pretty when you cry, act three coming soon! find part one HERE !!
Heâs not gone.
The Mustang is parked at the edge of the parking lot, and you can see the muscle in his jaw ticking from here, but heâs waiting diligently.
You know that heâd never leave you stranded at the studio. Not with Craig, and certainly not with Smurf. You hug your shawl tighter around you, and start the walk. You donât even get a noise of greeting as you slip into the passenger side - the only movement he makes is to glance over to make sure youâve put your seatbelt on before he starts the engine.
Andrew Cody must be the only man in Los Angeles whoâs concerned about seatbelts, but heâs a stickler for it.
Hands pressed together in your lap, it takes everything in you to stop the tears from earlier resurfacing.
(john carter x reader from the baby daddy!carter universe)
You've always been a planner. Almost to a fault. The nursery's been finished since your six-month check-up, and John's already set up a fund for your child's college. Even though you're not together, it's working. You're both working.
Unfortunately, no amount of planning in the world can prepare you for a placental abruption at 31 weeks.
warnings: 18+, mdni! fwb to co-parents, they're both very much in denial, lots of birth talk in this one! angst, placental abruption, general anaesthesia emergency c-sections, premature babies, happy ending! w/c: 3.3k
main masterlist // ER masterlist // baby daddy john carter masterlist
Itâs early. Too early.
Initially, you try and tell yourself that the pain is just a one-off cramp. Maybe some Braxton-Hicks. You havenât even stopped work yet for maternity leave - youâd been hoping to make it to at least thirty-five.
Youâre only just thirty-one weeks.
Muttering something practically incoherent to your attending, you beeline for the bathroom.
The small part of the third trimester that youâve experienced so far hasnât been the most pleasant. Full of aches and pains, itâs been a battle to even make it in for the most menial nine to five shifts.
Of course, youâd take all the aches and pains in the world to keep this baby in for a few more weeks.
The bathroom door clicks shut behind you.
For a few seconds, you just stand there with both hands braced against the counter, breathing through your nose and waiting for the ache to pass.
It doesnât.
âOkay,â you whisper to yourself. âOkay. You donât know that thereâs anything wrong yet.â
Stumbling into a stall, you try and stop the trembling in your hands as you reach for the waistband of your scrubs.
Maybe you should call Carter. Even after six months of his attention and lingering, you still feel like youâre abusing his kindness by asking for things. His mother had basically told you as much.
Despite his denials, and promises that you could never ask too much of him, you canât help but think of the gold-digger label tossed around by his family each time you see him.
Because you arenât together.
No matter how often he cooks you dinner, or rubs your swollen feet - heâs simply the babyâs father. Youâre pretty sure you wouldnât have even kept in contact with him, were it not for the positive pregnancy test.
The entire plan is to be co-parents, and nothing more.
Heart sinking, you pull down your panties to be greeted by spotting. Normally it wouldnât be enough of an issue to raise major red flags, but combined with the pain, youâre on edge.
You straighten too quickly, and the room tilts.
You catch yourself against the counter, sucking in a sharp breath as another cramp rolls through your abdomen. This one is different. Stronger. Low and deep, tightening right down at your uterus.
As long as you head to OB, and get checked out, everything will be fine. Theyâll do an ultrasound, check the babyâs heart-rate, and then youâll probably just have to take it easy for the final months. Finish work earlier than you anticipated.
You wash your hands because some part of you is still operating on autopilot, then unlock the door and step out into the hallway.
The corridor is brighter than it felt when you went into the bathroom.
You would estimate that you make it around four steps before your vision starts to blur and blot. At the end of the corridor, you can see a few nurses turn at the noise of the door banging. One of them might say your name, but all you can focus on is the sudden heavy ringing in your ears.
You hear your name from behind you. Someoneâs walking towards you. Maybe several someones - you canât quite tell.
âAre you okay?â
Your mouth moves in response, but from the expressions on their faces, you know you canât have replied.
You try to focus on the face in front of you, but it keeps slipping in and out of focus. You feel a hand catch your shoulder, another at your back, and then you're aware of the floor rushing up far too quickly.
*****A
Carter knows in his gut that somethingâs wrong as soon as his pager goes. He has no OB patients on his list, and thereâs no reason for them to be contacting him - unless itâs you.
