luvr4miya

[luvr4miya]

Done For

Summary: Jess has epilepsy and has a service dog. He helps her navigate her disorder, even the depression. When he takes to alerting every time Robby is around, it leads to interesting conversations and Robby is intrigued.

Warnings: Mentions of depression, epilepsy, service animal, mentions of suicide

A/N: I saw someone post about something like this, I can't find it anywhere. If you find it, tag the original poster in the comments so they get credit. I like when women give men a hard time and this OC is really good at it. Enjoy!

People had a hard time minding their own business. Jess was used to it. She was used to people watching her. Well, more watching her service dog. Roger was a four-year-old golden retriever; he was cute and he drew attention. She wished he were a little uglier, maybe people wouldn’t stare so much. But she loved the dummy.

“Jess Kahan?” Someone in scrubs called out.

“Yeah!” Jess got to her feet, Roger close to her heel as she weaved through the crowd.

“What’s going on today?” The woman with bangs had a kind smile.

“I uh, had a seizure earlier. It wasn’t a big one, but it’s been a while since I had one. Anyway, I banged my head pretty bad and I might have broken my wrist.” She sighed.

“Rough morning. Let’s get you back.” She smiled as she led her into a triage bay.

“I burned my thigh, too. I was making coffee. I don’t think it’s anything bad, though.” Jess shrugged as she sat on the table.

“Okay. Best to check it out. I’m Dr. McKay, by the way.” She pulled on her gloves and started her exam.

“Nice to meet you. This is Roger.” Jess nodded to the dog sitting patiently on her right side.

“He’s got a sweet face.” She hummed as she held Jess’ wrist in her hand. “Yeah, that looks broken. We’ll get some imaging to confirm. I want to order a CT for your head too, I’m worried about a concussion.”

“I figured as much. Not my first rodeo.” Jess huffed.

“Dr. McKay, Dana says bay 3 is open if you need.” A nurse popped into the room.

“Perfect timing.” She pulled her gloves off. “We’ll get you set up there, have you change and look at that burn while we wait for imaging.” McKay nodded as she left to grab a wheelchair.

“Fastest I’ve ever gotten back outside of having a seizure in the lobby.” Jess chuckled.

“You’re either very lucky or unlucky today.” McKay laughed as she helped her into the chair.

There were looks as they went through the ER, everyone craning their neck to look at the ‘cute doggy’.

“Do you need help getting into the gown?” McKay asked.

“Naw, we got it.” Jess nodded.

“Alright, I’ll give you some time. I’m going to present to my attending and we’ll be back.” She smiled as she closed the curtain.

Jess was a pro at securing hospital gowns. She’d been wearing them since she was eleven. She had taught Roger how to pull the tie tight for her for fun. She had her bag on the ground next to the bed. She bent down to grab it when the curtain opened. Dr. McKay was standing there with a tall, older man with the saddest eyes Jess had ever seen.

“Oh, let me grab that for you.” McKay went to help.

“Naw, let him earn his dinner.” Jess smiled. “Roger bag, please.” The dog took the handle in his mouth and put his front paws on the bed to hand it to her. “Good boy.”

“Impressive.” The man smiled.

“Well, if that impresses you, you’re mind will be blown when he opens my meds for me.” Jess chuckled, he smiled.  

“I’m Dr. Robinavitch, you can call me Dr. Robby. Dr. McKay said you had a seizure this morning. Tell me a little about that.” Robby pulled on his gloves as he started examining Jess.

“Well, I was feeling off this morning. Thought I just needed breakfast. I was making coffee when he alerted me. I remember falling but that’s it.” Jess winced as he prodded at the spot on her head that hit the ground.

“Where did you fall?”

“Kitchen. No broken glass, but my coffee spilled on my thigh.”

“Do you mind if I look at it?” Robby asked.

“No, go for it.” Jess pulled the gown up her legs.

“Oh yeah. That’s a nasty burn. Nothing too bad, though. Less concerned about that than I am your head.” Robby noted as he looked it over.

“You mentioned you hadn’t had one in a while. When was the last one?” McKay asked, her arms crossed.

“About six months, I think. Roughly.” Jess pulled her iPad out of her bag, handing the bag to Roger.

“Any idea what triggered it?” McKay asked.

“No. Well…I’ve been a little stressed lately. Work shit, you know.” Jess shrugged.

“What do you do?” Robby asked.

“I’m a middle school English teacher. Tough work dealing with 12-year-olds all day.” Jess nodded.

“I can imagine.” Robby chuckled. “They must think he’s cool.” Robby gestured to Roger.

“Oh yeah. Instant favorite teacher with this guy.” Jess chuckled.

“How’s he like it?” McKay asked.

“Loves it. I always say he’s part golden retriever, part attention hound.” Jess nodded.

“I’d like to run some blood work to be safe. It may just be the stress, but I’d like to make sure there isn’t anything else going on.” Robby said.

“Sure. Cover all the bases. I gotcha.” Jess nodded. Roger stood up and went to sit on Robby’s feet.

“Is it okay?” Robby put his hand out.

“He sat on your feet. It’s all good.” Jess nodded. Robby bent down and gave Roger some pets.

“Why Roger?” Robby looked up.

“I wanted him to have the stupidest name for a dog. Boring human names on pets always makes me laugh. They tried to name him Spot. Why the hell would you name a dog with no spots, Spot? I was listening to the radio when he brought him home and The Who came on. So, Roger he was.” Jess shrugged.

“I like it.” Robby chuckled. “Does he usually sit on people’s feet?”

“Nope.” Jess smiled.

“Must be special, Boss.” McKay smiled.

“Something like that.” Jess nodded. Robby cocked his head in confusion.

“Right. We’ll be back once we have your imaging and blood work back.” Robby cleared his throat.

Jess sat quietly reading as she waited for the results to come in. She had clocked that she was low priority and would be waiting. She was used to it.

She heard a little girl crying a few beds down. Something about a broken foot. Her mom had been trying to keep her calm for the better part of twenty minutes. Jess pulled her slippers from her bag and stood up.

“Come on, bud.” She gestured for Roger to follow. She peeked around the curtain. “Hi.”

“I’m sorry, I know she’s loud. I’m trying to keep her quiet.” The mom looked frazzled.

“Oh, no! I get it. I just…what’s her name?” Jess stood at the end of the bed.

“Gabriela.”

“Does she like dogs?”

“Yeah, she loves them.” Her mom looked confused.

“Gabriela, would you like to meet my friend Roger?” Roger came around into view. The little girl stopped crying, looking at the dog. “Roger?” She sniffled.

“Yeah. He likes helping kids feel better. You think he might be able to help you?” Jess smiled. The little girl nodded. “Roger, up.” He put his front paws up so Gabriela could pet him.

“He’s cute.” She smiled.

“Thank you.” Her mom sighed.

“Of course.” Jess nodded.

Robby watched from across the department. He was fascinated by the interaction. She was intriguing him, the way she was so calm about everything. He was used to hysterics and drama. She wasn’t that.

“Cap, you’re starting to drool.” Dana snorted. Robby snapped back to reality.

“Shut up.” He grumbled.

“She’s pretty.”

“She’s a patient.”

“Only for a few hours.” Dana shrugged.

“It’s unethical. I’m not having this conversation.” He huffed, stomping past a laughing Dana.

“Hey, Gabriela I got some medicine for you.” Dana walked up with a paper cup. “Looks like you made a new friend.” Dana smiled.

“His name is Roger!” She giggled.

“You coming for my job, pal?” Dana spoke to the dog.

“He’s squeamish around blood, I think you’re okay.” Jess smiled.

“You should be laying down. You’re a fall risk.” Dana raised an eyebrow.

“I’ve been a fall risk for over thirty years.” Jess snorted.

“Roger is quicker at rounds than I seem to be today.” Robby appeared.

“He’s a nose to the grindstone kind of guy.” Jess smiled. “It was nice to meet you, Gabriela. Roger and I have to go.” Roger hoped off the bed, looking up at Jess for a second before curling up on Robby’s feet again.

“Aw, really?” Gabriela whined.

“Yeah, don’t want anyone getting trouble because I’m out of bed.” Jess laughed at the confused look on Robby’s face as he stared at the dog. “But don’t worry. This is the best hospital in Pittsburgh. They’re magic here. Promise.” Jess winked as she walked back to her bed, Roger in toe.

“You got a way with the beasts, Robby.” Dana smiled.

“Don’t start.” Robby warned.

Jess yawned as she played one of her idle games on her iPad. Roger was curled at the end of her bed. Robby came in with Dana behind him.

“Rads are back and that wrist is broken. CT came back clean. I want to send it out for additional neuro consult, if you’re okay waiting a bit longer.” He said.

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Jess smiled. Dana set up some bandaging material next to her.

“I’m still waiting-” Roger hopped down and sat on Robby’s feet again. “I-I’m waiting on blood work still. I’m sorry, but he doesn’t seem to be doing that with anyone else.” Robby was flustered.

“Yeah. I’m surprised, actually. In this environment at least.” Jess smiled. “What does it mean?” Robby sighed.

“I don’t want to embarrass you in front of your nurse.” Jess shrugged.

“Oh, now I need to know.” Robby smirked.

“I’ve seen him at his worst, Kid. Not much you could say that I haven’t heard.” Dana smiled as she wrapped Jess’ wrist.

“Well, on top of my epilepsy, or maybe because of it, I have a depressive disorder. That’s him alerting that you’re having a depressive episode.” Jess said. Robby looked at her, stunned.

“Smart dog.” Dana snorted.

“I’m not depressed.” Robby cleared his throat.

“He’d begged to differ. He usually alerts to someone when we’re in the ER. Usually it’s Dr. Abbot.” Jess shrugged. Dana chortled.

“I…well this is not what I expected.” Robby sighed. “I will be back later. With your results.” Robby left quicker than he ever had from a patient’s room.

“Oh, you got him all sorts of flustered. You didn’t hear that from me.” Dana chuckled.

“He’s cute. He married? No ring on his finger.” Jess asked.

“Nope. He’s single as hell.” Dana focused on the bandage. “He’ll never initiate anything, by the way. It’s an ethics thing.” She said.

“I don’t want to make him uncomfortable.”

“Well, once you aren’t a patient, come by and ask him.” Dana smiled. “You’re all set, sweetheart.” Dana left.

The consult took longer than Jess had thought. She had drifted off at some point, Roger lying next to her.

“Alright, Miss Kahan- Oh. Sorry.” Robby came in, startling Jess awake.

“S’okay. Just nodded off. All good?”

“Yes, everything is clean. It was probably stress that triggered the seizure. Come back in if you have another, but you’re all set.” Robby nodded.

“Well, thank you. I appreciate your work. You got a good team, too.” Jess smiled.

“I’ll pass it along. It was good to meet you. You, too, Roger, even if you’re airing my dirty laundry.” Robby scratched Roger’s head.

“Have a good night, Dr. Robby.”

Jess sat at home thinking over the events of the day. The TV show she had turned on, long forgotten. The only thing she could think about was that sad doctor. Roger sat looking at her, not alerting, just knowing.

“Yeah. Yeah, we’re going back tomorrow. Stop giving me that look.” Jess waved him off.

Robby was typing up charts, trying to get them done as fast as possible. He was ready to get out of there.

“Hey, Dr. Robby? There’s someone here to see you?” Mateo came up to the computer.

“What do they want?” Robby Groaned.

“Didn’t ask. They said they were a patient here. She’s got a cute dog.” Mateo shrugged. Robby sat up straight.

“Oh. Yeah, you can bring her back.” Robby said. He tried to ignore Dana laughing to herself next to him.

“Hi, Dr. Robby.” Jess smiled.

“Miss Kahan. Everything alright?”  Robby stood to greet her.

“Oh yeah. No seizures today.” She crossed her heart. Roger padded over and laid on Robby’s feet. “I see you haven’t started therapy in the past 16 hours.” She laughed.

“Roger, I thought we were friends.” Robby sighed.

“I was just wondering, and if you’re uncomfortable, feel free to say no, if you’d maybe want to get coffee or dinner sometime?” Jess asked. Robby stared at her for a minute, not used to such confidence.

“I, um, I don’t know if that would be right.” Robby cleared his throat.

“Cap, she’s not a patient now. Take the girl and her dog to get a coffee.” Dana sighed.

“I don’t want to get anyone in trouble. I just thought my dog clearly likes you. You might like company every once in a while.” Jess shrugged.

“Okay. Yeah. I get off in a half hour. There’s a café up the road that’s nice.” Robby smiled.

“Okay. Sounds good. We’ll be there.” Jess smiled. “Come on, Roger.” They turned to leave, a bit more bounce in their step.

“Thank god! Getting you to do something good for yourself is like pulling teeth.” Dana groaned.

“You’re so dramatic.” Robby shook his head. “Why does this feel like you two planned it?” Robby crossed his arms.

“I nudged. Nothing more.” Dana said.

“You two seem familiar. What’s that about?”

“She’s been in here a couple times. Never when you’re on shift. She teaches at the school my kid goes to. We run into each other from time to time.” She shrugged.

“Why didn’t you set her up with Abbot then?” Robby sat back at his computer.

“Oh I tried. But those two were at each other’s throats from the get-go. It’s really funny to watch, actually.” Dana chuckled.

Robby hadn’t finished his charts so fast. He was practically tapping his foot, waiting for Dr. Abbot to come in for handover.

“You could try and clear the board, ya know?” Jack Abott sighed as he sidled up to the desk.

“You first.” Robby cocked his head.

“You look more excited than usual to get out of here.” Jack looked him up and down.

“He’s got a date with Jess Kahan.” Dana looked proud of herself.

“Oh Jesus. That girl is a walking menace. She’s too damn smart for her own good.” Jack shook his head as he sat at his computer.

“I heard you two didn’t get along.” Robby laughed.

“She argues. I argue back. It’s like tennis. I can’t say I dislike it.” Jack shrugged. “Go on your date. Tell her I said she’s a little shit that still owes me for that Red Bull she stole from me.” Jack huffed.

Robby stood outside the café, his hands suddenly sweaty and shaky. He couldn’t remember the last time he was on a date. He could see her sitting, sipping tea at a table in the back. He took a deep breath and charged forward.

“Oh good. I was a little worried you’d stand me up.” Jess smiled.

“Not that kind of guy.” He smiled back. “Let me grab my coffee and I’ll be right back.”

“We’ll be here.” She nodded. Robby got his black coffee and sat across from Jess, letting himself see how pretty she was. When he was at work, he had trained his mind not to see anyone as attractive. It made things too complicated if he did.

“Jack says hi.” Robby sipped his coffee. Jess snorted.

“No, he doesn’t. That grumpy fuck.” Jess chuckled.

“Well, his words were, and I’m quoting him here,  ‘tell that little shit she still owes me a Red Bull’. So, kind of.” Robby smiled.

“He’s never getting that Red Bull.” Jess shook her head. “You from Pittsburgh?”

“No. From everywhere. It’s complicated.” Robby cleared his throat. “What about you?”

“Yep, kind of. We lived in the middle of nowhere until the seizures started. My mom wanted to be closer to a good children’s hospital.”

“Why teaching?”

“I  pretty much only had books to keep me company as a kid. My mom was a little paranoid about TV and movies. All the flashing, ya know? I liked learning and I wanted to help kids like learning.” She smiled, watching the authority and responsibility fade from his face. The Real Robby starting to come through.

“Noble.” Robby nodded. “What’s your favorite book?”

“Complicated question. Different days, different moods, it all affects the answer. But, right now I’d say Emma.” Jess smiled. “What about you?”

“I don’t get a lot of time to read for fun. I think the last book I read for fun was The Martian. I remember liking it enough.” He shrugged, watching the wheels turn behind her eyes. She was calculating, but not in a menacing way. She had a mind that was expansive in a way he was not used to.

“I’ve heard worse answers.”

“Like what?”

“Colleen Hoover is my mortal enemy.”

“I’ll avoid that then.” He chuckled. Roger had made himself comfortable on Robby’s feet.

“You never gave me your first name.”

“Right, sorry. Michael.”

“Michael. Mike?”

“Nope. Michael.”

“Mikey then.”

“That’s dangerous.”

“I like a bit of danger.” She had a mischievous look in her eyes.

“I can tell.” He leaned forward.

“So, Mikey,” Robby groaned and dropped his head. “You want to tell me why my dog thinks you need to be 5150’d?”

“Are you always so blunt?” Robby looked taken aback.

“I spend a lot of time with kids, they don’t have time to beat around the bush for some reason. It rubs off.” She shrugged. “You can tell me to fuck off. I can take it, promise.”

“I’m sure you can.” Robby sighed. “I have a hard job. I deal with death every day. A lot of it sticks to me, even when I try not to let it.” He shrugged.

“Sure, makes sense. But there’s more. I can see it.” Jess narrowed her eyes. “We’ll leave that for the second date.” She leaned back in her chair.

“There’s a second date?”

“Yeah, my dog needs to make sure you don’t off yourself. He’ll be worried sick.” She smiled.

“Can’t have that.” Robby was falling hard. He was going to continue their verbal fencing when they were interrupted by a woman wearing too much perfume and leggings.

“What a cute puppy! Hi, cutie!” She cooed at Roger.

“He’s working.” Jess said, her face falling.

“Oh, he doesn’t deserve to be working. He should be just getting cuddles.” She reached her hand out.

“He doesn’t bite, but if you don’t stop talking to him, I will.” Jess spat.

“What a bitch.” The woman scoffed and walked off.

“Jesus.” Robby laughed.

“You get tired of people being entitled pretty quick.” Jess sighed.

“I bet.”

“So, where are you taking me for the next one?” Jess smiled.

“Oh. I don’t know. What do you eat?” Robby felt himself get nervous.

“Food mostly.”

“Jack was right, you are a menace.” Robby chuckled.

“I keep life interesting at least.” Jess liked watching his brown eyes light up. “I like sushi.”

“Sushi. Okay. Sushi at that place on Fifth Ave?”

“Okay. Good start.”

“Start? Okay. Let me think,” Jess liked watching his wrinkles deepen as he concentrated. “There’s an arcade not far from there. One of my med students said it was nice.”

“It was ‘nice’?”

“She said something like, ‘fucking sick’ or something. They have drinks and you seem competitive.”

“Violently so.” “So we can have our first fight at the same time.” Robby looked smug.

“Okay. You pass. When?”

“Friday?”

“Predictable, but I have a big test this week, so I’ll accept it.” Jess nodded.

“What’s the test?”

“Lord of the Flies. The boys keep missing the point, I’m punishing them for not paying attention to the actual message.”

“Well, if they aren’t getting it, maybe it’s the teacher.” Robby cocked an eyebrow.

“Oh, that’s dangerous.” Jess chuckled. “This class has been the hardest to teach. So, maybe you aren’t wrong.” She shrugged.

“I can’t imagine being a kid today.” Robby shook his head.

“Yeah. They can’t function and I can’t blame them.” Jess sighed. “Okay. Let’s walk.” Jess got up and started for the door.

“Whoa, what?” Robby scrambled after her.

“I need to appease the indignant spirit of PTMC.” She said she walked into a corner shop.

“Do you ever just slow down? You go a million miles a minute.” Robby said as he wandered the aisles with her.

“When you develop a disorder that could kill you one day, you tend not to fuss with going slow too much.” She said over her shoulder.

“Fair enough.”

“You want anything?” She asked as she pulled a large Red Bull from the fridge.

“No. I’m good.” He shook his head. “I got this.” He said, pulling his wallet out.

“Nope. I repay my debts myself. I’m a bad bitch as the kids say.” She nodded as she paid the cashier.

“You are something that’s for sure.” Robby followed after her as they walked back into the ER. “Here, I got my badge.” He scanned it and walked in, ignoring the looks from the intake desk.

“Hey, Bridget. Where’s the grumpy asshole?” Jess asked, walking up to the desk.

“Jess! He’s around somewhere. You doing okay?” She looked from Jess to Robby, confused.

“Yeah, just trying to get Abbot to stop whining about me stealing his damn drink.” She shrugged.

“Dr. Robby, do you need something?” Bridget asked. Robby’s face flushed.

“He’s with me.” Jess winked. “He’s being a gentleman and everything. Tried to pay.” Jess laughed.

“Oh! Good for you two!” She smiled and went back to work.

Jack came out of a patient's room, typing on his tablet. When he looked up, he laughed and shook his head, marching up to Jess.

“You got nerve showing your face here.” Jack crossed his arms.

“Please. You crave our interactions.” Jess scoffed.

“I crave them about as much as I crave driving a nail in my ear.” He sighed. Roger walked over and made himself comfortable on his feet.

“It isn’t just me!” Robby said.

“He alert to you too?” Jack asked.

“He wouldn’t stop.” Robby sighed.

“Told you, you need a therapist. Takes a damn dog for you to listen.” Jack shook his head.

“Hey! That’s my damn dog, I get to say that. Not you. That’s Roger to you, asshole.” Jess warned, pointing at him.

“I’ll call him what I want when he’s in my business.” Jack said.

“Here.” Jess shoved the Red Bull at him. “Now you can stop whining.”

“I do not whine.” He took the can.

“Worse than the middle schoolers in my class.” Jess laughed.

“I’d whine if I was in your class too. Having to listen to you every day would drive me nuts too.”

“Jesus. You two are terrible together.” Robby scoffed.

“He loves me.” Jess smiled.

“I tolerate.”

“You got excited when you saw me, admit it.”

“Never.” Jack popped the can open and chugged it.

“Have fun with those heart palpitations all night.”

“Good thing I’m a doctor in a hospital.”

“Good thing Bridget keeps you on your feet.”

“I keep myself on my feet.”

“You do not.” Bridget corrected.

“Don’t you have patients?” Jess crossed her arms.

“Yes. So, get out of my ER and take your damn dog with you.”

“Happily.” Jess gestured for Roger to get up. “See you next episode.” Jess waved and walked off.

“Don’t forget to refill your meds!” He called after her. “How was the date?” Jack asked.

“Fuck. I might be done for.” Robby shook his head.

“Mikey, you walking me home or what?” Jess crossed her arms.

“Mikey?” Jack lit up, not even trying to hide his delight and laughter.

“It won’t end well if you try it.” Robby warned as he ran after Jess. He was so done for.

[luvr4miya]

depression — dean winchester ݃⁺݄+

summary: it’s breaking dean’s heart to see you wilting away in his bed, suffering from a depressive episode.

warnings: depression (symptoms, behaviours, thoughts, etc.), non-sexual nudity, angsty fluff, angsty/sad dean, pure comfort, loverboy!dean, depressed!reader, set in the bunker/later seasons (bf!dean x gf!reader)

wc: 4.28k

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dean winchester had never been a stranger to letting dark feelings consume him; he knew what it was like to feel like you’re drowning from the inside with thoughts that made your soul crumble piece by piece.

he knows.

he gets it.

but with you? it was different.

you weren’t like him—you allowed yourself to wallow in your sadness, letting it suffocate you like a weighted blanket until one day it magically lifts and you’re back to being yourself. it was routine at this point, something you just accepted as part of your life.

dean, however, spent his days existing alongside his depression, running through life like a bulldozer, never allowing himself to rot in the sadness—because deep down he knew he wouldn’t be able to get back out—but instead using it as a means to keep himself going through the challenges he faced.

his heart ached as he watched you spend day after day in his bed, withering away amongst the sheets, letting your unspoken thoughts and feelings eat at you, draining the usual light in your eyes into dull lifeless voids.

each morning was the same routine.

“you want some breakfast, baby?” dean asks, sitting on the side of the bed with his hand carefully threading through your greasy unkempt hair.

you shake your head. again.

and dean sighs. it’s like clockwork.

“you sure? i can bring you something.”

“just wanna sleep,” you mutter, your quiet croaky voice barely louder than a whisper.

dean’s heart breaks in his chest. you look so sad. so broken. so absent.

he looks away, not wanting you to see his frown. “alright. i’ll– uhh… i’ll leave you be then,” he sighs and wipes a hand down his face. “i’ll be in the library with sam if you need me, okay?”

and with a creak of the mattress and another soft sigh, he’s out of the room, and you’re back in the quiet solitude of his bunker bedroom, blanketed by the dull smell and thick air that seems all-consuming.

back in it.

back in the midst of your own tired brain, spewing out things you’d never dare say aloud.

things you’d never share with dean.

but dean’s not an idiot. he knows depression like the back of his hand, and he’s seen your episodes before—though it doesn’t make it any less painful whenever you enter one.

you spend your days in and out of consciousness, swimming in the dire thoughts that plague your mind and leave you feeling empty.

and you perhaps look even worse than you feel. you should be embarrassed, you think, letting dean see you like this—the unwashed hair, the unbrushed teeth, the crinkled pyjamas you’ve been wearing for days that are starting to smell.

but you don’t care.

it’s hard to care.

you’re so wrapped up in your own brain, trying to fight the onslaught of grim thoughts, that you don’t even see the impact you’re having on dean.

he’s tried everything.

he was gentle at first—the soft-spoken words and tender touches that just made you feel worse.

guilty… maybe.

and when his soft love didn’t help, he moved onto bringing you things, like a meal or your toothbrush, but every time he tried, he was met with a grunt or hum of disinterest.

and it broke his fucking heart.

even sam could see the stress that your dynamic was having on dean. he watched his brother wallow in despair, going days without a smile and the usual bite of confidence that he walked around with. he was losing himself in worry, but yet, the pair of them were clueless when it came to helping you; they didn’t know what to do.

they’d grown up just coexisting in their shared anguish, not letting their afflictions get in the way of life. they couldn’t afford to let it get in the way, no matter how much they were struggling.

but you were different.

and to them it was different.

so as the days of you rotting in his bed went by, dean’s own light began to fade. he walked around the bunker dejected and heavy-hearted, just existing with a sad level of apathy. he didn’t care for the cases sam would bring up; he couldn’t find it in himself to worry about the potential victims or the entities that were no doubt wreaking havoc.

not when he was worrying about you.

you were lying in his bed, half asleep, as you heard dean’s footsteps patter down the hallway. you pulled the blanket further up under your chin, almost shielding yourself from him and whatever he was going to say to you.

the door opened with a creak, the light from the hallway illuminating the dark room. dean popped his head in, letting his eyes land on you. “sweetheart?” he asked quietly, letting his gentle voice float through the stagnant air that reeked of you.

when you didn’t respond, he sighed, opening the door wider and stepping into the room. you felt his weight pull down the mattress as he sat, and his hand met your side over the blanket, gently rubbing, trying to coerce a response out of you.

“it’s 4 o’clock,” dean murmured, studying your face and the way you hid it in the pillow. “you don’t wanna get up? you’re not hungry?”

he knew his questions were redundant. he’d asked them every day since you’d first fallen into this depression.

you shook your head against the pillow. “m’tired,” you muttered.

“i know, sweetheart. i just–” dean sighed, “i’d just like you to eat something. it’s late… and i’m sure you’re hungry.”

he waited.

but you didn’t respond.

“i can make you a sandwich. some toast?” he offered, still rubbing your side over the sheets.

you shook your head again, silently pleading for him to give up like he usually does with these conversations.

“baby, please,” dean’s voice wavered, his usual gruff tone wobbling with emotion as he looked down at you. “please,” he begged again.

“not hungry,” you muttered, finally giving him a reply with words.

dean sighed. his hand moved up to your head, brushing some hair out of your face. his touch was gentle and reverent, like you were something that’d break if he wasn’t careful.

cause perhaps you were.

“i know you’re not, sweetheart, but i want you to eat something. you need to.”

the stale air around you felt thicker as the moments of silence grew, and you felt it suffocating you.

“please, dean,” you tried.

“no… i’m gonna make you something, and you’re gonna eat it for me, okay?”

your eyes finally fluttered open and hesitantly looked up to his. dean’s eyes immediately softened. there you were.

“baby…”

the look of hopelessness on his face made your chin tremble—it was beyond your control. the way his eyes looked sunken in was a reflection of your own misery.

he moved his hand to rest against your cheek. his touch was warm, and you found yourself swimming in the contact.

“c’mon, angel. please…” his voice was strained, tight with emotion that he was trying to keep from spilling out all over you; he didn’t need to make you feel any worse. “let me get you up. come sit in the kitchen. just you and me.”

he didn’t give you time to argue with his words. instead, he gently peeled the blanket away and slid his hands under your body.

a groan of protest left your throat, but your body melted into his as he pulled you up off the mattress.

“there we go,” dean muttered, letting you sit against him. your tired eyes blinked at him, conveying all the words you couldn’t find the energy to speak. “i know, sweetheart, i know. just for ten minutes, yeah?”

you blinked slowly, watching his face search yours. his expression was a mixture of concern and empathy, and you felt your heart lurch at the sight, knowing you were the cause.

his hand stroked your cheek as the silence grew once more. “you’re… you’re a bit ripe, baby,” dean finally spoke, his tone gentle and a little reluctant.

you swallowed. you knew those words should embarrass you, but… you couldn’t find the energy to care. “i know,” you whispered.

dean nodded. “c’mere…”

his big arms wrapped around you, caging you against his chest. his hand rubbed your back, attempting to soothe away the sadness he could feel emanating off you.

you melted into his embrace, his warmth alleviating some of the tension in your body.

“i love you, baby. let me look after you… please. it kills me to see you like this,” he whispered into your hair.

you let out a soft noise, one that left your throat without your permission.

“i know,” dean murmured. he pulled back and looked down at your face, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. his eyes softened as he met your tired gaze. “i’m gonna run you a bath, okay? i’m gonna help you.”

he nodded along with his words, almost reassuring you with his actions.

you wanted to argue. you wanted to tell him to go away, that you didn’t want a bath, that you just wanted to sleep.

but the pain in dean’s expression stopped you. the way the frown tugged down on his lips and the way his eyes silently pleaded with you had your chest tightening.

“okay.”

dean let out a shaky breath. “yeah, okay. good… that’s my girl.” he placed a tender kiss on your forehead, letting his lips stay against your skin for a few moments before pulling back. “you stay here. i’ll be right back.”

he pulled away from you, your body instantly feeling cold at the absence of his touch. he ducked out into the hallway and down to the bunker bathroom, ready to fill the tub for you and wash off your layer of grime.

you slumped back down into the mattress, your heart beating faster in resigned anticipation. you didn’t want to get up. you didn’t want a bath. you just wanted to fall back into sleep and avoid being awake, like you’d been doing all week.

but dean’s face appeared in your mind, and you knew how much this meant to him. your heart ached knowing you were the cause of his sadness, and so you sat back against the sheets, waiting with a heavy heart for him to return.

dean entered the room again only moments later. he stood beside the bed looking down at you, a cautious yet glum smile pulling at his lips. “bath’s running. you just– you just wait there.”

you watched him pull out the drawers of his dresser, grabbing an old shirt and a pair of his boxers, before dipping back out of the room in a rush.

a few minutes passed before dean returned again. he approached your sad state on the bed and loomed over you with a steady presence. “okay, sweetheart. bath’s full. c’mere.”

he bowed down and slipped his hands under your lifeless body, pulling you away from the warm sheets of the bed and into him. your head instinctively ducked into his neck, searching for closeness as he began carrying you out to the bathroom.

“it's gonna be okay, baby,” dean murmured into your hair. “i’m gonna look after you, okay?”

his gentle words made your heart flutter, the first sign of life in your chest in days. a warmth spread, and you sighed, nodding in response.

dean walked you into the bathroom, closing the door with his foot before setting you down in front of him. the tiles were cold against your feet, and the fresh air of the bathroom invaded your nose. it was a lot, after being surrounded by the stale air of his bedroom for so long, but dean’s presence somehow made it all feel okay.

you looked at him, waiting to see what he’d do, but his eyes were already on you—round and wide with that same glimmer of concern, but still full of so much love.

“let’s get you undressed,” he said softly, his hands already moving to the pyjama shirt you’d been marinating in for the past few days.

you nodded, wordlessly, and let him pull it over your head, your arms slipping out of the fabric and covering your bare chest. dean’s eyes flickered down to the covered skin, and a small smile grew on his lips. “s’nothing i haven’t seen before, baby. you’re alright.”

you felt a smile threaten to tug on your own lips at his small remark—another beat of life returning to you momentarily.

dean pulled down your pyjama shorts and underwear in another careful movement, gently lifting your feet to slip them out of the leg holes.

“there we go,” he huffed softly, throwing your soiled clothes into the laundry basket.

dean’s face softened as his gaze returned to you, and his eyes swept over your form reverently. “my beautiful girl,” he breathed out, the love seeping from his words. your sad heart soaked it up as he cupped your cheek with his palm, the contact almost electrifying for a moment, waking you up from your slightly hazy state.

“let’s get you in the tub, yeah?” he murmured once again, his green eyes flickering between yours in assurance.

you nodded.

and dean nodded in return before leaning down and pressing a kiss to your forehead, “that’s my girl.”

he guided you to the bathtub. bubbles floated on top of the water, and steam plumed up into the air. the sweet scent of your body wash filled your nostrils as you stood in front of it.

dean watched your eyes take in the sight, a small smile gracing his face. “i did alright, didn’t i?” he let out a soft laugh.

you glanced up at him, your heart skipping a beat at his beautiful face. god, you loved him. “yeah,” you replied softly, your voice nothing more than a mere whisper.

but still, dean smiled.

he was pulling more words from you in fifteen minutes than he had been for the past week.

“hop in, baby. it’s nice and warm.”

you tentatively dipped a foot in, testing the temperature, before committing and taking a seat in the water.

the warm water surrounded you, gently lapping at your skin like gentle kisses on an ocean shore. it felt nice, and you were already feeling better than you had been all week.

“good?” dean asked as he lowered himself beside the tub, sitting on his knees.

you relaxed back against the porcelain. “good.”

dean smiled once more, taking in the sight of you. “i’m glad,” he murmured. he let his hand reach over the tub and dip under the water, meeting your knee. he gave it a gentle squeeze.

you let out a deep sigh, a long sound that seemed to escape your lungs without your consent. dean just nodded. “i know, baby,” he said, squeezing your knee again. “i'm gonna wash you and get you back to bed. i know you’re feeling rough, my baby. just let me do this for you.”

his tender words struck at your heart, your heartstrings tightening as a frown grew on your lips. as little as his words seemed at face value, they meant the world. he saw you. he saw the pain that existed within you, and yet, he was okay with it. he understood it, and you could see he was more than willing to help you shoulder it. that much was clear.

and so you nodded once more, words seeming too daunting for you to handle. dean hummed and picked up your shampoo bottle from beside the tub. “can you wet your hair for me?” he asked, his soft eyes falling over your face.

you swallowed and slipped down, dipping your head into the water.

you found yourself falling back into a hazy state as dean began washing your hair, his gentle hands massaging the suds into your scalp—the motion tender and careful, like he was touching you for the first time again, cautious that you’d pull away.

your eyes fluttered shut, your wet lashes draped over your warm cheeks as he rinsed and conditioned your hair. emotions bubbled in your chest at the feeling of being looked after, cared for like your soul had been aching for. dean took care of you with such love, and your fragile soul soaked it up, revelling in his presence for the first time in days instead of feeling repulsed by it.

the salty tears escaped your eyes while dean began scrubbing your body clean. 

dean saw them.

“oh, sweetheart,” his voice wavered. his free hand came up and cupped your cheek, almost guiding your face to meet his gaze. “it’s okay. you’re okay.”

you looked at him through your blurry vision, the tears still spilling down your cheeks and your throat closing up from how much his touches were forcing up emotions that suffocated your airways.

you whimpered.

“i know, baby, i know. i’m so sorry you feel like this,” dean murmured. he leaned forward and placed a kiss on your forehead, letting his lips linger a few seconds longer than necessary, as if he was trying to kiss away some of the hurt from inside of you.

your lips trembled, and your chin quivered. it felt too much. it all felt too much.

you let out a sob—a quiet one, the sound broken and pained.

dean felt his heart rip. there was no other way to describe it. he felt your pain evaporate from your insides and expel itself into the air in the form of sobs.

maybe your tears were good, and maybe your sobs too.

he kept gently scrubbing your body clean, his heart twisting at every cruel sound that escaped you. “i know, angel, i know. i’m so sorry. i wish i could make it better.”

you cried.

for the first time in weeks.

you felt the floodgates open, and you had no way of closing them. the sounds were almost guttural, ravaging your insides and tearing out of your mouth.

but as painful as it all seemed, your sobs lightened it—lessened the load of what you were carrying inside, lightened the heavy feeling that had manifested itself into the dull ache in your chest.

you couldn’t see through your tears by the time dean had drained the bath and managed to wrap you in a towel and pull you into his arms.

“i wish i could take away your pain. i’d take all of it, every last drop, baby, just so you’d never have to feel like this again,” he whispered into your hairline. his voice was so soft, so raw, and so sincere. “i’m so sorry.”

he kept his strong arms around you, holding onto you like a vice, feeling like you’d shatter into a million pieces if he were to let go. you just collapsed into him, your body seeking his comfort after days of stubbornly rejecting it.

when really

it was all that you’d needed.

you couldn’t say how long you stood in the bathroom together, just letting him hold you. but it didn't matter. you felt your internal turmoil lessen with each second that passed, like dean alone was sucking out the oxygen that kept your pain’s flame alight.

your heart beat in your chest; a steady rhythm gently pounding under your skin. you could feel dean’s too, right under your ear as you rested your head against him, neither of you caring about soaking his shirt with your wet hair or the droplets of water that were landing on the floor.

it didn’t matter.

dean finally pulled his head back, a gentle sigh escaping his lips. his gaze flickered down to your face still buried in his chest, searching for solace in his touch, in his presence.

“i love you so much,” he muttered, his voice low and delicate, not wanting to break the moment. “i want you to get better… and i want you to talk to me, okay? i want to help with whatever’s going on in here.”

he gently poked at your temple.

you swallowed down the lump in your throat. it felt scratchy from how badly you’d sobbed your throat raw.

but you looked up at him, blinking. you nodded.

dean nodded back.

he was gentle as he pressed you against the counter, the back of your legs hitting the edge. and he was even gentler as he rubbed in your moisturiser and towel-dried your hair.

he was so beautiful. so patient. so understanding.

and though your insides were turning inside out, practically screaming at you to back away and hide in the comfort of his dark bedroom, you stayed put, allowing dean’s presence to mute the constant array of dark thoughts from bouncing around in your mind.

he soothed you. inside and out.

and part of you hated yourself for rejecting this for so long, denying yourself his comfort.

dean thought you looked vacant as he dressed you, pulling up his old boxers over your legs and covering you in one of his shirts. his chest hurt, but again, this was more from you than you’d given him in a week.

and that meant something.

he didn't let go of you the entire walk back to his bedroom. his hand was wrapped around yours, tight, almost like he was trying to remind you of the devotion he felt for you.

the smell of his bedroom air hit your nose as you walked back in. was it really this bad before? it was like your innermost thoughts were hung in the air, polluting the room with a foul stench that reeked of misery.

you frowned.

dean let his hand run up your arm, wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you into him again. you let him, melting into his warm embrace.

“you hungry? don’t say no.”

you glanced up at his face, taking in his softened expression. you allowed yourself to nod. 

“okay, yeah. good,” he murmured. he pulled away, reaching over to his desk. you saw the plate in his hand. two pieces of toast sat on top of the ceramic dish.

“i texted sam…” he explained, trailing off as he passed you the plate.

you nodded again. “thank you,” you returned, a quiet muttering.

“i– i’m gonna change the sheets, sweetheart. i can’t– i can’t sleep another night in them… and that’s saying something… you know, coming from me,” he said, his humour lightening up the heavy mood of the room. he smiled gently. “you sit. eat.”

dean pulled out his desk chair and gestured for you to take a seat. you slumped down into it, letting out a soft sigh.

he kept his eyes on you as he pulled the dirty sheets off his bed, stripping it bare as he watched you take small hesitant bites of the toast that sam had made. you looked tired, practically fusing back into the chair, but at least you were up. that's what dean told himself.

“gonna grab some new sheets, okay? finish your toast, baby. i'll be back in a sec.” he spoke to you like how someone speaks to a toddler—gentle and soft like the wrong word or tone would send you spiralling back into bed for another week, but he couldn’t afford that, not when he had managed to get this far with you.

you nodded, and he left the room with the dirty sheets in hand, returning only moments later with the fresh linen that immediately lifted the room’s scent.

you had finished your toast by the time dean was done pulling the sheets onto the bed. you put the empty plate back onto his desk and looked up at him with wide tired eyes.

dean came over, standing in front of your legs. “all done?”

you nodded. “yeah.”

his hand made contact with your head, brushing some of your damp hair back and petting you. his movements were gentle, like he had to be extra delicate with you in your fragile state, but his touch sent a surge of love and affection through you—something that jolted you awake for what felt like the first time in days.

you looked up at his face, like really looked up.

“i love you,” you muttered out, no louder than a whisper.

dean’s hand paused in your hair. his face softened. “i know, baby. i love you too… more than anything in the world.”

his hand slipped down to your cheek, cupping it tenderly. his palm was warm, almost searing against your skin with unspoken words of affection. his thumb rubbed along your cheekbone.

“can i hold you?” he asked, his twinkling green eyes searching yours, rounded like he was bracing himself for you to say no.

but you nodded, leaning into his touch. “please.”

dean let out a breath. “mmkay, up you get then, angel.”

you stood up from the chair. he pulled the sheets back, helping guide you back into the warmth and safety of his bed. dean slipped in after you, the mattress dipping under his weight. his arms immediately wrapped around your waist, pulling you into him.

you felt your body relax for the first time in days, releasing all the tension from your muscles and melting against him almost innately. you sighed, closing your eyes.

dean pulled you closer. “i got you, sweetheart. you know i’ve always got you.”

fig yaps: first time doing proper angst !!!!!! i hope it’s not cringe omf i’m hiding away after i post this !!!! BUT comfort fic ??? hopefully !!! i started writing this when i took my lil break bc i was sad as hell and all i wanted was for dean to look after me LMAOOO i hope u enjoyed <3

reblogs and feedback are appreciated :P

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Bruised Pt 3 | Jack Abbot x Reader

Summary: When you find yourself in an abusive relationship, you never thought your attending Jack Abbot would become your protector and saving grace.

TW: domestic violence, age gap relationship (reader is in late 20s & Jack is 49), hospital setting, surgery, medical inaccuracies, nudity, fluff, angst, eventual smut, Not beta read. Likely typos. Lmk if there is anything else!

Word Count: 3.2k

Authors Note: I’m so sorry it took so long to get this part up! I’ve been so busy with work, and my kids. Then it was my anniversary, my husband’s birthday and Father’s Day, so I’ve been running around like crazy. Whenever I get a minute to relax I’m just been sooo tired. This chapter isn’t my favorite at all, I didn’t want it to be too medical considering I have a history degree and have no medical background (aside from my hypochondria and time spent on webmd). So consider this to be a filler chapter I guess? Hope next chapter is good and perhaps a little smutty 🫦

Prev | Next

Feel

You felt the tether of all the wires connecting you to the countless monitors. The burn of the IVs embedded into your skin. Then the pain. The utter indescribable pain. Your head pounded, your body stiff. The slow trickle of cerebrospinal fluid from your nose was now coating your lips. You want to wipe it away, but your hands are too heavy, your fingers tingling. Your face feels cold despite the sweat that covered your body. The cold offering comfort in the chaos.

Taste

Your mouth was so incredibly dry that it was difficult to swallow. Your tongue almost sticking to the roof of your mouth, peeling it away giving the sensation of velcro. The only thing that offered temporary moisture was the salty spinal fluid that seeped into your mouth. All you could crave was water.

Smell

It all smelled so sterile. The metallic smell of dried blood, your dried blood, mixed with iodine. Had you had surgery? Why were you covered in iodine?

Sound

The beeps and clicks of the monitors were a constant, but words around you were muffled, as if you were drowning under water. As the words ebbed and flowed, you managed to make out some in all of the chaos.

“Basilar skull fracture”

“Post- traumatic seizures”

“Subdural hematoma”

“Craniotomy”

No. No. No. No. Please God no. This couldn’t be happening, this couldn’t possibly be happening; but the memories begin flooding back with each passing moment. You are back in the trauma room where can hear the sound of your skull cracking as Charlie’s hands gripped your throat and bashed your head against the wall. You can hear the sound of Jacks fist making contact with flesh, Robby’s screams, and Charlie’s groans.

Sight

Darkness. You only saw black. Your eyelids feeling as if they were being held shut by some unknown force. No matter how hard you tried, they wouldn’t budge. Jacks voice enters the room and you want so desperately to open your eyes, tell him you’re okay, you’re alive. He must know you’re trying because you feel his hand in yours in an instant, squeezing it lightly and assuring you it’s alright. That it’s just the swelling around your eyes. Was that the cold you felt on your face? Was that Jack holding a compress to your eyes?

————————————————————————

With an unknown lapse in time, your eyes began to flutter open. Your vision blurry, the bright lights making them immediately shut again. While you couldn't see him, you knew he was there.

"J-" you were taken aback by how hoarse your voice was, your mouth and throat so dry that little sound came out. Before you knew it, you felt the comfort and warmth of his hands. Hesitantly he traced his rough fingertips along your jaw and down your bruised neck.

"I'm here." he whispered.

"Hurts" was all you could muster, god you needed some water.

"I know it hurts, we can get you some more morphine in about an hour."

You shook your head, reaching out with trembling hands to find his. You opened his palm and slowly traced each letter:

L - I - G - H -T

You heard Jack scurry to turn the light off, and only when the world felt less harsh your eyes opened slowly. He looked exhausted, he hadn't shaved, hair disheveled, cheeks sunken, but he smiled at you softly. Bringing his your hand up to his mouth, he shut his eyes and placed a tender kiss on the back of it, the ring on your finger still taunting you. He helped bring a glass of water to your lips, trickling down your throat, washing away the salty and metallic taste.

"Jack..." you finally whispered, tears welling up in your eyes. "Wh-wh-- h-ha " for some reason the words didnt come. You shut your eyes tightly again, trying to focus on what you wanted to say, what you needed to say. Its as if your mine and body were no longer working in sync.

"Hey, hey, slow down, it's normal to have a bit of aphasia after a brain injury. It'll come back to you soon enough." Jack assured you as the panic began to fill your eyes. "You can squeeze my hands once for yes, two for no. Okay?"

One Squeeze.

"Good..." Jack smiled a toothy grin, "Let's figure out what you remember... okay?"

One Squeeze

"Do you remember what happened at Pittfest?"

One Squeeze

"Do you remember Charlie? What he did to you?"

One Squeeze

"Do you remember going up for CT?"

Two Squeezes

Jack looked down, trying to figure out how to tell you all that happened when your eyes fluttered shut in his arms. He wanted to block the memory from his mind. The way your body grew rigid and clonic before you even made it to radiology.

"Charlie caused a basilar skull fracture, which caused you to have the CSF rhinorrhea. It's getting better, you just gotta stay flat for a while." You hadn't even noticed the trickle from your nose had almost gone to a standstill.

"Taking you up to CT, you started having a seizure, you had one last night too. Imagining found a subdural hematoma. Walsh had to do a craniotomy to relieve the pressure..."

Your hand immediately reached for the back of your head, feeling for the incision. You felt the bald patch, the stubble pricking your fingers and they traced along the staples. You stopped counting after 10 staples.

"She left as much as she could... it'll grow back. Come on don't look like that." Jack whispered, wiped a tear from your cheek with his thumb.

"See?" you asked, pointing to your face.

Jack pulled his phone from his pocket and turned on the front facing camera. Holding the phone in front of your face, you gasped loudly. Your eyes were black and swollen, your neck bruised, tacky spinal fluid crusted on your lips and chin. A sob stuck in your throat and you shut your eyes, not wanting to look at your reflection any longer.

"Hey, hey, none of that. You're still my pretty girl, right?" he cupped your face in his hands, forcing you to face him. "Open your eyes. Look at me. The cuts will heal, the hair will grow back, and the bruising with fade. You are still the most beautiful woman I've ever seen." His hazel eyes were glassy and exhausted, but he looked genuine; like he meant every word that was coming out of his mouth.

Your chest ached at his words, the world standing still. His pretty girl. The woman that looked back at you in the mirror was far from that. You saw a battered woman, a lost woman, a broken woman. Yet Jack looked at you like you were the most beautiful woman in the world. Behind those tired eyes of his, he looked at you with nothing but complete adoration. How? Why?

“Charlie?” The words seemed to come easier to you now, like Jack had promised. It took everything for him not to explode at the mere mention of that man’s name. The man who hurt the woman he loved.

“He’s here. In the ICU.”

“I want to see him.” You whispered firmly, throat still hoarse.

“I dont think th-“

“Jack, please.”

Jack pressed his back against his chair, his shoulders slumping forward a bit, almost in defeat. He rubbed his hand across the stubble on his chin, and you heard the scratch of the hair on his rough skin. With some hesitation, he stood and fetched a wheelchair.

"I'm gonna sit you up slowly, okay?" he said softly, looping his arms under your armpits to slowly guide you up. It felt like the room was spinning, all the blood rushing to your head. You let out a small cry from the pain, resting your head into the crook of his neck as you adjusted. When you were ready, he lifted you into the chair and began to push you down the hallway. Stopping outside his room Jack sighed.

"I dont know if its a good idea if I go in there." he wanted nothing more than to finish the job, break every bone in that mans body.

"Please, Jack. I need you."

With a nod, Jack used his back to push the door open and wheel you inside, trying not to jostle you around too much. Seeing him there in bed was a shock. His jaw was wired shut, an NG tube down his nose, his face nearly unrecognizable. Your breath caught in your throat at the sight of him, and you stared at Jack in awe of the damage he had done, for you.

Charlies head turned, eyes widening and heart rate increasing at the presence of Jack Abbot. For a moment, you almost pitied the man, your heart somehow still ached for him. With a nod, Jack wheeled you to the edge of the bed, him gripping the handles so firmly his knuckled were now white. His jaw was clenched shut, he said nothing, but his eyes said everything.

In one fluid motion you took off your engagement ring, twiddling it in you hands. Your finger felt naked, the ring that has been there for 2 years was now gone.

"Give me your hand Charlie." you demanded, before firmly grabbing it yourself, pressing the ring firmly into the palm of his hand. Your jaw was tight, you spoke through gritted teeth. "I stayed because I hoped things would change. I told myself it wasn’t that bad. That I could fix it. Fix you. But you hurt me. Over and over and over again. With your words, with your fists, with how small you made me feel." tears began to soak your cheeks as the words spilled into the air.

"Every day I tried to survive it. Every time you grabbed me, shoved me, screamed in my face—every time you told me no one else would want me—I believed you. But thats not true, Charlie." you looked back at Jack who was studying your every movement and every expression. Through the anger, through the tears, through the heartbreak, you smiled softly at Jack who looked at you with pain in his eyes.

"You hurt me for the last time." finally letting go, the ring you pressed into his hand left an indent in your palm, and you watched it slowly fade away. You knew that Charlie would leave a permanent mark on you. The scars that would remain, the trauma that would persist, those wouldnt go away. But watching the outline of your once promise slowly dissipate made this real.

"I feel sick Jack." you choked, and he swiftly pushed you out of the room into the hall. You were pale, diaphoretic, and trying to catch your breath.

"Tell me what hurts." Jack switching from protector to doctor in a matter of seconds.

"I cant breathe." you gasped, grabbing onto his shirt, looking for something to hold onto, to ground yourself.

What Jack first dismissed as another panic attack after your encounter with Charlie vanished the moment he saw the bluish tint creeping across your lips. Barreling down the hallway, he immediately called a rapid response.

"Honey, we gotta get you on the monitor to check your pulse ox, now."

With a reading of 85% he was now in combat mode.

"I need high flow oxygen mask, now!" he barked, "where the fuck is respiratory?"

"Infection?" you gasped, breathing growing more and more shallow.

"Maybe. I dont know."

"Please... dont intubate." you begged, grabbing his hand with all the strength you had left.

"Not if I can help it." Jack smiled assuringly and slipped the oxygen mask over your nose. It brought him relief to see your levels improving on just room air. Your airways felt assaulted by force of the oxygen mask, the pressure making it feel like your head was about to explode more than I already was, your chest feeling as if it were on fire. Jack reached out to grab your trembling hands are you began to pull and paw at the mask.

“I know it feels uncomfortable. Just focus on my voice—breathe with me, okay? In and out, slow and steady. We gotta figure out what's going on."

"M-Me-Meningitis?" you were a doctor, you knew the risks, and the infection risks were high. Jack simply nodded at the possibility and as he prepped you for a spinal tap. You winced and called out as the needle pierced your back.

As you waited for your results Jack sat at the edge of the bed rubbing your legs to avoid blood pooling and clots from forming. Your body was sore, and his hands felt heavenly. You moaned involuntarily as he hit a particularly tender spot, causing you both to blush.

You felt disgusting. Your hair was matted, bloody and greasy. Your skin still stained with iodine and a layer grime. You just wanted to get clean but had no means of doing so. You couldn’t stand unassisted, your breathing was labored, and your body was too weak. The thought of getting a sponge bath was humiliating.

