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butyoudidthis4what · 6 hours ago

Text

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 go 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

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daylighted · 1 day ago

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baby's first kiss! — dean winchester x baby!reader

summary dean finally kisses baby, really kisses her, and now she thinks it's the only thing she wants to do for the rest of her life — find baby's timeline here!

after so long of having you around, it slipped from dean's mind that things could still be new for you. a truly shitty motel room once had a box tv that your mind couldn't wrap around the concept of, you'd been truly baffled by the sight of a real ticking clock and not the digital one on dean's phone, and you'd never been kissed.

never been kissed. what kind of guy was dean, being so sweet on you, and never having kissed you to show it?

it'd been a simple little thing. a peck before bed in a dimly lit bedroom, your face illuminated by the soft glow of the lamp beside his bed. you had your own room in the bunker, but you didn't sleep well without him, and he was never capable of denying you when you gave him that look.

the look you gave him right before he leaned in. big glossy eyes, a sleepy pout drooping your lips, love and adoration melting the expression right into your features.

dean just... leaned in, and planted a kiss right on the curve of your lips, with nothing but a, "goodnight, pretty girl." he reaches behind him to pull the string on his lamp, casting the room into darkness, and then further into the dark when his eyes closed.

he thought that was it. donezo. over. a short story with a happy ending, prepping the both of you for another night of you completely entangled in his arms.

the weight of your body settling on top of him forces his eyes open, a little oof leaving his lips on an exhale. he blinks once, twice, three times to focus in the dark, and no, he'd been right with his first assessment: your face was nose-to-nose with him.

"what was that?" you ask, the innocence in your voice another thing that never failed to make his heart swell in his chest.

dean blinked once more time for good measure. "that was the lamp turning off."

your hand collides with his chest, just hard enough for him to feel it through his t-shirt. the corner of his mouth quirks in amusement. "no. the other thing. where you put your mouth on me."

now, he's fully smirking. he had no right to take advantage of your innocence like this, even if it was just to chuckle a little at your wording, but he couldn't help himself. he was sleepy, you were on top of him, and dean was nothing but a man, in the end.

"you want me to do it again?" he asks, tilting his head to mimic the confused stance of your own.

"no," you huff, in that unconvincing way that told him without being able to see that you were blushing. his fingers come up to pinch one of your cheeks and, sure enough, it was warm beneath his fingertips. "i wanna know what it was."

dean tilts his head up enough to brush his mouth against yours, his eyes searching the both of yours for any indication of hesitation. as usual, all he finds is the deep curiosity that makes him feel like putty. putty in your hands for you to play with, and you do. always do.

"that was a goodnight kiss," he whispers, just lightly enough against your mouth to feel his lips tingle at the slight pressure. "it's something you do when you love someone."

your hands cup his face before he can process they've moved, squishing his cheeks between your palms. "should i kiss you goodnight?"

yes, dean's head screams it at the top of its lungs, god, yes. but he's behaved, and civil, and honestly? if this was something you wanted to explore, he wasn't going to rush it. you were probably the one person who'd ever gotten dean to take a moment and slow down. "do you want to?"

"yes." dean could have wept. "and then i will go kiss sam goodnight."

dean could have wept — for a different reason. "no. don't do that."

"but i love him." he can hear the defiance in your tone, the fierce irritation that the conclusion you'd drawn from his words was wrong. your fingers curl into his shirt, your nose firmly pressed to his, and dean wished with all of his being that he had the strength to entertain your confusion better than this, but he's a little distracted by the feel of your legs framing his ribs and your lips tickling his with each word.

"different type of love," he tries to explain, even though his voice is a little strained and more than a little muffled through the smush of his cheeks in your hands. "the kind of love that makes you feel like you're gonna die."

you blink, taken aback. for a second, your hands on his face loosen, but then they're right back, puckering his lips like a fish with nothing but your little hands' strength. "like i'm gonna die?"

he lifts a hand between the both of you, tapping your chest. "heart races, thoughts full of the person, can't breathe." he tries to smile, and he must look ridiculous, because you laugh like the sun lives within you. "symptoms of being in love."

slowly, your smile mimics what his would look like if you weren't holding his face captive. it's bright and radiant, lighting up your face in gold. "i am in love."

"i know you are," he carefully extracts your hands from his face with a gentle grip, his eyes downturned to watch your mouth, so close but so far away, on the precipice of kissing him but not quite there yet, "and i love you."

the words leave his mouth in a breath. he doesn't know how long that thought has been trapped in his mind, begging to be set free, but now that it was out, he'd never been more sure of something. he loved you, and it set him free.

your head tilts down just enough to meet his lips, kissing him slowly but surely, with all the confidence of a girl who's done this before, even though he knows you haven't. you're attached to his hip, his arm, his life — you had no time to kiss anyone but him, he knew it, so where this skill came from was beyond him. but dean wasn't going to argue with it, not when you were warm, sat on his lap and holding his hands on his chest.

you break apart like you don't really want to, a huff being the first thing to leave your mouth, as if he personally had been the one extricating you away from him. "i like it." for the first time in your life as his personal little (pretty) leech, you sound small and uncertain, a confession whispered to the wind in hopes that the words don't get crushed by his fists.

"yeah?" he shifts a little beneath you, just so he can sit up and reach you a little better. "i like it, too."

"do we have to go to sleep now?" you ask, just as tentative, and all dean wants to do is sweep you into his arms and poke at your sides until you laugh and smile again, just to see his baby back, but this shyer version of you is beginning to capture his heart as much as the typical you does.

dean cocks an eyebrow. "you don't want to go to sleep? i mean, that's fine n' all, but..."

"you said it's a goodnight kiss." the authority is back in your voice, those beautiful lips in an aggravated pout. "so do we have to sleep?"

dean huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. "you can kiss for fun, baby. doesn't have to be for goodnight. that's just... a variation of kisses."

"i wanna learn all of the variations." and by god, even if he wanted to, you spoke so strongly that dean took it not as a wish but as a command.

he's breathless, now, even though he's trying very hard to be the all-knowing instructor god you've always seemed to think he was. "you don't want to sleep." a question said as a statement.

"i already said it twice now." an answer said as an argument.

"just wanna stay up all night n' kiss me, is that it?"

you roll your eyes, another little gesture that makes him grin. you've always pulled his smile out of him like you had them in your back pocket, so easy to access. "is it not obvious?"

dean can't help it this time. he huffs out a bout of laughter, his hands closing around your thighs, and takes your top lip between his in a quick kiss. "god yes," he breathes into your mouth, and any exhaustion is gone and forgotten in the wind as your lips properly connect with his once again.

notes. this was long overdue!! hope you guys like it teehehe it was very fun to write. i hope the baby!reader hype has not fully died & u guys will still love this </3

tags. @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @ultravi0lence14 @bruisedfig @theosaurous @stereotypicalbarbie @whyyouegg @rositaslabyrinth @rubyvhs @samslovebug @sunsbaby @bluemerakis @jollyhunter @angelblqde @unfortunate-brat @funkycoloured @chevroletdean @chiierful @cowboysandcigarettes @bitchykittenconnoisseur @beausling @soldiersgirl @nperoconelcositoarriba @bejeweledinterludes @pieandflannel @pearlsvie @viluren @h8aaz @yulianie @angelicjackles @lanasgirlfr @veyveyx @itszarinaig @tinas111 @briisbananass @spiritkissin @skyfaeriex @deanswidow @aurevina @jensenacklesballsack @honeyroots @angelicp0etry @blossomingorchids @idk6505 @irecalllatenovember1 @mahi-wayy @k-slla @lilyyyjcb @maeji-may @rositaslabyrinth

#dahlia's ☆ journal #baby!reader #dean winchester x baby!reader #sam winchester x baby!reader #dean winchester #sam winchester #jensen ackles #jensen fucking ackles #jared padalecki #jared fucking padalecki #supernatural #spn #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #sam winchester x you

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babydoll372 · 1 day ago

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Pleasure

Pairings: older!natasha romanoff x younger!reader (nat is around her late thirties, early forties, r is early 20’s)

Word count: 2223

Warnings: age gap relationship, r is honestly cringe blame that on me alone, sexual insecurities, age gap insecurities, oral (r receiving), r is a virgin, mentions of scissoring, inexperienced!r

Natasha sighed in relief as she closed her laptop, clocking out of her shift and rushing to leave the office before her boss could dive into a long conversation with her. She got into her car and waited for it to warm up, shivering a bit at first and grabbing her phone to call you. She smiled as she saw your face appear on the screen as she started pulling out of the parking lot.

“Hello, my beautiful girl..how was your day?” She glanced over and saw you shrug a bit as you stirred a spoon, she was guessing you were cooking her dinner for when she’d be home.

“Y/N? Is everything okay?” She asked with more worry this time, and you couldn’t help but bite your lip as you stared upon her beautiful, chiseled jawline.

“I’m okay..uhm, how was work?”

“Eh, it was the same as usual. How was your doctor's appointment today? Everything go okay?” Today you had to see your primary care physician for a regular checkup, but it ended up going in a different direction. You nervously released the fact that you were not sexually active, even though you showed your doctor photos of you and Natasha earlier in the appointment. She didn’t question obviously, knowing many different reasons could be of cause, and wrote down what you told her. However, when you explained some worries to her was when she brought it up.

“So you can’t reach an orgasm with masturbation, why not try with your partner? I don’t know if you are waiting until marriage or what not-“

“Oh, no, no, definitely not planning to wait until marriage..I’m just, you know, a bit scared. It’ll obviously, uh..be the first so I’m just worried I’ll embarrass her and myself by feeling absolutely nothing.” The woman chuckled and placed a hand on your knee, patting it gently.

