#but these two seem like they’re holding back not to give in to their not very pure thots for each other

[no-144444]

When are we getting more sky interviewer x oscar? ahhh that cliffhanger!! I can’t wait for more!

reconcile -o.piastri

pairing: oscar piastri x fem! Skyf1interviewer! reader

summary: you're reminded of a promise you made...

part six masterlist

All things considered, you were kind of happy to be leaving F1. Somehow, the last half of this season had you burning bridges, ones you didn’t even want to burn. Your comments filled with various driver ships, various hate messages, but everyday, the same damn message popped up in your instagram comments. 

Omg FIA awards are soon! You and Oscar are going to be so cute! 

Can’t wait for the hard launch at the FIA awards 

Oscar and Y/n forever fr 

The way he looks at her! OMG they’re too cute

You hadn’t spoken to Oscar since that night in your hotel room. You ignored his messages . You got Crofty and the others to do his interviews. Abu Dhabi hadn’t been great for you so far, nothing really had. No one seemed to grasp the concept that moving to Indycar wasn’t your choice, but something you had to do for your job. People ignored you. People shunned you. Oscar kept his eyes on you all weekend, and you wanted the Earth to swallow you up. It was awkward. It was the soft glances he used to give you, there was something behind his eyes, a hunger. A fire. Something that made you walk the other way. But Lando grabbed you before you could flee the scene.

“Y/n!” Lando pulled you in for a hug. “How are you?” he asked. Oscar crossed his arms beside him, his body tensing. He watched as Lando hugged you, jealousy flooding his chest. Why was it that you were close with literally everyone but him? Oh yeah, he ruined his chances in that stupid hotel room. 

“I’m good thanks,” you nodded, pulling back and looking at the two of them. “How are you two?” you asked, taking a step back. 

Lando waited for Oscar to respond, but he didn’t. Lando cleared his throat and smiled. “We’re good, thanks. Ready for this race to be over.” 

“Same, I’m so excited to go home after this-”

“We have the FIA awards,” Oscar interjected, hsi tone curt. He knew he was being rude and he knew it was shitty to hold you to a dumb promise, but what else did he have of you to hold onto? You were with an Indycar driver. You were leaving F1. He wouldn’t see you anymore, and he wanted one night where he could pretend he had a chance with you. “Like you promised.”

You swallowed, then nodded. One last night with Oscar, you could do that right?  “Course. What colour is your suit?”

“Black,” he was a man of few words, you could give him that. “White shirt. Black bowtie.”

“Thanks for the direction,” you mumbled under your breath. “Text me about it, yeah?” “Will you actually respond?” he questioned, and even he saw the way you flinched at that. He was being mean, but he felt so fucking uncontrollable with you, he didn’t know what to do with himself. “I’m sorry I’m being a-”

“Yeah, you are,” you nodded, your eyes down. “But I guess it wasn’t super mature of me to not respond to your other messages,” you nodded, awkward tension between the two of you as Lando watched the exchange. “Sorry.”

“I just wanted to apologise for what I said back in-”

“What did you say?” Lando gasped. Oscar seemed to forget that you’d been Lando’s friend longer than he had, and Lando would most-likely take your side. Oscar’s mouth opened, then closed again. Lando frowned and turned to you, but you held a hand up to stop him talking. 

“It’s between us,” you answered diplomatically. “Don’t worry about it.” 

“I am worried about it,” he shot back. “What did he fucking say?”

You sent him one of your looks and he backed down. “The hotel is forgotten,” you turned back to Oscar. “Let’s just all enjoy the awards as a last hurrah, and we’ll go from there, yeah?” 

Oscar nodded, feeling a bit better about the way he treated you, and simultaneously worse about the fact that you were leaving.

“So you’re going with him?” Lewis asked. You sat beside him, sighing and leaning your head on his shoulder. He chuckled. You hid in the Ferrari garage a lot and Lewis always seemed to have the best advice, maybe it was something to do with his various failed relationships. “You’re being dramatic. He’s not that bad.” 

You huffed again. “He’s nice to literally anyone but me. I swear to god, Carlos got better treatment than me.”

He chuckled. “You’re being extra dramatic today then.” 

“Maybe you’re not being dramatic enough,” you shot him a dirty look. You enjoyed this. Moments like this. Moments where your life didn’t not feel yours. You’d always struggled with imposter syndrome, but you’d carved yourself out a nice spot in F1. People liked you, people listened to you, and you knew people. Indaycar was new. Your confusing feelings for Oscar were new. You cuddled closer to Lewis, trying to stay in the line of the aircon.

“You could just fake sick,” he shrugged. You’d already thought about that, but you felt it was rude to Oscar (even if he definitely deserved it). “Or you could just go and tell the Indycar boy to fuck off and run into the sun with Oscar-”

“Lewis!” you hissed. “Shut up!”

He laughed, nudging you. “Just tell him you like him!”

“I don’t!” you stressed, rolling your eyes. “And anyway, he deserves someone who actually can be here for him, not on an entirely different schedule, working insane hours, plus he doesn’t like me anyway!”

He gave you an unimpressed look. “Y/n, don’t play with me,” he scoffed. “That boy is in love with you.” “That boy doesn’t know me!” you argued. “And if he did, I think he’d have a very good reason to walk away.”

Lewis frowned, his voice lowering. “What does that mean?”

You sighed. “I mean… I don’t think we’d work out. He’s a fucking F1 driver for god’s sake. This is insane-”

“You’re one of the most beautiful women in the world,” he shrugged. “You’re so smart. You’re kind. He’d be more than lucky to have you.”

You sighed against his shoulder, mulling it over in your head. Maybe Lewis was right. Maybe you should give it a shot with Oscar. 

“So go to the awards with him. See how you feel. You don’t have to make a decision now.”

Maybe he was right. Enjoy the awards with Oscar and go public with Pato the next day...

Great idea.

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[harrywavycurly]

Worth the Fight: Disagreement

Masterlist: Here

CW: Pregnancy stuff, minor jealous Harry (him and Patrick have an issue lol), smut (fingering, thigh fucking and dirty talk).

Word Count: 5.8K

A/N: We are getting closer to the twins arriving and I’m so excited, there’s only 2 parts left after this! Also if you don’t want to read the smut just skip the last section, you won’t be missing any details just the spice!✨

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Summary: Harry asks you a question, feelings are discussed and the two of you spend a day in bed✨

There’s a silence in your apartment that has you feeling on edge as you sit at your kitchen table rubbing your lips together as your mind begins to shuffle through all the check lists you have full of things you need to finish preparing and buy before the twins arrive. You flick your eyes over towards your kitchen where Harry is standing with a hand on your counter and the other holding a green apple that’s placed on the same cutting board he’s been using ever since he started making your juices months ago. You can tell by the way his eyes are looking straight ahead and not at the fruit in his hand that he is lost in his thoughts, probably thoughts very similar to the ones racing through your own mind so you just allow the silence to linger for a few minutes longer before you decide to break it.

“What’s the first thing on your list?” You ask as your hands rest on top of your very big pregnancy belly that has you not able to do much of anything without assistance these days. Harry blinks a few times before shaking his head as if to clear his mind before turning his head to look over at you.

“Sorry did-what did you ask me?” You let out a chuckle at his confused expression as his grip on the apple tightens ever so slightly.

“Your list of things you feel like you need to get done before the twins get here.” You look down at your belly and give it a gentle rub with both hands before looking back at him. “What’s the number one thing you-”

“Figure out where you’ll be staying once they’re here.”

“What do you mean? I’ll be staying here. In my house.”

“Okay.” You watch him as he carefully decides how he wants to articulate his next question as he lets go of the apple and turns around so he can lean his back against the counter. “And uh am I allowed to-uhm possibly also stay here with you?” He doesn’t look at you as he fumbles his way through asking the question, instead his eyes are glued to a spot on the tile floor near your refrigerator.

“Gee let me think about this.” You tilt your head to the side and tap your chin with your pointer finger as Harry lifts his head to look at you with a quirked brow at your playful tone because he is on the verge of a panic induced sweat while you seem very calm. “Can my boyfriend who also happens to be my baby daddy who doesn’t really let me get more then five feet away from him without him shouting my name to see where I’m at stay with me after our twins are born?” You question as you act as if you’re mulling the idea over in your mind but the slight upturn of your lips tells Harry you’re trying to hold off a smile and that can only mean one thing. “Yes Harry. Of course you can stay here because I’m sure as hell not going to your house right away with all those-”

“Stairs. I know love.” He says with a smile as he walks over to where you’re sat at the table. “I’d like to point out I let you get at least ten feet away from me before I’m shouting for you.” You roll your eyes as he holds his hands out for you to take so he can help you out of the chair.

“I was right behind you the other day and you shouted-”

“Baby I couldn’t see you I don’t have eyes in the back of my head.”

“You still shouted-in a library of all places.”

“It wasn’t even a real shout it was just a loud whisper.” You glare at him while his hands rub the sides of your belly as the two of you stand in the middle of your kitchen. “That lady didn’t need to be so mean about it.” The moment the words leave his mouth he knows he has royally messed up, so he just braces himself for you to let him have it as his hands continue to rub at your belly, lightly scratching it through the fabric of your t shirt since he knows you’ve been a bit itchy lately.

“That lady? You mean the librarian who was just trying to do her job of keeping it nice and peaceful in a place people come to read and learn?” You let out a huff as you swat his hands away from your bump making him frown at bit at the loss of contact. “You’re dating one of those ladies Harry and you’re lucky she just gave you a harsh shush and didn’t kick you out.” Harry knows you wish so badly that you could just storm off and leave him standing in the kitchen to think about what he just said but you can’t, you haven’t had your juice yet and you can’t exactly get around very easy and have been relying on Harry’s annoyingly toned arms for support so you’re stuck in the small space with him, annoyed and dangerously on the verge of becoming hangry.

“I’m sorry love it won’t happen again.”

“I would’ve kicked you out.” You mumble in a half annoyed and half serious tone, not ready to acknowledge his apology you keep your eyes focused on your bump making Harry bite down on his bottom lip in order to fight off the smile that wants to form on his face at your stubbornness. “And ban you from ever being able to step foot in any public library in the country.” You add making a scoff slip out of Harry’s mouth as he tries to sneak his hands back to the sides of your bump without you noticing.

“Now sweetheart that’s a bit much don’t you think?” You just shrug as you try to shove his hands away but this time he doesn’t let you, keeping them firmly on the sides of your belly making you huff in annoyance. “That would mean I’d never be able to bring you lunch at work or take the twins to story time or-”

“They wouldn’t be banned.” You correct him, finally looking him in his eyes that are a soft shade of green that has you wanting to let out a soft sigh but you don’t because there’s a point to be made here and you refuse to be distracted by his big dumb eyes. “Just you.” Harry lets out a chuckle as he shakes his head in disbelief.

“Well good thing you weren’t the librarian on duty then.” You roll your eyes as he leans in, and when you go to turn your head so his lips land on your cheek he pauses. “Come on Cranky gimme a kiss so I can get back to making your juice before you get really upset.” You let out a sigh as you turn your head allowing him to press his lips against yours for a quick and sweet kiss.

“I really would’ve kicked you out.” You mumble with a small pout as he pulls away with a smile on his face.

“I know.” He states as he leans in to press his lips to your forehead. “I love you.” You freeze as the words slip past his lips making him immediately pull away and take a step back from you with wide eyes and red cheeks, embarrassed he just accidentally let those words tumble out of his mouth so easily.

“You-”

“I uhm I meant I love them like-the twins yeah yeah I uh love them.”

“That’s not what you meant and that’s so not okay to say in the middle of an argument Harry that’s-that’s cheating.”

“What? How is that cheating? This wasn’t even an argument?”

“If it wasn’t an argument then why were you apologizing?”

“Because that’s-uh well that’s a good question.” You stare at him as he runs a hand through his hair as you try to come to terms with the fact he just casually admitted he loves you while in the middle of your kitchen. “So maybe this was just a disagreement over how I handled a situation in the library and also for me rudely referring to the librarian as just some lady so-so that’s why I was apologizing.”

“But do you know you were wrong?”

“I know you feel like I was wrong. Yes.”

“Harry.”

“Okay fine. Yes I know I was wrong and that’s why I was apologizing. I shouldn’t have shouted in the library and I should have more respect for librarians because I just so happen to be in love with one.” You feel your eyes well up as a lump forms in your throat as Harry stares back at you with a hopeful expression on his face.

“Does your therapist know you’re a cheater as well as a narcissist?” Harry lets out a chuckle and shrugs a shoulder as he reaches his hand out to grab yours that’s resting on top of your bump.

“I’m sure he’s well aware of all my flaws but I’ll ask when I talk to him next week.”

“Good.” You feel his hand cup the side of your face just as the first few tears fall from your eyes. “You really love me?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not just saying that because you’re panicking over the fact we have five weeks until the twins are here and-and we haven’t even packed a hospital bag or-”

“Hey sweetheart look at me okay?” You swallow thickly as your eyes meet his. “I love you and I’m not telling you this because I’m in pre twin arrival induced panic.” He gives you a smile as you sniffle and try to blink back a new wave of tears. “I’m telling you this because it’s how I feel or- how I’ve felt ever since you let me take you on that horrible first date a month ago and you know I’ve always been bad with timing and-”

“I love you too Harry.” Your voice is watery and the tiniest bit squeaky as it cuts off his rambling but Harry doesn’t mind, all he can focus on is the fact you’re saying it back.

“Yeah? You’re not just saying that so I’ll go and make your juice?” He teases as a grin spreads across his face making his dimples pop out.

“No I’m saying it because it’s how I feel. Besides I can make my own juice.”

“You can?”

“Yes I’ve done it before.”

“What? When?” His eyebrow raise as he looks over at the relatively large knife resting on the cutting board next to the apple he left on it. “I don’t like the idea of you using knives when I’m not around. I know that sounds-”

“Harry.” He turns to look back over at you as you reach over and cup his face with both of your hands. “Don’t ruin the moment.” He smiles as you pull him down for a kiss as his hands fall to your hips.

“Won’t happen again love.”

“Oh I’m sure it will.” You joke as you give his cheeks a small squeeze before dropping your hands from his face. “Also that was quite a declaration of love you just made- have you been reading my romance novels?” You ask making him roll his eyes as he turns to head back into your kitchen.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You laugh as you watch him grab the knife and begin cutting up the apple.

“Whatever you say.” You stand there for a moment, looking over your shoulder to the chair you were just sat in and then through the doorway of your kitchen towards your couch.

“Harry can-” before you can finish your sentence Harry is by your side with his arm out for you to grab onto so you can begin walking towards the living room.

“Comfy?” He asks after helping you get situated on the couch. You just nod making him smile as Paris walks into the room causing his bell the jingle having woken up from his mid morning nap he no doubt took in his new favorite spot, the middle of the rug in the twin’s nursery.

“Paris your stepdad told me he loves me in the middle of an argument.” Harry playfully rolls his eyes as he leans over and presses his lips to the top of your head before turning to go back into the kitchen.

“Wasn’t an argument Paris it was a disagreement.” He corrects, Paris pauses to watch Harry disappear into the kitchen before he turns to walk over to where your feet are propped up on the coffee table with a pillow underneath them.

“Want to snuggle with your mom?” You asks the orange colored cat who just purrs as he leaps onto the couch and instantly plops down next to you so his back is firmly pressed against your hip. “Oh Paris things are about to get a little crazy around here.” You tell him with a sigh as the sound of Harry chopping fruit and the gentle purrs of your cat start to gently lull you to sleep.

This is something Harry has gotten quite used to, you just randomly dozing off for a quick Power Nap while he’s off doing something in another room. So he just smiles and places a kiss to your forehead when he walks back into the living room a few minutes later with your juice in one hand and a bowl of grapes in the other, not wanting to disturb your morning nap so he just puts your goodies on the table next to the armrest of the couch and picks up Paris so he can place him in his lap after sitting down next to you.

“Your mom loves me too mate so that means no more biting.” He whispers to the orange ball of fur currently curled up in his lap. “Or at least start biting my other ankle.”

“Love?” You turn your head at the sound of Harry entering your bedroom, when you get a good look at the sweatshirt he has on you bring a hand up to cover your mouth to hide your laughter. “What’re you giggling at over there?” He asks as he walks over to what has now become his side of the bed, the one closest to the door claiming it’s so he can rush off and go grab whatever you need in the middle of the night but you know it’s one of his safety things.

“Nothing I just really like your shirt that’s all.”

“Do you really? I picked it myself.”

“Oh that much is very obvious.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He questions with a quirked brow as he looks down at the front of his sweatshirt. “It says daddy.” You just nod as you try to get comfortable, Harry looks over at you as you roll over so you’re facing his side of the bed.

“I’m aware of what it says Harry I do know how to read thank you very much.” You say with a huff as you fluff your pregnancy pillow a bit before resting your head on it.

“I don’t get why it had you in a giggle fit? It says daddy and I’m going to be a daddy.” You let out another round of giggles as he gets on the bed after kicking off his shoes.

“I’m just curious have you been wearing that all day?” You wonder as he scoots over so his arm is resting on the side of your pregnancy pillow.

“Yes because you keep it bloody freezing in the house thanks to your-”

“You’re the reason I’m dealing with hot flashes so don’t be sassy about how cold it is in here.”

“Right. Of course.” He gives you an apologetic look as you reach over and flick him in the shoulder. “But yes I wore it to run a few errands and went to see Niall at the studio.” He answers making you just rub your lips together as his hand finds your wrist and begins tracing little circles on it with his thumb while he holds his phone in his other hand and is scrolling through his emails.

“You ran errands and went to the studio in a sweatshirt that says daddy on it?”

“Yes now can you tell me why that’s an issue?”

“It’s not an issue but does Mr. Popular really not understand how funny it is that he was seen walking around in a shirt that just says the word daddy on it in big block letters? I mean come on you-”

“Oh.” You watch Harry place his phone down on his chest as the realization hits him. “Well I mean-I can’t help what people call me and-and the sweatshirt is soft and I’m not ashamed to wear it.” You just give him a smile when he looks over at you.

“It’s cute.” You tell him making him smile as he leans over to place a kiss to your forehead.

“You’re cute.”

“Thank you-oh guess what I finally got today.” Harry’s thumb pauses its tracing on your wrist as he takes a quick look around the bedroom for any signs of what you could’ve gotten while he was out running errands.

“Uh did you pick their coming home outfits?”

“Without the opinion of their ultra fashionable daddy? I’d never.” The glare he sends you makes you laugh. “But it does have to do with the twins.” You tell him as he gives the room another subtle scan and his eyes go wide when he sees it, sitting in the chair in the corner of the room is a black backpack with the name “Styles” embroidered in white on it in a pretty cursive font.

“Holy shit.” He says out of shock making you reach down with your free hand and place it over your bump as you playfully glare at Harry.

“Harry Styles watch your language in front of the children.”

“Sorry but you finally picked a diaper bag? You’ve been looking for one for months.”

“I just wanted to make sure it was going to something that I could use for years and wasn’t too bulky.”

“You mean like that monstrosity you call a purse?” He questions as he leans over to place his phone on his nightstand.

“You’re the only one who hates my-”

“Nope not even close to being true my love because tons of people hate your purse I’m just the only one willing to be honest with you about it.”

“Whatever.” You huff making Harry lean over to he can place little kisses to your cheek until you let out a giggle. “You’re lucky I like you because I got you one too.” He smiles against your cheek as you tilt your head so his lips are now hovering above yours.

“Oh come on sweetheart we both know you love me.” He murmurs against your lips before capturing them in a sweet kiss.

“Sorry it doesn’t say daddy though.” You say with a smile when he pulls away making him let out a groan as he rests his forehead against yours.

“M’never gonna hear the end of this am I?”

“Nope.”

Harry sits up and crosses his arms over his chest as he turns and glares at your side of the bed, not at you but at the plush object you’re currently cuddling with as you lay on your side with a book in your hand. Your pregnancy pillow has somehow worked its way onto Harry’s list of things he can’t stand, now he’s happy you’re comfortable he wants you to be as comfortable as possible but he hates how the soft plush pillow gets in the way when he tries to snuggle with you. He can’t even fully get his hand on your bump when laying on his side at night before going to sleep, the pillow wedged between the two of you. Now he knows he’s being a tad bit silly and dramatic but in this moment when all he wants to do is cuddle up with you while you read your new book, he doesn’t really care how dramatic he seems.

“I can feel you staring at me.” Harry lets out a sigh as you turn the page of your book, not bothering to look over at him.

“Do you really need this right now?” He asks as he pokes the side of your pillow making your eyes glance down to the spot his finger just jabbed.

“Yes I need him.” You answer as you go back to reading while Harry just stares at you with a raised brow.

“Him? Your pillow is a him? Tell me you didn’t name him.”

“I did. His name is Patrick.”

“Patrick? Why-why would you name it?”

“Because it felt weird to cuddle with something and it not have a name so I named him Patrick the pillow but you can just call him Patrick.” You explain once again without looking up from your book, you just snuggle deeper into the pillow making Harry let out a huff.

“Well isn’t Patrick for sleeping? You’re not sleeping.”

“Keep talking and that’ll change in a few minutes.” You tease dryly causing Harry to send you a glare that you don’t even notice due to how intently you’re focusing on the book in your hand that you checked out from the library a few days ago and sent Harry to go pick up for you.

“Baby.” He doesn’t mean to sound so whiny as he leans his head back so it’s resting against the headboard of the bed. “I just want to cuddle and he gets in the way and you don’t even seem to care.”

“You’re the one who bought him for me.”

“Well yes but-”

“But now you want me to kick him out? That’s rude.”

“He was bought before we started sleeping together-as uhm as in we sleep in the same bed together not that we sleep together even though we-we have done that as well but the point is Patrick has got to fucking go.” About halfway through his little rant you lift your head and close your book sliding it to the middle of the bed, you look at him with a small smile on your face as he fumbles his way through explaining his frustrations with your pregnancy pillow.

“You really don’t like Patrick?” Harry looks over at you as you begin to try and sit up.

