Untitled

She/her -19

[st-anczyk69]

[dixonlvr]

Jack with the sweetest and clingiest reader

“Jackie, can you fill my water bottle, pretty please?” You beg him from the sofa as he does things in the kitchen. You don’t even need to tell him again, he’s already coming to grab the water bottle, giving you a kiss on the lips and going to fill the massive water bottle with cold water and one ice (that’s how you like it, and he knows it). When he comes back, you tangle your pretty and manicured fingers through his curls and kiss his lips “thank you Jackie, wanna make out?” You ask him with a smirk. He of course, does want to.

Even when he’s bone tired after his shift, he goes and buys you breakfast takeout from your favourite yogurt bowl and iced coffee from your favourite place. He knows you deserve to be treated like a princess.

He loves it when you style him for an event or a date. He loves to see your concentration face, thinking about what clothes are going to match. You make him try so many options on, it’s ridiculous, but he loves to see your happy face when you’ve found THE outfit. He almost always gets a makeout session after, because you just find him so hot in the clothes you picked out.

You always try to match his outfit, whether it’s the colour or the pattern, or sometimes you buy the same item of clothing for him and for you. You always take so many mirror pictures with him and the matching outfit.

You’re always attached to his hand, your hand is always in his, fingers intertwined. His calloused and big fingers feel rough against your manicured ones, but you love the sensation and how he feels secure.

You call him all types of nicknames, which, for an almost fifty year old might be kinda cringe, but he loves it. He loves it when you call him “Jackie” or “Baby” in public, “Teddy bear” when cuddling, “Big boy” in bed. He loved it when you call him new nicknames now and then, it makes you both giggle, but you always stick to the same ones.

Sometimes you slap his ass. He doesn’t mind at all.

You always help him clean his amputation site after a long shift. He makes it seem like he doesn’t want you to, but deep down he loves to feel your soft hands on his leg instead of his calloused ones. At the end of the cleaning and applying lotion, you always kiss the site.

[sadmortician]

Not bad, the feeling of imperfection

[vividxpages]

new dad!Jack Abbot doing skin to skin with your newborn baby <3

It's quiet in the hospital room. Jack's been sitting by the window for a long time now, watching the snow fall and looking over to check on your sleeping form ever so often.

The last 24 hours have been a lot on you. You're sleeping, getting well-needed rest, your little puffs of air the only sound in the room. This and the little coos coming from the bundle in Jack's arms.

Jack smiles down at yours and his baby, his heart hurting with overflowing unconditional love for the little worm resting easy against him. His hand is so large against baby's head, it baffles him how something so loved can be so small.

It's a good thing he runs warm in general because the little worm seems to be very comfortable like this, snuggled against his naked chest and soaking all that loving attention up like a sponge. Baby coos once more and Jack hums, his knuckles brushing over the soft peachy cheek that isn't resting over his heart.

"Let's give mommy some more rest, okay, sweety? Cuddling with daddy is nice, isn't it? No need to make a fuzz, hm?"

Baby blinks at him, thinking about it for minute before seemingly agreeing and snuggling back into the warmth Jack provides.

God, his heart is so full.

His beautiful strong supergirl is finally sleeping and her and his baby is with him, all cozy.

Jack leans back and closes his eyes, letting the bliss wash over him. Baby's hair is whispy soft against his hand and your lips part peacefully in your sleep...

His heart is so, so full.

[moodyabbott]

pope is so big and strong but he’d be gentle and calm with his bunny

[crashingcryptid]

Kyle spends an ungodly amount of time on his skin care. He takes great pride in the way he looks, the softeness of his skin, the way he smells, the way his curls lay. He's the pretty boy, after all. He has to be pretty.

Simon watches from his seat on the toilet seat. "What's the next step?" He rumbles as Kyle opens up a new container of moisturizer.

"This is for dark spots and blemishes. It's the last lotion for the night." Kyle explains as he carefully dabs his face. Simon scoffs at the word blemishes. There was no such thing on his beautiful lovers face. He was perfect. Kyle playfully wrinkles his nose at Simon, smearing some leftover moisturizer onto his cheek. "I can hear your thoughts."

"Can you?" Simon teases, leaning into Kyle's thumb when he massages the product in.

"You're thinking that I'm the most handsome man you've ever seen." Kyle teases, his tone dripping with playful sarcasm. Simon turns his head to softly kiss Kyle's palm.

"You are." He murmurs sincerely as he looks up at his lover, his face still slightly streaked with product. "Hurry up, pretty boy. I want to take you to bed."

[crashingcryptid]

Johnny saw them when scrolling through tiktok during his downtime. He wasn't on it often or for very long since Kyle insisted it rotted his brain. That's when he scrolled across a small jewelry company that made pride flag rings.

He stares longingly at the bands, thumbs swiping through their collection eagerly. He hadn't realized that there were so many. There was even one for Simon. "Kyle, my pretty boy, what about these?" Johnny rolls onto his belly, pinning Kyle underneath him.

Kyle grunts in mild irritation, but he looks at the phone screen shown to him. "Rings? Not very tactical, MacTavish." Kyle teases as he presses a kiss to Johnny's bicep.

"Could put em on chains. Carve our initials in the band. Leave em safe at base when we go on deployment so no one finds em." Johnny explains, lazily rutting his hips against Kyle's. He wasn't even needy. He just needed to move around.

"Thought of everything, huh?" Kyle softly sinks his teeth into Johnny's muscle, chewing and suckling as he thinks it over in his head. "You really want em, love?"

"Mm, want a reminder of you every day." Johnny assures quietly as he orders the rings.

"Whose the third ring for?"

Simon stares at the ring and simple silver chain sitting in the box. The colors faded from orange to blue, which he strokes his thumb across before he tucks it into his shirt. He stares at the note alongside it.

Kyle's neat handwriting paired with Johnny's sappy wording. "Love you, L.T. In this life and the next."

[helvyeah1]

cat distribution system works in mysterious ways

this is robby’s cat named fish - based on this art by croxotic on twt

print available here

[soilents]

Can you draw the Task Force doing training drills? Also, I love how you draw, and your rendering is French kiss

they are serious about bets

usual rounds..

Here you go! 💥💥 and tysm anon 🪱🪱

[rawme-price]

"Seriously, man, Thanks for letting me crash here." You say for the tenth time that night, earning a piece of popcorn to the face and a scowl from gaz.

"I told you it's fine." He speaks around a handful of popcorn, only half-focused on the movie playing "what happened, though? You an' soap having a spat already."

"It's...it's not that." That tightness you've been fighting off all week returns, and you have to blink up at the ceiling to stop from crying. "It's uhm...it's a bit more serious. I've been looking for a new apartment."

That has kyle pausing the movie, fully turning to stare at your makeshift bed on the couch, "what? What the hell? Why? Are you okay?"

"It's uh– I don't—" you purse your lips together. It never gets easier admitting this, though you've always talked to Kyle about your struggles "I don't think soaps okay with me being trans."

Silence. Heavy anf oppressive while gaz takes it in. When he speaks, his voice is carefully neutral. "What makes you think that, man?"

"He gets...weird, about it, yknow?" You wave a hand ambiguously, as if that at all explains it "gets cagey if I do my shots in the kitchen even though it has the best lighting."

You begin to tick off on your fingers, "he stays in his room all day if I decide not to wear a shirt in the blazing heat. Hasn't brought a bird home in weeks, probably embarrassed of me. He even makes a big deal about my fucking boxers, staring at them like they'll attack! Even though he wears briefs around the place all the time!"

At the end of your tirade, gaz lets out a long, suffering sigh. He scrubs a hand over his face, "soap...is a fucking dimwit."

"...what?"

Gaz looks at you, seems to mentally debate something before sitting up properly. "Soap doesn't hate you, he has a godsdamned crush on you."

"....what!?" You almost want to laugh.

"Yeah. He never fuckin' shuts up about it, just ask ghost or price." Gaz snorts, seemingly over his initial apprehension "he probably acts weird because he's trying to he respectful and not pop a boner every other minute you're around."

Oh.

Oh shit.

"I uh....I need to go. Talk to him." Your face is burning, grabbing your stuff hurriedly "thanks for the advice!"

"Use protection!!" Gaz calls down the hall, a cackle at your idiocy the last thing you hear.

[ghostgvrl]

dennis whitaker x fem!reader (nsfw headcanons)

warnings: soft dom!dennis, cunnilingus, spit kink, dirty talk, piv, making out, pervert!dennis, spanking, somnophillia/free use.

a/n: some nsfw dennis whitaker headcanons because i can’t get him out of my head!!! he lives in my mind rent free now <3

18+ MDNI!

𖥔 ݁ ˖ he adores your pussy. he doesn’t care how it looks or what color it is, he loves how soft and wet she gets for him, that being said, this man is an eater!!! even as a teen he would go behind the barn and pump his cock to the thought of eating a beautiful woman’s cunt.

𖥔 ݁ ˖ he’s a biiiiig talker! loves telling you how good you feel, how good you’re making him feel and vice versa. dirty talk is his thingggg!!! “f-fuck baby you’re so fucking perfect. she’s fucking sucking me in..holy shit, there’s my good girl.” he also has quite the potty mouth when he’s feeling euphoric, he can’t help it! :(

𖥔 ݁ ˖ dennis is a spit whore. he lovesssss it messy. especially when you’re making out as he’s fucking your brains out. it makes him so fucking horny and it has the same effect on you.

𖥔 ݁ ˖ i know a lot of people won’t agree with this, but in my professional opinion, dennis is a big dick boy! he’s a country boy, so in my mind, that man is hung. probably 7 inches when he’s soft and 8 when he’s hard. and he has a cute blonde curly bush at the base, circumcised, his cock is a pretty pink color and his tip is a very pale red. <3

𖥔 ݁ ˖ he’s a closeted freak/pervert. like i said, he grew up on a farm, he didn’t have pornhub but he did have his older brothers and fathers playboy magazines! because of the lack of pornography, it made him very imaginative.

𖥔 ݁ ˖ he’s a moaner and a whimperer for sure, like no doubt about it. especially when he’s close! he’ll keep pounding into you harder ‘n faster and moan in your ear as his hot, sticky load pumps inside of you.

𖥔 ݁ ˖ one of his favorite things to do is sit you on his face while he pumps his painfully hard and aching cock, his tip practically dripping with pre-cum. he’ll fuck his tongue in your hole as his nose catches on your clit perfectly. <3

𖥔 ݁ ˖ once you two are in a serious relationship and boundaries have been set, you let him use you in your sleep and he fucking adores it. he’ll wake up for his shift at 6:00 and the first thing he does is eat your cunt. there’s something about eating you out when you’re sleeping that drives him insane. you’re so soft, so sweet, so pliant in his hands. and then when you wake up he’ll fuck you while you’re on your side, his hands coming down to play with your cute nipples.

𖥔 ݁ ˖ i am a soft dom!dennis truther idc!! he loves to put you in your place every once in a while (only when you deserve it of course) he has some muscle, so he loves to throw you around and spank you when you’re being bratty. he only gives in because your pussy is weeping for him. she’s so well trained!

[redsakura101]

Just Keep Swimming

As Part of The Shiver Collection

Jesse Van Horn x Paediatrician!Wife!Reader, Brendon Park x Sister!Reader

Find My Pitt Masterlist here You and Brendon Park could be deemed as two sides of the same coin. Day and night between you two. And yet. So very similar. This was a well known fact amongst those at PTMC. What wasn't quite as well known. Was that you. Were in fact the long time sweetheart of one Jesse Van Horn. ...All of which is brought out into the open as he comes in with his sick daughter, and his son clasping his hand.

Notes: strong language. established relationship. secret relationship. secret family. medical inaccuracies.

Word Count: ~3.6k

Jesse was a breath of fresh air in the ER. 

With a wicked sense of humour that often left others hunched over in stitches, belly aching from laughter. 

It was simply in his nature to jump in on the joke. 

To make light of an otherwise grim situation with dry sarcastic wit. 

It was his flavour of choice when it came to coping with the stresses of the ER. 

And if that meant moving the life size training dummy to funny places just to make an unsuspecting resident or intern laugh, then so be it. 

At work Jesse never pined for attention. 

Never fought to be seen. 

He simply did the work. 

And he did it well. 

Strong. 

Silent, competent. 

With a few little sarcastic remarks and side eyed glances in between. 

It was no wonder that each time you came down from pedes to perform a consult, you gravitated towards him. 

Finding his presence to be perfect when working with young patients. 

At least that was what everyone else assumed. 

Unknowing that there was a little more behind you and Jesse always managing to be found side by side whenever you came down…

Unaware that you. 

Dr Y/N Park. 

Was in fact, Nurse Jesse’s longtime sweetheart. His very wonderful wife. 

Unaware that you and Jesse were well and truly deep in love with one another. 

Naturally gravitating towards each other’s presence if only to be soothed by having one another nearby. 

Those softened glances. 

Those sweet smiles. 

Murmured words of love you and see you later. 

All gone amiss by those in the ER. 

All unseen. Unnoticed. 

All unaware of the little matching tattoos imprinted upon your skin. A little reminder of your love for each other. 

You had met years ago. 

Having been dragged to an open mic night at a local bar by your friends. Even if all you had wanted to do was stay home and flop into bed. 

You had reluctantly left the house. 

Making the most of the night. 