“I personally, and professionally, don’t think you have anything to be afraid of. It will be hard at first to adjust to, it’s definitely uncomfortable having another person see you so intimately and insight different physical reactions, but actually making love is so much different than masturbating, my dear. And I know it’s uncomfortable to hear or talk about, but you don’t need to fear it. I am sure that when the time comes you will be quite pleased, and so will your partner, and if not then I can refer you to a gynecologist and we can go from there, alright?” You nodded at her reassuring words, fiddling with your hands to ease your nerves as now the idea was imprinted into your mind for the rest of the physical. Maybe you really were just inexperienced and couldn’t bring yourself to experience an orgasm, but maybe she would? She had been with multiple women in her years, you zero, considering your age gap, but what if she didn’t enjoy it with you?

“It was fine..uhm, I- I was hoping to talk to you when you’re home about something.” You said, blurting it out before you would forcefully hold it in any longer. It had already felt like years keeping it in for ten hours.

“You don’t want to talk now? Is it serious?”

“I would just prefer talking at home, is that okay?” Once again, Natasha glanced at the camera with worry, trying to read your face in a quick few seconds before looking back at the road.

“Of course it’s okay..I’ll see you at home then?” Usually the call on her way home lasted the entire ride, but you both could feel the heavy tension and knew it needed to end there. You said your goodbyes and about fifteen minutes later, she came home and you greeted her at the door with a kiss. You walked her into the dining room where you had dim lighting and a candle lit on the table. The table was always up against the window looking out to the city, and now it looked even more romantic since it was dark out, and the only lights illuminating the sky were from the homes of other people living their own lives. Along with the candle were two plates of steak and potatoes, making Natasha’s eyebrows raise. Steaks weren’t something you two could afford often, clearly this was an important night.

“Wow, this must be something really important you need to discuss, huh?” She joked, sitting down across from you as you didn’t even laugh. You just bit your lip anxiously as you started to cut your own steak. Usually, Nat would cut your food for you, whether it was meat, pancakes, desserts, or anything else, she’d be the one doing it for you while you happily awaited.

“You sure you don’t want me to cut that for you, baby?”

“I’m okay, I’m not a baby, y’know.” You chuckled, only making her tick her head to the side in worry again.

“I know you’re not a baby, I just like doing things for you. I’m sorry if it came off that way..are you sure you’re okay?” She tried to calmly speak, not wanting to cause an argument of any kind but also getting a bit frustrated at your inability to communicate your problem with her.

“I-…I just don’t want you to think of me as some child, I’m a grown woman and I don’t need anybody to do things for me. And just because you’re older or have slept with loads of women doesn’t mean I’m some incompetent- thing!”

“Woah, woah, woah, what is going on? Why are you treating me like I’m some whore who’s slept with hundreds of women? And why are you suddenly so worried about this?”

“Because I want to have sex with you! And I- I want to be comparable to the, I don’t know, supermodels you’ve been with! And I don’t want you to think you can’t make a move just because I’m younger or because you cut my steak for me..” Natasha covered her lips to hide a chuckle at your obviously wrong guessing, and quickly put on a face of care when you were looking.

“Y/N, that is completely inaccurate! First off, the very few women I’ve slept with were nowhere near supermodels. Second off, you have no idea how badly I want to have sex with you! I have been holding back since we got together because I respect you, not because I don’t find you desirable or hot, it’s just because I’m not going to push you into anything. I do not think you are too young for me to have sex with…and I wish you would’ve come to me sooner about this, sweetheart..” She said as she kissed the back of your hands, smiling at you as you slowly cracked a grin, realizing how foolish you sounded.

“I’m sorry- gosh I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to be so rude, I don’t think you’re a whore at all! I think you’re awesome and the best girlfriend I could ever ask for..who I really hope will still accept my offer to have sex with me for the first time..tonight?” Natasha smiled wide, staring into your eyes as if they were never ending. She nodded as she verbally agreed, and you blew out a breath. You slowly pulled your hands back from her and went to finish your steak so that you two could start soon, however, Nat had different plans. She stood up abruptly and went to your side of the table, turning your chair around to face her and effortlessly lifting you so your legs wrapped around her waist, and her hands were placed on your butt as she teasingly squeezed it. She kissed you repeatedly along the way, having to stop back at the table after your insisting of blowing out the candle, and once you did, she just went for your neck. Any open area of skin she was following with her lips, sometimes leaving small purple marks in its wake. Once she got to the bedroom, she comfortably laid you on the bed and stared down at you, grinning from ear to ear.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, you know that?” You bit your lip as your cheeks tinted a deep shade of red, and she couldn’t tear her eyes away. “I am the luckiest woman on this very planet, my love..and I am never letting you go. I am going to make love to you today and every single day after that you let me, because I cannot get enough of you, my beloved..” She leaned down to kiss you passionately before her hands trailed down to your hips, teasing your waistband. She trailed her lips to your chest until you nodded, allowing her to remove your shirt. She grinned, teasing her tongue around the soft, supple plush that was your skin, and sucking softly on your nipples, one and then the other. Your fingers found her hair as your raked through it, humming softly. You felt an ounce of panic rise when you thought back to what you told your physician and how you truly had never felt much pleasure, and you were worried this would be the same. You felt a limited amount of lust from her actions, but you felt loving pleasure.

“Nat..?”

“Hm?” She kept her lips wrapped around her desired object, looking up at you from your chest.

“Do you think you could try, like..rubbing me a bit? Or something like that..please and thank you.” She slowly pulled away from your chest, planning to go back as she grabbed a hair tie from the bedside table and put her long red hair in a bun. She used two fingers to gently caress your clit through your shorts, her free hand on your thigh rubbing soft circles.

“Tell me how that feels, sweetheart. Do you want me to move your shorts aside?”

“May you please? I- it feels close to good but not quite there..“ She nodded, understanding the difficulty you might have for your first time and she pulled the shorts over a bit to reveal your well tailored cunt. You fiddled with your fingers as you watched her face for her reaction.

“You look gorgeous, my love. But you don’t ever need to change a thing for me, okay?” You nodded, biting your lip as you felt her wet fingers draw circles over your clit. She focused on how much pleasure she was bringing you, her free hand moving to your breasts as she fondled them softly, tweaking your nipples playfully. After the same movements and eventually a slightly quicker pace, she wanted to go further.

“Is it alright if I use my mouth now?” She could see your hesitancy and how your legs instinctively closed an inch at the thought of her so close. “It’s alright if you don’t want me to, I just want to make you feel good, this is about you tonight.”

“You-..you can use your mouth, yeah..” She didn’t waste much time and put her hands on your thighs to hold them in place, bringing her tongue to your clit as she followed similar patterns from her fingers. She hummed at the taste of you, making you moan quietly as you gripped onto her hair. You could feel your legs shaking a little bit as you tightened them around her, and she only quickened the pace of her tongue. She rode off of your whimpers, both the quiet and loud, and she watched as your upper body heaved up and down the quicker she went. Her jaw started to ache, but she wasn’t finding it in her to care as she drowned out the pain and focused on your confused pleasure. It didn’t come in a matter of seconds, nor only a few minutes, but she continued until she heard the words she had been desperate to hear.

“Nat-! I- fuck, I think I’m gonna-“ She pulled away for mere milliseconds to respond, not wanting to waste a single moment away from your delicious juices.

“Cum for me- do it for me, baby!” She moaned loudly into your desperate heat as your legs shook even quicker and tightened even further, your body unraveling as you let yourself slip. Your eyes shot wide open as you stared at the ceiling, your orgasmic state washing over you intensely as you clung tightly to the back of your older girlfriends head while you muttered ‘fuck’ over and over under your breath.

She eased you out of your high by delivering slow licks to the sensitive bud until you were whining for her to stop. She slowly got up and removed her underwear before settling in front of you.

“Take all the time you need, there’s no rush..but once you’re ready, I want to teach you something.” She took your hands in her own, kissing them softly as you looked up at her, still in a completely disheveled state.

“What do you want to try?”

“You might’ve heard of it before, it’s called scissoring.” She grinned at the thought alone and ran her hands up and down your thighs, humming at the feeling of your soft skin as she could only imagine what it’d feel like rubbing against hers.

#natasha romanoff x gender neutral reader #natasha romanoff x female #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff #Natasha romanoff x reader smut #natasha x reader #natasha romanov

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lovesickhughes · 17 hours ago

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LIV !!! congrats on your celly!!! you deserve it so much 🩷

could we get amore + "you have no idea how long i've thought about having you like this." or "keep the noise down, baby. you're too loud." with bsf!luke? 👀👀

a/n: OF COURSE MY ANGEL 👼🏼🤍 i went a little crazy on this one (5.7k words), but you deserve this and more. I LOVE YOU!!! i hope you enjoy (not edited)

18+ under the cut!

You hated to admit it, but you were falling for Luke, and you were falling hard.

But how could you not when he did everything in his ability to make you swoon over him, and leave you noticing your heart skipping a beat every moment he gave that extra bit of effort.

However, you couldn't see yourself building the courage to admit to your feelings and tell Luke that you've fallen for him, but it became harder as each day passed on and there were moments you began to wish you could call him yours.

So when you were at yet another hockey party Luke had dragged you to, the unsettling feeling that filled your stomach at the sight of a girl you hadn't ever seen before talking to Luke and standing a little too close for your liking, you were left to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from exposing your feelings.