âShit, shit,â he mutters. âI-Iâve gotta go.â
There are some confused glances from Lucy and Dr. Greene but he doesnât spare them a second glance as he sprints towards the stairs. The elevator loses too much time.
His shoes squeak against the polished floor as he rounds the corner, ignoring the curious looks from staff who know him well enough to realise something has gone very wrong.
âWhere is she?â
The nurse at the station looks up.
âDr. Carter-â
âWhere is she?â
Thereâs a pause, as if sheâs deciding whether or not to answer. Finally, she speaks, âRoom seven.â
Heâs moving before the final syllable leaves her lips. To his immense relief, when he practically slides into the room, youâre awake. You look decidedly weaker than you did when he saw you yesterday, but heâd had visions of you unconscious and bleeding out. âWhat happened?â
The OB at your side, Dr. Colburn, turns at the sound of his voice. âJust a little fainting spell - baby and mom are both doing well.â
âFainting?â He repeats, incredulous. âHow long?â
âOnly briefly. She came around before we got her here.â
He looks back at you, and you shrug. âI got a little dizzy.â
âA little dizzy?â
âJohn.â
âYou passed out.â
Dr. Colburn interjects, shooting you a glance. âShe reported spotting and cramping too.â
âBoth of which are now over,â You reply immediately. âItâs nothing to worry about.â
Colburn continues, calm and matter-of-fact. âWe're going to watch the contractions, monitor the baby's heart rate, repeat some bloodwork, and assess whether the bleeding continues. At this point, there isn't enough information to say exactly what's causing it. Could be placental abruption, pre-term labour for various reasons, but hopefully with enough rest we can nip it in the bud.â
You lift one shoulder, and try to smile at Carter. âSee? They're not worried.â
Colburn looks directly at you.
âI didn't say that.â
You give her a sheepish smile.
âRight.â
âI assume youâre staying, Dr. Carter?â She asks, and John nods.
âCould somebody call down to the ER and tell them to phone someone else in?â
âJohn,â you groan, but he holds a hand up to cut you off.
âNope. No arguing on this one, sweetheart.â
Colburn makes her final checks and leaves, making the room feel almost claustrophobic. All you can focus on is Carterâs gaze, zeroed in on every single movement you make. âI really am okay, you know.â
âI know you think you are.â
Your brow furrows a little. âI am.â
âOkay.â He doesnât argue further, but he does reach out to brush his thumb of your knuckles. Tilting your hand upwards, you let his fingers close around yours, as you both settle into a comfortable silence.
*****A
For a while, nothing happens.
The monitors continue their steady rhythm. Carter sits beside you, one hand loosely around yours, pretending he's not hyper-aware of each passing beep and figure.
You have your eyes closed again, chasing some kind of sleep. Then your fingers tighten around his. He looks up immediately. âWhat?â
You don't answer at first, but your face as changed. The faint little smile is gone, and you're staring down at your stomach with a crease between your eyebrows.
âHey. Come on. Talk to me.â
You swallow. âI think it's starting again.â
âThe cramping?â
You nod, and Carter straightens in the chair. âHow bad?â
âIt's fine.â
âThat's not what I asked.â
You take a slow breath. âIt's a little worse than before.â
He reaches for the call button without a second thought. A sharp cry suddenly escapes from your lips as you curl forward a little, hunching into his touch. âS-Shit, John, I-I think my water broke-â
Carter pulls back the duvet, and is horrified to see a gush of blood against the white sheets.
******A
âItâs placental abruption,â Colburn announces, immediately snapping into work mode, âAnd I know this isnât ideal, but weâre going to have to deliver. Now.â
If you were thinking more clearly, youâd realise that a natural birth is entirely out of the question with abruption. The way things stand, your mind is currently muddled in a haze of exhaustion and pain meds. âIt has to be a caesarean?â
âWith your permission, Iâd like to put you under general anaesthesia to deliver the baby - itâs the most efficient way to protect both of you.â
You shake your head, grip tightening on Johnâs hand in a desperate plea - the fear in your eyes is all-consuming, and he hates every second of it. He wishes so strongly that he could do something, anything at all, to alleviate your pain. If given the chance to shoulder a hundred times what youâre facing right now, heâd accept without a second thought.
