behind you. His palm fits against the ridge of your upper back, heat seeping straight through the thin cotton.

“Up.”

You mutter, “I hate you,” eyes never leaving the vitals grid, and Jack takes it as the green light it is.

His thumb glides from back to shoulder to nape. The opposite hand curves under your jaw’s hinge, guiding your head until your spine clicks back to neutral while the entire nurses’ station pretends their screens are riveting. 

Public proof that your posture, and maybe the rest of you, answers to Dr. Abbot’s touch far faster than to your own irritation. 

“There’s a whole skeleton under all that,” he observes dryly. “Try using it.”

You bat at his hand, a half-hearted slap. “Stop manhandling me at work.”

He ignores that, drops the chair one notch (ignoring your surprised squeak too), angles the monitor to proper eye level, then squares your shoulders with both palms. A measured squeeze follows, equal parts reassurance and warning.

“Better,” he decides. “And if I catch you bent over that phone again, I’m taking it.”

He likes the line of you best when he’s the one arranging it. 

You figure that out later, breathless and flushed, forehead buried in his sheets while he kneels behind you, two sure hands repositioning your ass in the air like he’s smoothing kinks from an instrument only he can tune.

“Uh-uh,” he grunts, and you’re too far gone to know what he means until his palm presses between your shoulder blades and eases you down, down, down, your hips staying high as your face sinks into the pillow. “Arch for me — c’mon, deeper bend, don’t cheat your lower back.” 

Your breath catches when he palms the dip he’s just created, fingers splaying and then he’s sliding his cock in your folds slow. It earns a pleased mewl from you, angle perfect because he’s engineered it that way. 

Every push has a tiny corrective tap — shoulders down, knees wider, perfect girl — until your pussy clenches and drips all over his rigid stomach and he finally lets you break form, hips snapping while his palm settles, triumphant, at the very spot that first straightened you hours ago.

MARIA NOTE hello this is my trying out little blurbs/drabbles bc this random thought rlly evoked something in me... don't know how to feel it ab. it feels naked without my fun graphics but alas! and the tiny text??? what do we think?? yes or no i'm in the middle right now so feel free to share opinions... it looked a little strange as regular but idk i'm lowkey having an existential crisis over this ok bye

the apartment is way too quiet for comfort. it’s quiet in that weird way which feels heavy instead of the usual peaceful, and warm atmosphere their love resides in.

in reality it’s been like that for almost nine months. she’s been moving through the halls like she’s only halfway inside her own body. she’s been answering in short phrases, leaving lights on even though that’s her pet peeve.

she even stopped picking strawberries and making her favorite desserts and jams.

jack stopped commenting on it three months ago. not because he’s given up on her, or that he doesn’t care.. god, he cares!

it’s because every time he tries to.. it seems to make her crumble in on herself even further. she constantly asked him if he’s disappointed and he’s constantly telling her that he never could be.

he’s anxiously rubbing the back of his neck and standing at the kitchen island— watching her in a way that is making him desperate to reach out and cocoon her in his arms.

protect her from the world. from her thoughts.

she’s slicing the bread for the grilled cheese while he clears his throat, reaching for the fridge to get the ingredients for the tomato soup.

“hey,” he says suddenly. “should we order something instead?” he asks gently when she absentmindedly sighs to herself.

she doesn’t look up from the cutting board. “mm i don’t care. up to you, honey.” she says quietly.

his jaw clenches at that. how her words sound flat and final. like her opinion doesn’t matter. like she’s just going through the motions.

he nods once and goes back to fishing out the ingredients. the items rusting in his large hands as he makes his way around their kitchen.

they prepare the food in silence, chopping and the sound of boiling tomato soup filing the air around them and jack nearly sighs in relief once the soup is done.

he’s quick to tower towards her, kissing her cheek as he asks her to go sit at the kitchen table making her smile at him. her eyes don’t gleam like they used to and he frowns slightly as he watches her move away.

once he’s finally got everything prepared he sets the bowl of soup, along with the plate of grilled cheese down near her wearily as she rests her chin in her palm. he tries not to force it, he’s smart to place it within reach like an offering.

“you didn’t eat much today, bug.” he offers carefully.

that’s when it happens.. because this isn’t the first time he’s brought it up today. and quite frankly it’s been routine for them at this point.

“i said i’m fine for the thousandth time,” she snaps, suddenly too loud for the room around them.

she stands causing her chair to scrape loudly. “can you just stop doing that? watching me like i’m some patient that you need to check on. ”

the silence that follows is immediate. even the central air coming from the vents is louder than anything.

she clutches her chest realizing how she just spoke. jack purses his lips, but he doesn’t flinch because he’s absorbing the impact of her daggers.