You sipped on your drink, cringing as the alcohol burned your throat as you swallowed it; cursing whoever made the concoction and how much liquor they poured into it. Yet, your eyes never left Luke, watching from across the room, seeing him lean down to the girl's height to hear what she had to say, watching how she leaned in close, placing her hand on his shoulder and gripping his arm tighter than you would have preferred.

And when her arm trailed down to his hand, interlinking their fingers and Luke's head fell back in a laugh, you tried your hardest not to show your annoyance and the roll of your eyes that just happened by instinct.

"Y/n, can you make it more obvious that it's clearly bugging you?" Ethan nudged your side with his elbow, making you shoot him a glare.

"Making what obvious? And what is it?" You countered, squinting your eyes as your eyebrows pinch into a frown.

Ethan just scoffed, letting out a laugh before shaking his head in disbelief, "You gotta be kidding me— you're obviously jealous your boy is over there talking to that girl, and you obviously have feelings for Luke." He shrugged, trying to contain his own laugh.

Your eyebrow quirked as you tilted your head, attempting to mask the obvious truth that was painted all over your face, "I am not jealous. What makes you think that?" You counter, stepping forward towards Ethan who was leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest.

Ethan pushes himself off the counter to turn and face you, his large frame towering over your own. You swallow thickly at his closeness, noticing the slight stubble growing on his face, and the scent of his cologne wafting through the air. His arm braced his frame by placing it beside where you stood, enclosing your body against his, a grin toying on his face as you watched in fear.

"Because," He said, leaning to the side to give you an angle of Luke who still was stood across the room, only this time Luke's gaze wasn't focused on the girl in front of him, it was on you; and how close Ethan stood next to you.

"I know for a fact me being this close to you is making that man's brain go haywire." He jested, shrugging his shoulders while you scolded him.

You tried to contain the feeling of heat rushing to your cheeks at the thought of Luke growing the slightest bit jealous over you perched with another guy, but your thoughts were halted when your eyes met his— only for a brief moment, but felt like time had slowed and the world had stopped.

You gave Luke a small, sweet smile before turning at the call of your name from a friend you had met in one of your classes and heading to the other area of the house where bodies filled and music blared.

But you couldn't help but turn back at the feeling of Luke's eyes watching you leave, noticing the way he bit at the inside of his lip, contemplating something unbeknownst to you.

—

Later that night, and three rounds of beer pong later, you could feel the alcohol consuming your body, making your limbs feel fuzzy, your eyes heavier and the environment causing your head to slightly spin.

You were sat on the couch in the living room, pressed up against the bodies of a few members of the hockey team who you had been introduced to over the times spent with Luke.

Listening in to the conversations and laughs being shared by the loud and rambunctious boys, you smiled at their jokes and bantering, but couldn't help but feel a sinking feeling settle in your chest.

You had begin to notice you had yet to see Luke since your encounter earlier in the night with Ethan, but even then you hadn't spoken any words, just lingering glances that left your stomach twisting.

You pulled out your phone, only to see no new messages from the one person you wished to be consuming your time, and while mindlessly scrolling, you couldn't help but let your brain wander to the thought of where Luke could be and what he could be doing.

Just as the thought of that girl you had seen him with earlier, the sound of the boys hollering caught your attention, lifting your gaze to see the one and only man you could have hoped to see.

Luke walked in, leaning in the doorway of the room, beer can in his hand as he called over to his friends, clapping hands with a few others as they walked by. But when his eyes scanned the room, and found the familiar ones, you couldn't help the rush of heat flood to your cheeks.

Luke sauntered over to where you sat, his large frame towering over you, as a tired grin pulled over his face.

"Hey you," He smiled, his hands reaching down to slightly brush over your thigh. "How's it going?" He asked softly as he nudged one of the familiar faces of his teammate to move over for his large body to slide in next to you.

His arm wrapped around the back of the couch, falling on your shoulder and his hand instinctively wrapped around your arm, pulling you in close to his warm frame. It was as if you fit perfectly against his side; like a lock and key, and just by being in his embrace, you felt at ease, like it was exactly where you were supposed to be.

"You good?" Luke mumbled against your temple, placing a delicate kiss to your head. You hummed in response, nodding your head and closing your eyes, leaning your head against Luke's shoulder and letting the bass of the music vibrate through your veins.

"I haven't seen you that much tonight," You said looking up to meet Luke's eyes.

He pursed his lips, giving a tight smile, "Yeah, I know, I'm sorry."

You gave another small smile, turning your head to place a quick kiss on his shirt-covered shoulder. "S'okay, just like seeing you, y'know." You mumbled, shuffling back into your previous position and letting Luke's free hand grab your own and intertwine your fingers with his.

"Will you two just kiss and make it official already— I mean this is just painful." Ethan called from across the room while he positioned himself to throw the small ping pong ball while focusing on the intense game of beer pong.

You only shook your head and let out a small chuckle at Ethan's remark, but you couldn't help but notice Luke shift against you, his hand tightening against yours and pulling you closer. It was as if the subtle movement was the slightest indication he felt the same way and that was all you needed.

You let it slip your mind, focusing your attention on the intense game of beer pong being played while chiming in every once in a while to the conversation being shared with the group that was spaced out along the couches.

Soon enough, the night had died down, people began to depart and the music was turned down so that it only filled the background. You had gotten up to help clean up the garbage that had been scattered across the house by the drunken fools, and as you were collecting cups off of the counter in the kitchen, you felt the familiar grasp of Luke's hand slide from the small of your back and around to your front, pulling you back so that your hips were pressed against his, his chest leaning into your back.

"Thanks for helping, Y/n/n, I really appreciate it." He thanked as he turned you in his arms to face him. The sight was the breathtaking, looking up at Luke, seeing his hooded gaze from the alcohol consuming his veins, the sly smirk that spread on his face from the giddiness of the alcohol— and what he believed was from being this close to you— and you couldn't help but notice his fingers toying with your top, feeling the texture of the fabric beneath his fingertips.

You shrug at his appreciation, turning quickly to toss the used cups into the trash bag that hung on one of the cabinets before turning back to face Luke, bracing yourself by placing your hand against his forearm, noticing the goosebumps that laid across his skin.

"Someone's gotta do it, I know how you all get." You laugh, shifting on your feet.

"Do you wanna stay over?" Luke asked abruptly, as if he had been waiting to ask you, which in reality he had, but you didn't need time to hesitate, you nodded quickly, smiling as he intertwined his fingers with yours and directed you upstairs to his room.

It wasn't uncommon for you to spend the night at Luke's; long nights of studying, binge-watching movies and TV shows or simply just hanging out, it seemed more convenient to stay than to trek home. So when he opened the door, you were welcomed with the familiar sight, scent and cozy-feel of his room, taking in the dim light from his desk and the neatly made bed.

"I'll grab you a pair of sweats and a shirt so you don't have to wear that," He said nodding to your body that was clothed in a pair of jeans with a nice top. You nodded quietly as you sat on the edge of Luke's bed, feeling the growing tiredness consume you. You watched Luke dig around his dresser to find clothes that wouldn't be overly sized on you, and you couldn't help but fall into a daze as you watched his back muscles shift beneath his white t-shirt, seeing him move swiftly.

The toss of his clothes hitting your face brought your attention back to him, looking up with question in your eyes as you had noticed he was waiting for you to respond— the staring causing you to tune out the surroundings.

"Sorry, what'd you say?" You asked softly, smiling up to Luke who stood opposite you, now leaning against his dresser with his arms crossed over his chest.

"I asked if you were good, you were zoning out there." He chuckled.

You sat up taller on the bed, wiggling your hips to adjust better, "Oh, yeah. I'm good. Just tired." You nodded your head, but you words weren't convincing. Luke only squinted his eyes before turning back around to grab a pair of pyjama pants from another drawer and it was if you were smacked right in the face at the sight of Luke pulling his shirt over his head to leave his torso bare.

You had seen him shirtless before, but this time, whether it was the lingering alcohol, or the close proximity of being in his room, you felt your mouth slightly fall agape, stunned by the sight.

You swallowed thickly, averting your gaze to avoid being caught in an awkward moment, and yourself stood up to change into more comfortable clothing.

You turned towards the wall, staring at the few pictures and other memorabilia that was scattered across the wall and quickly stripped from your pants, tossing them to the side before reaching behind your back to undo the zipper of your top.

But of course, as if the universe wanted the sexual tension to flood the room, you tugged at the zipper that seemingly was stuck to no avail. You groan, throwing your head back knowing that the only solution was to ask Luke.

"You gotta be kidding me," You grumbled lowly under your breath before sighing and gathering the courage to call out to Luke. "Luke, can you help me— my zipper is stuck." You groan, looking over your shoulder to see Luke digging around near the side of his bed. He shot up from leaning over, eyes wide and his expression shocked as if he was caught in the middle of something, but when his eyes fell to you, and trailed down to your frame, you felt heat rush to your cheeks, nodding your head to summon Luke.

He shifted around his bed, coming up to stand behind you and you reached your arms to fumble with the small piece of metal.

"You just gotta make sure it's not caught on anything— I can try to pull the fabr—" You explained, shifting awkwardly on your feet while your eyes scanned for anything but Luke's own.

"I got it, Y/n." Luke cut you off, his fingers coming to hold the shirt, working the zipper to try and release it. You only nodded, turning your head back to face the wall as your breaths grew shaky, suddenly becoming hyperaware of your surroundings.