Most of the music is drowned out by your friends talking your ear off. Until the strum of the new band that had come on had caught your attention. 

Turning your gaze to face the little makeshift stage, you had locked eyes onto one of the band members. 

It was kismet. 

The night had become a blur. 

From the way your friends had practically shoved you into the man’s arms noticing your starstruck gaze. 

Locked onto the very hot drummer. With loosely curled hair, to the glinting nose ring, and piercing in his ear, the small little J catching your eye beneath the dim lights. 

How his music had seemed to make you fall into a trance. 

“You guys sounded great,” you complimented, shooting your friends a scolding gaze before turning to meet his eyes once more. 

Trying your absolute best to play it cool. 

Despite having your heart simply melt from the way he smiled, a little lopsided, kind and carefree, “Thanks–I uh, noticed you in the crowd, you seemed to get pretty into it,” he scratched the back of his neck. 

The way the light seemed to make your eyes sparkle, capturing Jesse’s attention entirely. 

“Can I buy you a drink?” he had asked. A little boldly, spurred on by his bandmates shooting him a thumbs up behind you.  

You flashed him your pearly white smile, nodding. 

The evening spent talking each other’s ear off, tucked away in some booth in the corner of the room. 

Relishing in the sound of his laugh, gravel like and melodic. 

Perhaps getting to know each other a little better in the privacy of his apartment…

One thing led to another. 

Until soon you were trying to match up schedules, trying to carve out time for one another.  

Until you were essentially building a life together. 

You had him meet your overbearing brother who didn’t know when to give you space. Who had played the role of intimidating your new partner far too well.

But Jesse had taken it well. 

Hadn’t backed down. 

And instead understood Brendon’s overprotective resolve. 

Rather than fighting him, arguing with Brendon. Jesse had taken to showing Brendon just exactly why it was you had fallen so deeply for him. 

How his considerate nature and care for you would never think to hurt you in any way. 

And just perhaps the next time Jesse saw Brendon he had given him a bottle of scotch, one Brendon had mentioned in passing as one of his favoured ones. 

With an arched brow, an impressed look crossing his features. 

Realising that Jesse truly listened. 

Truly paid attention to you – unlike a few of your previous partners who would unnerve Brendon to no end. 

This time it was different. 

This time Brendon could understand why you had insisted that Jesse was the one for you. 

Had understood why you chose to share your life with him. 

Finally having found your partner.

Your equal in life. 

With promises of being together, side by side. In this life and the next.

…It was something that those at PTMC were unaware of. 

What they did know however. 

Was that you and Dr Park were two sides of the same coin. 

Whilst Brendon was clipped and cold. 

You dissuaded others with humour and a softness to your resolve. 

Both keeping others at an arms length it seemed. It was just the way you both were. 

Nothing much was known about the Park siblings, apart from the work they did. 

You were both so diligent, and hyper focused. 

But at times it was hard to remember you were related. 

Brendon was the orthopedic surgeon that kept everyone on their toes. That moved through the room, like the Shark they knew him to be. 

His presence sliced through any and all conversations. 

A quiet falling over the room. 

Unlike you. 

Whenever you entered a room, you never failed to make it brighten just a bit. You lightened the tone. 

Always so considerate, friendly. 

No bite to your words. 

Unless you were teasing your brother. 

You were a paediatric doctor, your speciality was calming down even the most frightened of kids, helping quell nerves and always doing your best in the most dire of circumstances. 

You were quick to respond whenever needed – whenever you were required. 

And each morning, you always walked through the ED, passing by sharing quick hellos and good mornings. 

Little stickers plastered upon your stethoscope, key chains swinging from your bag, a medley of different charms, a small little shark, a star, a little guitar, and an assortment of characters from animated films like Dory, a little Eeyore, and a few other characters. 

They clinked gently as you moved through the ED, passing by before going to your department. 

Coming back through whenever a consult was needed. And whenever time allowed, you always stopped by to at least share a coffee. 

Always enthralled by the little tidbits of gossip. 

Pearly whites gleaming, not in a scowl, but in a glistening smile as your laughter would bubble out. 

You helped guide the med students giving them a little advice when handling younger patients. 

Santos absolutely adored you, and your humour. Whitaker was always amused whenever he saw you take Shark down a peg. 

Your heart was the size of a whale’s. 

With a demeanour that was soft around the edges, deeply understanding and kind hearted. 

So unlike the reputation of your brother’s. 

Who’s presence would make everyone who didn’t want to get chided to scramble out of his way. To be anywhere else except for the trauma room he was in. 

Well…

Almost everyone. 

There were of course a handful of people who could go toe to toe with PTMC’s Shark of the OR. 

Those who had garnered his respect. 

Such as Dana. 

And Robby.

And surprisingly. 

Nurse Jesse. 

If ever a particularly severe orthopedic trauma case entered through the doors, Perlah and Princess would be quick to shove Jesse over to help. 

To throw him to the shark. They had joked. 

Jesse would merely send them a side eyed look before moving quickly to work. 

And though the chances were slim, if it were a particularly complex case. 

Shark would appear. 

With piercing eyes. 

Controlled movements. 

Clipped tone. 

With a delivery so blunt it would make even the most thick skinned students rethink their life’s choices. 

But around Jesse, he would tip his head with a small nod. 

A mutual respect brewed between the two. 

Now, while most might assume this simply had to do with the fact that Park was simply civil with the nurses. 

The way Park would greet Jesse – or the way Jesse would manage to make Park’s lips curl up in a barely noticeable smile from some random joke would make anyone falter for a second. 

No one questioned it anymore.

The odd little dynamic between Brendon Park and Jesse Van Horn had simply become another accepted part of PTMC.

Somehow...

They worked together flawlessly.

Like clockwork.

Like they'd spent years learning each other's rhythms.

Jesse anticipating instruments before Park asked.

Park trusting Jesse's judgment without question, "Retractor."

Jesse handed it over before Park had even finished the word.

"You're getting predictable, Shark."

Brendon's expression remained perfectly flat, "...You're getting annoying."

Jesse grinned, "You say the sweetest things."

Whitaker blinked.

"Why does Dr Park tolerate him?" Santos frowned. 

Perlah snorted, "Dunno. Maybe Jesse sold his soul."

Princess nodded solemnly. Before shrugging as she offered, "Or maybe Shark respects competence?"

"...Or maybe Jesse has blackmail," Santos muttered, eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

None of them noticed the way Brendon's eyes flicked toward Jesse.

The faintest twitch threatening at the corner of his mouth.

Before letting it simply slide under the rug. 

Forgotten for another day. 

Until…

One day. 

Just a random Tuesday. 

Nothing particularly out of the ordinary. 

Which, in the emergency department, generally meant it was only a matter of time before everything descended into chaos.

Santos was buried beneath charting.

Whitaker was just trying to get through the day without needing to change scrubs.

Princess and Perlah were restocking supplies. Sending each other little side glances or hushed comments whenever they caught a little snippet of gossip. 

Dana was coordinating traumas with her usual effortless efficiency.

And Jesse had been called out of work today. 

Barely midway through the day, he was tucked into the corner of the ER. A solemn expression on his face. 

Before moving to mutter quietly to Dana, “That was Mina’s school, she’s got a fever–”

In an instant she was shoving him towards the lockers, “Go, get out of here and make sure she’s ok”

He nods, a grateful look entering his eyes. 

Even as the others asked where he went, Dana kept the reason close to herself. No reason to divulge information that wasn’t hers to share. 

Waving them off, barely stating anything more than that it was for personal reasons. 

What no one expected to see however. 

Barely an hour later. 

Jesse had returned. 

But this time he wasn’t alone. 

Propped up on his hip, curling into his grasp was a young little girl. Face splotchy, eyes curled up tightly shut. Frown etched onto her face, as she buries her face into the fabric of Jesse’s top. 

Linked in his other arm, stands a young boy. A layer of concern laced in his eyes as they flick up to the little girl. 

Immediately, everyone noticed something was wrong.

Not catastrophic.

But enough.

This morning Jesse had arrived with easy smiles and dry remarks. But now that had all been wiped away. 

Now. 

He looked worried.

Dana looked up instantly, "What happened?" Rounding the desk to meet him, eyes darting down to scan over the little girl. 

The young boy slightly waved to Dana. A flash of recognition crossed his eyes.

"Mina’s been running a fever"

The little girl buried his face against Jesse's shoulder. Jesse adjusted her higher automatically.

"She started complaining his ear hurt an hour ago."

Dana softened.

"Hey, sweetheart."

Mina blinked watery eyes, "No."

Dana snorted, "Fair enough."

Princess immediately moved into action, "I'll get her checked in." Sympathy flooding her features. 

Whitaker froze. Javadi practically nearly stumbled into him, distracted by the scene before them. 

Santos practically buzzed from the new information. 

Because...

Jesse had a child.

A child currently wrapped up in his arms.

"...Jesse?" Whitaker asked carefully.

Jesse glanced over, "Hm?"

"...Is that your kid?" Santos completed. 

Silence.

Jesse blinked, before his brows furrowed "...Yeah–Whose else would it be?"

"...Your kid?" Santos repeated.

Mina lifted her head, tugging at him slightly. "Dad?"

Those watching in curiosity practically combusted from the new information. Muttering amongst each other in utter shock. 

None of the nurses appeared to be particularly surprised. Dana least of all. Robby glancing up to see all his med students frozen in place. 

He merely sighs from their utter surprise. 

The fact that Jesse was a dad was something that had come up over after work drinks with his fellow nurses more than a few times. 

But there seemed to be many in the ER who were in complete ignorance of this fact. 

"You never told us!" 

"You never asked?"

"You have a kid?!" 

Jesse shifted Mina again. His grip slightly tightening around Sammy’s hand. Glancing at him to make sure he was ok. 

Whitaker looked seconds away from fainting.

Before anyone could recover–

The lift doors open. 

"Jesse!"

Everyone turned.

You hurried into the department. Trying your very best not to break into a sprint. 

Stethoscope bouncing against your chest.

Tiny cartoon stickers decorating the tubing.

Relief flooded Jesse's face instantly, "Oh thank God."

You moved straight toward him.

Toward Mina.

Your hands automatically reaching for your daughter’s forehead, you murmured softly, sweetly, "Hey, sweetheart."

Mina whimpered, leaning into your grasp, "Mama."

The room went silent.

Because...

Mama.

Your hand moved to Jesse's arm,"You okay?"

He exhaled, "She spiked another fever."

"You should've called me sooner,” you said, brows knitted in concern. 

He looked at you as though it were obvious, "You were working."

"So were you,” Your tone was fond.

Not annoyed.

Jesse's responding look was soft.

"You know I would've come,” you added. 

"I know,” Jesse nodded, “But I had it covered. 

You let a small smile form on your lips in understanding, before crouching down to your little boy, reaching out to bundle him into your arms, “You ok, buddy?” 

He nods, before pointing up to Mina, “Is Mina going to be okay?” 

You smile at his concern for his little sister, “We’re going to make sure she’s ok, yeah?”

He lets out a small hum in agreement. 

Santos stared.

Then pointed.

Then stared again.

Everyone’s eyes flicking between you and Jesse. 

Even the nursing staff was stumped. Utterly shocked by the new information. 

Not once. 

Never.

Had either of you mentioned that you were married…Let alone parents of two little kids…

Mouths agape as they watch the scene unfold. 

Dana guiding you both to one of the open bays, you’re quick to slip into doctor mode as you check up on your little girl. Going through all the necessary checks. 

While Jesse sits with Sammy, occupying him. 

Javadi’s eyes widened even more if it were possible, tugging onto Santos’ arm, “Do you know what this means?”

Her brows furrow looking at Javadi in question. 

Mohan shares a look with Javadi as she makes the same realisation.

“What–oh!” Santos states. 

Whitaker furrowing his brows darting between them all before looking back over to the little family.

“What?”

Santos looks at him, “Jesse’s married to Y/N, as in Dr Park…which means”

“Means what?” He looks at her quizzically. 

“That means Jesse is related to–”

As though summoned, their mouths snap shut at the sight of the very man they were referring to. 

Steely eyed as they scan the room. 

Not a single orthopedic trauma in sight. 

And yet his locked jaw. 

His tense shoulders. 

Before meeting Robby’s gaze. 

Robby merely points a finger to the bay where you were, “They’re over there”

Brendon offers a curt nod in thanks, taking quick strides to reach the bay. 

Paying no attention to the audience formed nearby. 

His sharpness immediately melts as the young boy leaps out of Jesse’s lap scrambling to Brendon, who lifts him with ease. 

“Uncle Shark!” 

“Hey kiddo,” he said, eyes drifting for a moment to meet your eyes, the silent question residing behind his blue eyes. 

Whilst you shoot him a thumbs up, a curt nod. 

A silent. It’s all ok. Nothing major. 

His shoulders relax. 

His demeanor softens, looking back at Sammy as his little hands clasp at Brendon’s face to turn his attention back to himself. 

“Do you want to say it Mina?” Sammy calls back.

Your heart melts at his thoughtfulness for his little sister.  

“Yes!” she says, eyes gleaming at the sight of her uncle. A small spark in her eyes, as the medicine begins to kick in. 

Whilst you bite back a grin, already knowing what was about to be said. 

“Shark Bait!” she calls out. 

Brendon’s lips purse for a moment, before he mumbles. The noise, barely louder than a whisper.