“I don’t like how he gets in the way when I’m trying to cuddle you and now you’ve gone and named him so it’s-it’s weird having Patrick in the middle of us when I’m trying to-”

“Spoon me?” He lets out a huff and sends you a playful glare that makes you laugh as you reach your hand out for him to take. “And is that what you’re wanting to do right now?”

“Is it so wrong that I want to spend a day in bed cuddling my girlfriend?” He asks as he takes your hand so you can give it a little squeeze.

“Of course not.” You say with a smile as you let go of Harry’s hand so you can maneuver yourself to where your feet are dangling off the side of the bed. “Now help me up so I can go get a snack while you get rid of Patrick.” Harry is already getting out of bed and walking to your side by the time you’re done talking.

“No more grapes okay? You’ll give yourself a tummy ache.” He tells you as he helps you up, you just roll your eyes as your hands rub the top of your belly.

“So bossy.” You mumble on your way out the door making Harry chuckle as he hears the sound of Paris’s bell jingling letting him know the cat is following you to the kitchen, leaving his napping spot in the rocking chair in twin’s nursery.

“Sorry Patrick.” Harry tells the pregnancy pillow as he grabs it off your side of the bed. “But you’ve gotta go mate.” He says as he tosses it in the closet before shutting the door.

What feels like half an hour later but is really just ten minutes later Harry’s face breaks out into a grin when you waddle your way back into the bedroom licking your lips and carrying your water bottle. He is laying on his side of the bed, now in just a tank top and athletic shorts having ditched his sweatshirt since he knows you tend to always run a little hot and he doesn’t enjoy sweating while trying to get some quality cuddle time with you. You give him a smile as you place your water bottle on your nightstand and sit down on the edge of the bed with a small huff.

“And what did you three agree on for a snack?” He asks as you swing one leg at a time onto the bed, Harry has to practically hold his hands together to stop himself from reaching over and helping you but he knows if you want his help you’ll ask or simply look at him with that dramatically adorable pout. He knows you’re trying to still be as independent as possible without pushing yourself too far so even though it nearly kills him, he will politely sit and watch you take a few minutes to get comfortable on the bed.

“A slice of watermelon and two bites of cantaloupe.” You answer as you roll over to your side so you’re facing your nightstand. Harry takes your queue and wastes no time in scooting over and laying down next to you on his side.

“I thought you didn’t like the cantaloupe? Said it was too sweet?”

“I forgot.” You admit making Harry let out a chuckle as one of his arms slides under the pillow your head is on and his other wraps around your middle so his hand is resting on your belly. “But that’s why I only had two bites and not the whole container.” You explain with a yawn as Harry places a kiss to the top of your shoulder.

“I love you.” He whispers into your ear as he moves so your back is up against his front earning him a soft sigh of content from you.

“I love you too.” He knows by the way your voice sounds that you’re only a few minutes away from falling asleep so before he gets too comfortable he reaches towards the end of the bed and grabs the thin throw blanket and tosses it over the lower half of the two of you because he knows your feet and legs will get cold since you’re just in maternity bike shorts and an oversized t shirt. And even though it might not look it given how he tossed Patrick in the closet for the afternoon, he still wants you to be as comfortable as possible while cuddled up in his arms.

Harry is curled up behind you, his hand gripping your hip keeping you pressed together, his chest rising and falling steadily against your back. It’s not that he tries to intentionally wake you up, but he has his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck and he can’t help himself when he places a kiss to the spot below your ear earning him a small giggle from you. He smiles against your sensitive skin and it’s not until you begin to stir and arch your back making your backside press against him that he realizes just how much he’s been enjoying having your warm body pressed against him during your mid day nap.

He knows you can feel him begin to harden as you unconsciously press yourself against him again as you stretch your limbs. The breathy sigh he lets slip passed his lips has you pausing as his hand on your hip tightens its grip ever so slightly. He’s prepared to slide out of the bed and head to the bathroom to deal with his growing issue, not wanting to disturb your post nap bliss. But when you place a hand over his on your hip and slowly drag it up to slide under the waistband of your bike shorts his hips jerk making him let out a moan that’s muffled by his face still being nestled in the crook of your neck at the pleasant friction he gets from his shorts against his now fully hardened length.

“You’re so warm.” He says softly, his breath hot against your neck as his hand slowly travels down over your hip and under the band of your panties letting him feel your skin against his fingers. “And soft.” He mumbles as his hips grind against your backside causing a tiny gasp to leave your lips.

“Harry.” You say with a sigh, voice still slightly thick with sleep but now mixed with a burning need that has you instinctively pressing yourself back against him.

“Can I take these off baby?” He asks, breathing into your ear, when you just nod he doesn’t waste any time before he’s sliding your shorts and panties down your legs until you can kick them off letting them land on the floor. You reach a hand behind you and give the band of his athletic shorts a small tug letting him know you want them off which he quickly does and soon you��re letting out a soft breathy moan when you feel him gently lift your top leg so he can slide himself between your thighs.

“God you feel so good.” He lets out a moan at how good the friction of being nestled snuggly between your warm soft thighs feels against his length.

Slowly he begins to move his hips, gliding against the silky heat of your skin. The friction sends waves of pleasure pulsing through his body, each thrust is slow and deliberate, as if he doesn’t want the intimate moment between the two of you to end too soon.

“Fuck baby- I love feeling you like this.” He moans, his voice strained as his hips maintain their rhythmic pace, his cock sliding smoothly between your thighs.

His grip gently tightens on your hip as he pulls you closer against him, intensifying the sensation. He hears your breath hitch as his fingers slip down until his thumb is gently circling your sensitive bud, matching the slow pace of his thrusts.

“Harry please.” You beg as you press yourself firmly against his hand, seeking more of his touch. He knows what you need from him so he moves his hips faster and adds a bit more pressure to your clit. “Need-oh god.” He doesn’t let you get the rest of your request out before he’s slipping two fingers inside your warm center making a deep moan of pleasure bubble up from his chest when you grind down hard onto his hand, your backside meeting his hips.

“That’s what you needed isn’t it baby?” He whispers breathlessly before placing a kiss to the side of your neck, nipping at the spot below your ear. “Fuck-you’re so wet and-shit so warm I can feel you squeezing my fingers.” Your thighs clench tighter around him as he thrusts his fingers deeper inside your wetness while he continues giving your clit gentle circles with his thumb.

Harry lets out a groan as his hips begin moving faster, losing himself in the intoxicating rhythm, his fingers matching the pace making your eyes shut as he feels you tighten around his digits that are tucked inside of you.

“H-Harry I’m so-oh I’m close.” Your words have his thrusts becoming urgent and fervent, driven by pure instinct and passion. He pumps his fingers in and out of you with a new found determination, needing you to get your release before he can get his own.

“Just let go for me sweetheart. Make a mess all over my fingers.” He urges tenderly before his lips attach to your neck.

When his thumb adds more pressure to your clit you begin moaning his name as you let the pleasure overtake you in waves, your body is arching into Harry’s embrace as your climax leaves you slightly overwhelmed. The tightening of your thighs and the way you’re clenching around his fingers sends Harry spiraling over the edge, his release spilling warmly onto your thighs as his body shudders with an intense wave of pleasure.

“Shit.” He breaths heavily as your hand wraps around his wrist to stop his thumb from rubbing at your sensitive bundle, he slowly removes his fingers from inside you making you let out a soft sigh. He lifts his head just enough so he can bring his glistening digits up to his mouth, he can’t help the moan that leaves him as he tastes you on his tongue.

“You’re so dramatic.” You say with a giggle as you turn your head so you can get a better view of Harry’s face just as he takes his fingers from his mouth with a pop.

“Can’t help it I like the way you taste.” He tells you with a smile as he leans down to place a kiss to your lips.

“You made a mess.”

“Oh I made a mess? I think you meant to say we made a mess.”

“Now we need a shower and new sheets.” Harry just lets out a chuckle as his hand goes to the hem of your t shirt, slowly sliding under it letting him feel the softness of your belly.

“Might as well finish getting undressed then.” He whispers against your lips, his hand going higher until he’s cupping one of your bra covered breasts.

“Did you have another sex dream about me or something? What’s got you all horned up?” You tease as he gives your breast a soft squeeze when you turn your head to look over at the clock on your nightstand that lets you know your nap was a little over an hour.

“You’re just-so fucking sexy I can’t help it.” He answers as his lips kiss their way down your neck. “But let’s get you cleaned up and then I’ll change the sheets.” He gives your shoulder a kiss over the fabric of your t shirt before he slides his hand out from underneath it, he sits up as you roll over to your back.

“I love you.” Harry grins as you stare up at him with a smile on your face, when his eyes meet yours he finds himself almost getting lost in them.

“I love you too.” He says as he leans over so he can place a kiss to the top of your head. “Now come on let’s get you in the shower before you start to get cranky from missing your post nap snack.” This has you rolling your eyes but the smile doesn’t fall from your face and Harry knows it’s because you know he’s right. And in someway it has your heart wanting to melt because he knows you so well and despite all your little moody moments and the need to have eight snacks a day, he still loves you and you love him just as much.

[riddlesrizzler]

Jelly Cat

summary: you said you wanted a jelly cat characters: bf! mattheo. reader. mentions of theo and enzo warnings: none! word count: 1.1k

It had been a rough week-one of those weeks where nothing seemed to go right. You’d spilled tea on your favorite sweater, failed a potion that turned your eyebrows green for a day and a half, and your Care of Magical Creatures partner had bailed on you again. By Friday evening, all you wanted was to collapse into bed and not be perceived.

Mattheo noticed. He always noticed.

He wasn’t the best with emotions-not in the way you were. You wore your feelings like ribbons, tied delicately into your expressions and tone. But Mattheo? He kept his locked in a fortress behind his eyes. Still, when it came to you, he paid attention.

Which is why, as you lay curled up on the common room sofa, sniffling over your Transfiguration notes and hugging your pillow to your chest, Mattheo sat nearby, deep in thought.

“She’s been saying that word all week,” he muttered.

“What word?” Theo asked, upside down on the armrest of the couch, lazily flipping through a Quidditch magazine.

“Jellycat,” Mattheo said, frowning like it was some kind of riddle. “She told Pansy she wants one. She told Draco she used to sleep with one every night. She told me they make her feel safe. So-what the hell is a jellycat?”

Enzo, lounging near the fireplace and buttering a crumpet with his wand, perked up. “Is that like... a magical beast? Like a pudding that purrs?”

“No,” Theo drawled. “it’s like an enchanted kneazle. Don’t bring up third year again.”

Mattheo rubbed his temples. “I don’t care what it is. I just want to give her one. She’s sad. I hate it.”

There was a pause.

Then Enzo grinned. “What if we... made her one?”

Mattheo’s eyes narrowed. “Made her a... jelly cat?”

“Exactly,” Theo chimed in, catching on fast. “We charm jelly. Give it ears. A tail. Little paws. It purrs. It jiggles. It’s what she wants.”

Thirty minutes later, three of Slytherin’s most feared boys were sneaking into the Hogwarts kitchens, tiptoeing past sleeping house-elves and nicking every bowl of jelly they could find-raspberry, strawberry, even one suspiciously glowing lime.

Back in their dorm, Enzo sculpted. Theo transfigured. Mattheo supervised with the intensity of someone about to fight a dragon.

It was hideous. Absolutely horrendous. The thing had tiny licorice whiskers, two uneven blueberry eyes, and a tail that wobbled like it was drunk. But when Theo tapped it with his wand, it purred-a long, wobbly little hum that made Enzo giggle like a maniac.

“I can’t believe I’m about to give this to her,” Mattheo muttered, staring down at the abomination with the reverence of someone preparing for a proposal.

That evening, you were curled under your blanket in the common room when he approached, awkwardly holding something behind his back.

“Hey,” he said, suddenly nervous.

You blinked up at him, tired but trying to smile. “Hey, Matty.”

His heart melted a bit. He cleared his throat. “So, I know you’ve had a crap week. And I know you kept saying you wanted a... a jelly cat.”

Your brows furrowed. “Oh! Yeah, I love Jellycats. They’re these plush stuffed animals-super soft and cuddly-”

Mattheo blinked. “Wait... they’re toys?”

“Yeah?” you said, laughing softly. “I had a bunny one as a kid. I miss her.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then he slowly pulled the thing from behind his back.

It jiggled.

It meowed.

You stared. “Is that...?”

“A jelly cat,” he said proudly. “Literally.”

It was the strangest, ugliest, most endearing creature you’d ever seen. A wobbly, red blob shaped vaguely like a kitten, with gummy bear paws and licorice whiskers. It purred again, then flopped over with a squelch.

You blinked. “You made this?”

He shrugged, suddenly sheepish. “With Theo and Enzo. They helped. I just... I thought it would cheer you up."

You were speechless for a second. Then you laughed. Hard. The first real, full laugh you’d had in days. Tears prickled in your eyes-not from sadness this time, but from how much you adored him.

“Matty,” you whispered, smiling so hard your cheeks hurt. “It’s perfect.”

He grinned, a little pink in the face. “You’re not just saying that because it’s technically alive, right?”

You hugged the jelly cat against your chest. It wobbled and purred like a satisfied pudding. “No. I love it. And I love you.”

He paused, eyes softening. “Even though I didn’t know what a Jellycat was?”

“Especially because of that.”

And from that day on, the literal Jelly Cat sat on your shelf. Wobbly. Melty. Slightly cursed. And every time you looked at it, you remembered how much your ridiculous, thoughtful, soft-hearted Slytherin boyfriend loved you.

[riqomi]

MECHANISM ────ㅤ심재윤

심재윤˖ 𝑓em!r .. g. fluff. university au! ──── BOOKSHELF ( 1334 ) tw: kissing. lmk if there's more.

you sit in the far corner of the campus library, same as always—near the window, back to the wall, headphones in but nothing playing. just enough to signal don’t talk to me. your notes are color-coded, margins lined with symbols only you understand, and there’s a half-empty coffee cup sweating rings onto the wood next to your laptop.

then there’s him.

jake sim. sunshine in human form. or at least, that’s what everyone seems to think.

you’re halfway through rewriting a lecture slide into something actually useful when he shows up again—hood up, backpack slung over one shoulder, that guilty puppy look in full effect. he doesn’t say anything at first, just stands there until you finally look up.

“you need the seat again.”

he nods. “please. just for a bit.”

you sigh but nudge your bag off the chair. he drops into it with a quiet groan, like even existing is exhausting. his knees knock against yours when he gets too comfortable, but you let it slide.

this is the third time this week.

he doesn’t talk much once he settles in. just opens his laptop, cracks open a biochem textbook, and starts highlighting like his life depends on it. you’ll give him that—he works hard. actually studies. doesn’t even look up when someone walks by giggling too loudly or “accidentally” drops a pen near his feet.

until they stop pretending.

“jake,” a voice says, high and sweet and not-so-innocent. “you’ve been in here for hours. want to grab coffee?”

you see the wince before he even turns. “i’m good, thanks.”

another voice joins in. “we could help you study. it might be more fun that way.”

you don’t mean to glance up, but you do. two girls, both clearly more interested in jake than mitochondria. you wait for him to shut it down.

he doesn’t. not hard enough, anyway.

you sigh and go back to your notes, but you feel the heat of his stare after a second. then—

his knee presses into yours. intentional this time.

he leans over, voice low, just for you. “help me out?”

you don’t say anything. just raise a brow.

he swallows, then does something bold.

his arm drapes across the back of your chair. not touching, but close enough to feel the static between you. when you still don’t react, he tilts closer, lets his chin hover just over your shoulder, and in a voice that sounds far too natural, says—

“babe, do you want to go over the quiz together now or after lunch?”

you go still. not because you’re shocked—but because he sounds like he means it.

the girls blink. shift on their feet. one of them forces a laugh.

“oh. sorry—didn’t realize…”

jake doesn’t even look at them anymore. just starts pointing at something in your notebook like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. “this part—did you highlight it ‘cause of the mechanism thing or just vibes?”

you deadpan, “mechanism.”

“right. thought so.”

the girls linger for another second. then leave.

you wait until they’re gone before twisting to look at him properly.

he grins. not sheepish. proud.

“that was shameless,” you say.

“but effective.” he shrugs, that boyish charm kicking in. “besides, you looked like you were about to snap a pen in half. i figured i’d save everyone.”

you roll your eyes and push his arm off your chair. “don’t make a habit of it.”

his smile doesn’t dim. “just until midterms.”

you go back to your notes. he scoots half an inch closer. too close. you don’t stop him.

later, when someone else tries to approach, jake doesn’t wait. he slips his hand over yours under the table like it’s nothing. like it’s normal. you freeze for half a second—but you don’t pull away.

he keeps reading, calm as ever.

and when you finally look at him, there’s no smugness. just a quiet question in his eyes, unspoken but loud: is this okay?

you don’t answer out loud. you just shift your fingers to interlace with his.

his shoulders drop like he’s been holding something up too long. his thumb brushes yours once, twice. he doesn't say anything after that. just keeps studying, your hand in his, as if this was the plan all along.

it’s late by the time you both pack up—lamplight golden and soft against the library walls, your eyes sore from too many hours staring at the screen. you slide your laptop into your bag, jake doing the same beside you, quiet for once. not tense. just… thoughtful. the kind of quiet that follows something unspoken.

you sling your strap over your shoulder. he catches your eye, soft and warm. “let me walk you back.”

you hesitate, but only for a second. “alright.”

it’s cool outside, a whisper of wind tugging at your sleeves. the sidewalk is mostly empty, save for a few stragglers murmuring their way toward the dorms. you walk side by side, his shoulder brushing yours every now and then, and for once, he doesn’t fill the silence with jokes or random facts. just walks, hands in his pockets, lips parted like he wants to say something but isn’t sure how.

you glance over, catch the way his eyes linger on you when he thinks you won’t notice.

“what?” you ask, voice low.

he shrugs, but he’s not convincing. “nothing.”

you stop walking. so does he. the moment stretches—quiet, heavy, full of all the things you’ve refused to name.

“jake.”

he steps closer. his voice is low, rough at the edges. “i meant it, you know. earlier. when i called you babe.”

your breath catches. his eyes drop to your mouth, then back up like he’s waiting for you to flinch. you don’t.

“wasn’t just to get them to back off,” he adds. “i mean, yeah—it worked. but i wouldn’t have done it if i didn’t—”

you don’t let him finish.

you reach for him, fist curling into the front of his hoodie and pulling him in until your mouths meet—hard, certain, no hesitating now. he responds instantly, hands coming up to cradle your face like he’s afraid to break the moment. like he’s been waiting for this since the second he first sat across from you with a textbook and an excuse.

it’s not gentle. it’s built from days of stolen glances and brushed knees and shared coffee cups, from the heat of his thigh against yours and the way he says your name like it’s something worth holding. his mouth is hot against yours, open and wanting, and when your hand slips under his hoodie, skimming the curve of his waist, he makes a sound low in his throat that you feel everywhere.

he backs you into the nearest wall, barely breaking the kiss, his fingers threading into your hair, mouth trailing along your jaw like he’s memorizing you one touch at a time. you let him. let him feel the way your breath stutters, the way your body leans into his like gravity’s no longer optional.

when you finally pull apart, barely, your foreheads touch. his hands are still on your waist, yours fisted in the fabric at his chest.

“i’m not good at keeping things casual,” he murmurs, breath warm against your lips.

you nod. “good.”

his eyes search yours. “so this—”

“is real,” you finish for him. “yeah.”

he exhales, like that one word just took the weight off his shoulders. and then he kisses you again, slower this time. sweeter. the kind of kiss that says this isn’t a game anymore.

when he finally walks you the rest of the way, his fingers stay laced with yours the whole time. and when you reach your door and turn to look at him, he’s already watching you with a look that says i’m all in.

neither of you says goodnight.

you just tug him down for one last kiss, and he smiles against your mouth like he already knows he’s not sleeping alone tonight.

likes, feedback and reblogs much appreciated. remember requests are open !!

[bishovapls]

⚠️ MAJOR THUNDERBOLTS SPOILERS AHEAD ⚠️

I’ve taken a moment to collect my thoughts, so this one’s a bit more organised than just me screaming about how much this movie destroyed me. I’ve got a few of these little rants sitting in my drafts, honestly not sure if I’ll post the rest but here’s this one because...Alexei Shostakov is not a good man and I hate that (some) people seem to think that he is.

Spoilers below the cut!

Alexei is not some bumbling, well-meaning father who just made a few mistakes. He’s not misunderstood. He’s not the comedic relief with a heart of gold buried under the bluster. No. He’s a coward. A narcissist. And worst of all, he’s a willing participant in the very system that destroyed Yelena and Natasha from the inside out.

Let’s be clear: That motherfucker gave them to the Red Room. He knew exactly what that place was. He chose to hand over two little girls, two children who trusted him, to a man he knew would brutalise them, rip away their identities, their agency, their futures. And he did it because it suited his goals. His comeback. His glory. That’s what mattered to Alexei. Not the children in his care. Not their safety. Just the chance to wear a red suit again.

And when he sees them again after all those years? He doesn’t apologise. Not immediately anyways. One of the first things out of his mouth isn’t regret, it’s a rant: “I could have been more famous than Captain America. Then he buries me in Ohio. Three years! Boring me to tears. Then prison for the rest of my life.”

As if he was the victim. As if he was the one who suffered most.

No accountability. No acknowledgement that he ruined their lives. No acknowledgement of the scars they carry, the memories they can’t speak aloud. That he was the one who tossed them straight back into Dreykov’s hands. Just ego. Just bitterness.

And when he does talk about the girls? It’s not with love. It’s not with pride in who they are. It’s pride in what they became. “Yelena, the greatest child assassin in the world.” “Natasha, not just a spy...but an Avenger.” He doesn’t see daughters. He sees achievements. Killing machines forged by the very system he sent them into. He doesn’t see the brutality, let alone take responsibility for it. Because in Alexei’s mind, it worked. That’s all that matters.