“hey” he says her name calmly.

he reaches his hand out for her but she paces to the other side of the table, “i’m not trying to do that to you.” he says while he watches her.

“well it feels like it.” she quivers.

her eyes are bright, not with anger exactly—something messier. the frustration mixed with exhaustion and sadness that’s been locked in her chest so long it’s starting to come out sideways.

jack exhales slowly through his nose, then stands. he steps a little closer to her— still leaving space between them.

“okay,” he says. “then tell me what it feels like i’m doing.”

his question was calm. it was steady.

but it almost made her angrier. it doesn’t give her something to push against.

“i don’t know,” she admits, but it comes out like a warning. like she regrets saying it immediately.

jack nods again, like he can work with that.

“you don’t have to know,” he says. walking closer to her, his hand coming up between then as he held it out for her to take, “j— just don’t push me away.. just because i’m here.”

that lands right in her chest and her shoulders deflate, like her body is tired of holding the fight upright.

“i’m not pushing you away,” she says quieter now, but it’s less convincing.

she takes ahold of his hand and and he smiles lightly.

“i’m just.. i don’t know, jack.” she sighs, “i— i’m not okay and i don’t know how to be around anyone when i’m like this.”

jack pressed his lips together, relived that she finally could tell him the truth. he squeezed her hand in his and nodded thoughtfully.

“yeah,” he says simply. “i understand” he pressed.

that almost makes her laugh. she always laughs when she’s uncomfortable, it’s some sort of childhood trigger that he’s still bee trying to figure out. but then it turns into something shaky her head drops to look at the floor.

jack leans back against the table, giving her control of the space again.

he says her name tenderly, he pulls her a little closer as he lifts her chin with his finger. “i’m not going anywhere,” he adds like he’s already decided.

she looks at him like she’s checking if he means it, or if this is the part where people usually leave.

“you should,” she she whispers, tears streaming down her hallowed out cheeks.

“not your call,” he interjects making her inhale sharply as he whiles the tears from her pretty little eyes.

he winks at her which earns the smallest reaction from her. the smallest smile tugging at her lips makes his head flop to the side to watch as she looks into his eyes for the first time in what feels like months.

there’s a long pause that settles between them, but it’s different now. it’s less sharp and more honest. more true.

finally, she sits back down into her chair slowly, like her body has run out of adrenaline.

“i’m sorry,” she says, barely audible.

jack shakes his head once. “hey. don’t do that.”

“what?”

“apologize for going through a dark patch.”

that makes her eyes sting, and she hates that it does. he slides the plate a little closer again, not forcing it, just returning it to her space.

“one bite for me, huh?” he says. “i know you, and i know you forget.” he says as he sits back down and pushes her plate closer to her.

this time, she lets herself actually let out a laugh. it’s a small one.. broken yet real which causes jacks chest to swell in on on himself as he watches her take ahold of the grilled cheese and take a hearty bite.

“annoying,” she mutters playfully as he watches her chew.

“consistency is key, my baby,” he corrects with a smirk.

for the first time in days, the room doesn’t feel like it’s closing in on her quite as much.

Dean notices things. Sure, most people often assume he doesn’t. They saw him as the loudmouth, cocky, smug, pie-loving, flirtatious hunter who looked like he bulldozed his way through life without paying attention to anything– but Dean noticed. He noticed when Sam switched coffee brands, he noticed when Cas was trying extra hard to understand a joke, most importantly: he’d noticed you stopped sleeping.

At first, he thought it was a couple bad nights. That happened, it’s not like hunters were exactly known for healthy sleep schedules. Hell, him and Sam had been surviving on four hours of sleep tops for as long as he could remember. But after a while, he started noticing patterns– the dark circles under your eyes, the way you yawned into your sleeve during breakfast, how you always lingered in the library a little longer even after everyone else had gone to bed. If anyone asked, you'd insist you were fine every single time. "M’okay" Dean knew that sentence was utter bullshit– he’d used it himself to brush off other people’s worries about his wellbeing.

He also noticed something else. One night after a rough hunt, you'd fallen asleep beside him during a movie down in his Dean-cave. One minute? You were awake, quietly curled against his shoulder while he mindlessly flipped through channels. The next? Your breathing had evened out– dead asleep. Huh, that was weird. Anyways, Dean had smiled to himself before carefully draping a blanket over you. No matter what the reason was, he was just happy to see you get some rest.