Sammy grins cheekily, “Can’t hear you~”  

“Hoo Ha Ha,” he says louder. 

Whilst Mina giggles out, coinciding with Sammy’s laughs. 

Any sense of embarrassment never makes its way onto Brendon’s features, as he instead grins at his niece and nephew. 

It never failed to amuse them whenever they did this. 

Never getting old. 

Whilst you and Jesse laugh softly. With a small shake of your head. 

Santos clutches onto Whitaker’s arm, stunned, “Is it just me or did Shark literally quote Finding Nemo”

“I think I’m having a stroke,” Whitaker mutters out. 

Mina tugs onto your arm, eyes wide. Head tilting in question, “Can Sharkie come over to our house to play? He needs to be Elsa!”

You nod, “You’ll have to ask him nicely.”

She peers up at her uncle, whilst Sammy does the same. 

“Pretty please”

“Only if you promise to get better soon,” Brendon replies. 

Princess comes up beside Jesse, elbowing him gently, “I can’t believe you didn’t tell us your wife was Park.”

“It never came up,” he shrugs. 

While Princess scoffs. Before raising her brows, with a slight impressed look, “She’s quite a catch”

“Don’t I know it,” he replies with a grin. 

“Though I don’t understand how Shark didn’t scare you away,” she adds. Watching as the doctor in question is busy entertaining the two young kids. 

You move to stand beside Princess adding, "Brendon isn't terrifying."

Jesse merely laughs, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, "You've lost perspective."

His grin faltered for a second, dipping lower, “Is it ok I brought Mina here?”

Your arm curling around his waist, “You made the right call”

He arches a brow, “ Even if I interrupted your day

“Never an interruption when it comes to you and the kids,” You say, shaking your head. 

The ER watched.

Speechless.

Because somehow...

None of this fit together.

Shark.

Warm-hearted paediatrician.

Sarcastic nurse.

Two very loved children.

Finding Nemo references.

Frozen sing alongs.

How you and Jesse always were side by side. 

Why Jesse never shied away from Shark’s cold resolve. 

The little matching tattoos that no one had noticed enough to associate.

Or the little rings hung around both of your necks, tucked beneath your scrubs for safe keeping. 

And yet somehow...

It all fit perfectly.

You smile softly at the little family you cherished so dearly. In simple awe of the overwhelming love felt in this moment. 

Jesse’s arm snug around you. 

Mina and Sammy consume the entirety of Brendon’s attention as they talk his ear off. 

Both Brendon and Sammy doing their best to distract Mina from her aches. 

As Sammy leads the way into singing, “Just keep swimming, just keep swimming–”

He nudges Brendon, “C’mon Uncle Shark, it’s Mina’s favourite”

He reluctantly nods before singing along, voice low as he tries to keep it down, whilst Sammy beams, “Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming. What do we do? We swim, swim, swim”

Your little baby girl, looking better by the minute. 

Your panic settles and subsides. 

A pager buzzes in your pocket, duty calling. You hesitate. Before Jesse plants a kiss to your temple in reassurance, “We’ve got it handled. We’ll see you at home–I’ll make chicken soup”

You nod, before wrapping up your kids in cuddles, promising that you’ll see them later. 

Brendon reassures you that he’ll help Jesse, whilst you thank him for the help. Grateful to have such a supportive brother. 

The ER watches you duck away. 

Before flicking back to the scene before them.

It was unbelievable that Jesse Van Horn, their witty colleague.  

Was in fact the brother in law to Brendon Park the Shark. 

It was safe to say that as soon as your girl was feeling better and as soon as Jesse would be back at work. 

That a flood of questions would be headed his way. 

But for now they let the little family simply bask in their peace. 

…

And just perhaps. 

Santos might just boldly mutter out with a grin, “Shark Bait,” the next time Brendon Park comes down for a consult. 

Whilst he lets out a disgruntled hum. 

...

It was safe to say there was never a dull moment in your life.

With Jesse as your loving husband.

Two little bundles of joy, in the form of your daughter, Mina and son, Sammy.

With Brendon as their doting Uncle Shark.

No matter what came your way.

No matter if the entirety of PTMC would flock to you in utter shock about the fact that your husband was Jesse.

No matter if his coworkers all looked at him in awe as he handled Brendon.

With endless questions about, how, when and why this had all come to be.

You both took it in stride.

With a little hum.

A bounce in your steps.

Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming...

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed (I'm a lil iffy but overall happy with it) definitely wanted to incorporate Shark being the absolute fixation of his niece and nephew. And Jesse would totally be unafraid of Brendon (like you just have a stern face- is that meant to scare me??) and honestly that simply makes Brendon respect him a lot more. Fun fact Mina apparently means Fishy as well so that’s a cute little thing. Let me know what you thought ✨

As of right now, this is the last instalment for the Shiver Collection (Unless inspo strikes for other ideas/characters - I am playing around with the idea of Frank or even Shen?? idk)

Hope you've enjoyed them! It's been a lot of fun exploring different stories featuring the reader as Park the Shark's sister 🦈

Comments, Reblogs and Likes are welcomed and appreciated 💕 If you enjoyed, consider checking out my Pitt Masterlist here!

Taglist: @the-sassy-one @ilocuras24 @may-machin @hazydespair @barnes70stark @kyky9103 @darknessofhell666-blog-blog 

[antisirkbitch]

𓂃𓂁𓂃 Park's Favorite𓂃𓂁𓂃

𓂁 Pairing: Brendan Park x fem!nursepractioner!reader In hindsight, Brendan Park should not have smacked his girlfriend's ass in the middle of the emergency department. 𓂁 Warnings: established relationship, accidental PDA, secret relationship, coworkers to lovers, probable HR visit, Brendan Park being a softie for his girl, bickering is a love language. 𓂁 Request: For a similar dynamic relationship to Park and June from my June Bug Series. So so sorry it took me so long. 𓂁 Nina's Pitt Masterlist

The entire emergency department knew two things about Brendan Park, aka Park the Shark.

One: He was terrifying.

Two: He liked you. Not in a weird way. Not in a romantic way. Just… you were clearly his favorite.

Many chalk it up to you working up as a nurse on the Orthopedic ward before transferring down to the ER when you became a nurse practitioner.

And that Park states often that, even though you’re annoying; you are the most competent person in the uncontrollable chaos that they call the Pitt.  

"Can someone explain why Park only yells at the rest of us?" Dennis asked one afternoon. You looked up from your charting. "He yells at me."

"No," Dennis pointed. "He insults you." "That's yelling," you say, continuing to write your discharge note. "It's not."

“It must be nice being the Shark’s favorite.” Trinity says in passing. You place your head down on the desk, “I hate this place.”  

As if summoned by the conversation, Park appeared. Fresh from surgery, already looking annoyed. Already looking handsome, wearing the scrub cap you bought him last week.

A soft smile tugging at the corner of your lips before looking down to continue your note. 

“There you are.” Brendan says when he approaches you. You don’t even look up. “ Hello to you too Parkie.”

He doesn’t play into your little teasing. “Room twelve, the humerus fracture.” “What about room twelve Dr. Park?” 

“Why is his potassium so low?” he asks. You finally look up at him. “Because God hates him. Since when do orthopedic surgeons care about potassium anyways. Wouldn’t you be more concerned about calcium?” you ask, with a dumb smirk on your face.

Dennis lets out a muffled laugh from beside you. Park looks unimpressed. 

“Real answer," he demands, “and I care about more than bones.” “Fine, if you must know he refused the potassium replacement.”

“Why?” You let out a sigh, “Because he said the pills are too big, the solution tastes like shit, the stuff through the IV burns, and he’d rather eat a fucking banana.” Park pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“See?” You pointed. “That’s his happy face.” Park glared. You smile and a tiny wink followed. So quick nobody noticed. Except Brendan, who rolled his eyes. At least nobody else noticed, you thought.

The truth was simple. You and Brendan had been together for almost two years. It started with him lingering after doing rounds on the floor on his post op patient’s you were caring for.

Then you’d have a coffee ready for him when he came to the floor. Slight bickering mixed with eventual flirting, leading to you sprawled out on his floor studying, while he would cook you dinner after a shift.

And then when you finally passed your boards and became a NP, you transferred down to do emergency medicine. Leading to you and Brendan seeing each other less during the workday, unless he came down for a consultation instead of one of his residents. 

Nobody in the ER knew about your relationship with the most feared orthopedic surgeon. Not Robby. Not Dana. Not Jack. Not anyone.

Well, Jack eventually figured it out. Mostly because he walked into the stairwell once and found you and Park way closer together than should be acceptable for just coworkers. 

But at work? You were just another nurse practitioner. His favorite, but just another NP. 

Nobody saw the version of Brendan Park that existed outside the hospital. The man who couldn't sleep unless he was touching you somehow. 

A hand on your waist. An arm around your stomach. His face buried in your shoulder.

Nobody saw him following you around the kitchen while you made dinner. Nobody saw you stealing his hoodies.

Nobody saw him laying across your lap while you watched movies, your fingers playing with his hair. Nobody saw him reaching for you in his sleep.

At work he was Dr. Park. At home he was just Brendan. Your Brendan.

Which was probably why what happened next was so shocking.

The shift had been chaotic. A six-car pileup. Two STEMIs. Three level one traumas. And a toddler who somehow managed to stick a Lego in his nose. Everyone was exhausted, including Park.

Especially Park. 

He'd been in the OR most of the day. Then came downstairs for a consultation. Spent twenty minutes arguing with you about a patient. Which is what usually happens. 

“You charted this wrong.”

“I charted it perfectly”

“It’s wrong.”

“It’s not”

“It is”

“You’re old.” 

“I’m thirty-eight.”

“Exactly.” 

Dana sighed. Dennis laughed. Mel just watched with a smile on her face. And Trinity, Princess, and Perlah looked ready to place bets. 

Everything was normal. Until Park’s pager went off. He looked down, groaned, and then started walking backwards towards the doors. 

“Trauma surgery needs me.” 

“Congratulations.” 

“You’ll miss me.”

“Not likely Parkie.” 

Park pointed. “You wound me.” You smirked 

Then he turned. Started walking away, got three steps and stopped. He turned back around and without thinking– smacked your ass. 

Not hard. Not enough to hurt, Just one quick casual tap. The exact kind he had done a thousand times at home. Then he kept walking like he didn’t just disrupt the entire department's ecosystem. 

The whole department stilled. Park froze. You froze. The clear automatic doors slid shut behind him.

The chaotic ER was silent besides the occasional beeping from monitors. As silent in a way an emergency department can be. 

Then slowly Parked turned around. For a minute he just stood behind the glass doors staring at you. “Oh my god,” you covered your face. For the first time in history, Brendan Park looked horrified. Like actually horrified. 

Dennis’s mouth was hanging open. Trinity looked like she’d just solved a murder. Dana blinked once, then twice, finally pointed and said, “Either you’re together or Park just committed sexual assault on a coworker and I need to testify to HR. Are you together?”

You groaned, “Yes.” Dana’s jaw dropped. “No!” “Oh my god,” you say, shoving your head back into your hands. 

Dennis looked between you and Park. “You two are together?” 

“Please stop talking.”

“For how long?”

“Two years.” 

Dennis nearly fell out of his chair. “TWO YEARS?”

Trinity starts laughing, the loud and ugly kind. “I knew it.”

“You did not.”

“I absolutely did.” 

“You thought I hated him.”

“I thought it was giving enemies to lovers.”

Park finally recovered out of his daze enough to speak. “This is being blown out of proportion.” Every single person in the department looked at him, even Robby.

“You slapped her ass,” Dana said. Brendan looked genuinely confused. “Yes.” The silence somehow got worse, then the realization hit him again. “Oh.”

You dropped your forehead onto the desk. From somewhere behind you, Jack’s voice echoes through the department. “Is the cat finally out of the bag?”

Everyone turned towards him. Jack stood there leaning against the desk holding his coffee. Looking entirely unsurprised. 

“You knew?” Dana demanded. 

“Unfortunately.”

“For two years?”

Jack took a sip. “I found out about a year ago, Caught them in a stairwell looking stupidly in love. They’re disgusting.” 

Park looked offended. “We’re not disgusting.” Jack pointed, “You literally forgot where you were and smacked her ass in the middle of the emergency department."

You wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole. Your boyfriend looked at you. Then he looked at everyone staring and sighed. “...Fair.” 

Finally he looked over at you again, and something in his stone cold expression softened.

Just for a moment, so quickly most people would miss it. But not you, never you. You could read Brendan Park like a book. 

“Come here.’

“No”

“Why?”

“Because they’re watching.” 

Park looked around again, saw the entire ED was still staring, even patients.

But then he looked back at you, before walking up to you. “So?” Then he applied a quick peck to your soft lips. 

He took two steps backward toward the glass doors again. "See you at home." 

You rolled your eyes. "Don't leave your socks on the floor." 

"I'll think about it." 

"You said that yesterday." 

"And yet the socks remain on the floor.” A familiar grin tugged at your lips before you could stop it. Park pointed. "There it is." 

"What?" 

“My favorite smile.” 

“Get out.”

His grin widened, “Love you too.”   

Then he disappeared through the doors. Leaving behind a completely stunned emergency department.

Trinity slowly turned towards you. “Wait is that why you have that shark tattoo. Because of him?”