The feeling of the zipper finally coming undone made you let out a sigh of relief, turning around to face Luke to thank him— the fabric still loosely hung over your chest. But when you turn around, Luke is already staring down at you, his gaze more lustful and dark. His bottom lip was tucked underneath his teeth, his chest rising and falling deeply as he attempted to control his breathing.

"You okay?" You asked, looking up at Luke through your eyelashes and watched him slowly nod, his hand slowly reaching up to your shoulder, stopping at the strap of your top that was slipping off your skin.

You glanced down to his hand, watching every inch of him moving against you.

"Can I?" Luke asked softly, almost as a whisper, and when you nodded slowly, your eyes never leaving him, you felt the cold air hit your chest as your top fell to the floor, leaving you exposed to Luke.

As if he could read your mind, feeling you grow insecure of being exposed, his hands snaked around your waist, pulling you tight to his chest so your breasts pressed against his ribs, the softness of each of your skin sending shocks of pleasure through your veins.

Luke's hands grazed up and down your spine, like feathers, as he gazed down to you while your hands found their spot on each of Luke's biceps, holding yourself up against him.

"Ethan can't get out of my head." Luke chuckled, his hands still working against the expanse of your back, feeling every dip and curve of your frame.

You laughed, pinching your eyebrows together, "what do you mean?"

He shook his head, laughing alongside you, "Well what if we just kissed already?" He asked lowly, his head falling next to your ear where he planted a slow, wet kiss just below, making your chest shakily inhale a breath. You tilted your head to the side, letting Luke place soft kisses down the trail of your neck from your ear to your collarbone, your eyes fluttering shut at the euphoric feeling of Luke's lips against your skin.

He pulled away, his hands planting themselves against your hips, his eyes never leaving your own. "Can I kiss you?" He asked, eyes darting back between each of your own, waiting for your approval to allow him to take you to another realm of pleasure.

When you nodded your head, it was if everything flashed before you, suddenly his lips were hot against yours, enveloping you into the most delicate, yet hungry kiss you had experienced. Then before you knew it, he was directing you back to his bed, laying you down against the mattress as he hovered over you, his arm bracing himself next to your head while his other hand caressed your bare side, every so often sliding to your breast and toying with your nipple and making you squirm underneath his grasp.

Luke was attacking your neck with kisses, ensuring no area of skin was left untouched by his lips. All the while your hands were roaming his own body, feeling his taut muscles of his shoulders and back, and entangling your fingers in his curls tugging at the hair when he found your sweet spot against your neck.

He pulled away, meeting your eyes as you let yours open to watch Luke and you examined his face, seeing his hungry eyes and wet, swollen lips from kissing you. He reached down to place yet another kiss against your lips, making you moan into his mouth at the contact and he quickly pulled away, a grin tugging on his lips from the sound your mouth had made.

"You have no idea how long I've thought about having you like this," Luke said as his hands roamed your body, rubbing up and down your sides, toying with your breasts and making you shift underneath him.

"Me too," you sigh, your back arching as your body felt eager for some sort of pleasure. Your arms reached for Luke, feeling his own arms and shoulders before pulling him down to be flushed against you, his nose touching the tip of your own. "Fuck me." You whispered against Luke's lips as you grazed your own against his, earning a groan to fall from Luke's throat as he closed his eyes.

He opened them to look at you, more seriously, searching for your confirmation, "Yeah?"

And with the slightest nod, it was almost instantly that Luke's lips were against yours again, this time hungry and determined, his hips falling against yours as your legs fell open to welcome his frame. He made sure your panties were completely off as he stripped from his own, his hard cock freeing from behind his boxers, and your mouth was practically salivating at the sight of Luke stroking his cock, focused eyes as the sight of you laying across his bed.

"You are the most beautiful girl I've ever met." Luke whispered into your ear as he hovered over you, aligning the tip of his cock against your entrance, sliding it up and down against your slit to spread the wetness that had begin to build up.

When Luke pressed into you, stretching you and sending a rush of pleasure through every nerve cell in your body, your back arched and head fell back against the mattress, moaning at how good he felt inside you. His chin fell to tuck into his chest, groaning at the feeling of you enveloping around him as if you were made for him.

"You feel so good, Y/n." He moaned, slowly beginning to thrust against you, pulling his length almost completely out before pushing back in determinedly to bottom you out, making you whine his name, your hands reaching for his shoulders to bring him closer to you.

His elbows rested on either side of your head against the mattress, his nose touching yours as he worked against you, thrusting in a rhythm that had each of your moaning in synchrony. Your hands roamed his body, tugging at his skin and hair, your legs wrapping around his waist and pulling him closer, to deepen his thrusts even further.

His hand slipped to yours, pulling it above your head and interlocked your fingers, pressing your hand into the mattress as he thrusted into you in such a sensual, intimate and loving way; all the pent up, unspoken words and feelings being shared in the act.

This felt different than the others times you had had sex, aiming to reach the climax— this was two people expressing their admiration that had accumulated over however long you had felt something for Luke, and him sharing that he felt the same way.

As Luke continued to thrust into you, shifting his legs so one was bent upward to hit the spot within you that elicited immense pleasure, you felt the knot in your stomach begin to tighten. Your free hand reached for Luke's jaw, delicately holding his face as your eyes met his, never breaking contact as your body responded to each and every movement Luke gave you.

As he sped up, you let out a loud moan, biting your lip and whining while pressing your chest up into his, earning a small chuckle from Luke as he continued to work inside you.

"Baby, you gotta be quiet, keep the noise down, 'kay?" He mumbled against your lips, swallowing your moans while his hand slipped between your bodies to toy with your clit, sending shocks of pleasure through your skin and making your toes curl. Your thighs squeezed against him, feeling your climax approaching as his hand continued to rub quick circles against your clit, all the while his cock slid in and out of your pussy with ease.

"Luke, I'm so close." You moaned, eyes squeezed shut as you focused on the feeling of Luke's cock sliding in and out, his fingers on your clit and his other hand still bracing your own as he fucked you into the mattress.

He nodded, his thrusts changing rhythms as he worked you to your peak. "Yeah, that's it, come on my cock, baby." He encouraged, fucking you like no other. It was as if you two were made for one another, the way your bodies responded to each other, how it was so easy to know the ins and outs and how to make one another come close to the brink of ecstasy.

Luke's thrusts grew more sloppy as his own climax began to build and you pulled him flush against you yet again, your arms slipping from his grasp to link around his neck as he continued to bring you to your orgasm.

"You feel so good, Luke— fuck," You called out, your hands tugging on the curls at the nape of his neck.

"Yeah, baby, you're so close. Doing so good," He encouraged, and it only took a few more sloppy, yet deep and hard thrusts for your orgasm to approach and a sudden burst of euphoria to flood your veins, leaving your body to feel as if it were levitating. Luke's climax wasn't long after, thrusting into you a few more times before quickly pulling out and letting his secretions fall onto your stomach, painting your skin as he moaned your name.

He fell beside you, body limp as you both came down from your highs and he immediately pulled your body into his side, enveloping you into the warmest, tightest hug and placing a delicate kiss against your head.

"Thank you," He mumbled quietly, peppering kisses against your head, making you hum in response, "Let me clean you up, okay?" He said softly as he sat up, his arm dragging down your side to grip at your hip, taking in your exhausted state with his cum still dripping against your skin.

He slipped on his boxers, shuffling around his room, not long before he laid beside you and wiped the residue off of you and pulling one of his shirts over your head. He guided you under the covers, making sure to kiss you once again against your soft lips, and you let yourself continue to kiss him— the feeling addicting.

As your tongues danced with one another, a loud knock pulled your attention away, making you look at Luke with a concerned face.

"What do you want!" Luke called out, brows furrowing as he pondered who it could be, but the familiar snicker of Ethan's laugh gave it away, making your groan and fall back onto Luke's bed.

"Finally!" Ethan said in a sing-song tone, before laughing loudly. Luke looked back at you with apologetic eyes, leaning over your body once again, his arms trapping you against his frame.

You shrugged, "I mean he's not wrong." Which only earned a laugh to fall from Luke's tongue, diving forward to plant his lips right where they belonged— against yours.

#💌. loveletters #luke hughes #luke hughes blurb #luke hughes fic #luke hughes smut #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes x you #luke hughes x y/n

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spidybaby · 1 day ago

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love begin again and barça boyz ❤️ plz i need a barça boyz asparents or coparenting plz plz plz 😭

Coparenting | Barca Boys

Summary: What is it like to coparent with them

A/N: I can't lie, I love this request 🥺❤️ also, thank you, Anon. I'm happy to know that you loved Begin Again.

Pedri

"Do you have your coloring book?" You ask, grabbing your son's backpack. He nods at your question. "What about your neon color pencils?"

"I have the draw I made for papi." He answers, showing you the drawing one more time.

You gran him, walking to the Gonzalez Lopez household. You text Rosy that you are outside, thar way you don't have to knock.

"Okay, mi amor." You put him down. "Listen to your dad, don't eat too much sugar and have fun."

He nods, giving you that smile that makes you think of Pedri. He was so much like Pedri. Even the way of talking, not only did he got the accent, but the expressions.

Rosy opens the door, greeting both of you. You share a quick hug with her. "Hola, guapo." She says, greeting the smiling boy.

"Mira abu," He says, showing her the drawing. "Para papi."

"It's so amazing! Your daddy is going to love it."

You kissed him one last time. "Have fun in Sevilla, amor." You say, sending him inside the house. "You guys are going to have fun this weekend." You smile at her.