“You don’t have to do this, Jack. I’m filthy.” You pulled your mask down briefly. Jack simply shook his head and chuckle.

“Try grown men in the middle of desert combat going 3 weeks without a shower. This is nothing, kid.”

Still— you recoiled a bit, pulling your legs away from him, causing him to frown.

“Alright, let’s get you cleaned up then.”

“What?”

“I said let’s get you cleaned up, I can help you shower.”

"Jack... I-I-I dont--"

"Or if you aren't comfortable, I can grab a nurse to help?"

You looked at him, contemplating the offer. It was strictly clinical, right? He was a doctor, he's seen hundreds, maybe thousands of naked bodies. Clinical, strictly clinical.

With a nod, Jack took a few slow steps towards you, removing your oxygen mask to see how vitals held before moving forward. When he was satisfied with what he saw, he helped you up and into the wheelchair.

"I'm gonna take off your gown now, that okay?"

Not answering, you let out a small squeak as you stifled a sob. He immediately knelt down next to you, standing at your eye level. His brow was tense as he looked at you with a painful expression. Your body was trembling, jaw chattering, eyes looking shellshocked. The bathroom grew hotter as the shower steam began to billow around the bathroom. Your reflection beginning to fade as condensation clung to the mirror.

Jack began to search for comforting words, his back leaning against the bathroom door.

"I've been in this exact situation myself, you know? When I got hurt, I was unable to bathe myself. It was a sponge bath, talk about mortifying. I'm a grown man and I had some hot nurse in a German military hospital flipping me over to scrub my ass..."

You couldn't help but chuckle, appreciating not only the imagery but his vulnerability.

"So I get it... trust me."

"Okay...yeah."

Jack untied the back of your hospital gown, slipping it off you. Instinctually, you covered your exposed body.

He lifts you into the shower, placing you on the shower stool. The hot water began to cascade over your bruised and scarred body, washing away the dirt, grime and blood. Jack began to work his hands along your body, starting with your hair. You shut your eyes as Jack began to gently massage shampoo into your scalp, taking extra care to avoid your craniotomy staples.

Then your bruised neck and down to your stiff shoulders.

He worked away at the knots from laying in the hospital bed, your head hung forward, breath quickening again. Not because you couldn't breathe, but from the sensation of his hands on your skin. The crook of your neck was now exposed to him, almost inviting him to press his lips against you. He shook his head, trying to get back to the task at hand. He was standing in front of you now, kneeling down at eye level. With more precision his hands moved lower, the washcloth brushing against your breasts, your breath hitching. His eyes met yours, checking in to see you were okay.

With more assurance his hand traveled lower, brushing against your stomach. Lower and lower, until you grabbed his wrist, stopping him before he reached your most sensitive part.

"Jack..." you whispered.

"I-I'm sorry." he whispered, handing you the washcloth. "I'll go wait outside so you can finish up, call me when you're ready, yeah?"

He left the bathroom in a hurry, rubbing his hand along the back of his neck.

"Fuck..." he whispered to himself. He felt so guilty, for wanting more when you were in your most vulnerable. Felt disgusted he felt for how good it felt to have your hands on your body, even in your condition.

When he heard your faint callings from the bathroom he went back in with a smile.

"Ready?" he helped you stand, you pressed your back against his chest as he wrapped a scratchy hospital around your frail frame. "Feel better?" he asked, helping you back into a fresh gown and into your bed with fresh sheets.

"Much, thank you Jack."

"Let me fix your hair so it doesn't get tangled again, alright?" he sat you up and started to braid your hair.

"You know how to braid hair?"

"Not my choice. I have 4 sisters." he chuckled before finishing up and admiring his work. "I'm a little rusty, but I think it'll do."

"Thank you." you smiled.

"Listen, abou-" he began before you promptly cut him off.

"Dont, Jack." you grabbed his hand, shaking your head, "Its okay. I promise. It's okay." Despite your assurance, Jack kept pushing.

"No...it’s not. Because I didnt just... I told you... you were in such a-- I wanted..." he began to stutter, fumbling over his words.

"Wanted what?"

"YOU!" he yelled before lowering his voice to almost a whisper... "I wanted you.”

He tried to get up, but you held onto him firmly. Your grip getting tighter and tighter as he spoke. “Even though I’ve been in your position and know how helpless you felt in that moment… I still wanted to touch you. And I just feel like some animal. That I’m no better than the sick fuck who hurt you in the first place.” Jacks voice cracked and in that moment you thought he was going to cry.

“Jack…” you whispered, cupping his face in your hands.

“You trusted me…” He whispered back, his eyes welling up with tears.

“I still do, Jack.” You rested your forehead against his. The tips of your noses brushing, your lips hovering mere inches apart. Both you were breathing quickly as his hands found your body again, rubbing his fingers down your bare spine through the opening of the hospital gown. You could feel each other’s breath panting against your lips. Your eyes beginning to flutter shut.

“Jack Abbot?” And unfamiliar voice pulled your attention away from each other in almost an instant. Two officers stood in the doorway, both resting their hands on their tactical vests.

“Yes officer, how can I help you?” Jack responded.

“Stand up for me and put your hands behind your back.” One stepped forward, pulling the handcuffs from his belt.

“What?” You yelled, not wanting to let go of Jack. “No, please!”

“Dr. Abbot you’re under arrest for the aggravated assault and battery of Charlie Truett.”

————————————————————————

Tag list //

@michasia24 @emma8895eb @nosebeers @runawaybaby3 @antisocialfiore @xxxkat3xxx @livingavilaloca @popeabbot @catmomstyles3 @bxxbxy @meowmeowyoongles @midnight-dixon @nerdgirljen @aj3684 @screechingenemy18 @profoundlynerdywolf @rogersbarnesxx @sebastianstangirl01 @princesssunderworld @looneylooomis @shadowhuntyi @drlangdonsbabydaddy @celiacallsitcausal @sjester42-blog @geekgirl1996 @ksyn-faith @peggyofoz @trustme3-13 @foolishseven @floofmc @anxiousfuckupon @silas-aeiou @pinkdrinkwithraspberry

(I think I got everyone! Sorry if I missed you!!!! Lmk if you wanna be added)

[luvr4miya]

I Long To Be

Jack Abbot x Reader

Word Count: ~ 3.25k

Content: Jack as a dad! Just a big ol' fluffy fic

Note: I'm a sucker for Jack as a dad! I literally would do anything to have his kid and to just be a family with him and your kid. I was sad so I wrote something to cheer me up.

Jack had tonight off, but you were stuck at work. This meant that Jack would be solo parenting your 4 year old son Layne, who’s named after the late great musician Layne Staley of Alice In Chains. Layne’s full name is Layne Michael Abbot. The Michael is for your and Jack’s best friend and Layne’s godfather Dr. Michael Robinavitch. Robby loves it because he calls Layne, Mikey and you guys let him get away with it.

You have no doubts about Jack being able to take care of Layne by himself, but shit if you’re not jealous because you want to be able to have some whole family time. You wanna cuddle in bed with your boys and watch Jack and Layne play wrestle on the floor even though Layne cheats because of his daddy’s prosthetic leg. You want to be able to fall asleep to whatever bedtime story Jack picks out to read to Layne. Why somebody needed to fuck up your perfect night is beyond you.

The night goes very routine until it’s 7 a.m. and you know you’re going to be getting off in an hour. You’re interrupted doing your charting by hearing Layne yell mommy. You’ve never gotten up so fast from your seat. You turn around and see Layne and Jack standing there looking perfectly healthy and Jack’s smirking at you. Layne's in his Pittsburgh Penguins pajamas and Jack's just wearing a tee shirt and sweatpants. Fuck you very much Jack, that was almost enough to give you a heart attack.

You walk over to your boys and pick Layne up. He gives you a great big kiss to your cheek and wraps his little arms around you as tight as he can. Jack kisses your temple and wraps an arm around your waist.

”What’s up boys? I’ve still got an hour until I’m done for the night.”

”Yeah about that, Layne got up at 5 and has demanded mommy since then.”

Be still your heart. You kiss the top of Layne’s head, on his adorable curly red hair, which is currently laying on your chest. If you weren’t at work, you’d absolutely cry at the fact that your son missed you that much.

“Okay so Layne wanted mommy and you thought I’ll just take him to her?”

”Yeah pretty much, besides his godfather is coming in right behind us, so you can get off an hour early.”

You turn and see Robby walking into the ED. This feels like it was planned. You turn back and look at Jack like really?

“Okay I might’ve asked Robby to come in and relieve you. I missed you too.”

“You're so lucky I love you and missed you both because you don't just drag Robby in when I'm very capable of finishing my shift.”

“He didn't drag me in, I came in willingly Y/N. I was already up. Besides, Mikey should get to spend time with his mama.”

“You're also lucky I love you too Michael because you shouldn't aid him in this.”

Robby walked over and hugged you and took Layne from you for a second. Layne didn't mind. He loves his uncle. You're fine with that because then you're able to properly hug your husband and kiss him and then smack him on the shoulder for doing this shit to you.

“Hey quit that.”

You smack Jack's arm again. Layne perks up in Michael's arms and looks between you and his dad.

“I can take daddy's leg?”

“When we get home, you have my full permission baby boy to take daddy's leg and run.”

“Hey we're supposed to be on the same side little man?!”

“Uh uh. I side with mama.”

Michael's laughing his ass off and he hands Layne back to you. You give Layne a great big kiss to his cheek and he gives you a huge smile.

“That's right baby. You side with mama.”

“Can you believe this brother, I'm getting ganged up on by the two loves of my life?”

“To be fair I'd gang up on you too if I were them.”

“Ah the betrayal. How ever will I recover?!”

Layne laughs and sticks his arms out for his dad. Jack takes Layne into his arms and gives him a big squeeze. You just look on in awe because these are the ones who hold your heart. They're your entire world.

“Daddy!”

“Yes buddy?”

“I'm hungry.”

This sends you doubling over laughing. Michael's still next to you and he's trying not to laugh at the scene in front of him.

“Well bud if your mama would hurry up and clock out so Uncle Mikey can clock in, we could go get breakfast.”

Oh this absolute shithead. Layne’s head turns to look at you and he's gotten his daddy's stare down perfectly. You groan and start walking to the doctor's lounge with Michael following behind you since he'll have to put his bag away. You grab your bag out of your locker and sign yourself out. Michael signs himself in and puts his bag in his locker.

“Thanks again brother for coming in, but next time Jack asks for something that may directly affect me, call me first.”

“You got it sis. Now go get breakfast with my favorite dude and his annoying father.”

“Can I quote you on that?”

He laughs and says, “always. Jack knows he's annoying.”

“That's true. He does know that and it makes him thrive.”

You and Michael laugh and then you give him a quick side hug before leaving the doctor's lounge to head back out to your family. Your boys are exactly where you left them. You take Layne from Jack and settle him on your hip as you guys walk out to Jack's truck.

“Mommy I'm hungry.”

“We're leaving right now, little man. And daddy better have brought his wallet cause I'm not paying for it.”

“Of course I have my wallet. Where do you think my driver's license is?”

“Layney did you hear something?”

Layne knew you were picking on his daddy again because this is something you do a lot of at home when Jack is deliberately being annoying.

“No mommy.”

“You two are so lucky I love you.”

“We know. And I love you too Jack.”

“I love you daddy.”

“Now that's better.”

You roll your eyes and get Layne situated in his car seat. When he's all buckled in, you give him a quick kiss to his nose and then close the back passenger door. Jack's waiting by the front passenger door for you. He's already got it open for you too.

“I do love you, you know. And I appreciate you bringing our little man to me this morning.”

“That was nothing. And I love you too darling. Now get your fine ass up in my truck, so we can feed the monster in the backseat.”

“My fine ass huh?”

“My favorite ass.”

You roll your eyes and then hop up into the truck but make sure Jack's got a view of your ass before you sit down. He whistles at you and closes the door once you're situated. Then Jack walks around the truck and gets in. He starts up the truck and starts driving to your favorite local diner. You turn around in your seat to look at Layne.

“What're we going to listen to this morning bubs?”

“Soundgarten”

“Ah Soundgarden. Good choice baby.”

You turn back around and connect your phone to Jack's radio via the Bluetooth button. You scroll in your spotify until you come across the This Is Soundgarden Playlist.

“Any song in particular baby?”

“Outshine!!”

“Another wonderful choice Layney. Outshined it is.”

You hit play and let Chris Cornell's vocals move within you. Jack is focused on the road but he has the biggest smile on his face and is singing along to the song. You can hear Layne in the back trying to sing along. It's all mumbled until the end of the song where he actually knows what Chris is saying.

“Show me the power child, I'd like to say, That I'm down on my knees today, Yeah it gives me the butterflies, gives me away, 'Til I'm up on my feet again”

The song ended right as Jack pulled up to the diner. You disconnected your phone from the radio and waited for Jack to shut the truck off. After he shut the truck off, you got out of the truck and got Layne out of his car seat.

“Daddy can you give me a piggyback ride?”

“Absolutely buddy.”

You picked Layne up and put him on Jack’s back. Layne wrapped his arms around his daddy’s neck and his legs were around Jack's torso. You took one of Jack’s hands in yours. Then you all walked into the diner.

Your favorite waitress Raina, who’s gotta be pushing 70 years old, was working and she smiled at you three when you walked in. She’s been your waitress for years. This is your and Jack’s favorite place to stop in the mornings after work and she’s taken you two in as if you’re her own children. Plus she absolutely adores Layne.

“Oh look at my favorite troublemakers. Did you save some lives today sweet pea? Oh how my morning’s just been made.”

”Yeah Raina, you know I did. Not Jack though, he was the one with the night off.”

“Grandma Raina!”

“Well look at you sunshine. You’re getting bigger everyday. Now if you give me a minute, I’ll get your booth ready and then put in your usual order.”

“That would be great Raina, thank you.”

“For you guys, it’s always a pleasure.”

She’s a little extra, but you all love her. It really did only take her a minute to get your favorite corner booth ready. You sat down and took Layne off his dad’s back, so they both could sit down. Layne didn’t sit down right away, he jumped out of the booth so he could hug his surrogate grandma. Raina was prepared for him though and gave him a big squeeze. She even gave him an apple juice box.

“Raina really? You spoil him.”

“Now you shush there Jacky boy and let me love on this sweet boy or you’ll not be getting your black as your soul coffee. I’ll make sure there’s so much milk and sugar in it, it’ll look like Y/N’s coffee.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at their bantering because she really does have Jack’s number. Raina continued to hug Layne until you all heard the cook yell at Raina that she had an order up. She let him go and he climbed back up into the booth and settled between you and Jack.

“I’ll be right back sweethearts. Layne drink your juice honey. Jack your coffee will be up soon and Y/N you just got off work, so no coffee for you this morning.”

“But Raina.”

”Don’t but Raina me sweetpea. I’ve got a special stash of that pomegranate juice you like so much in the fridge in the back and you’re going to drink it.”

“Yes mom.”

“That’s more like it.”

Raina left your booth so she could go back to doing her job. Jack and Layne started coloring on the children's menu and it was a competition. Naturally everything is a competition with those two. Raina came back with Jack's coffee and your juice.

“Thanks Raina.”

“Thank you ma.”

“You're welcome lovebugs. Layne sweetie, your chocolate chip pancakes will be out in a couple minutes. And the rest of your breakfast should be out shortly after.”

“Thanks grandma.”

“Of course. I'll be back in a couple of minutes to check on you.”

Jack took a swig from his coffee and you could instantly see him relax. You drank your juice and knew you'd leave Raina a generous tip because she knows you so well and you really didn't need the coffee. Layne finished his juice box, so you let him have a drink out of your juice.

When Raina came back, she had her hands full. She had another juice box for Layne, a refill for your juice and then almost all of your food. She set down Layne's pancakes in front of him and then set down your scrambled eggs, bacon, hash browns, and toast in front of you.

“What about mine Raina?”

“I only have two hands Jack. So, I'll be back with yours and then more coffee.”

“Thanks ma.”

You and Layne dug into your food and Jack just looked at you two with a big smile on his face. Layne's face is covered in chocolate. You both laughed at that. Then Raina came back with Jack's coffee refill and his eggs over hard with toast, sausage, and fruit.

“Thanks Raina.”

“You're welcome. Let me know if you guys need anything else, okay.”

“We will.”

Raina went back to serving her other customers and you guys ate quietly as a family. When you were all finished, you tried to wipe up Layne’s face as best as you could. You weren't getting anywhere with the napkins, so you licked your thumb and started wiping the chocolate off. Jack's laughing and Layne's squirming in his seat.

Once Layne’s face is clean and Raina comes back with the check, Jack gets up to pay the bill. Raina takes Jack's spot so she could hug Layne again before you guys head out.

“Thank you again for everything Raina. We love you.”

“Love you grandma.”

“I love you guys too. Now the next time you guys have a whole day off cause I know you do 7 on 7 off sometimes, you let me know, and we'll have dinner.”

“Sounds great mom.”

She hugged you too and then got up and went to find Jack. You and Layne got up out of the booth, but you made sure to take $50 out of your wallet and leave it on the table for Raina to find later, so she can't yell at you while you're here. Layne walks with his little hand in yours and you walk up to the register where Jack is shooting the shit with Raina.

Layne goes and pulls on Jack's pants. Jack looks down at your son and picks him up and sets him on his hip.

“You ready to go home buddy and take a nap in the big bed with mama and me?”

“Yes please daddy.”

“Oof yes please Jack. I'm ready to hold my boys and take a nice long nap. Then we'll get up and do something fun since I'm off tonight.”

You walk out of the diner and make sure to wave bye to Raina. Jack gets Layne situated in his carseat as you climb into the passenger seat. Once he's all strapped in, Jack goes and gets in the driver’s seat. The drive from the diner to your house is maybe 5 minutes.

“Bubs, it's a short drive home. What song do you want to listen to?”

“Our favorite song mama.”

“Like a stone?”

“Yes please.”

Well alright then. It's a Chris Cornell kind of day apparently and you love it. You connected your phone again and hit play on Audioslave's Like A Stone. Jack drove you home and just smiled as you and Layne screamed along to the song.

“In your house, I long to be, Room by room, patiently, I'll wait for you there, Like a stone, I'll wait for you there, Alone, Alone!”

When Jack pulled into your driveway, Layne let out a big yawn.

“You tired little man?”

“Yeah. I'm ready for mama snuggles.”

“Good because I'm ready for little man snuggles.”

“What about me?”

“Oh I'm ready to snuggle with you too Jacky.”

Not to be ignored, Layne kicked the center console.

“I'm in the middle though!”

“That's right bubs, you'll sleep in the middle of mama and me.”

Jack shut the truck off. You got out of the truck and put your backpack on. Jack got Layne out of the truck and carried him into the house behind you. You sat your bag down by the door and kicked your shoes off.

“Go put your pajamas on sweetface. I'll go get a book from Layne's room and he's gotta pick out a stuffed animal. Then we'll meet you in bed.”

“Sounds like a plan. I'll see you in a couple minutes.

You walk into your bedroom and stripped out of your scrubs and put on one of Jack's old band tees and a pair of black shorts. Then you climbed up into bed. You laid in bed for all of two minutes before Layne came running and jumping up onto your bed. You took him into your arms and started tickling him.

“Daddy help, mommy's tickling me.”

Jack walked into your bedroom with a book in his hand and he just shook his head. You kept tickling Layne and he was laughing his head off.

“I don't know Layne. Mama looks really happy to have you in her arms and I don't want to stop her.

“I'll behave. I won't run away with your leg.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

“Darling let him go.”

You stop tickling Layne and let him get situated in the middle of the bed with his hammerhead shark. Jack comes and sits down on his side of the bed and takes his leg off and then fully climbs in. He leans over Layne to kiss you and you kiss him back.

“Eww.”

You look at Jack and Jack looks at you and you both nod. Then you're both leaving kisses all over Layne's face. Layne’s screeching like a hyena, but it's a noise you want to hear more of for the rest of your life. You both stop kissing him and settle down.

Jack grabs the book that Layne picked out and begins to read. You lay on your side so that Layne is wrapped up in your arms and you're able to touch Jack. You know after he's done reading the story he'll move so that he can also wrap Layne up in his arms and get his arms around you too. It'll be one big cuddle pile in the middle of your king bed.

Jack managed to get halfway through the book before Layne was asleep and you were struggling to keep your eyes open. He stopped reading and put the book on his nightstand. Then he made himself comfortable on his side so he could hold you both in his arms.

“Get some rest sweetface. We'll be here when you wake up.”

“Okay Jacky. Sweet dreams.”

“Sweet dreams darling. I love you.”

“I love you too. You and Layne are my entire world.”

“and you're ours. Now close your eyes.”

You do as you're told, and find sleep to be quite easy to come to you since you're surrounded by so much love and trust. Your son is literally asleep against you and your husband isn't that much farther behind you.

While you didn't want to work last night, you're so happy with the outcome. You still get to enjoy a cuddle pile with your boys and you know they will always love you and miss you, just like you do when you're not with them.

The world around you can keep turning but you've got yours right in your arms and all is peaceful. It's where you long to be and you know you're not alone.

Tag List: @qardasngan, @princesssunderworld, @obfuscateyummy

Add yourself to my taglist here!

[luvr4miya]

Babies Love Full Moons

Summary: Katherine and Robby welcome their baby and are reminded that they have family to help. Requested.

TW: Childbirth, tooth rotting fluff

A/N: This fic got away from me a bit, so it's a bit long. I'm a sucker for previously broken men getting their dream family. That man was meant to have babies and I'll take no arguments. Thank you. As always, no beta, edited by me and my tired eyes. The bottom gif is how I imagined him the entire fic, that stupid adoring face kills me. Sir, I need you to control those loving brown eyes before I have an MI.

It was a slow morning in the Robinavitch house. The two inhabitants, soon to be three, were moving at a leisurely pace, neither too concerned with time. Katherine was on maternity, she had nowhere to be anyway. Robby was prolonging the inevitable.

“But if you say you’re having contractions, I get to stay home.” He sipped his coffee, watching her face break into the kind of smile that made the world stop.

“It would also be a lie. Or manifesting. I don’t want to put bad luck on our heads.” She shook her head.

“Fine, fine.” He groaned as he leaned over and kissed her, Katherine reveling in his coffee breath as it was as close as she could get to drinking it.

“I promise to let you know if anything changes.  Abbot will have your ass if he has to pull a double for no reason.” She got up and padded to the fridge, pulling a lunchbox out and handing it to Robby.

“He’d survive, probably.” He took the lunchbox as he grabbed his keys.

“Try not to be too grumpy with everyone today. The interns don’t need to deal with all that.” She kissed his cheek.

“Kit, I promise to do my best, but they somehow know the exact buttons to push.” He chuckled.

“Yeah, I know. But they have to learn to not be annoying. It’s part of the process.” She smiled, her hand absent mindedly rubbing up and down his bicep.

“Call me if anything change. I mean it,” He rested his hands on her shoulders, pushing the point further. “even if it’s a headache or just a general malaise. I want to know about it.” He made hard eye contact.

“I swear, anything happens besides a sneeze and you will know. Why are you so jumpy this morning?” Katherine crossed her arms.

“I want to know about the sneezes too,” Robby grabbed his airpods from the counter, “It sounds stupid, but it’s a full moon tonight and babies love being born on the full moon. And it’s a gut feeling.” He shrugged.

“Okay, I guess I can’t argue with crazy.” Kit chuckled.

“You married crazy.” He pulled her close, as close as possible, and kissed her.

“Dr. Robby, you can’t kiss a girl like that and leave.” She scolded.

“Oh, that is not fair.” He let out an exasperated laugh as he dropped his head into the crook of her neck.

“Go! You’re going to be late and then Abbot will send me angry texts all morning. I don’t want to deal with that.” She pushed him off her. Robby let out a loud groan as he left the house.

The Pitt was having a relatively quiet day, though no one would say those exact words. They were all just enjoying the peace. Robby had to break up a few people from gossiping in corners, the downtime poisoning their efficiency just a bit. He couldn’t be too mad, though; they never had days like this.

“When’s your paternity start?” Dana asked from her computer.

“I have been told by the boss that it starts when contractions start.” Robby sighed, his glasses sitting low on his nose.

“Gloria said that?” Dana looked up at him, shocked.

“Nope. Kit. She doesn’t want me bothering her. Thinks I’ll go stir crazy.” He said as he typed up his charts.

“Smart woman.” Dana laughed.

“I tried to get her to let me start today, but she’s too fucking virtuous. Doesn’t want to put bad luck on us and all that shit.”

“She’s trying to keep you an honest man. Tough job.” Dana jotted down notes on her tablet.

“I told her babies love being born during full moons and tonight is a full moon, but she didn’t take the bait.”  Robby scratched at the back of his neck.

“It’s a fair point. But have you stopped to think, maybe she’s trying to enjoy her last moments of autonomy?” Dana raised her eyebrows at him.

“What?” Robby pulled his glasses off.

“Think about it. Once this baby is born, there will be a person attached to her all day, every day for the foreseeable future. She will be someone’s mom before anything else. Maybe she wants to revel in still being somewhat her own person. That’s why she wants you out of the house.” Dana leaned back in her chair.

“I guess I never thought about it like that.” Robby crossed his arms, brows knitted together as he took in the information.

“Just make sure she knows, you’re going to give her space once the baby is born. Remind her that she’ll be your wife too, not just mom.” Dana gave a empathetic smile.

“Yeah, thanks.” Robby nodded.

“Um, Dr. Robby I need some help with a case in bay 4. I-I can’t get the discharge to stop.” Whitacker came running up, gloved hands held high in the air.

“let’s start by not leaving the patient with discharge seeping out of them, pressure dressing now. Go.” Robby sighed.

“Go easy, Cap. Shifts almost over. You can handle one more hour.” Dana laughed.

Robby was practically vibrating in his seat with anticipation. He was so ready to run home. The sight of Jack Abbot rolling in for his shift had him jumping up and ready to rattle off the cases.

“I don’t like you this excited, it’s like seeing a dog walk on two legs. Not natural.” Jack said as he dumped his pack at the hub.

“Give the guy a break, let him be excited for once.” Dana chuckled.

“If you two are finished, I’d like to get home to my wife.” Robby’s voice laced with snark.

“Why? Not like you’re getting any this late in the game.” Jack laughed.

“What is wrong with you?” Dana shook her head.

“Easy night, one boarding in psych, three food poisoning, four flu, one head trauma that is waiting on repeat CT and an anaphylaxis case that is here for observation.” Robby rattled off.

“Any trouble with the anaphylaxis?” Jack looked over the chart on his tablet.

“No, gave her the Benadryl and steroids and she started clearing up. No need for-” Robby’s phone buzzed in his pocket, a message from Kit.

Kit: Hey, I know you’re probably getting off. I just wanted to let you know, feeling a bit crampy. Could be nothing. Who knows. Pick up Pizza or don’t come home.

“Robby, all good?” Abbot’s voice snapped Robby back.

“Yeah. Yeah, pizza with a threat of violence. You need anything else?” Robby asked. Jack laughed and shook his head.

“Nope, you get your pizza before we never see you again. Full moon tonight.” Jack cocked his eyebrow.

“Oh I am very aware.” Robby sighed.

“Good luck, Brother. Call if you’re not coming in tomorrow. I’ll make Shen stay.” Abbot walked off as Robby grabbed his things and made for the exit.

Robby: Don’t get my hopes up. Keep an eye on it. Getting off now, will grab pizza per previous threat.

Robby didn’t actually realize how hungry he was until the hot pizza filled the car with it’s delicious aroma. If he wasn’t afraid of losing life or limb, he would have eaten a slice on the drive.

Kit: May be more than cramps. You’ll know when it’s a threat, Big Guy. :P

Robby felt his body tense a little and his footstep a little harder on the gas. He may have pulled into the driveway a little harder than usual, his breaks squealing in protest. He took a second to breathe before grabbing the pizza and going into the house.

“I made sure there was an obscene amount of mushrooms on it.” He called as he kicked his shoes off and walked into the kitchen, expecting to see Kit. When he wasn’t greeted by anyone, not even the dog, he started to get a little worried.

“Kit? Kitty?” He called into the house. He was met with a groan from the bedroom. He took off like a light toward the sounds. He found Katherine standing leaning on the dresser, her head hung low and doing her best to take deep breaths. The dog sat at her feet with a concerned look on his face and small whine as he watched over her.

“Not cramps.” She sighed.

“No, I can see that.” Robby walked over a smile on his face as he rubbed her back and kissed her shoulder.

“Pizza?” Kit asked as she lifted her, the contraction ebbing away. She wrapped her arms around Robby’s neck.

“In the kitchen. How long?” Robby’s brown, puppy dog eyes made Katherine’s stomach flip, the kindness in them took her breath away.

“Started around 2pm I think. Not anything bad so I ignored them. They got harder to ignore around 7pm. I promise, I thought it was nothing.” She said as she walked past him, heading straight for the pizza, the dog hot on her heels.

“I believe you.” He laughed as he watched her shove a slice in her face like she hadn’t eaten in days.

Robinavitch: You’re never going to guess what’s happening tonight.

“There like 15 minutes apart, I don’t think we’re going anywhere soon.” She said through a mouthful of food.

“You never know. But probably. You need to keep your fluids up too.” He said, raising his eyebrows.

Abbot: Babies love full moons, I’ll let Shen and Gloria know.

Abbot: Good luck. Take good care of her.

Abbot: Call if you need ANYTHING.

“Aren’t you Mister Popular?” Kit laughed as she moved to the couch with the pizza box.

“Just Abbot. Need to make sure they know I’m on paternity leave officially.”  Robby fell next to her with a sigh.

“He’s so nosy. He acts like he doesn’t care, but I can tell he’s just as excited as everyone else.” Kit laughed as she flipped through the channels.

“He’s got a reputation to uphold.” Robby rubbed his hand up and down her thigh.

Robby: Just a heads up, won’t be in for the next eight weeks.

“Did you put the car seat in? I feel like I remember you putting it in but I can’t really remember, ya know?” Kit asked as she settled on Bob’s Burgers.

“Put it in three days ago. Bags are packed and by the door. We are as prepared as anyone can be.” Robby smiled as he massaged the back of Kit’s neck.

Dana: Yay! Let me know when Baby Robinavitch arrives! I’m bringing food for you two. It takes a village an all that shit.

“We shouldn’t name the baby Tina, right?” Kit asked, her hand absent-mindedly rubbing her belly.

“You’ve suggested worse.” Robby chuckled as he grabbed a slice of pizza.

“We’ll know when we see them.” Kit nodded, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. Robby watched her carefully, noticing the change in energy from this morning.

“Dana said she’s bringing food over once the baby is here.” He noted.

“Oh that’s nice. We forgot to get food for us ready.” Kit snorted.

“Yeah, well, easier to feed ourselves with all the delivery stuff.” He shrugged.  Kit nodded, her hands holding her belly as she took in a sharp breath.

“Do you want me to talk you through it or should I be quiet?” Robby asked as he rubbed a hard circle at the base of her spine, trying to comfort her.

“Talk, please.” She said through gritted teeth. Robby sat up a little straighter.

“Deep, even breaths. In through your nose and out through your mouth, you’re doing great.” He told her as he kissed her shoulder.

“This kind of sucks.” Kit sighed as she fell back into the couch, her head falling all the way back.

“I know. I’m sorry. Do you want the ball? I got it ready the other day.” Robby asked, one had tracing patterns on her arm while the other caressed her belly.

“Not right now, but probably soon. My energy is getting too wired.” She shrugged.

“Let me know what you need and I will make it happen.” He smiled down at her.

“I know you will, Big Guy.” She cupped his face with her hand, rubbing a thumb across his cheek bones.

“I can’t believe it’ll be three of us this time tomorrow.” He said, the air feeling heavy in his lungs as his eyes became glassy.

“I know. The house won’t be quiet anymore. It’s kind of scary.” Kit shifted to sit up.

“We’ll be okay. We always figure it out.” He kissed her cheek.

“I called my mom today.” Kit cleared her throat. Robby sat back, searching her face for any emotion, any clue as to what she was feeling.

“Yeah? How’d that go?” He knew she had never had an easy relationship with her family, particularly her mother. But she found herself wanting to try and include them in their life as the baby grew near.

“Well, she asked if you had stuck around to the end. I told her of course you did, we’re married and everything. She asked if I wanted her here.” Kit sighed.

“What’d you say?”

“I asked if she wanted to be with us. She said it wasn’t a good time and she didn’t want to be underfoot while we figured out how to keep our lives together.” Kit shook her head.

“I’m sorry, honey.” Robby could throttle that damn woman for how she treated his wife.

“She went on to say that with the baby being yours, it would probably be born with some mental health issues. To which I told her to shut her damn mouth and show some respect to my husband. She shouted about how ungrateful I was and my kid was going to be a brat with no future, just like me.” Kit rubbed the tears from her eyes.

“You’re so much better than them. I know you wanted this baby to help change things, but maybe it’s for the best.” He pulled her to his chest.

“I wanted my mommy.” Kit said, starting to cry.

“I know.” Robby sighed, doing his bests to hold her together. “Nothing can replace your mom, but we can always have Dana come over if you need that feminine energy.” He said.

“That’s asking too much.” Kit shook her head and sat up, trying to keep from falling apart further.

“No way. Dana would love to be here, are you kidding? She’s been berating me for updates every shift! She’s family, she’d drop everything for you.” Robby dropped his head, forcing Kit to keep eye contact.

“Maybe.” She shrugged. “I’m just going to check the nursery one more time.” She changed the subject and made for the nursery. Robby didn’t push it. He pulled out his phone again and dialed Dana’s number.

“Cap? What’s going on? Everything okay?” Dana’s voice was quick and concerned.

“Everything’s fine, no fire, calm down.” Robby laughed.

“Jesus, I wasn’t expecting you to call! You never call! I thought something was wrong.” She let out an exasperated sigh.

“I know, I’m sorry. I needed to run some info by you. Are you busy?” Robby looked down the hall to make sure his wife was still out of earshot.

“Not busy. At least not for you guys tonight. What’s up?”

“Kit called her mom today.”

“Oh shit.”

“Yeah. Needless to say, it didn’t go great. I think she’s really feeling that hole right now. I told her you’d come be with her if she wanted a woman’s presence. She thinks she’s asking too much.” Robby ran a hand down his face, unsure if he was doing the right thing.

“Of course that’s not too much! I’d do anything for that girl. The way she takes care of everyone else but thinks it’s too much for us to do the same. If I ever see that mother of hers, it will be bloody.” Dana snorted.

“Maybe you can swing by under the guise of dropping off something, I don’t know. I can see her starting to break and this is the worst time for it.” Robby sighed.

“Yeah, course. I was just getting the lasagna out of the oven for youse anyway. I’ll be by in a bit.” Dana said before hanging up.

Robby walked into the nursery and saw Kit going through the drawers and looking over all the onesies. Her hands gliding over the soft fabric, admiring the colors, reveling in the fact that they would be worn soon.

“You’re hovering.” Kit didn’t look up, just smiled.

“I can’t help it. Instinct. I know you’re in labor and I can’t stop the primal man brain from worrying.” Robby shrugged.

“You should shower. Who knows when you’ll get to next.” She noted.

“I’ll get to it. I’m making sure you’re okay.” He cocked his head, watching as she closed the drawer and turned to face him. She had been crying again; he could see the redness in her eyes.

“What if…what if I turn into her?” Her voice cracking. Robby took in a sharp breath as if the words had punched him in the chest.

“My love, I can assure you that you will not be like her.” He said as he moved to stand in front of her, cupping her face in his hands.

“What if it’s genetic and I can’t escape it?” She couldn’t look up.

“Kitty, I have seen how hard you care. I have seen you take care of every person that you come across, strangers on the street sometimes! You have more compassion and kindness in one eyelash than that woman has in her whole body.” He tucked her hair behind her ears.

“Sometimes, I feel myself get angry and it scares me. I don’t want to be like them.”

“I know. But being angry sometimes doesn’t mean you are. It’s okay to be angry, it’s what you do with it that makes the difference. I’ve never seen you take your anger out on anyone, I wish you’d stop taking it out on yourself.” He smiled down at her.

“I love you.” She reached up and kissed him.

“I love you too.” He caressed her back.

Kit took a deep breath, wrapping her arms around Robby’s neck and burying her face in the crook of it, moaning as the pain took over.

“You’re doing great, love. Good breaths.” He said as he put counter-pressure on her hips. She moaned into his neck, he felt the tears hit his skin. The doorbell went off and the dog started barking.

“who’s that?” Kit groaned.

“Don’t worry about it, you just focus on breathing.” He told her. He held her until the contraction passed.

“I thought everyone knew what was happening.” Kit breathed, the dog still barking.

“They do.” Robby went to get the door. “Hawkey! Stop!” He scolded the dog. He opened the door for Dana, hands full of more food than he was expecting.

“Hey Robinavtich family! I come with the gift of carbs!” She smiled as she let herself in.

“Dana? I thought you were coming tomorrow?” Kit asked, shooting Robby a killer look. Robby put his hands in the air in surrender.

“I got too antsy waiting at home. Thought you might want some company from someone who's done this before.” She went over and pulled Kit into a tight hug.  “This one let slip that you might need a woman around.” She nodded her head to Robby.

“That was very presumptuous of him.” Kit snapped.

“Aw, he’s just looking out for you, kid.” She chuckled. “Besides, isn’t it better to have another pair of hands when things get crazy?”

“You have a family to take care of, too.” Kit shook her head.

“They’ll keep. My husband is more than capable of keeping one teenager in line for a while. As much as anyone can. But if you really want me to go, I won’t force ya.”

“Well, you’re already here.” Kit shrugged.

“Thought so.” Dana wrapped an arm around her shoulder and brought her to the couch. Robby followed, getting the dog and putting him on his bed.

“I’m here for moral support. I’ll let the big guy do all the coaching and such. You just yell for what you need and I’ll get it.” Dana smiled.

“Well, since you’re here now, Robby can go shower.” Kit winked at him.

“That sounds like a great idea. Cap?”

“I don’t smell that bad.” Robby shook his head.

“Ya know, I used to think that too. But since I haven’t been in the hospital for a while, there is a smell. Antiseptic, metallic. Maybe it’s the pregnancy making me pick up on it.” Kit laughed.

“Okay, okay! I surrender. I’ll shower. Yell, if you need me. I mean it.” He pointed at both women.

“We’ll be fine.” Dana waved him off. “So, how far into the panic have ya got?” Dana turned to face Kit.

“I-uh, what?”

“Oh sweetie. Everyone panics. They all say it’s something to do with adrenaline and hormones, but it’s more than that. We were raised by our parents and it’s every new parents worst fear that they’ll turn into them. Honestly, most don’t, but it’s a real fear until you get into the groove of it.” Dana said.

“I’m so fucking scared I’ll be like her. I’d never forgive myself.” Kit felt her hands start to shake.

“Honey, I met that woman once and I can say with my whole chest that you are nothing like her. I’ve seen a lot people have babies that had no right to be parents and you and Robby are two of the few people I truly believe should be.” Dana smiled.

“Thank you I-” Kit was cut off as the pain crashed over her.

“Easy, you got it.” Dana consoled.

Robby hadn’t showered faster in his life. He felt like the second he stepped into the water, something was going to go wrong. The fact that he couldn’t keep his eyes on Kit made his anxiety rise like his blood pressure. He threw on his sweats and a t-shirt and was about to go back out when something made him stop. God, he hoped he didn’t fuck this up like his dad.

“Hey, everything okay?” He smiled as he came back out.

“Yeah, I’m an emergency room charge nurse with over 20 years under my belt. I think I can handle a healthy woman in labor, Cap.” Dana laughed, her glasses on the end of her nose as she braided Kit’s hair.

“Wow, I forgot how snarky you get off the clock.” Robby quipped.

“You’re not the boss here.” She smiled.

“Baby, can you get the yoga ball? My hips are getting tight, starting to bother me.” Katherine sighed.

“Course, I’ll get you a Gatorade too.” He kissed her cheek and left the room.

“Such service. I need me one of them.” Dana laughed.

“I can’t complain. Though he does leave his underwear on the floor next to the hamper. But I’ll train him out of it one day.” Kit chuckled.

“Let me know how you do it, mine still does it.” Dana patted her shoulder. “All done, sweetheart.”

“Thanks for doing that. It’s harder to reach behind myself these days.”

“I’m not as good as you, but it’ll hold.” Dana smiled.

“Oh, I never braid my hair.”

“But, you’re always coming in with perfect braids. Straight out of a YouTube tutorial.” Dana looked at her, confused.

“That would be me.” Robby came back in, winking at Dana.

“You’re shitting me.” She scoffed.

“Nope. I braid her hair most mornings.” He said, handing the Gatorade to Kit.

“Why?”

“Because she asks.” He shrugs. “And it’s good for dexterity, keeps my hands from getting too stiff.” He helped Kit get on the giant yoga ball, keeping her steady while she got comfortable.

“You are full of surprises, Robinavitch.” Dana got up and went to the kitchen.

“You feeling okay?” Robby knelt next to Kit, rubbing her back.

“Yeah, tired. The contractions are getting longer, which I know is a good thing but sucks. I’m anxious to be over with this but at the same time I don’t feel ready. But how does anyone feel ready for this and my body is on fire and I’m nauseous and hungry all at the same time. I want to scream but also cry and also neither. So, ya know, fine.” Kit muttered out in one breath. Robby stared at her for a long moment, unsure where to start.

“Well, that’s all normal.”

“I know that’s normal, I’m doctor too Michael.” Kit snapped.

“Yep, nope, sorry. Wrong thing to say.” Robby rubbed the back of his neck.

“Oh my god, what was that? I don’t do that! Why am I acting like this?” Kit’s hands flew to cover her mouth in shock.

“Hey, it’s okay. Honey, you’re body and mind are going through war right now. I’m not taking offense to anything. Okay? If you need to snap and yell at me to get through this, then I can take it.” He massaged her thigh.

“I don’t want to be those women who bite their husbands' heads off. I want to be rational and normal!” Kit threw her hands in the air.

“Honey, rational and normal don’t exist when you’re going through labor.” Dana came over and put a plate of watermelon in front of her. “Eat, it’s good for nausea.” She nodded as she disappeared again.

“She’s right.” Robby smiled.

“Ugh! I hate this- Oh my god…” Her voice trailed off into a low moan as she grabbed onto Robby’s shoulders.

“You’re doing so good, Kit.” He said, her groans getting louder, tears falling down her face. Robby reached up to wipe them from her face when he heard a low growl from next to him.

“Haweye! Out!” Kit snapped. The dog didn’t move.

“My fucking dog and he’s going to bite me for you. If that isn’t fucked up I don’t know what is.” Robby chuckled.

“Fuck! Michael!” Kit yelled, the pain overwhelming her.

“You’re okay, I’m right here.” He told her, putting pressure on her hips. “Follow my breaths.” He said as he put her hand on his chest and started breathing slowly. Hawkeye started growling more.

“Buddy, I need you to not do this right now.” Robby tried to reason with the dog.

“He always liked me better.” Kit sighed as the contraction ended.

“Everyone likes you better.” He smiled, kissing her hand.

“What should I do with him?” Dana asked.

“I’m going to take him to the neighbor. She’s a vet, said they’d watch him for us. We knew this was a possibility.” Robby sighed as he gathered some of the dog’s things. “I’ll be right back.” He said as he grabbed Hawkeye and ran out the door.

“What do you need, hun?” Dana rubbed circles on her back.

“This to be over.” Kit cried.

“I know sweetheart. Soon. You’re already up to eleven minutes apart.” She informed her. Robby came sprinting back into the house out of breath.

“Rachel says hi.” Robby cleared his throat as he came back over.

“I’m sorry he growled at you.” Kit’s voice cracked as she lolled her head back and forth, stretching her neck muscles.

“He’s doing his job. Keeping you safe, he thought I was doing it.” He stood behind her and started kneading her neck muscles.

Robby did his best to be present and not worry about what was to come. He did everything that Katherine asked of him: Knead the muscles of her back, counter pressure to her hips, not touch her, not stop touching her, wipe the sweat off her forehead, dance through the contractions with her. If she needed it, he did it. Dana ran around them making sure anything needed was in arms reach and offering encouragement the one time Robby went to the bathroom.

“Good, Kit. Nice deep breaths, keep control of your breathing.” Robby was holding her up as she draped herself on top of him, swaying them back and forth.

“Ugh, it won’t end!” Kit cried, her grip on the back of Robby’s shirt tightened, her knuckles going white.

“It will, Honey. Getting longer means you’re closer. Blow the exhale out, focus on controlling the breaths.” He said, looking over to Dana and mouthing How far apart? To which she replied 9 minutes. Robby’s heart skipped a beat.

“It’s getting so hard.” Kit tried to catch her breath as the contraction ebbed away.

“Kitty, you’re at 9 minutes apart. The plan was to head in around 10 minutes.” Robby tucked a loose strand behind her ear.

“I wanted to wait until my water broke, I don’t want to be there longer than I have to.” She sighed.

“We can wait a bit longer if you want. I’ll have to pull the doctor/husband card here and say no later than six minutes.” Robby warned her.

“No, let’s just go now. I just had a flash of you delivering the baby on the side of the road and it freaked me out.” Kit sighed.

“Yeah, best to avoid giving birth in the backseat.” Dana smiled.

“Will you stay with her while I get everything in the car?” Robby asked, running off before getting his answer.

“You’re going to start seeing panicked Robby. Enjoy it, pretty funny.” Dana laughed as she held onto Kit.

“Why does he run like that?” They watched Robby grabbing bags and running in and out of the house.

“Gotta be something wrong with his knees.” Dana shrugged.

“You don’t have to come with us. It’s gonna be a horror movie from here out.” Kit laughed.

“If you want your privacy, I’ll respect that. But if you do actually want me there and you don’t say, well, I’ll be upset then.” Dana smiled.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve such a beautiful friend.” Kit wiped the stray tears from her face.

“Oh don’t get soft on me kid.” Dana chuckled, trying to hide her glassy eyes.

“I think we’ll want our privacy though. I’m not keen on that many people having that image of my vagina in their heads.” Kit laughed.

“Okay, I’ll make sure this place is ready for ya. You call me the second you’re ready for visitors. I expect to be the first one.” She scolded.

“I p-promise, oh fuck…” Kit groaned hanging onto Dana.

“You’re doing great, you hang onto me if you need.” Dana kept her on her feet.

“So much fucking pressure!” She yelled. Robby was running back inside when Kit cried out.

“What? What happened!?” He came barreling around the corner.

“My fucking water broke on Dana’s shoes!” Kit’s face was beet red.

“Honey, these shoes have seen much worse. Let’s get you cleaned up and in the car. Okay?” Dana guided her to the closet seat.

“Fuck, Michael.” Kit looked up at him dazed.

“Yeah.” He gave a breathy chuckle as he brought the baby wipes over and cleaned up her legs.

“This is actually happening.” Kit shook her head in disbelief.

“Hey. We’ve got this. Okay? I promise.” He held her face in his hand.

“Alright love birds, let’s get you in the car. I’ll clean this up, don’t worry about it.” Dana said, her nurse voice coming out of nowhere.

“Remind me to never be one of your patients.” Robby chuckled.

“My patient satisfaction scores are great.” Dana scoffed as she helped him walk Kit to the car.

“Thank you, seriously.” Robby pulled her into a quick hug.

“It’s what we do. You take care of her, I want pictures the second you two stop crying.” She smiled and waved them off.

“Do you want the playlist on?” Robby asked as he fiddled with the radio.

“don’t care.” Kit huffed.

“You okay?” Robby’s head snapped to look at her.

“There’s no buffer now. It’s sharper.” Kit groaned, clinging onto Robby’s bicep.

“We’ll be there in five minutes.” He told her, letting her dig her nails into his skin.

They arrived at the front entrance of the hospital, the valet taking care of the car. At least Gloria let them use the valet, not that they had any other good benefits, Robby thought. They were settled into a private room with Kit gowned up and hooked to the monitors.

“You want your robe? You’re shivering.” Robby noted.

“It’s cold in here.” Kit nodded. Robby grabbed the fluffy pink robe from one of the bags and wrapped her up.

“I put your electrolytes in the water bottle.” Robby handed her the bottle.

“Thank you. Do you need anything?” She looked up at him with her big doe eyes and his whole soul melted.

“How are you asking me that right now? Honey, I’m fine. Today is about what you need. You don’t need to be worried about me.” He kissed her, dumbfounded at how she chose him.

“I always want to take care of you.” She sighed.

The closer it got to the baby being born, the more nervous Robby got. He was doing his best to downplay it and focus on Katherine. He was pretty sure that she could tell anyway.

“You’re doing great! Kit, you’ve got this!” Robby held her hand as she yelled through another contraction.

“Oh fuck, Michael!” Kit’s eyes went wide.

“Baby, what is it? What’s going on?” Robby brushed the hair from her face, trying to get her to focus.

“I-I think I’m pushing. I didn’t mean…yeah, get the OB. Now!” Kit barked. Robby slammed the call button.

“It’s okay, listen to your body. If you have to push, go for it.” He said, waiting for anyone to answer the call.

“Dr. Robinavitch, how can-”

“Get Dr. Smith, she’s pushing.” Robby snapped at the nurse's laissez-faire attitude. The nurse nodded and ran off. Robby ran over to the wall, grabbing some gloves and running back.

“Is this too fast? I can’t fucking tell anymore!” Kit groaned.

“Nope, not too fast. Good vitals, everything is going great. Kit, I’m going to check how close you are.” Robby said.

“Don’t use your doctor voice on me, I hate it!” Kit cried, gripping the guard rails.

“Kitty, you’re doing great. I can feel the head, okay. When you have a contraction, chin to your chest and push.” Robby said.

“Dr. Robinavitch, I didn’t think you wanted to do the delivery.” Dr. Smith smiled as she walked in followed by three nurses bringing in supplies.

“I don’t! Thank fuck! I got nervous for a second there, Smith.” Robby sighed as he took his gloves off and moved to hold Kit’s hand.

“Well, Katherine, you’re baby is eager to get here. Let’s get you propped up.” Dr. Smith said as she put her gown on. One of the nurses moved to prop the head of the bed up.

“Thank God it’s almost over!” Kit groaned. She latched onto Robby’s hand as she started pushing again.

“You’re doing great, Kit. Keep going, good! Okay, rest!” Robby cheered her on.

“I’m never doing this again!” Kit yelled.

“Never, I swear.” Robby chuckled as he kissed her temple.

“Try and hold that push for ten seconds.” Dr. Smith said as she settled between Katherine’s legs.

“You want to do this!?” Kit barked. Everyone laughed.

“Oh, I have three kids. I’ve done this plenty. That’s how I know you can do this too, Katherine.” Dr. Smith’s kind eyes smiled, her mask obscuring her face.

“Michael!” Katherine yelled, overwhelmed and unsure of herself, seeking something to ground her.

“I’m here, I’m right here. Not going anywhere. Deep breath, push!” Robby held onto her hand, the other supporting her neck as she pushed.

“…6,7,8,9,10! Relax, breathe!” Robby wiped the sweat from her forehead.

“You’re nearly there Katherine. I know it’s a lot, but baby is almost at a full crown.” Dr. Smith adjusted the light.

“You’re almost there, honey.” Robby kissed her cheek. Katherine nodded, looking up at him and breaking his heart.

“Nice, big push for me Katherine.” Dr. Smith instructed and Katherine begrudgingly complied. She screamed as Robby did his best to comfort her. He hated how helpless he felt. He wasn’t used to being on the sidelines. When people hurt, he helped. He couldn’t do anything but offer words. It was eating him alive.

“Alright, next push and baby will be here!” Dr. Smith announced.

“You’re such a fucking superstar.” Robby kissed Katherine’s head.

“Fuck!” Katherine screamed as she pushed again. Robby cheered her on as he looked over the drapes on her legs to see the baby slide into Dr. Smith’s hands. His heart stopped at the sight. He looked up at Katherine who had wide eyes, tears falling silently down her cheeks.

“You’re amazing, you’re so fucking amazing!” He smiled, kissing her face all over.

“Michael…” Kit looked off at the warmer.

“Everything okay, Dr. Smith?” Robby’s voice cracked.

“They aren’t crying. Why aren’t they crying!?” Kit yelled.

“Give them some time, it can take a second.” One of the nurses who was cleaning Kit up told them.

“Dr. Smith!” Robby barked.

“Robby, I’m working!” She snapped.

“Michael.” Kit sobbed. Robby wrapped her up in his arms.

“It’s okay, they’ll be okay.” He told her and himself. The next fifteen seconds felt like hours. The room was suddenly filled with a harsh cry, sending both Robby and Kit into hysterical sobs.

“She was being as stubborn as her father, it seems.” Dr. Smith smiled as she brought the baby over and laid her on Kit’s chest.

“Sorry.” Robby said, not looking up from the baby.

“No apology needed. You have a healthy little girl. Congratulations.” She smiled.

“Oh my god.” Kit’s voice barely audible.

“She’s perfect. She looks like you.” Robby sobbed.