"Maybe.."

And for the first time in two years, everyone in the emergency department finally understood why Brendan Park always looked for you first.

𓂁 Note: I know this is short. Also I tried something different from my usual prefered way to write dialogue. Hope you enjoyed!

𓂁 taglist: @isasdreams @teenwolfbitches28 @hazydespair @kmc1989 @llovekats @nyxmoretti

divider credit: @huraxy-dividers

[zeyz444]

lingerie/home wear x the pitt women 𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖

samira mohan x fem!reader // dana evans x fem!reader // parker ellis x fem!reader // mel king x fem!reader // victoria javadi x fem!reader // baran al-hashimi x fem!reader // cassie mckay x fem!reader // trinity santos x fem!reader

NSFW, SMAU, text messages, mdni! suggestive, a few photos (non-explicit), reader buying lingerie or pj sets without them, lightly bratty reader ❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

i wanna do more of these but im scared that they get repetitive :((

@azishimi @bl00df1redeath @saffrontieee

join my taglist // masterlist

[redd-blushing-roses]

Baby Rabbit

word count: 4.4k

pairing: Jack Abbot x (wife) reader

summary: When you've been feeling sick for a few weeks, Jack expects to face the worst. But a trip to the emergency room reveals something he never expected. And you have to face the fact you're there for each other in sickness and health... and everything between.

warnings: pregnancy, mentions of abbot being a widower, lots of uncertainty and anxiety, age gap (but reader is implied to be a bit older), talks about infertility/ trouble getting pregnant. let me know if I need to add anything!

notes: had this idea a few days ago and like the devious baby fever pilled gal I am and managed to bang it out in two evenings. thank you jack abbot for being my current muse.

enjoy reading :)

------------------------------------------------------

“Hello?”

“Hello, uh… is this Jack Abbot?” 

Jack’s work shoes squeak against the linoleum floor, his heavy footsteps echoing down the empty hospital hall. He’s running, a layer of sweat already beading at his temple. The glass ambulance bay door hits the wall with a teeth chattering thud. Jack is almost suprised it didn't shatter with his thrust. 

He pants, eyes scanning the hospital’s back lot, trying to find the ambulance he knew was on his way. 

“Mr. Abbot, we have your wife here- she fainted in the grocer’s parking lot…”

Jack knew he shouldn't have left you. He'd had a feeling. The looming dread that had been creeping up on him the past couple of weeks. 

You'd been feeling out of it for a while now. A lethargic and nauseating achiness you couldn't quite shake, no matter how much tylenol or herbal teas you’d tried. 

You had played it off as nothing. Just a headache that came and went. An upset stomach due to the day old chinese food you’d eaten. 

“It's fine, Jack. I’m just tired.”

“Are you sure?” 

“I’m okay. I’m here. You don't have to worry.”

But Jack worried. 

He was always worrying. 

He knew that little things sometimes added up to a bigger, meaner somethings. That if you missed the signs, you might catch it too late. 

What exactly? Jack wasn't sure. He didn’t particularly want to find out.

But he sure as hell wasn't gonna let you blow it off now. 

His heart pounds as the ambulance finally pulls into the bay, the emergency lights blaring an ugly red and orange. Jack bary registers the EMT saying hello to him, his eyes focused on your splayed out form, laying on the gurney. 

“Hey baby,” he says, voice cracking slightly. 

“Jack,” you look up at him blearily, your eyes hazy, a bandage already taped to your forehead. Jack is quick to come by your side as the EMT lowers the gurney, his hand running over the back of your hair.

“One of the bystanders said she hit her head going down. It's not too bad. Just needs some cleaning. Same for her legs,” the EMT says to Jack as she watches him carefully lift the bandage. 

Jack lets out a shaky breath, pressing a kiss to the top of your head and leading your gurney back into the Pitt. 

“What the hell Jack. You just ran off-” Robby calls out, watching Jack come back in. He stops once he sees you, your scraped up knees and bandaged head, the confused expression on your face. “What happened?” 

“She fainted. We’ll need to start her on an iv, get her fluids and run a couple of blood tests. Do you still feel dizzy?”

“I don’t… Jack, what’s going on?” You look up at Jack, confused, panic written across your face. Jack looks back at the EMT who shakes her head.

“She was having trouble remembering the fall. Only remembers her headache and feeling sick.” 

Jack remembers how you had looked this morning. The purple bruises around your eyes and the wince you'd tried to hide when he said goodbye. 

“I don't have to go in today. Shen can cover if Robby really needs him to.”

“Go Jack. They need you more than me.”

He should have known better. 

Robby comes beside the railing of the gurney, helping to pull it into a trauma room. You look around, your chest beginning to rise and fall quicker as your eyes begin to clear of the confused fog.

“What’s going on?” 

“Jack, stay with your wife.”

“I am with her,” he throws back at Robby, turning to grab the bag of fluids Princess was moving to hand him.

“No. Stay with her as Jack. Not Dr. Abbot,” Robby tosses back, gesturing to your wide and fearful eyes. Jack swallows thickly, torn. 

Especially when you groan, turning towards Robby and vomiting off the side of the gurney railing. 

Jack’s heart hurts, pounding heavily against his sternum. You were here. The one place he hated seeing you.

Jack knows he can help take care of you right now. Bandage you up and order labs. He can solve the mystery behind why you were suddenly so ill. Why you haven’t been feeling well lately. 

He can handle that. Dr. Jack Abbot, night attending and army vet, can handle bad news.

But just Jack. Mr. Jack Abbot, loving husband and worried widower, cannot. 

He can’t take another bad diagnosis.

Jack looks up at Robby who’s helping Princess clean up the vomit, and then back at you. And he makes a decision.

“Hey,” Jack says, pushing down the railing on his side of your gurney and sitting on the edge. “Hey, honey-” He takes your head in his hands, taking the damp cloth Robby hands him and helping to clean your face. 

Jack sits with you, his scrub top abandoned, his hand clasped tightly over yours. He watches as the color slowly comes back into your face, helps you take a sip of juice when your hand trembles too much to hold the cup. He stays silent for it all, Robby cleaning and bandaging your scrapes, Perlah coming in to draw your blood, the hospital gown Princess helps you into. He watches it all with a wariness. An awful churning in his gut.

A fear gnawing away at him. 

“Jack,” you whisper, squeezing his hand. He hums, glancing up at you from where he was sitting beside your gurney. “It’s going to be alright.” 

“I know,” he whispers back. You hadn’t said much to each other. Mostly hushed whispers and clinging to each other's hand. Like raising your voices was too much for the already overstimulating hospital room.

Jack’s knee is bouncing up and down anxiously. He couldn’t help it, his mind turning over the many diagnoses, the myriad of things that could be wrong with you. You gently wrangle your hand out of his iron grip, reaching over to rest it on his jostling knee. Jack stills at the feeling of your warm palm over the fabric of his scrub pants, swallowing. You smile.

“Whatever it is… we’ll be okay.” 

"I know," Jack repeats again. But it's hard to really believe it.

He's been here once before. A hospital room just like this. The woman he loves loved sitting by his side. Slowly wasting away. And he didn’t even know it. 

He sees the symptoms, too familiar and painful. The exhaustion and fatigue that wore you down. The migraines and brain fog, lethargicness and nausea that plagued you. He sees it and he knows. Whatever labs Robby is currently looking at holds a future he’s not sure he’s ready for. 

You sigh, your hand moving upwards to run through his salt and pepper curls. They had already been mussed and messed up from his own hand raking through them. Jack sighs at the feeling, closing his eyes and leaning his head against your side. You hum, holding him close.

“I didn’t even get to do any shopping. I just… passed out in the parking lot.” 

“Don’t worry about that,” Jack mumbles into your gown. “I’ll order some groceries for delivery later.”

“I really wanted to get that new cream cheese to try. The one with the jalapenos.” You sigh. “Gosh, I wish they could just inject that into my iv. Maybe I’d perk up faster.”

Jack can’t help but crack a smile. You hum happily, still petting his hair. 

“There he is.” Jack looks up at you, his mouth open to say something. To apologize for worrying. For being so scared.

But he doesn’t get a chance.

The door to your room opens, Robby’s familiar silhouette shadowing behind the curtain.

“Jack?”

Jack clears his throat. “Yeah?” 

Robby peeks his head through the fabric. 

“I’ve got the test results back.” He comes in and sits down on the stool by the foot of your bed with a grunt. You give Jack a nervous look, your hand finding his again. He takes it, squeezing gently. Grounding. Robby clears his throat. 

“Well, your blood panels came back fine. No signs of infection or disease.”

“So…what is it? What’s wrong with her?” Jack asks, swallowing thickly. Robby looks down at the lab work in his hands, peering over the frames of his glasses at the two of you.

“Nothing.” 

The word hits harder than Jack could have expected. Of all the things he had anticipated-

You frown, looking confused.

“Nothing,” you repeat, the question no louder than a breath of air. Robby smiles and nods.

“Well, nothing that won’t go away in nine months. Congratulations kids. You're gonna have a baby." 

Both of you go very still. Your mouth falls open, Jack’s eyes practically bug out of his head. Robby sits there smugly, folding the lab results over.

“A…” Jack starts, trailing off as he leans forward. Surely he’d heard Robby wrong.

“I- a baby?” You ask, dumbstruck. 

“Hmm.” Robby nods. “From what I can tell you’re roughly six weeks along. Of course, you’d need an ultrasound and larger blood panel to be able to tell more accurately.” 

“Pregnant,” Jack breathes. His eyes dart around the room, finally meeting Robby’s. “But how?”

Robby raises an eyebrow.

“It’s a simple process. I don’t think I have to explain the exact mechanics on conceiving to you Jack-”

"No, I know- I mean how... I can't even...

"We aren't exactly prime candidates for conceiving," you finish for Jack.

He can feel your fingers wrap tighter around his hand, your shoulder brushing against his.

Robby gives you a look, his features softening. “I know. I know, I don’t know why. It happens. Sometimes fertility problems resolve themselves. No on can pinpoint why exactly. Could be hormonal changes, medication changes, reduced stress-”

You and Jack finally glance over at each other. He looks at you, eyes raking over your face, the glimmer of hope you were trying to hide. And it hits him.

The sabbatical, he thinks. The long overdue vacation he'd finally gotten around to taking. 

Three months without either of you worrying about work or patients. Three months of just the two of you; long walks in the park, lazy mornings spent in bed. Decadent yet nutritious dinners and way too many trips to the ice cream shop down the street. 

Leaving behind the worries of your every day. 

The sabbatical he’d finally come back from not even a few weeks ago. Just before you had begun to get sick-

You're the first to smile. A small curve upwards, more nervous than anything. 

"I'm pregnant." 

Jack breathes heavily in his chair. 

“You are,” Robby smiles. You take a shaky breath, unsure of what to say. “There’s quite a few things we’ll have to go over. I’m sure Jack knows this speech like the back of his hand, but it’s still customary…”

Jack is half listening as Robby goes on about the usual procedure. The prenatal vitamins you’ll need, the appointments you’ll have to set up. The safety precautions and symptoms and internal changes. The risks considering Jack was older and you weren’t very young yourself.

Jack is so far zoned out he doesn’t even realize you’re calling his name.

“Jack. Honey," you shake his shoulder, frowning. “Are you okay?” 

Jack opens his mouth, looking between you and Robby. He glances once at your stomach. Hidden behind the hospital gown. Looking exactly like it had yesterday. 

But it was different. There wasn’t some disease growing inside you. Some foreign thing making you sick and slowly sucking the life out of you.

There was a baby growing there. You were sick because you were making another life. 

Jack is hit by the realization that for the next nine months, you were going to be going through all kinds of changes. All kinds of hurdles and milestones. 

A baby.

Jack suddenly feels sick.

“I have to go,” he blurts, shaking your hand off of his shoulder and beelining out of the hospital room.

“Jack!” You call out, your voice raising with surprise. 

“I just need some air!”

Jack doesn’t turn back. He can’t. He can’t let you see the utter terror written on his face. 

He marches down the hall, ignoring the looks the nurses give him, the confusion Trinity and Mel share as he storms out down the crowded hallway and to the stairwell.

------------------------------------------------------

You find Jack outside. Not on the roof like you’d panicked he’d be. 

Robby had come back, shaking his head, trying to calm your racing heart.

No. After finally convincing Robby to let you help him look, You find Jack sitting on one of the benches in the park across the way from PTMC. He’s sitting there, elbows braced against his knees, staring off into the distance.

You approach him carefully, blades of grass crunching beneath the slip on clogs the hospital provided. Your clothes feel cold against you, comforting and familiar after the scratchy hospital gown. You glance back at Robby who stands at the edge of the park. He nods, encouraging you to keep going. 

As you get closer, you realize Jack’s not just staring off at nothing. You catch sight of his eyes, focused and glistening beneath the late afternoon light. You follow his sight line, watching a little family on the other side of the park. A broad shouldered man tossing a foam ball to a toddler girl, her mother laughing as her girl toddles about. 

You watch Jack for a moment, staying out of his sight line. You don't have to try very hard to guess what he's thinking about. The sheer amount of worry and confusion he's feeling. 

You felt it yourself. The whiplash of expecting the worst outcome only to learn you were carrying something wonderful. There was still the nervousness of what the future would look like. 