And then… suddenly he flips? At the end of Black Widow, he starts trying. He says sorry. He wants to be forgiven. And the thing is, he even seems genuine. But it’s not earned. Not even close. Because barely an hour earlier he was whining about being stuck in Ohio.

Then we get to Thunderbolts, and somehow, he’s meant to be this goofy dad again. Rolling up in a limo, talking like he’s here to save the day, when in reality he hadn't spoken to Yelena in over a year before she shows up desperate, barely holding it together, practically begging him for some sense of permission to stop. And he uses it as an opportunity to talk about himself again, about how he’d love to work for Valentina. Still, it’s about what he could be. Not what she needs.

Yes, in Thunderbolts, he tries. He gives a speech. Seems to care, is genuinely trying to be supportive. And okay, fine, he’s not completely useless. He does make an effort.

But even during that big speech when Yelena breaks down, he says he doesn’t see Yelena’s mistakes. And on the surface, that’s kind. But dig deeper? It’s just more of the same. Because to him, her “mistakes” weren’t mistakes at all. She did what she was trained to do. She killed. She was efficient. That’s what matters to Alexei.

The films want us to forget what he did. They want us to laugh with him. To see the warmth. The effort. But they’re asking us to ignore the damage. The betrayal. The fact that he let his daughters burn, and only now wants to hold the ashes like they still belong to him.

And here’s the part that really fucking kills me: Yelena accepts it.

She’s not angry that he gave her to Dreykov. Not angry about the years of torment. No. She’s angry because he didn’t call. Because after pretending to care in Black Widow, he just disappeared again.

And that's even more devastating for her. Because she’s been hurt so many times, by so many people, that even Alexei’s bare minimum, his delayed, fumbled attempt at showing up, is enough for her. She’s been taught to expect nothing, and she’s learned to be grateful for scraps. She’ll take whatever little piece of warmth he offers, and call it love, because she doesn’t know what love without condition looks like.

He was never a father. Not in the way that matters. He was another person who broke her, who gave her away and never looked back. And now, he wants forgiveness. He wants to be seen as someone worthy of redemption.

But forgiveness without accountability is meaningless.

And Alexei? He still doesn’t understand what he did. Not really.

[thirstkanaphan]

In honor of TXT playing the pepero game, I am reposting my predictions about who in Ateez would go the distance...

thank you kai, I knew I was right to read fanfic about you

My list of who WOULD kiss:

Wooyoung x Yunho: two competitive and flirty men who would absolutely commit to the bit. San and Mingi off to the side, devastated. This moment would lead to civil war within the fandom.

My list of who COULD kiss:

Hongjoong x Seonghwa: They'd get close, too close for comfort. Hongjoong has a crisis and makes it everyone's problem.

Wooyoung x San: San is ready to risk it all, but Wooyoung pulls another SexyBack and steps back right before the smooch, leaving San bewildered and sulking.

Yunho x Seonghwa: Seonghwa would be very game for this, and Yunho would cede control to his hyung and be very flustered when Seonghwa snaps the pepero with a wink and saunters away.

San x Mingi: I think Mingi gets a little too competitive and tries for it, but San can't bring himself to seal the deal.

San x Yeosang: We all know how this one goes down, except San swerves at the last minute to lay a big smooch on Yeosang's cheek, and Yeosang lets out a groan of resigned but amused displeasure.

Wooyoung x Yeosang: Similar scenario to above, except Yeosang "accidentally" knees Wooyoung in the balls.

Mingi x Wooyoung: I think Mingi would patiently let Wooyoung do whatever he wants with that big goofy smile, but Wooyoung would have a moment of rare shyness and pull away before giggling and calling him "Mangi-ya!!"

Mingi x Jongho: Mingi expects Jongho to refuse, but Jongho will use this opportunity to absolutely wreck Mingi after he spends most of the video bragging about how he'll win the game.

Wooyoung x Seonghwa: Wooyoung would be an absolute troll to start, but then Seonghwa would pull the rug out from under him by making aggressive eye contact and completely breaking his composure.

Jongho x Yeosang: I think these two would actually get pretty far on the basis of their relative comfort with each other. They would also hold eye contact and give little smiles and it would become A Thing in the fandom.

I am including the addition from @voidnull-crow to the tags because they are correct:

#as the resident Yunsang Expert. I think they could kiss#because we have multiple examples of video evidence that they’re fine with their faces being close and holding eye contact#would both be shy? absolutely. especially Yeosang#but I can see Yunho taking the opportunity. probably pulling away last second then sending Yeosang an air kiss

Originally, I was like "who is this resident yunsang expert?" and then I went to your profile:

*nods head* checks out

My list of who WON'T kiss:

Yunho x Jongho: We have video evidence

Yunho x Mingi: I'm sorry, but we know it won't happen. Yunho wouldn't let it happen. Yunho would shut it down!! COWARD!!!

San x Seonghwa: For some reason I really don't seem them participating. They are too much like big/little brother for this game.

Wooyoung x Hongjoong: We get a reprise of the bachelor game episode where Hongjoong physically restrains Wooyoung while taking the smallest bite of pepero.

Mingi x Hongjoong: Neither can handle it. Also, Mingi would need to hunch over just to get their faces aligned.

I know I'm missing a bunch of pairings, so please feel free to continue in the comments/tags.

[winteringdream]

009. monopoly night

previous | masterlist | next

synopsis : you first meet maki when he sits next to you during a lab practical. despite your best efforts, though, it feels like no matter how hard you try, you can never seem to have any other classes scheduled with him. so, you decide to take matters into your own hands.

Woonhak and Jihoon exchange knowing grins, their eyes darting between you and Maki like they’re watching a drama unfold live. 

“Y/n, Minji, Taesan. This is my roommate Jihoon,” Woonhak says, gesturing toward his friend. You all greet him politely, and Jihoon smiles as he waves back. 

“Thanks for letting us crash your dorm for Monopoly,” you add. 

“No worries,” Jihoon replies, still smiling. “Woonhak’s been meaning to bring his friends over anyway.” 

You unzip your bag and pull out an assortment of snacks. Spicy chips, cookies, a sleeve of Pocky, and two bottles of iced tea.

“Because we lost horribly last time,” you add, nudging Woonhak with your elbow.

“Catan was tragic.” Woonhak groans dramatically.  “We don’t talk about Catan night.”

“You two were so confident.” Minji grins. 

“I blame him,” you say immediately. “I told him we needed to build toward the wheat port and he said, 'Nah, we’re fine.' We were not fine.” 

Maki lets out a soft laugh. You glance at him instinctively, and for a brief second, he’s looking right at you. And then he looks away again, focusing on something else again. 

"This is my friend Maki," Jihoon says, dragging him by his shoulders and pushing him in front of him like he's holding a presentation about him. 

Maki awkwardly chuckles, and greets the four of you. His eyes shoot towards Woonhak, who he feels like you're the closest to. It's weird to feel jealous, but Maki can't help but feel a tiny bit jealous of Woonhak. 

“Okay, no teams tonight,” Minji declares, choosing the dog token and placing it in front of her. “Every person for themselves.” 

You go for the thimble. Woonhak immediately groans. “You always pick the weirdest piece.” “Worry about your own piece.” you say, rolling your eyes as he picks up the hat. 

You settle across Maki on the rug, pretending not to care where he sits, but your heart betrays you with every subtle glance.

“So, who’s first?” Maki asks, casual and calm, his fingers spinning one of the dice slowly between his knuckles. Your mouth goes dry for a second. You reach for the dice, brushing against his hand briefly as you do. 

“Me,” You say it a little too quickly, and immediately feel the heat crawl up your neck. The dice clatter in your hand as you give them a shake, pretending like you’re totally unbothered by how warm your face suddenly feels. It’s definitely not because of Maki.

“Seven,” Woonhak says. “Not bad. Go, go.”

You move your thimble seven spaces, landing on Chance. Taesan reads the card aloud.

Maki’s still spinning the extra die absently between his fingers. He catches you looking, then glances away quickly, scratching at his neck.

Jihoon nudges him. “You’re up.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, pretending to be very, very focused on your snack choices. 

Jihoon rolls next. Then Taesan. Then Minji, who immediately tries to buy everything she lands on just to mess with people.

The game picks up speed, the energy growing louder and more chaotic. Taesan spills a handful of play money onto the floor. Jihoon quietly keeps winning auctions. Woonhak keeps laughing at everything.

And in the middle of it, every time you look up, Maki’s already glancing away. Or maybe he was looking first?

The game drags on with loud accusations, wild trades and dramatic bankruptcies. At one point, Minji tries to auction off a property she doesn’t even own, and Woonhak insists Taesan owes him emotional damages for a deal gone wrong.

When you finally land on one of Maki’s hotels and hand over the last of your cash, he whispers softly, “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you mutter, handing him your last twenty with a smile. 

You slump back, officially out of money. Woonhak goes down next, handing Maki the rest of his railroads dramatically and faceplants into a couch cushion.

Eventually, it’s just Minji and Maki left. 

“That’s it,” she groans. “Take it. Take all of it. I’m bankrupt.”

Maki blinks, like he didn’t expect to win. “Oh. Um… good game?”

You laugh, the sound slipping out before you can stop it. “Why are you so surprised to have won?”

“I didn’t know game night would go like this,” Maki says, and this time, he actually smiles, wide and a little dorky. It’s the first real, full smile you’ve seen from him all night.

You think it’s adorable the way he’s shy, but also happy to have won.

taglist: @leloyo @stormy1408 @missychief1404 @banez @ihruaz @saranghoeforanton @jakeyuni @leloyo @fae-renjun @strayy-kidz @blooqz @kimakento @1ckyw1ckyyyyy @pookalicious-hq @ihruaz @sqrclouds @littleaprilcherryblossom @jsbluu @yumengnyangnyang @injunnie-lemon @lakoya @lleuviennae @nicholasluvbot @addictedtoboba @starrihan @cinnased @mushroomsoup119 @lavendersloane @lulumallow @meoriapeuda99 @conwunder @lhs01nye @haruabf @smiles4hyuck @iarainha @cowsidfk @tlnyjoong @haruharua @addilynli @bbykaixx @hoonieg @tanghuyuj @heyitsmei06 @dua-ali @ari3ll4 @heart4hees @nintendoor @sunhyeswife

[jpnriikicore]

── serious pato? ( smau )

paring pato o’ward x zakbrowndaughter!reader ( masterlist )

y/nbrown posted !

📍 méxico city, méxico

🎵dom dolla ft. daya . dreamin

liked by zakbrownceo, lissiemackintosh, alexandrasaintmleux, lundgaardofficial, taylorbarnard1 and 644k others

y/nbrown shot my shots and missed the grid 🧡

view comments

alexandrasaintmleux lovee the dress it suits you so well ❤️ by author

↳ y/nbrown pls let me raid you’re closet 🙏🏻

lissiemackintosh loved being in the pits with you, the dress was immaculate ❤️ by author

↳ y/nbrown always a pleasure. i think this meeting up thing should be a regular thing

↳ lissiemackintosh definitely!!

user my favorite nepo baby 💋 ❤️ by author

user an very icon and trendsetter nepo baby

user my favorite f1 photographer that actually respects the drivers privacy

user she only got this internship due to her dad

user orange is definitely her color 🤭🤭

↳ zakbrownceo papaya ❤️ by author

user she’s been looking hella close w the papaya boys

↳ user well her dad is zak brown 🤷🏻‍♀️

user money on lando 🤑🤑

↳ user when they’re both hot and allegedly (definitely) together

↳ user is this considered a soft launch ?

↳ user they’d make a power couple 😩

↳ user i love when hot people date hot people

user i think it could possibly be oscar 🙋🏻‍♀️

↳ user what the hell

↳ user they do seem relatively close

↳ user they’re same personality would mesh well together

↳ user and they both live in the uk too

user what if she’s dating pato ☺️

↳ user that’s shit is funny

↳ user that’s wayyy to left field

user i loveee her dress 😩😩

user her dad looking at these comments probably thinking wth ❤️ by author

y/nbrown posted !

📍surrey, united kingdom

🎵 drake . 9

liked by zakbrownceo, lilyzneimer, oscarpiastri, mclaren, charlottesiine, lando, and 509k others

y/nbrown same time next year?

view comments

y/nbrown didn’t want to ruin the caption. so, thanks daddy for another incredible year and for so many unneeded, but wanted birthday cakes. i suppose my diet could be on hold for the next few days..

↳ zakbrownceo happy 19th birthday princess 🥹 ❤️ by author

↳ user still call ur dad daddy ??

↳ user that’s lowkey weird

↳ user such a daddy’s girl

↳ user how does it feel to live my dream 😭😭

↳ user girlie give some of you’re non daddy issues to us

↳ user not us being surprised she has a stable loving family 💀

lilyzneimer happy birthday 🫶🏻 ❤️ by author

↳ y/nbrown thank you bby 🧡🧡

mclaren 🧡🧡

↳ y/nbrown thank you admin

lando happy b-day 🥳🥳

↳ y/nbrown can’t believe the nickname you gave me stuck 💀

charlottesiine happy birthday to my baby coco i miss you ❤️ ❤️ by author

user the picture her dad posted of her karting when she was younger was so cute 🥺🥺

↳ user love how her dad only posts her and not his two other kids 💀

↳ user ngl she’s probably gonna become the mclaren ceo position next ❤️ by author

↳ user at least another team in f1

user our coco is growing up 😢😢

user our brownie 🫶🏻

y/nbrown posted !

📍punta mita, méxico

🎵 baby bash . frankie j . suga suga

liked by elbaoward, iamrebeccad, lilyhe, charlottesiine, nolansiegel and 579k others

y/nbrown heard you’re hungry, so i’m back on you’re feed 🍦

view comments

iamrebeccad soo pretty 🌸 ❤️ by author

elbaoward how did you manage to keep him still long enough to take that photo ??

↳ y/nbrown i get it brothers…man 🤺🤺🍳🫨

↳ y/nbrown special gf services i guess

↳ user did she just use emojis to virtually hit her brother with a frying pan

↳ user oh ???

↳ user oops 🫡

↳ user did she just out herself that she’s with pato ??

↳ user they could just be friends 🤷🏻‍♀️

↳ user called it !!!

↳ user yeah…yeah pipe down

user the vibes on this dump is immaculate

user literally been staring at this man’s shadow for thirty minutes and can’t make out the guy

↳ user ngl it looks like lando

↳ user wasn’t he’s seen with some model the other day

↳ user double dipper i guess 🤷🏻‍♀️

↳ user double dipper is wilddd

↳ user 🫡

↳ user chat i’m signing out after that

user for free ?!?!?

↳ y/nbrown nah, pay up 🤲🏻

user her dad is probs gonna freak when he sees the last photo

y/nbrown posted !

📍punta mita, méxico

🎵fabolous ft. tamia . so into you

liked by zakbrownceo, lando, elbaoward, patricooward, maxfewtrell, and 695k others

y/nbrown camera crumbs

view comments

zakbrownceo y/n whose the guy

↳ y/nbrown you like him, promise

↳ zakbrownceo i won’t like him after this

↳ zakbrownceo can’t believe i had to figure it out through the media

↳ y/nbrown sorry…☹️☹️

↳ lando ooo someone’s in trouble

↳ y/nbrown shut uppp

↳ maxfewtrell i can’t wait until zak finds out

elbaoward when did he get good at taking photos

↳ patricooward she taught me

↳ zakbrownceo 🤨

↳ user is no one seeing this

↳ user 🍿

user not her, lando, and max acting like siblings in these comments

user i can’t believe she’s so chill posting that one picture of them cuddled up

↳ user she thought she was slick about it

user no curls…huh

user where do you vacation ?

↳ y/nbrown monterrey or cancun

↳ user 🤨🤨

user i desperately need a jpg account 🫠🫠

↳ y/nbrown i got something in the recent developments that you might like then

↳ lando i’m telling you everyone needs a jpg account

y/nbrown posted !

📍cancún, méxico

🎵 mario . let me love you

liked by patricooward, elbaoward, zakbrownceo, oscarpiastri, lando and 505k others

y/nbrown yes, bf still takes me to tourist spots

view limited comments

zakbrownceo seriously pato?

↳ y/nbrown at least i kept it in the mclaren family

↳ oscarpiastri i heard a scream from the office should i be concerned…

lando keep it pg

↳ oscarpiastri she doesn’t even watch r rated movies

↳ y/nbrown way ahead of you i’m fighting him off everyday 🤺🤺

↳ patricooward at least pg-13

elbaoward is that forth picture when you ate totopos con salsa in the sombrero

↳ y/nbrown i thought it was a good idea 🤷🏻‍♀️

↳ user ur wayy to americannn

user not the grumpy x sunshine trope 😫😫

↳ user and the introvert x extrovert trope

↳ y/nbrown i’m the grumpy introvert aren’t i?

↳ patricooward afraid so, mami ❤️ by author

↳ y/nbrown call me that again

user are you gonna stay in you’re career at f1?

↳ y/nbrown actually, i’m finishing this year in f1 and then going to indycar. it’s alright set that two years after that i’ll be deputy team principal

© JPNRIIKICORE, 2025

[8jib]

one word prompt… maxklay……… amnesia 🧐🧐🧐……

another one… maxklay…… airplane…..

ONE MORE….. maxklay…………… boat😝

...........you're insane <3 here, enjoy!!!!!!!!!!

amnesia

Klay wakes up feeling like he got hit by a train, mouth so dry it feels like he was chewing on dirt in his sleep, and when he sits up and looks around the room, it doesn’t look much better, a chair toppled over, everything usually on his nightstand now thrown on the floor, along with various articles of clothing, some of which he can’t really recognize.

He tries to move, but his body feels sore all over, and when he lifts the sheets and looks down at himself to inspect the situation, he finds that there’s bruises all over his torso, his thighs, some fresh scratches on his arms.

Klay frowns, racking his brain to recall anything about last night and coming up short, when suddenly, to his horror, the bundle of covers beside him moves, makes a breathy sound.

Klay gulps, reaches a tentative hand out and carefully, slowly, pulls the covers down, until the top of someone’s head peaks out from underneath, unruly black curls, and, as Klay keeps on pulling, a long neck, dusted with a few moles, and Klay doesn’t need to keep going in order to guess.

Fuck, how the fuck did he end up in bed with Max Christie?

airplane

It’s so cute, Klay can hardly stand it, wants to just pick Max up and squeeze him and kiss all over his cute, embarrassed face, but not before teasing him a little more. He keeps holding the notebook just out of Max’s reach with one hand, uses the other to fight off Max’s attempts to yank it away from him.

Max keeps whining, babe, it’s not funny, I was like ten years old, give it back, but Klay ignores him, keeps on reading, out loud, struggling to stifle his snickering.

“I think being a pilot is the best job in the world, because you get to fly in the sky, which is an amazing accomplishment for humans – wow, such big words, you were a smart kid – and also because you get to see the whole world and meet new people and animals – animals, huh, okay I take it back–”

The notebook finally gets yanked from Klay’s grip and lands hard on the top of his head, Max muttering curses under his breath, face beet red, and just as he’s opening his mouth to start giving a lecture on privacy or whatever, Klay finally grabs him, kisses him silly, an unspoken apology pressed onto Max’s lips.

boat

“Can we stop here?” Max asks, basically yelling to be heard over the sound of the engine and the wind blowing through his curls, messing them up.

Behind the wheel, Klay gives no sign of having heard him, but the boat does slow down, and then stops altogether, everything going quiet, allowing Max to appreciate the beauty of the scenery in peace.

It’s a beautiful spot, all this deep blue with big rocks and steep cliffs surrounding it, and Max takes his camera out, snaps a few photos. He turns his camera on Klay, snaps a photo of him too, looking so handsome in his stupid captain hat and swim shorts, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his hip, looking at somewhere towards the beach.

Max smiles to himself, tries to memorize this moment, this little spot in the world where it seems like they’re the only two people existing, tries to file it away for the hard times during the winter, when he’ll have to remind himself there’s a lot to fight, to persevere for.

[nosyp]

Twst Third Years reacting to someone else calling you 'honey' or 'sweetheart'

First Years | Second years

A/N = Likes, reblogs and comments r apprecaieted btw!

Trey Clover

He raises an eyebrow. Like what did he just say?

“Honey? Sweetheart? That's a little forward, don’t you think?”

Gives the person a polite but firm smile, subtly stepping closer to you.

HE WILL try to keep things calm but is lowkey plotting how to make sure that never happens again. Like you should probably... do something about him.

BUT in private, he’ll ask you if you’re okay with it, but also makes sure to remind you he’s got your back.

Cater Diamond

He laughs at first, but the playful glint in his eyes slowly shift into something more possessive.

“Oh? So you think you’re that close to (Y/N)?”

Gives the person a teasing grin before pulling you closer to him.

“You know, I think I’m the only one who gets to call them that. So how about we leave the nicknames to me, yeah?”

When alone with you, he’s definitely more affectionate but might joke about it a bit more.

Leona Kingscholar

Glares at the person, his face darkening in the process.

“The hell did you just call them?” he scowls.

He doesn’t hold back. His tone DRIPPING with irritation.

“You’ve got some nerve. Back off, they’re mine.”

Will pull you closer to him, practically growling if the person doesn’t get the hint.

Vil Schoenheit

Freezes for a moment, then smiles, but it’s far from a kind smile. It's more of... getoutofmyfacebeforeismackyouintotomorrow typa smile.

“How cute, you think you’re that familiar with them.”

Casually places a hand on your shoulder, making sure the other person notices how close you two are.

His voice is laced with poison: “I think you should stick to more formal terms. After all, you’re not exactly their type.” ouch that kinda hurts.

Vil keeps it classy but is definitely claiming you in his own way. He's probably not gonna let you out of his sight after this.

Rook Hunt

He simply... smirks. He's entertained. He's slightly enjoying this... but of course with a possessive glint in his eyes.

“Oh? Honey, you say? You’re a bit too forward for my liking.”

Leans in close to you, wrapping his arm around your waist.

“(Y/N) belongs to me, in a way that no one else can even dream of.”

He loves the tension it creates, and you can expect him to be a lot more possessive afterward.

Idia Shroud

His face turns red, and he freezes up.