“Don’t scare us like that again, little one.” Kit scolded the baby, a smile plastered across her face.

“Do you two have a name?” One of the nurses asked.

“She needs strong women to look up to. I think it should be after your grandmother.” Kit looked up at Robby. As if his heart wasn’t already aching with love, it still found more room.

“Abigail?” His voice cracked.

“Abigail Robinavitch.” Kit played with the sounds.

“What about a middle name?” the nurse asked.

“The only woman that’s ever taken care of me is Dana.” Kit’s voice cracked.

“Abigail Dana Robinavitch. It’s perfect. She’s going to lose it when she finds out.” Robby laughed.

“What a perfect little name for a perfect little girl.” Kit sang to the baby.

They all stayed like that in a perfect little world for an hour before, Katherine couldn’t stay awake any longer. The baby was taken to the nursery for sleep. Robby dozed off here and there, but kept waking up to check on Kit. He knew the nursery nurses and he hadn’t met one that didn’t keep the closest eye on every patient. They often scared him. He worried, but knew it was instinct and not needed. Kit, he knew he had to watch. He’d seen the statistics of mothers dying because no one listened.

When breakfast rolled around, the tray of cafeteria food made Katherine cry. Robby was sent to get McDonald's. He decided to walk through the ER, he wanted to show off a little.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in.” Abbot perked up seeing Robby.

“Dr. Robby! How’s Dr. R?” Mel came rushing over.

“Everyone is good, healthy, and getting rest.” He announced to the small group gathering.

“Do you have pictures?” Princess begged.

“Yep, do not drop my phone.” He warned as he handed it over to them.

“What’s her name?” Javadi asked.

“Abigail.” He smiled. Jack wrapped him in a rough hug, patting his back.

“You did good, man. She's doing okay?”

“Yeah. Man, she was a star. I don’t know how I got this fucking lucky.” Robby sighed.

“Neither do I.” Abbot chuckled.

“Alright, phone, please. If I don’t deliver breakfast hot, I fear I will lose a limb.” Robby took the phone back.

“When can we come say hi?” Perlah asked.

“Later. They both need rechecks and Dana called first dibs.” Robby smiled, seeing how excited everyone was. It was a nice reminder of how big their family was.

“Your Mcgriddle and hashbrowns, my love.” Robby handed the bag to Kit who immediately started devouring the food.

“If I wasn’t so sore, I’d take you right now.” She smiled.

“Wow, that’s dedication.” Robby chuckled.

“Dana is on her way. How was downstairs?” Kit asked.

“They were very excited to see pictures. Asked when they could come up. We’ll have to figure out rotations.” Robby sat next to her.

Jack Rabbit: Good job, KitKat. I’ll be up before I leave.

“What a softy.” Kit laughed her phone.

“Jack?” Robby asked, Kit nodded. “Only for you.” He laughed. There was a knock at the door as the nurse rolled the crib into the room. Robby jumped up and grabbed the baby.

“I may want to hold her at some point, just saying.” Kit chuckled.

“Naw, she’s mine now. You had her for nine months. We’ve got time to catch up on.” Robby gave a curt nod.

“I can’t move without searing pain, so I won’t fight you yet.” She threatened.

“I think I can take you.” He said as he bounced the baby. 

"She's got your eyes, Michael." Kit smiled, watching her man swaying with her baby in his arms. "They'll be those big, brown doe eyes before we know it."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"Only because I could never say no to those eyes. Those eyes got us in this mess." Kit let out a contented sigh. Robby gave her a soft smile.

There was a knock at the door and Dana’s head poked in.

“Everyone decent?” She asked.

“Yes, all bits are covered,” Kit said. Dana came barreling in and wrapped her up in a tight hug.

“I was more worried about him.” She chuckled. “I heard you were a superstar. Knew you would be.” She smiled.

“I’m always an A+ student.” Kit laughed.

“Alright, let me see that baby.” Dana smiled as she got up and went over to Robby.

“Careful, he’s barely let me hold her.” Kit winked at him. Robby scoffed as he handed the baby to Dana.

“Oh wow, yeah, that’s a good baby.” Dana laughed. “She’s beautiful. You two did good.” She smiled. Robby sat next to Kit, wrapping his arm around her. “Her name is Abigail.” Robby said.

“Abigail Robinavitch. You are going to do great things.” Dana hummed to the baby.

“Abigail Dana Robinavitch, actually.” Kit smiled. Dana stopped and looked up at them with glassy eyes.

“We wanted her to have strong women to look up to.” Robby said, his voice giving his emotion away.

“Well, isn’t that something?” Dana’s voice shook. “I know she’ll do us all proud.” Dana smiled. “Come take your baby before I cry all over it.” Dana laughed as Robby jumped up and grabbed the baby, putting her back in the crib.

“Room for one more?” Jack barged his way in.

“Not even a knock? I could have had a tit out.” Kit threw her hands in the air.

“I’ve seen worse.” He snorted. “I wanted to stop by before I went home to pass out.” He said, going to give Kit a kiss on the cheek.

“Well, since you’re both here, no more convenient time to tell you that you’re the godparents.” Robby said.

“How unceremonious.” Kit shot Robby a look.

“I hate ceremony.” Jack snorted.

“You’re supposed to say that you're honored and things like that.” Dana elbowed him.

“You cried on the baby, didn’t you?” Jack laughed. “Of course, I’m honored. I expected it, but I’m happy to do it.” He said, patting Robby on the back.

“I didn’t cry on the baby.” Dana muttered.

“Oh thank god she looks like KitKat. I was worried.” Jack said.

“Easy.” Robby warned.

“She’s damn near perfect. Smith said she made you two panic when she was born.” Jack raised an eyebrow.

“Why are you talking to my OB?”

“We ran into each other on the elevator. Longest 20 seconds of your life or what?”

“She’s already got the Robinavitch stubbornness.” Kit rolled her eyes.

“She’ll fit right in.” Jack said as he picked her up, the baby fussed before settling quickly in his arms.

“How did you do that?” Dana asked, looking dumbfounded.

“Babies love me. I have a general calm and steadfast demeanor that they respond to.” Jack said as he bounced with the baby. “We’re gonna cause so much chaos together, right, Abby? Yeah, you already got that look in your eye.” Jack nodded to the baby.

“You can’t start teaching her tactical airway until ten at least.” Kit chuckled.

“Yeah, yeah.” Jack rolled his eyes. “Your mom doesn’t need to know about our shenanigans.” He smiled at her. They all watched in awe. Jack never really let himself be soft around anyone. This little girl was already melting him.

“She’s already smarter than most of management.” Dana chuckled as she walked over and peered over Jack’s shoulder.

“Like that’s hard.” Jack snorted, running a hand over Abigail’s soft hair. “She’s already smiling.”

“That is not possible.” Dana scoffed.

“No, she is. She already knows good comedy when she hears it.” Jack smirked.

“Or she needs a diaper change.” Dana laughed.

“Two things can be right at the same time.” Jack huffed.

Kit and Robby finally felt at ease, all the anxiety washing away. Seeing that they wouldn’t have to do this alone, they had family to help. They would be okay.

[luvr4miya]

FIRECRACKER

Part 2 of REBEL COWBOY

18+ account - minors do not interact

GIF found on @patrick-stewart jack abbot x f!reader Word Count: 11k (don’t look at me! grab a snack!) Rating: E

Summary: You are a lawyer representing Jack after a patient's mother files a lawsuit on claims of misrepresentation and ethical misconduct. Initially, your focus is solely on ensuring that your client’s reputation remains intact. However, over time, the lines start to blur between your objectivity—and personal attachment to your client. Part 2 Summary: After the fax is received, everything changes for you and Jack.

Warning: minor spoilers for 1x4-1x7 (Kristi—teen girl medical abortion storyline), mentions of abortion, workplace stress, angst (emotionally constipated jack), reader is friends with Frank (they have known each other since college), we meet Abby (fake backstory of course lol), implied age gap, yearning, sexual tension, language, alcohol use, mentions of breakdown of a previous relationship (infidelity), fluff, mutual pining, flirting, feelings, pet names, reader has brief insecurity (don’t worry our jack gets her out of her head), size kink? (jack has a big dick, I don’t know how else to put it) dirty talk (filthy jack—I need him your honor), praise, oral sex (f—receiving), unprotected p in v sex, I think that’s it?

A/N: I’m so fucking nervous, but here is part 2! I had so many people request to be tagged in this final part so I would love to hear what your thots are via comments & reblogs <3 Thank you to @stellamarielu and @letsgobarbs for holding my hand and letting me talk through the smut for this part.

Jack Abbot Masterlist

Gloria: Meet me in conference room 4492. Your lawyer is here. The hospital chair wants to see you.

Jack glanced at his phone, the ominous message lingering in his mind as he swiftly scrubbed his hands. His brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of unease crossing his face. The adrenaline from the surgery still coursed through him, but now a different tension settled in.

Gloria’s request felt weighty.

Serious.

His scrubs were slightly rumpled from a long shift.

He knew he probably looked exhausted, the kind that came from hours of intense surgery.

As he turned a corner, he bumped into Robby.

"Hey, Jack," Robby started. "Got a patient case I wanna run by you. Think you got a minute?"

Jack, already glancing at his watch, gave a quick shake of his head. "Can’t chat now, Robby. After," he said, his tone brisk but not unfriendly.

Robby's eyebrows raised in surprise. "After? Like, when?"

Jack glanced at his phone, then back at Robby with a hint of urgency. "I need to go meet with Gloria. Some stuff I gotta handle." His voice was clipped, the weight of the day pressing down on him. Without waiting for a reply, Jack pushed past Robby.

Robby watched Jack hurriedly walk away, then called out, "Hey, let's meet on the rooftop after?" His tone was casual but carried an undercurrent of concern, as if sensing the weight Jack was carrying.

Jack paused for a fraction of a second, then turned around and nodded subtly in acknowledgment.

Robby lifted a hand in a small, reassuring wave.

Jack quickened his pace toward the nearby elevator bank. He pressed the button, the metallic chime signaling the arrival of the elevator. As the doors slid open, he stepped inside, pressing the button for the 4th floor. When the doors opened again, he stepped out into the corridor, moving swiftly down the hall toward conference room 4492.

He paused just outside, his hand hesitating on the doorframe as he took in the serious expressions of those inside through the glass windows. The weight of Gloria’s message still lingered in his mind. With a deep breath, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Inside, the hospital's main legal counsel sat stiffly at the table. Seated next to him was the hospital chair, whose expression was equally grave. Gloria stood silently in the corner, her arms crossed, but her eyes attentive.

Jack’s eyes locked onto yours, and for a fleeting moment, he was struck by a jarring realization—your face held an expression he'd never seen before, and so he studied your features, trying to find the usual signals he knew so well.

He focused on the small details—how the faint creases at the corners of your eyes, which he’d associated with concentration or irritation, weren’t present now. The way your nostrils flared slightly when you were annoyed, or the quick twitch of your brow when caught off guard, was missing. Instead, your face held an unyielding, almost mask-like calm that he couldn’t quite place.

He remembered the times you’d been visibly stressed—your eyes darting anxiously or your lips pressing into a thin line when frustrated.

But this moment was different.

You sat there.

Composed.

Yet undeniably distant.

Almost unnervingly so.

The more he looked, the more he realized—this was a new kind of quiet, one that demanded even closer attention to the smallest, most particular details of your perfect fucking face.

The hospital chair cleared his throat and leaned forward slightly. "Dr. Abbot. We received a fax last night from Eloise Wheeler and her attorney. It appears both your legal counsel team and ours received it simultaneously. We believe you are aware of its contents."

Jack shook his head.

"I’m not."

He reached into a folder and pulled out a document, sliding it across the table to Jack.

The uncertainty prickled at him—an unfamiliar vulnerability that made him acutely aware that whatever he was about to read was about to change everything.

Jack’s hand trembled slightly as he reached out, hesitating for a moment before carefully sliding into the chair next to yours. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves, then accepted the document with a tentative nod.

Holding it loosely in his hands, Jack’s eyes scanned the crisp, typed words addressed to your boss, who was the partner on the case:

Date: May 28th, 2025 To: Jorge Castillo at Summit and Sterling— Case No.: 2025-CV-785431 Fax Number: 412-555-7890 Subject: Notice of Withdrawal of Claims – Kristi Wheeler Dear Jorge Castillo, This letter serves as formal notice that Eloise Wheeler, on behalf of her minor daughter Kristi Wheeler, hereby withdraws and drops any and all claims, lawsuits, and allegations previously filed against Dr. Jack Abbott and Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. We acknowledge receipt of the relevant documentation and information pertaining to the ultrasound and medical procedures conducted on Kristi Wheeler. After careful review and consideration, Ms. Wheeler has decided to cease all legal actions related to this matter. Please consider this letter as a full and final withdrawal of any claims. We appreciate the hospital’s cooperation in resolving this matter amicably. Sincerely, Robert Nguyen Attorney at Miller & Carter   1334 Justice Avenue Pittsburgh, PA 15213 Phone: (412) 659-7294 Email: r.nguyen@millerandcarter.com

Jack let out a slow, almost disbelief-laden breath, then blinked several times, as if trying to process what he'd just read.

All the claims were dropped.

Eloise wasn’t even trying to go after a settlement.

Gloria’s arms uncrossed, and her face softened, a faint, genuine smile breaking through her usual guarded expression. She gave a small, almost imperceptible nod as if affirming the good news to herself.

Jack looked around at everyone. "I… I didn’t expect this," he murmured, shaking his head slowly.

The hospital chair, who had been tense earlier, leaned back in his seat. "It’s over, Dr. Abbot. It’s finally over."

Gloria reached up to wipe her forehead with a slight, relieved chuckle. "Well, I think we can all breathe easier now."

Everyone in the room nodded or murmured in agreement, a collective exhale of relief filling the space. Jack finally let out a long, steadying breath, his shoulders relaxing fully now as a weight he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying for so long was lifted.

You finally glanced at Jack, grinning at him.

Something about the way you were looking at him made him forget how to breathe.

You always had that effect on him.

Without a word, under the table, you reached out and gently squeezed his knee. The gesture was simple, and entirely non-verbal—meant to convey congratulations.

Yet—he felt his cock twitch.

Jack’s eyes darted to you, pupils dilating slightly, his breath catching in his throat.

The hospital chair leaned forward, turning his attention to you, a rare smile flickering across his usually stern face. "We’re so grateful. It’s been a tough process, and your expertise made all the difference. You and your firm did a wonderful job representing Dr. Abbot."

You raised an eyebrow, a sassy smirk curling your lips. "And in a way, your hospital, too, since your legal counsel didn’t really do anything. It’s almost like I provided free services to the hospital."

Jack and Gloria exchanged a quick glance, and she mouthed softly, 'I like her,' to which Jack silently mouthed back, 'Me too.'

The hospital chair’s face flushed slightly, caught off guard by your boldness. "Yes, well," he stammered, trying to recover. "Is there anything we can do? We’d love to take you out to dinner to celebrate."

You gave a dismissive shake of your head. "I don’t need dinner. But, actually, there is something you can do."

The hospital chair’s jaw tightened as he nodded slowly, a forced politeness masking his discomfort. His eyes flicked nervously toward his legal counsel, who shifted uneasily in his seat.

"It’s been brought to my attention that there’s a ten-year-old girl—Aaliyah Owens. She needs heart surgery. The hospital… well, you’ve refused to pay for it. Said there just aren’t enough funds."

"There aren’t." the hospital chair replied.

"I’ve spent months and months doing discovery at this hospital. Don’t disrespect me by lying to my face. This hospital has the pro bono funds. I know it. You know it," you shot back, your eyes locking onto his.

Jack’s pulse quickened at your unwavering stance.

Your voice was steady.

Leaving no room for argument.

The legal counsel’s jaw twitched, and he opened his mouth to speak, but you didn’t let him get a word in. Instead, you pressed on, tone firm and commanding. "While I can’t legally represent this family because of the conflict of interest—thanks to what I uncovered during this case—I’m still more than happy to recommend them to the best lawyers in Pittsburgh and suggest they sue this hospital for tort of deceit."

The hospital chair raised his eyebrows at you and gave Gloria a disbelieving look.  

Jack watched—completely captivated by you.

You shrugged. "Or, better yet, you could just pay for Aaliyah’s surgery and recovery. Think of the great PR you’d get. Saving a kid’s life? That’s a win for everyone."

The hospital chair’s face flushed with frustration. He clenched his jaw, then finally spat out, "Well, aren’t you a firecracker?"

You smirked.

"If this case had gone to trial, it would’ve cost your hospital millions. This surgery? A drop in the bucket. So, here’s my advice: you can do the right thing, or you can keep playing these games. Either way, I suggest you get this done."

His eyes darted between his legal counsel and you, weighing his options. After a tense moment, he heaved a sigh. "We’ll think about it."

You reached into your folder and pulled out a document, setting it on the table. Your voice turned icy with finality. "Well, don’t think about it too hard. You can sign this dotted line by 5 p.m. today. Or not. But I recommend you do."

The legal counsel reached out swiftly, grabbing the document from the table with a brisk nod. "Thank you, counselor."

The hospital chair slowly pushed himself to his feet, and extended his hand toward you. "Thank you," he said gruffly, his grip firm but brief. You reciprocated, clasping his hand briefly, and he gritted out, "Have a nice day," before turning to follow his legal counsel out of the room.

As they exited, Gloria approached, offering a genuine smile. She held out her hand, and you shook it, returning her gesture. "Thank you for everything," she said softly. "I’m not the biggest fan of lawyers, but I think you might’ve just converted me."

You chuckled.

Gloria stepped closer to Jack, reaching out and gently placed a hand on his shoulder, her touch firm yet reassuring. With a soft, sincere smile, she nodded toward him and said, "I’ll let you two celebrate. Congratulations, Dr. Abbot."

She squeezed his shoulder gently once more before stepping out of the room.

As soon as the door closed, you stepped forward and reached out, your arms opening in a quiet invitation. Jack responded instinctively, his arms wrapping around you.

It was the first time you two had hugged—or ever held each other like this.

Jack’s arms tightened slightly around you, feeling the softness of your back, the warmth of your body pressed against his. He kept his eyes screwed shut, and he could feel your eyelashes tickling his neck.

He breathed you in, as if he could bottle you for later.

It was grounding.

Comforting.

The kind of smell that instantly anchored him.

A calm he wanted to cling to.

Maybe his scrubs would trap your scent. He really hoped they would.

You hesitated just a moment before stepping back. Your arms lowered slowly, and you looked up at him

"You know," you said, your voice impossibly small, "Gloria’s right. We should celebrate. Go out for dinner."

His heart squeezed in his chest at how sweet you sounded.

"And don’t worry—I’ll pay. Considering your retainer probably cost more than what most people earn in a year, I think I owe you a night off," you added with a wink.

Jack ran a hand through his hair.

"Look, I want to apologize about yesterday," he shifted uncomfortably, "it was wrong of me to—say what I said and—to uh insinuate—uh—well you know. I’m sorry."

"Why are you apologizing?"

Concern knit at your brows, and Jack wanted to gently smooth the creases with his fingers.  

"Because you're my lawyer."

Jack swallowed when you ran one of your hands slowly down his arm.

“Well… I’m not your lawyer anymore. I mean, technically, we still need to close out all the remaining items and sign off on everything, but I won’t be your lawyer anymore in a couple of days."

For some reason, panic seized his throat.

"Once the paperwork's finalized—the case is officially closed," you finished, your gaze flickering from his eyes to his lips, making your want crystal clear.

Without a word, you gently reached up, fingers brushing his jaw as you leaned in, your lips parting softly in anticipation. Your eyes fluttered closed for a brief moment, leaning in to close the gap between you.

But just as your lips were about to meet his, Jack suddenly shifted, tilting his head aside. His body tensed as he gently dodged your kiss, turning his cheek to you.

Confused, you pulled back slightly, opening your eyes wide. "Oh, that's fine," you said softly, a small, uncertain smile forming. "We can go on our first date once everything's official and cleared." Your voice was gentle, trying to keep things light despite the sudden shift.

Jack started to shake his head slowly, his brow furrowing as he looked down, avoiding looking at you. "I don't think we should go on a date."

"What?" you said, your voice cracking a bit. “But yesterday, you said—"

"I know what I said," he cut you off. "I know what I've been saying. But we can’t."

You looked crushed and completely shattered.

He was handling everything all wrong.

And now you were confused and hurt.

And he hated himself for that.

"Why?"

He simply didn’t deserve you.

"I just can’t," he grumbled.

"That’s not a real response," you said, a tear sliding down your cheek.

His heart clenched painfully at the sight of your hurt, and he hated himself even more for being the cause of it.

You wiped another tear away with the back of your hand.

"Why are you pushing me away? I thought you wanted this. I thought you wanted—me."

Of course, he wanted you. Anyone in their right mind would want you.

He swallowed, the lump in his throat tightening painfully. "Trust me, it’s better this way."

"And you get to make a unilateral decision without talking to me about it?" You inhaled a shaky breath and dropped your chin to your chest

He cursed under his breath and tried not to yank his hair out. "I’m sorry."

You blinked and shook your head, stunned. "Jesus, who the hell am I even talking to right now?"

You began gathering your papers, folder, and personal belongings. "Summit and Sterling will send you the final bill," you said evenly, zipping your laptop bag shut. "I’ll send you an email in a few days closing out everything."

Jack opened his mouth—but no words came.

You turned away, heading for the door, your posture upright and composed. As your hand reached the doorknob, Jack finally managed to utter your name.

But you interrupted before he could finish. Without turning back, you simply said, "Goodbye, Dr. Abbot."

ONE MONTH LATER

The backyard was a whirlwind of chaos and color, a far cry from your typical backyard party. Abby never just threw normal get-togethers.

She loved this shit—turning the mundane into a celebration of nothing and everything all at once. It was the start of summer, and she’d declared it a day to just be happy, to revel in the simple joy of good weather and good company.

As you stepped through the gate, the scene before you became immediately clear: waiters weaving between tables, expertly balancing trays of exquisite food—small plates of charcuterie, vibrant salads, and tiny desserts that looked almost too pretty to eat. Kids squealed with delight on bouncey playhouses, their laughter ringing through the yard, while others zipped around with carefree energy, some parents lounging nearby with drinks in hand. Off to the corner, you spotted Frank hunched over a grill, making hot dogs and burgers. He didn’t quite share the enthusiasm for this kind of scene—Abby had come from money, with fancy parties and elegant dinners—he grew up with backyard barbecues, paper plates, and cold beers.

Abby and Frank were like night and day—polar opposites in every way. Abby thrived on the chaos of a bustling scene, on the beauty of tiny details, and the art of making everything feel special. Frank, on the other hand, was rooted in simplicity and practicality.

They argued about everything from music to movies, but somehow—they just worked. Despite their differences, or maybe because of them, they just fucking fit together.

They were annoyingly perfect together.

You moved slowly, saying quick hellos to the handful of people you recognized—mutual friends, some from here, others from your undergraduate days at Johns Hopkins. A few of the Baltimore crew, including you and Frank, had moved to Philly or Pittsburgh over the last few years.

As you made your way through the crowd, you realized so many of the Pitt staff were there. It was unexpected to see so many people from the hospital. Frank didn’t usually mix his personal and professional life when he hosted events—you really hadn’t met his colleagues until the lawsuit.

Your heart started pounding a little faster.

You scanned the crowd.

Searching for someone.

Jack.

You wondered if he was here, but you didn’t see him. He was probably going to work the night shift, pulling the late hours as usual.

It hurt to think of him if you were being honest.

It was almost like a pattern you had come to expect—this feeling that once you started to relax with a man, to believe in something real, the universe had a way of pulling the rug out from under you. Maybe it was because you had been burned too many times before, or maybe because deep down, you were afraid that trusting someone again meant risking more pain.

Your last serious relationship ended two years ago, and it left a scar that was still tender.

He cheated on you.

Lied.

Betrayed your trust.

Shattered the fragile hope you had built around what you thought was real.

After that, you swore off the idea of genuine romance, settling instead for casual encounters, mediocre sex, and fleeting moments that didn’t demand much but also didn’t require you to be vulnerable.

And then Jack came along.

For the first time in a long while, you genuinely felt like you could open yourself up again. It was the way he looked at you, the way you could talk without filters, the way he seemed to understand parts of you that you had buried deep. For a moment, it felt like maybe, just maybe, there was hope for something real.

You let your guard down with him.

And then—bam.

He somehow broke your fucking heart.

Your thoughts were interrupted when you spotted Dr. Robby approaching you through the crowd. His face lit up with a warm smile as he recognized you. He walked over, and before you could even say a word, he pulled you into a friendly hug. You instinctively called him "Dr. Robby," as you always did, but he chuckled softly and loosened his grip.

"Please," he said, with a grin, "just call me Michael."

His smile faded suddenly, the warmth in his eyes shifting into something more guarded, more serious. He took a step closer, lowering his voice. "Listen, I know what you uncovered about me during this case." He paused. "And I want you to know, I appreciate what you did. I didn’t deserve your discretion, and I want to thank you."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," you said, playing dumb, a slight tilt to your head as if you genuinely didn’t understand.

He studied you for a moment.

The corner of his lips twitched, yet he nodded and took a small step up towards you.

"Jack was right about you," he said softly, and the words hung in the air, leaving you momentarily frozen.

What did that mean?

He could tell you were confused.

Michael took a slow, deliberate breath, then offered a small smile. "Jack said you’re an amazing lawyer because you actually care about your cases, not just the facts, but the people involved. It’s what makes you good at what you do," he paused for a moment, "you're compassionate, it’s why he—it’s why he—um—respects you."

Your eyebrows snapped together.

Before you could respond, Frank raised his voice, drawing the attention of everyone. "Can I have just a moment?" he called out, his deep voice cutting through the chatter and laughter. The crowd gradually quieted, turning their heads toward him. "I know some of you might have to head out soon—night shift waits for no one," he added with a small smile. "But I just want to say a few words."

He paused for a beat, scanning the group. "Abby and I would like to thank everyone for coming here tonight. As some of you know, the hospital was recently sued, and it was a tough time for all of us. But I want to take a moment to recognize someone very special today.” His gaze fixed on you, and he gestured broadly. "This lovely person right here—" he pointed at you—"was instrumental in making that lawsuit go away and in protecting our hospital staff. And I just want to remind everyone" he pointed at himself, "that I recommended her."

The Pitt staff erupted into applause, some hollering words of appreciation. Hands clapped loudly, a few even whistled, and others nodded in recognition of your effort.

The energy was warm and genuine.

But to you?

It felt overwhelming—like a spotlight suddenly shining on your chest.

"And on top of that," he added, a broad smile spreading across his face, "She’s just made partner at Summit and Sterling. That’s a fucking incredible achievement and something you should be so proud of. I’m so proud of you."

The crowd erupted into more applause.

Your cheeks heated, and you instinctively looked down, feeling embarrassed. You tried to open your mouth to say something, but no words came out. Instead, you managed a small, exasperated gesture, mouthing the words 'I hate you' to Frank, and flipped him off. You knew he did it on purpose, knowing how much you despised being the center of attention.

He grinned.

The crowd chuckled along, but then Frank’s expression softened.

He cleared his throat. "But in all seriousness, you introduced me to my favorite person in the world." He gestured toward Abby, who was watching him with a gentle, loving smile. "You were the best man—well, my best woman—at our wedding. You stood by us, made everything feel right, even when it was fucking chaos. And you’re the godmother to my two favorite tiny humans. You’re my best friend, and I’m so lucky to have you in my life."

You felt your vision blur slightly, and a slow, steady ache settled in your chest.

The gentle "aww's" from the crowd echoed around you. Without thinking, you closed the distance between you and Frank.

You reached out, wrapping your arms around him in a tight, genuine hug. As you pulled back slightly, you saw his sons approaching. Without hesitation, you bent down and scooped Tanner onto your waist, feeling his tiny arms wrap around your shoulders.

Frank, reached out and gently took his other son into his arms, holding him close.

You made your way towards Abby, shoulders brushing past laughing, chatting, and the occasional high five. Tanner was on your hip, his bright eyes scanning the scene. As people offered their congratulations—some pats on your back, a few knowing smiles—you smiled politely. When you finally reached Abby, she was grinning from ear to ear, her arms open wide for a hug. You stepped into her embrace.

"Hey, Partner," she said, pulling back just enough to look at you with her bright eyes.

You smiled, a little overwhelmed by everything.

"Thanks," you muttered.

Suddenly, Tanner’s eyes locked onto a familiar face near the crowd—a tiny friend, waving eagerly with a wide grin. Tanner’s little face lit up with recognition, and he shifted slightly, squirming in your hold.

"Auntie, I wanna go!" Tanner chirped suddenly, his voice filled with excitement. He reached up to tug at your shoulder. "Can I please be down? I wanna see Joey!"

You gently eased him away, lowering him onto the ground, pressing a soft kiss to Tanner’s little forehead, "Have fun, sweetheart," you whispered. Tanner’s face lit up with a wide smile as he wrapped his arms around your leg. "Bye, I love you!"

Abby hooked her arm through yours, practically dragging you toward the drink station. The table was lined with bottles of spirits, mixers, and her signature margaritas.

Strong enough to knock you on your ass if you weren’t careful.

"Here," she said, handing you a margarita.

You accepted, taking a sip and savoring the flavor. Abby then grabbed her own drink, but instead of a margarita, she reached for a can of Coca-Cola from the cooler nearby, popping it open with a satisfying fizz. She held it up playfully with a grin.

You raised an eyebrow.

"You know how it is," she said, shrugging. "Hosting and all—I’m trying not to get too drunk."

"Last time you hosted a party, you were doing shots with everyone. What are you talking about?"

Her eyes darted away, avoiding you for a moment. Her smile faltered just slightly, and her cheeks flushed a little. You observed Abby closely, trying to pinpoint what might be causing her strange behavior. You caught the hesitation, the subtle shift in her expression, and suddenly it hit you.

"Oh… my fucking god," you said, voice dropping with realization. "Are you pregnant?"

Her eyes widened just a fraction, and she quickly looked away, pretending to check something behind you—anything to avoid your eyes. The silence stretched for a beat before she finally muttered, "Maybe…" her voice barely above a whisper, but her eyes gave her away.

Your jaw dropped.

"You have two kids under four!"

"I know, it’s not like this was planned!"

"Does Frank know?"

“Of course he knows! He knew before I did. One day, I came home, and he handed me a pregnancy test.” Abby’s cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink, and she looked a little sheepish as she finally admitted, "Remember when I told you I wanted a Birkin?"

 "Yeah?"

She hesitated for a moment, then chuckled nervously. "Well, I didn’t expect him to actually get it for me. A few weeks ago, I came home and there it was. I had been joking, really. Just kind of mentioning it in passing. I didn’t think he’d actually go out and buy one. I mean, it’s a ridiculous luxury, right? And I kind of just—jumped him. Or, he jumped me? I don’t know, all I know is suddenly, he had me spread out on the kitchen counter—"

Cringing, you cut her off. "Ew, please, just skip to the end."

Frank was like a brother to you, so even though you knew he was conventionally attractive, you could never talk to Abby about their sex life.

It was too weird.

Abby rolled her eyes and sighed. "Well, one thing led to another," she said with a shrug. "And that was pretty much the night I was wrapping up my antibiotics, so I think my birth control didn’t exactly do its job."

"So, wait, your future kid was conceived because Frank gifted you a Birkin?"

Abby couldn’t suppress her grin.

"The most expensive way to get pregnant, huh?" she said, barley containing her laughter.

You snorted. "Who knew that a designer bag could be such a powerful fertility aid?"

"We're not really telling anyone right now, okay? This stays between us." She wiggled her eyebrows, then made a quick zip-lip motion, finger across her lips, signaling secrecy.

"Lips are sealed," you said softly, mimicking the gesture. "Congratulations on getting knocked up. Again."

"I mean, have you seen my stud of a husband? Frank’s definitely got the looks to go with that big—"

You immediately groaned, raising your hand in protest. "Please, stop."

—heart.” She winked. "And now that you know I’m pregnant, I really need to pee—this kid’s been attacking my bladder all day. Be right back."

"Sure thing," you replied, and then scanned the bar as you continued to sip on your margarita.

You felt a hand on your shoulder.

"I almost didn’t recognize you with your clothes on," you heard a man say in a low voice in your ear.

Except it wasn’t any voice.

It was a voice you absolutely recognized.

You whipped your head around to find Jack scratching the back of his neck, and the corner of his lips tipping up.

The door to Abby’s office clicked softly behind Jack as he stepped inside, casting a tentative glance around the space. It was a small, cluttered room—papers stacked on the desk, a few framed photos of family and friends, and a cluttered bookshelf.

He had asked you if he could speak to you in private, and you had led him to this room.

You’d never seen Jack out of his scrubs—right now it was just him in plain clothes. He was wearing a simple black T-shirt that hugged his broad shoulders and sculpted chest perfectly, the fabric stretching just enough to hint at the strength beneath. His cargo pants sat comfortably on his hips, pockets bulging slightly with who knew what. The casual wear made him look even more real—impossibly attractive in a way that made your stomach flip.

It was the first time he was seeing you 'outside of the office' so to speak as well. You were wearing a tight green short-sleeved long knee-length shirt dress. It didn’t feel like a revealing outfit at all, but the way Jack was looking you up and down made you feel like you were on display.

He shifted uncomfortably on his feet, shoulders hunched forward as if trying to shrink himself.

Several tense, quiet moments passed. You opened up your mouth to speak, but your thoughts were still too chaotic to put into words.

"Congratulations," he finally managed. "On making partner. That’s... that’s a huge deal. You deserve it."

You looked at him, frustration crossing your face.

Seriously? Congratulations?

You wanted to roll your eyes. Instead, you took a breath, steadying yourself. "Thank you, Dr. Abbot," you said curtly.

He flinched.

"How have you been?"

“Fine,” you said, all cavalier, like this conversation didn't even matter. 

He cocked his head to the side. "Oh, so it's going to be like that?"

You couldn’t help but snort.

"I haven't seen or spoken to you in a month. And now you think is the perfect time to make small talk?"

He held your gaze.

Unbothered.

"Look," he started, voice strained, "I’m not good at this."

"Not good at what?"

"At sharing my feelings without sounding like a damn mess. And last time… I got scared."

You crossed your arms, your tone colder now. "You got scared?"

"Of course, I got scared. You make me feel things that I didn’t know I could feel. No good comes from caring this much about someone."

You watched his throat bob as he swallowed nervously.

"I’m older than you. I’m missing a goddamn limb. I have PTSD. I listen to a police scanner on my days off because I’m probably fucking insane. So yeah, I’m not exactly a shining example of emotional stability."

He let out a short, dry laugh.

"Since the war… sometimes I feel like a puzzle. Some of the pieces are on fire. And some of the pieces are just fucking missing—" his voice cracked, "and so…in what world, does a person like you end up with a person like me?"

You could see the conflict in his face.

You were fighting the tears that were beginning to spring up.

Your heart hurt for him.

"Jack, I’m not going to pretend I know what you’ve been through, because I don’t. I can’t begin to imagine the things you’ve seen, the things you’ve carried with you. And I don’t want to pretend I understand the weight of all that. But what I do know is this—you don’t have to be perfect or 'fixed' before you’re allowed to be happy. You deserve good things."

His mouth was set in a hard line.

"I’m not worth your patience. You deserve better. You deserve someone else."

"How about you let me be the judge of that?"

Jack let out a harsh breath. "You’re stubborn."

You sighed, frustration flaring as you stepped back, creating distance between you. "You know what they say—you can't catch fish if you don’t cast your line. So, maybe you’re just not craving this."

His fingers wove into his hair, tugging at his curls.

He huffed out a breath.

Suddenly, he looked like the hungriest man in the world.

"You have no idea how much I crave it," he said, like he couldn’t believe you just said what you said.

Jack stepped closer, his hazel eyes piercing into yours. Without a word, he reached out, gently but firmly guiding you backward until your ass hit the edge of the desk. His hands settled on your hips, steadying you as he leaned in slightly.

He reached out to trace your lower lip with his index finger. "What do you want?"

He was so close now that you could smell his cologne, which was mingled with his natural musk.

It had created an intoxicating blend that was uniquely his own.

Fuck, he smelled good.

"You already know what I want," you replied, a little breathless. "So, tell me—what do you want, Jack?"

"I want you," he said simply, voice thick with emotion. "I want to be with you. I want the good, the bad, and everything in between." Jack gently placed his hands on either side of your face. "And…even though you’ve made the questionable decision of being a Baltimore Ravens fan—I want all of it, with you, and only you, in all your glorious, unpredictable, wonderful entirety."

A wave of emotion washed over you.

Unexpected and relentless.

You couldn’t hold back anymore.

Your laughter bubbled up first.

Bright.

Raw.

And entirely involuntary.

Salty tears followed, slipping down your cheeks.

You hiccupped a little, trying to catch your breath between the tears and the laughter. "Well," you managed to rasp out, “I want it all with you, too.”

Without hesitation, he reached up, gently brushing his thumb across your cheek to wipe away the wetness. His lips pressed softly against your temple, then your cheek, lingering there for a moment.

"You’re fucking gorgeous," he whispered, voice trembling with honesty. "I don’t know how I got so lucky, sweetheart."

He then bent down and brushed his lips against yours.  

The kiss was slow.

Cautious.

So soft and gentle.

Tender.

You melted into his touch.

His hand, still resting on your cheek, tightened slightly, grounding you as the warmth of his lips deepened.

The softness gave way to a quiet hunger, a silent invitation that made you want more.

You responded instinctively, leaning into him, your breath hitching as your lips parted just a little more, craving the connection. His lips moved with a tenderness that grew bolder, his tongue tentatively exploring your mouth.

The heat pooled low in your belly, and the kiss turned desperate, your fingers finding their way into his hair, tugging gently, and he groaned softly as the kiss deepened. His lips were much more insistent than before as his hands explored your waist, your hips, your ass.

They were fucking everywhere.

His tongue kept crashing into yours, and it was messy and hurried, but you didn’t care. You couldn’t stop kissing him, and somehow your legs had fallen open. Instinctively, you pulled him closer, feeling his cock pressing against you, grinding against him with an animalistic urgency.

Then his mouth started traveling down your throat, the scrape of his teeth pressing into your pulse.

One of his hands went underneath the fabric of your dress, and you knew what he was about to realize.

"Christ," he said in a voice that didn’t sound like anything like the way he usually did. "You don’t have any fucking panties on?" he muttered.

He looked like his brain was buffering.

"I didn’t want any visible panty lines," you gasped as you felt him slide his fingers between your legs, soaking up the wetness that had formed there.

He inhaled slowly, his chest rising and his lashes fluttering against his skin with his lips slightly parted. It was like all of a sudden, he realized what was happening.

That you two were basically dry-humping like teenagers in Abby’s office.

Where anybody could walk in.

"I can’t believe the first time I’m touching you is in fucking Langdon’s house."

You giggled. "Maybe we should relocate… literally anywhere else."

He tilted his head down, kissing your bottom lip.

"I might spontaneously combust if we don’t," he said, pulling his hand from underneath your dress. You watched him lift his hand to his lips, slipping his fingers into his mouth with his wet tongue, his eyes never leaving yours.

He hummed and grunted like it was the best damn thing he had ever tasted in his life.  

"All I want right now is to hear you screaming my name, so you better say your goodbyes to everyone before I fuck you right here." he growled.

Your answer was a breathless nod.

The drive to Jack’s townhouse had been a blur. His hand never left your thigh, fingers kneading into your flesh with deliberate pressure.

His thumb moving in slow, thoughtful strokes.

As if he needed to remind himself you were real. That this was happening.

His hand was impossibly large—how had you never really noticed that before?

It all made you feel small and cherished at the same time.

By the time you arrived, the door closed softly behind you, and the sensation of Jack’s hand swallowing your thigh was still tingling on your skin.

His place was a reflection of him.

Meticulous.

Clean.

Precise.

A sanctuary that suited his no-nonsense, guarded nature.

Every book, every object, had its place.

The living room was sleek but lived-in, with an air of calm efficiency. On the coffee table, a cluster of medical journals lay stacked with precision, their covers crisp and pages well-thumbed. The bamboo base of the table added a touch of unexpected warmth to the space.

In the corner, a vintage Wurlitzer piano sat quietly.

It made you smile—of course he played.

A record player was softly spinning some Motown, the soulful melodies filling the room with a nostalgic hum. Above it, a striking Jimmy Hendrix art piece—a bold, colorful portrait of the guitar legend—added a splash of something to the otherwise controlled environment.

Jack’s hands were gentle but firm as he guided you into his bedroom, the softness of his touch contrasting with the raw hunger that flickered behind his eyes. Once inside, he pressed you backward, the backs of your knees hitting the edge of the bed. His lips were warm and relentless, pressing kisses along your jawline, then trailing down your neck.

His mouth barely left your skin, lingering as he left small bites along your pulse point and jaw, his breath hot against your neck. It was as if he was trying to memorize the way you tasted, to savor the moment before plunging into whatever came next. His hands came up to rest on your waist, fingers curling softly into the fabric of your dress.

But he was careful.

Deliberate in his restraint.

As if he were handling something fragile.

Instead of tearing your dress off or throwing you onto the mattress like you thought he would, he lowered you down carefully.

Like you were made of glass.

He pressed a gentle kiss to your mouth before guiding you down onto the bed, his body hovering protectively over yours. His hands cradled your face, thumb softly tracing your jawline as he looked into your eyes.

It was embarrassing how wet you already were.

Jack’s breathing grew ragged as he hesitated for just a moment, his eyes darting down your body.

His hands trembled slightly as they reached for the zipper at the back of your dress. With a low, almost strained groan, he slowly unzipped the dress, completely drunk on you.

As the zipper finally slid down, he let out a shaky breath, his lips parting as he carefully eased the dress down your shoulders. You were wearing a sexy satin black bra, and he paused for a moment, his eyes admiring before gently slipping the dress past your arms.

He studied you as if trying to memorize every inch of you, the way your body curved beneath him, how your chest rose and fell with each breath.

All your little noises.

It was driving him crazy.

Once the fabric was sliding past your arms, Jack’s grip tightened slightly—his desperation mounting.

He reached out to gently remove your bra, and your perfect fucking breasts were finally on display for him.

God, he couldn’t stop staring.

He almost ripped your dress the rest of the way off.

His lips pressed a desperate, feverish kiss to your shoulder and collarbone as he pushed the dress down your body, his hands now on your hips, guiding the material over your thighs, your legs, with a relentless, trembling need, throwing your dress on the ground.

He inhaled sharply when your legs fell open, admiring your glistening cunt.

Jack’s eyes were glued to it.

Your arousal was dripping down your thighs since you had spent the last 30 minutes clenching around nothing. It all started back in Abby’s office, and he somehow had reduced you to an incoherent, whimpering mess.

"So wet for me," he mumbled in awe.

He paused for a heartbeat, chest heaving, eyes dark and clouded with longing and something more primal.

"God, you’re so perfect," he muttered, voice hoarse, before leaning in to dip his head and take one of your nipples in his mouth. His tongue caressed it softly, and as he released it, a strangled moan escaped your lips.

The sound you made had every ounce of his blood roaring to his cock.

He switched to the other, leaving a wet trail before he started to suck on your nipple and you gasped out in pleasure.

With a sudden boldness, you tugged at his shirt, your fingers struggling against the fabric as you wanted to see more of his body. "Off," you demanded, feigning authority even as your cheeks warmed with excitement.

He chuckled and pulled himself from your chest. "Yes, ma’am," he teased, pulling back just enough to rid himself of the shirt with a fluid motion.

"Pants too,"

He paused.

Jack’s fingers lingered briefly at the waistband of his cargo pants as he hesitated for just a moment, then slowly pushed them down past his hips. The fabric slid smoothly, pooling around his ankles as he shifted slightly on his bed to kick them off. He felt a flash of nervousness tighten in his chest as you finally saw his prosthetic below his knee.

He searched your face and expected you to be uncomfortable or at least see it flit across your face before you composed yourself—but you didn’t.

Instead, your gaze softened as your eyes traced the contours of his body, and your expression remained calm.

You traced a finger down his torso, marveling at the way the muscle tensed beneath your touch. "You’re so handsome," you breathed, mesmerized by the sight before you.

"You’re not too bad yourself," he said, moving down the bed, dragging soft kisses down your stomach, running his hands up your thighs.

"So, fucking pretty," his face was suddenly between your legs, his hands pushing your thighs apart, and exposing you fully to him.

His eyes were fixated on your pussy.

"You don’t have to do that," you mumbled, sounding shy.

"You don’t like that?" he asked softly, lifting his head slightly, eyes searching yours.

"No… um… I do. I just know a lot of men don’t like doing it, and some just offer to be polite," you admitted, feeling your cheeks heat up.

"I’m not those other fucking men," he growled, completely offended that you thought he wouldn’t want his face trapped between your thighs. "I’ve been thinking about your pussy for the last six fucking months," his eyes skated up and down your naked body, studying every inch of you. "Dreaming about it. Dreaming about smelling you on me for days."

His words made your mouth pop open. You felt the ache between your legs become stronger.

"Really?" you squeaked.

Jack’s eyes lingered on you, still heavy with desire, but a flicker of surprise crossed his face.

It was odd, seeing you lose the typical confidence that you had.

You were usually such a firecracker.

He felt the need to remind you of your worth beyond the courtroom.

He wanted you out of your head.

Now.

"You don’t know how many times I’ve thought about my mouth on you with my hand around my cock," he admitted.

"Yeah?" you breathed, your voice caught between arousal and disbelief.

"Yes. I need to taste you, baby. So, are you gonna put me out of my misery and let me make you feel good?"

You nodded weakly.

"Need to hear you say it," he encouraged. "Tell me."

"Please," you begged. "I want you to make me feel good,"

Jack pressed his lips against your inner thigh, and you felt the drag of his scruff along your skin as he sucked a mark into your inner thigh.

"Marking your territory?" you teased.

He smirked looking up at you, probably enjoying how desperate you were for him right now. "I don’t like to share."

You bit your lip thrilled at his comment as he focused his attention back to your pussy and continued his exploration, planting hot kisses along your skin before inching closer to your dripping core.

"I think she’s flirting with me."

You let your head drop into his pillows, trying to hide your embarrassment. No man had ever spoken to you like this before.

You realized…you liked it.

A lot.

"Hang tight, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice a deep rumble. His hands gripped your thighs tighter, and then he dove in and feasted on you, burying his face in your pussy.

Jack was fucking relentless.

Refusing to hold back.

His tongue drove you insane with every flick and suck, your fingers instinctively threading through his hair as you pressed yourself against him, urging him on. You moaned loudly as his tongue found your most delicate spot. He flicked his tongue against your puffy swollen clit, teasing and tormenting you, and you couldn't hold back the whimpers escaping your throat.

"Jack!" you mewled. His scruff burned the inside of your thighs, and you hoped you would feel it in the morning.

A reminder.

The sounds filling the room were obscene as he hungrily continued to lap and suck at your hole until you were a whimpering mess, his moans vibrating through your core. He then shoved two fingers inside of you to continue working your sweet spot as he continued to lap against you. You were already getting close, and your body was twisting and trembling, trying to get away from him and trying to get closer all at once.

"Please, don’t stop," you begged, your voice betraying the madness building within you. He was so good at this. He was too good at this. You had never had a man go down on you like this.

Not by a fucking mile.

Nobody had ever groaned against your cunt in pleasure as if getting you off was just as enjoyable for them.

As soon as Jack heard your request, he sucked your clit harder into his mouth while his fingers continued to curve inside of you in a way that felt impossibly right. Your breaths were coming out in short, ragged bursts as he held you firmly in place. Each flick of his tongue sent you spiraling closer, and you could feel the wave building, crashing over you in a way that had your body screaming for more.

"Jack, I’m—I’m so close," you breathed, shakily.

A cry escaped you as he intensified his pace, keeping his concentration solely focused on your pussy. He was a man on a mission, and he was so lost in your pussy.

"Come on, baby. Let go," he urged.

You moaned and brought your hands to your breasts, squeezing, and pinching at your nipples. Jack groaned at the sight and his tongue flicked faster at your clit, and in that moment, you couldn't hold back any longer. With one last cry of his name, you let the wave break over as your vision blurred and your ears started ringing in your head.

"That's it. That’s it, pretty girl," he encouraged, his voice punctuated by the delicious sounds of your release. "Let it all out for me."

You felt yourself tremble as the final waves of bliss coursed through you, Jack’s fingers and mouth still working you through your orgasm, drinking in every sound you made.

Finally, as the world slowly faded back into focus, you let out a shaky breath, eyes fluttering open to meet his.

"Taste so fucking good," you felt him lift your legs and settle between them, your core still pulsing and sensitive. "I could do this all night," Jack said smugly, licking his mouth as he rose up to meet your gaze.

Still catching your breath, you smiled at him, feeling tingles throughout your entire body. "You should definitely consider it," you replied, as you looked at his face that was covered in your wetness on his scruff, his chin, and his lips.

"Trust me, I intend to." he said with a grin, lowering himself against you, lips finding yours once more.

You kissed him deeply, relishing the taste of yourself still lingering on his lips, and wrapped your arms around him.

Then, just as you were getting lost in Jack again, he pulled back, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. Before you could fully process what was happening, he flipped you over, sliding his prosthetic away, placing you on top so that you were straddling him, with your knees pressing down on either side of his hips.

"Need to be inside of you," he breathed, his hands resting on your hips as he looked up at you.

You leaned down, brushing your lips against his in a long, tantalizing kiss. You slowly began to grind against him, feeling his hard cock beneath you, and a grin spread across your face at the look on his face. You leaned back slightly, relishing the way he looked beneath you—wild and eager.

With a fluid motion, he reached down to his waistband and slowly peeled off his boxers. Your eyes widened as he revealed himself, clarity cutting through your arousal when you saw his cock spring free.

He was… massive.

The reality of his size left you stunned.

"Are you still with me, sweetheart?" he asked, breaking through your thoughts.

Swallowing hard, you nodded, but you couldn’t shake the nervousness creeping up on you. "I—uh, you’re so… big," you stammered, heat flooding your cheeks as you tried to regain your composure.

Jack couldn’t help the twitch of a grin appearing on his face.

"Don’t worry, you can take it." The confidence in his voice made you blink rapidly.

You nodded, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as a mixture of anticipation and nervousness coursed through you. While the prospect of him inside you was exhilarating, you couldn’t shake the reminder of how long it had been.

A year. Give or take.

He must have sensed your hesitance because the look in his eyes softened slightly. "You just let me know if you need me to slow down, alright?" He stroked your thigh reassuringly.

With a deep inhale, you nodded again and positioned yourself above him, your heart thumping as you lined yourself up with his leaking cock, your nerves flaring once again.

He guided you gently, the tension in his body easily translating into patience. As you slowly sank onto his thick tip, you felt him stretching you, filling you inch by inch, and a moan escaped your lips as you watched him disappear into you. There was a slight tinge of discomfort that quickly morphed into something hotter. You bit your lip, your eyes fluttering shut as you focused on adjusting, relishing the way he filled you.

"You okay?" he checked in, his voice deep with concern, his hands caressing your thighs gently.

"Yeah," you panted, realizing you were slick enough to take more of him.

With a small, encouraging smile, you began to lift your hips, experimenting with the rhythm. It felt so fucking good, and as you rocked back and forth, Jack mirrored your movements, his hands gripping your waist guiding your motions.

"That’s it, baby," he encouraged softly. "You’re doing so good."

Bolstered by his words, you picked up the pace as you adjusted to the size of him and pressed your palms onto his chest, riding him harder, faster. You focused on the way he filled you and the burning stretch of him. You felt a tightness in your stomach, building and begging to be released. Each time you sank down onto him, his cock brushed against that sweet spot inside of you.

"So fucking tight," Jack grunted, as he watched you take him deeper, his hands moving to your back, gently urging you to arch into him.

"Fuck, Jack," you gasped, nails digging into his back. "More. Please,"

Jack’s hands tightened around your waist as he took control, and in one swift motion, he lifted his hips sharply, driving his cock deeper into you, nearly knocking the air out of your lungs.

"You’re taking me so well," he growled, his voice low and throaty. The sound of skin smacking against skin filled the room as he started fucking up into your used cunt so brutally.

As you closed your eyes, lost in the overwhelming pleasure, you heard Jack’s deep voice. "Keep your eyes open for me. I want you to look at me." His demand cut through the haze, and you could feel the intensity of his gaze on you even with your lids shut.

You slowly opened your eyes, locking onto his. He put his forehead against yours, and in that moment, the world around you melted away, and it was just the two of you.

Flesh.

Heat.

And—raw desire.

With each thrust, he drove deeper into you, and the intensity in his eyes was carnal.

"Fuck," he cursed. "You look so beautiful like this. Full of my cock," he said, his voice slightly hoarse. You were lost in the crazed, blown-out look in his eyes, and he stole a kiss from you that had you chasing his tongue.