The schedules that would need rearranging, the house child proofed, your office room cleared out in space for another little person. Doctors appointments and ultrasound photos taped to the fridge, onesies and books and diapers tucked away in a closet. 

In spite of the excitement you felt, the confused yet exhilarating feeling of knowing you were going to be a mother, you were scared. 

There was a whole person you'd have to take care of. You'd have to grow and birth. You weren't exactly a spry chicken. Neither was Jack. And there were more risks and complications that came with that.

On top of all the things that came with pregnancy. 

You might not be dying from some malady. But pregnancy was no small thing either. 

You finally take a step forward, placing your hand gently on Jack’s shoulder. He snaps out of his stupor, back straightening, a panic written in his eyes.

“You shouldn’t be up-”

“I’m okay.” He frowns. You point to the space beside him on the bench. “Can I sit?” 

Jack nods, scooting over a bit. You sit. Jack wipes his eyes with the palm of his hand; being closer now, you can see they’re red rimmed and glassy. He doesn’t look at you. Not at first.

But he’s the first to open his mouth again.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have run out if there. That was a dick move."

You swallow against the thick lump in your throat, trying to keep the well of anger rising at bay. It wasn’t hard to. The fear and anxiety laid bare in Jack’s voice. The thoughts he tried so hard to hide from you unveiled. 

You nod. “Yeah. It kinda was." 

He takes a breath, reaching out to hold your hand. You take it, his thumb brushing along the ridge of your knuckles.

"I just... this whole time I was worried I was going to lose you. I kept thinking about all the ways I’d have to watch you die. All the treatments or surgeries…” he chuckles dryly. “I was so worried about you. And now all I’m thinking about is how we’re going to have a kid walking down the aisle in a cap and gown when I’m 70.” 

You sigh, the breeze a gentle comfort as it blows against your cheeks.

“That's all you’re thinking about? College already?” You give his hand a small, loving squeeze. Teasing. A clearing amidst the stormy turmoil you both had been worrying over.

“Well,” he shrugs slowly. “You know, between wondering if the pregnancy will hold. Or birth. Or what elementary school drop offs will look like and dinners and the house and my crazy schedule-”

“I know. I know, it’s a lot.”

Jack nods. “It is… and I’m scared.”

You look at him. Your heart aches with the pure sincerity written on his face. Jack was never one to hide his feelings. But he rarely gave them away easily. Not like this.

Truth written in the glassy mist of his eyes, the worry carried in the tightness of his hand around yours.

“I know,” you nod. “I know it’s not going to be easy. Robby explained the risks.” 

The long list of complications and genetic disorders and risky side effects run through your mind. You hadn’t known just how fragile pregnancy became the older you got. It was just never something that had crossed your mind. To think or worry about. But now…

You continue.

“I know this wasn’t what we had planned, Jack. Us. Having kids… and I know you may not want- may not think we can do this. But I don’t think this is such a bad thing.”

Jack’s eyes widen, his frown deepening.

“What, woah. No I don’t want you thinking that. I don’t- I don’t think that.” 

“Really?” You take a deep breath, hopeful. Jack finally smiles. A small and gentle quirk of his mouth.

“Really. And I’m sorry if I made you feel that way. I just… I didn’t think that I could have one.” 

“A baby?” You clarify. He nods.

“I told you about what happened in the army. With my leg and, well, everything else. And you told me having kids wasn’t exactly going to be easy for you.” It’s your turn to nod.

Between Jack’s injury and age, your genetics and seemingly lackluster fertility, a baby had just never been a part of your plan. And you were fine with it. Life was crazy enough as it was.

“I know. But here we are.”

Jack nods, looking out into the park again. He’s watching the small family again, eyes glued to the man as he hoists his giggling daughter into his arms.

“Here we are,” he mumbles. 

“We don’t have to figure everything out right now Jack. There’s still time.” 

“Seven months and two weeks,” he huffs. You chuckle.

“Right. Plenty of time.”

------------------------------------------------------

Robby makes Jack leave the hospital early with you. 

Although Jack would use the term ‘make’ loosely, considering he had already decided he wasn’t staying the moment he saw you in the ambulance’s hull. You’re cleared to leave not long after Robby drags the both of you back into the ED, making sure to stop by the pharmacy to pick up your new prescriptions. 

The prenatal vitamins and nausea medication sit among Jack’s own clutter of meds on the kitchen counter. Jack told you not to worry about groceries or the car still at the store. He’d take care of all of it in the morning.

For now, he just wanted to clean away the sterile smell of the hospital lingering on both of your clothes and get to bed.

He’s grateful, for once, that you're exhausted enough to fall asleep the minute your head hits the pillow. You’re breathing softly beneath the sheets before Jack can even pull his prosthetic off, your hand lain out on his side, like you still wanted him to hold it unconsciously. 

But sleep doesn’t come for him. Jack lays awake for a long while. 

The moonlight casts wispy shadows along the wall and he watches them, thinking. He plays with his wedding ring, twirling it between his fingers with mesmerizing ease. 

Not the ring you'd slipped onto his left hand years ago, the dark amber band that still glistens on his ring finger. Jack plays with the wedding ring he wore a long time ago, still a young man figuring things out. From his first marriage. His first wife.

It wasn't often he pulled the ring out. Sometimes it hurt too much to even look at it; to think about and remember her. Jack fiddles with the ring now, holding it against his lips as if he could whisper all his worries into it.

The worries which still rested in the side of his ribs, changed but there all the same. Jack can’t help but think of all the things he never got to do with her. The future they’d planned cut short by an illness he couldn’t cure. Maybe it’s why he felt so scared now. 

This unplanned thing laid out before him. Far out of his control.

Jack tosses and turns, his mind reeling with memories and thoughts about the future. He quietly gets up, setting the ring on his nightstand and fitting his prosthetic back on. He slips out of your bedroom, making sure you were still settled before wandering down the hall.

He’d always wanted to be a father. That wasn’t the problem. Hearing that you were pregnant had resurfaced those feelings like they’d never been buried. The idea of having a mini him, with matching curls and crooked smile. Or a mini you, with your bright eyes and pretty nose.

The problem was that desire had been locked away for a very long time. After he got injured in the army. After he became a widow. Even after he met you. Jack had begun to accept that being someone’s parent was just not in the cards he’d been dealt. But now…

Jack stands in the living room, staring around the dark room. He moves quietly, picking up a random glass and setting it in the kitchen, moving the tossed couch pillows back into their designated places. He can’t sit still when he tries. The air suffocating inside in spite of the cooling system blowing gently.

Jack ends up sitting outside on the back porch, his head in his hands. 

What would she have thought? After all this time. 

A baby. 

Jack’s not even sure he should begin to want this. To let himself hope. There was so much uncertainty with a later in life pregnancy, of an older parent conceiving a child. The constant what ifs and complications. So much to worry about.

Jack sighs, running a hand through his mussed curls as he realizes how tired he is. Of feeling on edge. Of never feeling like he could settle. The worry of something bad happening again. Of being all alone-

A noise sounds from the bushes running along the fence.

Leaves rustle softly, twigs crunching beneath something weighty. Jack looks up, brows furrowing. He squints, standing and flipping on the porch light to illuminate the dark backyard. The rustling sounds again, and Jack inches closer.

He pauses. And then he lets out a disbelieving laugh, instantly quieting himself.

The rabbit which had ducked back into the foliage at the sound of his voice peeks it’s head out again in the new silence. Her nose twitching, beady black eyes staring straight into Jack. He lets out a breath, in awe of the rare sight. He knew there were plenty of rabbits that lived around the neighborhood. He often saw where they burrowed through your garden or ate certain plants. But actually seeing one was rarer.

Of all the nights…

He goes still when the rabbit moves. Inching slowly out of the bush. She turns back, snuffling softly and moving forward again. A baby in tow.

Now, Jack was not a very superstitious man. At least, not by nature. He laughed when Ellis chastised him for saying the “q” word in the ED, rolled his eyes when Joy and Nazely talked about karma.

But if life had taught Jack anything, it was to never ignore the signs. 

He watches the pair of rabbits hop through the backyard, eyes following their path until they squeeze through the cracked boards of the fence, disappearing into the night. Jack lets out a slow and much needed exhale, the cool air of the night finally feeling fresh.

New.

Second chances that don't always happen every day.

Baby rabbit. 

Baby Abbot.

He liked the sound of that. And maybe, this time, there wouldn’t be so much to worry about. Not with you by his side. 

------------------------------------------------------

Bonus:

"Jaack!" You call out from the kicthen, where you're putting the first few bags of groceries away.

"Yeah?" Jack's voice echoes down the hall, the sound of more paper bags rustling.

"Did you get- never mind!" You grin as you find the tub of cream cheese you'd been dying to get your hands on, practically tearing the package open and digging in. You let out a satisfied hum as you eat a spoonful of the spicy spread, nodding in satisfaction.

Jack enters the kitchen, arms full of groceries, an amused look on his face.

"As good as you'd hoped it'd be?" You hum again.

"Better. I think your child already has great taste in cuisine."

Jack stills for a fraction of a second, then smiles. He sets down the bags and moves over by your side, pressing a kiss to your forehead, carefully around the tender cut still hidden by a bandage.

"Yeah they do."

You both put away the food and various household items you'd needed to stock up on. Trash bags and pasta, that lavender creamer you loved and Jack's protein bars he always carried in his scrub pockets.

You munch on a bagel- properly toasted and spread with your cream cheese because Jack insisted on at least being civilized about your cravings- going through the last bag. The bag crinkles as you feel around inside; you frown as your hand comes into contact with something soft. Fluffy. You peer inside.

A little stuffed bunny peers back at you. You stare at it for a moment, and then you laugh.

"Jack?"

"What?" He asks, folding the towel he'd just used to wash his hands. You smile, holding up the bunny. His ears go pink and he gives you a bashful grin.

"I just thought... well I thought it might be cute for the baby. You know, rabbits are thought to be good luck charms or something."

You laugh, bright and hopeful and so in love.

"You're so sweet, you know that Jack Abbot?"

------------------------------------------------------

I am actually so obsessed with peter rabbit, it's not even funny. and I love the silly "jack rabbot" joke.

thank you for reading! if you're interested in reading more of my works for the pitt, here is a link to my masterlist :)

[fangirl-dot-com]

After reading your pope and jack fic, I was wondering if you could do one where reader is a student doctor at the Pitt but is married to Pope who in this case could be like..jack’s nephew or smth..and he just gives off such Doberman energy when he comes to pick her up at the end of her shift oh and and you best believe he kind of just stares Robby down cos he knows how mean he can be to his wife in shifts.

Also I think Dana would be such a nice person to pope.

A good husband protects without biting

tags: andrew cody x fem!doctor reader, jack abbot x cousin-in-law!reader, jack and andrew are cousins, doberman energy andrew, guard dog andrew, andrew cody doesn't mess around, mean robby, protective jack, the pitt doesn't think andrew exists, 18+ MDNI

notes: thank you @mei-vis for requesting! I hope I did this ask justice! I chose for jack and andrew to be cousins instead of an uncle/nephew since I believe they look a bit too similar for that familial relationship!, like always if you'd like to be added to my permanent tag list, please comment here! please enjoy!

word count: 2.6k words

The end of your shift couldn’t come soon enough. 

In the span of twelve hours, you’d been doused in bodily fluids twice, hit on by a creepy old drunk who couldn’t keep his hands to himself, passively dismissed by Robby after he deemed you “too slow” for a trauma (when in reality, the med student next to you was the one who wouldn’t hand you the damn tube), and had your lunch stolen when it clearly had your name written on it—four times might you add. 

To top the whole very bad day off, your husband hadn’t responded to the messages you had sent hours ago asking if he’d be back in time to pick you up because the forecast called for rain, and like all bad days had gone, your car basically gave up the ghost the moment you parked it in the employee lot. 

So, you were almost scrub-less, uncomfortable, embarrassed, and so starving you almost thought about paying an insane price for a small Uber-ed meal before you also realized that the app hadn’t saved your information and your card was currently sitting on the kitchen counter. 

Just what you needed. 

The groan, along with the rumbles of your stomach, caused many heads to turn. 

“Is there a stampede in here? Or is your stomach in the process of eating itself,” Dana asked, though her eyes didn’t leave the nurses’ board. 

Your head landed next to the keyboard with a loud thunk. “I think my stomach tried to eat itself a couple of hours ago before realizing that it was completely empty.”

“I saw you brought lunch. Where’d that go?” 

If glares could put someone six feet under, the one you were giving your computer should have imploded it. “Currently being digested in the stomach of a med student.” 

“Good Lord. You poor thing.” 

“Tell me about it. I’d been dreaming of those leftovers since last night!” 

Dana gave you a knowing look. “Did your husband cook it?” 

“Yep.” Your chair squeaked as you leaned back. “And I didn’t even get to enjoy it for the second time. He’s going to be pissed.” 

“Who’s going to be pissed?” Trinity asked, already leaning on the counter like getting closer to you would make the gossip flow over. “Cause if you’re talking about Dr. Robby, that ship sailed around 2:30.” 

You closed your eyes and ran a hand down your face. “Trust me; I already know he’s pissed off at the world. I’ve been on the receiving end of that way too much today.” 

She gave you a sympathetic wince. “I heard about that.” 

“Who hasn’t,” you muttered with a harsh snort. 