Rosy hugs you. "We will." She says, taking the backpack from you. "Are you doing anything this weekend?"

You nod your head. "I'll go to the movies." You smile. "Oh, can you please give this to pedri? These are the tickets to the game our son has next month."

You considered yourself lucky, Pedri was coming out of the house with your kid on his arms.

"Mami!" You hear your baby yell. "Papi is getting me an ice cream."

"That so yummy, baby." You smile at him. "Hi, Pedri."

"Hola." He says, a very dry tone.

Rosy knows that if looks could kill, hers would kill her son. "Pedri, this is for you." She says, taking the envelope from your hands.

When Pedri found out about the baby, he was over the moon. You were his puppy love since school, first kiss, first time, first everything.

You also were his biggest fan, there was not one game day where you weren't ready to go support him.

To him, it was a big hit when you told him that it wasn't working anymore. You had a very hard postpartum time, as much as you tried to work on yourself, you couldn't.

You move out of his house, not wanting for him to be the one to leave, plus you don't need a five room house.

He offered to get you a house and to pay for everything you needed. He didn't wanted you to move back to Tenerife.

Once you got on your own feet, you told him to only take care of the baby. You didn't want to be a bother to him.

"What is this?" He asks, grabbing the envelope.

"The tickets for the game." You explain. "I texted you that I was going to bring them."

"Mhm" He humms, kissing his boy on the cheek. "Thanks. I'll be back, mom."

You move to the side, waving at your boy. You can't lie that it hurts you to see Pedri being so dry to you.

"I got tickets for both Fernandos and you, hope you can make it." You whisper, knowing your voice was going betray you. "Please, take care of him."

Rosy hugs you, she knows that you never wanted to hurt Pedri.

When Pedri came back home, his son was asleep on his arms. He was carrying two big bags that contained toys, as always he was the one spoiling him.

Rosy was waiting for him. Her husband and oldest son knew better than to be near when the bomb exploted on Pedri.

"We are back. Gosh, he's heavier by the day." Pedri laughs.

"Take him to his room and come back, we need to talk." His mother says, a very stern tone on her voice.

Pedri does as he's told, he doesn't want to mess with his mom. At least not when she's using that tone of voice.

He lays his boy down, turning the white noise machine that helps him sleep and closing the door with care.

"What are we having for dinner?" He asks.

Rosy knows she shouldn't, but she can't help to be involved in the middle.

"Pedro, you really need to start being a little more considerate with the way you talk to Y/n."

"Mom, not again." He scuffs. "Leave me and her to deal with this."

"I try, but I can't help it. You act as if you are bothered by her. Your son is young, and he doesn't notice this, but he will grow and see that you barely even acknowledge his mom. That's not okay."

"I try my best, okay?" He says, rolling his eyes. "Again, don't mind it, this is between us."

Rosy tries to answer back, but Pedri is already going upstairs to lay in bed with his kid.

You decide to play potato at home all weekend, turning on the match when the time hits. You might not be together, but you are still turning every single match he has.

The match was like a heart attack, a lot of emotions.

But the biggest emotion you had was when your phone began vibrating. It was Pedri requesting a FaceTime.

You don't think twice and press the green button. Your screening shows him and your son cheek to cheek, both with a big smile.

"Mami, we won."

You smile so hard your cheeks feel numb. "That so amazing!" You jump a little. "Tu papi es un campeón." You say. (Your daddy is a champion)

You don't notice it, but Pedri smile grows when you say that. "We are going to sleep as a celebration." Pedri says, laughing a little. "This one's curfew already passed like three hours ago."

"Today's allowed," you laugh, making him laugh.

You talk a little bit with your son and with Pedri as he bathes and changes your son to sleep. He tells you that the nanny of Lewas girls was the one who was going to be helping with your baby.

"Okay, time to sleep. I love you, amor. Please sleep." You say, pointing at your camera so your son could notice how serious you are.

"Adios, mami." He waves at you, sending you a kiss like you taught him.

"Thank you for calling me. I love you both."

"Love you too, mami." Pedri says, knowing it wasn't just because he had to answer back. "Very much."

Gavi

"Hey, drop it." You say to your daughter, who was taking her toys out of her already packed backpack. "You need to be ready to go to your dad's house."

"Papi let me play with my Barbie when he prepares my bag."

You roll your eyes, knowing that, of course, Gavi was letting her do whatever she wanted.

"Okay, I get it." You say, getting closer to her. "But mami really needs to go to class, so please don't do that right now." You begged.

She shrugs, taking the Barbie out and leaving the backpack alone. You roll your eyes, sometimes you do hate to be the strick one.

"Let's go." You say, grabbing her hand and backpack.

You were thankful that Pablo has training in the afternoon for the whole week. You sister was on finals week at school, so she needed to focus on her exams and couldn't help you with your daughter.

You didn't have much option but to ask Gavi to watch her while you go to class in the mornings. He was supposed to have her the late evenings and nights because of you taking that time to do homework and study.

"I love you very much." You say to her, giving her a kiss. "Please behave, doll."

"Te amo, mami." She smiles, hugging you.

You press Gavi's doorbell. Waiting for him to let you in.

"Mami, I'm hungry."

"I know, perdón I didn't give you breakfast." You pout. "Daddy told me he was making you something."

You hear the click of the door. Pablo opens it with a big smile on his face.

"Vente, muñeca." He says, making grabby hands to her. "I have your favorite cereal ready."

You want to ask, knowing that it was that same cereal you asked him not to buy. But you were a little too late for that.

"Thanks again, Pablo." You smile. "Doll, don't eat that much sugar." You warn her.

You ran to your class, leaving Gavi to be the responsable one.

"We have all day to ourselves." He says, giving his daughter a kiss on each cheek. "Want to watch a movie while we eat?"

She nodded, that was already their dinner tradition. Usually Pablo gets take out for her while he eats something plain like a salad or some nutritional stuff.

He enjoys spending time with his daughter, even when he doesn't even know what she's doing most of the time.

Part of him being the < Do whatever you want > type of dad, was that he finds himself busy with something else while his daughter entertains herself.

The other part is him just being a young dad. After all, he's 20.

Being a teen dad wasn't something he had in mind. His parents almost killed him, especially when they find out.

Even tho he is a very calm dad, who allows her to do a lot of things. You know that if you and him were together, you probably would be the same.

He grabs her hand, moving her to the play room he has for her. He sits down on the couch while she plays with her Barbie dolls.

He plays with her for a while, then watches a movie together. Feeling like the time went by perfectly.

"Papi, my friend likes barca too."

"Oh really?" He asks, smiling. "That girl has a very smart dad at home." He chuckles.

"Papi, my friend is a boy." She giggles.

Pablo raises an eyebrow. Sometimes he wonders if what she says is accurate, but lucky him, his daughter happens to be as well spoken as he was when he was a child.

That meant that when she said that she has a boy as a friend, she can't be mistaking the world.

"A boy? Tu no puedes tener amigos. Recuerda, los niños dan asco!" He frowns, not approving his baby girl having a boy around her. "Who is this boy?" (You can't have boy friends. Remember, boys are yucky)

"Mami has boy friends." She frowns too.

"Mami doesn't," He argues. "Plus, mommy is a grown-up. You are my baby, you can't have a boy as your friend."

"Auntie Aurora has." She argues back. She's definitely his daughter. "She kisses him. I want to kiss my boy friend too."

"No!" Pablo shouts. "That will make your teeth fall. You can't do that." He says, very strong tone.

It looks like all the stars aligned against him. His frown softens when he sees the tears on his daughter's eyes.

"Muñeca, no." He says, lifting her up. "I'm sorry, doll. I didn't mean to yell." He coos her in his arms.

Another sign for him to know that the luck wasn't on his side that morning was the doorbell.

He looks at his phone, time showing that it was, in fact, you the one ringing the doorbell. He can't help but feel like the one who's about to get yelled is him.

"Amor, mirame." He says, grabbing his daughter's face. "Papi didn't meant to yell, I'm sorry, doll." He kisses her face.

"No." She says, moving her face away from him. "I want mami."

His heart goes faster when he hears his phone, a text from you. Asking if he was home because you were outside.

"Amor, fine!" He says, desperately. "You can kiss all the boys you want, just stop crying."

But she won't reason, thanks to him she's scared to be even be near a boy. Fearing her teeth are going to be missing.

"The tooth fairy won't come if I kiss a boy." She cries even harder.

"Por la puta." Gavi whispers. "Muñeca, stop crying."

He can't keep hiding inside his home. You rang the doorbell again, making him frown. He leaves his girl on the coach, telling her to wait for him.

He rans downstairs, opening the door to you. "Hi, I thought you weren't here." You smile. "Where's our daughter?"

"That's the thing." He says out of breath. "I made her cry, and now she won't stop." He pouts. "Don't yell."

"Gavi!" You shout.

"Joder, don't yell." He shouts back. "I didn't mean to do it."

You shake your head, pushing him out of the way and walking inside the house. You already know she's in the play room.

"Amor, ven aqui." You say as soon as you see her. "What did you Daddy did to you?" You ask her, picking her up and hugging her.

"He says my tooth are falling." She cry into your neck.

You turn to the door, knowing Gavi is there.

"Teeth," He corrected, "And if it helps, she says that you have a lot of boy friends." He says, frowning. "Why?"

You open your mouth. "I don't." You fight back. "Did you make her cry about that?"

"No, she wanted to kiss a boy." He explains. "She can't do that until she's 40!"

"So you decide to yell and scare her?" You ask.