Anything to stop the pained cries falling from your lips with each passing contraction.
âDonât want the general, John, please,â You whimper. âI-I want to see her when sheâs born.â
For the first time in your entire pregnancy, John doesnât correct you on your pronoun use. Even though youâve been convinced since conception that your baby is a girl, while heâs still firmly on team boy.
The weight of your words suddenly hit him - in the most vulnerable moment of your life, youâre trusting him to be your advocate. Somebody who was a near stranger just a few months ago. Thereâs a lump in his throat and a tear in his eye, but he swallows it back.
Now is not the time for emotion.
Heâs got to be strong for both of you.
âCan we do a spinal instead?â
Colburn glances up. âIâm willing to give it one go. If it doesnât block appropriately, then weâll have to sedate - Iâm sorry.â
Heâs overcome with a sudden urge to press his lips to the notch between your brows. âItâll be okay - promise. Just hold my hands, and we can roll you over, and try the spinal, okay?â
The next few minutes blur together.
There are hands everywhere, voices coming at you from every direction, people moving with a comforting precision.
In your anaesthesia residency, youâve done hundreds, if not thousands, of spinal blocks. It feels so much more terrifying to be on the other end, knowing that itâs one of the only things that can keep you and your baby safe.
You feel the pressure, the sting, then the strange pushing sensation in your lower back. John watches your face the entire time, trying to read every flicker of discomfort.
Then they lay you back. For a moment, thereâs relief.
Maybe this will work.
Maybe youâll get what you asked for.
Maybe youâll be awake when they bring your baby into the world.
The anaesthesiologist starts checking the block. You feel the cold against your skin.
âCan you feel that?â
You nod, and they try again.
âAnd this?â
You swallow, tears beginning to prick at your eyes again. âYes.â
Your eyes close, and a small sob escapes as discussions break out amongst the other doctors in the room. John moves closer to you, dropping down to speak into your ear. âYouâll be fine. I know this is far from ideal, but theyâre going to take care of you both-â
âI don't want to miss it.â
John's throat tightens. âI know.â
âI want to hear her cry.â
âYou will.â
âI want-â
Your voice breaks off into a whimper, and Johnâs grip on your hand tightens.
âYou're going to wake up, and she's going to be there.â
You wish you could a fraction of his certainty.
A tear finally slips down your cheek. John catches it with his thumb. âI thought you said it was going to be a boy?â You manage weakly.
He lets out the smallest laugh. âFigured I shouldnât be arguing with the mother of my child.â
âGood call,â You reply, before the panic starts to set in again. You can see the anaesthesia team prepping, and you think you might be sick. âY-Youâll look after her, right John?â Your eyes grow frantic, darting between them and Carter. âIf â if something happens-â
âNothingâs going to happen,â he insists. âWeâll look after her together, a-and itâll be great, okay?â
âIâm sorry, you two, but we have to make a start.â
Carter manages to pull every scrap of courage together to meet your gaze. âIâm going to be right here the entire time.â
You nod slightly, and the team begin their work, preparing the propofol to be injected into your IV. John doesn't let go until he's certain you're asleep. Only then does he step back, allowing the team to move him away from the table, and move you to the OR.
John Carter hasnât been a religious man in a very long time, but he finds himself praying as the obstetric team begin work on you. He may not be a surgeon anymore, but he can still tell how these things are going, and youâre losing a lot of blood. If he was compatible with your blood type, heâd ask them to hook him up to you directly.
Let him help somehow.
âI know that your situation is⊠unique,â Colburn begins, glancing up at him as they make their first cuts. âBut Iâm just warning you now that there may be some⊠difficult decisions to be made soon. Her parents arenât here, and as father of the baby, you would be next-of-kin-â
âI want you to save her,â Carter interrupts, eyes still glued to your form on the operating table. âI-I mean, obviously, save both - but uh⊠if it comes down to it, I need you to save her.â
Colburn holds his gaze for a second, before nodding. âWe'll do everything we can.â
He drops down by the head of the operating table, sinking onto a small stool the anaesthetist pushes toward him. His hands clasp tightly around yours, wrapping your limp, unresponsive fingers in both of his warm, trembling palms. He presses your knuckles against his forehead, closing his eyes tightly as if he can force his own strength directly into your veins.