You inhaled sharply, the heat of his body against yours igniting every nerve ending. "Jack," the breathless syllable escaped your lips. You felt your jaw go slack, and your eyebrows pinched together at the way he watched you, the way he made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered at that moment. His sounds and touches made you feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.

You dropped your chin to your chest, and he brought his hand to his mouth, licking the tips of his fingers to move it down to your clit, rubbing circles over it as he continued. Your moans were louder now, and Jack moved his other hand to your ass, pulling you harder against him.

"That feel good?" he hummed, snapping his hips into yours, and hitting a spot deep inside of you that you didn’t even know existed.

Your body responded immediately. "Yes, Jack! Right there," you gasped, your breath coming in short, desperate pants.

He felt so thick.

So devastating inside of you.

Your legs were shaking now.

With each deep thrust, the coil in your stomach wound tighter and tighter, and you could feel your body responding to him. "I’m going to—oh fuck," you panted, fighting to find your voice.

You almost closed your eyes again.

"Don’t look away. I want to see how pretty you look when you come for me," he insisted, each word heavy.

"J-Jack," you sobbed. "Oh, my fucking god, I—"

"Come on, baby. Let me have it. I can feel you, you’re so fucking close," he coaxed, his hands gripping your waist, anchoring you to him as he thrust upward. "Give it to me. Give me what’s fucking mine."

His encouragement sent you over the edge. The tension snapped like a taut string, and you cried out, your body convulsing around him as waves of pleasure crashed over you. You could feel yourself gushing around his cock, screaming his name, and seeing stars as he continued fucking you through it.

You couldn’t look away.

It was so intimate.

And you were completely obsessed with the way Jack was looking at you as he kept pounding into you.

"Yes, just like that," Jack gasped, his own breaths growing ragged as he felt you tighten around him and watched your face with his mouth hanging wide open. He admired the way you fell apart for him while his eyes locked with yours. "Good girl," he praised. "So, fucking beautiful."

Your thoughts were incoherent as his pace was becoming fast and sloppy, and you realized he was trying to chase his own release.

"Where do you want me, baby?" he desperately asked you.

Then it hit you, you two weren’t even using protection. You had been so lost in the lust of it all that you didn’t even think about a condom. You were usually so religious about condoms, but you realized that you wanted to feel him, and for some reason, you weren’t scared because he made you feel safe.

"Inside."

"You sure?"

"I’m on the pill."

He groaned at your words, the sound deep and primal as he shifted beneath you. "Thank fucking god," he managed, his hands gripping your hips tighter. Jack surged up, driving himself deeper into you with a newfound urgency that had your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

With a final, deep thrust, Jack let out a throaty moan as he spilled into you, burying his face in your neck, his spend covering your walls, cock pulsing as he finished. The sensation of him painting your insides made you feel claimed somehow. You could feel the mix of both of you running down your thighs, soaking Jack’s lap, and probably ruining his sheets.

You collapsed against him, both of you panting heavily, the weight of what just happened settling in around you. The room was filled with a comfortable silence, aside from the sounds of your breath mingling together. Jack still held you tightly, his arms wrapped around your waist as if he were afraid to let go.

"Wow," you breathed, your heart still pounding from the intensity of your shared moment.

"Yeah," Jack murmured, brushing a few strands of hair from your face. His fingertips lingered on your cheek. "You okay?" he asked, breathing heavily through his nose.

You nodded slowly, trying to catch your breath. "More than okay," you whispered.

A smirk played on his lips, "Good. 'Cause I’m not done with you yet."

With that, he rolled you both over, shifting the weight until you were beneath him.

"Like I said," he murmured, brushing his fingers along your cheek as you leaned against him. "I could do this all night."

It was early, the light filtering through the blinds of Jack’s room. You stirred, feeling the warmth of Jack’s bed and the faint scent of last night’s shared intimacy lingering in the air. As your eyes fluttered open, you realized Jack wasn’t in bed beside you. A faint noise drifted in from outside his bedroom, piquing your curiosity.

Quickly, you reached for a casual t-shirt that was draped over a chair and slipped it over your head.

It was huge on you.

You tugged at the hem absentmindedly.

It hit you mid-thigh.

Stepping out of the room, the house was quiet except for the faint sounds of clinking dishes and muffled footsteps from the kitchen.

The daytime made you notice details you hadn’t before: framed pictures lining the walls, snapshots of family and friends that brought a smile to your face. You paused for a moment, your gaze falling on a picture of Jack holding a toddler, his face lit up with a gentle smile. You wondered if this was a picture of his niece—the one he had mentioned a couple of months ago.

As you moved toward the doorway, you saw Jack in the kitchen, dressed in workout clothes, pouring himself a cup of coffee. He looked up as you stepped out, catching your eye. Before you could say anything, he leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to your forehead, but a faint frown creased his brow.

"I was trying to get back in bed before you woke up," he murmured.

“That’s okay. How long have you been up?”

"Went for a run at 6."

It was 8 AM.

Of course, Jack went on runs at 6 AM on his days off.

He reached for the pot of coffee he had brewed, pouring himself a black cup. Then, turning to you, he handed you your mug, adding creamer and some brown sugar—just the way he knew you liked it.

Jack set his mug down on the kitchen island, then smoothly eased himself onto a nearby stool. Without hesitation, he reached out and gently pulled you onto his lap, his hand instinctively settling on your thigh. As you settled into his embrace, a devilish grin tugged at his lips when he caught sight of your relaxed state—just his t-shirt draping over your frame.

Jack’s fingertips traced a slow, deliberate path beneath the hem of his shirt, skimming over your thighs— his fingers feeling the hot slick that was already pooling at your entrance before he crashed his mouth hungrily over yours, his tongue teasingly dipping into your mouth.

You tasted the faint bitterness of the coffee on his tongue, and felt him tug you closer so that you could feel his erection trapped within his workout pants. Your eyes slid shut, and a soft whine escaped from your lips when Jack began to drag his mouth down the column of your throat.

"You know, I should probably head home and find a pair of panties," you teased.

His expression softened into a pout.

"Hopefully not anytime soon?" he coaxed, voice hopeful.

The fact that Jack wasn’t pushing you away, that he actually wanted you to stay, made your heart race in the best way.

He wanted you in your space.

He was actively choosing it.

It was a rare kind of comfort, and it was making your thoughts whirl.

You leaned in to press a tender kiss to his lips. "Not anytime soon," you murmured. It was Saturday—perfect for lingering a little longer.

After finishing your coffee, Jack gently helped you off his lap. "Come on," he said softly, taking your hand. "Let’s go back to bed."

As you brought your mug to the sink, your eyes caught sight of a letter stuck to the fridge with a magnet. Curious, you paused and read the words.

Dear Dr. Abbot, I’m not really good with words, so I’ll try to keep this short and sweet. I just wanted to send a quick note to apologize for my mother’s actions. I can only imagine how stressful this has all been for you, and I’m truly sorry. The truth is, my mother and I hadn’t been speaking much because of everything surrounding the case. I was worried about how things would turn out, but I’m glad to hear that she has dropped the lawsuit. It’s a relief, and I hope you can start to move forward from here. I hope she and I can move forward from this as well. I also wanted to share that I’m in my senior year of high school and applied to Penn State on a whim—out of state, no less—and surprisingly got in. I think all the recent changes and the chaos might have been what led my mom to file the lawsuit. It probably felt like everything was happening so fast for her between my abortion and me applying to colleges far from home. It took me some time, but I have finally accepted my scholarship to Penn State and will be starting there this fall. I just want you to know—you changed my life. Because of you and PTMC, I get to go to college, and I’ll never forget that. Thank you for everything. -Kristi

Jack noticed you reading the letter. Kristi had sent it about a week after the lawsuit had been dropped.

But for Jack, none of that mattered right now.

His focus was entirely on you.

The firecracker in his kitchen.

The firecracker who took a chance on him.

and… the firecracker he was madly in love with.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

That’s it for our Rebel Cowboy and our Firecracker!

Also, some people asked me, and I pictured the reader to be 33 and Jack to be 44. Ever since they’ve said Dr. Abbot is ‘40’s, handsome, with an edge’ —my brain is like well he looks good AF, so why can’t he be in his early 40’s? I don’t know how realistic becoming a partner at 33 is, but reader is a badass so let’s not question it.

TAGLIST: @sikayeto. @ay0nha. @insidethegardenwall. @flofaiiry. @princesssunderworld. @melsunshine. @sillymuffintrashflap. @runawaybaby3. @letstryagaintomorrow. @milzcivic. @sinpathyforthedevilish. @rosiepoise88. @sleepingalways. @pear-1206. @chuckles2much. @charmedkim. @qardasngan. @traumaanatomy. @losers-club6. @bitters-n-sweets. @professionally-crazed. @la-vie-est-une-fleur29. @queenslandlover-93. @ryalvintage. @professionalpromqueen. @xxxkat3xxx. @saaamsayshi. @peggyofoz. @nothere2478. @crescentqueenxxx. @summitmeadowyosemite. @iluvbeingdelulu4evaaa. @reader142. @patheticgirl127. @sophreakingfunny. @flowersandall. @houseofodd. @honestlystop. @18lkpeters. @penguin876. @aaronhtchnrs. @iambatman115. @secretmoonphantom. @foolishseven. @isthistoniche. @jeanie2k17. @swiftie-4-lifes-stuff.

[luvr4miya]

Across The Hall (8) | Michael Robinavitch x Neighbor/Teacher ! Reader

Michael Robinavitch x F! Neighbor/Teacher ! Reader

Summary: Michael finally acts on his feelings for you, risking it all to get closer. But the situation grows complicated, and some hard truths come to light.

Word Count: 3336

Warning: Age Gap (Mid 20s/ Early 50s), romantic and intimate content

Authors Note: (today years old finding out Noah Wyle/Robby has tattoos??? hello??? I never noticed. I took this gif for me to realize lol) So...y’all are gonna love me for 5 seconds then hate me bad. BYE 😬🫣 - ryn

Michael was headed to work when he stepped out of his apartment and caught himself staring at your door.

Last night, he’d wanted to kiss you—God, how he’d wanted to kiss you. Not just then. So many times before. He’d wanted you more than anything.

He needed to tell you how he felt. I should’ve said something last night, he thought.

But he didn’t.

He’d figured it was obvious—the way he looked at you, the way he stayed, the way he showed up. Surely you could feel it too.

And then you’d call him your friend.

The word had hit harder than he expected.

Friend.

It stung—maybe more than it should’ve. It bruised something in him

He sighed, adjusting the backpack dangling from his right shoulder.

Jamming his keys into his hoodie pocket, he stuffed his hands in after them and headed down the hall toward the elevator. He pressed the button and waited, his thoughts spinning.

I just need to go for it. Before it’s too late.

The elevator chimed. The doors slid open.

He stepped inside, settling into the corner and leaning against the wall. The silence wrapped around him.

Next time I see her, he’d told himself, I’m not holding back. I’m going to walk right up to her and—

“Morning.”

Out of nowhere—you.

He froze.

Okay—well, definitely wasn’t expecting to see her now. Not this soon. Not when he was still half in his head, rehearsing how it was all supposed to go.

“H-hey.”

Michael cleared his throat and quickly stood up straighter as you stepped inside.

The elevator doors closed behind you.

You could feel his eyes on you. You glanced sideways, then turned to face him fully, eyebrows knitting together.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said a little too quickly, he still stares at you. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“How am I looking at you?” 

He was looking at you the same way he had that morning in his bed—hovering over you, lips parted like he wanted to kiss you… and more. He looked at you with yearning. With longing. Like he could snap at any second.

“I don’t know… like—”

But you didn’t finish the sentence. Your throat tightened. You swallowed hard and turned back toward the doors, heart suddenly thudding in your chest.

Your breathing picked up as you tried to stay calm, but his eyes were still on you. Watching. Burning.

And then something snapped—his self-control, usually so carefully kept in check, cracked under the weight of everything he’d been holding back. It was all impulse now. He couldn’t waste another second.

Fuck it, he thought.

He needed you. Right then. Right there. Needed to feel your breath hitch against his lips, to finally cross the line he’d been toeing for far too long. 

He needed to show you how he felt, how you made him feel. 

All he knew was that he had to kiss you like you were his.

Michael dropped his backpack to the floor. 

He stepped closer, gently taking your hand and guiding you toward him.

You gave him a confused look—right up until your bodies pressed together, close enough to feel the rise and fall of his chest against yours.

Your breath caught as his hand came up to cradle your cheek, his thumb tracing a slow, deliberate line along your skin. For a moment, he just looked at you—eyes locked on yours, searching, aching.

“Michael, w-what are you doing?” you whispered.

“What I should’ve done last night on the park bench… that morning after you stayed over when i had the worst shift of my life… God, what I should’ve done a long time ago.”

Neither of you moves at first. But then, slowly, like gravity has shifted, you both begin to lean in. Your breaths mingle. Noses nearly brush. His gaze flickers to your lips.

And then… you both stop.

Instead, your foreheads rest together, the moment suspended—tense, quiet. Neither of you pulls away. Neither of you says a word. You just stay there, breathing the same air, hearts beating loud and close.

You shouldn’t kiss him—you really shouldn’t. But your heart didn’t care.

It drowned out your brain, smothered logic, silenced reason with want, with need.

Your mind screamed: This will end badly. He’ll get hurt. You can’t hurt him. But still… you leaned in.

The kiss is soft at first, hesitant, gentle. Your foreheads touch again as you pause for breath… and then kiss again. And again. Each one deeper. Each one is more certain. The passion builds, quiet and slow, until it’s not quiet at all. I'm hungry. Needy. Hard.

Like neither of you can bear to stop.

Your bag dropped to the floor with a thud as you grabbed him—hands fisting in the fabric of his hoodie.

He groaned into your mouth, hand sliding to your waist, holding you like he was afraid you might vanish if he let go.

Your fingers curled tighter in response—latching yourself to him more.

You gasped against his lips, a soft whimper escaping before you could stop it—raw, involuntary, real.

“Fuck, sweetheart…” he breathed, voice low and ragged, like the feeling of you was too much and still not enough.

The term of endearment sent a sigh spilling from your lips.

He was panting now, forehead nearly resting against yours, trying to catch his breath—but unwilling, unable, to pull away.

“You don’t know how long…I’ve been wanting to do this…wanting to kiss you…Touch you..” he murmured between kisses, each sentence catching its breath between the next.

“Don’t stop… please” you begged.

Then—without warning—he turned you with urgency, guiding you backward until your back met the cool wall of the elevator.

The chill of the metal against your spine contrasted with the heat of him pressing into you.

You barely registered the buttons behind you, lost in the haze of his mouth, his hands, the weight of his need.

One hand braced above your head, the other slipped beneath your shirt—his calloused palm gliding over your skin like a promise, grounding you.

The elevator gave a shudder and stopped—probably because one of you had hit the emergency button somewhere in the frenzy.

Neither of you noticed.

Neither of you cared.

He kissed you like his life depended on it—like it was the last night he’d ever get to touch you.

Like he was trying to memorize you with his mouth, to savor every second as if he knew he might never get this chance again.

His lips trailed along your neck, each kiss sending a shiver down your spine.

It felt good. God, it all felt so good. You’d never felt anything like this.

It was easy to get lost in the warmth of him—his breath, his body, the way his touch set your skin alight.

The feelings crashed into you like a tide you didn’t want to resist, pulling you under.

Something deep inside you stirred—raw and aching.

Every brush of his fingers sent tremors through you.

In that heat, in that closeness, nothing else existed.

There was only him.

Only this.

But somehow, against all odds, your mind claws its way back to reality. You reason coming back to scream at you. 

You shouldn’t be doing this. This wasn’t right.  Especially what happened last night after you two said goodnight. 

You had to stop this. You had to tell him. 

“M-Michael” you stutter out breathless. 

“Mhm?” He mumbles as he continues to assault your neck with open mouth kisses. 

“Michael”

“What is it? Huh? What is it, baby?…” he murmured between kisses, his voice low and breathless against your neck, each word tumbling out like a plea

“Michael—s-stop, I—I can’t.” 

He froze.

Everything stilled at once—the heat, the urgency, the world. He pulled back immediately, hands lifting off you, then reaching for your face.

His fingers brushed your cheek. “Hey… what’s wrong?” he asked, his voice suddenly softer, more grounded.

He saw it in your eyes—a look of regret, look of guilt, the shift from passion to shame.

“Are you okay?”

A beat passed.

Then his expression shifted, guilt crashing into him like a wave.

“Shit,” he breathed. “I’m sorry… I went too far, didn’t I?”

His hand dropped from your face, and he stepped back—once, then again—putting space between you.

You shook your head quickly. “No, no. It’s not you, Michael—”

His brows pulled together. “Then what is it?”

You couldn’t look him in the eye.

“Hey…” His voice softened. “Sweetheart, talk to me.”

He reached for your hands, gently taking them in his. His thumb brushed over the top—slow, soothing

“I—I’m still with Aiden,” you blurted out, the words crashing out before you could stop them.

His thumbs stopped brushing your hands, as he blankly stared at you. Your chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths. You couldn’t stand seeing the look on his face. 

“What?” His voice was quiet, but sharp at the edges. Just looked at you, as if trying to make sense of what he’d just heard.

Michael shouldn’t have assumed. But after last night, after everything, he thought it was over between the two of you. It had to be. Who in their right mind would go back to that? How could this not have been the last straw for you? Because if he was you, it would’ve been. Hell, if he was in your position, he would have broken up with Aiden ages ago. 

This just made things even more complicated.

“I—I talked it out with Aiden… last night,” you repeated, softer this time, almost like an apology.

Michael began to laugh. Not a joyful laugh—not even close. It was hollow, sharp, disbelieving.

“You’re joking, right?” he asked, his eyes searching for yours, hoping for some sign that you were messing with him. That this was just some badly timed joke. 

But you didn’t laugh.

You didn’t say a word.

The silence between you answered for you.

Michael stepped back completely away from you like you’d physically struck him. His hands dropped yours and hung limply at his sides.

“You’re still with him? Did you not hear anything I said last night?” he asked, staring at you like he couldn’t believe this was happening. “Were you not listening?”

He begins to slightly pace the small space. 

His voice rose, sharp and broken. “How can you go back to him after that? You can’t be serious!”

He let out a bitter breath, dragging a hand through his hair.

“You’re still with him—and I just—God, you just let me—we just—” 

He dragged his hands down his face, like he could scrub the memory out of his skin.

“You patched things up with him last night—you knew this and you still let me kiss you and touch you like that?!” His voice cracks, finger stabbing the ground as if trying to make sense of it all. 

You flinched, breath hitching as tears welled in your eyes.

His voice cracked with disbelief. “Jesus.”

“Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to care about someone? To feel something real for someone, and watch her waste her time on a man who doesn’t even see her? Who gives her nothing—no love, no attention, not even the bare minimum she deserves?”

His voice cracked, raw now, spilling from the wound you’d just torn open.

“You don’t know what it’s been like for me. Standing on the sidelines these past few months… being your neighbor, your friend—when all I’ve wanted is to be yours.”

He stepped closer, the space between you shrinking with the weight of his truth.

“I want to be the one you depend on. The one you lean on. The one you count on—not just when things fall apart, but always.”

“He came back and—I… I just—” your voice faltered, the words catching in your throat. 

“If I had known—”

He cut you off, sharper this time. “No. Don’t say that. We both knew, deep down. We knew there’s something between us.”

His eyes were hard now, voice tight. “You just chose not to do anything about it.”

Tears stung your eyes, but you blinked them back—until you couldn’t.

“I was scared… I am scared,” you said, your voice cracking.

Pushing off the wall, you moved behind him. Michael turned to face you, eyes searching.

“Everything between us…” You shook your head, the words trembling out. “I’ve never felt anything like this before—and that terrifies me. I don’t know what to do with it. I didn’t know how to handle you… or the way you make me feel.”

The tears came fast now, hot and relentless.

“With him… I knew what to expect, but you…” You looked at him through the blur of tears. “You make me want more. You make me feel safe, make me feel seen, heard— and that scares the hell out of me, because I don’t know what to do with good things!”

“So you chose what was familiar,” he said quietly, “Instead of choosing what you really want”

He shook his head, frustration flickering behind the hurt. “Instead of being honest with me—about how you felt—having a conversation with me, you self-sabotaged. You denied yourself. You pushed away something real and good that was right in front of you by going back to him.”

A sob escaped before you could stop it. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“But you did,” he said—not cruel, just tired. “And the worst part is… I don’t think you even realized you were doing it. You were so scared of something real, you threw it away before it even began”

He exhaled, as if the weight of it all was finally too much. “I can’t keep doing this.”

His voice softened, but the words still hit like a blow. “I showed you how I feel. I told you. I put it all out there right here, right now, but I guess I was too late. You made up your mind before anything could even start.”

“Whatever this is… I’m done.”

Those last words hung in the air—tight, final. But underneath them was something raw. Hurt. Disappointment. And maybe even heartbreak.

He didn’t want to be done. He didn’t want to give up on this—on you—before it had the chance to become something real.

But what choice did he have?

He paused, then added, “You need to figure yourself out. Really figure it out. What you want, what you feel… why you push people away when they treat you the way you deserve. Because if you don’t, you’re just going to keep hurting the people who care about you.”

He paused, jaw tightening. “So… I wish you nothing but the best.”

“Michael,” you breathed, his name catching in your throat.

He looked at you then—eyes distant, walls rising—even though his feet hadn’t moved.

“I care about you,” he said, voice steady but low. “Not just in passing. Not like someone who comes and goes. You matter to me.”

He hesitated, the words aching in his mouth. “And maybe that’s what makes this so damn hard.”

“I think it’s best we stop hanging out,” he said, more carefully now, like he had to choose every word with precision just to keep from unraveling. “If I see you around, I’ll say hello. I’ll be polite. But that’s it. Don’t come to me for help.”

It gutted him to say it. But he knew he couldn’t anymore. At least for night now. He needed space. Boundaries. Because caring this much was costing him more than he could carry.

And just like that, he began to step back—not just physically, but emotionally—shutting doors he never wanted to close.

Michael turned toward the panel and pressed the “door open” button. Nothing. He hit “Lobby.” Then another floor. Still nothing.

He pressed a few more buttons in quick succession, frustration creeping into his movements. Nothing. The elevator was still. 

Of course. Of course you were stuck now—trapped in a metal box with the man whose heart you just shattered.

He let out an annoyed groan, sharp and brittle. “You’ve got to be kidding me…”

You stood there, arms folded tightly over your chest like they could hold you together. “Did… did we press something?” you as quietly as you sniffle. 

Michael gave the panel a deadpan glance. “Yeah. The emergency stop. Guess we hit it when—” He cut himself off, jaw clenching.

You both knew exactly when.

Silence followed, thick and choking.

“I’ll call maintenance,” he muttered, reaching for the phone on the panel. He picked up the receiver, waited for a beat, then spoke into it. “Yeah, hi. We’re stuck in elevator three. No, no one’s hurt. Just… just stuck.”

Another pause.

“Alright. Thanks.” He hung it up and sighed. “They’ve got to reset the elevator. Said it could be ten, maybe fifteen minutes.”

You nodded, staring at the floor like it might offer a way out.

Fifteen more minutes in this suffocating space with him.

Fifteen minutes of trying to hold back your cries. Trying not to say the wrong thing again. Trying not to reach for him even though everything inside you wanted to.

He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed and his eyes fixed somewhere above your head. Not cold. Just… gone.

You swallowed hard, trying not to look at him. “Michael…”

He cut you off, voice low and sharp. “Don’t,”

“Please don’t.” he said softly

It wasn’t cruel. It was protective. A quiet plea from someone trying to hold himself together.

The silence settled again.

After a while the elevator shuttered and hummed back to life The floor numbers flickered, then steadily climbed downward. Relief washed over you, but it was tangled with the heaviness between you and Michael.

He didn’t say a word as the elevator glided to the lobby. The doors slid open smoothly, flooding the small space with the bright fluorescent lights of the lobby.

Without hesitation, Michael grabbed his bag from the corner, slung it over his shoulder, and stepped out briskly. He didn’t look back.

You grab your bag and slowly follow out behind him.

He was moving through the lobby, his steps brisk and determined, focused on putting distance between the two of you. The coldness wasn’t anger. It hurt. And right now, he needed to get away.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. You stood there in the middle of the lobby as you watched him leave through the doors. 

The lobby felt suddenly enormous and hollow, like the space between you and Michael had stretched far beyond the few feet that separated you. Your fingers tightened around your bag strap, heart aching with a sharp mix of regret and helplessness.

You wanted to call him back—to explain, to try and fix what you’d broken—but after everything said in the elevator, the damage was done. The words felt useless now. There was no coming back from this.

His words echoing in your mind like a heavy weight pressing down on your chest.

You need to figure yourself out.

The truth of it settled deep inside you, sharper and more painful than you expected. You thought about all the times you've pushed people away—out of fear, confusion, or simply not knowing how to accept love.

His words weren’t just an accusation—they were a warning.

If you didn’t face what was inside, if you didn’t understand what you truly wanted and needed, you’d keep hurting the people you cared about.

But more than that, you’d be hurting yourself.

Holding on to a past that didn’t value you, to a relationship that made you feel small and invisible.

You need to stop settling for less than you deserve and start choosing yourself—learning to listen to your own heart, discovering what happiness really means for you.

Because moving on isn’t just about leaving someone behind—it’s about finding who you truly are, and finally believing you’re worth more than pain and neglect.

It’s about opening the door to a future where you can be whole again.

The End...

(SIKE! LMAO, I’m just playing. I wouldn't do y'all dirty like that… I did do you dirty with this part with Robby and reader 💀 IM SORRY Y’ALL KNOW THE DRILL…SLOW BURNNN)

Tags: @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere @beebeechaos @antisocialfiore @delicatetrashtree @xxxkat3xxx @homebytheharbor @woodxtock @letstryagaintomorrow @livingavilaloca @elkitot @annabellee88 @hagarsays @emma8895eb @the-goddess-of-mischief-writing @jazzimac1967@lafemme-nk @kmc1989 @whos6claire @harrysgothicbitch @trustme3-13 @qardasngan @silas-aeiou @k3ndallroy @ohmystrawberrycheesecake @ay0nha @404creep @dantemorenatalie @obfuscateyummy @steviebbboi @alliegc28 @catmomstyles3 @ardentistella @madprincessinabox @circumspectre @the-one-with-the-grey-color @thatchickwiththecamera @violetswritingg @valutfromlune @baileythepenguin @galmorizethechaos @capj-1437 @airgoddess @nah2991 @interestellarprincess @laurensfilm @peachjellyy @aj3684

Across The Hall | (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

[luvr4miya]

That's your wife? Thunder version

Dr. Jack Abbot x f!attending!wife!reader

summary: the new ER personnel does not yet know who Jack is married to. You're a pretty scary ortho attending that seems to always be fighting with Jack

genre: fluff --- be aware: medical inaccuracies

masterlist

You had met Jack in a training centre in Texas. You'd been with the army a couple of years at that point, having joined straight after pre-med. You were specialising in orthopedics because you liked the people working the field and it was a place where you could make a difference to people's life.

Jack had been an emergency lover from the start, so you'd butted heads more then once when you had different opinions. You had heated arguments about patient care, strategies and new techniques. Your fights weren't pretty, but you found you enjoyed them none the less. At some point you found yourself hoping he'd be on shift when you were, aching to see him and bite his head of. He asked you out on a date when you'd saved six patients together in one night.

When Jack got injured and left the army, you handed in your resignation and went with him. You got married as soon as Jack had recuperated enough to get himself down the isle.

You'd started at the PTMC together, Jack downstairs in the Pitt, you upstairs surrounded by ortho bros. Now you were an attending, having been promoted easily because of your natural leadership and medical capabilities and experiences. You were a tough one. New med-students and residents would try to avoid you the first couple of weeks, getting scared when you would sneak up behind them to judge their work. You were harsh and strong, but you were a good teacher and a damn good doctor.

You and Jack were a true enemies to lovers tale, and though you'd arrived at the lovers' side of it now, the snarky comments and fierce looks hadn't stopped. You'd fallen in love through your fighting in emergency situations, and so you kept it up. It felt part of you to act this way towards Jack inside the hospital, the part of you that had started out as enemies never fully left. It made sense for you to work together in this way, and strangely it made you both better doctors when you were biting each other's heads off.

For your colleagues this could be a strange dynamic. They'd get a little nervous if arguments got too heated, but mostly they just ignored and laughed at the names you'd cal each other. Sweetheart was a favourite, although said in a very sarcastic tone. Most people knew that the two of you were hopelessly in love, but they liked to make a game out of it for anyone new. There was, of course, a betting pool when new students or residents would arrive, placing bets on how long it would take the newbies to figure it out. The record was held by Dr. Mohan, who had taken almost four months to figure it out.

You and Jack were both in on the plot, secretly loving it when new doctors would come in and get scared by the hostility between you two in the trauma bay. You two would even amp it up a little bit when you knew the rookies had been gossiping about hospital relationships. You were usually caught because one of Jack's colleagues couldn't stop smirking at your behaviour.

When Mel, Santos, Whitaker and Javadi had been in the ER a couple of weeks, they heard whispers about you. You'd been off to train some combat medics for a month, and had missed Pittfest. Rumours were that you'd be back that day and the entire ER staff was gearing up for it.

Abbot was a couple of hours early that day. He said he'd heard about a multiple collision on the radio and wanted to come in to help. Dana laughed at him. "You tell yourself that, Jack. Just keep the shouting down later. If I hear one more sarcastic sweetheart I might just start throwing things at you."

Mel overheard the conversation and looked away from the board, trying to figure out what she'd missed. Jack was smiling at Dana.

The trauma came in and Jack called for her. "King, you're with me. Degloving injury of the lower right leg. Let's try to get it figured out before ortho comes in to ruin it." They'd been running the trauma for a couple of minutes when you barged through the door. "Right," you ordered, "Who's this and what's going on." You locked your eyes on Mel. "You're the resident running this? Go on, make your report, we haven't got all day. Don't look at Abbot, he doesn't know shit." Mel presented the patient, stumbling over her words because she was flustered by the intensity of the ortho attending. Jack tied off a tourniquet and you stepped in to bump him out of the way.

"Keep your hands of that tourniquet. Did they give you your degree with a carton of milk? I'm taking over." She loosened the tourniquet, trying for a pulse on the foot.

"He's going to bleed out if you don't tie of that tourniquet, sweetheart." He sneered at you. You scoffed at him. "Don't tell me what to do. If we tie it off he's losing his leg for sure, just hang another o-neg and let me look at him first. Can't have everyone limping around like you, sweetheart, so just let me work my miracles." Mel felt her throat constrict when you said it. She was sure Jack was going to burst into anger now. Jack did not, however, and he smiled at you with a twinkle in his eyes. "By all means, you quack. Take all the time you need, I know you always need a little longer to get up to speed. I'll just try to make sure he lives in the meantime."

The jabs continued back and forth and Mel had to take a moment after the trauma to refigure her confused emotions. You'd gone up to the OR with the patient and Jack was working on another one of the collision victims.

Dana found Mel in the hall, staring into it. "Tough day, kid?" Mel nodded. "They're intense, Dr. Abbot and the ortho attending." Dana laughed at that. "Don't I know it. You'll get used to it before long. It's just names they're calling each other, they always figure out the best course of action. It works, one way or another, they're both at the top of their game. But intense is the right word for it." She patted Mel on the back. "Come on kid, it's time for shift change."

Two days later Javadi was caught between one of your arguments, trying to referee it. She couldn't make herself heard over your raised voices. "You're plainly in the wrong, sweetheart. What does your husband think of these idiotic ideas on patient care?" Jack shouted at you. Your eyes turned to thunder. "That's the path you're taking? Do you want to hear what your wife's opinion on the matter is?" Javadi fled.

A week later both Javadi and Mel were running a code with Dr. Abbot when you came bursting through the doors. "I was scrubbing in to a ACL reconstruction, this better be serious or I'm going to kill you all for wasting my time." Mel's face lost some of its colour. "Come on, present the patient!" You barked at her. "It's enough that your attending is always wasting my time. Get on with it." Mel's eyes turned huge and she was picking at her hands from anxiety. You trained your eyes on her, anger evident in the way your brows had furrowed. "Now, if you please! I thought you were a resident, not some nervous med-student. Stop wasting my damn time!" Javadi swallowed her fear and tried to press herself into the corner of the trauma bay.

Dr. Abbot stepped in front of you. "That's enough. You don't get to bitch at my residents. They're not some cadets that you're training. Get over yourself and don't take your anger out on them." You huffed at him. "Jesus, Jack! Are you really quoting my therapist to me? Are you fucking serious?" Jack continued to stare at you. Javadi and Mel got even more confused by the conversation and looked at each other anxiously. Javadi was trying to gauge wether it was best to flee again.

It took ten seconds for you to calm down and apologise to the two women. "Sorry." You told them. "I was out of line and I shouldn't have shouted at you. I apologise. Let's get back to the patient now."

You leaned over the patient to check for any damage to the lower back, dog-tags falling out over the top of your scrub top. Mel could see a golden ring hanging next to them. Jack did the same opposite to you, his dog-tags clanking as they met the wedding ring that was also on his chain. It looked like the one on your neck, only it was a little smaller and it had a beautiful green emerald.

Mel took a step forward and examined the dog-tags on your neck. It took her a moment, but then she could plainly see the name Jack Abbot written on them. Mel blinked in confusion. "Dr. Abbot," She began, "She's wearing your tags." Jack stopped assessing the patient, satisfied that he'd live. He looked at you. "I sure hope she is because otherwise she would have lost them. She already lost my wedding ring once and that's more than enough." You turned away from the patient and snapped your gloves off. "You've got to stop bringing that up Jack, it was years ago. Besides, you're the one who wants my ring around your neck, you possessive man. It's only fair that I get yours in return. Patient will be fine, just sent him up for a CT. I'm gonna scrub for my ACL." You turned to walk out the door. Jack called after you. "We're still on for coffee around 10, right?" You turned back to Jack and kissed him on the lips. "Of course, sweetheart." you said, "Don't forget my creamer." Then you walked off, leaving Mel and Javadi without words.

Javadi finally found her voice after a minute. "That is your wife?" She gasped out. "She is absolutely terrifying." Javadi slapped her hand in front of her mouth as soon as she'd said it.

Jack just laughed at her, walking back to the board. "Yes, isn't she lovely? What do you gen-z-ers call this, having a terrifying partner? I think Shen told me once." He scratched his chin. "Ah, I remember. Scary dog privilege!"

[luvr4miya]

Across The Hall (7) | Michael Robinavitch x Neighbor/Teacher ! Reader

Michael Robinavitch x F! Neighbor/Teacher ! Reader

Summary: Michael can’t stop thinking about that night with you. Conflicted but unable to ignore his feelings, he opens up to Jack about what you mean to him. Meanwhile, you receive an educational award, a recognition of your dedication and impact. There’s going to be a ceremony, and Asher promises he’ll be there to support you.

Word Count: 8560

Warning: Age Gap (Mid 20s/ Early 50s)

Authors Note: Hi! Very sorry, I’ve been out of the country for the past week. I’m headed back home. I’m sitting at my gate in the airport as I type this out lmfao. Thank you for being patient. I worked on it when I had access to wifi. Omg when I saw that this part has 28 pages on Google docs. I’m shook lol. I know the slow burn is killing some of you (I’m a sucker for a slow burn I’m sorry not sorry), but buckle upppp bc it’s a long one! Enjoy - ryn

“Hey, are you doing okay?” Jack asked as they stood in the hospital elevator together.

Michael shoved his hands into his pockets. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Jack gave him a look—flat, skeptical. “I’m not talking about work. I already know how you’re feeling about that. I mean… other stuff. Personal stuff.”

Michael’s gaze stayed fixed on the ground, but Jack didn’t let it drop.

Dana had come to Jack during one of the shift changes, asking if he knew what was going on with Michael. She said he’d been off all week, distracted, withdrawn, not quite himself—ever since the Pitfest incident.

She knew how heavy that night had been—how hard it had hit him. Robby was tough; she’d always known that. She knew the kind of trauma he carried, the way he shoved it down deep and locked it away where no one could see.

But it was something other than the trauma he carries.

Jack had shrugged it off at the time. “Robby being Robby,” he’d said. “You know how he gets sometimes.”

But he’d noticed it too.

Michael was present, technically. He clocked in, saw patients, cracked a joke here and there. But behind his eyes, there was nothing. Like the lights were on, but no one was home. And Jack knew Michael, he had known him for years. He knew how he operated, knew the rhythm of his moods.

But this? This was different.

That night with you, it had been eating at Michael. He couldn’t stop replaying it in his head, the way you’d found him crying in his sleep, how gently you’d woken him, how you’d led him, half-asleep and half-broken, back to bed. And how you didn’t leave.

You didn’t ask questions. You didn’t judge. You just laid beside him, quiet, steady, grounding. You curled up like you belonged there, the two of you wrapped in each other’s arms. And for the first time in what felt like months, maybe years, he let himself be held.

It had already begun to blur the lines between friendship and something more. But it wasn’t until the next morning that he crossed a boundary he couldn’t ignore.

You’d been looking through his old photos together, laughing at stories from his med school days, the two of you joking, flirting even. And then, the moment turned. Michael leaned in, hovering over you, too close, too much.

Michael, he didn’t say anything.

But that silence said everything.

And from that, Jack knew something was up. Something Michael wasn’t talking about.

So he shifted gears.

The elevator doors slid open with a quiet chime. They stepped out and made their way to the staff room, heading straight for their lockers to grab their things.

“Hey,” Jack said, casually, “the Steelers game is on tonight. Wanna come over? Hang out? Pizza, beer?”

He tried to keep his tone light, like it was just a regular night. No pressure. No expectations.

But the offer wasn’t really about football. And Michael knew that.

He hesitated, just for a second. Then gave a small nod.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Yeah, okay.”

—

They sat in Jack’s living room, the game playing quietly in the background. The pizza box sat open on the coffee table, half-eaten slices growing cold, a few empty beer cans scattered nearby.

At some point during the second quarter, with the game half-forgotten and the beer flowing a little too easily, Michael started talking.

Really talking.

He told Jack everything, from the beginning starting from the night Aiden flaked on you at Bella Notte to last week, and all the moments in between.

“I’m sorry, you did what now?” Jack laughs in disbelief, nearly choking on his drink. “You were hovering over her? In your bed?”

Michael groans, rubbing his hands over his face. “I’m not repeating what I said.”

“Oh, I heard you loud and clear,” Jack says, grinning like a kid who’s just been handed gossip gold. “But you, Michael Robinavitch, pulling moves? Moves that are—”

“Nothing happened,” Michael snaps, a little too fast.

Jack smirks. “Uh-huh. Right. Except something was clearly about to happen… if it hadn’t been, you know, interrupted.”

“I wasn’t thinking,” Michael muttered.“It just… happened. One second we were joking around, and the next… I don’t know. The lines blurred.”

“Oh, you were thinking,” Jack said, raising his brows and taking a sip of his beer. “Just not with your brain.”

Michael shot him a look. “Quit it,” he said, annoyed.

But Jack only laughed harder.

“I’m only teasing,” he said, holding up a hand in mock innocence. “But you’ve gotta admit this is wildly off-brand for you.”

Michael didn’t respond. He just took a long sip of his beer and stared straight ahead at the tv.

“So,” he said, quieter now, “is she still with her jackass boyfriend?”

Michael exhaled through his nose. “Yeah. As far as I know.”

Jack’s eyebrows lifted again, this time with something softer behind the grin. “Man. That’s rough.”

Jack leaned back into the couch, his teasing finally turning into something closer to concern. “You really like her, huh?”

Michael crosses his arms across his chest and leans back into the couch. . “Yeah. I do…a lot actually.”

Jack let out a low whistle. “That’s… complicated. Especially if she’s still with that guy. What’s his name again?”

“Aiden”

“Right, Aiden the jackass. Pfft, you could take him. I’d back you up. Oh! Or maybe our medical power tools—”

“Jack,” Michael muttered

Jack held up his hands. “I’m kidding! …Mostly.”

Michael shook his head, but the corners of his mouth twitched despite himself.

“I mean,” Jack went on, leaning forward with a grin, “I’ve seen you mad. It’s intense.”

“Jack, I’m not going to fight Aiden… or scare him with power tools. This isn’t high school,” Michael said flatly, shooting him a look. “We’re too grown for that—and you, of all people, should know better.”

“I don’t know…. you sound like a lovesick teenager.”

Jack just grinned. Michael thought he was absolutely ridiculous sometimes. They were both middle-aged men, for god’s sake—but he also knew Jack was half-joking. Mostly.

“Oh come on,” Jack said, undeterred. “You’re not gonna fight for her? I mean, you already blew the whole ‘just neighbors… just friends’ boundary out of the water.” He gave a crooked grin. “Might as well do something about it.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “It’s not that simple.”

“No,” Jack said, his voice softer now, more serious. “It’s not. But neither is sitting on this, torturing yourself every day while she’s across the hall and you pretend like nothing’s changed.”

Michael went quiet. His fingers tightened slightly around the beer can.

Jack watched him for a beat, then leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “You’re not a villain for having feelings, Robby. It’s not like you planned this.”

“I didn’t,” Michael said quickly. Too quickly. His jaw tensed. “But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s a mess.”

Jack shook his head. “You can’t control who you fall for. The heart wants what it wants.”

“I don’t want to be the reason she leaves someone,” Michael said quietly.

Jack gave him a look. “And what if staying is making her miserable?”

Michael’s mouth opened, then closed. He had no answer for that. He swallowed hard, the weight of Jack’s words pressing down on him.

“She deserves to be happy,” Michael finally said, voice low. “But… I don’t know if I’m the one who can give that to her.”

Jack leaned forward, eyes steady. “Maybe it’s not about being the one. Maybe it’s about giving her the chance to find it, whatever that means.”

Jack let out a quiet sigh. “Look…from what you’ve told me? The way you treat her, the way you look out for her, talk about her… You can make her happy. Hell, I think you already do. You just don’t see it.”

He gave a crooked smile, voice softening.

“I know I’m getting sappy here, but I’ve known you a long time. Years. I know your heart, man. And it’s a good one.”

Michael looked at him, something raw flickering in his eyes.

Jack shrugged. “Don’t let fear convince you she’s better off without it.”

He paused, then added with a sidelong glance, “And just because she’s young and you’re… seasoned—”

“Hey,” Michael cut in, shooting him a look.

Jack smirked. “—doesn’t mean you don’t deserve something real. Something good. If anything, it means you’d know how to appreciate it.”

He leaned back, his grin fading into something quieter, more sincere.

“You’ve lived enough to know what love really takes. That’s not a flaw, man. That’s exactly why you’re the kind of person who could make it last.”

—-

You were standing in the elevator when the doors began to close—only to stutter open again as Michael slipped through at the last second.

“Hey,” he said, settling beside you, towering just slightly, looking down with a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

“Hi.” You offered a small smile.

It was awkward, thick with everything unsaid from the past week and you didn’t like it. Neither did Michael.

Since that night, the two of you hadn’t spoken or seen each other much. And yet, just like him, you hadn’t stopped thinking about it that night.

“Were you stuck staying late on shift?” you asked, it was almost midnight.

He shook his head. “Nah. Normal twelve-hour shift, thankfully. I was over at my buddy Abbot’s place. We caught the Steelers game.”

“How about you?” He asks.

“Dinner with some coworkers,” you replied, then added with a faint grin, “And don’t worry, I’ve got my keys this time. I’m sober. No passing out in the hall tonight.” You tried to make light of it, referencing the last time you’d seen each other, hoping humor might smooth over the awkward edge that still lingered.

Michael chuckled under his breath, the sound warm but still a little guarded. “Good to know.”

“Any occasion for dinner?” he asked.

And just like that, the awkwardness began to slip away, the two of you falling back into your familiar rhythm.

The elevator chimed softly and stopped on the sixth floor. The doors slid open, and the two of you stepped out, walking side by side down the hallway.

“Actually, yeah,” you said, a shy smile tugging at your lips. “I’m getting an education award from the state.”

Michael’s eyes lit up. “Congratulations!” His smile was bright, genuine and proud. “That’s amazing.”

“Thank you,” you said softly, your gaze brushing before flicking away.

“There’s gonna be a ceremony for me and other educators receiving awards,” you added, voice light but a little unsure. “Dinner, speeches, the whole nine.”

Michael looked over at you, still smiling. “Wow. That sounds… fancy.”

You laughed gently. “It is. I guess,” you murmured. “It’s kind of surreal. It’s in a couple of weeks. I’m just not used to being… celebrated.”

“Well, you should be,” he said, voice gentler now. “You work your ass off. You care. That matters. Seriously, You deserve it.”

Your heart gave a small squeeze. “Thanks. That means a lot.”

The elevator opened on six, and the two of you stepped out in silence, walking side by side down the hallway.

“I haven’t told anyone yet,” you admitted, glancing down at your keys. “Nobody knows—besides the admin and staff at school.”

You hesitated, then added with a faint, ironic smile, “I haven’t even told Aiden.”

Michael’s brow lifted. “Really?”

“Yeah.” You nodded. “And now that you know, you’re officially the first.”

You reached your doors.

Michael didn’t say it, but he was glad—quietly, deeply—to be the first. He fought the smile threatening to give him away.

“I’ll see you later,” you said, unlocking your door and stepping inside.

The door clicked shut, and Michael stood there for a beat, staring at the door like it might open again. His conversation with Jack played on a loop in his mind—the way Jack had looked at him and said, “You already blew the ‘just neighbors…just friends’ boundary out of the water. Might as well do something about it.”

He didn’t have the courage. Not yet at least.

Then he turned to his door

“Michael, wait!”

He paused, glancing back. “Yeah?”

You reappeared in the doorway, holding out a small folded bundle. “Here—the clothes you let me borrow.”

“If I didn’t give them back now, I’d probably keep them.”

He smiled, a quiet kind of smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Would that have been so bad?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again—unsure what to say.

Why did I even say that? Michael shifted his weight, silently cursing himself. Real smooth—just keep making it more awkward.

“Thanks,” was all he said.

“Goodnight, Michael.”

He nodded once. “Night.”.

And when your door closed behind you, you leaned against it, pressing your hand to your chest, trying to slow a heartbeat. The flirting he’s done has been throwing you in for a loop.

—

You settled in for the evening, the steam of the shower still clinging to your skin as you stepped into fresh clothes. Aiden had come over not long after, casual as ever, his arms wrapping around you like nothing had changed.

You told him the news.

“That’s great, babe,” he said, planting a quick kiss on your lips without really looking up from his phone.

“The ceremony is in a couple of weeks,” you reminded him, watching his expression carefully.

“I’ll be there,” he said casually, finally glancing up.

“Really?”

Your eyes lit up with cautious hope, the kind that had been disappointed before. You wanted to believe him, needed to, but part of you couldn’t help preparing for the letdown.

“Yeah, of course,” he said with a grin, slipping his arm around your waist like that was enough.

You hesitated. “But… what if something comes up at work? You’re not gonna forget, are you?”

He smiled, brushing a thumb along your cheek like he was soothing a child. “You want me there with you, right?”

“Yes,” you said softly. “More than anything.”

“Then I promise—I’ll be there.”

You nodded slowly, forcing a smile even as something uneasy settled in your chest. You wanted to take his word at face value, but it didn’t feel quite real. Not yet. Not until he actually showed up.

“Are you sure?” you asked again, needing to hear it once more.

He laughed lightly, almost dismissively. “Yes, I’m sure! I promise I’ll be there.”

You let out a breath and nodded, trying to lock that promise away like it meant something permanent. And for a moment, just a moment, you let yourself believe him. You let yourself picture him there, smiling from the crowd, clapping as your name was called. Like he was proud of you. Like he saw what this moment meant.

But deep down, a voice you tried to ignore whispered: you’ve heard this before.

—

It was the night of your award ceremony.

Michael knocked on your door, shifting as he stood there, the bouquet of tulips hidden behind his back.

When you opened the door, he nearly forgot why he was there.

You wore a simple, elegant dress—nothing flashy, but it suited you perfectly. You looked breathtaking. It reminded him of that night at Bella Notte months ago, when Aiden hadn’t shown and something quiet but undeniable had begun to bloom between the two of you.

You blinked, slightly startled. You’d thought it was Aiden. But instead, there stood Michael, in his glasses, a t-shirt, hoodie, and jean. Completely casual. Completely him.

Michael blinked back, his mouth parting slightly. Speechless.

You furrowed your brow, half amused. “What? Is there something on my face?”

He shook his head slowly, like he was trying to clear it. “You just…you look beautiful.”

“Oh…” your face flushed, heat rushing to your cheeks. “Thank you.”

“I, uh—these are for you. Congratulations again on your award” He pulled the bouquet of tulips from behind his back, holding them out with a sheepish smile tugging at his lips.

Your expression softened instantly.

“Michael….” you sighed, the word tender, almost breathless, as you took the flowers from him. Tulips, your favorite.

You held them close, smiling up at him. “Thank you, they’re lovely”

“Aiden’s going, right?” Michael asked, his tone casual—but his eyes gave him away. There was skepticism there. Maybe even hope. Hope that, for your sake, Aiden would finally show up when it mattered.

“Yes,” you said, nodding. “He’s meeting me there. I’m catching a Uber”

Michael frowned before he could stop himself. Meeting him there? Catching an Uber? He wasn’t gonna pick you up and take you?

That didn’t sit right. Aiden should be arriving with you. Standing at your side. Proud. Present. Steady.

He didn’t say it, but it lingered behind his quiet response. “Right… yeah.”

You held the bouquet a little tighter, fingers pressing into the stems as if they could anchor you. You pretended not to notice the way Michael was still watching you—his gaze steady, searching.

There was so much Michael wanted to say to you things that had been sitting heavy on his chest for weeks. But he knew this wasn’t the time, and it certainly wasn’t the place. This moment wasn’t about him. It wasn’t about how he felt for you, or how much he hated the way Aiden kept letting you down.

Tonight was about you.

About your heart, your commitment, your quiet strength. About everything you’d poured into your students, your classroom, your community. You deserved to be celebrated—for the impact you made every single day, often without thanks.

So he swallowed the words he wasn’t ready to say, and instead, stood beside you in quiet support. Because that, at least, he could give you tonight.

“I’m uh- heading out actually,” he said gently, nudging his head toward the elevators. “I can walk you outside?”

You turned toward him, surprised but grateful. “Yeah… yeah, okay. My uber should be here soon actually”

You carefully set the flowers down inside your apartment, then grabbed your purse, keys, and phone. Michael waited patiently, offering you a small nod when you were ready.

The two of you made your way to the elevator. When the doors opened in the lobby, you stepped out together into the quiet of the apartment's entrance.

Outside, the air was cooler, the sharp contrast to the warm, crowded hall above. The city hummed in the distance, cars passing, faint music spilling from nearby venues, but it all felt muted, like the world had turned down its volume just for the two of you.

Michael glanced over at you, hands in his pockets. “You sure you don’t wanna cancel your uber? I can just take you” he says, taking his keys out of his pockets ” he offered gently. “I don’t mind.”

You shook your head with a small smile. “No, it’s okay.”

“You sure?”

“Mhm,” you nodded. “Thank you, though.”

He didn’t press—just stood there for a moment, watching you. Then he said, “I’ll wait with you, then. Until your Uber shows up.”

“Michael I’ll be okay, I don’t want to hold you up.”

“Like I’m letting you stand outside alone at night.”

Your phone buzzed. You glanced at the screen. “The Uber’s like… ten minutes away.”

“Michael, the Ubers gonna be here in like 5 minutes”

“5 minutes is enough time for something to go wrong,” he said, then added, “Or for nothing to happen at all. Which would be ideal.”

You knew arguing with him wasn’t going to change anything. He was going to stay—because that’s who he was. The kind of person who looked out for people, even when they didn’t ask. Especially when they didn’t ask.

You fought back a smile, despite yourself.

The sound of a car pulling up broke the quiet.

Michael stepped forward without hesitation, opening the door for you. “Here,” he said softly.

You slipped inside, the warmth of the car a relief against the chill night air.

Your hand lingered on the door handle.

“Thank you,” you murmured.

“Yeah of course”

Michael gave a small nod, his eyes steady on you for a moment before he stepped back.

The door closed gently, and the car began to pull away.

——

Aiden never showed.

You reminded him. Weeks before. Days before. The night before. You called, texted him.

And still… he never came.

Your coworkers asked where your boyfriend was or if you were there with someone, their smiles were polite but curious.

You gave a soft excuse. One that could have been true—Something came up, a family emergency.

You accepted your award, the weight of it grounding in your hands as the applause echoed around you. You stepped up to the mic, gave your speech—clear, heartfelt, steady. A smile touched your lips as camera flashes sparked across the room, capturing it all.

But inside, your heart was breaking.

You scanned the crowd instinctively, even though you already knew. Aiden wasn’t there.

You’d told yourself it wouldn’t matter—that the night would still mean something. That the recognition, the moment, would be enough.

But you felt completely empty. Alone.