'W-Wait, honey? Who the hell do they think they are?' his mind races.

You can practically see the steam coming out of his ears as he starts muttering to himself, fidgeting nervously. He's like a kettle about to BURST.

'I-I don’t like it when other people call them that! I get to call them cute names, okay?' he thinks to himself.

He doesn’t show it on the outside, but internally, he’s definitely marking his territory.

He tries to listen in on the conversation to know more about him for... reasons. AND goodluck to his online reputation cuz it's gonna be non-existent or absolutely ruined in a matter of seconds.

Malleus Draconia

Stares at the person, unblinking.

“Did you just refer to them as honey?”

His voice is calm, but his eyes have a dangerous glint.

Steps closer to you, his presence overwhelming.

“No one else has the right to address them that way. They belong to me.”

Will silently observe, but you’ll feel his possessive nature once the clouds start getting dark and raindrops fall from the sky. Then the air around you seems to shift, heavy with his unspoken claim.

Lilia Vanrouge

He chuckles, but his tone is laced with amusement and something more.

“Oh? Sweetheart, you say? How bold of you, but I think you’ve got it wrong.”

Laughs to himself and then ruffles your hair affectionately.

“(Y/N) is mine, so maybe you should pick a more appropriate nickname.”

While playful on the surface, you can feel the possessive edge in his words.

A/N = I love third years the most tbh

[xhyjin]

husband nanami! who cuts your steak for you on dates because he knows you have a hard time doing it.

husband nanami! who lives and breathes you. he wakes up for work already missing you, laying in bed and watching you sleep as he gently plays with your hair.

husband nanami! who finds himself staring at photos of you randomly throughout the day when he’s not with you, not even realizing he has the biggest smile plastered on his face until someone (gojo) points it out. he gets so flustered, quickly shutting off his phone to keep them from seeing your photos—because they’re his and his only.

husband nanami! who holds your purse, your drink, your jacket, even your earrings—anything and everything—while you’re out, because he adores being part of anything that has to do with you.

husband nanami! who never raises his voice at you (bare minimum, of course) but will scream lyrics with you at the top of his lungs, even if it’s completely out of his comfort zone, just to see you smile.

husband nanami! who plans on renewing your vows “just because,” when in reality, he simply can’t get enough of how breathtaking you look in white.

husband nanami! who has your contact saved as “mrs. nanami” with the silliest photo of you—one he knows will definitely get him in trouble if you ever see it, but he keeps it because it makes him smile every time.

husband nanami! who somehow brings you into every conversation, no matter how random. his coworkers could be discussing the weather, and he’ll find a way to connect it to you, much to their annoyance, because it seems like your name is the only word in his vocabulary.

husband nanami! who sometimes writes your initials next to his on his work files while daydreaming about you, like a love-struck teenager doodling on their homework. sometimes, he forgets to erase them, leaving the pages covered in your initials, much to the confusion of his coworkers reviewing the files.

husband nanami! who takes your opinions on his work seriously, so when you tell him not to go to shibuya because you have a gut feeling, he listens and is forever grateful he did. because we all know why. (😔)

husband nanami! who quits being a sorcerer and a businessman just to enjoy his life with you, with no other responsibilities but you, you, you, you, and only you.

husband nanami! who always tells you to bring your jacket whenever you two go out, but secretly hopes you forget, because he loves when you get cold and he gets to give you his. he knows it’s wrong to make you feel cold on purpose, but he can’t help how adorable you look all warm and snug in his jacket, while he shivers with a proud smile, his arm around your waist.

husband nanami! who purposely leans his head back while kissing so you have to pull him by his tie to bring him back down to your level, just because he loves how it feels when you take charge.

[flwrkid14]

Tim Drake’s Coworkers (ft. The Fenton Family)

It’s not that Tim doesn’t like the Batfamily. He tolerates them just fine. Damian is great for sparring (if you like sparring with a tiny murder machine), and Jason’s brand of dark humor isn’t too bad once you get used to it. Dick’s a bit too much sometimes, but overall? Fine. Totally fine.

But the thing is… they’re just his coworkers.

And it never really clicks for the Bats until Danny Phantom joins the Justice League and everything starts unraveling.

———

The revelation comes during a League meeting. They’re strategizing about some ghost-related chaos, and Danny floats into the Watchtower, bright and glowing.

“Oh, hey, Tim,” Danny greets casually, giving him a little wave.

Tim doesn’t even look up from his tablet. “Sup.”

Superman looks between them, confused. “…you two know each other?”

Danny grins. “yeah, he’s my brother.”

Dead silence.

“WHAT?!” Bruce’s bellow shakes the entire room.

Tim finally looks up, unfazed. “What? Did you think I just spawned into existence?”

“You have a brother?!” Clark sputters.

“Two siblings, actually,” Tim corrects, utterly nonchalant. “Danny’s the younger one. Jazz is the older one. She’s great. Super organized. Kept me alive in middle school.”

Bruce’s eye twitches. “Why—why am I only learning this now?”

Tim shrugs. “It didn’t seem relevant.”

“Relevant?” Diana repeats, incredulous. “You’re the brother of Danny Phantom and it’s not relevant?”

Danny, who’s been munching on some ectoplasm candy, jumps in: “Honestly, Tim’s always been kind of private about his personal life. We just figured it was his way of coping with the whole ‘raised-by-rich-neglectful-aunt’ thing.”

“Yeah, about that,” Tim interjects, glaring at Danny. “Thanks so much for dumping me with Aunt Janet, by the way.”

Danny shrugs sheepishly. “Mom and Dad panicked! They thought you’d get ghost-napped next!”

“Uh, correction: Aunt Janet left me to raise myself, so that plan was awesome.”

Bruce, trying to keep up, interrupts: “Hold on. Your parents left you with Janet Drake?”

“They didn’t know she sucked at raising kids,” Tim deadpans. “And to be fair, they did call. A lot. I just didn’t pick up.”

Jason, who has been cackling this entire time, leans forward. “Wait, wait, wait—so you’re telling me that the Replacement’s entire family is a bunch of ghost hunters?”

“Yup.” Danny pops the “p” with a grin.

“You’re kidding me,” Steph says, borderline hysterical.

Tim sighs, clearly over it. “Look, it’s not a big deal. Jazz keeps the parents in check, Danny handles the ghost stuff, and I… stay out of the way. It’s fine.”

“FINE?” Damian glares. “Drake, you’ve been fraternizing with ghost hunters while working with a vigilante group, and you think that’s fine?”

Tim raises an eyebrow. “Dami, chill. It’s not like it affects work. You’re my coworkers. They’re my family. Separate categories.”

Cue collective Batfamily malfunction.

———

Later, Danny is chilling in the Batcave, feet kicked up on the Batcomputer, chatting with Alfred. The rest of the Bats are still spiraling.

“Tim, we’ve lived together for years!” Dick exclaims, sounding genuinely hurt. “How are we only your coworkers?”

“You’re not my family,” Tim explains, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Danny and Jazz are my family. You guys are my teammates. It’s different.”

Jason throws his head back, laughing. “Oh my god, Replacement, you’re stone cold.”

“I’m not cold,” Tim argues. “I just don’t think we need to make it more complicated than it is. We work together. That’s enough.”

Meanwhile, Danny is wiping tears of laughter off his face. “Oh man. Jazz is gonna love this.”

[butyoudidthis4what]

Quiet

Widower!Jack Abbott x Widow Single Mom!Reader

19.9k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || CW: sick baby; sick mom; mentions of needles; inaccurate medical knowledge/descriptions/tests etc.; reference to past pregnancy; reference to past miscarriages but no graphic descriptions, just a mention they occurred (reader does not actively experience one in the fic); Jack was in the army; reader's husband was in the army and died while deployed; discussions of IVs and needle sticks; reader gets an IV and is not afraid of needles; mild description of IV insertion; shy reader; discussion of possible peanut allergy; mentions of covid, influenza a and b and RSV; mom guilt; discussions of loss of spouse; lots of grief and self hate for a bit; Jack is vaguely suicidal and ideating at the beginning; healing; reader and jack are human and not perfect and make mistakes; reader can't cook; baby is a boy but is not named; DOMESTIC JACK

Summary: Widower Jack and widowed single mom Reader meet in the Pitt when Reader's baby gets sick. What follows is healing, patience and becoming ready.

A.N.: Inspired by this ask. This was so inspiring and I went totally off the rails. There will for sure be a part two. I really wanted to do something with Jack being a widower but was unsure of how to. This ask came in and the idea came to me and I felt like it was a good way to work with that piece of him. The beginning is quite emotional, I'm not going to say angst, there's just a lot of emotions and sadness and grief as we define Jack and Reader's reality. I PROMISE that the end gets fluffy and happy and (I hope) funny! Part two will be more fluff with a dash of emotion sprinkled in as we watch their relationship develop and the two get their happily ever after together!

You make it to about ten before you decide to go in. It’s not a long drive and by 10:15 p.m. you’re parked and walking into the ED.

You bite your lip and bounce just a little to help keep him asleep in your arms while the woman behind the plexiglass processes your insurance and co-pay. She gives you a warm smile, says to take a seat and it’ll be just a few minutes and they’ll get you back. 

Thanking her you grab your cards and do as she says. You’re surprised by how quiet it is. There’s a few people in the waiting room but it seems more like they’re waiting on people as opposed to be seen. Small mercies, you suppose. You’ll take what you can get. 

You can only imagine what you must look like right now, how bad you must look. You wish your husband was here. Wish he had been here for it all. He’d reassure you. Tell you that you were doing the right thing by coming in. Better to be safe than sorry. You can hear him telling you it. 

A call of your last name dissolves his voice playing in the back of your head. You follow a nurse back and get settled in a room. All the basics are done, everything you expected. And like you expected the second you set your son down so that his vitals can be taken he starts to cry. It makes you want to cry. 

Bridget reassures you that it’s okay, is quick taking his vitals so you can get him back in your arms and calm him. You know you must look like a mess, hair messed up, eyes reflecting how exhausted you are and the lack of sleep, wrinkled clothes that have at least one stain somewhere, probably more. And you’re sure that your face reflects how you feel inside, how frazzled you are, how guilty, how scared, how upset, how sad, how out of control you feel. 

Bridget dims the lights for you and leaves you to hold your son against you in the hospital bed. “I’ll have a doctor in as soon as possible.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, “and I’m sorry for being kind of a mess. Well, not kind of at this point.” 

She just laughs. “I understand, but trust me, you’re doing just fine.”

You manage to give her a small smile back and nod. She walks out and then it’s just you and your son. Like it always is. Your husband isn’t here, he’s never going to be here. His absence is pronounced as you lay in a hospital bed in an emergency room with your sick nine-month old. You do your best to not think about it because if you do, you’ll lose it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He’s missing her tonight, more than usual. Maybe it’s not so much that he’s missing her more than usual but he’s more aware of how much he always misses her. It’s more acute. Like some flareup of a chronic illness. Thinking in medical terms helps.

He knows he shouldn’t do that, try to understand it like it’s some illness he can study and understand. It’s just grief. It’s just there more than others some days. Sometimes he can articulate why and others he can’t.

Tonight he can’t. 

He bends his thumb inward and puts it on his wedding band, thumbs at it so it rolls around his finger. Nervous habit. That’s what he calls it now. When she was alive it helped ground him, reminded him she was there and he’d be going home to her, could make it through whatever was in front of him. And then she died. So now he tells himself it’s a nervous habit because he doesn’t know what the fuck else to call it. 

To those who don’t know him he still looks like a husband subtly using his wedding band to ground himself or remind himself of his wife or because he’s thinking about her and so he’s subconsciously playing with his ring. 

If only. 

Jack inches a little further and looks down over the ledge of the roof. The ground looks so inviting from the roof sometimes. It would be so simple. He could be reunited with her, if such a thing was real. 

Sometimes though he wants to be selfish and not care how she’d feel about it because she, unlike him, isn’t around anymore to feel fucking anything. Sometimes his grief comes out in anger because she got it fucking easy, she didn’t have to lose him, she doesn’t have to be here, doing all this feeling while alone. He always hates himself after that even though his therapist says it’s normal. But he’s stuck here and has to do the feeling because when he tried to bury the feelings he nearly self-destructed. 

So Jack stands on the roof. Stands and feels. And Jack is tired. Tired of feeling. At least like this anyway. 

He knows she’d hate it, hate him walking off the ledge of the roof so he doesn’t. Not tonight. 

Instead he slips back under the guard rail and leans against it, lets his head fall back and the chill in the air bring him back down. 

It’s too quiet, he realizes. Maybe that’s why his awareness of how much he misses her is so high right now. He likes noise. Keeps his mind quiet. The Pitt is too quiet. Even the City as he stands on the roof. And so his mind is loud. 

It makes him uneasy. There’s always a reason for silence. For quiet. It always means something. Always brings something. Rarely, if ever, is it good.

Jack lets out a heavy sigh and then leaves the roof, heads back down to the Pitt hoping to find something to do. He’ll take anything at this point. “There you are,” Bridget greets him as he walks back in. “Sick nine-month old waiting for you,” she nods at your room, tells him your son’s name, a general overview. “Baby doesn’t seem too bad. Mom is stressed.” 

Jack nods, says a quick “thanks,” as starts walking towards your room. 

He looks in and sees you through the glass and stops. You are beautiful. Strikingly so. And Jack hasn’t even met you yet but feels like he’s known you forever, is drawn to you. It feels like he just understands you, or maybe more like he knows you’re going to understand him. It’s the strangest feeling. 

You start to glance up from looking at your son and Jack quickly resumes moving, knocking slightly on the door since you’ve already seen him and walking in, shutting the door behind him. “Hi, I’m Dr. Abbot,” he introduces himself. 

And god, now that he’s in your space, in here with your energy it’s even more intense. It’s like he’s supposed to know you, supposed to have met you. Like some kind of palpable fate in his brain. He briefly wonders if he’s hallucinating because this is not shit he really believes in, not normally. 

Quiet, Jack thinks. It always brings something. Or maybe someone. 

“I hear we’re not feeling well.” He looks down at your son who is asleep in your arms, head on your chest. “Mom, right?”

You nod, tell him your name. Nearly trip over it because this man is so handsome it is unfair. Then you feel bad the second you have that thought. But then you start to feel pulled to him. He’s just comforting and you struggle to understand how because you don’t know him. It feels like you do, but you don’t. You’re drawn to him. You feel like you actually need to know him. Like he and you are here for a reason. 

You immediately chastise yourself for having those thoughts. Your husband, you remind yourself, your husband. He’d have wanted you to move on, to grieve and then find someone. You don’t even have to assume that or just think it. You knew it. You knew it because of that fucking video he left you that you were never supposed to have to see. 

You bring yourself back into the present. 

“What’s been going on to bring you in?” Jack asks as he logs into the computer and pulls up your son’s chart. He glances over at you and catches a look in your eye. Jack thinks you feel it too. Whatever is between you and him, the connection. It feels like you know it’s there too. Maybe that’s wishful thinking.

You tell him what’s been going on, symptoms your son is showing. Jack alternates between typing on the computer and looking at you. “I, um, I called the nurse hotline, you know, on the back of the insurance card before I came in, I really didn’t want to waste your time, I know you guys are so busy. She said that it’s probably okay to wait to get in with the pediatrician, but that if I was concerned I could go to the emergency room and I really tried to wait, I did, but I just, I don’t know. I felt like he sounded more wheezy.” You shrug at him, eyes round and showing how distressed you are, a hint of glass at them that suggests you’re close to tears. “It’s RSV season, you know? I mean I know you know. And god, I don’t want to be like, doctor WebMD or whatever, I trust you and your expertise, it’s just why I came in, they tell you about it so much at all the appointments and I, I don’t want anything to happen to him. But if you think this is too much you can just say and-”

“It’s not too much,” Jack cuts you off, nodding gently. “I promise. Better to be safe than sorry especially if you feel like he’s been a little more wheezy.” You nod at Jack who keeps looking at you intently. It makes you clear your throat and look away. But when he doesn’t say anything after a second you look back up at him. “You did the right thing,” he tells you when he catches your eye contact again. “Can I?” He gestures to your son. 

“Oh! Yes, yes of course! Here, let me get out of bed and lay him down.” You give a breathy laugh that reveals how out of sorts you are. You’re clearly thrumming with nervous energy, frenetic and flustered.

“No, it’s okay. You can stay, I’ll take him and get him on the end of the bed if that’s okay?” He holds his hands out to take your son. 

“Of course, yeah, whatever is easiest for you and best for him!” You gently pull your son from you and he starts to wake and fuss. “I’m sorry, he hates not being held right now and he hates being held by anyone but me it seems like sometimes, so he might not…” you trail your sentence off when Jack takes your son and he settles against Jack as they walk to the end of the bed. “Settle.” You sit up and cross your legs to give Jack more room. “I guess he likes you,” you laugh softly. 

“Good taste in people already,” Jack quips absentmindedly as he lays your son down. You give a soft laugh and the corners of his lips pull up. You get his humor. He likes that. Not everyone does especially when he executes it so stoically sometimes. There really is a draw there. 

Your son starts to fuss again and Jack can see you stiffen a little and start to look like you’re about to apologize. “It’s alright, little guy, I’ll have you back to mom soon.” He keeps a hand gently on your son’s tiny stomach and chest while putting his stethoscope on with one hand and rubbing the chest piece on the side of his scrub top for a few seconds to warm it up before putting it to your son’s skin. “I know, I’m sorry,” he murmurs in between listens, gently pulling your son up into a sitting position to listen to the back of his chest. “I’m the worst, I know, you can tell me all about it, won’t be the first or the last.” 

You sit there watching the whole interaction stunned. You don’t know why, you just never expected to get a doctor who would be so good with your son, with you. There’s something about him. Something you could never hope to articulate. You’re just drawn to him, he feels like some sort of kindred spirit which you tell yourself is crazy because you’ve known the man all of four minutes. 

Jack takes his stethoscope out and finishes his exam. “You have his clothes?” He glances up at you as you ask. 

“Hm?” You lean in a little towards him. Before he can repeat himself the words process. “Oh, yes!” You grab them from beside you. You’d taken them off earlier with Bridget so she and eventually the doctor could examine your son. 

“Thanks.” Jack grabs them from you and gets your son dressed again. 

“No, thank you. You… You didn’t have to do that.” The smile you give him almost reads embarrassed. 

“Least I could do for upsetting him so much by laying him down.” Jack picks your son up and brings him the few steps back up to you as you stretch your legs out again. Your son has already started to settle in his arms again. 

“So,” Jack reaches over for the rolling stool in the room and uses the pressure of his fingertips to slide it over to him before sitting down on it and rolling up to be closer to the midpoint of the bed so you can talk. “You’re right, he’s a little wheezy. Nothing terrible, but it’s there. His fever is still pretty low grade and I saw he’s about due for some acetaminophen, so we can recheck after we give him some more in a bit. Is RSV a possibility? Yes. So is a common cold. So is influenza A or B, so is Covid.” Jack can see you getting more panicky. 

“I…” You shake your head and look at Jack. “This is my fault.” Jack furrows his eyebrows at you and cocks his head a little. “I, I’m a single mom. It’s just him and I and I have to send him to daycare so that I can work and I don’t have any family around to help and I can’t afford a nanny, daycare is expensive as it is and I don’t want to have to send him to day care, even though I know that’s a normal thing and lots of parents do it and are good parents, are great parents, it doesn’t define how good of a parent you are, but I just think in this case, it’s me. I let him get sick. I exposed him. And I never wanted that, I really didn’t I just don’t have other options and it’s so hard and I spent months researching and touring locations to try and find the best one I could afford, but at the end of the day it’s still a cesspool of germs and I don’t know. I know that it’s mom guilt and daycare guilt and I shouldn’t feel that way, but I do and you know, nothing can happen to him.” You hold your son a little closer to you. You know if something happened to him you’d be gone within minutes. “Nothing can happen to him,” you repeat, a murmur. 

There’s a small silence and then you look up. “Oh my god,” you look at Jack horrified. “I just dumped that all on you and said all of that out loud. You’re a doctor. A busy doctor in an emergency room, you so do not have time for this, and god, fuck, it’s not even your job to listen anyway. I am so, so sorry.” You fight back tears because you are not doing this, you are not losing it here in an emergency room with your son in your arms. Because if one tear falls all of them will. 

Jack can see how you’re trembling. He noticed you were a little when he came in the room, noticed how chapped your lips were. 

“Hey, it’s all good.” Jack’s voice is soft and he tries to catch your eye to reassure you more but doesn’t force you when you avoid it. “I have time, you picked a good night, okay? And I know that nothing I can say will help with the guilt and I know you know but this stuff happens. They get sick. You did what you’re supposed to do, brought him in, called the hotline, monitored him closely.” You close your eyes for a second and take in a few breaths. He can tell you need to move on and not dwell here or something will open up that you can’t close and there is nobody who understands that better than Jack. “I don’t think anything is going to happen to him. I’m going to give you some choices, okay?” 

You finally look back up at him and nod, give him an apologetic smile. “Thank you,” you whisper. 

Jack nods. “First option is we give him some acetaminophen here and keep you guys here for a couple hours to monitor him and see how he does. That’s the least intensive option. Second option is the most intensive option. We test for RSV, rhinovirus, influenza A and B, Covid. That would be a swab test, one for all. We draw some blood and run a few tests just to check on everything. And then we do a chest x-ray to see if anything’s going on. Third option is a middleground. We start with the swab test. If it comes back positive for one we discuss more options. If it comes back negative then maybe we decide to do bloodwork. Choice is yours. None of them are wrong.”

You swallow hard. Your mind races as you try to decide. What if you make the wrong choice and something happens? 

“What would you do if he was yours?” You ask Jack, voice so, so small, so scared. Jack barely knows you but his heart aches for you. It’s like he understands you somehow even though he’s not a parent, has no reason to feel such a pull or connection to you. 

“Uh, wow, I… I don’t know,” Jack stutters a little because the question throws him so much. 