That was the other thing that had added to your humiliation. Robby hadn’t just quietly dismissed you or corrected you after the trauma, no, he rather loudly decided to spew his personal thoughts about your work ethic in front of not just your coworkers but also the patient’s family who were there for moral support. Blatant strangers had a front seat to watch your attending rip into you all while it hadn’t even been your fault. 

Just thinking about it brought another heated flush up your neck. 

“To answer your question, her husband’s the one who’s going to be pissed,” Dana filled her in while rewriting a name. “He’s very particular about who gets to eat his food.” 

Another groan rumbled your chest. “Med student didn’t even return the Tupperware. Now he’s going to be extra pissed at that.” 

For a small second, Trinity looked almost nervous. “Will you be okay?” 

Her concern made a small feeling of comfort and pride bloom in your chest. If there was one person you could count on other than your family and Dana, it was Trinity, never hesitating to step in if she even thought someone didn’t feel safe. You shot her a grateful smile. 

“Oh, I’ll be perfectly fine. He’ll be mad sure, but not at me. We’ll just pray that he won’t spot the student that did it.” 

“Amen to that,” Dana muttered. “He’s like your personal guard dog.” 

“Are we going to add that guy who tried to touch your ass earlier?” Trinity teased, and your eyes widened. 

“Definitely.” You nodded along. “Might as well add Robby to it too. My husband isn’t that fond of him already. I just wish he’d respond to my messages.” 

Dana gave you a knowing look. “He at work today?” 

“Yeah. There was a problem with one of the houses a few hours out, and he left before I was even out of bed. Said there was a contract breach, kissed me good morning, and drove off.” 

“That’s oddly sweet,” Trinity added. 

You couldn’t help the fond smile that grew on your face. “Even made my coffee for me. I found it with one of those little post-it notes stuck to it.” 

“Didn’t know he was into doing stuff like that,” Dana said with a small laugh. 

“You know how he is,” you replied. “The man’s love language is acts of service.” 

Trinity smiled. “What does he do for work?” 

Your fingers found the keyboard again while you answered. “He’s a relator and contractor. Usually, he works from home, but like today, he sometimes has to go out and inspect the houses or make sure the paperwork is in order.” 

“Sounds like you got yourself a stay-at-home husband.” 

You couldn’t help but snort. “Yeah. He actually really likes to do the house work. Plus, when I’m home, all I’m doing is sleeping.” Your eyes caught your wedding band. “He’s really good to me. Plus, he’s Jack’s—” 

“Ladies, if we have time to chat, we have time to work,” Robby’s voice interrupted the conversation, loud and on the very edge of condescending. “Especially you, Dr. Cody. Let’s focus on getting patients in and out instead of sitting around, yes?” 

You swallowed down an annoyed sigh, instead choosing to stand up without a word. Hating the way you felt under Robby’s glare almost made you want to put in a two-week notice and move departments. However, emergency medicine was your life; it was the sole reason you met the people who quickly became your family, the reason you met your husband. Your fingers quickly found your wedding band, specially made of the number of diamonds that symbolized how long you and your husband had been dating before he proposed. 

Grabbing another tablet quickly, you forced yourself to hold your head up high as you passed him. Robby wasn’t worth your fear or submission. Plus, it wasn’t like he never talked around; you’d caught him and the hospital’s case manager making small talk way too many times to count. The man was a hypocrite that couldn’t see past his own faults and projected them onto his employees.   

By the time you rounded the corner, and Robby had vacated the station, Trinity leaned in toward Dana a bit more. 

“Is there any way to contact her husband? She mentioned her car died, and it’s raining.” Trinity looked in the direction you had disappeared down. “If I were married and my boss talked to me like that, I’d want my partner to know.”  

Dana had already picked up her personal cell after Trinity’s first question. “Oh, I’ll make sure he knows.” 

_______________________

When you exited the patient’s room, you paused a few feet into the hallway, rubbed your eyes, and continued to stare at the nurses’ station. 

Dana being there with Trintiy and Dennis was nothing out of the ordinary. However, the added presence of Jack Abbot and your husband was. You hastily crossed the gap between you and the station, concern etching itself in your eyebrows and lips. 

“Andrew?” you called out. “What are you doing here?” 

At the sound of your voice, Andrew Cody turned his head so rapidly that it added another wave of worry that he might have pulled something. He stayed still, even when you stopped in front of him, as your hands gently ran up his arms and stopped at his face all while the small group watched on with small smiles (from Jack and Dana) and genuine curiosity (from Dennis and Trinity). 

“You’re supposed to be in Altoona right now. Did you get hurt?” you questioned when your eyes couldn’t find any visible injuries. 

He stayed silent while his hands quietly found yours, fingers threading between the gaps and holding you steady. 

“I’m fine,” he finally said, hazel eyes boring into yours. “Just missed you.” 

A relieved exhale escaped from your lips. “Thank goodness. I was worried there for a second.”  

His crooked teeth poked through a smile. “I could tell.” 

You softly pushed him before taking his hands again. “Shut up. You went hours without responding and just show up at the end of my shift. God forbid I’m concerned for my husband.” 

“See, man, I told you she’d do this,” Jack grumbled, patting Andrew slightly on the shoulder. 

“Um, not to interrupt, but did Dr. Cody marry someone who looks exactly like Dr. Abbot?” Dennis squeaked out a question, obviously trying not to step over a boundary. 

But like a sister, Trinity nudged him harshly with her elbow. “Use your brain, Huckleberry. It’s obvious they’re related somehow.” 

The two continued looking between the Pitt’s night shift attending and your husband who looked like Jack if he were ten years younger. 

“That’s what I was trying to tell you early, Trinity,” you said. “My husband is Jack’s cousin on their moms's side. Andrew, this is Dennis and Trinity.” 

Andrew didn’t reach out to give them a handshake, but the appreciated nod he gave them was somehow enough. “She talks about you two a lot.” 

Trinity looked smug by the news. “All good things I hope.” 

“Definitely,” he answered. “I can tell she likes working with you two.” 

“Which is more than he can say about Robby,” Dana muttered. 

The change in Andrew, just by mentioning Robby, was so visceral that Trinity and Dennis were both shocked. 

In the few moments, the two could see how soft this hunking-fridge-of-a-man was for you. They saw it in the way he was quick to hunch over slightly when you looked him over with worry. They noticed it in the way he held onto you when he reassured you that he was only there for her and not because he had gotten hurt. They noted the way his soft smile was only for you and not even for when his cousin jested with him. 

Dana’s words from earlier rang in Trinity’s mind as she watched Andrew’s muscles tense beneath his polo. 

He’s like your personal guard dog.

Andrew shifted his weight, shoulders now seemingly broader than they had been. “Did something happen today?” 

Your bottom lip caught between your teeth. “It was nothing. He’s just being Robby.” 

Surprisingly, Andrew’s eyes flitted over to Trinity like he knew she’d tell him exactly what he wanted to know. “What’d he do?” 

Trinity looked at you once, and when you looked toward the floor, she answered. “He blamed her for a med student’s slow pace. Practically yelled at and belittled her in front of the other doctors in the trauma room and the patient’s family.” 

Even Jack couldn’t hold back the wince splashing across his face at the news, mind already knowing that in five seconds, his cousin might be on a war path for his friend. However, all Andrew seemed to do was take in a deep breath and hold onto your hands like a tether. 

“All right,” he finally said, body still tense. “Okay. Anything else I should know?”

“Someone took her lunch,” Dana added, drawing your eyes from the floor to her, hues flooding with betrayal. 

Et tu, brute? 

“Dana,” you hissed. 

Andrew’s grip on your hands tightened. 

In an almost attempt to throw more gas onto an already raging fire, Trinity ended with, “And she had a patient try to grope her earlier this morning.” 

Andrew’s eyes closed slowly like he was bracing for a fit of rage to overtake his senses, his mind already racing with the fact that you probably hadn’t eaten, because when he stopped by the house to change, he saw your forgotten card. Add in you almost getting assaulted, and he was one wrongly pulled Jenga block from collapsing. 

You closed your eyes and braced for impact, already feeling the brunt of the day push down on you. They only fluttered open when Andrew didn’t move, his chest the only thing heaving in an out and in motion. Somehow, that didn’t ease the queasy feeling bubbling beneath your skin. And at that moment, Robby decided to round the corner. Like most men, you guessed that he hadn’t picked up on the tension cloud that was currently circling around the station and—more importantly—Andrew’s head. 

When Robby walked into his field of view, you swear you saw the lovely hazel of his eyes darken. It should have scared you how quickly Andrew could go from your sweet and doting husband to a very possessive animal, but instead, the change had you relaxing and relieved. If there was someone you could count on for anything no matter what, that person would always be Andrew. 

And maybe (finally) Robby sensed enough tension, because his body went stiff after he looked up from the tablet in his hands and met Andrew’s eyes. 

Trinity and Dennis really thought that your husband was going to stalk over there, throw a punch, menacingly bark curse words and insults at Robby (a man who had a few good inches to tower over Andrew), and walk back over like nothing happened. But when he stayed put, only giving a beady stare that never wavered, they realized that he didn’t even have to talk to Robby or punch him for his words to get across. 

They knew that Andrew was making Robby uncomfortable by the way Robby shifted, the way he broke eye contact first, and the way he left the station looking like a dog with a tail between its legs.  

Jack let out a low whistle. “Damn, that never gets old.” 

Dana smirked. “He ever use that on you?” 

“All the fucking time.” Jack scoffed. “Do you know how many family gatherings I spent trying to get away from those eyes.” 

“We have the same eyes, asshole,” Andrew grumbled. 

“But yours are scary as hell,” Jack shot back. “Might be a good time to say that my night shift needs another resident.” 

“Fuck no,” Trinity instantly said. “You can’t have her, or we’d be left with him.” 

Dennis nodded. “I’m in full agreement.” 

Jack looked over at you expectantly but visibly deflated at the apologetic look you were giving him. 

“Sorry, Jack, but I enjoy getting to spend my evenings at home.” You paused and smirked. “I know Samira’s been looking for a change of scenery if you want to ask her.” 

The small crowd couldn’t help but smile or chuckle at the now vivid flush across Jack’s face as he tried to sputter out an answer. 

“All right, get out of here kids before it looks like you’re staging a mutiny,” Dana said with a wave of her hands. 

“Aye, aye, captain,” Trinity responded with a salute of her own. 

Andrew grinned widely, finally showing the smile around more people than just you. “If we’re turning into pirates, Jack already has the missing-leg thing down.” 

“Hey!” 

You giggled loudly while Andrew wrapped an arm around your shoulders, bringing you into his side. Your hand gently rested against his chest as you hugged him back. He felt your body melt into his after he pressed a quick kiss to your temple. 

“Ready to go home?” he quietly muttered just loud enough for you to hear. “Dana already gave me your bag.” 

“Yeah,” you breathily sighed. “Let’s go before a trauma comes in, and I’m stuck in here until I wither away. 

Andrew hummed. “We can’t have that now, can we?” 

“Absolutely not. I still want to have leftovers at least one more time before I’m buried. And this time, I’m putting a padlock on the container.” 

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.” 

🏷️ permanent tags: @dumb-fawkin-bitch @nofinnn2 @books-thingys-andstuff @nyxmoretti @glitterquadricorn @itzpixiebabe @xoxoloverb @macbaetwo @cerberus101 @thorfemmes @goddess-of-spring @staygoldsquatchling02 @obi-wansgirl @phantom-101 @fly-me-away @xblackcatx @dedicateeverythingtomilkshake @aoi-warrior @keepingitundercover @sofianotvergara @shawnhatosysrightbicep @straykids1011 @vicky066 @67-angelofthelordme-67 @sepidehmoafiglazer @multiversalfandomwriter222 @bellamys-girl1 @violet1661 @damoclesdarling @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @fancyvoidtragedy

[fanficwritinggirl]

{Home This Time - Andrew Pope Cody x F!Reader}

The moment you have all been waiting for...

You had learned not to trust dates until they became doors.

Dates moved. Dates changed. Dates got written down in official language and then undone by someone behind a desk who did not understand that maybe could keep a woman awake for three nights in a row.

So when Andrew called and sounded different, you did not let yourself hope right away.

You were sitting in the nursery with the lights low, folding tiny pyjamas from the laundry basket while Andie slept in her toddler bed, one arm flung above her head like she had survived a battle. Which, considering bath time, she sort of had.

The approved player sat on the shelf beside the stack of books Andrew had recorded over the last year. The duck one. The bear one. The moon one. The rabbit one he still claimed was stupid, even though Andie carried it around by one corner like it was sacred text.

The wooden duck watched from the high shelf. Still crooked. Still safe from Andie’s mouth.

The phone rang at 8:41.

You grabbed it before the second ring.

The automated voice began. You pressed one. Static. A click.

Then Andrew.

“Hey.”

You stopped folding. One word. That was all it took.

Something about his voice sat wrong in the room. Not bad. Not frightened. Just too careful.

“What happened?”

A pause.

“Nothing bad.”

Your chest tightened. “That is my line.”

He huffed softly, barely a laugh. Not enough to make you relax.

“Andrew.”

He was quiet long enough that your hand found the edge of the rug and held on.

“They gave me a date.”

The room went still. Not quiet. Still.

You stared at the toddler bed. Andie slept on, entirely unaware that the world had tilted.