After accepting your award, you made up your mind—you were leaving. You knew you should stay, celebrate the other educators being honored, but you just didn’t have it in you. The disappointment sat heavy in your chest. You had let yourself believe he was actually going to show… that this time, maybe, he meant it.

Clutching your award tightly, you made your way down the stairs of the entrance of the banquet hall, each step echoing your resolve to go home and forget this night.

Then you saw him.

Aiden was rushing up the stairs—out of breath, eyes scanning—until they landed on you. Both of you froze.

You didn’t say anything. Neither did he.

“I—” he started, but stopped himself. He looked down, noting the award in your hand, then back at you. “I’m late.”

You blinked, slowly. “Yeah.”

“But…I’m here…”

“Only after the fact”

“I tried to get here in time. I really did.”

Your fingers clenched a little tighter around the award. You swallowed the lump rising in your throat and forced yourself to stay calm. “But you didn’t.”

He took another step closer, hesitant. “Something came up with the case. It wasn’t what I planned.”

You nodded, lips pressed together. “It never is!”

“You said you’d be here! I actually believed you this time. God, do you know how embarrassing it was? Everyone had someone supporting them, by their side— I was completely alone!” Your voice breaks

“I said I’m sorry!” he snapped, moving toward you. “I’ll go to another one. Come on, there’s gonna be others—”

“Others?” You stared at him. “Are you kidding me? This was it! I was awarded by the state, Aiden. This isn’t some participation ribbon! This was a big deal! A moment to acknowledge my dedication—”

He cuts me off “Okay, dedication for babysitting kids all day?”

You froze.

“Babysit kids?” Your voice dropped to a whisper, sharp and stunned. “Is that what you think I do? Seven hours a day, five days a week, 10 months out of the year?! Babysit kids?!”

Your voice rose. “Are you fucking kidding me?!” You wanted to throw your award at him for saying that.

“What do you want me to say?!”

“That you care! That you understand! That you see me!”

The words shot out of you like they’d been waiting, burning, buried for too long.

“That you love me…” your voice breaks into a sob

“I do love you!”

You shook your head, swiping at your cheeks with your hands.

Without a word, you continued down the steps, heels echoing against the stone until you reached the pavement at the base of the stairs, just outside the building.

Aiden followed you down the stairs, running a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I’m doing the best I can—”

You took a shaky breath. “I don’t need perfection, Aiden. I never did. I needed you to show up. And you couldn’t even do that for me.” You turn to face him.

“You’re being dramatic—”

“Dramatic?” you echoed, your voice shaking. “For wanting to matter? For wanting someone who actually sees me?”

Aiden exhaled sharply, looking away. “You always twist things—”

“I twist things?” you said, your voice rising with disbelief. “You forgot my award ceremony, Aiden! You said you’d be there. You flaked on dinner, never fixed the window like you promised, and you bailed on Career Day! Michael wouldn’t have—”

The second his name slipped out, regret slammed into your chest. You hadn’t meant to say it. You didn’t even know why it came out—but it had. And now it hangs between you like a lit match over gasoline.

You froze, breath caught in your throat. Aiden’s eyes narrowed. “Michael? As in your neighbor? What about Michael?”

You looked away, shame creeping in.

“What about Michael?!” he repeated, louder now, voice sharp. “You clearly meant to say it. So what—how long have you two been hanging out behind my back?”

“He’s my friend,” you said, trying to stay calm.

“Friend?” Aiden scoffed. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

“Yes. Just a friend.” Deep down you knew he was something more.

He shook his head slowly, the pain in his expression unmistakable. “Feels like more than that.”

“It’s not,” you said, your voice strained. “It’s not like that.”

But it was.

You knew it, even as the words left your mouth. A lie—small, desperate, meant more for yourself than for him. You tried to deny it, to push the truth back down that you felt something for him where it couldn’t reach you.

“Then why bring him up in the middle of our fight?” Aiden shot back. “Why compare me to him?”

You exhaled, voice quiet but unwavering.

“Because he’s there, Aiden. He shows up.”

Aiden stared at you, stunned. “So that’s it? That’s the bar now? Just, showing up? What do you think I’m doing now?!”

“It’s not the same!” you snapped. “He remembers things I tell him! He asks about my day! He listens when I talk! He sees me!”

“Oh, and I don’t?” His voice was rising again, hurt curdling into anger. “Now I’m the bad guy because some neighbor with too much free time knows how to make small talk?”

Aiden's eyes locked on yours, hard. “So what, you want to be with him?”

You blinked, heart pounding. “I want to be with someone who treats me like I matter.”

That stopped him. His jaw clenched, but he didn’t speak.

You kept going, your voice quieter now—measured, but unwavering. “This isn’t about Michael. It’s about us. About how I’ve felt completely alone in this relationship. Like I’m constantly waiting…waiting for you to remember, to care, to just try! And in the meantime, someone, anyone, treats me like I matter, and it makes the distance between us feel even bigger.”

His expression shifted, guarded now. “And I’m just supposed to accept that this epiphany of yours, this sudden hunger to be ‘seen’—has nothing to do with him?”

A bitter laugh escaped him. “Come on. You’ve thought about it. About him. Don’t insult me.”

You hesitated. Just for a moment. But it was enough.

For a moment, he looked at you and something shifted in his face. A flicker of recognition, a crack in his defenses. But it didn’t soften him. It hardened.

He scoffed, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Wow. So that’s what we are now? A placeholder until someone else makes you feel seen?”

You flinched. “No-”

“No?” His voice was sharp, brittle. “Because it sure as hell sounds like you’ve already made your choice.”

Your chest tightened. “I haven’t made any choice. I’ve been asking, begging through my actions, what I do—for you to be present, to care about something that matters to me.”

“You think I don’t care?” he snapped. “I’m drowning in this case! I’m trying to build something—”

“And in the process, you’ve left me behind,” you said, the ache in your voice undeniable. “I needed a partner. Someone who shows up, even when it’s inconvenient. Someone who chooses me, even when it’s hard.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it, eyes dark and unreadable. For once, he had nothing to say.

You swallowed hard. “Michael didn’t take anything from you. He didn’t steal your place. You gave it up. One forgotten moment at a time.”

The silence stretched between you, thick and unforgiving. Aiden looked away, jaw working, emotions warring behind his eyes.

He shook his head slowly, voice low. “So that’s it. I screw up one night—”

You cut him off, fierce now. “It’s not one night, Aiden. It’s all the nights before this. The missed dinners, the forgotten promises, the way I’ve been begging for scraps of your attention while you bury yourself in work.”

Your voice broke, raw and honest. “Aiden, I’ve been right here, trying. You’re the one who’s been miles away.”

Aiden’s eyes burned with anger, jaw clenched tight. “So that’s it with us?”

You swallowed hard, your heart twisting. “No… I don’t know what this is anymore.”

“And what about Michael?” He spat the name like a challenge.

His eyes narrowed, voice low and fierce. “So all this time, you’ve been hanging around him? Thinking about him? While you’re still dating me?” He scoffed. “Unbelievable.”

You shook your head, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I don’t know what I’m thinking anymore! Part of me still wants to fight for us—for what we had in the beginning. But…” Your throat tightened. “I’m scared I’m holding onto a version of you that doesn’t exist anymore.”

For a split second, something flickered in his eyes, maybe, but it was buried just as quickly beneath the weight of his anger.

“I can’t keep doing this alone,” you added, almost pleading.

Aiden turned toward the door, jaw tight, ready to leave—but you stepped in front of him, blocking his path, desperation bleeding into your voice.

“Aiden, wait. Don’t leave like this. Please.”

He froze, but he didn’t soften. His fists clenched at his sides as he stared at you, his voice tight with frustration. “Maybe I should. Maybe that’s what you want anyway.” He paused, bitterness rising. “Someone like Michael.”

The name hung heavy between you—too loud, too sharp.

Your breath caught. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” he snapped, stepping back. “You say you don’t know what you’re thinking, but you sure seem to know where to run when things fall apart.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. Just turned and started walking, fast.

You hesitated for a second—then followed. “Aiden!”

He didn’t stop. Didn’t even look back.

By the time you caught up, he was already in his car, yanking the door open like he couldn’t get away from you fast enough.

You hurried after him, heart racing. “Aiden don’t walk away! Just talk this out with me’”

“Talk?! Is that what this is?! There’s nothing to talk about!” he snapped, one leg already in the car.

“Aiden, please—” you reached out instinctively, desperate, your voice cracking under the weight of everything falling apart.

“Don’t.” His voice was sharp. Final.

And then he slammed the door.

The engine roared to life, headlights flashing, and without another glance in your direction, he peeled off—tires screeching as he disappeared down the street, leaving you alone on the sidewalk, breathless and hollow.

The sob tore out before you could stop it. Another followed, harder this time. Your whole body trembled. Each breath came jagged, raw. All the pain, all the emotions you’ve been harboring inside your heart finally made its way out.

You didn’t know how long you stood there, crying. The world blurred and shifted around you, cars passing like shadows.

Without thinking, you set your award down on the curb and pulled out your phone, fingers trembling as you dialed his number.

Aiden’s words echoed in your head—You sure seem to know where to run when things fall apart.

And maybe he was right.

But right now, you didn’t care.

Because with Michael, you felt safe. You didn’t have to explain every feeling, or hold yourself together for someone else’s sake. You knew you could rely on him. And tonight, more than anything, you needed that comfort.

You needed him.

—

Michael was at the bar with a mix of day and night shift crew, the usual haunt after a long, draining week. Some still had shifts ahead of them, others were finally off for the weekend, but for now, they were all crammed around a long high-top table, half-empty pint glasses and plates of shared appetizers scattered between them.

Laughter rippled through the group as John Shen, a nightshift attendant, launched into another story from his med student days—something about an embarrassing moment he had in med school.

Michael sat in his chair, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he took a sip of his water. He was just starting to relax when he felt the buzz of his phone in his jeans pocket.

He fished it out, still half-listening to the punchline, until he saw the name on the screen.

His smile faded.

Your name flashed across the screen.

Sliding his finger across to answer, he pressed the phone to his ear, covering the other with his hand to block out the bar noise.

“Hello?”

“Michael?”

Your voice was soft, shaky. Just the way you said his name made something twist deep in his chest.

Something was wrong.

“What happened? You okay?” he asked, already leaning off the barstool.

“Alright, who wants another round?” Mateo Diaz, one of the dayshift nurses called out as he stood.

“Blue Moon!” someone shouted.

“Vodka soda!”

“Whiskey, neat!”

“Dr Robby, drink?” Mateo asked, raising his nearly empty beer glass toward him.

Michael shook his head, hand pressed tighter over his free ear to hear you better.

The voices on your end were quieter—but over the bar’s noise, he could still hear your breath catch.

You hesitated. Then, hearing the laughter and clinking glasses on his end, you spoke again, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Shit… right, you’re busy. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just—”

He heard it then.

Not just the words, but the way your voice cracked on the last syllable, small and raw. You were crying.

He tried to keep it light, just enough to steady you. “Changed your mind about the Uber, huh?”

He knew it wasn’t the best time for jokes, but maybe—just maybe—you’d give him the faintest laugh.

“Something like that.”

He closed his eyes briefly. He didn’t want to assume—but his mind was already jumping to the only explanation that made sense.

Aiden.

“Yeah. Text me where the ceremony is,” he said, voice low and steady. “Hang tight—I’m on my way.”

“Okay.”

“Hey—don’t wait outside for me, alright? Stay in the lobby. I’ll come get you. I’ll see you in a few”

He hung up. Michael headed back over to the table grabbing his hoodie from the stool he was occupying moments ago.

“Hey—everything good?” Jack asked, frowning as he turned toward him.

Michael shook his head, jaw tight. “Jackass Aiden…I don’t think he show up for her award ceremony”

“You’re kidding,” Jack muttered, equal parts disbelief and disgust.

“Just- something happened. I’m gonna go get her.”

“Wait—damn. I was supposed to be Mohan’s DD tonight,” Michael said, suddenly remembering. “You think—?”

“I got Samira. I only had one—I’ll call it a night on drinks,” Jack said.

“Mo!” Michael called out across the table.

Samira Mohan, still in her scrubs with her hair pinned back, looked up.

“I gotta head out. But Abbot’s gonna give you a ride, okay?” he said, giving Jack’s shoulder a squeeze.

Samira glanced between the two of them, then nodded. “Okay.”

Jack offered her a small smile, nodding. She returned it, soft and understanding.

Jack looked away from her gaze, still a little embarrassed about the time he’d awkwardly tried to flirt with Samira—right after a heart procedure, during the chaos of the PittFest incident.

It hadn’t landed.

She’d just stared at him, confused, like he’d spoken a language she didn’t understand. The whole thing had gone completely over her head, and honestly… he was still recovering.

There was a quiet admiration he held for her, one he didn’t quite know what to do with.

“Dr. Robby leaving already?” Mel King, a resident, sat back straight on her stool with her club soda in front of her.

Trinity Santo, an intern at the edge of the table, arched a brow at him. Next to her sat Dennis Whitaker, a fourth year med student.

“Something came up. I gotta head out,” Michael replied, already pulling on his hoodie.

Mateo returned just then, balancing a tray of drinks. He paused when he saw Michael slipping away.

“What? No way! It can’t be your bedtime already, Dr Robby!” Mateo cracked, handing out bottles and glasses with a grin.

Michael rolled his eyes. “Get home safe, all of you. Make good choices!”

A scattered chorus of “Later, Robby!” And goodbyes followed him.

Princess Dela Cruz and Perla Alawi leaned toward each other, whispering in Tagalog, eyes tracking Michael as he left.

“What, are you too gossiping about now?” Jack raises his eyebrow.

“Nothing” they say at the same time.

Trinity, who’d been quietly sipping her drink, looked up with a smirk. “Apparently… rumor has it Robby has a girlfriend.”

Both Princess and Perla snapped their heads toward her.

“Traitor!” Perla hissed.

“What?” Trinity shrugged, totally unfazed. “You know I speak Tagalog, And anyway, it’s not like you guys were being subtle. Everyone in the ER was gonna find out eventually. Might as well start the betting pool now.”

“Aww, Dr. Robby has a girlfriend?” Mel cooed, genuinely delighted. “That’s sweet.”

“No way Robby has a girlfriend,” Mateo said flatly, shaking his head. “I mean it’s Robby. He’s been lone wolfing it for a while”

“You’d be surprised. He dated Jake’s mom—Janey—but that was ages ago,” Princess pointed out.

“I heard from someone that he had dated Dr. Collins,” Samira chimed in.

“Did he really?” Dennis asked, brows furrowing in surprise. “I thought they just…butted heads each other.”

“I think they did,” Perla said, lowering her voice with dramatic flair. “There was a lot of tension between them back in the day. Like, a lot.” She nods knowingly.

“But he's attending and she’s a resident…that is not allowed?” Mel speaks up

“We’ve seen a lot of things—but hey, that’s none of our business.” Princess says

“Yeah, but you still gossip about it.” Trinity side eyes Princess.

“Well, we work twelve-hour shifts. Gotta keep ourselves entertained somehow.”

“Entertained?” Samira snorted. “You practically run the hospital’s rumor mill.”

“Oh my god, would you all quit it?” Jack cut in, laughing. “We’re really sitting here dissecting Robby’s dating history?”

“If anyone should know his dating history it’s you! You’re his best friend! He tells you everything,” Princess said, pointing her straw at him.

“Not everything,” Jack said, holding up a finger.

“Eh, but mostly everything,” Perla teased.

“So tell us,” John said, looking straight at Jack. “Robby got a girlfriend? Is that who he’s ditching us to run off to?”

The entire table went still. Drinks paused mid-air halfway to lips.

All eyes locked on Jack.

He sighed, leaned back in his chair, and gave them that maddening, unreadable expression.

“I can neither confirm nor deny.”

There was a beat of silence—

Then Trinity slapped her hand on the table. “Twenty bucks says he is.”

“I’m in,” Dennis said quickly, already pulling out his phone to keep track of the amount and who was betting.

“Are you guys serious right now?” Samira laughed, raising an eyebrow as the table lit up with energy. “We’re betting?” Samira raised an eyebrow, but she was smiling.

“Thirty says she works at the hospital,” Princess grinned.

“Fifty says she doesn’t even work in medicine,” Perla added.

The table erupted into overlapping chatter and laughter, everyone talking over each other, money getting thrown down, wild theories flying left and right.

Mel, sitting back, shook her head with a small smile. “You’re all ridiculous. Leave the poor guy alone.”

“We should get more staff in on this. You know who’d be all over this? Becky from pre-op. She’s got spreadsheets for this kind of thing.”

“Oh God,” Jack groaned. “Please don’t start a bracket.”

“He’s gonna have your asses when he finds out you’re making bets on his relationship status,” Jack warned.

“Well, he doesn’t need to know… now does he?” someone quipped.

“This is good for group morale,” Perla added innocently. “You know—bringing us together as one.”

Jack just groaned, rolling his eyes—but he couldn’t help the chuckle that slipped out.

——

Michael saw you.

You were sitting on the steps outside, arms wrapped tightly around yourself like they were the only thing holding you together.

He called out your name, voice laced with concern.

You turned, eyes swollen, face streaked with tears.

“Michael,” you breathed. You stood up.

Without another word, he closed the distance between you and wrapped you in his arms, gently pulling you into him.

“I told you to wait inside,” he said softly.

His arms encircled you—steady, warm, protective. His grip was firm, grounding you as you broke down against his chest. One hand stroked your hair, slow and soothing, while his chin came to rest lightly on the crown of your head.

He let you cry, saying nothing. Just held you, patient and silent.

After a while, when your sobs had softened, he finally spoke.

“Hey,” he murmurs, voice low. “Look at me.”

But you only cling to him tighter.

“Sweetheart,” he says, softer now. “Look at me.”

The term of endearment catches you off guard. You sniffle and glance up at him through damp lashes.

He brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb gently wiping away the tears on your cheek.

“Are you hurt at all?” he asks, pulling back just enough to assess you, the ER doctor flickering through in his careful gaze.

You see the worry in his eyes..

You shake your head.

He studies you for another long moment.

“You sure?” he asks, dipping his head slightly, trying to catch your gaze as your eyes dart away.

He searches your face, quietly, carefully—looking for the truth. For any flicker of doubt or something unsaid hiding behind your eyes.

You nod, “Yes, I promise”

You hug him again, as you continue to cry.

Then he nods, gentle and certain. “Okay…okay Shhh. It’s okay, sweetheart”

He pulls you into him again, his arms wrapping around you protectively. His hands rubbing your back. Swaying the two of you softly.

—-

Michael took you for a walk, helping you regulate your emotions.

The two of you didn’t speak, walking in silence. Your crying had subsided, but your eyes still felt heavy, the weight of everything pressing down on you. You wished you could say something—anything—to fill the quiet, but the only sound was the gentle rustling of leaves as you walked side by side.

Neither of you was in a rush. The walk stretched on without a clear destination, and you weren’t sure how long you’d been walking—only that the coolness of the evening air had begun to settle on your skin.

Eventually, you reached a small park tucked into the city, just across the street from Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. It wasn’t far from where the banquet had been held, or where Robby had parked his car.

The two of you sat on a cold metal bench near the park’s aging fountain. The water trickled softly behind you, barely masking the distant blare of horns and the occasional echo of a siren cutting through the night. But here, in this spot, Michael felt like everything felt quieter. Slowed.

A breeze passed, lifting a few strands of your hair. Michael didn’t say anything. He just sat beside you, elbows on his knees, waiting, holding space, letting you have the space to speak, if you wanted.

Michael and some of the day and night shift staff sometimes hung out in this very spot to decompress. They’d pop open a beer or two, leaning back on the benches or sitting in the grass. It was their go-to when they didn’t feel like heading to a bar—when they wanted something quieter, more intimate. A laid-back place to breathe, unwind, and just exist for a while.

“Let me guess, Aiden didn’t show,” he mutters. That’s another thing to add to the growing list of disappointments since Aiden became friends with you—flaked on dinner, jammed your window, missed career day, and now your award ceremony. What’s next?

You nodded your fingers gliding over your award.

“He did… but he showed up late. We got into this huge fight. I just blew up at him. I told him how important this was to me…and then I brought up…”

You stop, debating whether to tell him he made it into the argument.

You decided not to.

“-everything I’ve been feeling just poured out…”

You sit the award beside you on the bench.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “That he wasn’t there to support you… to cheer you on. I’m sorry he keeps breaking promises. And for not being there in the way you needed him to be.”

You were shivering and a cool night breeze blew.

Without a word, Michael shrugged off his hoodie and gently draped it around your shoulders. The warmth of the fabric—and of him—seeped into your skin. He held the collar for a moment longer than necessary, steadying it on you, steadying you.

You looked up, and he didn’t look away. The air between you shifted—soft, fragile, electric.

Neither of you moved at first, but then, slowly, as if pulled by something, you both leaned in. Your breaths mingled, noses nearly brushing, his eyes flicking to your lips. And then, just before they could meet, you stopped.

Instead, you rested your forehead against his, your breath catching.

He didn’t move away. Didn’t pull back. Just stayed there, his hand still on your shoulder, grounding you.

His voice was barely audible, but it cut through the quiet. “Why are you with him?”

He paused, and in that quiet, you felt the weight of everything he wasn’t saying—his confusion, his hurt, maybe even jealousy.

Then, he gently pulled his head back to look at you. His brows were drawn, eyes searching yours like they were trying to find the answer you couldn’t give.

Slowly, he reached up and cupped the side of your face, his palm warm against your skin. His thumb moved in a slow, tender arc across your cheek—a silent comfort, a wordless plea.

“I just… I don’t understand why you stay”

You didn’t answer right away—because the truth was, you didn’t know anymore.

“I don’t know,” you whispered. “I just… part of me wants things to work. It wasn’t always like this in the beginning. But now…”

You looked down, your voice faltering.

“Now it’s like he’s a stranger. Like I’m holding on to someone who isn’t even there anymore.”

“He’s a man, Michael. He’s just… complicated.”

Michael’s jaw tightened. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, but firm.

“Aiden’s a boy—not a man. And there’s a difference.A man won’t make you question whether you’re loved,” he continued. “He won’t make you beg for affection, or feel like you’re asking for too much just by wanting to be seen.”

You stood there, breath caught somewhere between your chest and your throat, heart pounding with everything he was saying—and everything he wasn’t.

Michael looked at you for a long moment, then shook his head softly, almost in disbelief.

“You’re so kind,” he said, voice low. “So damn funny, so smart—God, the way you light up when you talk about the things you love…you deserve so much more than this. So much more.”

His eyes softened.

“Thank you, Michael. For everything. For always being there for me. You’re… a great friend.”

You didn’t see him as just a friend. Not even close. But the moment didn’t feel safe enough—you didn’t feel safe enough—to say what you really meant. So you pushed it down, wrapped it in gratitude, and handed it to him like it was all you had to offer. But you said it anyway. It killed you to say them.

And it killed him to hear them.

But he just nodded, eyes steady, even as something in him quietly broke.

The two of you drove back home in silence. When you stepped into the elevator, he stood beside you, hands in his pockets, close but careful.

At your door, he hesitated.

“You gonna be okay?” he asked gently.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

You leaned in, brushing a soft kiss against his cheek. His eyes closed for the briefest second, like he was memorizing the feel of it.

When you pulled back, his gaze lingered on you. He looked like he wanted to say something. Like he wanted to close the distance and kiss you, really kiss you—but he didn’t.

Instead, he just looked down at you, a war in his eyes.

“Goodnight” he whispered

“Goodnight”

You stepped inside your apartment and closed the door quietly behind you. The stillness inside felt heavy, like even the walls were waiting for you to say what you didn’t. You leaned back against the door, eyes closing as a slow exhale left your lungs.

Regret pressed down on you.

You should’ve told him the truth.

That he wasn’t just a friend. That he never had been. That the way he made you feel, steady, grounded, safe, was unlike anything you’d ever known. With Michael, you felt seen, heard, understood in ways you hadn’t thought possible. He made space for you without asking for anything in return. And still… you’d called him a friend.

But you said it anyway.

Because you were scared. Not of him—God, no—but of what it would mean if you let yourself fall for someone like him.

Someone who showed up. Someone who didn’t run. Someone who looked at you like you were worth something.

And deep down, you didn’t believe you were. You told yourself he deserved better. That he could do better.

But none of that made the ache go away.

It only made it worse.

Then came a knock.

Your heart jumped.

Maybe this was your chance. Maybe it wasn’t too late to take it all back, to say what you meant instead of what felt safe.

Maybe you could change it all.

If you were brave enough.

You opened the door.

“Aiden.”

Tags: @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere @beebeechaos @antisocialfiore @delicatetrashtree @xxxkat3xxx @homebytheharbor @woodxtock @letstryagaintomorrow @livingavilaloca @elkitot @annabellee88 @hagarsays @emma8895eb @the-goddess-of-mischief-writing @jazzimac1967@lafemme-nk @kmc1989 @whos6claire @harrysgothicbitch @trustme3-13 @qardasngan @silas-aeiou @k3ndallroy @ohmystrawberrycheesecake @ay0nha @404creep @dantemorenatalie @obfuscateyummy @steviebbboi @alliegc28 @catmomstyles3 @ardentistella @madprincessinabox @circumspectre @the-one-with-the-grey-color @thatchickwiththecamera @violetswritingg @valutfromlune @baileythepenguin @galmorizethechaos @capj-1437 @airgoddess @nah2991 @interestellarprincess @laurensfilm @peachjellyy

[luvr4miya]

Stages of life

Pairing: dad!Joel Miller x mom!reader Summary: After your daughter's birth you follow her through the bumby road, but she turns to Joel every time she needs help. Warnings: established relationship, pure fluff, soft family moments A/N: Thank you for the request @i-workwithpens!

It starts as a joke—something careless you say one night with your head curled up beside Joel on the couch, your belly thick and warm in your palms. You're almost six months along, puffy in some areas you used to be flat, worn out in ways sleep can't help. The baby is kicking fiercely now, sometimes with such force it takes your breath and sends a hand reflexively to your ribcage. But every time Joel's hand grazes across your belly, she goes rigid. Silent as a tomb.

"She's shy," you tease, glancing up at him as he rubs his thumb in slow circles over the taut skin.

"She's stubborn," he growls. "She doesn’t like me already."

"Don't say that."

"It's the truth," he mutters, frowning like it hurts. "Every time I touch you, she gets stiff like I'm some kinda stranger."

You attempt a smile, but there is a furrow between his eyebrows that you've come to recognize—something beyond annoyance. It's worry. And you understand where it comes from.

You lift a hand, combing your fingers through the graying ringlets at his temple, smoothing them back with as much gentleness as you can find. "You're not a stranger," you say quietly. "She's listening. That's all."

He snorts. "What, like I'm saying ghost stories or something?"

You just shrug, smiling a little. "She hears you talking and she settles down. That's good."

But he doesn't look as if he believes you.

And in the weeks that follow, you notice the way he quiets down with her, is less sure of himself. He still kisses your belly goodnight. Still whispers to you of things he believes you can't hear. But every time he hopes, patiently waiting for even the smallest flutter back—the only thing he gets is nothing. Her stubborn resistance continues. Even Ellie teases him about it one night at dinner, goading his bruised ego with that distinctive smirk of hers. Joel tries to shoo her away, but you can tell it's still simmering somewhere just beneath the surface.

“She'll see sense," you tell him in the dark. He just kisses your shoulder and breathes as if he's not sure he knows it.

And she's born.

She arrives on a rainy morning, early and informal. Just a low, persistent ache that cuts too sharply. It's Joel who keeps you steady during the worst of it, holding you up by the hands as you lean against him and gasp your way through every wave as if your body were tearing itself apart. He speaks to you the entire time, voice like gravel and honey in your ear, reminding you that you are strong, reminding you that you have this, calling you baby so many times it nearly breaks you.

And then she's there.

Small and furious and slippery with the rawness of new life. Her crying is like something holy echoing in the room. You're sobbing before they lay her on your chest. You didn't expect that, the effect of the tears—how full and empty you become all at once. Her warmth on your skin, her weight, her voice. Overwhelming the way nothing ever was.

Joel is rigid beside the bed, his hand covering his mouth, wide eyes brimming with tears as he glances from you to your daughter as if he can't decide which to keep watch on.

“You want to hold her?" the nurse whispers.

He nods—stiff and quiet—and lets them guide his hands. You see them carefully place her in the crook of his arms. He's shaking. You can tell. His fingers automatically circle around her tiny back as she sobs, flushed face and creased in protest.

But the moment he speaks—"Hey now, there you are, sweetheart"—she stiffens.

Immediately.

Not asleep. Just still. Her face turns towards his voice, her breathing steadies. You catch the exact moment when it hits him. His whole body eases, as if something inside of him has let go. He leans back in the chair beside the bed with her cradled in his arms, holding her so lightly you can barely breathe to watch.

“She stopped cryin',” he says after a beat, shocked. "She—did you see that? She heard me and just… "

You nod once more, already crying. "Told you she was listening."

His thumb traces the curve of her head. His face transforms—slowly, carefully—into one you've never quite seen. Utter awe. Utter breathless wonder.

"She's so little," he whispers. "I thought Sarah was little, but this… she's so damn small."

You reach out, your fingers brushing against hers—her fist clenched in sleep—and glance at him. "She already knows you," you say to him. "She always did."

That night, when the nurse returns to take vitals and check on you, your daughter screams in her bassinet until Joel takes her up for the umpteenth time. She won't settle into your arms. Won't even settle into the nurse's. Only Joel. Only him.

He's awake for hours, going slow and steady with her clutched close to his chest. You're lying in the bed, dazed with exhaustion and euphoria, your heart racing with how fast it's all coming and how wonderful it feels anyway.

And as the dawn break, Joel falls back into the chair beside your bed, half-closed eyes and rasping voice whispering lullabies you never knew he knew.

"She's ours," he breathes, pressing his lips to her forehead. "She didn't kick me 'cause she was waitin' for this.”

You shut your eyes, hunched over your flattening belly, and listen to the cadence of her breathing on top of him—so soft, so relentless.

And maybe she didn't kick.

But now, she won't release him.

——

The colic starts when she is about five weeks old.

At first, you tell yourself it's just gas, or overtired fussiness. But it's unavoidable after a week straight of late-afternoon tantrums that build to inconsolable wailing no matter how much you rock, feed, burp, bounce, or beg. She rigidifies in your arms, fists balled, face purple, her small lungs filled with bottomless fury, and you—tired, sore, still sore from giving birth—feel powerless in a manner that devastates you.

You try everything. Warm baths, soft lullabies, different bottles. Ellie even knits a blanket that smells like lavender and lays it across her crib with a hopeful shrug. “Worked for one of the kids back in the QZ,” she says, rubbing sleep from her own eyes after being woken for the third night in a row.

But nothing does. Your daughter screams and flails like the world did her an injustice. And you cry, silently, as you pace the hall in the dead of night, your body still remembering the weight of pregnancy and now finding the weight of powerlessness.

It's Joel who figures it out.

It happens by accident. He's coming home late after a long patrol shift, sweat seeped into the collar of his flannel, his legs throbbing with fatigue. He kisses your cheek, reaches to take her from you without thinking—just to give your arms a rest.

And the instant he holds her—she stops.

Not completely. There are still hiccuping gasps and small, trembly whimpers. But the storm passes. The wailing subsides. Her cheek drops to the soft cotton of his shirt, her little body crumples into his chest like it's the last safe place left in the world. And you just stand there, jaw hanging, blinking like you dreamed it.

Joel looks at you, amazed. "Was that… did she just stop?"

You nod. "She… yeah. What the hell?"

He gazes down at her. His large hand holds the back of her small head with protectiveness. "I didn't do anything."

"You did something."

He shrugs slowly. "Maybe she just—needed her daddy."

And from that night on, she does.

Whenever the colic hits—between six and nine at night like clockwork—you hand her over to him, and she melts within minutes. He occasionally hums to her low under his breath, songs you recognize from old records and a few that you don't. He occasionally paces with her through the kitchen, barefoot, while dinner remains congealing untouched on the stove. And sometimes, after the crying's been especially bad, you get out of the shower to find them both asleep on the couch, her tiny fists balled in the collar of his shirt, her breath warm against his neck.

No sense in denying it any more. She's a daddy's girl. Through and through.

You pretend to be indignant at first. "She was mine for nine months," you say him one night, pseudo-scowling at them as Joel rocks her in the glider you insisted on putting by the window. "I should be her favorite."

Joel smirks, that annoying little curl of his lips. "Guess I grew on her."

"She didn't even kick for you."

He stoops, kisses her soft, fluffy head, and then looks at you. "That's because she was savin' it. Had to make a dramatic entrance."

You smile, but there's a catch in your throat. Because what you really feel, down deep, beneath all the joking jealousy, is awe. You knew Joel would love your daughter. That wasn't even a question. But you didn't expect the way he loves her—fiercely, tenderly, like everything inside of him has shifted to make space for her.

You catch glimpses of them together in the kitchen every now and then. She cuddled into his chest, hand clasped around one of his fingers. His nose buried in her hair, inhaling slowly, whispering words that no one else is meant to hear. And it hits you, again and again, how lucky she is. How lucky you both are.

One night, following a particularly bad bout of colic, Joel sits up with her long after midnight. You wake to find him rocking gently in the dark living room, her tiny body snuggled against his bare chest. He doesn't realize you're there at first, so you hold still, hidden in the doorway.

“You got her fight in you," he whispers. "But you’ve both got my heart. And you’ve got me wound around your little pinky."

You fist your hand over your mouth, the words slicing into something within you. He's whispering to her like he's telling secrets to the stars, voice gravelly and reverent.

"She scares me sometimes," he admits in a hushed voice. "You too. Scare me because I love you so much, I don't know what I'd do if anything ever…"

His voice breaks.

You step forward then, unable to keep quiet any longer. He turns, eyes meeting yours, and you don't say anything. You just go to him, rest your forehead on his shoulder, wrap one arm around both of them.

And you sit there like that till morning.

Since if there's anything you've learned—it's that your daughter may have kept her kicks to herself, but now that she's here, she's chosen her person. Chosen him.

And Joel? He'd move heaven and earth to keep her safe.

Even if it's staying awake the whole night, every night, just so that she can sleep in peace.

——

You feel her presence before you hear her—tiny padded footsteps along the floorboards like whispers, the creak of the bedroom door opening just enough to let in the cool air and a sliver of moonlight.

Then, in a soft voice:

"Daddy?"

Joel stirs next to you before you can even completely open your eyes. A sleep roughened purr rumbles in his chest as he rolls in the direction of the voice. The blanket rustles, his arm reaching out automatically.

"'M right here, baby," he mumbles, still half asleep. "What's wrong?"

You roll onto your side, blinking in the dark. She's already crawling up onto the bed, dragging her blanket behind her like it's a lifeline. She doesn't even glance at you, doesn't look your way. Her everything is directed at Joel—her daddy, her safe haven.

He shifts over to make room for her, pulling the covers up quietly. She scrambles into the place on his chest like she's done it a thousand times, although she's a bit older now. Joel draws the blanket over her, one strong arm wrapping around her small body.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" he urges, making slow circles on her back.

She sniffles, and your heart goes out.

"There was something in my room," she whispers, her voice trembling with leftover fear. "It didn't say anything. It just stared at me from the corner."

You sit up a little, the familiar concern igniting in your chest, but Joel's already got her—already making soft noises, already pushing the damp strands of hair away from her forehead like it's second nature.

" Ain't nothin' in your room," he mutters. "Promise. You just had a bad dream. Happens to everybody."

Her voice fades. "Even you?"

"'Course," he says. "Even me. Had one last week."

"What was it about?"

He hesitates for a moment, then answers as he always does when she's scared—honest, but kind. "Dreamed I lost you and your mama. Woke up in a sweat."

She gasps. "But we're right here."

He nods. “Exactly. Just a dream. Not real. Just like that thing in your room.”

She burrows deeper into him, her cheek against his chest. “I hate nightmares.”

“I know, baby. But they can’t hurt you. Not while I’m here.”

And that’s it. That’s all she needs.

She shuts her eyes, holding on to him with all of her. Her breath catches steady. Her hands, which had been fists clenched into the collar of his shirt, begin to unwind.

And you—seeing the two of them wrapped in their own gentle little world—feel a pang of something complicated. Not jealousy. Not really. Just that deep, reverent ache of witnessing someone love your child so entirely that it changes who they are.

She could have come to you. Should have, maybe. You’re the one who carried her, nursed her, bandaged her scraped knees and sang lullabies in the kitchen while making dinner.

But it’s Joel she wants when the world feels too big. Joel she calls for in the dead of night. Joel whose arms are the ones that tell her she’s safe.

You lie back down slowly, listening to her even out, her body settle. Joel's eyes lock with yours in the darkness, his hand still on her back.

"She okay?" you whisper.

He nods. "Just scared."

You reach across the bed, your fingers brushing over his. "She loves you so much."

He doesn't answer right away. Just looks down at the little girl curled into him like a second heartbeat. Like his shadow.

"She… she always comes to me," he whispers at last. "Like she knows I need her to."

You feel your throat tightening.

"She trusts you," you whisper.

Joel's voice is rough as he swallows. "I never had this before. Not with Sarah. Not like this. Missed out on so much. Sometimes I don't feel like I deserve it."

"You do," you say. "You do, Joel. She knows that. That's why she comes to you."

He nods, but it doesn't come immediately. He leans and presses a kiss to the crown of her head, slow and sure.

And then—you watch him fall asleep with her wrapped in his arms, their breaths falling into sync, his need to protect her so embedded in his bones that he doesn't need to be awake to defend her. It's instinct. Natural.

She doesn't stir for the 

Other half of the night.

In the morning, when she wakes up, she's giggles and cartoons again, coming down from bed like nothing is wrong, asking for apples and oatmeal.

But you don't forget.

And neither does Joel.

Because it's always him she seeks out when her world becomes a little too much. Always him she requires when her nightmares get bad. Not because she doesn't love you. But because something within her—something old and primal—understands that Joel Miller was built to keep people safe.

And when it's his daughter? He becomes immovable.

A wall. A beacon. A soft place to fall.

And she'll never lose her way back to him.

——

It's late spring in Jackson, sunny warmth pouring gold across the yard like honey, and when you swing open the back door with a towel draped across your shoulder and water clinging to your hands from washing dishes for breakfast, the sight stops you.

Joel is in the stable yard, one hand holding firm the reins of a chestnut mare, the other only lightly on the waist of your daughter—your seven-year-old daughter—who sits at present in the saddle, eyes aglow, cheeks flushed, legs dangling in those far-too-large borrowed boots as if born to riding.

"Joel Miller," you call, attempting to have your voice even, but your heart is already pounding.

He looks up at the commotion, and that skanky, guilty smile you all know so well spreads across his face. The one that says I was naughty to hide it from you but look what happened.

You walk over to them gradually, squinting against the sun. "You'd like to explain why our daughter is riding a horse without her mom knowing about it first?"

"She's not on it by herself," he says, as calm as if nothing big is happening, and pats the saddle horn like it was the most ordinary damn thing in the world. "Been here the whole time."

Your daughter giggles, wrapping both hands around the horn. "Mama! See! She likes me. I can tell!"

You go to her side, taking hold of her boot to hold her back. She sits tall and proud, appearing older than you're ready for.

"Joel…"

"She asked," he breathes softly, leaning in. "Said she wanted to try it. And I figured—hell, I learned about the time she was around. Just a little ride. I'm walkin' the whole way."

You allow your eyes to wander among them—his steady hands, her shining face, the guarded way in which he's entwined the rope across his wrist. Each precaution. Each shreds of intent. And still your stomach tightens.

"She's seven."

"She's careful," he says to you. "And I'd never let something happen to her. You know that."

You exhale, pressing your fingers against your temple.

The truth is—he's right. Of course he is. You've seen him fix fences, sharpen knives, heft heavy feed sacks with her awkwardly balanced on his hip. He's a man who moves through the world like danger is a certainty and safety is something you build with your own two hands. And he's never failed her. Never failed you.

That horse doesn't even shift under your daughter's light weight. Her ears fold back as Joel strokes her neck.

"I picked Rosie because she's such a gentle horse. Used her when I taught Benji a few summers ago," he goes on, in a gentle, wheedling voice.

You fold your arms across your chest. "You should have told me."

"I know," he admits. "Just, she was so damn happy, I didn't want to wait. She was up at dawn drivin' my ear crazy."

Your daughter elbows along over the saddle horn, her face lifted to the sky. "I wanna ride with Daddy every day, Mama. She walks slow and I'm real good at hangin' on. He said I was a natural."

Joel smirks. "She is, too. Kicked her heels like she's been watchin' the wranglers from the porch since birth."

You narrow your eyes at him, then the horse, then her. The scene is so them it almost aches—him in his old flannel rolled to the elbows, boots dusty, legs braced for balance; her with wind-tossed curls, a halo of sunlight catching the fine hairs along her forehead, joy practically pouring out of her.

You sigh. “Alright. But I’m watching. And no trotting. No tricks. No letting go.”

Joel lifts a hand, somber. "Scout's honor."

She reaches down from the saddle and catches him around the shoulder. "Let's go, Daddy! Giddy-up!"

He smiles, gathering up the reins and clicking his tongue. Rosie starts to move forward slowly and steadily, hooves cracking on gravel. And you stand there in the sunlight, arms crossed tight across your chest, heart bursting and breaking.

Because although you know it's safe—although you know he's being careful—you still feel the fear in your chest. The hopelessness of it. The hurt of being the one she didn't go to first.

And yet… as they ride the pasture together, his hand never letting go of the reins, her laughter echoing back to you like music, something gives.

Because he's not merely giving her a ride—he's filling her with confidence. Freedom. Happiness.

You sit on the fence for a while, watching them walk back and forth, her shrieks, his urgings, the way she looks back over her shoulder at him every few strides like she's on a string to him with more than reins.

They come finally in a full circle. Joel swings her down from the horse with a softness, as if she were still a baby, and she springs the last couple of inches into the grass, running towards you.

"Did you see me, Mama?" she cries, all smiles and sunshine. "I was flyin'!" You drop to your knees and pick her up, brushing dirt from her knees. "I saw, baby. You were so brave."

She hugs you for a second before turning back to Joel, her voice already fading as she cries, "Can we do it again tomorrow?!"

He gazes up at you, silently asking the question once again without ever uttering a word.

You give the barest nod.

——

It starts like it always does—quietly. She doesn’t say where they’re going, not exactly. Just asks him softly at the breakfast table while you’re pouring coffee, her voice a murmur beneath the scrape of a chair. “You wanna go for a hike later? Just us?”

Joel doesn't even look up. Just nods, slow and matter-of-factly, as if it was always in the cards. "Yeah, sure. After I help Tommy with that post."

You see the look she gives him—hastily, grateful, relieved. You recognize that look. You've had it yourself back in the days.

And when they leave, it is like watching two halves of the same stubborn heart walk down the hill, her rucksack one size too big for her, his hand gentle on her shoulder to coax her over the rough ground.

She doesn't walk like a little girl anymore. Her legs and arms are long, coltish. Still filling out into her, still knees and elbows and floppy sleeves, but now her gait is purposeful. Her voice more confident. And because you've been catching glimpses of it. That she lingers by the mirror in the morning. That she ties her braid up more securely. That she brushes her teeth twice without being reminded.

You know it is coming. This section. The section where she is less yours and more herself. It starts slow—always does—but today, as you watch them disappear over the ridge together, you can sense it. The turning point.

It's getting dark when they return. Golden light burning across the horizon at their backs, their dark forms approaching together on the path back to the porch. She's carrying a small bunch of wildflowers in one hand, her cheeks wind-whipped, eyes shining with something you can't quite put your finger on yet.

Later, when you’re rinsing dishes and Joel comes in to help dry, he bumps your hip with his.

“She’s growin’ up,” he murmurs, low so she can’t hear from the living room.

You glance over your shoulder. She’s curled up in the armchair, sketchbook in her lap, pencil moving in slow circles.

“What happened out there?”

He shrugs. But it’s not the careless kind. It’s the kind that says a lot and nothing I’m ready to put words to.

You turn the water off and lean your hip against the counter. “Did she say something?”

He nods once. His face is unreadable, but his voice is soft. “Told me about a boy.”

Your breath catches. Not from surprise. Just the weight of hearing it aloud. “Oh.”

"Only a crush," he continues in a rush. "Told me it ain't serious."

You tilt your head. "Did she already tell Ellie?"

He nods again. "Told Ellie she laughed and told her to say something to me. And she did."

And now his mouth curves into that soft, bitter smile that always cinches your chest. The one he wears when she asks for his help to fix something. Or calls him Daddy even though most girls her age have moved on to Dad. The one he wears like a badge of honor, as though he's scared that if he grins too much, he'll lose it all.

“She trusts you,” you remark quietly, picking up a new dish towel.

“She always has.”

It isn't until afterwards—when she's in bed and the house is still—that Joel will recount the rest to you. The trail she chose, the same one they'd been on since she was nine. The way she stood in wait until they struck that flat rock along the stream before she spoke a word. Hands jammed into her hoodie sleeves, voice lowered.

"There's this boy," she'd said, looking out at the water. "He's… kinda dumb. But funny. And nice."

Joel hadn't answered right away. Just nodded, letting her get her balance. Letting her decide how much she wanted to share.

She kicked a rock down into the creek. "He helped me haul a basket of supplies from the greenhouse. He didn't have to."

Joel had knelt beside her, elbows on his knees, his voice gentle. "Sounds like he's all right."

She'd shrugged. "I dunno. I just—my stomach does this funny thing when he talks to me."

He'd smiled. "That means you like him, sweetheart."

And then she'd looked up at him, her eyes wide and hopeful, and sighed, "I didn't wanna tell Mama yet. I wanted to tell you first."

You see it on Joel's face when he tells you that bit. The way it cracked something open inside him. The way it made him feel as though the whole world had folded in upon itself to encompass in that one moment.

"Told me I always listen first. That I don't freak out." He smiles a small, soft smile, rubbing at his jaw. "Said if she'd told you first, you'd be going on about chaperones and curfews before she'd even gotten the whole thing out."

You roll your eyes, but you don't argue. You know it’s the truth.

"She asked me if I ever had crushes when I was her age," he says, his voice softer now. "Told her I didn't really. Not like this."

And then, softer yet: "Told her I knew it was different when I met you."

"You're a good dad," you whisper, your hands braced on his chest.

He inhales slowly over your hair, arms locked around you, as if hanging on is the very thing holding him in place.

"Just. I don't want her to get hurt."

You nod against his chest. "She may. But she'll come to you when she does. And then you can kick that boy’s ass."

And that, both of you know, is more than either of you could ever hope for.

[luvr4miya]

ᴄʜʀɪs ᴛᴀʟᴋs ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴsʜɪᴘ ᴏɴ ᴀ ᴘᴏᴅᴄᴀsᴛ

Summary: chris goes on the Zach Sang show to talk about his relationship with you.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Chris was finally ready to open up about your relationship on the Zach Sang podcast. He was nervous, sure. But more than that, he was excited. He wanted to show you off, to let the world know about the woman who had completely stolen his heart. He talked about you with nothing but admiration in his voice, calling you beautiful, kind, and the best thing that’s happened to him.

You were nervous too. You knew how fan girls could be, and the internet didn’t always play fair. But still, after three months of being together, Chris saw you as so much more than just a girlfriend. In his eyes, you were his future wife. And deep down, he knew it was time to share a little piece of his happiness with the world.

Before the cameras started rolling, Chris sat in the podcast studio with Zach, fidgeting slightly as he admitted he wanted to bring up his girlfriend, he wanted to talk about you. but he wasn’t sure how to ease it into the conversation. He didn’t want it to feel forced. Zach smiled and told him not to worry. He said he’d kick it off by casually asking how Chris’s love life was going, and that would be Chris’s moment to open up about you.

The podcast kicked off with light chatter about Chris’s career, his recent projects, what was next for the triplets, and their upcoming tour. The energy was upbeat and casual. Then, with a knowing smile, Zach shifted gears and asked, “So, how’s the love life going? Have you been dating around?”

Chris’s face lit up instantly, a grin spreading across his face. “Actually, yeah,” he said, his voice full of quiet pride. “I’ve been dating one really special girl for the past three months.”

Zach leaned in, curiosity peeked. “So, who’s this special girl?” he asked with a grin.

Chris smiled even wider and said, “Her name’s Y/N.” He explained that some fans had already started speculating after the two of you were spotted walking together in downtown LA. Since you were an influencer too, people quickly connected the dots and recognized who he was talking about.

Zach asked how the two of you met, and Chris didn’t hesitate, “We met through social media,” he said. “And honestly, we clicked right away. We spent hours on the phone, just talking and getting to know each other. Like, hours and hours. It felt effortless.”

He went on to say that you eventually flew out to LA so you could meet in person, and that’s when everything changed. “We pretty much fell in love,” Chris said, a soft look in his eyes that said it all.

Chris’s expression softened as he talked about you.

“She’s just, everything,” he said, shaking his head with a small laugh, like he still couldn’t believe his luck. “She’s smart, hilarious, insanely beautiful , but it’s more than that. She makes me feel calm. Like I can fully be myself around her.”

He went on, his tone full of admiration. “She’s got this big heart, heart of gold like, she genuinely cares about people. Whether it’s her followers or her friends, she always goes out of her way to lift people up. And the way she supports me? I’ve never had that before. She’s my safe place.”

Zach smiled, clearly moved. “Damn, man, you sound very happy.”

Chris just grinned, eyes lighting up. “I am. I really am.”

Zach leaned back in his seat, thoughtful for a moment before saying, “You’ve talked before about being scared of relationships, about how dating always kind of freaked you out. So, what made her different?”

Chris paused for a second, his smile softening. You could tell he was thinking carefully. “Honestly,” he began, “I was scared. I’ve been through stuff, trust issues, pressure, not knowing if people were with me for the right reasons. I always felt like I had to keep my guard up.”

“But with her,” he continued, “it just felt different. There was no pressure. No games. From the first conversation, it was easy. She made me feel safe. Like I didn’t have to perform or pretend. She saw me,the real me, and didn’t run from it. She embraced it.”

Zach smiled and leaned in again. “What’s been your favorite memory with Y/N so far?”

Chris’s eyes lit up as the memory came back to him. “Oh man, there’s a lot, but one that always sticks out was the first night she came to LA.” He laughed a little to himself. “We were supposed to go out to dinner, but we ended up just staying in, ordering way too much takeout, and sitting on the floor of my apartment eating and talking for hours. Like, until 3 a.m.”

He smiled to himself, clearly replaying the moment. “At one point, she fell asleep on my chest mid, conversation, and I just remember thinking, yeah. This is it. I’m in trouble.”

Zach grinned. “That sounds like something out of a rom com.”

Chris shrugged, still smiling. “It felt like one.”

Zach smirked a little, clearly enjoying the conversation. “Okay, what’s the most romantic thing you’ve done for Y/N so far?”

Chris laughed and rubbed the back of his neck, a little shy. “I’m not usually the over the top romantic type, but, there was this one night.”

He smiled to himself as he recalled it. “She mentioned once that she always wanted to have a picnic under the stars, like, just something simple but meaningful. So one weekend, I surprised her. I took her up to this quiet little spot in the hills outside of LA. I brought a blanket, all her favorite snacks, her favorite wine, even brought a little speaker to play her comfort songs.”

He paused, eyes soft. “We laid there for hours just talking and looking up at the stars. I remember she looked over at me and said, “This doesn’t even feel real”. That moment, it kind of locked it in for me.”

Zach let out a low whistle. “Man, you’re setting the bar high.”

Chris laughed, “She deserves it.”

Zach tilted his head, getting a little more serious. “How do you navigate being in a relationship while juggling your career, and the fact that your girlfriend’s just as busy with hers?”

Chris nodded, like he had expected that question. “It’s definitely not always easy,” he admitted. “We’re both constantly on the go, whether it’s filming, traveling, meetings, content deadlines. But we make it work because we both want to.”

He explained, “We’ve made communication a huge priority. We FaceTime every night, even if it’s just for ten minutes while one of us is half, asleep. We send little updates throughout the day, voice notes, random pictures, just stuff to feel connected. It’s those small things that matter.”

Chris smiled. “We also plan ahead. If we know there’s a free weekend coming up, we block it off and make sure it’s for us. Even if we just chill on the couch and do nothing, we enjoy that time. And we’re always cheering each other on, even from a distance.”

Zach nodded, clearly impressed. “Sounds like you’ve got a really solid foundation.”

Chris looked down, smiling softly. “Yeah. She’s worth the effort every time.”

Zach leaned in just a little, the question more personal now. “Are you nervous about how fans are going to react to you dating Y/N? Like, are you worried about how they’ll treat her?”

Chris took a deep breath and nodded honestly. “Yeah, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little nervous.” He paused, choosing his words with care. “I know how passionate fans can be, and I get it. But at the same time, Y/N is someone really special to me. She didn’t ask for the opinions that come with it, she just happened to fall in love with someone whose fan base is mostly women.”