He looks at the floor, hearing his baby sob. "I didn't mean to." He whispers.

You soften your frown, you know that Gavi is young. He obviously is going to have this childish moments with her.

You have those moments with her. It's normal that you both do.

"Doll, you won't lose your teeth if you kiss a boy. What papi meant is that you are too young to do it, and you have to wait."

"Yes, wait till you are 40." Gavi whisper. "Amor, I'm sorry. You know I didn't mean to make you cry." He pouts. "Perdoname?"

Your now more calmed daughter looks at you, waiting for you to nod and to turn back to Gavi. "Go with papi." You smile, giving her a kiss.

"Te amo." He says, kissing her cheek. "But you can't kiss boys."

"Pablo!" You warn him.

Ferran

"Hi, Fer." You smile, opening the door.

"Why was our daughter outside?" He asks, mad expression on his face.

He has her on his arms, one hand grabbing the barca mini ball he gave her the day before.

"Oh, she was playing with Nelly." You explain. "Want some water?" You ask.

"Papi, down." Your daughter says.

He puts her down, giving her the ball. He closes the door and follows you to the kitchen. You hand him the glass of water.

"Gracias," He says. "You look beautiful." He smiles at you.

You smile back, knowing that he always says something like that. "I'm wearing a food stained shirt and joggers." You point at yourself. "I don't feel very beautiful."

"Well, you are." He smiles. "Now, care to answer my question?" He blinks a few times.

"I did. She was playing with Nelly, the neighbor's daughter."

"And I assume that Nelly's dad is the one who was playing with them." He says, a very deceptive tone. "Playing with her barca ball, that I got her, playing football with our daughter."

"Okay?" You say. "I feel like you are conflicted with that, care to explain?"

"Y/n, he's wearing a Madrid jersey." He says, the disgust in his tone was enough to make you roll your eyes. "And why is another dude playing football with my daughter? She's only allowed to play that with me!"

"Ferran, she was excited to show Mario her ball, and Nelly and her play every Wednesday."

"Who's Mario?" He raised an eyebrow. "Is he Nelly's dad?"

"Ferran, stop." You scuff. "Hey, Arantxa wants to get her into ballet, by the way." You say, walking over to your room.

"I need to shower. Please turn the oven off in fifteen minutes, and don't give her juice if she asks, I know you!"

Ferran took the opportunity to go to where his daughter is.

"Amor, come here." He says, opening his arms. "Is Mario your friend Nelly's dad?"

He knows it is crazy to ask his barely three year old daughter that question, but kids know a lot so he does.

She nods, smiling. "Nelly likes my ball."

"I'll get her one." He smiles. "What do you think about living closer to Auntie Arantxa?" He asks the little girl, getting closer to her and kissing her chubby cheek.

He lifts her, hugging her closer to him.

If he can say something about being a dad, is that he loves it. Having a girl is the best thing, he loves dressing up as a princess, with his tutu and his tiara.

He knows that he fucked up between you and him. Putting more effort into his work, spending less time at home, and the time he spent there was either on the gym or the sauna.

You got tired of begging him to just give you a day. Begging him for an hour of the day, to maybe help with his daughter, to be with you.

He got home tired, eating dinner and moving to the gym to tired himself even more. You try to ask him to be there for you, but he failed.

When you told him you were moving out, that you needed to put your child first. He felt betrayed.

He even fought you, calling you selfish for using your child as an excuse. Till this day, he regrets that.

You rented a two bedroom house. Perfect and small for you and your child. You work at the daycare your daughter goes to, so it's perfect. Your house is perfect for the two of you, and the location is even better for work.

Ferran tried to buy you a house, a big four bedroom home that was in the same neighborhood. You said no, angry at him and wanting to give him the space you thought he needed.

Now you notice that he spends more time at your house than anything. Barely even going back, just to check on his dogs and to play with them a little.

"Kiss." He says, making a duck lip to smooch his daughter. "Te amo." He smiles

"Te amo, papi."

You walk back into the kitchen after your very needed shower. Ferran was dancing to baby shark.

You smile at that, "I'm back." You announce. "Want to stay for dinner?"

"Obvio," He laughs. It was obvious you weren't getting him out of there until she was asleep. "Want some help?"

You shake your head, being able to prepare the plates while he dances with her.

"I'm getting her that cupra mini car that I saw on Instagram." He says to you, grabbing his plate and moving to the table. "We are going to match, amore."

"Can that stay at your house?" You ask. "Thanks to you, I don't have that much space anymore." You point at your very busy living room."

"About that," He whispers. "I got to tell you something." He says, scratching the back of his head.

"What did you do?" You narrow your eyes at him.

"Pedri told me it was a good idea." He excuses himself. "And the location is perfect. There's a big patio. Almost next to my sister."

"Ferran!" You sigh, not wanting to fight in front of your kid. "Why?"

"Because I miss you, and this place is so small. Sorry to say it." He lift his hands. "I fucked up, okay? I did! And now I get to see my daughter only after work, I'm dying."

He gets up, walking outside for a moment. You give him a few minutes, smiling at your daughter who's looking at you with curiosity.

"Don't kiss and tell, but Papi is not the smartest of them all." You whisper, making her laugh. "I'll be back, eat your dinner, mi amor."

He's taking his time, not wanting to go back while being this disappointed at himself.

"Ferran," You call him. "Can we talk?"

"What do I need to do to fix this?" He asks, desperate for an answer. "I want you guys back."

"Let's start by not buying anything before informing the other." You joke, making him chuckle. "I know this is an ugly situation for us, but we can't play bingo with our daughter. I need to make sure you changed because I don't feel like leaving again at midnight."

"You won't ever need that."

"Let's try to finish today. After she's in bed, we can talk." You say, grabbing his hand and walking inside. "Deal?" You ask, standing at the door.

"Deal." He smiles, taking a deep breath. "Can I sleep over?" He asks, trying his luck.

"No." You say, pulling him inside.

Fermin

"Do you want the blue shirt or the white one?" Fermin asks his son. "I like this one more, because that way we can match!"

"Bu," His son says, trying to say the word blue. "Bu, papi."

Fermin smiles, pulling the shirt over his head. "Look at you," He says, lifting him and walking over to the mirror. "We match!"

He was spending the evening with his son. You needed to study for this very important test that was taking place during the evening. He took the time to spend the whole day with him.

"I'm sending a picture to your Gammy." He smile. "Say hi, grandma." He smiles, snapping a picture of the two of them.

"Mamá." Your son says after the picture is taken.

Something Fermin knows is that he's not used to being away from you that much. He might go with an hour more than usual, maybe two even, but the whole day without you? No way.

"Mami is studying, buddy." Fermin explains. "That's why you and I are going to go get ice cream!"

Fermin loves to spend time with his son, it was the highlight of his day. Of his life better say. He enjoys it too much.

He feels bad that he doesn't get to spend as much time as he would want, mostly because he didn't share a house with you and because his job has kept him bussy.

"Mami." Your son pouts.

He wants you too, but sadly for him, he fucked up. So now he doesn't have you as he wanted.

"We can call her." He says, taking his phone and dialing your number.

You answer to FaceTime. Smiling when you see your baby's face. "Hola, mi vida."

"Mami, bu!" He claps.

"Blue!" You repeat. "Love that you are matching."

"We are going for ice cream." Fermin says, informing you of the plans. "Sorry to interrupt you, but he's a mama's boy and he can't live without you."

You pout. "I love you, amorcito." You smile. "As soon as I'm done with this, I'll go pick you up and we will cuddle while watching coco."

Fermin feels jealous, he wants to cuddle and watch coco too. He wants to be able to be there and spend time with the two of you.

You can describe Fermin as a perfect dad. Even when people say that there's not such a thing. Well, there is. Fermin López is that thing.

He helps whenever you need him to help, he stepped up when you need him to, he cleans, he cooks, he knows how to change diapers, he knows how to deal with a cold or the flue, he knows how to deal with tantrums.

He's the perfect dad.

But he wasn't the perfect boyfriend. That's where he failed, and you don't blame him, you weren't the perfect girlfriend either.

Your relationship ended before the baby came. You try your best to hide from Fermin that you were pregnant.

You were afraid that his career was going to suffer. You try your best to hide it from your friend in common.

The thing you forgot was that he knew where you lived, so when he came back to Sevilla for vacations, he went straight to your house.

You opened the door without checking who it was, big mistake you thought at the moment.

He asked the obvious question. "Is it mine?"

After that, he tried to do everything he could to be there for you. Even encourage you to move to Barcelona.

He got you a place to live, mostly because you didn't want to go back together, feeling that he wanted to do all this because of the baby.

He helps you money wise with the baby, even when you mention that your parents can help you and that you will be fine.

"Thank you, Papi." You smile at Fermin as soon as he is on frame. "I really can't do this without you." You pout, feeling emotional.

"I love you, mami." He smiles. "Go get that test done, we love you."

You send them a kiss, hanging up the call.

"Okay, amorcito." He says to his baby. "Want to go get ice cream?"

He smiles when the boy in his arms starts to clap his hands. "Yeah, let's go!"

The evening was all fun and laughs. He loves spending time with his little one. He makes sure to cook something for you.

Just in time, the doorbell rang. He takes his son from the safe mini sofa he bought for him. He walks to the door with him, making him laugh by asking him if he is ready yo eat.

"Hola!" You say, smiling at them. "Amor, ven acá." You grab the baby from his arms. "Hola, Fer." You smile, hugging him. "Sorry, I forgot the keys."

Yes, he gave you a copy of his house keys.