“I’m sorry if that was inappropriate, you don’t have to answer. I thought maybe you and your wife had kids and maybe that’s inappropriate too, god.” You cringe at yourself. But yeah. You’d noticed the wedding ring when he took your son from you. 

“No, no, it’s not inappropriate and we… I,” Jack looks almost pained. It’s familiar, the expression he wears. You feel like you know it well even if you can’t place it in the moment. “No kids,” he finally settles on, “I don’t have any kids. And I can’t say I’ve thought about… this, what I would do before.” He brings a hand up to his head and runs it through his hair before crossing his arms over his chest for a second before moving them back down to rest on his legs. “It’s hard,” he shrugs, and gives you an apologetic look. “The doctor in me who knows all of the possibilities says option two. But the doctor in me also knows that’s probably a bit overkill and that realistically option one is fine, and that option three is the best, that middleground.” He looks away from you and down at your son, studies your little boy whose small hand clings to your shirt. “I can’t say I’ve ever really tried to access the… paternal side of me,” Jack clears his throat, “not in a long time anyway. But I think I’d have to go option two, even though it’s overkill and involves a needle stick. I’d want the reassurance and to see the numbers and images.” 

You nod. “Yeah,” you say quietly and look down at your son. “Yeah, I think that’s what I want to do. I just needed, I don’t know. Not permission but… something.” You look back up at Jack and your eyes glaze over a bit. Something he recognizes, something he’s been told happens to him when he talks about his wife. His head tilts slightly at the thought. “Input.” You finally whisper. “I needed input.” 

Jack watches your bottom lip tremble and you bite it to stop it from doing so. 

Because you don’t have input. Your input is in the ground. Six feet in the ground. You never really got to have any input. Not from the one person whose input mattered most. 

And you don’t miss how you feel this connection to Jack and now he’s your input. Guilt and sorrow and grief and some vague flicker of anticipation slam into you. Anticipation is a new feeling, you haven’t had it since you gave birth. Even the way you phrased the question. Not what would he do with his child or if it was his kid here what would he do. No, you’d asked what would he do if your son was his.

You have to stop thinking about it.

Jack leans back a little and runs his palms down his thighs. “Okay, then that’s what we’ll do. I’ll go ahead and put in the orders for the tests and acetaminophen. You can go to x-ray with him and wait behind the door, the rest we’ll do in here. I can swab,” he says with a small smile as he grabs one of the testing kits they have out of the cabinet in the room. He quickly types an order into the computer.“But I’m going to have one of our nurses come and grab some blood. I’d do it but nobody wants that. They’re the best sticks in the place, I promise.” He gives you a small but reassuring smile. 

You can’t remember the last time you genuinely felt reassured by anyone’s smile. That’s a lie. You can. It was the last time your husband ever smiled at you. The thought makes the smile you give him in return falter a bit. Jack wonders if he did something. Said the wrong thing. 

Your son fusses a bit for the swab, but you’re able to help hold him still so that Jack can get it done as quickly as possible. He settles back easy enough. Bridget walks in with some supplies while Jack continues typing. 

Jack was right, Bridget is a fantastic stick and the needle is so small your son makes just a little whimper before resting on you again. You feel bad when you have to wake him a bit to give him the tylenol. His small hands rub at his eyes and he tries to move his head away but you coax him to it so easily, so naturally, Jack thinks to himself. “Thanks Bridget,” he says quietly as she walks out. 

“Alright,” Jack says through an exhaled breath as he finishes on the computer. “I’m gonna be honest with you,” he starts as he grabs some hand sanitizer, “I’m more worried about you, mom, than I am about the baby.” He turns to look at you as he sits back down on the stool, tilts his head at you. 

You blink at him, like what he said is still processing. “Me?” Jack nods. “I’m fine, I feel fine. I’m just maybe a bit tired because, you know, sick kid but… I’m fine.” 

Jack pushes his bottom lip out a little and pulls down, nods just a little. He doesn’t believe you. You know he doesn’t. “When’s the last time you ate?” 

You look at him again for a moment and for a minute Jack thinks he’s gone too far, overstepped, has been imagining everything he’s felt since he saw you. “Um,” you finally say. He realizes you’ve been trying to think when it was, not that he upset you or anything. “I, I don’t know, probably I had something for lunch, I’m sure.” 

“You’re shaking.” Jack points out. You furrow your brows, unsure if he’s right and if he is how he could possibly know that. “Hold out a hand.” You do as he asks and sure enough, you can’t keep it still. “When’s the last time you drank some water?” He gives you a look as he says it and tilts his head at you. “Your lips are chapped. It’s been a bit, I’d guess. You’re dehydrated.”

You look away from him, can’t decide if you’re uncomfortable with his scrutiny or if you kind of like it. It feels wrong to like it. 

“Listen, I’m not trying to be a dick, okay?” He goes to continue speaking and stops, what he just said hitting him. “I probably shouldn’t have said dick in front of a patient, so I apologize for that,” you laugh at that and shake your head telling him not to. “I can’t imagine how hard it must be doing this by yourself. But you have to take care of yourself for him, and again, I know you know that,” he holds his hands up, “I just wanted to say because I’m sure it’s easy to lose sight of, especially when he’s sick.”

You nod and let yourself look back at him. “Yeah,” you nod. “It is.” 

“So, game plan for you is to get some food and water in your system. What do you like to eat?” 

“Oh, wow,” you laugh a little. “Dr. Abbot, that is-”

“Jack,” he interrupts you to tell you, “call me Jack.”

“Uh, okay. Well, Jack, that is very kind of you but I’ll be okay, and I can grab something once we get home. I will grab something.” You try to give him a reassuring smile. “Promise.” 

Jack shakes his head and clicks his tongue. “No, you’re going to be here too long for that to be a deal. Between the x-ray and blood test results and monitoring him. Food and water or I’m going to create a chart for you and give you an IV.” He shrugs like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Like it’s something he would do for any patient. 

You both know he wouldn’t. 

In part because having this much time is a rarity, beyond a rarity even. In part because any patient isn’t you.

You open your mouth to speak a couple of times and then close it again. “Okay,” you whisper. 

“Great,” Jack smiles at you. “What do you like to eat?”

You look at Jack and you look so overwhelmed he starts to feel bad. “Jack, I, honestly?” you laugh, “I have no fucking idea. Like none. I don’t remember, I don’t have the ability to even pick.” You’re still laughing because it’s so fucking ridiculous. A simple question. And yet you can’t answer it. 

There’s a sorrow to your laugh that resonates with Jack. It sounds familiar. Sounds like his laugh sometimes. 

“Alright, well,” Jack laughs a little with you, keeps it light, “I’d say I can work with that but I think it’s really more like I’m gonna have to work with that.” 

You shake your head and cringe at yourself. “You must think I’m a disaster. God, I’m sure I look like one.” 

Jack presses his lips together and squints a little, shakes his head. “I don’t think either, nor is either true.” 

Jack leans back and it stretches his shirt against his chest, pulls it tauter. The outline of two familiar pieces of metal and rubber silencers becomes visible, just for a second. You’d been feeling a little better. Now you’re about to be sick. About to lose it. 

Your smile falls, and Jack furrows his brows, goes to ask if you’re okay. 

“Do you have dog tags in your pocket?” You glance down at his chest pocket. 

“Uh, yeah, yeah I do.” If Jack had stopped right there you would have been fine. You would have been able to breathe through it, shut yourself down emotionally, and kept it all in. But he doesn’t. And you’re exhausted and your baby is sick and your husband is dead. 

Jack pulls them out of his pocket and flashes them at you. Quickly, but long enough.

Jack knows something is wrong based on the look on your face and the way you stare at his dog tags and then his chest pocket when they’re back away. You start shaking your head, squeeze your eyes closed. “Hey,” Jack starts softly. 

You shake your head faster, try to say something but all that comes out is a soundless sob as you devolve into tears. Quiet ones because your son is asleep in your arms but big wracking ones nonetheless.

It clicks into place. The draw to you. Feeling like he understood you and you him. Recognizing the way your eyes glazed over just slightly. The familiar sorrow to your laugh. 

You’re a widow too. 

And if Jack was a betting man he’d put a whole lot of money on your husband being deployed when you lost him. 

Jack’s up quickly, grabbing the box of tissues and setting them on the bed near you while reaching for your son wordlessly, only a nod and gentle motion of his hands to offer. You’re torn between whether having your son out of your arms will help or hurt, but you know it’s not fair to him and that eventually he’ll wake up because of your sobs, no matter how quiet you are. 

Jack takes him from you and sits back down in one of the chairs this time, pulling it over to be closer to the bed and kicking the stool out of the way. Your son stays asleep as Jack settles him on his chest. He feels a bit cooler too, Jack notes.

“I’m so, sorry,” you choke out quietly between sobs, “you can give him back and go, this is, this is not your problem to deal with.” Jack doesn’t reply, just nudges the tissues closer to you. 

And so you keep crying. And Jack keeps holding your son. 

Eventually you cry yourself out and are so numb you’re left with just shame and embarrassment for doing this here, in front of Jack and your son. 

As the sniffles stop, you try to look at Jack but are too embarrassed. “I’m so sorry,” you repeat. “I’ll take him back and you can go.”

Jack stands up and hands you your son back. A wave of relief and calm washes over you at having his familiar weight back in your arms and on your chest. But there’s a pang of sadness too, you really thought Jack might stay. You don’t know why you care.

But Jack surprises you, sits back down and pulls his phone out for a second, sends off a couple of messages. He turns his attention back to you. “I’m gonna stay for a bit. The uh,” he struggles to find a word that won’t jinx everything, “patient census,” he makes a face when he says it like he can’t believe he just said those words, “is low tonight. I have time.” He lets out a long breath through his nose. “And you have nothing to apologize for,” he shakes his head slowly as he speaks.

You give him a slight smile at patient census and the look he pulls, a little nod and he doesn’t push for more. He gives you time. 

But after a while he puts it out there so you know that you can. “You wanna talk about it?”

You look at him and see understanding, feel like you’re really being seen for the first time since your husband died and you don’t know why Jack is the one. 

“I don’t know,” you whisper. Shrug at him with a watery smile. “I don’t know how to.” 

Jack nods slowly. Pauses for a moment and takes in a big breath he lets out, a little shaky. A shaky you feel like you recognize. “My wife died five years ago, so when I say I know what you mean, I promise I really do.” 

You shut your eyes and grimace as it all falls into place. The connection you felt with him. The pull. Why he makes you feel seen. 

“God I am so sorry, when I asked earlier, about kids and if you and your wife had any, I just thought with the ring, god I of all people should know better than that.” You shake your head at yourself. 

“You had no way of knowing,” Jack shakes his head. He looks down at his ring. Then to your ring finger which is empty. That deep set confliction and need to explain starts to rise. “I still wear it because… I think… It’s-”

“Hey,” you say softly. “You don’t have to explain. Not to anyone, and certainly not to me.”

Jack nods. You sit in the quiet for a few minutes. 

“I would probably still have mine on, but,” you sigh, “I guess it requires more backstory.” You pause to collect yourself. “Long story short is he was in the army. Scheduled to be deployed. Really short one. He was done after it too. Would have been out.” You take in another shaky breath. “We’d been trying for a baby for a while. I kept miscarrying. Little under two weeks before he was leaving I found out I was five weeks pregnant. And this one felt different. I had morning sickness. There was so much cautious optimism and he hated that he had to leave but he was supposed to be back in time for birth as long as everything went as planned.” You shrug. “He died when I was ten weeks pregnant.” 

Jack closes his eyes at that. His heart aches for you in the way only someone whose heart has been through that same loss can. 

“Yeah, pretty fucking sick of the universe. The one time I keep the pregnancy I lose the husband.” You wipe at your eyes with the tissue in your hand. “Anyway, late pregnancy my hands swelled up. Rings didn’t fit. I had to take them off. And once I had him and knew they would fit again I couldn’t bring myself to slide them back on. He was supposed to be the one to do that, you know?” Jack nods. He gets it. “So I think that’s probably the only reason I’m not still wearing mine.” 

“It’s not been five years though,” Jack points out. 

“There’s no timeline on when to be ready and take them off. I’m the newbie to the widow game here, but even I know that.” You give him a lopsided smile and Jack lets out a little laugh. 

“No timeline to any of it.” Jack offers. You raise your brows and lower them, nod as to wordlessly say true. 

You’re interrupted by Bridget bringing in some water and food for you. It’s obvious something has happened between the two of you and that you’ve been crying. “There’s an incoming,” she says quietly to Jack. “ETA four. We need you.” He nods. 

Bridget steps out and Jack stands up, puts the chair back and looks back at you, rolls his eyes. “Patient census comment coming back to bite me in the ass. Shoulda known better.” 

You let out a small laugh. “I thought it was very Scottish Play of you.” Jack smiles at you. “I’m sorry it didn’t work.” He walks over to the door and puts his hand on the door handle, pauses, thinking.

Jack turns back to look at you. “What’s done cannot be undone,” he says with a little smirk. 

You laugh almost properly at that. It makes you feel, maybe not totally happy, but okay. It’s been a while since you’ve felt either. 

“Oh wow, okay, well go get ‘em Lady Macbeth.” Jack laughs softly, more of just a smile with some air breathed out of his nose as he shakes his head a little at you. 

He doesn’t say to eat and drink the water and that he’ll be back to check on you. He doesn’t need to. You know.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few weeks pass. Your son recovers without incident. You can’t stop thinking about Jack. Jack can’t stop thinking about you. He has to talk himself out of looking up your info in your son’s chart and going to stop by and make sure your son recovered okay. 

You get sick. Really sick. You finally get your son down for a nap and stare at the piece of paper Jack had given you as you left. 

“Here,” Jack hands you a slip of paper with his name and number written on it. “If you ever need anything, call me, okay? If you need help fixing something at home or someone to watch the baby for an hour so you can grab a shower, or for however long it takes you to get your hair done, or whatever. Don’t hesitate to call.” Jack swallows. He doesn’t know how this part is going to go. “Or, you know… just call me.” 

You look up at him wide-eyed. “Oh, wow,” you laugh nervously, “wow Jack, I am so flattered, truly. But I just,” you look away from him, suddenly somehow even more shy, like the man hasn’t seen you sobbing and snotty and is still interested in you. “I’m not ready. I don’t know when-”

“That’s okay,” Jack nods, “I just wanted to put it out there. But still. I want you to call if you need something, okay? I respect your answer and so if you call I’m not going to expect anything or badger you about it or try and force it on you. I just want to help.” He looks to the side for a moment and then back at you. “One vet helping an active.” 

You feel so bad about it, are so conflicted. But you could really, really use some help. So you text him, tell him it’s you. 

You - Are you at work? 

J - No. 

J - Everything okay? 

You - Did you just get off work? 

J - No, string of off days. 

You chew your lip as you pull up his contact and stare at the number. You just tap randomly at your phone and let the universe decide. If it calls him then it calls him, if it doesn’t then it wasn’t meant to be. 

It calls him. 

“Hey,” he picks up on the first ring, sounds concerned, “you okay? Baby okay?”

You clear your throat and he can already hear it, is already standing up to throw on some real clothes and grab supplies. “Baby’s great.” He cringes at how bad you sound. If you feel as bad as you sound he’s genuinely astounded by how you’re taking care of a now ten-month old while being so sick. “Me, not so much. You said to call and I… I didn’t want to and I know this is so unfair, but I don’t have anyone else and I could just really really use an hour to get a shower and tidy a few things up.”

You need more than an hour to shower and tidy up, you need to sleep for as long as you can, Jack thinks to himself. “Text me your address.” 

There’s a beat of silence. “You sure?” You ask him, give him an out. 

“Positive. I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay? Within the hour.” 

“Okay.” It’s so quiet he almost misses it. “Thank you.” 

“Of course. Text me, okay?”

“Yeah.” You hang up and do so. 

Jack stops by the hospital before he comes over, grabs a couple bags of saline, a couple of banana bags, and a few IV kits, tosses them in his backpack. Tells a raised eyebrows and confused Robby to tell Gloria to bill him for it and he’ll bill the hospital for the use of his supplies and tech during Pitt Fest before walking out. 

Then he stops by a grocery store, picks up some food and over the counter meds and then he’s on his way to you. 

The knock on your door startles you even though you know it’s just Jack. You open it and his eyebrows raise as he takes you in. You look like death warmed up. Maybe not quite that bad but Jack’s judgment of that is skewed because it’s you and he doesn’t like seeing you sick he has decided. 

“Hi,” you whisper as he walks in. “He’s down in his room, if you wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on the monitor while I shower and then I’d really love to just tidy up a bit.” You move your hand to reference your living room and kitchen, both visible with the open floor plan. “It’s a mess. I’m sorry about that too, it’s normally not this bad.” 

Jack takes the space in. It’s not even that bad. It’s very sick single mom with a baby. Not dirty, just cluttered. He notes the sparse decoration, wonders if you moved after your husband died. “It’s really not that bad,” he tells you softly and takes the baby monitor from you. “Come here.” 

He steps towards you and you freeze, not sure of what to do. He just raises his hand and puts the back of it to your forehead. Jack flashes you a concerned look. “You’re burning up. Easily 102.”

You try to laugh it off but it just triggers a coughing fit. “I’m fine, it’s okay-”

“No,” Jack says firmly. “It’s really not.” He walks over to your couch and sets his bag down, slides the baby monitor into the pocket of his jeans. He pulls out a forehead thermometer and nods at the couch, asking you to sit down. 

You hesitate for a second, feel like this is too much and he’s doing too much and you should say he can leave, that he should go. But instead you go and sit on the couch. 

Jack scans your forehead and frowns when he looks at it. “102.8.” His eyes flick to yours and he can see you going to say something, and he knows it’ll be something like you’re fine or it’ll come down. “Look,” he turns the thermometer around so you can see the reading. “The light is red. There’s a frowning face. So please don’t say it’s okay and you’re okay.” His words are firm but compassionate and he isn’t condescending at all. 

“Well, once you leave if he’s still asleep, I’ll try to grab some rest.” You give him a weak smile. “Promise.” 

“Oh no,” Jack shakes his head. “No way. If I wasn’t a doctor and didn’t have supplies with me, you’d be going to the ED.” He starts looking through his bag. 

“Jack, this is really nice of you but unnecessary.” His eyes snap back to yours when he hears his name come off your tongue. He likes it. Too much. You said no, that you weren’t ready. But Jack can’t help how he feels, only on how he acts on those feelings. 

He ignores your protests. “Plan of care is to have you shower if you’d like. Cool, please. And then I’m going to give you some meds, get an IV in you and a banana bag going and you’re going to go sleep.”

“I, I really think just a shower and some tidying will help me feel much better.” Another half hearted protest. It feels good to have someone want to take care of you. To have a man want to take care of you. To have Jack want to take care of you. Those are all feelings you haven’t felt in a while, and they’re from Jack Abbot. And a piece of you hates yourself for that, especially when your eyes wander to the folded American flag displayed on a shelf. 

Jack tracks your eyes to it. “I’m not trying to overstep,” he starts to explain, “just, you’re a lot sicker than you think.”

“No, no, I know that, and you’re not, I’m just not used to it.” You try to find the word but it’s hard. “The attention, I guess. Or maybe the help. Pregnancy and labor and birth and coming home with a newborn while recovering were all alone, so it’s just… strange.” 

Jack shuts his eyes and lets out a breath. His heart hurts because he knows what that kind of alone feels like. He knows how hard it can be to survive and live with. And he’s never had to experience alone everything that you have. He hates that you were alone. He’s even more in awe of you, honestly, that you were able to. There’s a sense of pride too, one he knows he has no business having. 

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, I really don’t-”

“I know that, Jack, I promise and you’re not, I’m just.” You shake your head and look away for a second. “A mess,” you laugh softly, manage to not trigger a coughing fit. 

Jack shakes his head a little. “You’re sick.” 

You shrug, take in as deep a breath as you can. “Okay,” you nod. He knows you’re acquiescing in his treatment plan. 

“Good.” Jack pulls his stethoscope out of his bag. “You mind if I listen to your lungs before you shower? Just to have a before and try to get a read on what it might be.” 

You nod at him. Jack places his stethoscope on your chest, is careful to hold it so that his hand doesn’t come into contact with you because he knows he already expressed interest and that you’re not ready and the last thing he wants is for you to think he’s using this as some weird chance to touch you or make you uncomfortable. “Deep breath.” 

Jack walks you through all the deep breaths he needs, frowning to himself a bit and not pressuring you when the deep breaths trigger your cough and he has to wait a minute to continue. The first time it happens his other hand automatically raises to go and rub your back but he catches it in time.

You don’t acknowledge it, don’t want to draw attention to it and in part don’t know how to react to it but you appreciate it more than he’ll ever know. He’s a gentleman. It’s nice and you really try to let yourself have that and let it feel nice without berating yourself over it feeling nice. But something feeling nice is so foreign and somehow feels so wrong. Like nothing should ever feel nice again because your husband isn’t here. 

“Yeah, those are junky,” he mutters as he puts his stethoscope back in his bag. “Wish I had brought a breathing treatment for you.” He looks like he’s thinking about how he could get one here. He pulls his focus back. “Shower?” 

You nod, stand up and start walking towards your room. “Hey Jack?” Jack looks up at you with raised eyebrows, body tensing just slightly like he’s ready to run towards you. “Thank you. And um, make yourself at home and help yourself to anything. I don’t know how much there is, but what’s there is yours.” You give a little nod and turn and walk off before he can say anything. 

Once he hears the shower running Jack takes a better look at the place. He finds it strange how certain parts feel like you but the overall place doesn’t in a way. It feels like someone scared to settle in, scared to make this space their own. It feels like his first apartment after his wife died did for a long time. 

He starts to tidy up, it’s really nothing major. He puts toys in the little toy bin you have, places the baby books on the floor on the bottom storage space of the table. He picks up the baby blankets and onesies laying around that he’s guessing need washed, sets them in a pile on a counter. He does the same kind of stuff in the kitchen, just picks up, wipes down. Again, nothing is dirty. It’s lived in. It’s a sick single mom with a baby who sets down an empty water bottle or paper plate and forgets to throw it away. He loads the dishwasher with the bottles and few plates and utensils in the sink. He’s not sure if what’s in there is clean or dirty but it’s fine, if it’s clean it can just get washed again. He waits to start it though, makes a note to do so later once you’re out of the shower and the hot water has had time to build back up just in case your water heater isn’t great.  