He flinches at the word haemorrhaging, his face losing what little colour it has left. He decides that a just god would let you both survive this. âUterine incision made,â Colburn announces sharply, cutting through his panic. âNeonatal team, step up. Baby is coming out now.â
Colburn works quickly, proving her status as head of the department as the team deliver your tiny, impossibly small baby.
And thenâŠ
Nothing.
No cry.
No angry squawk.
No immediate sound at all.
âItâs a girl!â is all he can focus on as his daughter is transferred over to the incubator.
He almost wants to laugh. Of course itâs a girl. Of course youâre right about it. Youâve been right about everything, this entire time.
God, he hopes you get to meet her.
âAPGAR five!
He thinks he might be sick. The room feels suspended in time - stuck in a moment where he might lose both of you.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Twenty.
The baby still isn't crying.
Carter's eyes finally move toward the warmer.
He catches a glimpse. Even in this state, sheâs the most beautiful thing heâs ever seen. His daughter. His girls.
Heâs never prayed harder.
Finally, a small wail warbles across the operating room, and the paediatrician lets out a sigh of relief. âAPGAR improving, her temp is rising!â
Youâre both fighters, John decides. You can get through this.
âDr. Carter, we have to take the baby up to the NICU - her lungs arenât fully developed yet because of her age. Weâre going to need to put her on CPAP for the time being.â
He nods, trying to absorb all the information.
âYouâre welcome to come up, or stay with your wife.â
He doesnât correct the neonatologist, and briefly considers the options. He knows that youâd want him to follow the baby. Youâd tell him that youâre fine, and that he should be with his daughter.
Something keeps his feet planted to the ground. âIâll be up once sheâs stitched up.â
******A
It feels like youâve been asleep for a century when you finally come to. You try to open your eyes, and nothing happens. Trying again, this time the room comes into focus in pieces.
White ceiling.
Dim lights.
Yet another monitor somewhere beside you.
And John Carter, sat diligently by your bedside.
Your first instinct is panic. If John is here, something must have happened to the baby. He registers your expression immediately, and shakes his head. âSheâs fine.â
âShe?â You repeat weakly, a smile tugging at your lips.
âSheâs in the NICU. She was having a little trouble breathing when she was born, but they're taking care of her - sheâs 3.4 pounds, and sixteen inches, and sheâs perfect.â
You stare at him, awash with every emotion under the sun. Joy, that your baby is alright. Guilt, that you werenât the first to hold her, or speak to her. Fear, at how badly things could have gone today. âDid she cry?â
John smiles. âEventually.â
âEventually?â
âShe gave everyone a bit of a scare. So did you.â
Your bottom lip trembles. âIâm guessing I canât see her right now.â
John shakes his head, expression sombre. âThey said youâd need an hour or two before they can transfer you to a wheelchair and go up. Mâsorry. But I took some pictures for you.â
Youâre hoping for some kind of camera, but instead John produces his phone. He flips it open and presses a few buttons. The screen lights up with a photograph so pixelated you can barely make out what you're looking at. You squint. âIs that her?â
âYeah.â
You take the phone carefully from him.
The next picture is somehow worse, but you can just about make out a tiny face obscured by wires, a little hat, a bundle of blankets.
âOh.â Your expression changes. âSheâs so little.â
âVery little,â Carter agrees.
You click to the next one. This one is mostly blur. âJohn, this is terrible.â
âI was working with limited technology! Besides - itâll make going up to see her all the more exciting. Trust me. Sheâs much cuter in person. Looks just like you.â
âYeah?â You smile.
âThereâs very little Carter in there so far.â Thereâs a pause, and his voice drops low, uncharacteristically serious. âIâm so glad youâre okay, sweetheart.â
You bite your lip, eyes shining. âThank you for today.â
He dismisses it with a hand gesture. âIt was nothing - you know Iâd do anything for you. In a heartbeat.â
Heâs said it all throughout your pregnancy, but youâre really starting to believe him.