He smiled softly. “What I hope people see is how happy she makes me. And how genuine she is. She’s not with me for attention or clout, she’s got her own thing going, and she’s incredible at it. She supports me in ways I never expected, and I’ll do everything I can to protect her.”

Chris glanced toward the camera and added, “I just hope that the people who support me will support her too, because she’s become such a big part of my life. And I love her. Simple as that.”

Zach asked, “Are you planning to post anything on your socials before the podcast goes live? You know, because some fans might miss the episode.”

Chris laughed and nodded. “Yeah, definitely. On the day the podcast drops, I’ll probably share a cute picture of us, something that shows how happy she makes me. Maybe a snap from one of our walks in LA or just a candid moment where she’s laughing. I want my fans to get a little glimpse of what she means to me, even if they don’t catch the whole interview right away.”

He smiled, eyes lighting up. “It feels right to share that part of my life with them. She’s a big deal to me, and I want everyone to know it.”

Zach grinned and leaned in with playful curiosity. “Okay, before we move on, I gotta ask one more thing. First kiss. When was it? How’d it happen?”

Chris laughed, shaking his head like he wasn’t expecting the question but secretly loved it. “Man, the day after she flew to LA, We’d spent the whole evening just hanging out, talking nonstop like we always do. There was this moment, she was sitting across from me, wrapped in a hoodie, hair a little messy from the plane, and I remember thinking, God, I’m so gone for this girl.”

He smiled at the memory. “She got quiet for a second and just looked at me with those eyes, and I couldn’t help it. I leaned in, and she met me halfway. It wasn’t planned or dramatic, it was just soft, and slow, and it felt like something that had been building for a while. Like a sigh of relief.”

Zach let out a quiet, “Awww,” and Chris just chuckled. “Yeah. It was one of those moments you don’t forget.”

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Taglist❤︎:

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[luvr4miya]

 ˖ 𐔌 𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐂𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬࿐ .

જ⁀➴ Desc: || Lando is loving his new life as a family man, making time and moments with them count. With his baby girl in the picture now, life couldn't be more perfect. Until, the media crosses a line it shouldn't. ||

Change it all ((Read First if you haven't))

ᯓ★ (Husband!) Lando Norris x Fem! (Wife) Reader

ᯓ★ 1x Genre: Fluff, Angst

ᯓ★ Warning: Sad Sebastian, pissed off Lando, but nothing really major.

ᯓ★ Requested? Yes

Author Note: Here for you all! Maybe one day, I can make a fic where all the kids to the drivers spend time together. Feel free to request any time you want. Here is Lando being a dad again, and by far a good one.

☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★

It was early morning in the Norris flat nestled in the hills of Monaco, where the sky glowed with a soft pastel light and the sea reflected gold from the slowly rising sun. The hush of dawn hadn’t yet been broken — the kind of peace that felt borrowed, fleeting, like the quiet before a favorite song starts. It was moments like these that made everything feel real. Lando’s arm was draped across your waist, his breath warm against your shoulder, the covers tangled between your legs.

What was once a sleek and stylish bachelor’s flat had transformed into something entirely different over the past few years — still elegant, still Monaco — but lived-in now, softened by crayon marks on walls that wouldn’t wash off, scattered Lego bricks in the corners, and the sound of little feet that never really stopped moving.

What remained just as surreal as the view outside was how completely Lando had embraced his role as a father — to both your children. He had stepped into Sebastian’s life when your son was only three, never once blinking at the challenge of loving a child that wasn’t biologically his. And now, with Lyla — his own daughter — nothing had changed. If anything, he seemed more determined to make sure Sebastian never felt a difference. He claimed him proudly, in every interview, every post, every loving gesture that quietly said: this boy is mine.

You felt his fingers flex sleepily around your waist, his face buried into your neck.

“I hear those feet…” you murmured with a tired grin.

Lando groaned in reply, eyes still shut, his curls tickling your shoulder as he shifted. “I’ll count down from five…”

You laughed softly. “No need. They’re moving at the speed of light.”

Before either of you could react, the door swung open with the force of a hurricane. Seven-year-old Sebastian shot into the room like a missile, socks skidding against hardwood before he leapt onto the bed with zero hesitation. The mattress bounced with the impact, jostling both of you as Lando let out a dramatic oof and you burst into giggles.

Trailing behind him, in a much gentler and wobblier fashion, was Lyla — her two-year-old curls still tousled from sleep, thumb halfway to her mouth, but her determination never wavering. She used the edge of the bed to hoist herself up, little knees clambering with practiced effort until she was nestled beside you.

Sebastian grinned wide, face already lit with excitement. “Do you know what today is?!” he asked, bouncing on his knees as if it were Christmas morning.

Lando blinked sleepily at him. “Hmm… let me guess, buddy… your birthday?”

Sebastian collapsed dramatically across Lando’s chest. “Nooo! Guess again!”

“My birthday?” Lando teased, pointing at himself.

Sebastian giggled, shaking his head. “No, Daddy! It’s practice day! For my race!”

Lando gasped with mock horror. “You’re right! How could I forget? That’s way more important than a birthday!”

You watched them with a smile, pulling Lyla into your arms as she giggled softly and tucked her head under your chin. You kissed the top of her curls and rocked gently.

“Well, you two boys have a busy day,” you said with a knowing smirk.

Lando shook his head, sitting up with Sebastian still draped across him like a backpack. “We all do! Come on, let’s go out afterward! Make a day of it.”

You raised a brow. “You know how Lyla does in public,” you said gently, voice full of motherly concern. “She gets overwhelmed, and—”

He reached for your hand, his thumb brushing soft circles across your palm. “I’ll be there. I’ve got her. I’ve got all of you. Always.” His voice was low but full of that quiet conviction that never failed to ground you.

You leaned in, kissing him softly. A moment shared — peaceful and full of promise.

“Ew!” Sebastian whined loudly, slapping his hands over his eyes. “Mommy, don’t! That’s so nasty!”

You and Lando burst out laughing, the kind that made your ribs hurt and your heart feel full.

“Okay, you two,” you said, wiping your eyes as you sat up straighter. “Time to get moving. I’m in charge of breakfast this morning. And Daddy…” you glanced at Lando with a smug smile, “…is on bath duty.”

Sebastian groaned. “Noooo! He takes forever! He sings and makes it a whole concert!”

Lando threw up his hands. “Hey, those bath-time concerts are award-winning, thank you very much!”

Lyla clapped her hands together and squealed, “Dada!” as she wrapped her arms around his neck, giggling as Sebastian squished himself into the cuddle pile, too.

You watched them — your people. Your chaotic, messy, absolutely perfect morning crew — and for the thousandth time, you felt that deep swell in your chest. Not just love. Not just gratitude.

You moved with ease around the kitchen, the familiar rhythm of cooking grounding you as the smell of cinnamon, scrambled eggs, and warm toast filled the air. The stovetop sizzled softly, and you balanced flipping pancakes with keeping an ear open for the usual chaos that trailed your mornings like a shadow.

Lyla was happily soaking in the tub just down the hall, her rubber duckies bobbing lazily across the sea of bubbles. You could hear her humming to herself, splashing now and then, her high-pitched giggles bouncing off the tiled walls. Meanwhile, from the adjacent bedroom, came the sound of father and son negotiations — or, more accurately, a fashion debate.

“All the girls are gonna want me looking this good!” Sebastian declared proudly, his voice echoing slightly through the open doors.

Lando laughed. “You're absolutely right, champ. It’s exactly how I won over your mom.”

You paused mid-stir, brow raised, lips twitching into a half-smile as you rolled your eyes toward the ceiling. “He’s really using that line this early in the morning?” you muttered to yourself, shaking your head with amusement.

“She fell hard for the curls,” Lando continued dramatically, fluffing Sebastian’s hair as if he were preparing him for a red carpet event.

“I knew it!” Sebastian said, puffing out his chest in front of the mirror. “Girls love cool hair.”

Back in the kitchen, you moved to plate breakfast with practiced grace, sliding fluffy pancakes onto warm dishes, eggs just the way Sebastian liked — slightly runny but not “gooey” as he insisted — and a few cut strawberries on the side for Lyla. You were used to this: multitasking like a magician with a wand in one hand and a spatula in the other.

Soon enough, the family made their way to the table — Lando drying his hands on a dish towel, Sebastian practically skipping with excitement, and Lyla toddling in behind them, curls still damp and cheeks pink from her bath. You had her sit in her booster seat at the end of the table and gently wrapped a towel around her tiny shoulders to catch any drips.

As she munched happily on her pancakes, you stood behind her, carefully sectioning her hair with nimble fingers, your voice low and soothing.

“Let’s try something cute today, hmm?” you murmured, twisting soft little curls into a half-up bun, securing it with a gentle clip that matched her tiny shirt — a pale blue one with little clouds on it.

“She looks like a doll,” Lando said with a grin, watching as Lyla turned to flash him a syrupy smile, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk.

“Dada,” she giggled, smearing her fingers on her tray.

“Okay, helmet?” Lando said, turning back to Sebastian and tapping into race dad mode. “Gloves? Shoes? Suit? Water?”

Sebastian nodded along confidently, his mouth full of toast. “Helmet, check. Gloves, check. Suit, double check. And I already put my water in the bag. See?” He held up a small bottle with cartoon lightning bolts on it, grinning as Lando gave him a mock salute.

“You’re on it, little champ,” Lando said, reaching out to tousle his hair again — carefully, of course, so as not to undo the masterpiece they had just created.

You finished pinning Lyla’s bun, stepping back to admire your handiwork before letting out a soft sigh. “You two go over that list every morning like you’re heading into space instead of a kart track,” you teased, raising an eyebrow as you leaned on the back of Lyla’s chair.

Lando leaned back in his seat, throwing his arm casually around Sebastian’s shoulders. “Well, we could be astronauts. You never know what kind of traffic we’ll hit on the way.”

Sebastian laughed. “Space traffic!”

You shook your head, chuckling. “Mmm, sounds like someone’s been watching too much sci-fi with their dad.”

“Never too much,” Lando said with a wink. “Besides, if he’s going to be the youngest world champion in karting history, he’s got to be prepared for everything. Meteor showers. Tire punctures. Mid-race alien invasions.”

“You two are hopeless,” you said, brushing a crumb off Lyla’s bib before leaning down to kiss her cheek. She turned to smoosh her pancake against your chin in response.

“See?” Lando said, watching the sticky chaos unfold. “This is why you’re in charge of breakfast, and I’m in charge of bath-time concerts and emotional support.”

“You do bring the chaos and the comedy,” you said, laughing as you wiped your chin with a napkin.

Lando stood and stretched, his shirt rising just slightly over his stomach as he groaned like an old man. “Alright, team. Finish up, grab your things, and let’s get this show on the road!”

Sebastian hopped up with an enthusiastic, “Yes, sir!” and darted off to find his shoes.

Lando leaned in as you helped Lyla down from her seat, planting a kiss at your temple. “We make a good team, huh?”

You smiled, glancing down at your daughter’s syrup-stained curls. “The best.”

ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Sebastian sat in the backseat with his head leaned gently against the window, his dark curls freshly brushed and bouncing slightly every time the car hit a bump in the road. He watched the trees blur by, his little face glowing with joy, occasionally pointing out passing birds or funny-shaped clouds. The soft hum of his humming, offbeat and sweet, filled the car like background music to a peaceful morning.

Beside him, Lyla sat in her car seat clutching her plush bunny in one hand, the other rubbing her tired eyes. Her lashes were still damp from her bath, and her tiny mouth hung open in a sleepy pout. You glanced back at her with a soft smile before turning your head toward Lando, your arm resting lazily on the center console as the morning sun spilled into the car.

"You know," you began, your voice quiet and careful, "about that upcoming race… are we gonna talk about it?"

Lando didn’t glance at you — his focus stayed on the road, jaw slightly tightening. His hands adjusted subtly on the wheel, knuckles tensing for just a second. "Not in front of the kids," he muttered, almost under his breath. "Would be nice to just… have a peaceful drive."

You hummed in understanding, nodding slowly. He wasn’t wrong. You’d learned by now that Sebastian didn’t handle his absence well — not even short trips. The kid was emotionally aware, always had been. And as much as Lando tried to explain race weekends and schedules, it always came back to one thing: Why can’t you just stay home with us?

You looked over your shoulder again at Lyla, who was still fighting sleep. Her thumb rested near her lips, and you could see the way her small frame stiffened every time the car rolled past more people on the sidewalks. You sighed.

“She’s already tired, poor thing,” you murmured.

"Yeah, she was that way after her breakfast." He pointed.

You nodded again. “She’s still not comfortable in crowds.”

The car grew quiet. You both hated that part — not because you minded adjusting for her, but because it hurt to see her so afraid of the world. Your arms were her hiding place, your scent the only thing that calmed her when strangers’ eyes overwhelmed her. There were times she'd sob, clinging to you like her life depended on it, and only Lando’s calm voice and protective arms could slowly settle her.

“I still don’t understand it,” you said softly, shaking your head. “We never pushed her. Never forced her into loud spaces or too many people…”

“Sometimes it’s just how they’re wired,” Lando offered, his voice calm but laced with concern. “It doesn’t mean anything’s wrong with her. She’s sensitive. She feels things deeper than other kids. That’s not a flaw.”

You smiled faintly, reaching over to squeeze his hand on the gearshift. “Well, I want you to know… we’ll be expecting you to come home.”

He finally looked at you then, just for a second — his eyes warm and filled with love. “I love my family,” he said firmly. “I'd be a fool not to wanna be home with you guys.”

A peaceful silence fell over the car. You soaked in the moment — Sebastian's quiet joy, Lyla’s sleepy breathing, the comfort of Lando’s presence beside you. The kind of moment you wish you could bottle up forever.

Then your phone buzzed sharply in your bag, breaking the stillness. You glanced at it, saw the name light up on the screen, and tucked it back into your purse without a word.

Lando noticed. His eyes darted to you, then back to the road. “Who was that?” he asked, his tone casual — but just barely.

You exhaled. “You know who’s dad…”

His grip on the wheel tightened slightly. He didn’t say anything at first, just stared out ahead, jaw flexing. His shoulders tensed, the kind of reaction that told you he was fighting the urge to say something harsh — not in front of the kids.

“He has no reason to call,” Lando said at last, his voice low, controlled.

You nodded, your lips pressing together. “His excuse is he wants to build a bond with Sebastian.”

Lando scoffed, his laugh bitter and humorless. “Bullshit,” he spat. “Build something with him? Firstly, that’s my son.”

You stayed silent, listening — because you knew what was coming, and he had every right to say it.

“I don’t recall him claiming Sebastian when I came into his life at three years old,” Lando continued, eyes hard on the road. “Where was he then? Hm? When Sebastian was asking why his dad didn’t come to the school play? When he needed someone to tie his shoes or wipe his tears or sit through every damn dentist appointment?”

You reached across the console and laid a hand on his arm. His voice cracked slightly.

“He needs to find someone else to play parent with,” he said, a tremor of protectiveness in his throat. “Because it won’t be my son.”

You let the words linger for a moment, feeling the weight of them settle in the car like dust.

“I know,” you said quietly. “I didn’t answer. I won’t. Not until I know Sebastian is safe. Emotionally, mentally… he doesn’t get to mess with his heart just because he’s feeling guilty or left out now.”

Lando glanced at you again, softer now. “You always protect them.”

“So do you,” you whispered, smiling faintly.

From the backseat, Sebastian’s voice chimed in, unaware of the heaviness in the front.

“Are we almost there?” he asked, kicking his feet happily.

“Almost, champ,” Lando called back, voice instantly warmer. “You ready to win today?”

“Always!” Sebastian grinned.

Lyla blinked her eyes open, her gaze locking on you. You reached back and brushed a curl from her cheek, watching as her face relaxed at your touch.

“Oh! I like this song!” Sebastian piped up from the backseat, his little voice bubbling with excitement.

Lando glanced at the rearview mirror and smirked, reaching forward to turn the volume knob up just a little. “Classic,” he said with a grin, recognizing the tune.

Sebastian immediately started singing along — a little off-key, but enthusiastic nonetheless, his shoulders bouncing with every beat. Lando, unable to resist, joined in, throwing in a dramatic harmony that made Sebastian laugh.

You turned your head to watch the two of them for a moment — your son with flushed cheeks and bright eyes, and the man who’d become his entire world, belting out lyrics like they were the headliners of a sold-out concert.

“You two are something else,” you murmured with a fond smile, shaking your head.

The front of the car erupted in playful chaos, with Lando drumming his hands on the wheel and Sebastian pretending to play air guitar. You pulled out your phone, instinctively hitting record. You captured it — the laughter, the music, the sunlight dancing across their faces — and posted it to your Instagram story with a simple caption: my boys 💛

There was something so peaceful about that moment. You didn’t need anything more. It was messy and loud and filled with love.

When you finally arrived, the hum of excitement still buzzed between all of you. Sebastian jumped out first, eyes wide and full of anticipation. Lando stepped out after him, grabbing the gear bag with one hand and Sebastian’s smaller one with the other. You moved to the back to get Lyla, who was still curled up in her car seat, her bunny clutched tightly to her chest.

You gently lifted her out, her body molding instantly to yours, her head tucking into your neck as her tiny hand gripped your hoodie.

“She’ll be okay,” you whispered softly, kissing her temple.

Lando came around to your side, brushing a hand down Lyla’s back as he looked at you. “It’s just a crowd,” he echoed quietly, as if saying it would make it true. “She’s gonna be okay...we’re here.”

You both nodded, but it was more for yourselves than anyone else.

Lyla whimpered a little as voices swelled in the distance, and you adjusted her in your arms, shushing her gently. You found a seat away from the crowd, tucked near the fence, giving her the space she needed to feel safe while still watching everything unfold.

Meanwhile, Lando led Sebastian toward check-in, walking side by side as if this were their own little pre-race ritual. He helped him unzip the duffle, pulling out the race suit and setting it down over the bench.

“Alright,” Lando said, kneeling down beside him as he began helping Sebastian into his suit. “You got this. I know you do. But remember, don’t push too hard. If someone’s being reckless, let them pass. We’re not here to crash. We’re here to finish.”

Sebastian nodded, his expression serious. “You always say that,” he muttered, pulling one arm through his sleeve.

Lando smirked. “Because it’s true. Some of these kids? They don’t play fair. But you do. You’ve got a good heart, and good instincts. That’ll take you farther than a shortcut ever will.”

Sebastian was quiet as he finished adjusting the suit around his waist, fiddling with the zipper. Lando’s brow furrowed slightly. He knew that silence — it wasn’t focus. It was doubt.

“Hey,” Lando said, crouching down again and lowering his voice. “What’s going on in that head of yours, kiddo?”

Sebastian looked up at him, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “It’s just…” he hesitated. “The other kids… they say I’m only good because of you. That I don’t actually work hard. Some of the parents too. I didn’t mean to listen in but… they talk loud enough.”

Lando’s eyes darkened, his jaw tightening. He didn’t speak for a moment, processing it.

“They say it’s just handed to me,” Sebastian continued, looking down. “And when I win or do something good, no one really cheers for me… not like they do for the others.”

Lando blew out a slow breath through his nose, trying not to let his anger show too much. He knelt fully now, hands resting on Sebastian’s shoulders.

“Listen to me,” he said, voice firm but gentle. “You are good because you work for it. I don’t care what any of them say. I help you — I coach you, yeah — but I’m not the one on that track. You are. You’re the one who gets in the kart. You’re the one who focuses. You’re the one who takes what we practice and makes it happen.”

Sebastian’s eyes welled slightly, and he looked away, embarrassed. “But what if they’re right? What if I’m only good because you’re… you?”

Lando shook his head immediately. “No. Absolutely not. You think being my son guarantees anything? You’ve got no idea how hard you’ve worked to be here, how much discipline it takes for someone your age to handle this pressure.”

He smiled gently now, brushing a piece of hair out of Sebastian’s face.

“You’re doing amazing, Seb. And honestly? They’re just mad that you’ve got someone in your corner who believes in you. That’s what they’re really jealous of.”

Sebastian sniffled once, nodding slowly.

“And you know what?” Lando added with a mischievous grin. “When I have you as the face of McLaren in a few years, those same people? They’ll be the ones begging for your autograph.”

That got a smile.

“For real?” Sebastian whispered.

“For real,” Lando said. “Now, c’mon. Let’s show them exactly why you’re the one to watch.”

He offered his fist, and Sebastian bumped it with his own, a new fire in his eyes.

From the stands, you watched the whole thing unfold — Lando kneeling beside Sebastian, talking to him like he was the most important person in the world. And to both of you, he was.

You looked down at Lyla in your arms, her breathing even and her little fingers still clutching her bunny, and kissed her forehead.

You stood near the edge of the karting track, sunlight glinting off the safety barriers, the breeze carrying the smell of fresh rubber and excitement. Lyla sat comfortably on your hip, playing absently with your necklace, her curls a soft halo in the golden light. From your vantage point, you could see everything — the track, the other kids prepping, and most importantly: Sebastian.

His kart zoomed around the bend, hugging the corner with precision beyond his years, and Lando stood tall beside you, his arms folded, pride practically radiating from him.

“God, he looks good out there,” you said with a soft smile, not taking your eyes off Sebastian’s small figure in the kart. “He’s grown so much. His lines are cleaner than they’ve ever been.”

Lando nodded, his mouth twitching into a proud grin. “He’s smoother, more confident... and he’s reading the track. That’s not something you can force into a kid. He wants this.”

You glanced at him, your gaze lingering. “That’s because of you. You’ve been in his corner since the day you met him. He listens to you.”

He exhaled a breath, voice dropping a little. “It’s all him. I just gave him the tools. He did the rest.”

“No,” you said, wrapping your arm through his. “You gave him a dad. That’s what he needed most.”

Lando didn’t answer right away. He simply looked at you with something tender in his eyes — something unspoken but understood. Then, Sebastian flew by again, his kart perfectly balanced as he handled a tricky chicane without flinching.

“He’s killing it,” Lando muttered with pride.

“He’s so little, yet so fearless,” you said with a light laugh, adjusting Lyla who had begun to rest her head on your shoulder. “And he’s got your determination.”

Lando chuckled. “He’s got your heart.”

Sebastian finished another lap, slowing as he coasted into the pit area. His helmet tilted your way, and even behind the visor, you knew he was beaming.

Lando turned to you, taking Lyla gently from your arms and cradling her against his chest. “I’m going to go talk to him — he’ll want to review that last corner. I think he was pushing for a tighter exit.”

You watched him approach Sebastian with warmth in your chest, your boys side by side, your daughter tucked securely in Lando’s arms.

Sebastian pulled off his helmet, his face flushed and glowing with pride. “Did you see me?!” he asked excitedly as Lando crouched down beside him.

“I did,” Lando grinned, ruffling his hair. “You nailed the back corner. That’s the cleanest I’ve seen you take it. I’m seriously impressed.”

“Can we watch the footage later?” Sebastian asked. “I wanna see how I can make my line even better.”

“Of course,” Lando replied. “We’ll break it down, see where you can gain time. But today? You did everything right.”

From where you stood, you could hear their conversation, and it made your heart swell. Sebastian wasn’t just driving — he was growing, thriving, becoming someone with confidence and focus, and so much of that came from Lando’s gentle, steady guidance.

You walked over and knelt beside them. “We saw you out there, baby,” you said, brushing a hand through his curls. “You were incredible. Smooth, fast… and smart.”

Sebastian looked up at you, shy but proud. “Thanks, Mom. It felt really good today. I didn’t even get scared when I had to pass that older kid.”

“That’s because you’re brave,” you said, kissing the top of his head. “And you’ve got the best coach in the world.”

He turned to Lando, grinning. “Can we get ice cream? You said good laps mean good treats.”

Lando chuckled. “I believe I did say that. Alright, one scoop for a good lap... two scoops for a great one.”

“Then I get three,” Sebastian declared with a cheeky smile.

You all laughed as you took Lando’s free hand in yours, his thumb brushing softly against your knuckles. Lyla yawned in his arms, her tiny body curled into his chest like it was her safest place.

Looking at the three of them — Lando kneeling beside Sebastian, Lyla dozing in his arms, the proud look on his face as he juggled being a coach, a father, and your partner — you couldn’t help but feel full. Of love, of peace, of something that felt like forever.

After a successful day at the track, Sebastian chattered endlessly from the backseat, recounting every twist, turn, and overtake he had made during practice. His hands moved animatedly, mimicking his steering, his words tumbling out faster than his kart had gone. You and Lando exchanged soft glances as you sat in the front — it was one of those small, sweet moments that made parenthood feel so full.

“And then I passed him right before the curve, and I didn’t even have to brake that much! I just— vroom— took the inside and boom! Gone!” Sebastian beamed, eyes wide with excitement.

“Don’t have a sugar rush or a sugar crash, mate,” Lando chuckled, giving him a teasing glance in the rearview mirror.

“I won’t,” Sebastian promised quickly, though the giant scoop of chocolate ice cream in his hand said otherwise.

It only took a few more minutes and half a cone before the inevitable happened — Sebastian’s head lolled to the side, ice cream wiped away, his mouth slightly open as he slept soundly. Lyla, tucked in her car seat beside him with her thumb near her mouth and her little bunny plush clutched to her chest, was already out like a light, her soft breaths the only sound beside the hum of the car.

With both kids asleep and the city lights beginning to dim under the setting sun, you turned your gaze toward Lando. His hands rested calmly on the wheel, his eyes fixed ahead, the soft orange-pink hues from the sky reflecting gently off his face.

It was the perfect time to talk.

“So…” you began softly, careful not to disturb the peaceful air. “When do you head out for your race?”

Lando didn’t answer right away. His jaw flexed, barely noticeable, and then he let out a low sigh. “Next weekend,” he muttered.

You frowned slightly, chewing the inside of your cheek. “You’ll be back before Sebastian’s next race, right?” you asked, a little tentative, but hopeful.

He sighed again, deeper this time. “I hope so,” he said truthfully. “I really do. It just depends how the travel and schedule plays out. But I promise you, I’m trying.”

You could hear the frustration behind his voice, not directed at you — never at you — but toward the situation he was tangled in. Racing, family, responsibility... the weight of being in two places at once. You reached over and rested your hand on his thigh gently.

“I know,” you said softly. “We’re not mad, baby.”

Lando’s fingers gripped the wheel a little tighter. “I just…” he paused, searching for the words. “I’m upset. Upset that I’ve got this race and I know I can’t take you guys with me — not because I don’t want you there. But Lyla… she doesn’t like crowds. She gets overwhelmed and anxious, and I’d never forgive myself if she had a meltdown because I forced her into that kind of environment.”

You nodded, heart aching at how much he carried inside. “We know, Lando. You’re always doing what’s best for us. Lyla’s well-being comes first, and Sebastian understands. He might miss you when you're gone, but he knows how much you love him.”

“I just hate not being there,” he said, voice a little quieter now. “Putting Lyla down at night, handling Sebastian’s school, meals, practice — it all falls on you when I’m away, and I know that has to get exhausting.”

You turned your body slightly toward him, brushing your thumb over his hand where it rested between gears. “It gets hard, yeah. But I’d do it again and again because this is our life. I love our life, even the messy parts.”

Lando looked over at you briefly, the corners of his mouth lifting just a little.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he murmured. “A real break. Just us. Somewhere warm, quiet, no press, no race schedule. I’ll book it after the next GP. Sebastian and Lyla can stay with my parents — they’ll be spoiled rotten and so happy to see their cousins.”

You laughed under your breath, brushing your hair out of your face as the breeze from the slightly open window caught it. “You’re too sweet for your own good sometimes, Norris.”

“I try,” he smiled, glancing over at you again. “But I mean it. You need rest too, babe. Not just sleep. Real rest. Sun. A slow morning. A long bath. No tiny humans yelling about cereal or needing their race suit zipped up.”

You laughed again, quieter this time, as you looked over your shoulder at the sleeping kids. Sebastian’s mouth was still open, Lyla clutching her bunny with a peaceful expression on her face.

“You’re an amazing dad, Lando,” you said, your voice warm, full of sincerity. “Even when you’re gone, we still feel your love around us. That’s something special.”

ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Later that evening, the sky outside the windows had turned a rich, velvety navy. Inside the house, the atmosphere was warm but quietly heavy — a kind of stillness you felt more than heard. The television murmured in the background, but it barely registered over the small voices drifting from down the hall.

Lando was in the bedroom, packing slowly. His suitcase lay open on the bed, half-filled with race gear, socks, and shirts all folded with methodical care — but he wasn’t focused. Not really. Every few minutes, he paused, sighing softly to himself, glancing toward the hallway like he could feel time running too quickly.

“I can fit here,” Sebastian declared from beside the bed, pointing at the remaining space in the suitcase with a hopeful look on his face. “Right here, next to your shoes. I’ll be still.”

Lando managed a weak chuckle. “You can’t, bud. I’m sorry.”

“But if I curl up really small—”

“Seb…” Lando’s voice cracked just slightly, guilt tugging at his chest. “I wish I could take you, I do. But I can’t this time.”

Before the moment could settle, Lyla toddled over, latching herself around Lando’s leg and hugging tightly. “Dada,” she said in a tiny whimper. She didn’t quite understand what was happening — just that her father had a suitcase out again. And that was never a good sign.

You heard them from the living room and stood, walking toward the bedroom doorway quietly. The second you appeared, Lando looked up at you, and his eyes said everything: I can’t do this… please help.

“Alright, kiddos,” you said gently, crouching down to their level. “Daddy needs to pack. He’s not going for long, but he needs to be ready.”

“I wanna go with him!” Sebastian said again, louder this time, tears pricking at his eyes.

“I know you do,” you murmured, brushing some of his curls from his face. “But you’ve got school, remember? And karting, and Lyla—she doesn’t do well in big crowds, sweetie. So we’ll stay here, and when Daddy’s done with his race, he’ll come right back to us. Just like always.”

Sebastian stood still for a moment, eyes on the floor. His fists were clenched tight at his sides. “But… what if this time he doesn’t?”

The words landed like ice water to the chest. You exchanged a quiet glance with Lando before quickly crouching closer.

“What do you mean by that, baby?” you asked softly.

Sebastian shrugged, jaw trembling.

“Seb… talk to us. What’s going on in that big heart of yours?” you coaxed.

But his silence thickened, lips pressed into a tight line. He shook his head hard and took a step back, eyes starting to brim with tears.

“Sebastian…” Lando started gently, “Hey, look at me, buddy.”

But the boy turned suddenly, wiping at his cheeks and darting toward the door. “I don’t wanna talk about it!” he shouted, voice cracking as he ran down the hallway. His bedroom door slammed a moment later, muffled sobs barely audible behind it.

Lando stood frozen, his hand halfway out like he could reach for him. “Shit,” he breathed, swallowing hard. “I didn’t mean for him to feel like this.”

You moved slowly toward him, Lyla still tucked into your arms as her big eyes watched you both. “He’s scared,” you whispered. “And he doesn’t know how to say it yet.”

“I would never leave him!” Lando said again, his voice strained, eyes shining as he tried to hold himself together. “Not on purpose. Not ever.”

You stepped closer, gently reaching for his hand. “Baby, we know that,” you murmured, voice soft. “He knows that too… deep down. But he’s just… going through a lot right now. He’s young, and this is all a lot to take in. He’s scared, but Lando…” you looked at him with all the tenderness in your heart, “he loves you so much.”

Lando let out a breathy laugh, but it didn’t hold much humor. “So much he thinks I’m trying to leave him on purpose,” he said bitterly, shaking his head.

You felt your chest ache, your heart twisting at the pain that passed across his face. It wasn’t fair — not to Lando, and not to Sebastian. You both tried so hard to give the kids a life full of love and security, and yet somehow, fear still crept in through the cracks.

“I don’t even know where this came from,” you admitted, your voice catching. “What made him say that? Is someone saying things to him? Did he overhear something? It’s bothering me, Lando. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Lando was quiet for a moment, jaw clenched. He hated the unknown of it too — hated that Sebastian was hurting in ways they couldn’t immediately fix.

“Go talk to him,” you finally said, gently nudging his hand. “Before bed. He needs to hear from you. He needs that reassurance. And tomorrow… please, while you’re away, think about how this even happened. Figure out what he’s feeling and why. Because this—” you shook your head, “—this isn’t something we can let fester.”

Lando nodded slowly, pulling you into a tight hug before stepping back with a heavy sigh. “You’re right,” he said. “He shouldn’t have to carry this. Not at his age.”

His feet carried him quietly down the hallway, his heart pounding in his chest. When he reached Sebastian’s room, the soft hum of the nightlight cast little race cars in orange light against the walls. Sebastian was curled up in his race car bed, turned toward the wall, clutching his pillow tightly. His shoulders were trembling, the occasional hiccup giving away his tears.

“Sebastian…” Lando said gently from the doorway.

No answer.

He stepped inside, kneeling beside the bed slowly. “Listen to me, buddy,” Lando said, voice low but steady. “You are my son. Okay? Nothing about that is temporary. Nothing about that is going to change.”

Sebastian sniffled but didn’t respond, his small body tense under the covers.

“I don’t know why you’re feeling like this, or what made you think that I’d leave you. But I need you to hear me — I would never, ever leave you on purpose. This racing stuff… it’s part of what I do. But it’s not more important than you. Or your sister. Or your mom. You three are everything to me.”

Sebastian gave the faintest shake of his head, still not turning around.

“I came into your life when you were just three,” Lando continued, his voice softening even more. “You probably don’t remember all of it, but I do. I remember meeting you. I remember how loud and happy you were, how curious. I remember how your little hand fit in mine the first time we crossed the street together. And I remember thinking, I’m going to protect this kid. Always.”

There was a pause, then a sniff from Sebastian.

“You know… before I met you and your mom, my life was a lot faster than it is now,” Lando confessed. “I was partying, flying everywhere, being wild and selfish and not really thinking about anything long term. But then I met you two… and everything changed. You made me want to be different.”

Finally, Sebastian stirred. His little hand poked out from under the blanket, wiping at his eyes. Lando reached out and rested his hand gently on the bed.

“When I asked your mom to marry me, I didn’t just ask to be her husband. I asked to be your dad, too. Because by then… you weren’t just some kid I was helping raise. You were mine. You are mine. I love you, Sebastian, more than I can explain. You’re my first son. You’re my world.”

Sebastian finally turned over, his face blotchy and red-eyed. “Then why do you keep leaving?” he whispered, voice trembling. “Why do you have to go?”

Lando swallowed hard and reached for him, brushing his hair from his face. “Because that’s part of what I do right now. But it’s not forever. And I promise, I hate being away from you just as much as you hate it. I miss your voice, your jokes, your excitement over karting. I miss bedtime and hugging you goodnight. I don’t leave because I want to. I go because it’s my job — but I always come home. Always.”

Sebastian’s lower lip quivered. “You’re not like my other dad?”

“Not even close,” Lando said, shaking his head firmly. “Your other dad left when things got hard. I stay. I’ll always stay. I don’t care how far away I have to go, you’re my son, and I’m coming back to you. Every single time.”

Sebastian finally launched himself forward, wrapping his arms tight around Lando’s neck. “Okay,” he whispered against his shoulder. “I believe you.”

Lando held him just as tightly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, eyes stinging.

“I love you, little man,” he murmured. “More than words. And I’m always coming home to you.”

Outside the door, you wiped a tear from your cheek, quietly backing away to give them the moment they both needed. Inside that room, a little boy’s fears began to melt, just a little — warmed by the voice of the man who never once thought of him as anything less than his own.

The house was wrapped in stillness, the soft hum of the night filling the quiet as the children slept peacefully in their rooms. You lay tucked under the covers, curled close against Lando’s chest, his arm draped around you protectively. His warmth, his heartbeat, the calm of being next to him after such an emotionally draining day — it was everything you needed.

Your fingers gently traced circles on his chest, your voice soft as you murmured, “We’ll be expecting that win, you know.”

Lando let out a low chuckle, his lips brushing the top of your head. “I’ll win,” he promised, his tone full of tired certainty. “You have my word.”

You smiled faintly, but your heart was still heavy. “So…” you began, hesitating for a second, “Did he give in? Did he tell you where he heard it?”

Lando’s breath hitched, his chest rising and falling slowly as he pulled you a little closer. “No,” he said quietly. “He never told me where he learned it from.” He exhaled sharply through his nose, his frustration evident even in the dim light. “But I’ll figure it out. Someone’s spreading bullshit about him not being my son. I don’t care if it’s some nosy gossip mom at the karting track or someone we actually know... Someone’s putting that idea in his head, and I won’t let it slide.”

You looked up at him, catching the slight furrow of his brow in the soft light from the hallway. He was trying to stay calm — for you, for the kids — but you knew him well enough to recognize the storm brewing behind his eyes.

You sighed, your hand slipping up to cup his jaw gently. “He’s still a kid, Lan. A sensitive one. All it takes is one sentence, one nasty comment… and it sticks. We just have to keep showing him what’s true. Every single day.”

Lando turned his face into your touch, pressing a kiss to your palm. “I know,” he murmured. “It just kills me that anyone could make him feel like that. Like he’s not wanted, or not mine. I’ve been there since he was three. I’ve changed nappies, made lunch boxes, sat by his bed when he was sick. That kid is mine.”

Your eyes softened. “I know, love. He knows it too. Deep down, he does. He just needed to hear it out loud tonight.”

Lando looked at the ceiling, running a hand through his hair. “I should’ve said it more. I should say it every day.”

“You say it in how you show up,” you whispered, laying your head back on his chest. “In how you coach him, how you pick him up from school, how you wrestle with him in the living room like an overgrown kid. That’s what he remembers, Lando. That’s what counts.”

He wrapped both arms around you now, tighter than before, and let the silence linger for a moment — the kind of silence that spoke love more deeply than words ever could.

“Let’s just get some sleep,” you said softly, a yawn escaping as you nestled further into his embrace.

ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The airport buzzed with travelers and rolling suitcases, but in the middle of it all, Lando stood still, a backpack slung over one shoulder and his race bag at his feet, watching his little family like he didn’t want to blink and miss a second of them. The sunlight streamed in through the massive windows, casting a warm golden glow on the polished floors and the group of you gathered just by the lounge entrance.

You shifted Lyla gently in your arms, her small arms wrapped around your neck and her cheek pressed against your shoulder, peeking every so often only to immediately hide again. Her curls tickled your chin as you smiled, rocking slightly on your feet to soothe her. “I swear, if this airport had a softer carpet, she’d be napping right now,” you muttered, causing Lando to snort.

Sebastian stood at Lando’s side, bouncing on the balls of his feet, full of energy and curiosity. “So you travel with Oscar?” he asked, eyes wide with fascination like the idea of teammates sharing an airport adventure was just the coolest thing ever.

“Yeah, buddy,” Lando nodded with a grin, ruffling Sebastian’s hair. “He’s my teammate. We fly together, practice together, complain about food together…”

“Do you sit together on the plane?” Sebastian cut in.

Lando blinked. “Only if he gets there on time. Otherwise, I claim the window seat and he sulks in the middle.”

You laughed under your breath, the sound bright and warm. “Classic Oscar,” you said with a smirk. “Lyla, you’ll end up liking Oscar. He’s quiet — not many words, very mellow — so he won’t scare you. You could honestly make him your emotional support adult.”

Lyla, predictably, burrowed her face deeper into your neck like you’d just told her Oscar was a walking jump scare. “Okay, okay,” you whispered into her curls, pressing a kiss to her head. “Take your time.”

As if the universe were on cue, Oscar Piastri strolled into view — calm, composed, holding his suitcase like it weighed nothing, dressed in comfy layers and holding a coffee like he absolutely woke up ten minutes before arriving.

“Look who finally made it!” Lando quipped, throwing his arms out. “Only mildly fashionably late.”

Oscar raised a brow, completely unbothered. “Lando, I was on time. You were just here twenty minutes early because you’re emotionally unstable without your family.”

You stifled a laugh behind your hand. “He’s not wrong.”

“I am not emotionally unstable,” Lando protested. “I’m emotionally… organized.”

“Sure,” Oscar deadpanned. “Very organized meltdown last time your daughter FaceTimed you and then hung up mid-sentence.”

Lyla peeked up again, this time catching a glimpse of Oscar, only to retreat immediately. Oscar noticed, offering a small, kind smile and a little wave, like he’d read a guidebook on communicating with toddlers. “Hi, Lyla,” he said gently. “I won’t talk too much. Promise.”

“Uncle Oscar is learning,” you said proudly.

Sebastian, meanwhile, practically threw himself at Oscar, grabbing his hand. “I saw you win that one time and my dad was like, ‘Yeah, yeah, okay, good job’ but I was like ‘LET’S GOOO’ and then I made a drawing of you and I forgot to bring it.”

Oscar blinked. “That’s...very sweet. Also, you should be in PR.”

“Trying to be just like Dad,” Sebastian said proudly, making Lando grin ear to ear.

Lando then reached out, hands open like a kid about to ask for a puppy. “Can I just take Lyla?” he pleaded.

You gave him the most exaggerated look of faux-shock. “Oh sure, let me just hand over our clingy, sleep-fighting, tiny-anxiety-ball daughter to a man who doesn’t even remember to pack his own socks half the time.”

“I remember my socks... now,” he muttered.

You stepped closer, brushing his hair gently back from his forehead. “I know you miss her when you travel. I know you’d take us all in your suitcase if you could.”

Lando's eyes softened, that teasing glint replaced by something real and vulnerable. “I just hate the part where I leave,” he murmured. “Everything else is manageable, but walking away from you three? That’s the worst part of my job.”

You leaned up to kiss him softly, Lyla squirming slightly in your arms as if sensing the emotion. “Go win. Come home. That’s all we ask of you.”

He smiled, wrapping one arm around your waist, kissing Lyla’s cheek, and ruffling Sebastian’s hair one last time. “I’ll bring back souvenirs.”

“Better be food,” Sebastian said.

“Better be diamonds,” you added with a grin.

Oscar sighed beside you both, already done. “Can we please go before you all start crying and I have to stand here pretending not to care?”

Lando threw an arm around his teammate’s shoulder. “Admit it, you love us.”

Oscar shrugged. “You’re...tolerable.”

“Progress!” you cheered.

As Lando began to walk away, he turned back one last time, catching your eyes — a silent promise exchanged between the two of you in that fleeting glance. He mouthed I love you, and you whispered it right back.

And just like that, he was gone for now — but never really gone. Not in the ways that mattered.

Once the plane had taxied down the runway and lifted into the clouds, the familiar hum of the engines filled the cabin, creating that oddly peaceful quiet that only seemed to exist once wheels left the ground. Lando sat back in his seat, letting out a slow breath as he adjusted his cap and glanced out the window for a second — but all he could picture was Lyla’s sleepy little face nuzzled into your neck, and Sebastian’s teary eyes looking up at him just hours ago at home.

He turned toward Oscar, who was already halfway reclined and lazily sipping a ginger ale like they weren’t thirty thousand feet in the sky. “I miss them already,” Lando muttered, not really trying to hide it.

Oscar glanced sideways at him, his expression softening. “Sebastian’s growing up fast,” he said, voice low and thoughtful. “Last time I saw him properly, he was just this tiny three-year-old clinging to your leg, trying to ‘help’ you clean your helmet with baby wipes.”

Lando chuckled, rubbing at his jaw. “Yeah… he’s seven now. Whole personality built in. Witty, quick on his feet, obsessed with racing. It’s like looking in a mirror — except better.” His eyes lingered out the window, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips before it slowly faded. “Y/n’s sad he’s getting older. I am too. He’s not my little guy forever. And then there’s Lyla… she just turned two, and she’s already more emotionally aware than half the grid.”

Oscar huffed a soft laugh, but he could tell from the tension in Lando’s voice that something was weighing heavier than normal.

“What’s eating at you?” Oscar asked gently, setting his drink aside.

Lando hesitated, then rubbed the back of his neck with a sigh. “Sebastian’s been… weird lately. About me leaving. He gets upset. He thinks… he thinks I won’t come back. That I’ll leave him like his biological dad did.”

Oscar’s brows pulled together in concern. “Shit,” he muttered. “That’s heavy for a seven-year-old.”

“Tell me about it.” Lando’s voice cracked slightly. “He won’t talk about it much either. Y/n says he’s scared. And I get it, I do. He’s trying to protect himself. But when he said it last night, when he asked if I was leaving like his other dad…” He trailed off, blinking rapidly. “It felt like someone punched a hole through my chest.”

Oscar didn’t interrupt. He just listened, giving Lando the space to vent.

“I’ve given him reassurance, every time,” Lando continued. “I tuck him in, I talk to him about my schedule, I FaceTime them from the paddock, I bring him souvenirs — hell, I’d tattoo his name on my forehead if I thought it’d help. And Y/n… she says I’m doing great. But it doesn’t make it hurt less. I’m not mad at him. I’m just… frustrated. Heartbroken.”

Oscar nodded slowly, choosing his words carefully. “You love that kid like he’s yours. And he is, Lando. You’ve raised him. Anyone with eyes can see that. But he’s old enough now to start feeling uncertainty. He probably overheard something. Or maybe it’s just all these changes, the travel, Lyla being little and needing more attention, growing up in general… it’s a lot for a kid.”

Lando leaned back in his seat, staring at the ceiling. “I hate that I have to filter everything I say or do. Not around him — around everyone else. I hold back online. I avoid talking about him sometimes in interviews. Because the moment people know the full story, they’ll twist it. Gossip about his real dad. Make up stories about me and Y/n. And he’ll hear it. And I can't shield him from all of it forever.”

Oscar gave a solemn hum. “People can hate on you, yeah. But your family’s different. It’s the soft spot. I get that.”

“I don’t care what they say about me,” Lando said, voice tight. “Call me overhyped, say I’ll never be a world champion, criticize everything — fine. But the second they talk about Y/n? About Sebastian? Lyla? That’s my red line.”

There was a silence that stretched for a moment, filled only by the low buzz of the plane.

Oscar broke it with a quiet, honest comment. “You’re a better dad than most, Lando. Hell, you’re a better man than most. Seb will figure that out — if he hasn’t already. Kids are smart, and he’s yours. In the ways that count.”

Lando let out a breath, one hand dragging down his face. “Yeah… thanks, mate.”

Oscar gave him a side glance. “Just don’t cry on me. I can’t handle that mid-flight.”

Lando scoffed and wiped his eye. “I’m not crying. You’re crying.”

“I’m crying from having to hear about feelings on an airplane,” Oscar muttered dryly.

That got a laugh out of Lando, finally. One that shook the tension loose in his shoulders.

He pulled out his phone, unlocking it and glancing down at the screen where he’d set a lock screen of the four of you at the beach — Sebastian covered in sand, Lyla curled up in your lap, you smiling toward the camera as Lando held it out with wind-tousled hair and a cheeky grin.

He stared at the picture for a long moment before nodding to himself.

“I’ll win this weekend,” he said, more to himself than to Oscar. “For them.”

The familiar winding roads of Monaco stretched before you, the sea glittering off in the distance and the sunlight casting a warm glow across the dashboard. You let out a soft sigh, one hand on the wheel, the other resting gently in your lap as the comforting hum of the car filled the silence. The air was calm, the kind that settled in only after a long morning of goodbyes — the kind that reminded you someone was missing from the seat beside you.

From the backseat, the soft sounds of Sebastian quietly humming drifted forward. He was mumbling the theme song to one of his favorite cartoons, his fingers rhythmically drumming on the armrest beside him. Lyla, tucked snugly into her car seat, swung her little legs gently back and forth, her favorite stuffed bunny cradled in her arms, as her eyes flicked between the sun-drenched buildings outside and her big brother beside her.

You glanced into the rearview mirror, watching them with a soft smile before speaking up. “Alright, kiddos,” you said, voice warm and teasing. “Since Daddy’s off flying through the skies to go race fast cars, how about we go do something fun of our own while he’s gone?”

Sebastian perked up, peeking his head up a little more in his booster seat. “Like what?”

You shrugged playfully. “I don’t know… what if we went skating?”

There was a short pause before Sebastian gave a thoughtful frown. “Mmm… I don’t think Lyla can skate. She’s too tiny. She’d probably fall.”

Lyla, catching on to her name, simply squeaked out, “Fall!” and then giggled, not even understanding but joining in the fun anyway.

You chuckled, glancing at them again in the mirror. “Fair point. Alright, no skating. What about…” You tapped your chin theatrically. “What about Lego shopping?”

The reaction was instant.

Sebastian gasped, eyes lighting up like someone flipped a switch. “Really? We can go today?!”

You grinned. “Of course. We’ll swing by that toy store you love — you know, the one where you always find the big sets hidden in the back.”

“Yes!” he beamed, practically bouncing in his seat. “And Lyla can get a toy too!”

Lyla kicked her legs a little more excitedly now. “Toy!”

“Exactly,” you nodded. “We’ll get you both something, then head home, order pizza — the kind with the stuffed crust that you love — and we’ll set up a movie marathon. I’m thinking popcorn, pillows on the floor, and one of those movies you’ve seen a hundred times but still laugh at anyway.”

“Movie night!!” Sebastian turned toward his sister with wide eyes. “Lyla, we’re gonna have a movie night!”

Lyla clapped her hands, though it was more like soft patting, her stuffed bunny flopping with each motion. “Moobee!”

You laughed, the warmth of their joy radiating through the car and straight into your heart. Moments like these — these tiny, quiet, ordinary ones — made everything else worth it. The tears, the tough conversations, the goodbyes at the airport.

As you slowed at a red light, your eyes caught them again in the mirror — Sebastian now holding his sister’s hand across their seats. It wasn’t perfect, she was barely reaching with her tiny fingers, but he had his arm stretched out, patient and gentle, as she grasped a few of his fingers in hers and smiled.

You felt your chest tighten with that familiar ache of love.

“Hey,” you said softly, eyes on the mirror. “I love you two so much.”

Sebastian gave a goofy grin. “We love you too, Mama.”

Lyla chimed in softly, her voice a little more clumsy but full of meaning. “Lub you.”

And in that moment, as you turned down the street toward the toy store, your heart — though missing one person who was flying far away — felt completely full.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The toy store buzzed with the low chatter of parents and the excited squeals of children, shelves stacked high with colorful boxes and glittering plastic, the occasional jingle of a motion-activated toy going off somewhere in the aisles. You stood beside your children, Sebastian inspecting a complicated LEGO Technic set while Lyla pointed curiously at a plush unicorn that blinked and sang when touched. Her little fingers barely reached the shelf, but she tried anyway.

You smiled, watching them, when a familiar voice interrupted your quiet moment.

“Y/n?”

You turned, blinking in surprise before your face lit up. “The one and only… Alexandra Saint Mleux.”

She laughed gently and stepped forward for a hug, her ever-elegant frame wrapped in a long cream coat, a small designer purse slung over her shoulder. “It’s been ages,” she smiled, her soft French accent still intact despite living in Monaco for so long.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” you admitted as you stepped back. “I figured you’d be flying out to watch the race.”

Alexandra nodded and sighed. “That was the plan, but work got in the way. Some last-minute clients. I’m heartbroken to miss this one… but I’ll survive.” Her eyes wandered to the kids, warm and understanding. “So… how are they doing? You know, with Lando being away?”

Your smile faltered just a bit. “We’re managing,” you said, lowering your voice to a private hush. “Keeping them busy helps. I don’t know how bedtime will go — it never really gets easier, not when they’re used to him doing stories, doing his silly voices and games… but we’ll figure it out. We always do.”

Alexandra nodded solemnly. “You’re doing beautifully, Y/n. Truly.”

Before you could respond, your phone buzzed in your coat pocket. The name on the screen made your stomach knot.

Sebastian’s Father.

You exhaled sharply through your nose, masking the moment with a smile toward Alexandra. “Would you mind staying with them while they pick their toys? I’ll just be a moment.”

“Of course,” she said without hesitation. “Take your time.”

You stepped away from the aisle, finding a quieter corner near a display of puzzles. The buzzing continued in your hand. With a deep breath, you hit accept.

You didn’t wait for a greeting. “Can you stop calling?” you said sharply, keeping your voice low but laced with steel.

A familiar voice crackled on the other end. “Y/n, I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for weeks. I want to speak to my son.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it physically hurt. “Your son?” you spat, turning your back toward the toy aisle and gripping the phone tighter. “Since when?”

He sighed, as if he was the one carrying the burden. “Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to sit back and see pictures of him with some other guy? Videos of him calling someone else dad?”

“Oh, cry me a river,” you snapped, your voice sharp now, tempered only by the awareness you were still in public. “That other guy is my husband. The man who has raised Sebastian with love, patience, and every ounce of care you never had the courage to give.”

“Y/n…”

“Y/n Norris,” you corrected, your voice cold now. “You lost the right to say my name the day you walked out and left me with a baby and no fucking idea what to do. No help. No money. No check-ins. You abandoned us, and now you think you can just call and insert yourself into his life because he’s old enough to form memories now?”

Silence.