But then it happened again and again… It kept happening. Soon enough, after a few times of the same thing, he realized something– you only slept when you were close to him. Honestly, he didn't say anything, mainly not to embarrass you. Because he knew you– you were soft around the edges, gentle, a little skittish, always worrying about being a burden, kind where other hunters were harsh. So instead, he let it happen naturally.

Then one night, around two in the morning– he heard a tiny knock at his door. Dean was barely awake and luckily enough he didn’t have his headphones on blasting Metallica, otherwise he wouldn’t have heard the faint knocking. "Yeah?" He calls out, voice gravelly from sleep.

The door opened a crack and you peeked your head inside. His heart melted instantly at the sight– big sweatshirt swallowing your frame, hands tucked into the sleeves, eyes tired and hesitant. "Sorry" You murmured softly, apologizing before even having a full-on interaction.

Dean pushed himself up onto one elbow to look at you. "What's wrong?"

You glanced at the floor. "Couldn't sleep"

He tried not to smile at your quiet admission.  "C'mere" He pats the mattress beside him, already lifting up the covers for you to hop in.

You hesitated briefly, hovering by the doorway. "Only if it’s okay"

Dean rolled his eyes dramatically. "Sweetheart, if it wasn't okay, I wouldn’t have offered it" Your shoulders relaxed immediately. And there it was– that tiny thing you did, the way your entire body softened whenever he reassured you. You padded across the room quietly before climbing into bed. Quietly, like you were trying your very best not to disturb him. (As if your presence could ever do such thing) The mattress dipped beneath your weight as you settled beside him carefully, too carefully for his liking. Dean snorted softly. "You can get comfortable, y’know?"

"Sorry"

"There it is again" He huffs fondly, shaking his head in amused disbelief.

You blinked up at him. "What?"

"The whole ‘sorry’ thing" The hunter gently reached over, tugging you closer until your back rested against his chest. "Quit apologizing" Your body tightened for a second, caught off guard. But then he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you even more into his warmth– immediately, he felt the difference. The tension he'd grown so used to seeing in your body slowly began to disappear. It was like watching a frightened animal finally realizing it wasn't in danger anymore. Dean's hand gently rests on your side, thumb tracing slow circles over your waist. "There we go" You let out the tiniest sigh, the kind you didn't even realize escaped but made it out anyways. He smiled against your hair, satisfied to see you relax. "Bad dreams?"

You nodded. "Couldn't make my brain stop"

"Yeah" He sighs in agreement, fully understanding what that felt like. Hell, he’d spent countless sleepless nights tossing around with too many thoughts tormenting him.

You were quiet for a moment before carefully speaking up: "Is this annoying?"

Dean scoffed. "Seriously?"

You shrank a little into yourself, not sure how to react. "I mean...I don’t know"

His hand stopped moving for a second– not because he was upset, but because he needed you to hear him. Really hear him. "Sweetheart, look at me" You turned around slightly, peeking at him over your shoulder. Even in the dark, your eyes looked uncertain. Dean softened immediately at the sight. "Listen to me" He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear with a softness that was surprising in a roughened hunter like himself. "You are never annoying" Your expression faltered, like hearing those words genuinely surprised you– that alone made his chest tighten. "If you're having a bad night, you come get me"

"Dean—"

"Nope" He cuts off your quiet protest, squeezing your side. "M’serious"

You stared up at him, curious and gentle all at once. "What if I wake you up?"

He snorted. "Sweetheart, I've fought vampires on three hours of sleep" That earned a tiny laugh. "There she is" You half-heartedly ducked away from his gaze at being called out to which Dean grinned. "Besides..." He shifted even closer. (As if that were possible) "Could get used to this"

You turned around to look up at him again, your eyes widening with something close to thankful warmth. "Really?"

"Yeah" He shrugged simply. "Room's would be too empty without you"

Your cheeks warmed in embarrassment. "Dean"

"What?" The hunter smirked. "It's true" You hid your face into the pillow, turning your back to him once more. Still, he felt your smile before he even got to see it. God you were cute, ridiculously, unfairly cute. He pulled the blanket higher around both of you– making sure your shoulders were covered, making sure your feet weren't cold, making sure every inch of you was tucked safely against him… Eventually, his arms found their place around your stomach, thumbs slowly rubbing back and forth over the fabric of your sweatshirt. Your breathing gradually changed into longer, softer– sleepier inhales and exhales. Dean smiled to himself, murmuring a soft: "Attagirl" against your hair. Your fingers gently curled around his forearms. Like you needed to make sure he was really there. Like if you held on, the nightmares couldn't follow you.

And maybe they couldn't– because here in his arms, there were no monsters that could get to you. No overthinking, no scary thoughts waiting around every corner. There was just Dean.

Warm. Solid. Safe.