âThought about what you wanted to call her?â He asks, leaning down to rest his head on your thigh. Absent-mindedly, your hand drops to card through his hair.
âWhat - you don't have an opinion?â
Johnâs made ample use of his veto for all sorts of names over the last few months. A part of you is surprised that heâs feeling so nonchalant about it after sheâs here.
âMy opinion is that Iâm happy youâre both healthy - nothing else matters to me.â
âWell⊠I reserve the right to change my mind after I meet her if it doesnât suit⊠but I like Rosalie. Rosie for short.â
requests are open for these two! fics will be listed below in chronological order, but you're welcome to ask for anything pre-pregnancy, during, or with them as parents :)
original moodboard
telling him you're pregnant
john being obsessed with the baby kicking, and you're not sure how to deal with the clinginess (requested - coming soon!)
the birth
john having a sex dream about his baby mama (requested - coming soon!)
old hollywood mobster pope is a masterpiece, viv i'm sending you kisses thru da computer
moodboard idea - mobster pope who runs a club with his family (this could be in old hollywood or the 60s or 70s or 80s) and reader is a live singer at the club, likely indentured to smurf after reader went to the cody family for help. maybe pope is secretly trying to find a way to save reader from her contract with smurf or maybe he's trying to figure out a way to convince reader to chose to stay of her own volition (so she never leaves him)
congrats on graduating!!
xoxo
"I'm fuckin' sick of her, Andy!" You snap, pushing past some of the other dancers as you storm towards your dressing room. "M'not doing it anymore. No way."
Pope feels like a kicked puppy as he follows you, wringing his hands together. He's got to convince you to stay - because Smurf expects that of him, but also to keep you around. He doesn't know what he'd do without you. "Come on, sweetheart, don't make any rash decisions-"
"She treats me like shit!" You spin on your heel, brow furrowed. "I can't stand it."
"It's just the way she is, doll - she can't help it. But she's put a roof over your head, pays you well, a-and if it wasn't for her, we would have never met."
His words have just the effect that he'd hoped, and you visibly soften a little. Time to strike the killing blow.
"We can sweeten the deal a little, if that's what you need to keep singin' here."
Your reply is immediate. "I want all my tips," and Pope winces. Currently, you only get 25% of them. It would be a considerable blow to the club to lose them all.
No way Smurf would agree to it.
But he has to keep you here. "Deal."
He'll just replace the tips out of his own money, and nobody will be any wiser. "Now, come 'ere and let me look after you, sweetheart. S'been a long day."
hi viv iâd like to present you with the idea of non murderer summer camp pope (or murderer, tbh whichever) where smurf has maybe told him to stay away from his girl and so she thinks that maybe they were just some sort of summer thing like she was talking about on the roof in the hide and seek one but maybe they have one equipment shed thatâs really far away and reader treks over there to grab stuff one day all by her lonesome and thereâs pope waiting for her now that theyâre not been watched
"You've been avoiding me-"
"Jesus!" You curse, dropping the oar with a clatter. After Smurf's warning, the last thing you had been expecting at the furthest out equipment shed in camp was Pope's figure in the corner. "You scared the shit out of me."
"Sorry," He replies, though it's autopilot, not true remorse. "Missed you."
A warm hand settles at your waist, and you can feel all memories of Smurf fading immediately. "Andy, we shouldn't-"
"Shouldn't what?"
He dips his head, lips brushing across your jaw, and you fight back a shiver. This is a terrible idea. You know that Smurf would ruin you without a second thought. "Your mother hates me."
"My mother's a psychopath," He hums, pulling you against him. "Shouldn't listen to a word she says."
It's all too easy to allow him to crowd you up against the wall, fingers working the zip on your shorts. "Just let me take care of you, honey. Been too long."
You could remind him that it's only been a few days, but once Andrew gets something in his head, he's impossible to dissuade.
I saw you wanted spooky mood requests! I don't know much about Twin Peaks but from what I've seen of it on Tumblr it reminds me of the first part of Alice Isn't Dead: a woman who became a trucker to find her wife (who she's been told is dead but she's seen her in the background of news broadcasts and such) and she sees a lot of Really Creepy Things on the backroads and long desolate highways.