You let yourself stand under the water for longer than you probably should. You try to keep it cool like Jack said, but at some point right before you get out you let it get really, hot, just need to feel it, feel a little sterilized almost. You think about how Jack is here and doing all of this for you and what would your husband think and does this make you a bad wife. You try to get yourself to believe that your husband would be happy you’re getting help, would be happy Jack is a veteran and that you’re not a bad wife because your husband told you he wanted you to move on and find someone and it’s not like it happened yesterday. It’s been over a year. 

Once you’re out you slip on some modest pajamas, deal with your hair and put some lotion on your face, brush your teeth. You feel a little better, only because you feel clean, but still. 

Jack gives you some time once he hears the shower turn off. After a bit he knocks on your door and clears his throat. “Hey, um, I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to start the IV out here in the living room or in your room.” 

Your chest clenches for a moment. You hadn’t even really thought about what it would mean for him to start it in here, just kind of assumed he’d come in and do it. But it means there would be another man in your bedroom. A man who is not your husband. 

He gives you a moment to decide because he knows the magnitude of the question he asked. 

You’re at war with yourself, but you know it’ll be better to have him do it here and have him figure out a way to get the bag to hang. “Um, you can do it in here, I guess. Unless you’d prefer to do it out there.” 

“Wherever is best for you.” There’s a pause as Jack waits for you to come over and open the door. You’re so zoned out sitting on the edge of your bed you don’t even realize. “Should I come in?” He finally asks gently. 

“Oh! Oh yes!” The way you breathe in at surprise and almost startle at having your zoned out thoughts interrupted makes you start coughing, so Jack slowly opens the door, trying to give you time to change your mind, walks in and over to you with his supplies just as slowly. 

He sets some stuff out next to you. “Shower help?” He cringes internally the moment he says it, hopes it doesn’t make it seem like he was thinking about you in the shower. 

“Yeah. Feeling clean has helped I think.” You watch as he gets everything ready. He has big hands, long and thick fingers that should make working with small pieces of medical equipment a bit difficult but they’re so dexterous and he has so much control over them that it’s not. Once you catch yourself daydreaming about his hands you look away, shame and guilt washing over you. 

“Take these, please,” Jack says softly, handing you a few pills and holding an open bottle of water. You nod and do as he asks. “Good gi-” He stops before he can finish, some pink flooding his cheeks. It’s adorable, you think. He’s adorable and he’s trying so hard to respect you and just be here as a friend helping you out. You also think about the reaction you know you’d have had if he finished the sentence. More shame and guilt. 

“How do you sleep?” Jack asks as he finishes setting the supplies for an IV up and kneels in front of you. You furrow your brows at him. “So I can put the IV in a good spot!” He rushes to explain. “Like if you sleep on your side I’ll put it on the top arm.” 

“Oh.” You think about it and tell him. 

“Hand please.” He points to the correct one and you offer him it. “Hands hurt more but it’ll be the best for sleeping. I’m sorry you’re stuck with me doing it.” He pulls a pair of gloves on. They fit nice and tight. Once he gets a tourniquet in a slip knot nice and tight around your arm he has you make a fist. 

You shake your head at him as you watch those long and dexterous fingers run over and feel the back of your hand a veins beneath your skin. Satisfied he found a good one he opens the alcohol swab and wipes the back of your hand, lets it dry for ten or so seconds while he grabs the needle introducer. He feels for the vein again and looks up at you. “Ready?”

“Yeah.” You nod at him. 

He’s quick with it. You like the expression of intense focus he gets as he does it. “Okay,” he draws the word out a little, slips off the tourniquet. “Needle is out,” he places a tegaderm dressing over it, “and we’re good.” He looks up at you. “You okay?”

“Barley felt it,” you murmur. 

Jack gives a little laugh. “It’s okay, you can be honest. My pride can take it.” You just give him a look. “I’m gonna flush it. Some burning and maybe a weird taste.” He doesn’t explain much, knows you almost certainly had one when you gave birth. 

He does and then stands up, looks around near the head of your bed. “I think I still have a really old coat rack in the spare room,” you volunteer, knowing he’s looking for a way to hang the bag. 

“That would be perfect,” he nods at you. 

“Second door on the left when you walk out.”

Jack steps out. He already knew that through process of elimination but he doesn’t tell you that. He went to the bathroom while you were in the shower, placing his ear by each door to figure out which room was the nursery. Left one room to be the spare room. 

He brings it in and gets it set up. You offer him a hanger to place the bag on and he smiles at you. You give him a little one back. 

Jack puts on a different pair of gloves and sanitizes everything before spiking the bag and priming the line. He hooks it up to your IV and sets the drip rate, keeps it fast enough to get what you need into you but slow enough so that you hopefully won’t have to wake up to go to the bathroom for a while because he knows you’ll likely fight going back to sleep. 

“You need something to help you sleep?” He asks, a touch of concern in his tone. 

“I think I’ll manage.” You give him another weak smile. 

“Figured,” he nods. He grabs everything off the bed making sure to keep track of where the used needle is and then walks to your door. “Rest well.” He nods at you again and then steps out, closes the door behind him quietly. 

You let yourself settle into bed, feel your heart slam against your chest with every beat as emotions whirl through you. Guilt, for having some kind of feelings towards Jack, for asking Jack to do this, for not being there with your son, shame, grief, embarrassment, anger at yourself for quite literally everything, and the faintest glimmers of hope, happiness, contentedness and a kind of longing which are all new and in turn fill you with fear. 

You’re right though, you do manage to fall asleep. And fast. There are a few times you think you hear your son crying but it stops quickly so you don’t fully wake up. Another few times where you swear you hear someone in the room with you and them whisper “it’s just me, go back to sleep,” when they notice you stirring. If they’re real you let yourself listen to them and drift back asleep. 

Jack is surprised at how long you sleep. He thought for sure with all the fluids he has been giving you that you’d wake up to go to the bathroom, but that must be how tired you are. He lets you sleep. You need it. And for whatever reason he really, really cares about you and doesn’t like seeing you sick. It worries him, if he’s honest with himself. Seeing you sick. He worries about you. 

When you do wake up it is because you have to pee. You turn the lamp on to get there and close your eyes and flinch away from it until they adjust more. It starts to come back. The IV. Jack. Jack watching your son. You grab the bag of saline and go to the bathroom before walking out of your room. You have to stop at the doorway because it’s so fucking bright, let your eyes adjust. 

It makes you realize how fucked up your sense of time is. You have no idea how long you were out and you hope you hadn’t been keeping Jack a prisoner in your place for too long. 

When you walk into the living room Jack is on the floor with your son, some soft blocks knocked over the floor, your son on his back and cooing up at Jack, giggling like babies do at Jack every time Jack leans down over him and tickles his belly with one of Jack’s large hands and makes a funny noise at him. There’s a dirty diaper on the floor next to Jack, empty bottle on the table. 

“You slept well, didn’t you little man?” Jack sits him up and keeps a hand on him, your son pretty good at sitting up by himself but still getting the full hang of it. Small hands reach out for Jack, trying to pull him close. “Oh yeah, and now you’ve had a bottle and have even more energy to burn, huh?” Your son giggles again as Jack takes him into his lap as he straightens his legs and rests your son’s feet on one of his thighs so that he can bounce as Jack supports him to keep him standing. 

It’s the cutest scene. It’s so adorable your heart aches. It’s all you ever wanted for your son. And that’s why your heart shatters at the same time. Because your son doesn’t have it. Not normally. Your son doesn’t have a father. You don’t have a husband, the person you should be doing this with. This scene is a total one-off, a byproduct of you being sick and needing help. You appreciate Jack and all he’s done and how he’s being with your son but that’s supposed to be your husband. 

That’s supposed to be your fucking husband on the floor with your son and it’s not. 

It’s Jack. 

It’s Jack and you don’t hate it. 

Quite the opposite. You like the sight. Would like to see it again. Would like to see Jack again. And that makes you feel a little sick and a lot guilty. But you don’t stop liking it or wanting to see it and Jack again. You tell yourself you don’t though, that you don’t want to see it again and don’t want to see Jack again. You lie to yourself. The turmoil threatens to tear you in two. 

You wipe a few tears away silently and then sniffle to announce your presence. You can get away with it because you’re sick. “Hey,” you say softly, make a face and try to clear your throat. “I’m sorry I feel like I probably slept longer than I meant to.” Clearing your throat didn’t help. You still sound awful, your voice totally going. 

Your son squeals when he sees you, arms reaching for you already. You smile down at him. “Hi baby,” you greet him in the best voice you can manage, grab him from Jack. “How’s my boy?” You tickle his tummy because you don’t want to kiss him and get him sick and it makes him squeal again and babble at you. 

Jack stands up and you notice there’s something off about the way he does, just slightly. You wonder if he suffered a back or hip injury while serving. He clamps the saline bag all the way and removes it from your IV so that you’re free. “What time is it? I hope I haven’t kept you here too long.” 

Jack looks at his watch. “9:17.”

You blink at him for a moment. The sun filtering in through the curtains assures you he means in the morning. You make a face like you’re trying to pour through past memories. “What time did I make you come over? It must have been so early, I, I didn’t even realize I’m so sorry.” 

Jack smiles as he steps around you and goes to set the bag on the counter, throw the diaper away and the bottle in the sink. He turns back around and leans against the counter, holds onto the edge of it with his hands. He already knows you’re going to freak out. 

“First, you didn’t make me come over yesterday. Pretty hard for anyone to make me do something anymore. Second, I got here sometime around 4.” Your confusion deepens. “P.m. Yesterday.” 

“Yesterday?” You look at him, stricken. “Oh my god, Jack, I am so so sorry! You should have woken me! I genuinely never meant to steal this much time from you and keep you hostage here, I am so sorry, I-”

“Hey, hey,” he steps closer to you but doesn’t touch you. “It’s okay. You have nothing to be apologizing for. I know I could have woken you and I never felt hostage here. I was okay with it.” He gives you a reassuring smile. 

You shake your head at him a little. “God, where did you even sleep? That awful couch? I know how bad it is, I’m so- I feel terrible.” 

“Don’t,” Jack laughs softly. “I promise you I have slept on much, much worse. How are you feeling?”

“I don’t…” You trail off because you haven’t really stopped to evaluate that. “Better I guess. Still sick but not as bad, at all.” 

“Good.” He takes another step closer and holds his hand up, gestures to your forehead. “Can I?”

You nod, still lost in thought and shocked about how you could have slept that long. “Good, fever’s still down. It broke during the night.” Your son reaches for Jack’s hand, one of his small hands wrapping around one of Jack’s large fingers. Jack lets him keep it and play with it, but steps back a little. “Shit, I promise I only went in there to change your bag and take your temperature with the thermometer.”

“No, no,” you shake your head. You hadn’t even thought to care about him coming into your room when you were asleep, hadn’t even realized that could be a line he might have crossed. “I just feel so bad.”   

“Please try not to.”

“I have to, you have to let me at least make you breakfast or something! You just watched my baby overnight for me.” You nod. “Yeah, let me make you breakfast, please.” 

“I’d like that,” Jack nods slowly, face pulling into a knowing look with a little smile because you’re adorable and going to be upset. “But I don’t think that’s going to work,” he shakes his head and then gently nods at the refrigerator. You know there must be nothing in it.

“Fuck,” you sigh. You turn your head and rest your cheek on the top of your son’s head as you try and think. He continues to coo and babble away, at Jack now, whose finger he still holds on tight to. Jack makes a little face of surprise and noise at him and your son laughs.

“Let me order something then, yeah?” You offer. You watch as Jack argues with himself in his head. Part of him wants to say no, he should get it for you, for no real reason other than he wants to take care of you, and part of him wants to say yes because he knows it’ll make you feel better. “Please.”

“Alright,” he finally nods.

“Okay, great!” You start looking around for your phone and find it plugged in and charging. It hits you then. How clean and tidy the place is. “Oh my god,” you mumble. 

“What?” The alarm in his voice is clear. 

“You cleaned.” You look around more. A laundry basket of folded onesies and blankets and other baby clothes on the loveseat. “You did laundry.” 

The realization sends you over some ledge you didn’t realize you were standing on. Your heart races. Your feelings are too conflicted. There’s too much turmoil. You know this is normal, have read about it, spoken to other widows who described what it was like to start dating again, start falling for someone. And you’re really starting to personally get it now. 

You don’t know what to do with it. And you know you’re not ready for it. But you can’t lie about it to yourself anymore and pretend that Jack doesn’t give you new feelings that you haven’t had in a long time and that you don’t want to let yourself feel them or at least try. Can’t lie to yourself that you don’t want to try and be ready for it. 

“I’m sorry if that was too much,” Jack says quietly, unsure of what exactly your reaction means. While he’s also a widow it’s a bit harder for him to put himself in your shoes. He didn’t have a baby to need help with while trying to grieve and find a new normal. 

“No, it’s not that.” Tears hit your eyes and you close them, hate that they’re happening. It’s the emotional overwhelm you tell yourself. The having someone do something nice for you. The having to accept help. The new feelings. So many new feelings from one man. 

But you know yourself well enough to know that it’s also the wanting, despite how much you try to bury it and lie to yourself. The wanting to let yourself give in to those new feelings. Wanting to let yourself enjoy the new feelings. Enjoy Jack. 

“Let me,” you hear Jack whisper, feel his hands get closer to you to grab your son who laughs in excitement at the prospect of being in Jack’s arms. 

You keep your eyes closed and then turn before you open them, walk over to get a tissue and dab at them. “It wasn’t too much.” You’re speaking to Jack but keep your back to him because you’re not sure how you’ll react if you turn around and look at him. “It’s just really hard. Everything is so fucking hard. Every second of every day is an emotion, every second requires feeling.” Jack understands that one too well. “And you get used to that. The emotions, the feelings become familiar. Because they’re constant. You know what they are, what to expect. You know the feelings. They hurt so, so bad, but eventually you realize that not having them would hurt more. Would be scarier. Because they’re your normal, they fill that void in your heart. What would you be without them almost controlling your life? And then one day a new emotion, a new feeling creeps in. And it’s paralyzing. You think it hurts worse in some way than not having the familiar feelings would, but you don’t know because you never get a second to not fucking feel. And it’s because it’s new and you don’t know what to do with this new feeling and it throws everything off and is another change and because it almost always feels so wrong, to let yourself feel something new, especially if it’s a good emotion. And I know you know this Jack, I know you know exactly how I feel, exactly what it’s like. I know you get me. I know you understand. And I like that. I think part of me needs that. To move on or whatever you want to call it.”

Jack’s heart rate ticks up. This is not at all where he thought this conversation was headed. 

You take in a deep breath and squeeze the tissue in your hand before turning to look at the unfairly attractive and smart and funny and caring and playful and stoic and dry humored and witty and kind doctor holding your son. 

“You make me feel so many new things Jack. So many things I never thought I’d feel again. So many things I swore to myself I would never feel again.” You swallow hard. “And I don’t know what to do with them. They paralyze me. Not for long because they send me straight back to guilt and shame and grief, right back to those familiar feelings. I don’t know how to have these new feelings you give me anymore. At some point I lost that. So I don’t know how to handle it. How to handle you.”

Jack’s numb. Frozen. He’s not sure what this means. He understands you because the first time he started dating and was attracted to someone he’d gone through the same thing. It was hard at first. To not feel guilty. To not revert back to the emotions you know well. He’s not sure what to say. He goes to say that he’s sorry and didn’t mean to cause you distress and will go but you start talking again. 

“But fuck Jack, I want to. I didn’t want to admit it to myself because it feels so wrong and because it’s scary and hard and makes me feel like a terrible wife sometimes. But I do. I want to know how to handle you and all the new feelings you give me, Jack.” His eyebrows raise slowly, his focus staying on you as your son starts to mouth on his finger getting saliva all over it, not phased in the slightest. “It’s just going to take time. I don’t know how much time. And I don’t think it’s fair of me to ask to wait for some unknown period of time.” 

“You’re not asking,” Jack says quickly before you can get out another sentence. “You’re not asking me to. I want to. But only if you want me to. You said that you weren’t ready, and I respect that. And you have to know that I didn’t come over here to help, or do laundry or tidy up because I was trying to pressure you or make you feel something or make you be ready or for anything other than just to help as a kind-of friend. You have to promise me that you know that.” 

“I do,” you tell him softly. “I promise.” You give a small laugh and little smile. “I think that’s actually the part that made me realize I couldn’t keep lying to myself that you didn’t give me new feelings and that I didn’t want to feel them. That I know you came here just because you wanted to help, help me, my son and my husband. And I know you did the laundry and tidied and stayed overnight to watch my baby so I could sleep just because you’re kind, and you saw it needed done so you did it, which is so army of you by the way, and not because you wanted it to mean something or make me feel bad for not being ready or pressure me or any other possible reason. You just… wanted to help.”

Jack smiles at that. Really, fully smiles and fuck if it isn’t one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen. You smile back at him. It’s clear that nothing more needs to be said. You both know that you’ll work on being ready and learn how to feel and how to handle it all and Jack will wait. 

“I never said I was army.” He smirks at you. 

“Didn’t have to.” You give him a small smile. Even after this you’re still so shy. 

You go and grab your phone. “What does that mean?” He asks, tracking you with his eyes. 

“What would you like to eat?” You ignore him. You know already that it’ll wind him up. 

“No, what does that mean? I have a tell?” You shrug at him. He narrows his eyes at you playfully.

“No,” you say as you hand him your phone so he can pick something and order and take your son from him. “It means you have a recognizable backpack.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Time goes on. You get better. You and Jack grow closer. You keep going to therapy, keep working on processing and figuring out how to handle the new feelings, how to stop feeling so guilty. Jack waits. Patiently. Never an ounce of pressure on you. He’s always so respectful, goes to great lengths to be so, immediately apologizes if he oversteps. And he does a couple of times because he’s human and nobody is perfect. But it’s okay.  

Jack’s injury comes out over breakfast that morning when he apologizes for having his shoes on in the house. You hadn’t even really noticed, too sick for it to register. He doesn’t tell you much about it which you respect and he’s grateful when you don’t push for more. That’s something he guesses he’s not ready for with you. Isn’t sure why though. He brings it up with his therapist. 

Jack is over more and more often. At first it’s to check on you and make sure you’re getting better because your cough lingers. And then somewhere along the lines it just became a thing. Normal. Normal for you to see him more days than not during the week. Normal for him to put your son down for the night. Normal for him to sleep in the spare room. Normal for him to cook for you and help feed your son. Normal for him to keep spare bottles of toiletries in a bin under the guest bathroom sink. Normal for black scrubs that didn’t get god knows what on them to be washed with onesies and blankets. 

Normal for him to bring five epi pens, multiple vials of epi, syringes with needles, an infant intubation kit and a cric kit to your house when you decide to introduce peanuts to your son. 

That one had gotten him an attempted, and skillfully dodged, third degree interrogation from Dana and Robby. 

You don’t touch. Not at all, save when your fingers brush if you hand each other something or when you take your son from him or vice versa. You’ll sit on the couch and Jack on the loveseat. There’s no flirting. It’s not that the attraction and draw to each other has faded, because it hasn’t. Not at all. It’s that you both know you need time and you both respect that. Jack perhaps more so than yourself, because you get mad at yourself about it sometimes. 

You do talk. A lot. About anything and everything because talking to each other is easy. It’s not work. Neither of you have to think of things to talk about or try and come up with something to keep the conversation going. It just does. And when it dies down the lull is comfortable. Then someone thinks of something or sees something on TV and it’s back. 

Eventually Jack is able to tell you a bit more about his injury, how it happened. The aftermath. He’s able to take his prosthetic off in front of you and leave a pair of crutches at your place for when he doesn’t want to put it back on. 

You talk about your spouses. Your therapist suggested it, thought it may help, to acknowledge both of your spouses and know about them. You approach Jack about it and tell him you don’t want an answer right away, you want him to really think about it and if he’s ready for that and willing to do that, and that he doesn’t have to say yes and that if he says no nothing will change. Both of you are aware it’s in a sense one of the most intimate things you’ll ever do with each other. 

Jack says yes though. And means it. He’s okay with it, comfortable with it. So one night after you get your son down you take the baby monitor, a bottle of wine and sit out on your apartment balcony and talk about them. You tell each other about them, what they were like, things they liked and disliked, funny stories. Jack tells you how he proposed and you tell him how your husband proposed. You talk about your weddings. 

You share photos you have on your phone, of your spouses alone and of the two of you together. You tell Jack his wife was beautiful, seems like an amazing woman who kept him on his toes and mean it. Jack tells you that your husband was handsome and knew how lucky he was to have you, that it’s obvious by the way he looks at you in the photos. You smile wistfully and get misty eyed together. But it’s nice, getting to know the other’s spouse, more about your past lives. It tells you a lot about each other too, as much as it does about your spouses.

You talk about how you each learned your spouse had died. There’s proper tears during that part, from both of you. It’s one time you do touch, and it’s brief, and you’re the one to initiate it, tentatively taking Jack’s hand and giving it a little squeeze when he gets a bit choked up. He squeezes back to let you know he’s okay with it. When you get choked up talking about your husband he holds his hand out over the armrest of his chair, just a little, just enough for you to know it’s there. You move yours over and let him squeeze your hand. 

You talk about moving after your spouses died. Jack tells you he just couldn’t do it. He needed space that was his own, where he couldn’t picture her in it and so he couldn’t expect to walk around a corner and see her. You tell Jack that you had to keep the curtain of the living room window closed all the time because the last time you looked out the window you saw that car pull up and two uniformed officers step out of the car, and just knew. And it made the place so dark it was bad for you so you sold the house and found this place. You admit that you haven’t been able to bring yourself to really unpack completely or decorate but aren’t sure why. The nursery being the only exception. Jack tells you that it actually reminds him a lot of how his apartment he moved into right after his wife died looked for a long time because he was scared to settle in and make a space without her because that wasn’t supposed to happen, he wasn’t supposed to have to do that. 