“A date,” you repeated.

“Yeah.”

“For…”

You could not finish.

Andrew did not answer immediately. You heard prison noise behind him. Someone talking too loudly. A door. A distant scrape of metal.

Then, low and careful, he said, “Release.”

Your hand went to your mouth.

You had imagined this sentence. Of course you had. In bed. In the car. Standing in the kitchen with Andie on your hip. During visits. During phone calls. During every ordinary Tuesday where his absence sat beside you like another piece of furniture.

But imagining and hearing were not the same.

“Baby,” Andrew said.

Your eyes filled. “When?”

“Two weeks.”

You closed your eyes.

Two weeks.

Not someday. Not eventually. Not if a committee approved another hearing.

Two weeks.

“You’re coming home?” you whispered.

The line went quiet. The word was too big.

Home.

Finally, he said, “Yeah.”

A pause. Then, because he was Andrew and hope scared him more than most things, he added, “If nothing changes.”

Your face crumpled.

“If nothing changes,” you repeated.

“I don’t want you to—”

“Hope?”

He did not answer.

You wiped under one eye with the back of your hand. Too late. Hope was already there. Terrible and bright and standing in the middle of the nursery with its shoes on.

“Andrew.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to hope.”

His breath caught.

“I know things can change,” you said. “I know dates move. I know not to pack the whole world into one sentence. But I’m going to hope. I can’t not.”

He was quiet, then rougher, “Okay.”

Your laugh broke through the tears. “Okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re letting me hope?”

“You’d do it anyway.”

“I absolutely would.”

A real breath of laughter came through the line this time. Small. Shaky. Yours.

You pressed your fingers to your mouth, smiling through tears.

“She asleep?” he asked.

You looked at Andie. “Yes.”

“She okay?”

“She’s perfect. She said Dada to the laundry basket today.”

Andrew went quiet. Then, suspiciously, “Why?”

“It was tall and brooding.”

“That’s not funny.”

“It was a little funny.”

“It was a basket.”

“It had your energy.”

“I don’t have basket energy.”

“You do when you stand in doorways looking tortured.”

“I don’t do that.”

“Andrew.”

He went silent in a way that told you he was choosing not to argue because he knew you were right.

“Andie also said Dada to the ceiling fan.”

“That I understand.”

“You understand the ceiling fan but not the laundry basket?”

“The ceiling fan moves.”

You laughed again, softer this time. It felt good. To laugh with him about something as ordinary as Andie assigning fatherhood to household objects.

Two weeks.

You looked around the nursery: the green walls, the books, the photos, the duck, the little bed. The life he had been part of in pieces.

“I told her tonight,” you said.

Andrew went quiet. “Told her what?”

“That Dada’s coming home.”

The silence on the other end was immediate. Not empty. Full.

“I don’t think she understood.”

“I did,” he said.

Your eyes closed. “Oh, baby.”

He breathed unevenly for a second. Then he asked, “What did she do?”

“Clapped because I had a spoon.”

A wet, broken laugh came through the line.

“She is very food motivated right now,” you said.

“Good.”

“It doesn’t mean she understands parole.”

“No.”

“But I said it anyway.”

Andrew was quiet. “Say it again.”

Your heart folded.

You looked toward Andie’s bed, at the little rise and fall of her back.

Then you whispered, “Dada’s coming home.”

Andrew’s breathing broke.

You pressed your hand over your mouth and cried silently.

There were some sentences that changed the shape of a room.

That was one.

After a while, he asked, “The duck still on the shelf?”

“High shelf. Your daughter tried to eat it.”

“I’m still mad.”

“I know.”

“The gate?”

“Crooked.”

“Craig?”

“Yes.”

“Secure?”

“Technically.”

“That means crooked.”

“That is exactly what I said.”

His voice softened around the next question. “My books?”

You looked at the stack. Duck. Bear. Moon. Rabbit. A whole row of him.

“On the shelf,” you said. “Some in her basket downstairs because she drags them around now.”

“The rabbit one?”

“Especially the rabbit one.”

“I knew it.”

“You hate that book.”

“It has good structure.”

You laughed into your sleeve. “There he is.”

Andrew went quiet for a second.

“I’m trying to picture it,” he said.

“The house?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve seen pictures.”

“I know.” He breathed out. “But walking in is different.”

Your eyes burned again.

“Yes,” you whispered. “It is.”

“What if she doesn’t know what to do with me there?”

The question came so quietly you almost missed the fear inside it.

You looked at Andie, sleeping with one socked foot peeking out from under the blanket.

“Then we let her learn.”

“What if she thinks I belong in the phone?”

Your face crumpled.

“She knows you belong more places than that.”

“She knows my voice.”

“She knows your voice. Your face. Your hands through glass. Your arms from visits. Your books. Your photo. The way everyone in this house says your name.”

He did not answer.

“She knows you’re Dada,” you whispered. “She might not understand that you’re coming home all at once. She’s fourteen months, Andrew. She still gets angry when bananas break in half. But you’re not arriving from nowhere. You’re coming home to a place that has been holding space for you.”

The line went still.

Then Andrew’s voice came back rough.

“Baby.”

“It’s true.”

“I don’t know how to do this.”

“You don’t have to know all of it before you walk through the door.”

“What if I do it wrong?”

“Then we do it wrong together.”

That got him. You heard it in his breath. Together had always been one of the words that hurt the most when there were walls between you.

Now it was waiting at the end of two weeks.

“Together,” he repeated.

“Yeah.”

The call timer beeped faintly.

You hated that sound. Even now. Especially now.

“I love you,” you said.

His answer was immediate. “I love you.”

“I’m scared.”

“I know.”

“You?”

“Yeah.”

“Good scared?”

“I don’t know.”

You smiled through tears. “Still?”

“Still.”

“That’s okay.”

“Two weeks,” he said.

“Two weeks.”

“If nothing changes.”

“If nothing changes.”

“And if it does—”

“Then we keep going until the next door opens.”

He went quiet. Then, barely, “Okay.”

The final warning beeped.

“Andrew?”

“Yeah?”

“Dada’s coming home.”

His breath broke.

The line clicked off before he could answer.

You lowered the phone into your lap and sat in the green nursery, crying quietly while your daughter slept through the sound of the world changing.

Two weeks became ten days. Ten days became five. Five became tomorrow.

Tomorrow became a morning you were too afraid to name until it was already happening.

You woke before Andie. That never happened.

For a few seconds, you lay still in the half-light, staring at the ceiling.

Then the date landed.

Today.

Not a phone call. Not a visit. Not a special approval. Not one hour.

Today.

You got out of bed slowly, like sudden movement might startle the universe into taking it back.

Down the hall, Andie was already awake when you opened the nursery door, sitting in her little bed with wild hair, her soft duck under one arm.

She grinned at you.

“Mama.”

Your heart did the usual useless thing. “Hi, baby.”

“Da?”

You stopped.

Then smiled through the sudden blur in your eyes.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Dada.”

Andie bounced once.

“Da-da-da.”

You crossed the room and lifted her out, holding her close. Her body was warm and solid against yours. Bigger than she had been. So much bigger. The weight of fourteen months in your arms. Of first cries and first smiles and first birthdays and all the nights Andrew had lived in the room through a voice on a recording.

“Dada’s coming home today,” you told her.

Andie patted your face.

“Da.”

“Yes,” you said, kissing her cheek. “Exactly.”

Downstairs, Craig was already in the kitchen with a list on the counter.

Of course he was.

Deran sat at the table with coffee, looking like he had slept badly and would rather be skinned than admit why.

Craig looked up the second you entered. “You okay?”

You looked at him. “No.”

Deran nodded into his coffee. “Good. Honest.”

Craig gave him a look.

Andie reached toward Deran.

“Up.”

Deran softened so fast it was almost funny. He stood and took her carefully.

“There she is,” he said, low.

Andie grabbed his chain.

“No. Not that. We talked about this.”

She tugged harder.

Deran let her.

Craig looked back down at his list. “Car seat checked.”

“She is not the one going to pick him up,” you said.

“Still checked.”

“What else is on there?”

“Bag packed.”

“What bag?”

“Emergency toddler bag.”

“For me picking up my husband?”

“For after. In case you’re gone longer than planned.”

You stared at him. He stared back.

Deran lifted one shoulder. “Let him have the list.”

You softened.

You were going alone to pick Andrew up. That had been the decision. Not because Craig and Deran did not matter. They did. Painfully. But Andrew walking out needed to belong first to the two of you.

Husband and wife.

No glass. No guard. No Andie yet.

Just the two people who had carried each other through phone lines and visiting rooms and paper-thin hope.

You reached for Craig’s hand and squeezed once.

“Thank you.”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah.”

Deran looked pointedly at the ceiling.

“You both are very fragile today,” you said.

Craig let go of your hand. “Go get dressed.”

“Bossy.”

“You married Pope. You like bossy.”

Deran snorted.

You pointed at both of them. “I hate this family.”

Andie clapped.

“Da!”

You laughed, crying already.

Deran looked down at her.

“Yeah, kid,” he said quietly. “He’s coming.”

The room went still again.

Then Craig turned away and started aggressively wiping an already clean counter.

You went upstairs before all of you fell apart in the kitchen.

You dressed carefully. Not fancy. That would have been wrong. Jeans. Soft shirt. Andrew’s flannel over it because you wanted him to see it, because you wanted him to know you had kept wearing pieces of him until he could come back and take up space himself.

At the door, you kissed Andie three times. She tolerated two and objected to the third by pushing your face away.

“Rude.”

“Da,” she said.

“I know.”

Craig balanced her on his hip. “She’ll be fine.”

“I know.”

“You drive normal.”

“I will.”

“No crying so hard you can’t see.”

You stared at him.

Deran looked over. “That’s fair.”

“I am leaving before one of you says something else medically or emotionally offensive.”

Craig’s mouth twitched.

At the door, you turned back. Andie was watching you.

“Dada?” she asked.

You smiled through tears.

“I’m bringing him home.”

The prison looked different from the outside when you knew you were not walking in.

Every visit had trained your body for entry. ID. Security. Doors. Waiting. Glass. Phones. Leaving without him.

But today, you parked outside and stayed there.

Hands gripping the steering wheel. Engine off. Sunlight bright across the dashboard.

You did not get out right away. You were afraid if you moved, the morning would crack.

A door opened somewhere beyond the fence.

Not him.

Another person. A guard. A man you did not know.

Your phone sat silent in the cup holder.

No call. No automated voice. No static.

Just waiting.

Then the door opened again.

Andrew walked out carrying one small bag.

For a second, your body did not understand.

There he was.

No glass. No prison phone. No orange chair. No guard speaking time limits into the room.

Just Andrew in regular clothes that looked strange on him after so long seeing him in prison-issued fabric. He looked thinner than he had before all this. Older, maybe. Tired in a way sleep would not fix quickly.

But he was there.

Outside.

His eyes found your car immediately.

Then you.

You were already out before you remembered opening the door.

Neither of you moved for one breath.

Then you did.

You crossed the distance too fast. Andrew dropped the bag before you reached him, and his arms came around you so hard the whole world finally made a sound you could breathe inside.

You hit his chest with a sob.

His hand locked at the back of your head. The other arm wrapped around your back.

Not careful like the contact visits. Not timed. Not restrained by a guard at the door.

He held you like he was allowed.

Like no one was coming to tell him to stop.

You clung to him, his shirt bunched in your fists, his face pressed into your hair.

“Baby,” he whispered.

You sobbed harder.

“I’ve got you.”

“You’re out.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re out.”

“Yeah.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him. His eyes were red. So were yours, probably.

You lifted both hands to his face, touching him like you were making sure he had not become another version of a photograph.

His jaw. His cheek. The roughness of his skin.

Real.

Andrew’s eyes closed at your touch.

“No one’s counting,” you whispered.

His arms tightened around you.

“I know.”

That broke both of you.

He kissed you then. Not gentle enough to be careful. Not rough enough to hurt. Just desperate. Shaking. Real.

Months and months of glass and watched rooms and brief, stolen contact collapsed into one kiss in a prison parking lot.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. Both of you were breathing hard. Crying. Laughing a little because it was too much to hold any other way.

“You have to come home now,” you whispered.

His eyes opened. There was fear there. And hope. And something almost too fragile to name.

“Yeah,” he said.

You smiled through tears. “Good.”

Andrew was quiet on the drive home.

Not empty quiet. Overwhelmed quiet.

The outside world was loud in ways you had stopped noticing. Cars. Music from other windows. People crossing streets. A dog barking near a corner. Sunlight flashing off glass. Nobody telling him where to stand. Nobody locking doors behind him.

Andrew sat in the passenger seat with one hand gripping yours and the other resting against his thigh, fingers flexing every so often like he was checking his own body for instructions.

You did not fill the silence. You drove with one hand and held him with the other.

After ten minutes, he asked, “She walking today?”

You smiled. “Badly, yes.”

His mouth twitched. “Running?”

“Also badly.”

“Talking?”

“Mostly ordering people around.”

“Like you.”

“Like you.”

He huffed softly.

“She still says Dada to objects?”

“Less than before.”

“Good.”

“Only very important objects now.”

He looked at you.

“The coffee machine.”

“That’s fair.”

“And Craig’s shoe.”

His eyebrows drew together. “Why Craig’s shoe?”

“No one knows.”