"I made dinner." He smiles, kissing your forehead. "Come here." He grabs your hand, walking with you inside.

"Did you have fun?" You ask your son. "Did papi and you have fun today? Did you eat a lot of ice cream?"

"Papi." He smiles, looking over at Fermin.

"Send a kiss to papi!" You say, excited to show Fermin what your baby learned. "Kiss, muak muak."

He does this thing, where he places his hand on his mouth and makes a kiss sound as he puts his hand away.

"Amor!" Fermin smiles happy. "Do that again." He does. You love to see the happy face and the big smile on Fermin's face. "One more time." He says.

"Muak." Your baby says, throwing a kiss at Fermin.

Fer loves having you over, he would love to have you living with him. Maybe in the future, you said once.

He can't wait for that to happen.

✨️✨️✨️

🏷: @gadriezmannsgirl

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cheralith · 1 day ago

Text

— party for you.

yukimiya kenyu — it's your birthday and your best friend has yet to show up to your party, his promise to you hanging on a thin line. (wc : 3.6k)

contains : gn!reader, no pronouns used, best friend!yukimiya, aged-up characters (20s), implied mutual pining, angst with comfort, fluff (unedited as of 04/27) a/n : happy birthday to my beloved yukki <33 wrote this piece with a slight twist as my gift to him ahaha. also very much inspired by "party 4 u" by charli xcx after i kept seeing all those scenarios from tiktok, esp since i'll be seeing her in concert soon !!!

There’s a tightness in your throat that you swallow down when you hear the phone start to ring, the steady and monotonous rhythm of ringback tone calling out with an echo. The hums are paced, in no rush to get to their destination, unlike the seconds that tick by as you stare at the clock.

It’s 5:23 pm. Yukimiya was supposed to be here nearly an hour ago to help you set up your birthday party that’s starting in thirty-seven minutes.

Your nail goes between your teeth, an anxious gnawing starting to begin to try to raise your inhibition. Some of your friends that came early to also aid with setting up laugh and chatter about in the other room, ignorant to your apprehension that you thinly veil with a warbled smile.

You blame yourself—your birthday fell on a weekend this year and you wanted to take the most advantage of everyone’s day off and have all the people filled with love to give you surrounding you on the day that you often felt most anxious on. An approval of sorts, you think, this urge to seek out that you truly were valued in others’ lives if they were willing to come celebrate with you.

But quantity doesn’t always equal quality. A good plethora of your friends and relatives have gathered in your apartment to celebrate your birthday, and while you cherish them for being here, there’s still that little crevice of yearning waiting to be filled by his presence.

Something is wrong with the camera, they say.

“For some reason, there’s this weird glare that just won’t go away,” the photographer says despondently to Yukimiya, who fights the urge to contort his face in irritation.

He lets out a heavy sigh, something that bleeds urgency in a quieter manner to the photographer and pinches his forehead. On a normal day, he wouldn’t have minded this disposition at all—some of his payout for this shoot was by the hour anyway and he wouldn’t have minded spending a few extra hours considering all he had to do was stand there and look pretty.

But it’s your birthday today. And this is an event he can’t afford to miss.

Being a rising celebrity is difficult—both of you understood that when he signed with his entertainment agency. But Yukimiya had made a promise to you years ago that you’ll still be of utmost priority despite his job, never wanting to thin your relationship even in the slightest despite knowing the possible restraints it might falter against.

He has his fair share of last-minute rain checks, none of which he’s proud of, but none of the events that he had to bail out on were as heavy as your birthday—and Yukimiya wouldn’t forgive himself if he had to miss out on it today simply because the team was incompetent and unprepared.

“I had to leave an hour ago,” Yukimiya says, pointing to the clock that currently reads 5:40 pm. Twenty minutes until your party starts. Forty minutes of his absence so far. “I’m sorry, but can we please quicken up the pace? I have somewhere to be after this.”

The photographer sneers at him. “Well we can’t exactly have a photoshoot with a camera, now can we?”

Yukimiya frowns deeply, but says nothing so as to not irritate him any further and to lengthen the excessive time. He excuses himself haughtily, going into the corridor of the building and pulling out his phone.

—(Y/N)🧡 (4:36 pm) : lmk when u get here! be safe on ur way! —(Y/N)🧡 (4:55 pm) : meguru brought party poppers haha —(Y/N)🧡 (5:07 pm) : hi just wanted to check up rq? is the shoot taking long again :(? —(Y/N)🧡 (5:29 pm) : checking up again? everything ok? —(Y/N)🧡 (5:43 pm) : checking in again, call me back if u can plz!

Missed Calls (2) from (Y/N) 🧡

Yukimiya bites his lip at the notifications, guilt seeping into him. The message he had sent to you after your first check-up text glares a red text on his screen, an exclamation point almost taunting him.

kenyu ! 👓 (4:44 pm) : I think the shoot might take some time again! I’ll try and be there ASAP, ETA 5:30? ( ! ) Not Delivered

He attempts a call, but the line shortly fuses, indicating his cellular service wasn’t going to do him justice in this time of need. With a waning patience, the grip he tortures his phone nearly crushes it and all he can do is just stare at the ticking time on his phone, praying that this will be over soon.

It’s 6:45 pm and Yukimiya has yet to show up, let alone text or call you back about his whereabouts. The majority of the party guests have shown up, presenting you with smiles and presents and hugs, but none of them measure up to the familiar warmth of your best friend who’s absence fills in his place.

It should be a fun event. Your apartment is scattered with party decorations, two large balloons indicating your new age bouncing around in your living room with your gifts and cake on the kitchen counter. Everyone is chatting and laughing about, bubbly and ready to party.

Everyone but you.

You fix up a mask of gratitude, slapping it on whenever someone comes by and talks with you about life and all its other nonsenses. But the moment you’re left alone again, reality settles in you again.

Sneaking yourself into your bedroom, you reread Yukimiya’s long birthday text that he had sent you at exactly midnight to ground yourself, trying to affirm to yourself that there’s no way that he would do a no-call no-show on your birthday out of all days, but you can’t help but feel a prick of tears in your eyes when you reread the last line of his text, biting your lip.

—kenyu ! 👓 (12:00 am) : … As your best friend, I’ll be there for you, forever and always. I can’t wait to see you, happy birthday! 🧡🎉

Yukimiya is a good, honest man. You know that better than anyone. But you can’t help but feel doubt finding its way into your chest when you reread his final words of the text over and over again, it doing the exact opposite of what you wanted in the first place.

You close your eyes, resting your forehead against the closed door that blocks you from the liveliness of the party.

The camera is back up and running, but Yukimiya thinks his luck is thinning by the minute, considering that people are now scrambling to try and find a replacement bulb for one of the lights that fused out just when they were starting to restart.

Everyone is clearly irritated, but Yukimiya thinks that he’s on the leaderboard for who has it worst. He fists his hair in his hand again as he slumps over in his seat, the No Service in the upper right hand corner of his phone still lingering on his screen.

It’s 9:01 pm and he’s still at the photoshoot, three hours past the start of your party. Everyone has taken notice of his evident absence, since many of your party guests knew you two were practically glued at the hip. His eyes heavy with exhaustion go to read over the messages people have sent him in the past few hours, a worry embedded in each text.

—Isagi (6:02 pm) : Yukki, are u still coming to the party? —Reo (7:24 pm) : Hey, Yukimiya. Not to scare you, but I think you’re worrying (Y/N). Do you need me to send an Uber to come pick you up? —Karasu (8:12 pm) : yukki, (y/n) is getting kinda stressed rn since you’re still not here. let us know if you’re still coming or not. —Kurona (8:44 pm) : We r about to cut the cake. I’ll save you a slice. Slice 🦈 —Nagi (8:54 pm) : whre u at lol :x

All of his replies have refused to send to his frustration, that dastardly red text under each of them making him grind his jaw. He’s been at this set for much too long—a few hours more than normal. He’s tired, his eyes heave, and all he wants to do is just come back to you and celebrate your birthday.

“Yukki, start getting ready!” the photographer calls, making him lift his head up. “We’ve managed to find a bulb, retouch with makeup and meet me back here in five.”

He swallows dryly, stretching his aching limbs as he gets up from his chair.

“How much longer do you think this will take?” he asks again for the nth time, making sure that his fatigue is visible to gather up some sympathy. “I’m really sorry, but I have an important event to go to tonight and I’m already more than an hour late.”

The photographer sighs and puts his hand on his hip. “Is it a funeral?”

Yukimiya blinks. “No.”

“Is it a sick relative in the hospital?” the photographer asks again.

Yukimiya shakes his head.

“Do you have an appointment or somethin’’?”

Again, Yukimiya says no.

“Okay well, then I don’t understand what’s up with this sudden urgency,” the photographer mutters. “You know, most people would really do anything to be in your position for as long as possible. You’re not even doing anything and yet you’re still getting paid, so what’s the deal?”

“I have a life outside of my job,” Yukimiya argues, his composure starting to falter. “I was supposed to be here for only three hours and we agreed I’d leave at 4:30. It’s ten past nine at this point.”

“What exactly can you have that is more important than being the face of Versace’s new cologne?” the photographer presses as he adjusts the camera, pressing all of Yukimiya’s buttons unconsciously. “Your ad will be all over the world, you’ll be collecting cash left and right! Opening new doors to endless opportunities! Tell me, Yukimiya… is there genuinely somewhere you have to be that’s more important than this?”

Yukimiya stares at the photographer for a moment, his words echoing in his mind, as if to tease him to consider them. But his stubbornness pushes through, as it always does, and he shakes his head.