But all of that to say that I'm thinking of Pope and his girlfriend/fiancee going on a long haul road trip to find Julia and finding a lot of Really Weird and Creepy Things in the process.
Pope had seen Julia's body in the morgue. Had touched her cheek with his palm, and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.
You have no idea how he's managed to land at this conclusion. "She's not dead. I dreamt it."
"That wasn't her," Pope shakes his head, a steadiness to him that's been missing since long before she died. "I-It looked like her, and it sounded like her. But it was somebody else."
When you don't reply, he can tell that you're not convinced. Reaching into the glove compartment, he shoves some papers in your direction. Police reports.
From Julia's disappearance, and subsequent reappearance six months later.
"See?"
"I'm not sure what I'm looking at," You murmur, throwing a glance his way.
"I-It took me so long to put it together - why it all seemed off. But then it hit me. Julia disappeared in Twin Peaks, and then reappeared in Vegas. But somebody phoned in a sighting of her the day after she was found, in Seattle. They were able to identify her tattoo, and the necklace she always wears. The Julia that came back didn't have either."
A chill runs through you. Before her death, Julia had been back in Twin Peaks for eight months after the disappearance. "Are you telling me Julia hasn't been Julia all this time?"
aaaa i love supercut of us sm and im so excited for whats to come!! hockey player abbot has me so curious about the possibilities... i was wondering if i could request a moodboard for retired hockey player abbot? perhaps he owns an ice rink and becomes fixated on this one underdog figure skater to the point where he reluctantly starts managing her, as he knows what its like to be a newcomer in such a competitive environment with far fewer resources than your competitors. no pressure though!! im loving all the work youve been putting out!!
You try to slide the money across the counter, but Jack shakes his head.
"No need."
"It's just the overtime since you kept the rink open late for me," You try and explain, pushing the notes forward again. Still, all you get is a head-shake.
"Think of it as an investment in your future," He replies, chin resting on his palm as he takes you in. "You're good, kid. Real good. Wanna support that."
Suddenly embarrassed, you turn your cheek towards the door - anything to avoid Jack's all-knowing gaze. It's like he can see right through you. "I don't need charity."
"No," He says slowly, "You don't. What you need is equalising with your peers. The ones with millionaire parents who'll have the best equipment money can buy, former Olympian instructors, and access to a rink whenever they want. Now, I can't help much with the first two, but I can sure as hell help with the third."
"Mr. Abbot-"
"Jack. Please."
"Jack," You repeat, wringing your hands together. "I really appreciate your help, but I'm not more deserving of this than any of the other skaters you get here."
"Beg to differ," is his immediately response. "You've got something special, sweetheart. Would be a real shame to waste it."
As usual, Pope is waiting outside the dance studio, skateboard in hand.
Your face breaks into a smile, moving to sling your bag over your shoulder. He stops the movement immediately, reaching out to slip his arm under the strap. "I've got it, sweetheart."
You shoot him a glance. Your dance bag is pale pink, and covered in embroidered flowers. His brothers would ridicule him endlessly if they saw it. "I don't mind carrying it, Andy."
He looks almost offended. "I can carry a bag. How was practice?"
There's no point correcting him. Rehearsal will always be practice to Pope Cody. You fall into step beside him, tucking your arm around his torso.
"Really good! The showcase is shaping up well. Can't wait for you to see it."
(feel free to skip if pinterest isnât pinteresting lol) but could we get some jack or pope with a filipina reader?
Pope never really appreciated the Oceanside beaches until you.
Sure, he went surfing, and would get stones with his brothers on the sand afterwards, but the beach was simply a connection of land to water. A necessity.
Now, he spends more time walking along them, hand in hand with you, than he does in the water.
You're super busy at work, while he's often away for jobs, so your only guaranteed time together are sunrise and sunset strolls. And given that your house is on the waterfront, the beach is the most natural location.
Your fingers are threaded through his while your free hand gestures animatedly as you talk him through your day. He follows whatever you're saying carefully, making little notes or anything that might be useful down the line.
Mentioning your favourite coffee brand at the office? He's stocking up on it at his place.
Telling him about a necklace your co-worker wore that you like? He'll find it for you tomorrow.