“I made every bottle. I held him through every night terror. I worked two jobs while praying I wouldn’t miss another milestone. And then I met Lando — who didn’t have to step in, but chose to. Who didn’t just love me, but loved him. Who tucks him into bed every night he’s home, who taught him how to ride a bike and how to read a clock, and who kisses him on the forehead even when he thinks no one’s watching.”

“You think I don’t regret what I did?” his voice cracked, but you didn’t flinch. “I wasn’t ready—”

“You think I was?” you whispered harshly, voice shaking now. “You think I had a manual for being a mom at twenty-five? You ran. I stayed. And now you have the audacity to ask me to just… hand him over for a chat, like it’s that easy?”

“I just want to talk—”

“No,” you interrupted, your voice final. “He’s happy. He’s safe. And he doesn’t need you to confuse him now that he’s finally finding solid ground. Especially when all you want to do is soothe your own guilt, not actually be a father.”

“I’m his father whether you like it or not,” he hissed.

“No,” you said, eyes burning. “Lando is his father. He’s earned that title every single day, with love, not DNA.”

"I want to see him, speak to him. Sebastian is my son." he huffed.

"Take that up with his father if you feel so brave now, but I'm sure I know Lando's answer."

You didn’t give him the chance to respond. You hit end call, your hand trembling slightly as the call disconnected.

You stood there for a moment, collecting yourself, breathing through your nose as you tucked your phone back into your pocket. A soft noise caught your attention — a giggle from the kids.

You returned to the aisle to find Alexandra kneeling beside Lyla, who was now clutching a soft stuffed fox with velvety fur, her face glowing with delight. Sebastian held the LEGO box like it was made of gold.

“There’s my mama,” Sebastian said with a grin. “Is this one okay?”

You smiled, blinking back emotion. “That one’s perfect, bud.”

“Can we go home now and build it?” he asked.

You nodded, gathering them in close. “Yeah, let’s go home. We’ve got some pizza to order and movies to watch.”

Alexandra gave you a knowing look, a supportive warmth in her gaze.

You mouthed a soft thank you to her.

Time passed like a warm breeze, slow and golden, wrapping around the three of you with the kind of peace you hadn't felt in a while. After the toy store, you’d made a spontaneous day of it — a little ice cream, a detour to the duck pond where Lyla screamed “DUCKIES!” so loudly she startled a few of them into waddling chaos, and a stroll down the pier with the salty sea air brushing your cheeks. You snapped pictures constantly — Sebastian holding up his LEGO box triumphantly, Lyla wearing oversized sunglasses she found in a boutique and refusing to take them off, even a silly selfie with all three of your faces smushed together under the caption: “We miss you already, daddy 💛”

Even though Lando had only been gone since morning, the ache of his absence was already settled in your chest. You could feel it in the way you kept glancing at your phone, like you needed to send another photo, another text — partly for your reassurance, partly for his. Because if you missed him like this, you could only imagine how heavy his heart felt, knowing he left with Sebastian upset, Lyla too little to really understand goodbyes, and you… trying to hold it all together like you always did.

After the duck pond and walk, you stopped by a children’s boutique where Sebastian’s eyes lit up at the sight of a rack full of pajamas. “Can I get the race car ones?” he asked, already clutching them like treasure.

“Of course, baby,” you smiled.

Lyla chose a soft, cottony pink set with little teddy bears, hugging it to her chest with a proud little smile, even letting out a tiny squeal that melted your heart.

By the time the sky started darkening, you were all a little tired but happy — the kind of happy that made the silence in the car on the way home feel peaceful instead of awkward. You chuckled as you helped them out of the car, herding them into the flat.

“Alright, pajamas!” you called, clapping your hands. “Go get them on! I’m ordering the pizza and picking the movie. Then you two can come back in here and play with your toys.”

Sebastian darted to his room, practically airborne in excitement, clutching his pajama set. Lyla, however, clung to your leg like a little koala, dragging her pajamas on the floor behind her.

You gently ruffled her curls. “Come on, you too, missy. I’ll help you get dressed in a minute.”

Your phone rang, buzzing softly in your pocket. When you saw the name on the screen, your heart warmed.

Best Husband 💛

You answered with a smile already tugging at your lips. “My love.”

A tired sigh of relief echoed through the speaker. “God, I needed to hear your voice. Are the kids asleep?”

You glanced toward the hallway where Sebastian was noisily dragging open drawers. “Nope, we just got home. We’ve been out all day. You should see Lyla’s new sunglasses. I swear she thinks she’s a movie star.”

Lando chuckled, and you could practically hear the smile in his voice. “That sounds like her already. God, I miss you all so much… I want to speak to them, if that’s okay.”

But your smile faded slightly, the warmth in your chest twisting into something more uncertain.

“I actually need to speak with you first,” you murmured, tone quiet and serious.

Lando picked up on it immediately. “What’s going on?”

You stepped into the kitchen, glancing over your shoulder to make sure the kids were still occupied. You lowered your voice.

“His father called.”

The line went dead quiet for a few seconds, and then Lando exhaled sharply, almost like he had to physically calm himself. “He what?”

“Said he wants to talk. See him. And you know…” you trailed off, biting your lip. “Same guilt-tripping, same dramatics. He brought up the fact that we post pictures of you and Sebastian together, like it’s supposed to be some crime.”

“He’s an asshole,” Lando snapped without hesitation. “I would prefer he never sees Sebastian again. Period. I know you didn’t block him before — maybe part of you thought one day things could be different, or maybe for Sebastian’s sake… but now’s the time to block him. For good.”

You could feel the raw emotion behind his words — the frustration, the protectiveness, the love.

“I don’t care how selfish I sound, okay? Listen to me,” Lando continued, voice low and tight. “I love him. I love Sebastian like he’s my own. He is my own. And he’s clearly hurt and confused enough as it is right now. The last thing he needs is that man worming his way in and stirring up more shit.”

“I want to say the same thing, honey, I do,” you said softly. “But I think we need to be careful. This didn’t come out of nowhere. Someone planted this idea in Sebastian’s head — someone’s been talking behind our backs, and it’s eating at me. I don’t know if he overheard something or if it’s…”

“The media,” Lando muttered.

“I’ve been thinking that too,” you said. “He doesn’t have access to the internet, he’s seven. But… maybe something slipped through on the TV, or someone said something in public. It only takes one headline. And even if we limit comments, we can’t control everything.”

“I said the same thing,” Oscar piped up from the background, his voice distant but clear.

Lando groaned. “I mean come on — we’re careful. I hardly talk about the kids publicly. And when I do, it’s always vague or safe. I never name names or post anything personal.”

“I know, baby,” you said gently. “But not everyone cares about respecting boundaries. Some people just love digging where they don’t belong.”

There was a pause. You could hear the quiet buzz of the hotel room on the other end — the hum of a minibar, maybe the faint flicker of the TV in the background. You imagined Lando sitting on the edge of the bed, face in his hands, shoulders tight with worry.

“I hate this,” he finally said. “I hate that I’m away and you’re dealing with this. I hate that Sebastian’s even thinking about this. I hate that some faceless asshole behind a screen or a reporter with a notepad can get into my son’s head.”

“He’s just scared, Lan,” you murmured. “But he loves you. I see it every day. And you’re doing right by him — we both are. That’s what matters.”

You could hear him nodding, even if he didn’t speak.

“I ordered the pizza,” you added softly, trying to lighten the mood. “We’re watching Toy Story 2 tonight. Sebastian said it’s your favorite.”

Lando’s voice cracked with a small laugh. “It is my favorite. Tell him I said that’s a solid choice.”

“I will. After they’re in pajamas. Lyla’s currently pretending her leg doesn’t work because she doesn’t want to get changed.”

Lando laughed again, and this time it was lighter, like he was really smiling now. “She gets that from you.”

“Oh, shut up,” you said playfully, and for a second the weight lifted.

“Hey,” he added, voice gentle now. “Thanks for everything. For keeping them grounded… for being you. I know this isn’t easy.”

You closed your eyes. “It’s not. But we’re a team. Even miles away, we’ve still got this. And tomorrow, we figure out what the hell is actually going on.”

“Damn right,” he said. “And I’ll bring back a win, too. Just for you guys.”

You smiled, heart full.

“Then you better buckle in, Norris. Because Toy Story, pajamas, and pizza nights are hard to beat.”

“Impossible,” he replied. “But I’m coming home to try.”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Lando being gone wasn’t new.

It was never easy, but it was familiar — a rhythm that ebbed and flowed like the tide. The early flights, the packed bags by the door, the quiet “I love you”s whispered over sleepy heads and soft kisses before the sun even broke the horizon. You’d grown used to the ache, the temporary emptiness of the house. What you never grew used to, though, was waking up and not having him there.

The bed felt far too big without him.

Sebastian had crawled into the middle during the night, tangled in the sheets like a little tornado of limbs and heat. His head rested on Lando’s pillow. Lyla, small and warm, was curled up in the crook of your arm like a kitten, her stuffed bunny pressed against her cheek.

You carefully untangled yourself, slipping out of bed with practiced ease. Neither of them stirred — a small blessing. These were the pockets of peace you counted on. The house was still, the morning light barely filtering through the curtains, and the silence was thick but comforting.

It was always like this on the first morning without him. Quiet. Empty, but full of purpose. You stood for a moment in the bathroom, hands braced on the sink, staring at your reflection. You could see the soft weariness around your eyes, the evidence of another night where you’d reached across the bed and found nothing but cool sheets.

“He’s not gone forever,” you murmured aloud, a mantra, not a reminder. Just a soft truth you whispered to yourself.

You showered slowly, letting the steam loosen your tense shoulders, letting your mind wander. There was always a to-do list playing quietly in the back of your head: school drop-offs, meals, cleaning, playtime, phone calls, maybe a grocery run, and somewhere in the middle of all that — time to feel his absence and push forward anyway.

By the time you wrapped yourself in your robe, hair damp, you were ready. You padded into the living room and curled into the couch with your phone, letting yourself fall into the mindless scroll for just a little while. Social media, messages from friends, a few missed texts from Lando sent at 2 a.m. his time.

Still up thinking about you. Tell Seb I love him. Kiss Lyla for me. I miss my girls.

You clutched the phone to your chest for a second, your breath catching. Then, quietly, you smiled.

After about an hour of peace, you placed the phone on the side table, stood up, and entered the kitchen. The hum of familiarity buzzed in your ears like a song you’d memorized long ago.

You didn’t need to think anymore — your hands just moved. You poured Lyla’s apple juice into her bunny sippy cup. It had a little bow drawn onto it with pink permanent marker — something she insisted on one afternoon when she decided all her toys needed to be “fancy.”

Sebastian’s orange juice went into his dinosaur cup — the same one he refused to drink out of unless it was “the dino one with the T-Rex not the triceratops.” You smirked a little at the thought as you set it on the table.

Then came the rest: pancakes for Lyla, perfectly golden and cut into tiny bite-sized hearts the way she liked them, with a side of blueberries she always pushed to the edge of her plate. For Sebastian, toast lightly browned, eggs just barely runny (any more and he would call them “slime eggs”), and two strips of crispy bacon he’d probably try and feed one to the cat even though you told him not to.

Everything was where it should be. Like muscle memory.

A sound behind you — groggy feet shuffling across the floor.

“Mama?” Sebastian mumbled, his curls sticking up in every direction, pajama pants slightly twisted around his legs.

You didn’t even turn around, just hummed as you flipped the final pancake. “Practice is going to happen soon,” you said softly, “you know they have to adjust, get themselves ready.”

He climbed onto the stool at the counter and rested his chin on the marble. “I miss him.”

You finally turned, wiping your hands and leaning down to press a kiss to the top of his head. “Me too,” you said quietly. “But he misses us just as much. Maybe even more.”

Lyla padded out a moment later, dragging her blanket behind her, eyes still puffy from sleep.

“Good morning, sunshine,” you cooed, sweeping her up into your arms.

“Dada?” she mumbled against your shoulder, her thumb slipping into her mouth.

“Soon, sweet girl,” you whispered. “You’ll see him soon.”

As they settled at the table, Sebastian perked up, watching you with those curious brown eyes.

“Are we gonna talk to Grandma today?”

You nodded, glancing at the clock. “We’ve got time. After I drop you off at school, Lyla and I are going to call her. You know she misses you two terribly.”

He grinned a little, the kind of smile only grandmothers could pull out of children. “Can I send her a picture of my dinosaur cup?”

You laughed. “Absolutely.”

It was all clockwork. Predictable. But it still hurt sometimes — to do all of this without Lando, to smile through it even when your chest ached and your throat tightened unexpectedly.

But you managed.

You always did.

Because your kids were watching. Because their little hearts depended on you. Because Lando, miles away and probably staring at a calendar on his phone, counting down the days until he could be back, needed to know you could hold it all together.

And you would.

Just like every other morning.

Motherhood had a way of testing your limits and then rewarding you in small, quiet ways. After you dropped Sebastian off at school — his usual chatter about karting practice and Lego sets still echoing in your ears — the rest of your day unfolded like a long, busy stretch of survival mode. You managed a video call with Cisca, who filled your morning with soft smiles and much-needed comfort. Lyla’s meltdown over her empty bunny sippy cup had you on your knees, trying to calm her down while preparing breakfast and unloading the dishwasher at the same time. It was one of those mornings where time seemed to slip through your fingers.

The car got cleaned, though that required strategic maneuvering with a clingy toddler on your hip. You made a small grocery run, holding her hand tightly while she stared cautiously at every passing stranger. Then you walked her around the quiet park near your building, hoping the fresh air would calm her nerves. And it did — a little. She let go of your hand for all of five minutes before gluing herself to your leg again.

Eventually, you made it back to the flat. You swept and mopped floors, wiped down counters, and sorted laundry while Lyla played quietly with her toys in the living room. She had picked out a stuffed bunny, a wooden puzzle, and one of Sebastian’s smaller race cars — and all three were lined up next to her as she sprawled out on the floor.

And just like that… she was asleep.

Not in her bed, not on the couch — but flat on the playmat, one hand still resting on the toy bunny. Her tiny chest rose and fell slowly, lashes resting like feathers against her cheeks. You stood there for a moment, arms crossed, soft smile tugging at your lips. Then you carefully picked her up, mindful not to wake her, and tucked her into bed. You kissed her forehead, lingered there for a beat, then finally had a moment of peace to yourself.

And that’s when you called him.

The screen rang only once before Lando’s tired but joyful face filled your screen, his curls a little messy under a cap, eyes lighting up at the sight of you.

“My favorite girl,” he greeted, voice warm and smooth, as if it could wrap you up.

You let out a small, relieved breath, your shoulders finally dropping. “I was calling just to see if you’re surviving,” you teased lightly, your voice soft, your love clear even in the distance.

He let out a short laugh. “Yeah, just about. Got some practice coming up. You know how leading into a race weekend is — mind on a thousand things.”

You nodded. “I figured. Sebastian’s at school, and Lyla’s down for a nap… finally.” You leaned back on the couch, rubbing your temple.

“She’s sleeping a lot lately?” Lando asked gently, concern twitching at his brow.

“Yeah,” you murmured, your smile fading. “I think the anxiety’s wearing her out. I mean, it’s not dramatic all the time — she’s not screaming or crying. But she clings to me like I’m her anchor, and when she’s like that… I can tell her brain’s on overload.”

His jaw tensed slightly, the helplessness setting into his eyes. “I hate that I’m not there. I hate not being able to help her when she’s like that.”

You sighed and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You help more than you know, even just by existing as her safe space. But I won’t lie… it’s getting hard, Lando. I don’t want this to feel normal for her.”

“I know, baby,” he said quietly. “Let’s talk more about getting her a child therapist when I get home. Someone trained in early social anxiety, someone who’ll take it slow. She doesn’t need to feel like the world’s too loud for her forever.”

You nodded slowly, your throat tightening. “That’d help… thank you.”

There was a brief silence between you — not uncomfortable, just full of unspoken longing — until you finally exhaled again and shifted the conversation.

“Anyway,” you said, trying to lighten the mood, “Sebastian has more practices coming up. I’m hoping you’ll be home in time for his competition.”

Lando’s face softened with guilt. “Yeah. I know. I’m doing everything I can to make sure I’m there. Even if it means I have to sprint off the track and hop on a plane. I’ll deal with the team's reaction after. I won’t miss it.”

“You promise?” you asked, needing to hear it aloud.

He smiled. “Cross my heart. I’m his biggest fan. I wouldn’t miss watching our boy race for anything.”

You felt a swell of affection in your chest, unable to hide your smile. “Good. He’ll want you there — he already asked twice this morning if you’d make it.”

“Tell him yes,” Lando said firmly. “Tell him I’ll be there with bells on.”

You laughed softly, then glanced at the time. “So, um… your mom and I talked earlier. She wants to have Sebastian and Lyla for the summer. Says she misses the chaos.”

Lando’s eyes widened a bit. “I figured she’d bring that up.”

“She’s already planning beach days and movie nights, Lando. I think she’s ready for full grandma mode,” you joked.

“They’ll love being with her,” Lando said with a grin. “They’ll be with their cousins, run around outside, no cameras, no pressure. It’ll be good for them.”

You quirked a brow. “And what will we be doing?”

He leaned closer to the camera, eyes dancing. “Well, I was thinking… maybe I take you somewhere sunny, just us, no responsibilities…”

You laughed again. “You say that, but I know what’s going on in that head of yours. Keep it in your pants.”

Lando feigned innocence, wiggling his brows mischievously. “Mmm, I don’t know, love… baby number three doesn’t sound so bad.”

You gasped, half-joking, half-serious. “Lando Norris! Sebastian is seven and Lyla is two!”

“And?” he smirked. “That’s perfect spacing. You’d be glowing again, and we already know how good I am at naming kids.”

You shook your head, cheeks warm with laughter. “You're unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably in love with you,” he added smoothly, gaze softening.

You fell quiet for a beat, letting his words settle in your chest.

“I miss you,” you whispered.

“I miss you more,” he replied, his voice a little hoarse. “But I’ll be home soon. I promise.”

And as the call continued, you found yourself feeling lighter — knowing that even when things felt heavy, you didn’t have to carry it all alone.

“You guys’ll be watching the race, huh?”

You gasped dramatically, placing a hand over your heart. “When do we ever miss your races? We watch every single one. Whether it’s on the couch, the tablet in the car, or Lyla yelling ‘Dada!’ at the screen in the middle of the grid walk.”

He laughed softly, his eyes glowing with that boyish charm that never seemed to fade. “You’re gonna be watching me win then?”

You smirked. “We’re going to be watching you win with snacks, and matching shirts, and banners Sebastian insists on hanging from the window like it’s a football match.”

Lando leaned his chin into his palm, clearly imagining it all. “God, I love that. I love you guys.”

“And when you come home…” you started.

“We’ll celebrate,” he said in unison, and your face lit up as you nodded. “All of us,” you added.

He raised a brow with a mischievous tilt of his lips. “So, no just you and me then? No little alone time?”

You narrowed your eyes playfully. “Mr. Norris.”

He laughed at the way you said it, all mock-serious and slightly amused.

He countered with a grin, “Mrs. Norris.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at your lips. “Husband.”

He leaned closer to the camera, eyes soft, teasing, “Wife.”

Silence fell for a beat — the kind of silence wrapped in warmth and longing — before you both let out small, soft chuckles, laughing at nothing in particular, just the comfort of each other.

He sighed gently, his eyes darting away for a second, then back to you. “What is with you wanting another baby?” you asked, arching a curious brow. “Lyla is two. And she’s still in diapers!”

He shrugged, that knowing, cheeky smirk forming again. “I don’t know… I think I’m growing into this whole ‘loving family man’ thing.”

You tilted your head, amused but still listening.

“I mean, I still love going out, hanging with the guys, laughing till we cry — you know that. But something about you, and them…” His voice lowered a bit, softer now. “Something about our life together. I don’t know. It hits different. Like, I never knew coming home to sticky hands and toy cars on the couch would feel better than champagne and lights and music.”

You smiled, hand absentmindedly playing with the necklace around your neck. “You’ve changed. In a good way.”

“I am changing,” he agreed, “but I still love who I’ve always been. I’m just loving this part of me more. The part that watches you sing while folding laundry, or kisses Lyla’s curls when she falls asleep on my chest, or watches Sebastian explain why one dinosaur could totally beat another in a race.”

You chuckled, teary-eyed and full of love. “You’re soft.”

He smirked, “I’m a marshmallow for you. And them. Completely useless without you guys.”

You nodded slowly, eyes glinting with emotion. “We’re useless without you too.”

Then, of course, came the turn.

“And I think I do want another baby,” he added, more serious this time, eyes not leaving yours.

You let out a slow sigh. “Maybe one day, Lando. Maybe when you retire… When you’re actually home more than gone.”

He shrugged innocently. “Mmm, if I can just pull out enough—”

“Lando Norris!” you scolded sharply, eyes wide.

He burst into laughter, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’m kidding! I swear. Kind of. Half kidding.”

You narrowed your eyes, trying to suppress your smile but failing.

“I just…” He leaned back slightly, his gaze softening. “I love what we’ve built. I love what we’re still building. And if I’m being honest, even the hard days — the tantrums, the late-night feedings, the exhausting travel — I’d do it all again with you.”

Your breath caught for a moment, a knot forming in your throat as his words settled.

“I’d do it all again with you too,” you whispered.

He exhaled, smiling.

"I have to go, but I love you and you have to watch the race" he said

"we wouldn't miss it for the world"

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The tension had built up for days.

In the quiet stillness of your Monaco flat, it was race day. You could feel it in the air, thick with excitement and nerves. The living room was decked out in your usual Norris-family race day tradition — soft throws on the couch, little flags in the corner, and three matching shirts that read “Team Norris” in bold navy lettering. Lyla had one much too big for her tiny frame, but she wore it anyway, content on your lap, her thumb in her mouth and her wide eyes fixed on the TV screen. Sebastian, meanwhile, was nearly bouncing in place, his eyes shining, his hair still a little mussed from sleep.

You hadn't heard much from Lando since the night before — just a quick "I love you" text with a photo of him on the grid in the early prep stages — but you understood. This was the one. The big one. And you knew where his mind had to be. It still didn’t stop you from missing him.

"He has to win!" Sebastian said again with conviction, this time louder, his feet tucked under the blanket and his eyes already locked on the pre-race footage.

You gave a soft smile, brushing your hand over Lyla’s curls before standing. “Just give it some time, sweetheart. I'll get your snacks — popcorn or goldfish?”

“Both!” Sebastian shouted after you as you headed into the kitchen.

Back in the living room, Sebastian leaned closer to his baby sister, a grin spreading across his face. “Daddy’s gonna win, I just know it,” he whispered like it was a sacred truth. “And I’ll prove my point to Matteo from school, who said Daddy’s only second-best. Hah! Wait till he sees this.”

Lyla blinked at him, offering a toothy grin and a little clumsy clap as she watched the colorful cars roll out onto the formation lap.

Meanwhile, across the world, on the grid.

Lando pulled on his gloves, taking one last breath as the helmet was lowered onto his head. The outside world dimmed.

The engineers around him buzzed with activity, last-minute data checks, and tire temps, but Lando was quiet, focused. One AirPod still in, playing the last voice note you had sent him — Lyla babbling in the background, Sebastian yelling "Bring home a trophy, Dad!" and you, soft and reassuring, saying, “No matter the result, we’re watching, and we’re proud.”

He closed his eyes. That was all he needed.

Oscar passed by with a thumbs up, and Lando nodded, his jaw tight but a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

He climbed into the cockpit, strapping in.

“Radio check,” his engineer’s voice buzzed.

“Radio check, loud and clear,” Lando replied.

“Alright, Lando. You know the target. Eyes forward.”

Back in Monaco…

You returned with two bowls, setting them on the coffee table as the lights on the screen counted down.

“Okay guys… here we go,” you said, dropping to the couch and wrapping one arm around Lyla, the other rubbing Sebastian’s back.

“Lights out and away we go!”

Lap 1-10:

Lando got off to a strong start, holding his position in P2, close behind Verstappen. The first few laps were all about rhythm, getting into the groove. You leaned forward as you watched him maneuver confidently, hugging apexes, defending perfectly from Leclerc who trailed behind in P3.

“He’s doing good, right?” Sebastian asked, clutching a little toy McLaren car in his hands.

“He’s doing amazing,” you smiled, heart pounding.

Lap 11-25:

The tension began to build. Lando was gaining time in Sector 2 — fast, precise, pushing the limits.

Then came the first big move: DRS open, Lando dove down the inside of Max at Turn 4 — bold, committed, clean. He took the lead.

You stood up instinctively, nearly knocking the popcorn bowl over. “Oh my God! He did it!” you gasped, hands over your mouth.

Sebastian jumped up and down on the couch. “HE’S IN FIRST! MAMA! HE’S IN FIRST!”

Lyla clapped again, amused by the yelling more than the race itself.

Lap 26-40:

Pit stops came and went. The team got Lando out just in time to cover an undercut from Carlos Sainz. It was tight, the kind of strategy that made your hands sweat and your heart ache, but it worked.

Lando stayed ahead.

You texted him a quick message even though you knew he wouldn’t see it till hours later: “We’re screaming. In the best way. Keep going, baby.”

Lap 41-55:

Fatigue started to show on track. Tire wear became an issue for nearly everyone — except Lando. He managed his tires like a master, something you knew he’d been working on.

Oscar came up on the radio: “Keep pushing, mate. Clean sectors. He’s not gaining.”

Back in Monaco, you were chewing on a nail, leaning forward, whispering, “Come on, come on, come on...”

Sebastian sat completely still, eyes locked, absorbing everything, while Lyla dozed slightly against your arm.

Lap 56-60:

A late Virtual Safety Car nearly ruined everything — a spin from Tsunoda meant Lando had to hold his nerve for a restart with just four laps to go.

“You got this, baby,” you whispered.

Lando held the restart beautifully.

Max tried to pressure him. Leclerc was still lurking. But it wasn’t enough.

You saw it coming — last lap, still leading, gap stable — and your heart rose into your throat.

Final Lap.

“He’s going to do it, he’s going to do it,” you repeated like a prayer, holding Lyla tighter as she shifted awake.

Sebastian stood tall on the couch, arms raised before the car even crossed the line.

Lando Norris takes the win!

The living room erupted.

You scooped Sebastian into your arms, both of you yelling, laughing. Lyla squealed at the noise, bouncing in your grip as you kissed her forehead.

“That’s your dad!” you said, tears pricking your eyes. “That’s our guy!”

Sebastian was fist-pumping, dancing around. “He did it! I TOLD YOU! I TOLD EVERYONE!”

The energy from the win still surged through Lando like electricity.

Champagne soaked his fire suit, the fizzy scent clinging to his skin, and the weight of the first-place trophy still tingled in his fingers. It had been a long, grueling season, but this moment—this victory—made every drop of sweat, every frustrating finish, every near miss worth it.

He had stood on the top step of the podium, the national anthem ringing in his ears, flanked by rivals who, in that moment, were just shadows in his periphery. He’d closed his eyes as the crowd roared, tilting his head back to the sky, arms raised—this one was for them. For you. For Sebastian. For Lyla.

The after-race buzz carried him into the media pen, where bright lights flashed and microphones lined up like waiting mouths.

He knew the drill. Praise, performance, statistics. But this time, it felt different. More personal.

The interviewer greeted him warmly, microphone in hand, and Lando offered her his usual winning grin, wiping a stray drop of champagne from his cheek.

"That race was amazing! You did good out there, congratulations on your win."

“Ah, thank you,” Lando said, voice steady but still glowing with pride. “We’ve been working hard as a team. McLaren has been putting in the effort. I think this is a result we absolutely deserve. We’ve come a long way and I’m proud of all of us.”

"You made some great overtakes, looked pretty smooth on the track out there,” she added.

He chuckled, brushing a hand through his damp curls. “Yeah, I agree. I did enjoy that. Smooth. Confident. Covered in champagne now,” he added playfully, gesturing to the soaked suit.

The interviewer laughed lightly. “So, onto a serious question—what pushed your focus today?”

Lando’s smile softened. “My family back home,” he said without hesitation. “My wife and our kids. Every time I race, I know they’re watching. That matters more than anything else. My son’s probably bouncing off the walls right now, and my daughter... well, she’s probably clapping and not really understanding why,” he laughed gently.

“Speaking of,” the interviewer said, voice shifting slightly, “Lyla has grown a lot, hasn’t she? She’s your first child, correct?”

Lando tilted his head, surprised. “Lyla’s my youngest. Sebastian’s the first,” he corrected with ease.

The interviewer’s expression stiffened slightly, a subtle shift in tone as she pressed forward. “Right, but... Sebastian isn’t biologically yours, is he? That’s been talked about online a lot. It’s everywhere on social media, so we were just wondering if you could confirm it. Are you... a bonus dad, then?”

There was a pause.

The sparkle in Lando’s eyes dimmed instantly. His jaw clenched, and for a moment, he simply stared at her. The celebratory atmosphere turned cold.

“Where are you getting your information?” he asked, voice clipped, firm.

She blinked. “It’s all over the internet. Just speculation, and we’ve talked about it before in smaller settings—”

“You’ve talked about it,” Lando interrupted, his tone sharper now. “Without us. Without permission. Without context. That’s not speculation. That’s invasion.”

The camera continued rolling, capturing every twitch of his expression as it darkened.

“I’m sorry,” he said, more composed now but pointed. “What part of this interview gives you the right to belittle my son? Because that’s exactly what you’re doing.”

The interviewer seemed to falter, caught off-guard.

“I don’t race for this,” Lando said, voice steady but seething. “I don’t climb into that car, risk my life, give my everything—just to sit here and hear you disrespect a little boy who’s probably wearing my name on his back right now.”

He took a deep breath, visibly trying to steady the anger that surged beneath the surface. “I’ve been in his life since he was three. I’ve tucked him in every night I’m home. I’ve been at his karting races, holding his helmet, tying his shoes, patching his scraped knees. I’ve wiped his tears and celebrated his victories. That is my son. Period.”

The interviewer tried to speak, “I was just—”

“Digging,” Lando cut her off coldly. “You were digging. For drama. For a soundbite. Let me make something clear. Your job is to ask me about this—” he gestured around the paddock, the track, the microphones—“not about my family. Not about my wife. Not about my children.”

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. His words, low and calm, cut sharper than anything else could.

“I’m not a ‘bonus dad.’ I’m just his dad,” he continued, emotion cracking just slightly in his voice. “If you can’t understand that, then you’re not qualified to sit behind that microphone. And if any of you out there are scrolling through my wife’s social media trying to create stories out of our life, just know — it ends here. Her account will be private by tonight, and I’ll make damn sure of that.”

Lando stared her down, jaw tight. “I love my family. I protect my family. You don’t get to question that.”

And with that, he pushed the mic gently aside and turned, walking off, his soaked fire suit leaving damp footprints on the concrete. The cameras followed him, the silence of the interviewer deafening behind him.

At home, you had pulled Sebastian into your lap, shielding him from some of the awkward silence, but he had heard enough to understand that his dad had defended him.

Your heart swelled with love. You pressed your lips to Sebastian’s temple.

“He’s the best,” Sebastian whispered, resting his head against your shoulder.

“He really is,” you whispered back, eyes misty.

And as the screen faded to coverage of the next driver interview, the three of you sat there in silence — proud, warm, protected.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

It was well past midnight when the front door clicked open.

The Monaco flat was dimly lit, the soft hum of the city outside barely reaching through the thick windows. Lando stepped inside quietly, careful not to let the door slam behind him. He stood still for a moment, shoulders heavy with travel and the weight of the last few days, just breathing it all in.

Home.

It smelled like lavender and laundry detergent. Like calm. Like you.

He dropped his bag gently by the wall, toes sinking into the familiar rug. The place was quiet—so quiet it almost made him hesitate. But then—

“Lando?”

Your voice came softly from down the hall, thick with sleep but unmistakable. He turned toward it just in time to see you stepping out from the bedroom, wearing one of his hoodies, your hair messy, eyes puffy from sleep.

“You’re awake?” he asked, surprised but touched.

You didn’t answer right away. You just walked to him, arms wrapping around his torso as your head found his chest. He let out a long breath, holding you tightly, his hand smoothing over your back like he’d been aching to do it for weeks.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you whispered. “Not till I knew you were home safe.”

He kissed the top of your head, quietly. “I’m here now.”

You looked up at him after a beat. “Thank you.”

“For what?” he asked gently, brow furrowing.

You swallowed, stepping back just enough to look into his eyes. “For defending Sebastian... in that interview after the race. I watched it live. I—I cried, Lando. You stood up for him like he was born yours. I think you gave him something that day that words can’t explain. Closure. Pride. Love.”

His face softened. “You don’t need to thank me for loving my own kid.”

You took his hand, giving it a small squeeze. “Come on, sit with me.”

You both moved to the living room, the silence between you filled only with the late-night hum of the world outside. Lando sank into the couch beside you and pulled something out of his backpack—a large envelope.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” he said, handing it to you. “But during this trip... I finally did it.”

You opened the envelope slowly. Your breath caught when you saw the words printed at the top of the first page.

Petition for Adoption.

Your hand flew to your mouth as your eyes began to water. “Lando…”

“I want to adopt Sebastian,” he said firmly. “Not just emotionally. Not just in practice. I want him to know, for the rest of his life, that he’s mine. In every way. I want him to carry my name proudly, not just because it’s what he’s always known—but because I chose him. Because he’s my son.”

You blinked through your tears, heart aching in the most beautiful way.

“He is your son,” you whispered. “He always has been, but... yes. Yes, of course you can adopt him. His biological father gave up any rights years ago. This... it’ll just make it official.”

Lando smiled, relief and love rushing over his face like a wave.

“I want him to see his name on paper and know that he was never second choice. That I was never filling a space. That I am his dad.”

You reached for him, pulling him into another hug, both of you holding onto each other tightly.

“He’s going to love this,” you murmured against his shoulder. “He’ll be so proud.”

After a moment, he kissed the top of your head and leaned back, looking toward the dark hallway.

“Where are they?”

“In our bed,” you said with a sleepy laugh. “They didn’t know you’d be home tonight, so they both passed out in your spot.”

Lando chuckled quietly. “Of course they did. I should’ve guessed.”

He stood and stretched, running a hand through his messy curls, then glanced back at you with a tired but happy smile.

“I’ll crawl in beside them. I missed that.”

You nodded. “Go ahead. I’ll put the papers somewhere safe.”

As he disappeared down the hallway toward your shared bedroom, you lingered on the couch a little longer, fingers brushing over the envelope in your lap. The adoption papers felt like more than just forms. They were proof of love, of choice, of a bond deeper than blood.

Lando Norris wasn’t just a driver. He wasn’t just a husband.

He was a father—one who had chosen your son with his whole heart.

And soon, the world would know it, too.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

It was a bright, golden Saturday morning, the kind where the sun felt warmer just from the happiness in the air. The buzz of excitement surrounded the karting track as parents gathered along the fences, kids zipped around in anticipation, and the low hum of engines created a constant vibration in the atmosphere.

You stood at the edge of the crowd, gently rocking Lyla in your arms. Her little fists clung to your hoodie, her face buried against your neck as the loudness of the event overwhelmed her small, sensitive self. Her curls tickled your cheek as she whimpered softly, the noise too much, the people too many.

“I know, baby girl,” you murmured, swaying gently with her. “You’re okay. Mama’s got you. We’re just watching your big brother, and I promise you’re safe. Deep breaths, just like we practiced.”

You could feel her breathing start to match yours, still uneven, but getting there.

Not far away, Lando crouched in front of Sebastian, who stood in his racing boots, looking up at his stepdad with wide, focused eyes. Lando held out the fresh, custom McLaren-orange-and-black racing suit with his name stitched across the chest: Sebastian Norris.

“Here, champ. Get this on,” Lando said with a grin, his eyes gleaming with pride.

Sebastian’s smile was immediate—half excitement, half nerves—as he slipped into the suit with Lando’s help. Lando zipped it up and adjusted the collar, smoothing out the sleeves like he was dressing him for battle.

“Remember,” Lando began, placing a hand over Sebastian’s shoulder, “you’ve got this. You’re fast, you’re smart, and you’re brave. Everything I taught you in practice—that was just guidance. But today? This is your race. It’s your hands on the wheel. You own every second out there. Be proud of yourself no matter what.”

You stepped closer, giving Sebastian a warm smile. “And remember something else too, baby. Even if you don’t come first, we’re always proud of you. You’re our superstar no matter what place you get, okay?”

Sebastian, eyes big with emotion, suddenly launched himself forward and wrapped his arms around both of you, burying his face between you and Lando. It was tight and fast and full of love.

“Love you both,” he said into the hug.

“We love you more,” you both echoed at the same time, grinning.

Just then, a familiar voice called out beside you. “Am I missing anything?”

You turned to see Oscar Piastri, sunglasses pushed into his curls and a grin on his face. He was holding a drink in one hand and his phone in the other, like he’d rushed to get there just in time.

“You showed up at the right moment,” you said, nodding toward the track. “Taking the uncle role seriously?”

Oscar glanced at Lyla, who peeked up at him briefly before hiding again. “Trying,” he said, a little awkwardly, patting her gently on the back like he wasn’t quite sure how to comfort a toddler.

You chuckled. “She’ll warm up to you. She’s got anxiety, so she’s on edge right now, but... just wait. She’s going to adore you. You’re already one of her favorite people—we just haven’t told her yet.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow playfully. “Guess I better live up to it.”

Meanwhile, Sebastian climbed into his kart with Lando by his side. The helmet went on. Visor down. Gloves tightened. It was the kind of moment that made your heart swell—watching a boy take after the man who raised him, inspired by him.

Lando leaned in for one last word, tapping Sebastian’s helmet twice. “Have fun out there, alright? Do it for yourself.”

Then the engines roared.

The race began.

You, Lando, and Oscar stood at the rail, eyes locked on the track. The karts whizzed by, and you could barely keep up with how fast they were moving. Sebastian got a decent start but was caught behind a few karts early on, stuck in the middle pack. Lando’s hands clenched the fence, but his voice remained calm.

“You’re okay, son! You’ve got time. Stay smart, find your line,” he called out.

Sebastian, laser-focused, didn’t respond, but you knew he heard him. You could tell by the way he adjusted his line and began picking up pace. Lap after lap, he pushed harder, smoothly maneuvering the corners and creeping up on the front two.

“He’s holding steady,” Oscar muttered. “Smart kid.”

On the final lap, everything changed.

Sebastian saw the opening at the hairpin—a risky move, the kind Lando had pulled once years ago in Formula 1. With confidence far beyond his years, Sebastian went for it, cutting in sharply and overtaking both drivers with stunning precision. The crowd erupted.

You screamed. “THAT’S MY BABY!”

Lando pumped his fists into the air, grabbing Lyla out of your arms and lifting her up with joy.

“HE DID IT! That’s my boy!” Lando laughed, peppering kisses all over Lyla’s cheek as she giggled, her anxiety forgotten for a moment. “Your brother did it, little bug! This means we’re gonna celebrate!”

You felt your throat tighten with pride as the announcer echoed the final call over the speakers:

“Sebastian Norris takes the win! What an incredible overtake! What a finish!”

Sebastian pulled into the finish area, lifting his helmet off to reveal a glowing, flushed face and the biggest grin you’d ever seen. His eyes searched the crowd—he wasn’t looking for the trophy.

He was looking for his family.

And you were already running.

The day had been filled with celebration—post-race chatter with other parents, Sebastian glowing under the praise, Lyla surprisingly soothed by the familiar warmth of family even in the crowd. You all went out for lunch, somewhere simple and kid-friendly, where Sebastian insisted on ordering the “victory pancakes” and got whipped cream on his nose. Lando let him wear his medal around his neck the entire time.

Now, hours later, the sun hanging gently above the Monaco skyline, the flat was filled with a peace that only came after a day well-spent.

You sat curled up on the couch with Lando, your legs across his lap and his fingers lazily tracing circles on your ankle. The golden glow from the windows bathed the room in light, and across from you, in the display case that Lando had meticulously organized, sat Sebastian’s first-ever karting trophy. It gleamed under the soft light—placed proudly in the center, as if it belonged in a museum.

“We did it,” Lando said softly, breaking the silence with a small, awed chuckle. “He won.”

You smiled and leaned your head against his shoulder, watching the way his eyes lingered on the trophy with that soft fatherly pride that never got old. “He did. And he earned it. You both did.”

Lando looked at you with a grin, then glanced toward the hallway. “He’s been jumping on his bed for the past ten minutes, I swear.”

“He’s seven,” you laughed. “He might still be jumping when he’s seventeen.”

“Honestly, he’s got something special,” Lando said. “Just at seven... imagine what kind of skill he’ll have when he’s older. He’s going to be unstoppable.”

Your fingers toyed with the hem of his shirt. “I believe it. And Lyla… well, hopefully she picks something a little less... tire-screeching. Maybe something quiet. Like painting or reading books.”

Lando laughed. “Please. I am begging the universe for that.”

“She’s only two and already doesn’t like loud noises,” you reminded him, nodding toward her room where soft music was playing and little clinks of plastic toys could be heard as she played peacefully. “Let’s pray it sticks.”

Lando’s arm slid around your shoulders, pulling you closer. “You still haven’t rewarded me,” he teased, voice low and cheeky.

You raised a brow with a smirk. “Rewarded you for what?”

He grinned. “For raising a champion, obviously. For all my hard work. The late nights. The endless pep talks. The helmet adjusting.”

“Mhm,” you hummed, pretending to consider. “So... what are you asking for exactly?”

His eyebrows wiggled, and you knew exactly where this was going. “Well,” he said, leaning in. “The kids will be asleep tonight... it’ll just be me and you... in our bed...”

You snorted, swatting his chest. “Lando!”

“I’m just saying!” he laughed. “It’s the perfect time to discuss a possible baby number three... maybe even a name list.”

You pulled back, eyes wide and playful. “We are not having another baby, Lando.”

He gasped in mock betrayal. “Mrs. Norris, how dare you deny your devoted husband more offspring!”

You burst out laughing. “You are being needy.”

“And you,” he leaned in to kiss you, “are being difficult.”

Just as you kissed him back, the sweet moment was interrupted by a voice yelling from down the hall: “MOM! DAD! Come look! I made a racetrack out of my LEGOs!”

You looked at Lando, who just gave a breathless chuckle, resting his forehead against yours. “Why are you looking at me like that?” you asked, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear it anyway.

“Because I’m just... happy,” he said, voice soft. “He’s a Norris now. Really a Norris. Legally. Officially. My boy.”

Your heart swelled at the way his voice cracked ever so slightly at the word my. You reached up to kiss him again, fingers brushing his cheek.

“He always was,” you whispered. “Even before the papers. But now... it’s forever.”

Lando’s lips curved into a proud smile. “Yeah. Forever.”

Then, with a twinkle in his eye, he leaned back and added, “And baby three will be too—”

You grabbed the nearest couch pillow and chucked it at him, hitting him square in the chest.

“Your baby fever is at an all-time high,” you warned, grinning as he laughed and threw his hands up.

“Get it fixed, Norris.”

“Can’t help it!” he said, holding the pillow like a prize. “You made this life too good.”

And somewhere down the hall, a little boy was yelling about tires and turns, a little girl was humming with her toys, and in that living room—surrounded by trophies, laughter, and the soft kind of love that lasts—Lando Norris sat beside his forever family, more proud than he ever imagined he could be.

☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★

TAG LIST: @aunslie

[luvr4miya]

clementine — andrew "pope" cody x fem!reader You’re looking for a bodyguard and Pope is the perfect person for it

warnings: ANGST, bodyguard!pope, descriptions of violence, mentions of blood, mentions of su1c1d4l tendencies, reader’s parents are not good people—her dad is trying to kill her, probably ooc towards the end sorry, mdni, not proofread wc: 3.9k+ masterlist

“$200,000.”

Pope’s eyebrow raises, clearly skeptical. “I’m being paid $200,000 to be security?”

“A personal bodyguard,” Deran clarifies, “But yeah.”

Pope scoffs. “Is this a joke? Who the hell am I protecting, King Charles?”

Deran chuckles. “You’ll see.”

—

Pope doesn’t know why he said yes—well, the biggest incentive is the money, two hundred grand could fix a lot of things. But a job to protect someone? That’s not what he does. He breaks things. Hurts people. Wrecks whatever needs wrecking. Protection feels like the opposite of what he was made for. What makes Deran think he could do this job?

He’s instructed to go to this person’s beach house for further screening. It’s far from his place, about a two hour drive, and he gets there on time as requested; 9AM sharp.

He knocks on the door.

A voice cracks through the intercom: “Full name.”

“Andrew Cody.”

The door opens.

The place is sleek, modern. Ocean view. Infinity pool catching the sun like glass. And there—coming out of the water—is the only person in the house. You walk barefoot across the deck, barely covering your bikini with a robe, wet hair leaving trails across your shoulders.

Pope watches you, sizing you up automatically. At first, he thinks you must be someone’s girlfriend. But when your eyes meet his, level and assessing, he knows he’s wrong.

“So, you’re Deran’s brother.”

He nods. “You’re Clementine?”

You smile, a little wry. “Yeah, Deran calls me that. He tattooed the orange on my hip.” You show him the citrus tattoo poking out of your bikini and offer him to call your real name instead.

“And you?” you ask. “Do you prefer Andrew or Pope?”

“Either is fine.” He shrugs.

“Andrew it is.”

“Deran wasn’t lying when he said you’re intimidating.” You add, “And handsome.”

Andrew looks around your house, only sparing you a glance at your comment. It’s almost too perfect. Marble floors. Strategic decor. Cameras tucked into every corner, wide coverage, no blind spots. You’re expecting enemies, he thinks. Not company.

You hand him a glass of orange juice.

“So, Andrew. You clear on the directive, or do you have questions?”

He ignores the orange juice, putting it down on the counter. “How do you know Deran?”

“Surfing. Beers. Getting drunk.”

He looks at you. That’s not the full truth. You know it, and you know he knows it. But you just sip your juice and let the silence stretch.

“What do you need a bodyguard for?”

You smile politely, curtly. “I’m not telling you until you sign a contract with me. Sorry. Security reasons.”

Fair. Andrew thinks.

“All I can say is,” You add, “People want me dead. And I need someone to watch my six while I get rid of them.”

His eyes narrow. “Why me?”

“My last security team got compromised. I’m handpicking this one myself. Deran’s one of the few people I trust—and he said you’re the best.” You tilt your head, watching him closely. “So are you?”

Andrew takes a breath. “I only know how to hurt people.”

“Good.” You smirk. “I need you to hurt the people who try to hurt me.”

He stares at you — not quite sure what to make of you yet. Andrew is intrigued by your electric personality, your quips, your wit. But he’s also a little wary. He doesn’t know you yet. Doesn’t entirely know what you’re capable of. Heck, he’s not even sure what exactly is it you do, but the fact that you’re throwing around two-hundred grand for one bodyguard? It’s enough to make him stay.

You pull open a drawer, take out a contract and a pen, and slide them across the table.

“Read the terms and sign when you’re ready,” you say. “Payment comes after the job’s done.”

Andrew picks it up, flips through. Buried in the fine print is a clause: if he dies on the job, he waives liability. His lips tighten. Of course.

He looks up at you, a smirk on your face, watching him like you’ve already figured out what choice he’ll make.

He signs the papers and passes them back to you.

“Good to be working with you, Andrew.” You scan the contract, making sure he signed correctly. “You’ll be staying here with me throughout the contract, so you can go back and grab whatever you need. I expect to see you back here tonight.”

Andrew puts down the pen on your coffee table. And just before turning around to leave, he asks, “What makes you think you can trust me?”

You eye him from your kitchen counter, drinking the orange juice he didn’t dare touch while keeping eye contact.

“Maybe I can’t. But I know where Deran lives.”

Andrew isn’t sure if that’s a threat.

Before he has to go back to your place, Andrew tries to learn everything he can about you, but nothing turns up. No criminal record. No gossip. No digital breadcrumbs. Even Deran shrugs when he asks. Andrew doesn’t like working blind, but it’s too late to back out now.

When he pulls into your driveway that night, he’s surprised to see he doesn’t need to knock. The house scans his face and unlocks automatically.

Inside, he hears your voice before he sees you—you're on the phone in the living room.

“I’m trying to make a life for myself. You know this.” You say to the person on the other line.

Andrew spots a few empty beer bottles on the table.

Your voice rises — sharper, angrier. “Why are you still defending him?! Our whole lives, he—” You stop mid-sentence. You’ve caught sight of him in the reflection on the glass wall.

“You can tell him he can saw my head off my body himself.” You hang up and glance back at Andrew, a duffel bag in hand.

“Good, you’re back.” You say. “Ready for briefing?” Your tone is cool, like nothing happened.

Andrew says nothing at first. Just drops his duffel bag by the couch.

You toss him a beer, which he catches one-handed. He cracks it open but doesn’t drink yet.

Then you start talking. Handing him files about people he should look out for. It’s a lot more complicated than he thought.

You tell him everything. Not everything-everything — he knows you’re not reckless — but more than he expected.

Andrew learns a lot about your life then. You emancipated yourself at 15. Built a business from the ground up. Acquired, merged, dismantled. And now? You own multiple companies that directly compete with your father's and suddenly he wants you dead.

Suddenly Andrew feels a lot closer to you. He can understand where your rage is coming from. That kind of fury? That kind of betrayal? It changes people.

“So he’s put a bounty on your head.” Andrew raises a brow. “What if I just kill you now and take the bounty for myself?”

You don’t flinch. You just smirk, lips wrapping around the edge of your beer bottle. “I’d like to see you try.”

Andrew’s lip twitches, he almost smiled. “How much is the bounty anyway?”

“$200,000.”

He lets out a quiet laugh. He wants to say you’re crazy. You both take a drink and leave the night to the silence. Maybe now you understand each other a little better.

You let Andrew get used to his role of being your bodyguard for the first few days, watching how he moves, how he scans a room, how naturally he seems to step in front of you without thinking. You know he can fight, he’s got a very sharp eye, and he intimidates people, but what you need to know is whether he can actually keep you safe when shit hits the fan. So you take him out to bars, shadowy alleys that are just too suspicious—try to engage him in fights he’s not ready for.

So far? He’s passing with flying colors.

He’s just finished taking care of a few guys that jumped you from an alley. No wasted moves. Controlled rage. Efficient. By the time he’s finished, the bodies are barely breathing, slumped in a pile behind the dumpster. He’s panting when he walks back to you, knuckles bloodied, shirt rumpled.

“How’d I do this time?” He asks, catching his breath.

You smile at him. “Amazing as usual.”

You walk with him to the car, and just as he’s catching his breath, you toss in, “Though… I didn’t set these guys up.”

Andrew looks at you, eyes a little wide. “…Your dad really doesn’t play around.”

You laugh at his comment. Because you’ve been playing this game for a long time. “Oh, just wait till you meet him.”

He sighs, getting into the car. “Not looking forward to it.”

You’ve been staring at him the entire way back to your house. And Andrew knows—of course he does, you’re not trying to hide it, he just doesn’t know what to make of it. Not when you’re staring at him like that.

“Quit looking at me like—”

“Like what?” You ask, daring him to finish his sentence.

He swallows, glancing at you. “…You know like what.”

You grin, tearing your gaze away to the road instead and crossing your legs.

Back at the house, you grab the first aid kit before he can even kick off his boots.

“This-This is really not necessary.” Andrew stammers, watching you yank out the alcohol and band-aids.

“Andrew, please.”

Your voice is soft, patient as you start cleaning the scrapes on his knuckles.

He winces as the alcohol hits, and you immediately mumble, “Sorry.”

“Besides, it’s in our contract,” you add.

His eyes narrow, watching as you’re now cleaning his cut lip. “Is it?”

You suppress a smile and he rolls his eyes.

“I’m not going to just leave you if you get hurt, Andrew.” You clarify. “I hired you to protect me, yes, but I have a responsibility to you, too.”

He feels his heart rate pick up. Now he’s staring at you. Not with suspicion. Not with wariness. Just a little surprised because he doesn’t expect to feel anything, and you’re so close.

You’re leaning in, carefully dabbing at the cut on his lip. He keeps flinching back slightly, and the closer you get, the more flustered he becomes.

You bite back a smile. He’s trying so hard to keep it together.

And then, because you can’t help yourself—you kiss his nose.

Andrew freezes.

That pause is all you need to stick the bandage on his forehead before he can shy away again.

“There,” you murmur, pleased with yourself.

Andrew doesn’t breathe until you get up to put the first aid kit where it belongs.

And even then, his eyes stay on you, like maybe he’s starting to realize this job isn’t going to go the way he thought.

You can see him turning slightly pink, and you think that’s enough torture for today. Poor guy’s been beat up twice—once by those guys in the alley, and again by your relentless teasing. Not like you could hold it any longer anyway. If it were up to you, you’d be smooching booties in every room of this house.

“You should get some sleep,” you say, this time more serious. “I know you don’t sleep much, but try anyway.”

You hesitate, then add, “In two days, things are going to get a little crazy.”

You pause. “A lot crazy.”

Andrew stands up slowly. He stops just before bumping into you. He looks down and holds your gaze.