As more weeks pass you start asking Jack to help you hang things. At first it sends you flying backwards in your healing because you just asked another man to help you decorate your apartment. Jack doesn’t say anything for the couple of days you’re off with him because he knows and he knows you’ll work through it. He gives you the space you need without you asking for it. You work through it with your therapist and apologize to Jack who tells you not to, that healing isn’t linear, trust him, he knows. 

Jack watches your son for you sometimes during a string of off days so that he can spend a bit less time at daycare, especially if another kid is sick. Your son loves Jack, is enamored with him. And Jack is just as enamored with him. Is so incredibly good with him. It’s a place where you struggle a lot and that you and you and your therapist discuss frequently, how to cope with seeing Jack in that kind of fatherly role and acknowledge all the feelings it stirs up for you. 

One Monday, a holiday that you were supposed to have off, something comes up and you need to go into the office, but daycare is closed. You hesitate calling Jack because you feel bad asking him to do this, especially knowing he’ll be getting off shift and you’re asking him to stay awake even longer. You don’t even know if he’ll be able to, he might not get off on time, or he might have plans. But you call him much quicker and more decisively than you did when you were sick. 

Jack’s talking to Robby when he feels his phone vibrate. He thinks it’s weird to be getting called at 6:45 a.m. so he pulls it out to check. His heart drops when he sees it’s you and he walks away from Robby mid sentence. 

“Hey,” he answers on the second ring, “what’s up? Everyone okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah we’re fine. It’s just, work needs me to come in, not for too long, just a couple of hours, but I can’t bring him and daycare is closed with the holiday and I know this is such a huge ask because you’re getting off shift and will be so tired and I don’t even know if you’re getting off on time-” 

“Woah, woah,” Jack stops you. “Take a breath.” He can hear you do as he says. “I can watch him, okay? I’ll make sure I get off on time. And I often stay late so being up a few hours after my shift before he goes down is not going to be anything new.” 

“Okay. Yeah, okay.” You let out a breath. “You still have to let me cook or something for you.” 

“You don’t have to repay me.” 

“No I know, but still.” 

“Can I be honest with you?” Jack asks. 

“Of course.” Your heart races because you have no idea what he’s about to say. 

“You can buy me takeout. But you can’t cook.” You can hear the smile in his voice. 

You make a noise of offence. “I can’t believe you just said that! I’m offended. Genuinely offended.” But Jack can hear the smile you’re trying to hide in your voice and it just makes him smile harder to himself. 

“That I said it or that it’s true?” He’s smirking now. 

You huff and then there’s a pause. “That it’s true,” you admit begrudgingly, making Jack laugh. 

Robby has blindly swatted at Dana’s arm to get her to pay attention so that he doesn’t have to stop watching and so now both of them are staring and watching Jack go from extreme concern to laughing and smiling. It’s almost disconcerting. 

“I’m going to have to drop him off at the hospital to make it on time. Is that okay?” You’ve gotten quiet again. 

“Yeah.” Jack sounds a little unsure but not because of you, because of the two he can feel staring at him. “I’ll need a key. And I’ll give it back, I promise.” 

“Oh! Yes. You will need that, okay I’ll have to find the spare. And yeah, that’s fine, whatever is fine, I know you’re not going to use it randomly.” You breathe a laugh. “You’ll be okay with holding him on the subway? I wasn’t going to lug around the stroller, if that’s okay.” 

“We will be more than okay,” Jack assures you. 

“Okay.” You let out another breath in that way you do when you’re stressed but coming down Jack has learned. “Thank you Jack.” 

“Not a problem, you know that.” 

“Yeah, but still.”

“Text me when you’re here and come wait by the doors, I’ll open them for you, okay?” You’re thankful he doesn’t dwell. 

“Okay. I’ll see you soon. Bye.”

“Bye.” Jack hangs up and puts his phone in his pocket then turns and walks back over to Robby and Dana. 

“Everything okay?” Dana asks. 

Jack looks between the both of them. “Yeah. I’m leaving on time though.” 

“Ohhh,” Robby laughs. “Are you now? You just decided?” 

“Yeah. Did you notice how it wasn’t a question Michael?” Jack deadpans. “Just a statement of fact. I know these are big distinctions for you to make before you’ve had enough coffee.” 

“Deflection,” Robby hums, leaning forward a bit and still smiling like he can’t believe any of this even when he doesn’t know what this really is. 

Jack rolls his eyes at him and walks to a different computer to finish charting. Dana and Robby share a look but don’t push him. For now. 

Jack’s phone vibrates fifteen minutes later. You, saying you’re here. He walks over to the doors and pushes the button to open them, walks in with you a few steps, your son already happily squealing and babbling at Jack, reaching for him. Jack makes a surprised happy face at your son like he’s shocked to see him and takes him from you. 

Back at the desk Robby slowly removes his glasses as he watches the scene unfold, Dana peering over the top of hers like she does, everyone else slowly freezing once they follow Dana and Robby’s eyes to you and Jack.

“God, thank you so much Jack, I’m so so sorry.” You look stressed, frenetic and full of nervous energy that makes you even more unsure of yourself, not unlike the last time he saw you in here. He finds it adorable, so endearing.

“It’s okay. Truly. You’re going to have to believe me one day.” Jack gives you a small but reassuring smile. 

“No I know,” you breathe out. “I just… This is your work, I know. And I know you’re going to get a million questions based on the entire desk of people staring at us.” You shake your head a little as you try to find words. “And I know it’s hard to explain.” 

“Good job I don’t feel the need to explain it to any of them, then.” 

You laugh a little at that. “Yeah. Um, here.” You slide the backpack baby bag you have off and help put it on one of Jack’s shoulders. “There’s a key in the front pocket. He went down late last night and then I had to get him up early to get him ready to come here. Seeing you is the first time he’s smiled all morning. So he should probably nap earlier for you if I’m not home before then, and probably be pretty chill until he does.” 

“He’s always chill,” Jack smirks at you. “You know that.” 

“Let me make myself feel better, please,” you huff at him, clearly still flooded with nervous energy. 

“Alright,” he nods for you to continue but doesn’t lose his smirk. 

“He’s had a bottle, but that’s it, so he might be hungry when you get home, if he’s a little fussy.” You reach out and run your fingers through his soft baby fine hair to push it out of his eyes. “God he needs a haircut doesn’t he?” 

“Probably,” Jack nods. “But I’m sure-”

“That the thought of my baby needing his first haircut makes me want to sob because he’s growing up way too fast?” 

“Something like that,” he nods. 

“Yeah.” You run your hands through it and sweep it out of his eyes one last time, trying to calm some of the nervous energy that’s making you feel like you’re shaking. “Alright, I should go.” 

You lean up and kiss Jack on the cheek. By the time your feet return to the floor you’ve realized what you just did. 

Jack freezes, stunned, but not upset, not by any means.

“Oh my god,” you gasp quietly, holding your hands up in front of you to the side. “I just did that. Right here.” You close your hands into fists decisively, incredulous at yourself. “Okay, well,” you titter, “I’ve gotta go now, so thank you again so much, and let me know you guys make it home okay, and I’ll let you know when I’m on my way back.” You nod at a still stunned Jack, who then finally starts to relax a bit and lets a smile start to pull up. “Great. Okay.” You lean in and kiss your son’s face. “Bye baby, be good for Jack okay?” You give your son another kiss and pull back, immediately back to your nervous and incredulous demeanor. You pat Jack on the side of the arm holding your son and then cringe at the action. “Right,” you let out a breathy nervous laugh. “Bye.” You spin and walk to the doors and hit the button to be let out.

“Bye,” Jack calls back, still sounding a bit dazed. He takes a second and then looks down at your son who’s looking around the busy room and then looks up at him and smiles, grabs at his face. Jack laughs. “Yeah, bud,” Jack sighs, leans down and kisses the top of his head quickly, doesn’t even really realize he’s doing it, “you’re about to be the talk of the Pitt. We both are. And your mom.” He takes a deep breath in and looks down at your son and makes eye contact. “God help us all.” 

Jack turns and starts walking to the breakroom. He’d go to the lockers but he already knows what’s about to happen. “Not a word,” he says to Dana and Robby as he walks by. 

“Oh be for fuckin’ real Jack,” Dana laughs under her breath, already starting to follow him. 

“No, he’s right Dana, not a word,” Robby says as he starts to follow, “so, so many words.” 

Bridget walks up to the desk and looks at everyone quizzically. 

“A woman just came and dropped off a baby to Jack,” Princess tells her. 

After the words process a large smirk grows on Bridget’s face. “Oh did she now?” 

Jack sighs to himself as Robby and Dana follow him into the breakroom. He doesn’t want to do this but it’s borderline inescapable now and he’d rather it be here than out by the lockers. He slides the baby bag onto a chair. 

“First,” Dana says as she walks in, “let me see him!” She walks over holding her arms out to take your son from Jack. He leans into Jack for a couple of seconds, unsure, but then lets Dana take him. “Hello cutie! What’s your name?” Robby walks over to her and says a soft hi, gives your son his finger to hold onto while Robby looks him over, smiling at him as your son babbles some.

Jack tells her his name. “God, Jack, he is gorgeous. Look at that hair and those eyes!” 

She turns back to the baby in her arms. “Yeah, you’re handsome and you know it, don’t you? I bet you use it to get out of trouble sometimes, huh?” She winks at him. It makes him smile and giggle a little, as he drops Robby’s finger and brings a hand up to chew on. “Gettin’ more teeth in, are we?” Dana smiles at Jack as she rocks your son a little. 

“Yeah, I think so, he’s been real chewy and drooly the last two days,” Jack nods. 

“He yours?” Robby asks.

Jack’s head snaps to him. “What the fuck man?”

“Oh come on Jack, a random woman just showed up, gave you a baby, kissed your cheek and left. It’s not a far stretch. Nor is it a bad thing.” Dana looks at your son. “No it isn’t at all,” she says in a bit of a baby voice.

“And you’ve been different the last couple of months. I think you’ve only been up on the roof twice and even then you didn’t look like you were seriously considering jumping.” Robby points out.

“Oh my god,” Jack mutters under his breath. “No, he’s not mine.”

They both accept that. But it doesn’t quell their curiosity in the slightest. There’s a longer pause though, your son really the only one making noise as all three adults watch him. 

“Who is she?” Robby finally asks, looking up at Jack.

“Does it matter?” Jack shoots back quickly.

“I mean…” Robby laughs a little incredulously, “yeah, a little.” 

“Why?”

“Oh come on, Jack,” Robby draws out as he takes your son from Dana. “You’re telling me if a woman showed up and handed me a baby and kissed my cheek before walking out you wouldn’t have questions and want to know who she is? Or feel like who she is doesn’t matter?”

“Of course I would want to know, but who she was wouldn’t matter and if you didn’t want to say anything yet to keep things private I would respect that.” Jack raises his eyebrows at Robby and gives him a pointed look. 

“Jack, it doesn’t matter who she is really, if she’s in your life we’d just like to know. We want to support you and see you happy. And you clearly know and spend time with the kid, enough for mom to feel comfortable leaving him with you and to know he’s been teething for the last couple of days. You spending time at her house?”

Jack doesn’t answer for a moment but then finally gives in. “Yeah.” Dana’s eyebrows raise in an invitation for more. “Yes, I spend time at her house. I help her out. I sleep in her guest room sometimes, watch him some days. So what?”

“So she matters,” Dana smirks at him a little. “She matters and she kissed your cheek so clearly there’s something.” Jack grows a little more serious and Dana and Robby both know she just hit some sort of nerve there. “Who is she? Please. Let us be happy for you.” 

Jack takes in a big breath and looks at them for a second before resting his hands on his hips, slightly cocking one and looking down at the ground like he’s about to admit something. “My therapist.” He says it deadly serious and just loudly enough for them to hear. 

He doesn’t need to look up to know the expressions they’re wearing, but he does anyway because Robby’s face of incredulity and concern is too funny to miss. “Really?” Dana asks. 

“No!” Jack emphasizes the word with his head and a little brow furrow as he moves from his position to pace a little. “Of fucking course not! But thank you for this little exposé into what you think of me.”

“Hey, that’s why I asked,” Dana puts her hands up in defense. “I couldn’t believe it.”

“Yeah, you couldn’t,” Jack looks over at Robby, “but he sure the fuck could. And he knows my therapist is a man, we go to the same god damn one!”

“Well I didn’t know if you found a new one!” Robby says in his own defense. Jack rolls his eyes. “Are you gonna tell us? Anything? Or are we really wasting our time here?”

Jack stops pacing and sighs, looks at the baby boy in Robby’s arms. “It’s complicated,” he offers. 

“We deal with a lotta complicated here.” Dana reminds him. 

“Yeah well you’re not going to believe the truth,” he mutters. 

“Try us.” Robby looks at Jack with a little knowing smile and tilts his head before looking back down at your son and making faces at him to keep him entertained. 

Jack shakes his head a little and looks away as he tries to think about how to explain without giving away too much because he doesn’t want to totally destroy your privacy. “She’s a friend. Seriously. Just a friend who I help out because she’s a single mom with nobody in the area and she needs help sometimes. Her…” Jack debates on whether this reveals too much but it would explain to them why he’s so reticent to talk about you. “Her husband died while deployed. So, we have the widower widow thing in common and there was a kind of connection there, and yeah maybe it leads to more one day and maybe it doesn’t.” He shrugs at them. That’s all he’s going to say. 

There’s another moment of silence as everybody takes in what Jack just said, himself included.

“So this is what the five epi pens and vials of epi and infant intubation and cric kit were about. He’s who they were about.” Robby looks down at your son. “Yes. They were about you, weren’t they?”

“Oh, peanuts,” Dana nods, looking from your son to Jack, “you introduced peanuts after you brought it all home.” 

Jack just looks at the two of them and shakes his head. Some part of him wants to laugh at the way they went from pushing for information, to getting a little bit, to leaving it and not pushing for more and instead bringing up the supplies he took and fucking peanuts. He’s grateful for it. 

“Yeah, we did.” Robby and Dana’s eyes flash up at him and they both have little smirks. It hits him. “She did. She did, she introduced peanuts. To her son.” 

“With you there.” Robby’s smirk grows a little bit. “Ready to intubate.” 

“I think it’s very sweet,” Dana says, smiling at him. 

“I think we need to get home before his mom calls in a panic. I said I’d leave on time and text her when we’re home, so.” He walks over to Robby and opens his arms, your son all but launching himself at Jack, making all three laugh. 

“He’s certainly a big fan,” Robby smirks. 

“Of course he is, he has excellent taste already. Though he liked you, so we might have to have a chat when we get home about why our standards are falling.” He says it in his typical deadpan demeanor. 

“I was being nice and then you ruined it.” Robby throws a hand up at him. 

Jack picks up the baby bag and slings it over his shoulder. “I didn’t ruin it, I spoke the truth.”

“You’re so mean to me.” Robby looks over at Dana as they all move towards the door. “He’s so mean to me.” 

“I am not mean to you.” Jack replies, stepping out of the door. 

“A little bit,” Dana agrees with Robby. 

“Thank you!”

“But he’s a little bit mean to you too, so it all evens out.” 

Robby scoffs. “I’m not mean to him!” 

“Just like I’m not mean to you.” Jack walks towards the lockers with your son. Robby and Dana stop at the desk, giving looks to everyone to tell them to go back to work. 

Jack swings by his locker and grabs his backpack. He pins it against the lockers with one hip so he can open it enough to shove the baby bag in it and zip it back up. “Alright bud, you ready?” He glances down to check on your son. Your son gives a little smile and then lets his head fall against the front of Jack’s shoulder, almost like he’s shy. Jack has to laugh a little as he walks back by the desk. 

“We’re out,” he announces to everyone, finding the way they all glance up and try not to look shocked or stare funny. “Say bye!” He says to your son, picks his little hand up and waves it. Your son smiles for a second before turning his head away, shying away from the attention. 

Jack looks at Robby and Dana. “Thank you.” He doesn’t have to elaborate. They know what he’s thanking them for. 

The two make it home easily and without incident. Jack texts you to let you know. 

J - Made it home and are having breakfast. 

He includes a picture of your son in his highchair eating some pancakes Jack made for him. When you get it the photo makes your heart squeeze, your boys. 

The world stops for a second and you get a little dizzy when you realize what you just thought. Your boys. 

Jack is not your boy. He’s not yours in any capacity. And that thought is one you know you would have had about your husband and son. That panic comes back, the intense shame and guilt. You try to think back on all you and your therapist have talked about, try to convince yourself that it’s okay. That it’s okay to have that thought. 

That it’s okay to like the thought and even to want the thought. 

You’re able to handle it much better than you were before and you know that means something. That you’re closer to being ready.

Once you’re not so lightheaded from all the emotions you reply. 

You - Thank you.

It’s odd, Jack thinks as he reads it. Almost clipped. Three dots appear. 

You - I’m sorry about this morning and the cheek thing. I know we haven’t discussed anything like that and I don’t really know what happened for me there in the moment, so I’m sorry. And I hope you can forgive me. 

He’s quick to respond. 

J - You have nothing to apologize for, so there’s nothing to forgive. I didn’t mind it at all 

He smiles to himself a little, especially once three dots appear. But then they go away only to reappear a couple of seconds later to disappear again. Shit, he thinks to himself, was that wrong? Did it cross a line? Fuck, was it suggestive? 

He tries to think of what he can say to apologize and let you know that he really didn’t mean for it to be suggestive or pressuring or weird. But then a message from you. 

You - Well good. I didn’t either

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A couple of nights later you sit on the couch next to Jack. It’s the first time you’ve sat next to each other like this. Jack was not the one to instigate it of course. 

You decided to watch a movie together. It’s not the first time you’ve done that. Not the first time you’ve made popcorn without asking if he wanted any. It’s the first time you don’t split it into two bowls, though. Instead you pour it all in one and come sit next to him on the couch. Not touching. But close enough to share the popcorn between you. 

He almost expects you to move once the bowl is empty and you set it on the table but you don’t. You just stay there, curled up in your blanket next to him as you watch, commenting to each other at times. He notices you comment less and less, are less responsive to his and are leaning closer and closer to him. 

He can see you falling asleep and when you blink back awake he points it out. “You wanna go to bed? We can finish later.” 

“No, no, I’m good.” You look at him and give him a smile so he knows you know how close you are to him. 

He nods and you keep watching. But twenty or so minutes later you slide a bit and your head rests against his tricep. 

Jack freezes. He doesn’t know what to do. Does he let you sleep? Does he wake you? Is it wrong if he doesn’t wake you? When he knows you might not be ready? But then the sleepiest, “s’okay,” comes from you like you knew what he was thinking. You’re out again so fast he wonders if he made it up. 

He knows you have trouble sleeping sometimes. Trouble falling asleep and staying asleep. So he’s hesitant to wake you from it when you’re getting it. You’d been so in and out of it with the movie he decides to just wait a bit, see if you wake up. 

But then Jack falls asleep on the couch with you resting on his arm. He wakes when he feels you stirring. “Shit,” you whisper, sit up and off him. “We fell asleep.” 

“Yeah,” he yawns. “I meant to wake you but must have fallen asleep before I could,” Jack says slowly as he wakes back up. “I wasn’t sure if you were okay with…”

“Oh.” You blink at him like the thought hadn’t occurred to you. “Yeah. No, yeah, it was okay, I’m okay. I, I hope you were. You definitely could have woken me if you weren’t!” 

Jack nods. “I know.”

You nod back, the magnitude of falling asleep on him hitting you even though you’re not sure it should really hold any particular magnitude. “Okay. Good.” You look around and check the monitor, chuckle a little and show it to Jack. He chuckles with you at the silly position your son is sleeping in. “Probably best to get to bed.” You give him a small smile. 

“Yeah, probably.” You stand up off the couch and toss the blanket onto it, grab the bowl and put it in the sink to deal with tomorrow. Jack stands too and stretches a little. “Are you going?” You ask, almost sound a little sad at the thought. You are a little sad at the thought. 

“I wasn’t going to,” he shakes his head. “I was just going to head to the spare, but I can if you’d prefer.”

“No! No.” You shake your head. “No, I was going to say it’s late and so you should stay and not try and get home at this hour. It’s not safe.” 

Jack gives you a little smirk and you have to look away. “After you,” Jack calls your attention back, sweeps his hand at the entry to the hallway leading to the rooms. “You want me to take him in the morning?” Jack asks as he follows you. You know he’s talking about the monitor. 

“Oh, no. You have to work tomorrow so you should sleep as much as you can.” You’ve learned his schedule. The reality of that hits you both at the same time. You clear your throat. “Good night, Jack.”

“Good night,” Jack replies, smiling to himself as he walks into your spare room. You know his schedule. Jack realizes he knows yours too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A week or so later you ask Jack if he has a certain day off, as if you don’t already know that he does. And he knows you know. 

“Yeah,” he answers, looking up from the floor where he’s playing with your son. 

You nod. “Well, so.” You try to start but stumble. You’re nervous. Flustered in that way you get. Like both times you were at the hospital. “That’s his birthday,” you look at your son with a smile, “and I was wondering if you’d um, if you’d like to, you know, spend the day with us?”

Jack doesn’t realize he’s doing it but he stares at you for a few seconds. You just asked him to spend the day with you and your son on your son’s first birthday. 

He nods. “Yeah.” He nods a little faster. “I would love that. If you’re sure. I know it’s a special day and-”

“No, I’m sure. And I know he’ll love it.” You look at your son fondly and then back at Jack. The fondness in your eyes doesn’t go away. “He loves you.” 

Jack flushes a little at that and it makes you get butterflies. Jack Abbot is blushing in front of you. Doesn’t matter why or what you said. He’s blushing and you’re swooning like you’re a teenager. And, you realize, you don’t hate yourself or feel guilty about it. You just feel it.