Andrew nodded slowly, like he accepted that his daughter’s inner life was complex.

“Does she know?”

“That you’re coming?”

He nodded.

“She knows something. I told her this morning.”

“What did she do?”

“Patted my face and said Da.”

His eyes went wet immediately.

You lifted his hand and kissed his knuckles.

Andrew looked down at your mouth on his hand and went very still.

“We can do that now,” you said softly.

“What?”

“Touch.”

His jaw worked.

“Yeah.”

“You can touch me in the car.”

He huffed, but it broke halfway through.

His hand slid carefully from yours to your knee. Not possessive. Not demanding. Just there.

Warm.

Steady.

A miracle.

By the time you turned onto your street, his hand had tightened again.

You pulled into the driveway and turned off the engine.

The house sat in front of you. Ordinary. Impossible.

The curtains in the front room were open. One of Andie’s toys was visible near the window. The yellow sun magnet still held a photo to the fridge inside. The gate was probably still crooked. The nursery was green.

Home.

Andrew stared at it.

After a long moment, he said, “That’s the house.”

You almost smiled, but didn’t.

“Yes.”

“I know that.”

“I know.”

“I’ve seen it.”

“Yes.”

“Not like this.”

Your eyes burned.

“No,” you whispered. “Not like this.”

He sat there another moment.

Then he opened the door.

You met him at the front of the car and took his hand again before walking up the path.

At the door, he stopped.

You felt it. His whole body braced.

“Andrew.”

His eyes stayed on the door.

“What if I don’t fit?”

Your heart broke quietly.

You turned toward him and squeezed his hand.

“You already do. This house has been full of you for fourteen months. You’re not asking it to make room now. You’re coming home to the room that was always yours.”

Andrew looked at the door again.

Then nodded once.

You opened it.

Andie was in the living room.

One sock missing. Of course.

She stood with one hand on the coffee table, the other holding the stupid rabbit book by a chewed corner.

Craig was sitting on the floor near the baby gate, pretending to fix it. Deran was on the sofa, pretending not to watch the front door with his entire body.

Both men went still when you stepped inside.

Then Andrew came in behind you.

No one spoke.

For a second, everything held.

Craig stood slowly. Deran’s expression shifted and shut down just as fast.

Andrew looked at them. They looked at him.

There were years in that silence. Things none of you had space for yet.

Then Andie dropped the rabbit book.

Everyone’s eyes went to her.

She stared at Andrew.

Her brow furrowed. Tiny. Serious.

The exact expression that had ruined him the first time he saw her newborn face.

Andrew did not move.

He lowered himself slowly into a crouch by the door, like every muscle in his body was fighting the urge to reach too soon.

“Hey, baby girl,” he said.

Andie blinked.

Your hand went to your mouth.

Her eyes moved over him.

Face. Hands. Mouth. Voice.

Something clicked.

Maybe not all the way.

Maybe enough.

“Dada?” she said.

Andrew’s face broke.

He nodded once.

“Yeah.”

The room became very quiet.

Andie looked at you. You were crying too hard to be useful.

She looked back at Andrew.

Then she took one step.

Wobbly. Determined.

Another.

Her bare foot slapped against the floor.

Andrew’s hands lifted slightly, ready but not grabbing.

Andie made a small sound of effort and toddled toward him with the dramatic concentration of a person crossing mountains.

Halfway there, she nearly tipped sideways.

Craig twitched.

Deran grabbed his sleeve.

“Let her,” Deran whispered.

So they did.

Andrew stayed crouched, tears sliding down his face.

Andie reached him. She stopped inches away and stared.

Then she reached one hand toward his face.

Andrew closed his eyes when her tiny palm touched his cheek.

As if the touch had gone straight through him.

“Dada,” she said.

Not a question this time.

A statement.

Andrew made a sound that broke all of you.

Then he gathered her into his arms.

Carefully at first. Then closer when she grabbed his shirt and leaned into him like she had decided he was acceptable furniture.

He stood with her against his chest.

His daughter.

In his arms.

At home.

You leaned against the wall, one hand over your mouth, sobbing silently.

Craig looked at the ceiling. Deran turned toward the window.

Cowards.

Andrew held Andie like he had forgotten there was anyone else in the room.

“I’m home,” he whispered.

Andie patted his face.

“Da.”

Andrew looked at you over her head.

His face was destroyed.

“I’m home,” he said again.

You walked to him. His free arm came around you before you even reached him.

You folded into his side. Andie between you. Andrew’s hand at your back. Your face pressed to his shoulder.

No guard. No countdown. No glass.

Home.

Craig cleared his throat from somewhere behind you.

“I’m gonna…” He gestured at the kitchen.

Deran stood. “Yeah. Same.”

Neither of them moved.

You laughed through tears.

Andrew looked at them.

“Hey,” he said.

One word. Not enough. Too much.

Craig nodded, eyes red. “Hey.”

Deran shoved his hands into his pockets. “About time.”

Andrew’s mouth twitched. “Yeah.”

Andie grabbed his ear.

He winced.

You laughed. “Gentle.”

Andrew looked at her.

“She’s okay.”

“She is pulling your ear.”

“She can.”

“You are going to be impossible.”

“I know.”

Craig exhaled something like a laugh.

Deran looked down, smiling despite himself.

Andrew moved through the house like it was both familiar and not.

Because it was.

He had seen every corner in photographs. Heard every sound through phone calls. Knew which step creaked because you had once stepped on it during a call and he had asked about it. Knew the baby gate was crooked because he had been told many times. Knew the kitchen window caught morning light.

But seeing it was different.

Standing in it was different.

Touching it was different.

Andrew held Andie on his hip while you walked him slowly through the rooms. She did not want to be put down yet.

Neither did he.

In the living room, he stopped at the low shelf.

His photo was there. The one from the glass visit. The stupid rabbit book lay on the floor where Andie had dropped it. The approved player sat in the basket with the other recordings.

He crouched carefully, Andie still in his arms, and picked up the player.

“You still use it?”

You smiled. “Every day.”

His eyes flicked up. “Still?”

“Still.”

Andie tried to grab the player.

“No,” he said softly.

She frowned at him.

He stared.

“She’s mad.”

“She has been told no by Dada. Historic moment.”

Andie said, “No.”

Andrew looked betrayed.

You laughed. “She knows that one.”

“Who taught her that?”

“Everyone.”

He looked at Andie.

She smiled.

“No,” she said again, cheerful now.

Andrew blinked. “You’re very proud of yourself.”

Andie patted his chest.

He melted.

Immediately.

No dignity.

You took him upstairs.

The nursery door was open.

Andrew stopped in the hallway.

You rested a hand on his back.

“You okay?”

His eyes stayed on the room.

“Yeah.”

It did not sound true.

You did not push.

The green room waited. Soft walls. Creaky chair. Little bed. Books. Baskets. Blankets. The high shelf with the wooden duck.

Andrew stepped inside slowly.

Andie pointed immediately.

“Duck.”

His head snapped toward her.

Your mouth fell open. “Excuse me?”

Andie pointed again, delighted by the reaction.

“Duck.”

Andrew looked at you.

You were already crying.

“She has never said that clearly before,” you said.

Andrew stared at the wooden duck. Then at Andie.

“You waited?”

Andie smiled. “Duck.”

He laughed. It came out broken.

“She’s showing off,” you said.

“She is,” he whispered.

He carried her to the shelf and lifted her just enough to see the wooden duck, not close enough for her to grab it.

“That’s your duck,” he said.

Andie reached.

“No eating it,” he added.

You laughed through tears. “She still wants to eat it.”

“I know.”

“She has history with that duck.”

“So do I.”

His voice went softer on that one.

You stepped beside him. The three of you looked at the small carved duck with its wrong beak. The first thing he had made for her. The first piece of his hands that reached home before he could.

Andrew’s throat moved.

“You kept me here,” he said.

You looked at him.

He was staring around the nursery. The books. The photos. The chair. The duck. The player. The evidence of him woven into every soft corner.

“You were always here,” you said.

His eyes came to yours. “No.”

“Yes.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You weren’t here in the way we wanted,” you said. “But you were in her bedtime. In her books. In the way she said Dada to half the furniture before she understood what it meant. You were on the fridge. On the shelf. In this room. In me.”

Andrew’s face changed.

You reached for his hand.

He gave it to you immediately.

“You were always here,” you repeated.

His fingers closed around yours.

This time, he let himself believe a piece of it.

You saw it happen.

Not all the way.

Enough.

Andie yawned, huge and dramatic.

Andrew looked at her immediately. “She tired?”

“Yes.”

“It’s early.”

“She had a big day.”

He looked panicked. “What do we do?”

You smiled.

“Bedtime.”

“Now?”

“Soon.”

“I don’t know bedtime.”

“You know parts.”

“I know recordings.”

“You know her.”

He looked doubtful.

You squeezed his hand.

“Let her teach you.”

Bedtime was chaos.

Of course it was.

Andrew had imagined it would be soft and quiet and meaningful.

It was meaningful.

It was not quiet.

Andie threw one sock into the hallway. She tried to crawl away during the pyjama change. She yelled “No” when Andrew handed her the stuffed duck, then immediately cried when he took it back. She stuck her foot in the sleeve of her sleep sack. She laughed when you sneezed. She called the lamp Dada.

Andrew looked wounded.

You nearly dropped the nappy from laughing.

“She knows you’re you,” you promised.

“She called the lamp Dada.”

“The lamp is tall and brooding.”

“That’s not funny.”

“It is extremely funny.”

Craig and Deran stayed downstairs, allegedly giving you privacy, though Craig had already come halfway up the stairs twice to ask if everything was okay.

The third time, you yelled, “We are parenting badly but safely.”

He yelled back, “Okay.”

Andrew looked at you.

“Badly?”

“With love.”

He considered that. Then nodded.

“Okay.”

Eventually, Andie was clean, changed, and in pyjamas with tiny stars on them. Her hair curled slightly at the back of her head, damp from the bath. Her cheeks were pink. Her eyes heavy.

You sat in the rocking chair out of habit.

Then paused.

Andrew stood near the shelf, holding the duck book.

You looked at him.

He looked at you.

“Do you want to?” you asked.

His hand tightened on the book.

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“She might not settle.”

“She might not.”

“I might do it wrong.”

“You probably will.”

His eyes lifted.

You smiled softly.

“So will I. Constantly. Welcome home.”

He huffed a laugh.

You handed Andie to him.

She went willingly, sleepy and boneless now, one hand immediately gripping his shirt.

Andrew looked down at her.

Then at you.

“Sit,” you whispered.

He sat in the rocking chair.

The chair creaked.

His eyes flicked down.

You smiled. “Told you.”

“Needs oil.”

“Welcome to your first house project.”

Andie curled against his chest. Not asleep. Listening.

Andrew opened the duck book.

The real one.

Not a recording. Not his voice coming through a little speaker on a shelf.

Him.

In the room.

His daughter in his lap.

You leaned against the doorframe because if you sat too close, you were going to fall apart loudly, and Andie had only just stopped yelling at the sleep sack.

Andrew took a breath.

Then began.

“Hi, Andie.”

You pressed your hand to your mouth.

He stopped and looked up. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re crying.”

“A little.”

“Bad?”

“No.”

“Good crying?”

“Home crying.”

His face softened.

He looked back down at Andie.

“Hi, baby girl,” he whispered. “It’s me.”

Andie went completely still.

Her little head turned toward his chest.

Andrew’s eyes lifted to yours.

“She knows this one.”

You nodded, crying harder.

“She knows you.”

His mouth trembled.

Then he looked down and started reading.

Slowly.

Softly.

The same rhythm she had heard for months.

But different now.

Warmer. Closer.

His voice did not crackle. No static. No review process. No prison phone cutting out at the end.

It only had to cross the small space between his mouth and her sleepy head.

Andie’s eyes grew heavy. Her fist loosened in his shirt.

Andrew kept reading.

The duck got lost. The duck was brave. The duck found its way home.

By the final page, Andie was asleep against him, cheek pressed to his chest, one hand curled under her chin.

Andrew did not move.

He stared down at her like he was afraid breathing too deeply might undo it.

You stepped closer.

Quietly.

He looked up, eyes full.

“She’s asleep,” he whispered.

“I know.”

“On me.”

“I know.”

He looked back down.

“I don’t know what to do.”

You smiled through tears.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Just hold her.”

His throat moved. He nodded once.

You sat carefully on the floor beside the chair, your hand resting on his knee.

Andrew’s free hand came down over yours.

No hesitation now.

He held you there while he held her.

Downstairs, Craig and Deran were quiet.

The house was quiet.

Not empty quiet.

Not the old quiet.

Home quiet.

Full of breath and warmth and baby toys and crooked gates and stupid rabbit books and men downstairs pretending not to cry.

Andrew looked around the nursery.

The green walls. The duck. The books. The chair. You. Andie.

His life, waiting.

Not perfect. Not easy. Not untouched by everything that had happened.

But here.

His thumb moved over your knuckles.

“I’m home,” he said.

You leaned your cheek against his knee, eyes closing.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “You are.”

For the first time, Andrew’s voice did not have to fight through wires, walls, or glass.

It only had to cross the small space between his mouth and his daughter’s sleeping head.

And this time, when the story ended, no line clicked off.

No guard knocked.

No timer ran out.

The duck found its way home.

And so did he.

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