“I can handle crazy.”

You spend the next day preparing for the event. The charity gala hosted by some privileged, overpowered organization is only a charity in name. It’s not about goodwill or giving back. It’s about control. Image. Legacy. And that’s exactly why it’s the perfect place to make your move.

Your father has no idea what’s coming.

You’ve planned every detail. The data, the footage, the timing—down to the moment the room will go quiet. All you need to do now is make sure everyone’s watching. And that you survive long enough to finish the job.

Because you know your father. He always has something up his sleeve.

That night, you can’t sleep. You’ve gone over everything with Andrew. Twice. Maybe three times. He knows the plan. He’s ready. But your mind won’t settle. Your body’s tired but your thoughts won’t let you rest. You finally get out of bed and head outside, needing air.

You sit by the pool, the water just up to your knees and the light reflecting on your face.

You remember the day you left your family like yesterday. A bunch of screams and tears from your mother, while your father basically dared you to run, chasing you with his gun. Your jaw tightens at the memory.

“Can’t sleep?” Andrew’s voice breaks the silence.

You glance over. He sits beside you, feet in the water. He’s not wearing a shirt — just a pair of loose black sweats, skin still damp from a shower.

You blink. “Jesus Christ. Are you trying to seduce me?”

Andrew looks down at himself, then at you, deadpan. “Is it working?”

That earns a soft laugh. The corner of your mouth twitches. “Maybe.”

But your smile quickly falters and he knows you probably have a lot on your mind. “Your plan’s good. Solid. You’ve covered everything.”

“I know.” You sigh. “I just... can’t shake the feeling something’s going to go wrong. That maybe it has to. I don’t know, my entire life is just fucked up.”

He nods. “Here’s to having a not-so-normal family.”

You almost forget he’s a Cody. “At least you all still live together.”

Andrew leans back on his arms. “That’s not necessarily something good. I… I needed a break from them. From Smurf. Deran and Craig noticed. I started to have these… thoughts. Tendencies.”

You let him go on.

“So… thank you. For this job.”

You smile, a little half-hearted, reminded that Andrew’s just doing another job. And soon enough you’ll be on your own. Again.

Day of the gala.

You arrive fashionably—deliberately late. It’s part of the plan. Every piece of tonight is curated to pull the rug from under your father’s feet, and nothing makes a man like him unravel faster than losing control of a room he thinks he owns.

Andrew stands beside you, his hand on your lower back, reassuring you that he’s got you.

Taking a deep breath, you push the main doors open. Your heels click against the marble as you step into the ballroom, head held high. You’re dressed in a statement of war; blood-red silk, backless, a slit cut dangerously high. You look like the kind of woman headlines get written about. The kind people remember. And it’s exactly what you need.

Your father is already speaking on stage when you walk in. It’s some grand monologue—about legacy, loyalty, impact, all those shiny, hollow words he thinks will cover up the blood and money dripping off his empire.

He sees you just as he’s launching into his favorite anecdote. And to his credit, he only stumbles for half a second. But that half-second is everything. The hush that moves through the room as people turn to look at you, and then at him, and then back at you again.

“Don’t stop now,” you call to him. Your voice is smooth, almost bored. “You were doing such a great job bullshitting. Father.”

Gasps ripple through the crowd like a breeze through dry grass.

Your father lets out a tight, practiced laugh into the mic, trying to salvage the moment. “Darling, I thought we agreed this wasn’t your scene anymore.”

“Oh father, please, it’s not my intention to take the light away from you.” You say sarcastically, “In fact, I have a gift.”

Across the ballroom, the projector screen glitches, and your first video begins to play. Grainy security footage. The audio is low but clear.

“Kill him now.”

“But boss, he’s the son of—”

“I don’t care. He took my money. He’s gonna pay for it with his life.”

And then a gunshot. Someone gasps. A few people shift uncomfortably. The video cuts out abruptly.

Then the second clip begins.

Your father again, younger but unmistakable. He pulls a gun and shoots a man point-blank in the head. The body drops like a sack of bricks. He steps over it without flinching.

“Clean it up,” he tells a trembling assistant off-screen. “Burn it all.”

You watch your father from the corner of your eye. He hasn’t moved. Not yet. But his jaw is tense, and you know what that means. He’s calculating. Waiting to see what else you have. You smile. Because you’ve saved the best for last.

The third video starts.

Bedroom footage. Intimate. A little too intimate. Your father again. Naked, whiskey in hand, with a woman who’s not your mother. The woman’s face is obscured, but her unique diamond necklace says more than enough.

Across the room, a woman yanks her necklace off. You roll your eyes when she glares at you.

“I’ve always hated your husband,” your father says in the video, voice slurred. “He’s my best friend, but I’ll kill him if I have to.”

The video cuts out.

You step closer to him, voice lower, almost gentle now. “You always said power was about what you could hide. Guess your grip’s slipping.”

With his entire face now fully colored with rage, your father lunges at you.

You barely register the movement before you hear Andrew’s voice cut through the crowd. “Gun!”

Then everything happens fast. Andrew grabs you hard, pulling you off your feet just as the podium explodes beside your head from a fired shot. Splinters scatter. Screams echo through the ballroom. Somewhere, a chandelier sways violently overhead.

Andrew throws you behind the cover of a table and covers your body with his own. You can feel his heart pounding against your back but his movements are precise, instinctive. You know better than to get in his way now.

Your father’s men are already storming the stage, closing in fast.

“Stay here.” He instructs.

Andrew moves like a storm. He tackles the first guy mid-charge, driving his shoulder into the man’s gut, slamming him into the staircase rail with a crack. Another comes at him with a knife—Andrew ducks the swing, grabs his wrist, twists, and slams his elbow down until the blade clatters to the floor. Then he drives his boot into the guy’s ribs.

You peek from behind the table just in time to see Andrew disarm a man with a gun and pistol-whip him unconscious. Blood spatters across the marble.

Your father steps out from behind the podium, aiming again—and this time, Andrew is faster. He raises his gun, and your father freezes.

Andrew walks toward him, slow and steady. Blood drips from a cut above his eye. His chest rises and falls with each breath, but his hands are steady as ever.

Your father looks up from the barrel pointed at his face and spits on the ground between them. “This is how you’re gonna kill me? You don’t even have the guts to do it yourself?” He’s talking to you.

You emerge from behind the table. “I’m not like you.”

That’s when you hear sirens from outside and the police come rushing in.

“Drop your weapon!” someone yells.

Andrew pauses. Slowly lowers the gun. Lets it fall to the floor.

They arrest your father on the spot, reading out charges you practically wrote yourself—embezzlement, conspiracy, murder. The list goes on and on.

You walk over to Andrew, checking for any serious injuries and finally rest your head on his shoulder. It’s finally over.

“Thank you.” You say to him and he just holds you close.

You step outside after giving a statement to the police, Andrew following closely behind. There’s a few police cars around, red, blue, and white flashing everywhere. And you see an ambulance nearby, and your mother sitting down. She looks small. Fragile. Her hands are clasped tightly in her lap, knuckles pale. Her eyes are glassy, locked on some fixed point in the distance that you can’t see.

You approach her.

“Mom.” Your voice barely rises above a whisper. “It’s over. You’re free. We both are.”

She doesn’t look at you.

“We can still go,” you try again. “We can start over. Just you and me.”

She rises slowly to her feet, her mouth trembling. You think she’s going to cry. Maybe fall into your arms. You think—hope—she’ll say your name like she used to when you were little. When you skinned your knees or had nightmares or couldn’t sleep without her hand in yours.

But instead, she raises a hand and slaps you across the face. It doesn’t hurt, but it leaves something ringing deep in your chest.

“How could you do this?” She whispers. “You’re… you’re not my child.”

You don’t even flinch. Your gaze falls to the ground as she walks away from you. Something breaks in you. And for the first time, you don’t know how to fix it.

Andrew is beside you before you even realize. He doesn’t touch you, but his presence is enough to snap you back to reality. Because you can’t be seen crying right now.

You look at him, tears threatening to fall. “Let’s go, Andrew.”

And without another word, you walk to the car together. A silent ride home.

It doesn’t feel like victory.

In your head, getting back from the gala after executing your entire plan meant celebrations—champagne, dancing, a bottle smashed for fun on the marble floor. Something loud. Something indulgent. But this… this feels more like losing.

Maybe there was never an outcome where you won. Maybe you were too blinded by your own ambition to see that from the start.

The front door clicks shut behind you.

The house is dark, save for the soft glow from the kitchen under-cabinet lights. You don’t bother flipping on anything else. Andrew follows you inside but says nothing. The silence is thick, almost suffocating, but neither of you breaks it.

You disappear into your room and return with the duffel bag, putting it on the table. The zipper’s slightly open, and a few stacks of cash peek out. The blood money. The price of surviving tonight.

You pour yourself a glass of whiskey, downing it one go.

You don’t look at him when you say it. “…You can go now.”

It comes out flatter than you mean for it to. Not cold, just… empty. Tired. Like there’s nothing left to give.

Andrew doesn’t move. He watches you quietly. Watches the way your shoulders have lost their proud angle. The way your hands stay curled into fists. The way your eyes shine, too bright, too wet, but the tears haven’t fallen yet.

He shakes his head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Your jaw clenches. “You’ve done your job,” you murmur. “You protected me. You survived. You got paid.”

“I didn’t stay for the money.”

You finally lift your eyes, catching his reflection in the window. You’re not sure what you’re looking for. Maybe doubt. Maybe a lie you can call out. But it’s not there.

Andrew steps closer, slow, careful.

He doesn’t say anything else.

Your throat tightens. “I hired you to protect me. You don’t have to do all this.”

“I know.” His voice softens. “But I want to.”

His hands find your waist, turning you so you can hide in his chest and cry.

“So let me,” he whispers. “Okay?”

Your lips tremble and you finally cry into his chest, tears ruining his shirt, your hands clutching him. You let him hold you while your whole world sinks to the floor. Let yourself cry until your body’s shaking and you feel like passing out from sadness, and he holds you nevertheless.

[luvr4miya]

Ho'oponopono

Michael Robinavitch x Reader

Warnings: Filthy smut, angry sex, unprotected p in v sex, age gap (reader late 20s, Robby early 50s), jealousy, Robby doesn’t clock flirting, angst but then heavy fluff at the end, NOT proofread lol I’ll fix them as I go

Description: When a new intern is flirting with Robby, the reader blows up at him for entertaining it. To prove his love for her, he drags the reader to an on-call room.

Michael Robinavitch Masterlist

--

The words “I love you” hadn’t been exchanged between you and Robby. You were waiting for him to say it first, but there was no doubt in your mind that he did love you. You could see it in everything.

In the way he always failed to hold back a prideful smile when you commanded a trauma case.

In the way he caged you in his arms, tucking you deep into to his chest, after the death of a patient.

In the way he laughed when you danced with him in the kitchen while dinner cooked on the stove after a long shift.

In the way he always walked on the side of the sidewalk closest to the street, guiding you with a large hand on the small of your back.

In the way he hit snooze on the first alarm of the morning, grumbling until it was silent again, then pulled you closer against his frame, nestling his face into the crook of your neck and kissing the soft skin.

In the way he worshipped your body and whispered your name as he fucked you every night, keeping as much of your body pressed against his at all times while he railed into you.

In the way he always looked at you like you personally hung the stars and painted the sunsets and planted every flower.

But when you watched Robby laugh at a joke the new intern had whispered a little too close to his ear, you couldn’t feel the ground beneath you. The foundation of your relationship had suddenly cracked.

The new interns started a couple of days ago, but you had been off until today. They were all kind, smart, and a little scared. But one of the interns had taken a particular liking to Robby. She was young and pretty. Her laugh sounded genuine and sweet. She was quick on her feet, and you didn’t miss the way she blushed when Robby complimented her for it after a trauma came in this morning.

It was close to 3pm, and you’d watched them interact several times. The intern clearly had a crush on your boyfriend that must have developed on her first day. Could you blame her? Robby was handsome, funny, and a very good teacher. Anyone with a praise kink would be on their knees for him, yourself included. And it’s not like she would know that he was your boyfriend. It’s not something that was announced as a part of intern orientation, nor was it professional to mark your territory by kissing him right in front of her to make a point.

But what really stung was the way Robby leaned into her when he laughed at her joke. That he was entertaining the flirting, even though he didn’t reciprocate it. He was flashing that boyish grin that he usually only reserved for you.

It made you sick. Physically sick. You felt nauseous and had half a mind to run to the bathroom before you puked your guts out in front of everyone. Just as you were about to check out your patient in Central Three, you saw it happen.

She touched his arm. Practically fondling his bicep. And Robby didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away, didn’t make a single move to discourage the touch. In fact, he raised his hand to pat it, in more of a fatherly way than anything. But it didn’t matter.

It sent you into a spiral. You needed air, and you needed it before you threw up. Your skin had paled, and your mouth began to water, a final warning sign. You sprinted out to the ambulance bay, rushing past Robby and the intern, not giving them a single glance.

When the fresh air hit your face and the scent of antiseptic faded away, your nausea began to curb. You still leaned against the brick wall, stabilizing yourself, taking deep breaths. The whir of the automatic doors caught your attention, and you saw Robby hurry out, snapping his head in every direction until he saw you.

“Hey, kid. What’s goin’ on?” His voice was soft but laced with worry. “You okay?”

You closed your eyes and swallowed hard. Was it worth telling him the truth? All it would do was make the rest of your shift uncomfortable.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” You answered, refusing to meet his gaze, focusing on not throwing up.

Robby closed in on you, practically trapping you against the wall when he grabbed your face in his massive hands, tilting until your eyes met his. “Need ya to talk to me, baby. You’re pale as a ghost, you’re shaking.”

You wished that his touch didn’t immediately alleviate some of your worries. But you refused to let yourself be so malleable for him, especially when he was entertaining affections from someone else.

“I just…needed some air.” You replied, drawing in another deep breath through your nose.

Robby nodded, brushing his thumb against your cheek. “You don’t have to tell me, but I wish you would. Helps me understand.” His offer was tempting, and you knew he meant it.

Just as you were about to confess your jealousy and petty hatred towards the intern, you saw writing on the dorsum of his hand. It was a bunch of numbers. It was a phone number. In a particularly cutesy handwriting that certainly wasn’t your boyfriend’s.

“What’s that?” Your voice was curious but dangerously cold.

Robby followed your eyesight to the back of his hand. “Oh, one of the new interns wrote her number on my hand. She mentioned a library in town that I hadn’t heard about, and she said to text her later to get the address. I wish she didn’t use Sharpie though because it’ll take forever to-“

“Why don’t you go fuck the new intern? Seems to be your thing.”

A freezing silence followed even in the heat of summer. Robby’s eyebrows shot to his hairline, blocked by wrinkles of surprise. He blinked dumbly for a few seconds.

“Excuse me?” His voice was slow and cautious.

You stepped to the side to get away from his proximity, away from his warmth. “Don’t play dumb with me, Robby. I watched you flirt with her all day.” Your words came out in hisses that would make a viper jealous.

Robby’s jaw slackened, and his eyebrows began to drop, furrowing with anger. “Who do you think you’re talking to, kid?” It was scarily authoritative. He had switched from boyfriend to attending in a mere second.

When he took a step forward, you took another step back to maintain the distance. “Sorry I can’t be the youngest in the room anymore. Guess that’s what gets you off.”

Before he could respond, the automatic doors slid open, and Dana ran through. “Robby, we need you in Trauma One!” She called out.

Robby leaned close to you, nostrils flared, a dangerous fire in his eyes. “We are not done with this.” He practically growled.

You cocked an eyebrow, unfazed by his threat. “Go take your little plaything with you. Just try not to cum in your pants when she touches your arm again.”

The muscles in his neck shifted, his entire face reddened from fury. It took every ounce of self control for him to walk away, following Dana back into the Pitt.

Once he was gone, you let out a deep breath that you didn’t realize had been trapped in your chest. You felt a little better. You got to release your anger, but that didn’t stop the pang of guilt that hit your gut when you thought about the words you chose. That you didn’t give Robby a chance to say anything. That you didn’t give yourselves the chance to handle it in a healthier manner.

—

You finished stitching up a patient’s arm in Central Three before heading out to the desk hub. Every now and then, you peered through the window to see Robby still working in Trauma One, covered in sweat, his gown stained with blood. It had been well over an hour since Dana had called for his help.

You cleaned up your suture kit, discarding the sharps into a red bin. “Okay, I’m gonna be back in a few minutes with some bandages to keep that wound covered, alright?”

The patient just smiled and nodded, content with your plan. When you stepped out of the room, a strong hand grabbed your bicep and started dragging you down the hallway. You quickly recognized the New Balance shoes, now covered in blood, and knew it was Robby.

“What are you doing?” You grumbled, low enough to keep attention away from the two of you.

Robby didn’t say anything. His hoodie was gone, leaving him only in his black scrubs. Sweat trickled down his face and neck, his hair disheveled from pulling off a sterile hat. He looked rough.

He kept pulling you behind him like you weighed nothing, stopping only when he shoved you into an on-call room, slamming the door behind him. Before you could say anything else, he caught your mouth with his, pushing you back until your head pressed against the door.

Robby wasted no time snatching your scrub bottoms down, shoving his long fingers down your panties, furiously circling your clit. A strangled cry left your lips and into his mouth.

“Hush.” He growled, a sharp breath blowing against your tongue from the single word.

He dragged his hand down to your folds, testing the wetness. Satisfied by the way you drenched his fingers, he reached for his zipper with his free hand. His cock sprung free from the confines of his boxers, and he gave himself a few pumps.

“You can say a lot of things to me, and I won’t get mad. But accuse me of entertaining someone other than you? Like a fucking slap in the face.” His voice was steady and harsh as he ran his tip against your pussy.

Without a warning, he sank deep into you with a swiftness, sparing no time for you to adjust to his length. Your breath hitched as his first thrust came soon after. His hands grasped your thighs, hoisting you up for a better angle. You moaned at the wonderful stretch and delicious pain. Anyone walking by would be able to guess with certainty what was happening behind the door.

“You’re the only one I’d risk my fucking job for like this. Reminding you that I only belong to you. Right next to our patients, right next to our coworkers. So you better keep that pretty mouth shut.”

His hips rocked against yours, thrusting deep, almost too deep. Your whimpers were muffled by his lips on yours again. When he could hear people walking by outside, he moved you to the bed, putting your knees on the mattress, and realigned himself with your pussy before returning to his blistering pace.

“Don’t you ever disrespect me like that again, you understand? Don’t you ever question my loyalty and my love for you.”

Your head was shoved into the mattress, resting on one side of your face, drool beginning to trickle out of your open mouth. “Love?” You breathed.

“Yes. Love. I love you. I fucking love you.” Robby grunted through each thrust, the smacks of his pelvis against your ass growing increasingly louder.

Tears pricked your eyes as you felt your orgasm building but also from his confession. “I-oh, God. I love you, Robby.” You babbled.

He bent down to press a kiss to your spine, never relenting from his speed. “Wanted to say it at a nice dinner, dress up for you, make it a pretty memory. But you needed to hear it now, yeah? Full of my cock in the fucking on-call room?” He grumbled.

You felt your abdomen tighten, heat pooling incredibly fast. “Michael, please.” You whimpered.

“Callin’ me Michael already, huh? You must be gettin’ pretty close.” He cooed, and you nodded pathetically. “Good, ‘cause you gotta go check on that patient in Central Three.”

He reached around to your clit, circling viciously again to coax your orgasm out. When you came, it broke you. Your back arched, pussy squeezing around his cock with each wave of bliss.

“Atta girl. I know you needed that. Mmmm, so good for me.” His deep voice praised you sweetly, losing a bit of its gruffness from earlier.

Your high began to come down, and Robby made a fist in your hair, pulling just a bit until your ass was flat against his hips.

“Now why don’t you keep rockin’ back against me so I can fill you up, yeah? So you can feel me running down your legs when you see that intern talking to me again and remember who I belong to. Not her. You.”

His voice made your pussy clench tightly around him. You wearily began shifting back, filling yourself with his length, slick with your cream. His grunts became louder, his grip in your hair tighter, and he held his free hand over his mouth to bite the back of his hand, where that fucking phone number was, to keep from whining.

“Fuckin’ hell. Oh, that’s right, pretty girl. Just like that.”

With a few more of your backwards thrusts, each one sealed with a lewd squelch from your juices, Robby came, and fuck, he came a lot. His cock twitched longer than usual, filling your walls with his thick cum. He didn’t move for a while, just enjoying the aftershocks of your orgasm around his cock, keeping you plugged with his release. He slowly slipped out, grunting explicitives as he did, and tucked himself back into his pants. He pulled your panties and scrub pants back up for you, planting sweet kisses on your shoulder and neck as he did. You flipped over onto your back, resting on your elbows, catching your breath.

“Feel better?” He asked, pulling you to your feet gently.

Your legs trembled as you tried to regain your footing, hands clutching his shoulders in the meantime. You shuddered as you felt his hot cum drip into your panties from the change in position. “Yeah.” You breathed.

Robby wrapped his arms around you, keeping you close to him. “Good. ‘Cause I mean it. I love you, kid. With everything that I am.” His lips pulled into a smile with his promise.

You matched his smile and reached up to caress the side of his face, gently scratching his beard. “I love you, too. God, I love you so much, Robby.”

He pulled his lips into a thin line, his brow furrowing with a serious expression. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize that she was flirting with me and that it made you uncomfortable. I can see it now in hindsight, but I won’t entertain it further.” He said. “I don’t think I saw it because I genuinely wasn’t interested in anything besides education.”

You nodded in acceptance. “I’m sorry, too. For snapping at you like that. I was just angry and very insecure.” You confessed. “I didn’t even give you a chance to defend yourself.”

Robby brushed a strand of hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear. “Ho’oponopono, yeah?” He whispered.

You smiled and nodded, running your hand through his hair to smooth it down for public appearance.

“I love you.”

“Thank you.”

“I forgive you.”

“Please forgive me.”

You both recited the mantra, each statement sealed with a gentle kiss. You giggled and nuzzled your nose against his. “The four things that matter most. You taught me that on my first day.” You noted.

He nodded, rubbing your waist in soothing squeezes. “I’m glad you remembered.”

You shrugged and bumped your forehead against his playfully. “I have a good teacher.”

Robby patted the small of your back and tilted his head toward the door. “Come on, kid. We gotta get back out there.”

You lowered your forehead into his chest, inhaling his comforting scent that never failed to ground you. “Just a few more seconds.” You pleaded.

Robby couldn’t say no to that. He just tightened his embrace and rested his head on yours, swaying your bodies gently. “Y’know, I had something made for you. Was gonna give it to you when I took you out for that nice dinner.” He broke the silence.

You smiled slightly and hummed. “What is it?”

He began to lead you to the door, ready to lead you both back to the rest of the shift. “Check your locker when I’m doing shift-change with Jack tonight. Might find something there.” He said with a cheeky smile.

—

Just like Robby suggested, you found a present in your locker when you went to retrieve your backpack at the end of your shift. The box was small, not wrapped. Just a simple receptacle with a lid. You pulled away the top to inspect the contents of the box.

A key.

You gingerly twirled the metal in your fingers, inspecting the grooves. You didn’t have a photographic memory, but you recognized the unique pattern.

A key to Robby’s house.

You smiled and clutched the key in your hand, slinging your backpack over your shoulder before heading to the floor again. There you saw Jack and Robby going over the patient list for handoff. You sauntered over to the desk hub where they stood, leaning against the high counter. Once Robby met your gaze, he smiled and patted Jack on the shoulder, wishing him luck for the night.

When he approached, you couldn’t repress the silly smile on your face. “I got my gift.” You said simply.

Robby matched your smile and leaned against the counter. “You know what it’s for?” He asked.

You shrugged. “I think I know, but tell me anyway.” You hummed.

He looked down, almost bashfully, and nudged your foot with his. “It’s a key to my house. For you to stay whenever you want…for however long you want.”

You tapped his foot playfully in retaliation. “Is staying forever an option?”

Robby’s eyes met yours, a twinkle of hope in them. “Of course. It’s up to you, kid.”

“It’s always been my end goal.” You confirmed, taking a step closer to him.

Robby let you invade his space, and he placed a hand on your hip. “Then I might have something a little shinier coming your way in a few months. How’s that sound?” He asked with a charming wink.

You giggled and threw your arms around his neck. He chuckled and squeezed you tight, catching your lips for a very quick but very public kiss. One that every new intern could see from across the room. Including her.

“Sounds perfect.” You replied, kissing him one more time. “Ready to go home?”

Robby nodded, eyes crinkled at the corners from his grin. “Yeah. Let’s go home.”

—

A/N: I hope y’all liked this! I’m a little out of the long fic-writing game. I’ve been so busy and only had motivation for blurbs. I’m hoping to get more fics out here soon!! Thanks for reading!!

[luvr4miya]

due for trouble | let me know

the pitt masterlist main masterlist

pairing: jack abbot x f!reader

a/n: well obviously someone is struggling with an avoidant attachment. and listen as much as I want this to be all happy and joyful I love writing ANGST

thank u for reading kisses muah muah

warnings: unplanned pregnancy, age gap, language, fighting about money

< part 9 | part 11 coming soon!

“I’m thinking I’m going to lean into it.” you ponder towards Jack, who is sitting on your bed as you stand in front of the mirror, turned to the side and holding your stomach.

Jack is seated at the edge, his legs spread and leaning back on his palms, a lecherous grin covering his face as he gazes at you.

“I think that if I don’t, people will just think I’m gaining weight.” you say.

“Well, you are.” Jack adds. You roll your eyes.

“Yes, I am, and yes, that’s a good thing, I know that,” you gripe, “but, I don’t know,” you waffle, slightly embarrassed, “I want to show it off, now that you can tell.”

“Show it off all you want,” he drawls, “you look amazing.”

“Oh, of course you would say that.” you chide.

“Of course I would,” he agrees, “but I guarantee that almost every man that sees you is jealous of me.” he smirks.

You blush and wave him off.

“I guess that means I should tell my work, too, so I can talk about time off.” you mention off-handedly.

“Probably not a bad idea,” Jack agrees, catching your hand as you walk by towards your closet and pulling you to stand in between his legs. His hands skim up the sides of your thighs and stay there.

“How much time off do you want to take?” he asks.

“As much as they’ll give me,” you chuckle, “but unfortunately it probably won’t be much.”

“FMLA says 12 weeks.” Jack says.

“Unpaid,” you return, “I can’t not get paid for 3 months.” you gripe.

Jack sighs.

“I think we should talk more about money,” he suggests.

“No,” you say, pulling away from him and walking out of the bedroom, “everything will be fine.” you tell him, not sure if you believe it yourself.

“Money is a big deal,” he argues, trailing after you as you end up in the kitchen. “It doesn’t have to be a hard conversation,” he promises.

“Of course it’s going to be a hard conversation!” you say, voice raising. “I already feel like shit that I have to start applying to daycares if I want to get a spot for a newborn in January!”

Jack sighs, rubbing his eyes in frustration.

“Why haven’t you told me anything about this? I should be helping you with all of this!” he answers, never having heard of the worry plaguing you.

“Because, Jack,” you sigh, “it’s abundantly clear that you make a lot more than me.” you begin getting choked up as you speak, out of embarrassment, guilt, fear; who knows.

“So what!?” he yells. “We figure out how much more I make and we split things based on that!”

“No, Jack.” you disagree, tears now starting to pool in your eyes.

“Honey,” he coos, putting his hands on your shoulders and deciding to take a different approach. “in a perfect world, what would happen?” he asks gently.

“I don’t want to tell you.” you say quietly, looking into his eyes as he grasps you.

“Why not?” he asks.

You bite your lip and look past him, into the living room.

“Because you’ll want to make it happen.”

Jack chuckles, “You’re right. And what’s wrong with that, huh?” he asks, moving his head so that he’s in your line of sight again. “I thought we already had this conversation. Do I need to remind you? You’re mine. I’m yours. We’re doing this together.” he says slowly. “It doesn’t have to be your money and my money. It can be our money, and we do what’s best for us.”

“And that’s so easy for you to say.” you snap. “When you make 80% of it.”

“Who cares!?” he yells, his hands now running through his silver curls in frustration.

“I do!” you return, “I care! Because what happens to me when all this falls apart,” you say gesturing between the two of you, “and everything is on me to figure out?”

The silence that falls over the room is thick with tension. Jack falls into one of your finish chairs and puts his head in his hands.

“I get it.” he finally says. “But I have told you a hundred times that that’s not going to happen.”

“You can’t know that, Jack!” you yell.

“Well I do know that!” he yells back. “I know that you and the baby are the two most important people in my life,” he stresses, “and I am more than willing to fight with you.” he argues. “We can fight, we can disagree, and then we can choose to move forward and figure it out. I don’t know how to get you to believe that I will always choose that.” he says, defeated.

“What do I need to do?” he asks, staring up at you intensely.

Your mouth opens and closes a few times, not knowing an answer.

“Do you want to go to couples therapy, do you want to get married; what would make you believe me?” he asks.

“I don’t know.” you reply quietly.

“Please let me know when you figure it out.” Jack says, standing up from the chair and walking towards the door. “Think about it, let me know, I’ll do whatever. I know it’s hard,” he says while putting on his shoes, clearly about to leave, “but part of you just has to have some faith in me.” he says.

“Lock the door.” he instructs as he opens the door and steps out closing the door behind him.

You watch him go from your window as you start to cry in earnest.

“God, what the fuck is wrong with you,” you mutter to yourself as you watch Jack’s truck pull away.

tagging: @michasia24 @veggieburgerwrites @bruher @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @catmomstyles3 @qardasngan @fuckalrighty @rae4725 @beebeechaos @thatssomebadhat89 @cari87 @livingdeadblondequeen @wowitsafemale @neonpurplestars89-blog @starswin @celiacallsitcausal @vinceelser @glamorizethechaos @nerdgirljen @namgification

let me know if you would like a tag!!

[luvr4miya]

summary: lena has a dance recital and pope needs your help. feelings can’t be pushed down any longer.

andrew pope cody x reader

a/n: i was working on some of the requests in my inbox when i got distracted (sowwy) this is a continuation of what i am calling pope x lena’s favorite. i don’t necessarily think this is a chapter situation mainly because i suck at chapters. i write ideas as they come and inspire.

pope was screwed in a major way. lena’s dance class just came home with a set of mandatory steps needed to be taken for recital hair and makeup. staring back at him in big bold letters. do not deviate this is a non negotiable for all recitals your dancer will not preform if standards are not met. you had shown him the basics in order to keep it out of her face at class but now this looked way more complicated and he has no idea where to start. well technically he does: with an SOS text to you.

you message back with ???? i can be there in 10 minutes. he replies with a picture the piece of paper that contains the stupid rules. he’s never liked following rules. his own rule was no rules except when it came to lena, and maybe you now if he thought about it hard enough.

either you’ve missed the part entirely of his SOS text or you’re messing with him because you reply back omg andrew a recital, that’s going to be too cute! can i buy a ticket to go? he’s shaking his head with a small smile. i already have your ticket, lena made sure of that. but she won’t be dancing if i’m in charge of her hair and makeup this is why i need you. apparently she needs someone backstage to do this hair and makeup pre-show and for my sake and hers can you please help, it’s either you or one of the moms who hate me, or worse… smurf. there is a clear number one choice for me and lena.

he watches your three little dots signalling that your responding back and he finds himself holding his breath because this feels like a big ask of you to be his dependent’s special person when you two aren’t even dating. of course i can help! you can let the studio know that i will be lena’s stage hand. he releases the breath he was holding. i owe you.

the day of the recital came up quickly on you. you find yourself rushing to pope’s house with all the supplies needed to make sure lena is the cutest dust bunny any production of snow white has ever seen. hairbrush, gel, elastics, bobby pins. little clips to hold lena’s bunny ears on her head. the standard red lipstick and a good eyeliner to put whiskers on her face, exactly as the studio deemed necessary for the show. you’ll do her makeup backstage but you’re heading over to their house early so you can do her hair. not bothering with a knock you open the sliding glass door and smell the pancake breakfast being made. “smells good in here.” you take a seat next to lena at the table. “big day calls for a big breakfast” pope places a plate in-front of you and takes a seat on lena’s other side his own plate in front of him. you all eat with easy conversations between the three of you talking about events the big and the mundane since you all saw each other last.

you glance at the time. “i should get started on your hair while you finish breakfast. is that okay lena?” she nods and you get to work. the studio wants two french braids into a bun. you start by gently brushing out the tangles. pope excuses himself to make a call while you work. he’s on the phone watching through the glass door, because he can’t help himself. lena is chatting about something to you animatedly you are keeping the conversation going but you have your brows knitted in concentration on lena’s hair. you say something to lena that has her looking up at you and the both of you laughing. the sight is enough to make his heart burst but its the sound that can be heard through the little crack in the sliding glass door makes his knees buckle a bit. you’re also being so gentle. his only memory of smurf doing julia’s hair was it always seemed so rough and almost painful, lena looks pretty much relaxed as you are pinning her bun into place.

you tell lena she’s all good to go and tell her to change into her leotard and tights. she skips down the hall and you’re starting to clean the dishes. that makes pope wrap up his phone call. “hey deran i gotta go. see you at the recital.” he hangs up and goes back inside. “you’ve already helped enough today and you’re not even halfway through.” he pours you a cup of coffee. “go sit down, relax for a few before we have to head to the theatre” you roll your eyes playfully at him and sit at the island. “you’re kinda bossy, has anyone ever told you that?” he smiles at you and continues with the dishes.

it’s time to leave so that you arrive backstage on time. pope opens the passenger side door to the truck for you to get in before he is getting lena situated in her car seat in the back. he hops into his side and starts the car on its way to the local theatre. “lena are you getting excited?” you turn back to look at her. “i’m scared” you look at pope who has sported a new frown at lena’s admission. you turn back reaching your hand out for her to take. “its okay to be nervous. it’s a big new thing that you’re doing today. preforming in-front of a crowd can be scary sometimes, but you’ve practiced so hard at dance class. and me and uncle pope are so excited to watch you, all your friends are dancing right next to you, how fun is that? i love dancing with my friends” pope is in awe at how you were just able to completely validate lena’s feelings, without telling her she has no reason to be scared, like it’s regular conversation for you. you make it seem so easy. “plus i think uncle pope said we can go for ice cream after to celebrate.” he absolutely did not say this but who is he to say no to you, or lena for that matter, especially when you’re giving him the playful smile that he suspects you somehow have figured out is an automatic yes from him to anything you say. plus that information seemed to change lena’s mind. “okay yeah i am excited to dance.”

you arrive at the theatre and get out of the truck. this is where you have to leave pope to go with lena backstage, he hands you your ticket. “i will save your seat for you.” you nod and grab lena’s hand and head towards the dressing rooms.

in the dressing room you feel so out of place next to all the rich dance moms, walking around like they belong back here. but you try and hide your insecurities from lena, instead focusing on getting her ready. you help her get her costume on. you clip her bunny ears to her head and secure everything with a bit more hairspray. next you move on to the whiskers making sure that you’re putting all your perfectionist tendencies to good use for once. the lipstick is next, you don’t glob it on like the other girls’ moms have. just lightly putting enough on so it doesn’t bother lena or get everywhere. “i don’t like it when i can feel my lipstick stuck on my lips” you tell her as you apply. finally you are helping her put on her ballet slippers, the last step before the dance teacher will take over and you can escape the dressing room and go running back to andrew.

the dance teacher comes in and is taking a look at all of the girls to make sure everyone is presentable. she’s eyeing lena up and down which causes a pit to form in your stomach wondering if you’ve messed something up for her. the dance teacher speaks up “everyone listen up, if your little dancer does not look like miss lena then fix whatever you have done incorrectly” she’s pointing towards lena to show off your work which makes you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. lena beams at you and gives you a hug. you crouch down to look her in the eye and hold her hands. “i have to go find my seat, but remember uncle pope and i are so proud of you and we know you’re going to do so good. we will be in the lobby waiting for you when the show is all done okay?” lena nods and the dance teacher comes to wrangle all the girls to get them show ready, you sneak out of the dressing room.

you stop at the vendor selling flowers in the lobby and buy a bouquet to give lena after the show and look at your ticket to find your seat. you head to the area you see andrew sitting beside his family and your suddenly feeling out of place again like you’re intruding on a family event, but you push it down and go to your seat. you slide into the one beside andrew, his hand brushing your lower back as you pass by him to your seat. you pretend like that didn’t do something to make you wish his hands were on you more often. he’s looking down into your eyes with a smile. “flowers? where did you find those?” you look down at the bouquet. “in the lobby but he was closing up i had to sweet talk my way into this these” he smiles at you. “yeah i bet you did, well now you’re going to make me look bad with nothing for lena.” without hesitation you hand him the bouquet. “give her these ones, they will be more special coming from you.” he’s wondering what you mean by that, you could have brought lena a rock and she would be talking about how special it was for days because it came from you. “you paid for them, i can’t take them” your thrusting them towards his hands “you paid for my ticket. think of it as a trade” you drive him crazy by never letting him pay for anything. “well you got all that stuff to put in her hair” you look at him with your sparkly eyes and he knows he’s lost this little argument before you even open your mouth to respond. “i bought those things with the cash that i randomly found in my wallet. it appeared out of nowhere like a reverse robbery” he knows that you know it was him but you let him have that little win. he’s biting back a smile ready to keep this little playful thing going when the lights dim signalling the show is about to begin.

the show starts and pope can’t keep his eyes off you from the corner of his eye. you are so supportive of all the dancers and he watches you melt at the little toddlers running around, and it melts him a little. especially when he looks past you and sees his and lena’s actual family not even hiding the fact that they’d rather be anywhere but here. when lena’s class is finally on, its your turn to take a peak at pope watching lena dance. you aren’t disappointed when you do watching him watch her with a proud pride that makes you smile as you turn back your face mirrors him watching lena dance around the stage with a big smile.

once the recital is all done you head to the lobby with andrew’s family and wait for lena to come out. pope suddenly feeling protective of you, and your too good for his world watching smurf’s eyes look at you up and down. he walks over to you to block you from her line of sight. you don’t have to wait much longer for lena to come bounding over still in costume, pope scoops her up in his arms and the family surrounds her now turning it on like they actually cared to spend their afternoon watching the recital. lena has had enough of them so she’s wiggling out of pope’s arms to go running over to you. you pick her up in a hug and feel her give you one back. “lena that was so good, did you have fun?” you feel her nod against you. “so much fun. thank you for coming and helping me. look at the flowers uncle pope got me” she’s proudly holding the flowers up to you. “those are so pretty. we better get going so that we can get them in some water.” your looking up at pope hopefully conveying with silent eye contact that you have given them an out. “yeah we better get going it’s been a long day here for us, thanks for showing up” with that he leads the way back to his truck, lena still in your arms chatting to you about what happened backstage after you left her. pope gently grabs her out of your arms so he can buckle her into her car seat. “uncle pope are we still stopping for ice cream?” he looks at you in the front seat trying to hide a smile and then back at lena who’s looking up at him waiting for his answer. “of course we are, we’re celebrating an amazing performance”

he stops at the little spot close to the house and lets you and lena order. he doesn’t get anything and you roll your eyes at him calling him boring which makes him huff a laugh as he goes to pay. lena has grabbed your hand and pulled you out the door so you can’t protest to him about it. the shop worker hands back the change saying “you have a beautiful family.” he turns back to look at you and lena, she’s still in her dance costume, your swinging her hand in yours around and she’s smiling and giggling at whatever you just said. he nods at the worker in thanks and leaves the shop to join you and lena on the bench that you found where you enjoy your ice cream and the company.

you’re finally all home from the big outing. well back to pope and lena’s so you can collect your things that you left there, and go home. pope cannot stop thinking about what the ice cream shop worker had to say and how bad he wanted it to be true, how that if it was then you wouldn’t be leaving again to go to your own place.

“hey i was thinking about ordering pizza for dinner, you should stay. lena would probably like your help better taking that hair down” you don’t even look up from your bag where you’re making sure you have everything. “oh are you sure? you already fed me pancakes and ice cream today i’m going to start feeling like a bit of a free loader.”

he looks down at you and what he really wants to do is shake your shoulders so that you understand what he says next, instead he grabs one of your wrists so that you stop what your doing to look at him. “all the things you do for lena without batting an eye, all the things you do for me, you are the opposite of a free loader in this house. okay?” his eyes are so intense when you look into them and your skin is tingling on your wrist where his hand is wrapped around you don’t even know how to answer him, how to tell him that you would do everything all over again in a heartbeat because even though this whole thing started with just wanting to make sure lena was taken care of, it has selfishly turned into excuses to see him too. you settle with a nod of acceptance and a “sure i will stay for pizza” he lets go of your wrist to go order. you stay to eat pizza and help pope to finally coax lena out of her costume and into her pajamas so that she can go to bed. you’re with her in the bathroom taking out all the bobby pins out of the bun leaving the two braids in her hair on her request. next you’re helping her gently wash off the makeup and leave her to brush her teeth. “hey i’m going to put her to bed but do you want to stay for a beer after?” you nod at his offer. “sure”

your sitting on the couch when you hear lena’s door softly close for the night. pope heads to the fridge and pulls out two bottles and opens them bringing them back to the couch. you take one and turn to face him. “the lady at the ice cream shop said something interesting to me today.” here goes nothing pope thinks. you take a sip of your beer. “oh yeah?” he leans in a bit closer. “yeah told me i had a beautiful family after you and lena went outside” he’s eyeing you for a reaction, you give him an adorable one without realizing of your eyes going wide in shock like maybe you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t. reminds him of the night he met you lena’s bedroom at smurf’s with your tiara on. “i, oh, uh what did you tell her?” you stammer out. “nothing, i didn’t correct her. just thanked her and went out to join you two.” you can’t think of anything to say so you just stare into pope’s eyes. you start with an “andrew i-“ and he cuts you off before you say something. “i think i didn’t correct her because i wanted it to be true, it made me realize that i haven’t made a move because if i mess this up im not just messing it up for me, but also for lena. you are the best thing that could have possibly happened to us coming into our lives when you did.” you look at him with glassy eyes, and he speaks again. “i would really like to try with you if that was something you’d want” you grab his hand and answer with a simple “yes” that makes him smile at you “yeah?” you’re smiling back and nodding still holding his hand. “you have to do it proper though i’m not just going to kiss you tonight because we shared our feelings that we’ve both had for a while.” you admit to him that you feel the same way. “you have to wine and dine me even if we are doing things a little backwards.” he laughs at how cute you are. “how about next friday night? i get a sitter and i take you out?” you smile and look up at him through your eyelashes. “yes please.”

[luvr4miya]

The Applesauce Crisis | M.R X Reader

a/n: thank you so much @lovebuggyies for letting me write this prompt with robby ♡ pairing: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch X Single Mom!Reader wc: 2.1k

series masterlist ¦ send me a love letter ¦ kisses4themissus 1k celebration

Sitting quietly, lacey looked around her class room while her teacher passed out their snack of the day.

Kicking her legs, she waited patiently for her turn to receive her treat. 

Mckenzie, a ginger five year old sat across from lacey, applesauce pouch in her hand, napkin laid out in front of the two girls. “Mhmm, i love applesauce!” Mckenzie announced, lacey giggled and nodded with her friend as her teacher handed a pouch over.

“Me too, my grammy gives them to me all the time!” Lacey nodded, sipping on the pouch happily.

“My dad puts on in my lunch box, says it keeps the doctor away!” A little boy beside the girls chimed in, as the words registered in lacey’s mind, she stopped.

She dropped her pouch in front of her, staring at it in horror.

“Keeps doctors away?” She asked, catching the attention of her teacher who chuckled and nodded. “Mhm, an apple a day keeps the doctor away!” She smiled before checking up on another child in need of help, not realizing what panic had hit lacey.

Quickly spitting it out into her napkin, lacey pushed her applesauce away to her friend, a look of shock on her face. “My mommy and daddy are doctors!” Lacey whispered to her friends, making them gasp.

Mckenzie stared at the pouch, taking it away. “You shouldn’t have any!” The young girl gasped for her friend. Lacey nodded and sighed into her hands as she thought over all the times she had eaten apples.

An apple a day, keeps the doctor away? 

- - - - - - - -

You yawned to yourself as you exited out of a patients room, watching as they got extubated. 

You hummed to yourself as you walked over to wash your hands. As you sat down to write out orders you stopped as your phone buzzed in your back pocket.

It had been a simple reminder for an ultrasound, but it was your background that stopped you. 

Due to yours and robby’s schedule you had barely had time to see lovebug off to school, by the time you and robby had gone to pick her up from the dance studio she was sound asleep.

You sighed at the picture of robby and lacey together. As you went to close your phone, another text came through. 

dr. grumpy ♡: We need to go shopping tonight, your mom texted that lace needs to bring snacks for friday.

You smiled and sent a response before going back to the computer screen. Hoping for the hours to fly by.

Thankful they did just so, you had gotten off a bit early since shen had taken over, rushing robby out of the ED. You both drove to your moms studio and walked to a practice room.

Peaking in, you both smiled as lacey stretched her little legs, tapping her feet swiftly, watching the older kids from afar.

“Psst!” You called out, making lacey look up, a wide grin broke onto her face.

“MOMMY! DADDY!” She yelled, running over to you both, her arms wide for a hug.

You laughed as robby picked her up and kissed her cheek as she squeezed him. “I missed your guys..” She muttered into robby’s collar.

“We missed you buggy, now go get your bag we have to go shopping right now.” You told the six year old who nodded and took off for her dance bag.

- - - - - - - -

The stores hustle and bustle made you sigh as you pushed lovebug in the shopping cart, she glanced around the basket, arranging things to be in certain corners.

“Incoming, caprisuns!” Robby announced as he placed the carton on lacey’s lap, she smiled and patted the box before placing it beside her. “Alright, what do you want to take for snack time?” You asked the six year old.

She paused in the cart, her little eyes glazing over each snack item.

Robby watched as she attempted to get on her knees to look at some crackers but stopped as the cart dug into her knees.

He walked over and lifted her up out of the cart, as he went to place her on the floor her legs stay around his waist. “Can you carry me?” She asked, pouting her lip. 

Robby chuckled and nodded, earning a happy noise from lacey before she continued her search.

Lacey smiled as she pointed to the box of golden oreos. Robby snickered, you shook your head as lacey turned with a puppy dog smile. “Can we get these mommy, please?” She asked, pouting her li ponce more for goodluck.

Being tough you shook your head and smiled at her. “Nice attempt but no, your teacher said no sweets.” You explained, going back to look at the shelves of snacks, seeing in your peripheral robby sneaking the oreos in the cart, holding a finger to his lips at lacey, who just giggled in return.

Letting the pair have their sweet treat, you stopped at fruit pouches.

“Ooh, this sounds good buggy, apple and mango pouch.” You smiled, picking up the box, you and robby turned to see her reaction only to see the flicker or excitement only to be covered by a look of disgust.

“NO!” She shook her head.

You and robby shared a look, agreeing to let it go for the time.

You quickly buried the pouches under their oreos and pressed on, it would be great for her lunches.

- - - - - - - -

Fighting the urge to go back to bed, there you stood at six in the morning, slapping together sandwiches for robby and lacey’s lunch bags.

You had gotten the day off thanks to gloria, who knew of your hidden pregnancy; being a mom herself she had made you take it off after you had shown up to the ED after your shift pale and dehydrated from vomiting that whole day.

As you looked over your pantry for anything else you stopped at the fruit pouches, you shrugged and opened the box and dug up three, one for robby, one for lacey and one for yourself and the baby.

You tossed them in, looking over to the clock on the stove, it read 6:07.

Meaning lacey and robby where meant to come grab their things in minutes. As you poured coffee into robby’s thermos, you smiled as footsteps entered the kitchen.

You turned to the pair with a smile. “Morning you two!” You greeted, taking a sip of coffee before screwing the lid on. 

“Good morning mommy!” Lacey squealed, running over to your small bump and cupped her mouth to it, “Night night baby!” She spoke softly, hearing robby in the past talk about the baby sleeping while you were up and active.

 You smiled warmly and ran a hand over her head, being careful of her hairstyle, little pigtails on the top, each were lopsided—A robinavitch specialty. 

Robby smiled at the sight before picking up the small lunch bag and shoved it in his backpack. Once finished he clipped lacey’s lunch bag to her small backpack. Lacey smiled up at you as you handed her a half a bagel.

Robby rounded the kitchen counter and grabbed his thermos; giving you a sharp look as he noticed a bit was missing. “Don’t say it, i know dr. robby!” You teased, shaking your head at him.

“Caffeine makes nausea worse, just the other day you had to get an IV for fluids..” Robby sighed, trying to hid his smirk as you and lacey mocked him.

“I’ll take a zofran if it gets too horrible, now go before one of you ends up late!” You playfully scolded, walking with them to the door of your apartment.

Lacey tugged on her velcro shoes before standing up and tilted her head down for a kiss. You smiled and dramatic kissed her head, doing the same to robby before watching the pair leave for the parking garage. 

“What should we watch for movie night?” Robby asked lacey as he held her hand to the truck.

Lacey thought about it for a moment before smiling at robby. “Tangled!” She laughed, making robby groan, knowing the reason why she liked the movie was because she thought langdon was flynn rider.

“How about robin hood?” Robby asked, helping lacey into her car seat in the truck. “With the fox?” She asked, unsure.

Robby nodded. “If you don’t like it then we can watch chicken little..” Robby offered, knowing the answer.

“Okay!” She nodded, smiling at him. Robby chuckled and got into the drivers seat, occasionally looking into the rearview mirror to see lacey kicking her legs singing tangled songs under her breath for the whole ride; excited for movie night.

- - - - - - - -

Lacey squealed as she sat down on the grass, some of the kids scattered nearby for lunch. Mckenize skipped over to lacey and sat down across from lovebug and began talking over their friends.

As lacey ate her lunch, she twisted open her pouch, assuming it was a mango one she had in the pantry. As she sipped on it, mckenzie let out a loud gasp, her eyes going wide at the label of the pouch.

“APPLES!” 

At her friends warning, lacey spit it out, half of the fruit pouch already gone. Lacey felt tears build up in her eyes.

“My–my mommy–!” She whimpered, tears starting to fall. Mckenzie panicked and flagg down another of their friends for help as lacey began to cry, thinking she’d never see her parents.

“Daddy said–said, we were gonna watch movies tonight!” She cried, hunching over onto the grass. One of the other kids patted her back, “you can come stay with me and my grandma, she has like three dogs!” One squealed, attempting to comfort their friend.

Lacey just shook her head and cried, thinking of how she’d no longer see jake, her uncle jack, aunty dana, her grammy but most importantly her parents.

The small crowd of kids caught the teachers attention, she walked over and noticed the kids trying to comfort lacey as she cried.

“What’s the matter honey?” The teacher asked, rubbing lacey’s arm.

“She ate applesauce, but it was an accident and now she won’t get to see her mommy and daddy!” Mckenzie explained to her teacher, holding up the half eaten pouch. “Why won’t you see your parents?” Her teacher asked, watching as lacey sniffed, wiping her eyes.

“Apples keep doctors away…” She sniffled, pausing before continue to cry.

“I miss my daddy!” she whimpered, holding onto her teacher who chuckled and grabbed her phone to call your number.

- - - - - - - -

Being called to the school, mae you scared.

You had barely walked into the office before you were hugged by lacey who rubbed her face on you. “MOMMY!” She sighed, taking in the smell of your clothes.

“What’s the matter buggy, your teacher called and said you were crying?” You asked, picking her up, thankful that she was light to hold.

“I didn’t mean to eat it!” Lacey shook her head, her teacher just smiled and held the fruit pouch out to you.

"There was a slight miscommunication, she thought by eating apples she would never see you or her father again since you’re both doctors..” The teacher explained.

You cracked a smile before turning to lacey who clung onto your neck.

“That’s a silly saying buggy, i still see people even if they eat apples!: You watched a lacey wiped her tears away, nodding as you explained it to her in detail.

“Do you want to go home or do you wanna stay with your friends?” You asked, watching as lacey pointed to her backpack on the plastic chair.

You turned to the font desk ladies and smiled. “It’s an early release then..”

As you and lacey got into the car, she had calmed down, her eyes still puffy from crying.

You both sat in the parking lot, your phone ringing as it waited for robby to answer the facetime.

Finally it connected to show robby in the breakroom, he smiled as you and lacey appeared in frame. “What happened lace, mom said you got out of school early?” Robby asked, watching as lacey sighed.

“I thought apples would make you and mommy disappear, and i cried at lunch cause mommy packed me applesauce and–and!” She stuttered as she explained everything to robby, who just sat and listened with a smile.

“There’s no amount of apples that would keep me from seeing you bug!” Robby reassured, making lacey nod, the call wasn’t very long due to robby being pulled away to a trauma but it was reassuring to the six year old.

That night lacey sat comfortably between you and robby as tangled played on the screen, you three on the couch all sipping on applesauce pouches.

"I like applesauce..." Lacey sighed making you and robby share a smile.