“My best friend’s birthday party is today,” he states lowly. “And I made a promise I’d be there.”

The photographer goes to glance at him from his peripheral vision before barking out a scornful laugh, one that makes some of the crew members and other models chuckle as well behind their hands.

The photographer ceases his laughter eventually, despite heaving every once in a while. “Yukki, we’re grown adults. I’m sure not missing one party every once in a while would be too bad.”

Yukimiya’s amber hues darken suddenly at the photographer’s statement, disliking his tone and mockery. Was it so wrong to every now and then celebrate a person’s life? Especially if that singular person had changed their own for the better?

The photographer takes notice of Yukimiya’s expression, scoffing. “Don’t start giving me attitude now.”

“I’m not,” he attempts to excuse, despite the vein in his temple throbbing.

The photographer stills for a moment, examining his model’s stiff form, hands fidgeting with his phone. He looks at the window for a moment, taking account of the inky blue black that takes over the sky, then to the clock, then back to Yukimiya, whose glower is still evident.

“Fine then. You’re a grown adult,” the photographer states with a sardonic tone. “I’ll let you decide. You can either stay here, do your job, and change your life for the better… or you can scurry off to your friend’s little birthday and we can choose another model who’ll actually appreciate the opportunity.”

Yukimiya tenses suddenly at the offering. The photographer had a point—this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that his agency had offered him. To be the face of a brand new cologne from a well-known fashion house meant that you had reached a height in his career, one that could possibly land him new brand deals or modelling chances.

He’s sure it’ll do well in sales too, considering that his most recent drama he starred in had gained a massive amount of viewers that now know him by not only his face, but his name, a flock of admiration following him wherever he went. Yukimiya Kenyu, model and now an amateur actor.

He reflects back to you, suddenly. Your kind face flashes in his mind, your even kinder words echoing in his ears. About how you’ll always support him from the sidelines, that you’ll be there for him as his career skyrockets. You’ve always been there to support him in whatever decision he made to advance himself in the entertainment industry, always congratulating him with a large smile as he’d show off his newest photoshoot or point out an ad he was in. He had a habit of doing this—reflecting back to you during times like these, something to keep him grounded.

Apprehension fills his nerves, another swallow running down his dry throat. Yukimiya glances at the prop cologne bottle nestled on a nearby table and picks it up. He lifts his phone up, staring at the date that announces itself on his lockscreen, with the little reminder of your birthday underneath.

Then he looks back to the photographer, who patiently awaits his response.

Yukimiya clutches the bottle in his hand a little tighter.

The last of the party guests had left some time ago, the remnants of the party still ghosting about your apartment that you decide will clean up tomorrow, your body exhausted from all the emotions you had felt today.

It’s 11:35 pm. Yukimiya hadn’t shown up to your birthday party.

You reread your messages that you had sent him over the course of the party, each one of them still rather mild, but always just a slight bit tenser than the previous to indicate your worry. None of them have received a response. You’ve given him an extra three calls that went amiss and even left a voicemail with a tight, shaky voice to make him aware that it was okay for him to stay back and do his job… but just at the very least, let you know.

And yet, you still received no response.

The one person that you wanted to be there for your party had completely left you in the dark. You want to cry, merely due out of confusion and frustration, but you’re so tired you’re not sure you even have the energy to do so. They’ll just be saved for tomorrow, you think.

You feel selfish for feeling like this—you were still surrounded by people that were equally as excited to celebrate with you, new memories being made for tonight, but the bitter aftertaste of Yukimiya’s absence has yet to dissolve on your tongue. He was your best friend after all, so for him to not show up without warning, especially considering he had promised to do so, made your chest ache.

But you’re tired. Your eyes are heavy with sleep. You figure that your questions will be answered tomorrow.

You shuffle yourself into the duvet of your bed, ready to completely knock out and recharge yourself from the happenings of today, when suddenly—your doorbell rings.

With nerves electrifying, and your body shoots up at the sudden sound singing in your apartment at the odd hour. You pause, just simply staying in bed for a bit, before the doorbell rings again—twice this time, almost desperate.

Caution prevails within you and you’re nothing less than suspicious as you creep outside your bedroom and into the main room of your apartment where the entrance is. It’s damn near midnight, and you’re not expecting anyone to arrive at this hour other than sinister things.

The doorbell rings again, the chime tolling almost hauntingly so. The person outside is stubborn, whoever they are, and they don’t seem to be leaving soon unless they get a response. You tiptoe towards the entrance as softly as possible, avoiding the creakier parts of the floorboard to make your presence known.

The rapid knock the outsider raps against your door makes you nearly shriek with fright when you’re just about to peer your eye into the peephole, the sudden sound making you paralyzed in your position, but a familiar voice suddenly melts away at your frozen limbs.

Yukimiya’s voice calls out your name from the other side.

“I-It’s Kenyu! Can you open up, please?”

It’s almost embarrassing how quickly you open the door, your desperation to see him overtaking your common sense. The door swings open and Yukimiya reveals himself in a rather disheveled manner. His hazelnut hair is messy, stressed strands straying over. There’s a light mist of sweat on his forehead, and his clothes are wrinkled. He’s even panting.

But in his arms are a large bouquet of neatly arranged flowers, two gift bags stuffed to the brim with wrapping paper of your favorite color, and a small cake in a clear plastic container that he somehow hasn't messed up in the slightest despite all the items he’s carrying.

All of them are a visible display of effort in his typical Yukimiya-esque fashion.

You take a step back a bit, still startled.

“Kenyu,” you start dryly, “w-what is—”

“I’m sorry,” he splutters, chest still heaving. “I’m… I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to bail on you. I swear to God, I didn’t—but the team was being inefficient, they were holding me kinda hostage, m-my messages weren’t sending—”

At his last words, your eyes widen, the heaviness in them dissipating.

“—then my train got delayed and I tried to take a cab, but there was traffic, and then I couldn’t find a bakery that was open this hour for the cake, and then—”

“Kenyu,” you say softly, cutting through his rambling with a gentle cease. Yukimiya blinks, pausing and looking at you wondrously.

You take a step back, welcoming him in. “Come inside, first.”

You find that there have been a plethora of obstacles that Yukimiya had to go through to get to you today as he sets down his many gifts, one of them being that the building the shoot was in had terrible service proven by the mass amount of texts he had tried to send you hours earlier. You find your gaze softening at his waterfall of unsent replies as you scroll, the ache in your heart fixing itself up as the reality of the situation settles in.

“They got so mad when I left,” he weakly chuckles when you return his phone back to him. “There goes that gig, I guess. My manager’s gonna be so pissed.”

Time stops for a bit.

“Wait, what?” you shake your head, looking up at him with widened eyes. “You didn’t finish the shoot?”

Yukimiya, still with a grin on his lips, shakes his head. Your jaw nearly unhinges itself at the shock, and you scramble to say something but he beats you to it, pressing a finger to your lips.

“I know what you’re going to say. Something about a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity,” he says. “But… I swore to you I’d be here for your birthday, and my promise to you goes deeper than the one with my agency.”

His words cease your own attempt to rise up in your throat, succumbing you to a stunned silence as he tenderly places the candles on the small cake. You can only watch as he strikes a match, gently lighting up the wicks of the candles that gleam brightly amidst the dim glow of your kitchen light.

Years ago, when he had gotten upgraded to a professional entertainment agency from his modelling one, you had nervously explained to him over one dinner that you were scared that he might drift away from you as he climbed the stairs of stardom. You and him were best friends after all, and had stuck by each others’ sides for years on end, and you figured that there would be no point in your life that you would imagine yourself without him—the very image of it frightened you.

But Yukimiya had sworn to you, your pinkies intertwined as he wiped away some tears, that there’d be no lifetime where he’d leave you behind. That regardless of what happens, he’ll make sure you’re still there with him. He’s still there with you.

He holds the cake up to you, admiring how the marigold from the candles glimmers on your face as you stare at the cake.

Yukimiya turns to the microwave’s clock, a soft smile on his lips as he reads the time.

It’s freshly 11:59 pm, and Yukimiya is now here with you on your birthday with less than a minute to spare.

“We’ve still got some time,” he murmurs tenderly, fondness in his eyes that illuminate from the candles. “Happy birthday. Make a wish.”

Your eyes close, veiling you from the way that Yukimiya looks at you so dearly from across, taking the time to admire all your best features. He mouths a specific eight-letter word silently to you just before your eyes open again, his hushed proclamation to you kept hidden for himself—just until he’s ready to announce it to you, full and true.

You take a deep breath… and blow the candles out. Just five seconds shy of midnight.

It’s a few years later; you’re both older and wiser. Your lives are still just as intertwined as they had been, unwilling to untangle themselves anytime soon, even with your differences. Your career has flourished kindly, and Yukimiya’s own has just started to peak after his hit drama.

And yet, despite all the ads you’ve passed by of him modelling, despite all the headlines that shine his name proudly, despite all the articles about him being a rising star… he’s still here for you, with you.

And he always will be.

a/n : thank you for reading! comments and reblogs are the best way to support creators you enjoy, and leaving one will always be noticed and appreciated ♡ !!

#blue lock #bllk #blue lock x reader #blue lock fluff #blue lock angst #bllk x reader #blue lock smut #yukimiya kenyu #yukimiya kenyu x reader #yukimiya x reader #yukimiya x you #yukimiya kenyu fluff #❃ ; aliken #this is a part of my self ship and im not sorry lol #✍︎ ; alice in writingland

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