“Well,” Jack laughs a little, looks down at your son and brushes some hair out of his face. You still haven’t brought yourself to get it cut but you really are going to have to here soon. “I lo-” Jack stops himself. You can see him trying to think of what to say instead. 

“It’s okay,” you say quietly, understandingly. “You can say it, Jack.” 

Jack nods and swallows. “I love him too,” he says just as softly as he looks back down at your son. 

When Jack finally builds up the courage to look at you he’s greeted by your smile. The one that really meets your eyes and makes them sparkle a bit. The one that he’s seen more and more recently. The one that gives him butterflies. 

Jack Abbot blushes again. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The three of you spend all day together. Your son is one, so the day is more for you than anything. 

You decide on the zoo. Your son loves animals, it’s a weekday so it’s not super busy, the weather is perfect. And you can take it at your own pace. 

Lots of pictures get taken. Of your son. Of you and your son. Of your son and Jack. Of you, your son and Jack. That one threw him a little when you first brought it up and asked a stranger to take a photo of the three of you. 

Jack is patient and would never pressure you and very deliberately does not ask where you’re at in healing or if you’re feeling like you’re closer to ready or anything of the sort. He lets you lead, lets you set the tone and the pace. He knows if and when you’re ready you’ll communicate that. 

You and Jack sit in the aquarium when your son needs a nap and falls asleep in his stroller. You talk about your upcoming weeks and Jack tells you stories of patients he’s had recently that he hasn’t had the chance to tell you about. 

“Have you… had to explain anything about him and I? At work.” 

Jack’s eyebrows lift slightly and he shakes his head. “No. I’m sure they’re all dying to know but like I said, I don’t feel the need to explain anything to them.” He shrugs. “Well, actually,” he lets out a little breath. “The day you came in I told Robby and Dana. Not a lot. Just that you’re a friend I’m helping out because you’re a single mom and don’t have anyone here.” He bites his lip and looks at you. “I told them that you lost your husband while he was deployed, so we had the widower widow connection. I’m sorry if that was too much.” 

You laugh a little and shake your head. Jack has talked to you enough about Dana and Robby to know that Robby is his best friend and effective brother and Dana is his second best friend and like the Pitt mom. “It’s not.” 

“Dana said he’s gorgeous.” Jack doesn’t know why all of this didn’t come out once you got home that day but he was asleep when you did and then life was just busy and moved on. And now you’re talking about it. “He actually liked Robby, so he and I had a little conversation when we got home about bringing his standards back up.” 

That makes you laugh, properly. Jack thinks he could get lost in the sound forever. Spend the rest of his life chasing it. He tells himself to get a grip. You’re just friends. Nothing more. 

“Well,” you smile at him before looking away and shrugging. “Maybe one day I can meet them. Judge for myself.” 

Jack pauses for a second only because he wasn’t expecting it. “Uh, I mean yeah. Of course. Dana will lose it if she gets to see him again.”

“He is the cutest and best if I do say so myself.” You smile down at your sleeping one year old. “God, I can’t believe it’s been a year.” It’s been over a year and a half now since your husband. “He’s so big,” you whisper. “He was so tiny, fit on my chest so nicely. And I love watching him grow up and see him do new things and learn and thrive, but damn it’s hard.” 

Jack gives you a little hum of empathy, not entirely sure what to say. He notices how big your son has gotten and he’s only been in your lives for three months. 

“Will you come with us when I get his hair cut finally?” 

Jack looks over at you, a little confused. “Yeah, course.” He presses his lips together and shakes his head once. “Any particular reason why?” 

“To be my shoulder to cry on.” You say it so simply, like it means nothing when you both know it means something. You both know you’re inviting him to another thing your husband and your son’s dad would probably go to with you. 

And Jack gets stuck on it a little. To be my, you had said, you want him to be your something, even if it’s just a shoulder to cry on right now. “I suppose I can manage that.”

You share a little laugh about it. “Thanks, Jack,” you murmur. 

“Any time.” 

Once your son wakes back up you finish walking around the zoo. Jack buys him too many toys at the gift shop, all the stuffed animals he so much as glances at, much to his delight. You make your way back home together in Jack’s truck. Jack’s truck that now has a carseat in it. 

But you don’t go inside, instead you decide to leave the stroller and walk around the City. You find a place to eat and it’s weird to think about. To all the people walking by and seeing the three of you, you probably look like a family. And even though you feel some guilt, especially on your son’s birthday, you don’t completely hate yourself or let that guilt consume you. You like the idea. A lot. So you let yourself feel it.

After dinner at dusk you decide to take your son to the park for some swinging before heading back and getting him to bed. He loves to swing. You take photos of him and Jack and Jack takes them of the two of you. 

You’re so involved with your son and swinging and making him laugh that you don’t notice Jack slip away for just a second. Your son yawns. “Aw,” you give him a little sad laugh. “Tired baby? You’ve had a big day.” He reaches up for you and you pull him out of the swing, hug him close to you and kiss his head. 

When you turn around Jack is back and standing where you assumed he would be but he’s holding a single rose. You stay where you’re at, almost frozen but not in a tense way. And Jack is just as nervous that this is crossing a line when he doesn’t mean for it to be.  

“Day’s about you as much as it’s about him,” he calls to you. He starts walking towards you and you meet him halfway. “You did all the work a year ago today, mom.” He offers you the rose. “We should acknowledge that.” 

You look at the rose and then back up at him again, a bit stunned still. It’s so incredibly sweet and kind. It’s so incredibly Jack. And you know for sure then. 

You take the rose from him and give him a sappy smile. “Thank you, Jack. For everything. The rose and today and the last three months.”

“Don’t mention it.” He gives you a small smile. 

“Accept the thanks.” You give him a pointed one in return. 

“Alright, alright.” Your son has started to fall asleep in your arms. “Want me to take him?” 

You nod. “Sure, yeah. You only need one arm to carry him still. I need two now.”  You bring the rose up to your nose and smell it, smile to yourself about it. Let you and the butterflies in your stomach swoon. 

The three of you start walking home, your son fully out on Jack’s shoulder within a couple minutes. You walk back in silence. It’s a comfortable silence, a comfortable quiet. And while quiet hasn’t been as foreboding to Jack since he’s met you sometimes it still is. Like now. 

This quiet, while comfortable, is thick. There’s something about it that feels anticipatory. Last time the quiet felt like this, made him feel like this, this uneasy, it brought Jack you. 

Something about that makes him even more uneasy. Because Jack knows there’s always a reason for quiet. It always means something. Always brings something. Rarely, if ever, is it good. And he got good last time and Jack doesn’t trust the world or lightning to strike twice. 

He worries this time the quiet will bring something else. Something worse, like it always does. 

But before he can completely spiral and become even more hypervigilant than he always is, Jack feels your fingers brush against his for a second before they disappear and then come back, your fingers playing with his like it’s nothing, and then, in the quiet as you walk back to your place, you lace your fingers together and you’re holding hands and you give him a little squeeze that tells him you mean it. That you’re ready.   

Quiet. It always means something. Always brings something. 

This time it meant you were working up the courage. Is bringing the start of something more than just friends. 

Lightning strikes twice. 

Jack stops walking when you squeeze his hand and you stop with him, looking up concerned and a bit panicked, ready to draw your hand back. 

“You ready for this?” Jack asks, genuine concern in his voice as his eyes dart around your face, looking for the slightest sign of hesitation. But you can see it there too, the excitement, the happiness. The hope. “And by this I mean this,” he squeezes your hand. “Nothing more. Not until you’re ready for more. Not until you tell me you’re ready for more.”  

You bite your lip as he talks because he’s so cute when he’s concerned and he’s such a good man, wanting to make sure you’re ready and know he doesn’t expect more. And the smile that’s slowly pulling up on his face as you look at him and nod is so adorable you could scream. “Yeah. I’m ready for this.” You squeeze his hand back. “And maybe a little more.” You pull on his hand and start walking again, lean into him a little. “But only with you.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you made it this far thank you so much for reading and I hope it was okay and got fluffy and funny!!

You can find my Masterlist here for more Jack! Requests are open!

Taglist: @moonshooter @whiskeyhowlett-writes @smallcarbigwheels @hawkswildfireheart @blackwidownat2814 @yxtkiwiyxt @viridian-dagger @generalstarlightobject @andabuttonnose @beebeechaos @pear-1206 @starkgaryan @travelingmypassion @marvelcasey05 @daydreamingallthetime-world @millenialcatlady @iamcryingonceagain @loveyhoneydovey @a-stari-night @acn87 @moonpascal @lostfleurs @thelightnessofthebeing @beltzboys2015-blog @pouges-world @tinyharrypotterkpopfriend @roseanddaggerlarry @pearlofthepitt @niamhmbt @thefangirllife10 @star017 @marvelousmissmaggie @misartymis @clem9216 @distantsighs @rocker-chick-7 @mayabbot @taylorswifts-cardigan @sammiib444 @livinthevidaloca-ish @morallygreymaniac @woodxtock @shaydawgsblog @deadneverlander @imonlyhereformemes14-blog @sleepingalways @generalstarlightobject @dudewithastick @thatoneawesomechicka @rebeccasaurusrex

[peachesofteal]

Raspberry Girl Previous + masterlist + AO3 Simon Riley/female reader CW: light daddy kink Flashback to the first time Captain Riley met Raspberry girl.

The bakery is slow. 

He’s only been coming here for a few days, but he’s already figured out the best time to stop by so he can avoid the crowd. Before eight hundred, it’s always packed, too many people in line for tea, coffee, breakfast, pastries, half of them headed to base, the other half to somewhere else. 

He starts his day early, and then swings out here for a mid morning breakfast, or coffee, depending on how his day has gone. Usually, it’s filled with paperwork and overseeing training exercises, all of it as boring as the next. He welcomes the reprieve of a pastry, a togo container closed over a massive raspberry sweet roll (or two) that he usually eats in truck before he makes it back to base. It’s hard to leave it alone when it’s sitting in the passenger seat, waiting for him. He fucking dreams about things at this point, their sweet dough and cream cheese icing, raspberry jam, he assumes, swirled in every layer. If he’s lucky, he arrives just after or before a new batch is brought out, and they’re still hot. 

A few tables are occupied inside, people with headphones in clicking away on laptops, or casually chatting over a tea. It’s never too quiet here which he appreciates, there’s always music flowing, and noise coming from what he assumes is the kitchen, hidden behind a typical swing door you’d see in any restaurant. 

The familiarity is comfortable. There are no surprises, usually. 

Except today, something new catches his eye. 

You. 

You’re holding a plate of flaky pastries of some kind, standing at the edge of the counter. Mara, the girl who usually works the register, makes coffees and teas, plates or packages things from the case, is giving you her full attention as you speak. 

You stun him. Perfect from head to toe, beautiful in a way that’s making him believe you were created just for him. 

A possessive pulse pounds under his jaw. Locked in just at the sight of you. 

“They have nuts in them. Almonds. But they’re sl-slivers, so they’re just… they’re hard to see. So uh… make sure I guess, that people know?” 

“Okay, I’ll put it on the sign.” She holds the little placard up and you nod approvingly. 

“Right.” Like you’ve been holding your breath this entire time, your chest deflates shakily. Gun shy. Anxious. Fearful. 

Precious thing. 

That craving inside him perks up, hones in. Heat seeking missile. 

For once, it’s not only sexual. Not only about keeping someone for the night, the morning, putting all his energy and care into them just to cut that cord, close himself off and send them on the way. 

No. This is different. This is more. 

“Can I get one of those to go?” The guy waiting at the counter in front of him points to the plate. “Almond croissants, right?” You tense. There’s a lapse, and he can see your gears turning, sifting, before finally settling on something. 

“Sure?” 

“Sure I can get one, or sure they’re almond croissants.” You flinch. It would be hardly noticeable to someone else, but to him, it reveals another piece of the puzzle. You picked the wrong thing. He knows could soothe this burn, honor these parts of you that don’t seem to fit in, keep your mind, your heart, safe. Love you in the ways you desperately need. 

“Oh. Yes.” You nod, sliding one into the bag and pushing it across the counter as Mara cashes the man out, only looking up once he’s turned to leave. 

It only takes a second before you’re locking eyes with him. 

You freeze, and swears there’s a whisper of a whimper. Mara gives you a curious look, and then follows your line of sight right to him, her mouth quirking to the side in a small smile. Your hands clasp together at your waist, fingers interwoven. Immediately, they clench around one another so tight, he wonders if it’s hurting you. He wants to pull them apart, cover them with his own, hold them. Hold you. 

His instincts are churned up. They scream at him, trying to run away with a fantasy of a future. 

He thinks briefly of John and Grace, his old captain’s little blueberry pie, a sweet girl watching a movie and curled up on her daddy’s lap. His jealously is not from a desire of Grace herself, but of the relationship, the life John has carved out for himself, the purpose, the control, the ability to tend and care for someone who can give themselves so endlessly, be so trusting they let all their defenses go and fully let go. The love.

He’s never thought it was the right time for him, but now he knows he was wrong. It was never about the right time. 

It was always about finding you. 

Mara must see something, because she clears her throat and says your name, nodding in his direction. 

“This is Captain Riley.” Military brat, she knows the rank of every uniformed person who sets foot in here, and always addresses them as such. You gulp. 

“It’s n-nice to meet you.” Mara fills the gap quickly, nonchalantly, trying to ease your discomfort. 

“Captain Riley is the one who buys out all the raspberry rolls.” You brighten. 

“Really?” His chuckle rumbles in this throat. 

“Really. Think I eat two or three a day now." He pats his stomach, and you grin, before it gets lost immediately, unsure, glancing at the ground. 

“G-good, That’s… I’m glad.” It’s enough of a starting point. He can’t push too hard. You’re already trembling, looking up at him now, both with trepidation and wonder. Mara’s boxed up his order, quietly placing it in front of you, and you’re careful when you pick it up, handing it over like you’re handling a bomb, lips parting when he touches you. He forces the contact, intentionally brushing his fingers against yours, pleased when there’s an immediate reaction, a sharp inhale, a bob of your throat. He gives you a very gentle smile. 

“Thank you sweetheart.” Your eyes go incredibly wide, and you squeak. 

“You’re welcome!” He’s unable to get another word out fast enough before you’re practically running into the kitchen, door swinging wide enough for him to see just inside, eyes like saucers, nervous smile stretched across your face, your hands brushing your apron repeatedly, even though the batter and flour crusted on it doesn’t move. 

Precious, sweet little girl. 

You need someone to take care of you. Someone who will carve out space for you to exist, without fear. Someone who will understand your needs and instead of trying to force you to go where you don’t fit, they’ll protect you, encourage you, hold your hand. Someone who will build you a castle, a fortress, an entire world, just so you can be yourself, be happy as yourself, not a person the world wants to change. 

You need him. 

You need a daddy. 

[rosemaryhoney27]

Saint Danny of Gotham (Now With Suplexes!)

aka: He Said ‘Please’ Before Throwing a Man Into the River

Vlad was convinced now. Convinced that Danny was playing the longest, most chaotic, sugar-dusted con in existence.

Because everyone in Wayne Manor was falling for it.

Bruce had offered to let Danny shadow him on patrol. The man who trusted no one, not even his own toothbrush, had handed over a stealth suit and said, “Just keep to rooftops for now.” And Danny—sweet, shining, horror-child Danny—had nodded solemnly, promised to follow the rules, and then baked power bars for the Batfam before they left.

“Do not eat these,” Vlad warned, dramatically pointing to the bag. “They’re probably cursed. Or contain caffeine in unnatural quantities. Or powdered ghost pepper.”

Jason bit into one. “Mmm. Is that cinnamon?”

“They’re ghost-infused,” Danny said. “Boosts stamina and shields against low-level hexes.”

“I like this kid,” Jason said with his mouth full.

Later That Night: Gotham, 2:17 AM

It was a quiet patrol. Eerily quiet. Bruce was starting to feel unsettled. Not because there wasn’t crime (it was Gotham, come on), but because Danny was exactly where he was supposed to be.

On the comms, he sounded calm. Observant. Even helpful.

“Nightwing,” Danny said politely, “you’ve got a guy two roofs behind you holding a camera with a suspicious lens. Might be paparazzi.”

Dick checked. “Confirmed. You’ve got sharp eyes, kid.”

“Thanks! I used to have to keep track of invisible enemies and ghost wraiths back home, so spotting guys in beanies is kind of a vacation.”

Jason snorted. “Okay, but if he starts hovering again, I’m bailing. No one told me I’d be working with Casper.”

“Casper wishes he had my dodge stats,” Danny replied sweetly.

And then they reached the warehouse.

The intel had said “minor drug deal.” What it actually was? A gang-run blood ritual involving some kind of ancient Gotham artifact, two rogue mages, and at least one very punchable demon with a man bun.

Bruce was about to give the team orders when—

“Excuse me,” Danny said over the comms.

There was a crash. A scream. And a large, extremely tattooed man was suddenly airborne, launched straight through the air by a glowing teenager with a blinding smile and zero hesitation.

SPLASH. Into the river.

Everyone froze.

“…Did he just suplex a man into the Gotham River?” Tim asked.

“He said excuse me,” Steph whispered, horrified and impressed.

“He said please when he knocked the other guy out,” Damian muttered. “I watched.”

On the other side of the warehouse, Danny hovered above the last gang member, eyes glowing, voice still gentle.

“Hi. You seem like you’re rethinking your life choices. Want to surrender before I have to do more cardio?”

The guy dropped his knife and cried.

Back at the Cave

Danny was back in the kitchen, once again wearing his “I cook with spirit” apron, handing out celebratory cookies. Damian was scowling less. Cass had silently handed him one of her spare blades. Even Tim had given him the “you can’t be trusted, but I vibe with it” nod.

Bruce stared at the footage on the Batcomputer.

Danny, calm. Danny, efficient. Danny, using polite phrasing while delivering WWE-level combat moves with glowing fists and sparkles trailing behind him.

Vlad, across the cave, pointed furiously. “SEE? SEE?! Look at him! LOOK AT THIS!”

“He’s very polite,” Bruce said.

“He suplexed a man through the roof of a warehouse!”

“And said please.”

“HE BIT A SORCERER LAST WEEK.”

“He apologized after,” Tim added helpfully. “I checked the audio. He said, and I quote, ‘Sorry! That’s the ectoplasm talking!’”

“He vaporized a ghost snake in front of Commissioner Gordon and then offered him a tissue,” Steph noted, scrolling through her photos. “It was weirdly wholesome.”

Vlad slumped dramatically into the nearest chair. “I am surrounded by idiots. Gotham is cursed. My nephew is a gremlin in cherub’s clothing and I am losing my mind.”

Danny poked his head in, oven mitts on. “Uncle Vlad? I made brownies with ecto-marshmallow. Want one?”

Vlad opened his mouth to say something scathing.

Danny: 🥺

“…Yes, fine, but only the corner piece.”

Jason: “That’s right, he’s ours now.”

[yandere-writer-momo]

I decided to treat you all to a terrifying piece. Now this man will be accurate to his time period and terrifying!

Also, for @coolgirl32 since I haven’t fulfilled their request yet! So I combined those aspects with this lovely man. It’s not too detailed since I’m still trying to get out of my slump.

Yandere Head Canons: Lock and Key

Yandere 1950’s Husband x Fem Reader

TW: Yandere themes, obsession, MISOGYNY (microdose), BEING HELD AGAINST YOUR WILL (it isn’t obvious), isolation, HORROR, murder (mention), extreme jealousy, possessiveness, DO NOT ROMANTICIZE THESE BEHAVIORS OR THEMES, and OBSESSION

Robert Jones

Robert was your husband, the only man you’ve ever dated. He was a lawyer at his own law firm. Cold and calculated to others, but he had a soft spot for you. The ideal husband who was only loving towards you… almost too loving.

“Darling, I’m home!” He would always greet you with a hug and a kiss before he’d enjoy the dinner you’d make him.

Robert always sung your praises at how well you kept your home. The instant you washed the dishes, he’d hug you from behind to sniff your hair like a dog. He never seemed to get enough of you… he’s been this way since the two of you were in school.

His hands often grabbed at your hips and thighs. You swore you felt him shake as if he was holding himself back from devouring you like a rabid animal.

Robert was clingy behind closed doors and heavens he was such a possessive man… he had a long list of rules of her interactions with others. Especially other men.

“You’re my wife, dear. I can’t have another man seeing how beautiful you are.” Robert would whisper from the crook of your neck. “I’d have to kill them.”

Hell, he didn’t want you to even speak to the milkman nor the mailman. The reason being that you were too pretty and he wasn’t there to protect you. Even the other housewives weren’t allowed over.

But his consistent isolation made it so lonely… so you began to ask if you could have a job just like a few of the other women had.

Every time you asked if you could get a job, he’d always scoff. He was indeed a typical man of this time period.

“Women can’t work. They’re meant to stay at home and take care of the house.” Robert would always tell you with a click of his tongue. “Do I not give you a cushy enough life?”

You’d always reassure him and he’d smile at your submission.

“We should try for a baby soon… I hate leaving you alone in this house all the time.” He sighed. “Work has been so busy… but you’ll look so pretty all swollen. Don’t you think so, darling?”

Now you were never lacking in the bathroom. Robert was all you knew after all… and he was well endowed. Yet a small part of you wondered if other women’s husbands were constantly on them all the time. That their husbands would obsessively whisper how much they belonged to them…

Yet Robert never allowed you the time to think of it too often before he’d pull you into another round. He couldn’t stand it when your mind wandered from him. He should be all you think about because he was your husband after all.

If only you knew the lengths he had went to in order to be your husband. It was hard to hide all those bodies back in your school days. He was just lucky the police never traced the missing kids back to him.

Gods, Robert wouldn’t know what to do if you hadn’t chosen him. If you hadn’t chosen him to be your perfect provider and future father of your children. He was sure he would have been in a psych ward. Yet you chose him, like the kind person you were… so perfect and obedient to him. He loved you so much!

“I love you, darling.” Robert smiled as he held you close. His fingers traced shapes down your back as he sighed happily.

He would always keep you close under lock and key.