He just wants you to get anything you want in the world.
hello my angel iâm here to please request a mood board for john tucker with his film student girl where she hears his name and thinks heâs making some sort of reference to the movie john tucker must die <3333 and he thinks sheâs trying to k word him
You've never been a huge party girl, with one single exception.
Halloween.
It's your favourite time of year - if only to allow you to scope out some new friends around campus, based off of whether they understand your costume or not.
This year, you've gone pretty mainstream - Carrie. While you're not exactly a Sissy Spacek lookalike, you're hoping the blood and prom dress gives it away. Unfortunately, you've had more people asking if you're Olivia Rodrigo than anything else.
"Olivia doesn't even have blood on her.... nevermind-"
What you're not expecting, is to be approached by a guy who you can only assume is on the hockey or football team.
"John Tucker," he says, and you smile initially. John Tucker Must Die is one of your guilty pleasure movies - and it's more ball knowledge than most jocks, who think that Interstellar is the peak of indie filmmaking.
Taking in his costume, you're not quite sure how it lines up with the movie, but effort is better than nothing, right? "Oh, John Tucker Must Die! Nice!"
At this, the guy's expression shifts, brow furrowing in confusion. "I must die? What?"
You realise in horror that he has no idea what you're talking about. "You know... the movie? Sophia Bush, Arielle Kebbell...?"
God, you're just digging yourself into more of a hole. The Carrie costume is certainly appropriate, given how much of a social outcast you're about to be.
Instead, the very handsome jock just grins. "Babe, my name's John Tucker. Was just tryin' to introduce myself to a pretty girl."
I NEED DAD JOHN CARTER AS A MINI SERIESSSSSSđđđđđđ
telling him you're pregnant
from THIS original moodboard, and i don't have a hugely concrete plan for these two other than to write little snippets of their lives out of order, so requests/ideas are open!
warnings: 18+, mdni! allusions to explicit sex, discussions of pregnancy, considering abortion
ER masterlist // main masterlist // baby daddy john carter masterlist (coming soon)
Your eyes are glued to the double set of lines on the stick in front of you, as if sheer force of will could possibly change the situation.
As if staring hard enough will make the line vanish, and this nightmare disappear.
You can't have a child.
You can barely handle your dog, Pablo - were it not for a friendly neighbour offering to walk him with her own, you'd have had to pay for someone to come in and let him out during your long days.
You're a second-year anaesthetics resident. You're going to be working insane hours for the foreseeable.
This is what you get for trying to bulk up your CV for a trauma fellowship. After pulling some ER data, and spending a couple of days down there with Benton, you'd managed to pull an abstract together on 'First-Pass Intubation Success in the Critically Injured Patient'. It got accepted to a conference down in Dallas, and you'd scraped together enough cash to go.
Benton was never going to take time out of theatre to go to some schmooze-fest, so you were on your own.
Until John Carter had tracked you down after your presentation to ask you a couple of questions.
You'd been expecting them to be about the study - that maybe he was wondering if his own intubations had been included in the data, but they almost have nothing to do with medicine at all.
How do you know Benton?
I'm the only anaesthetist resident he hasn't made cry yet. Think that automatically makes me his favourite.
It's funny. I did a year of surgery, and I feel like I definitely would've remembered you.
After putting together the timeline, you'd realised that you'd been working in obstetric anaesthesia during his surgical internship, while he'd been stuck in triage on the days that you were down in the ER.
The amount of times your paths almost crossed was impressive.
Not that you didn't know Carter.
Of course you do. With the boyish grin, and big brown eyes, you're pretty sure every woman in Chicago is aware of him. He had dated one of your fellow residents, and she'd spent the entire short-lived relationship gushing about how good he was in bed.
After he dumped her, none of you were even allowed to mention his name.
At the time, you hadn't paid it much mind, but sitting across from at the hotel bar had gotten you thinking about Helen's tales, and whether they were true or not.
It hadn't taken you long to find out. After sticking together for the rest of the day, you'd ended up at a bar nearby, drinking on Carter's dime before he kissed you over a margarita, and asked if you wanted to go back to his hotel room.
It had been an easy yes.
Work makes it nearly impossible to date non-medics, and hospital politics make it impossible to sleep with your immediate co-workers without the gossip spreading like wildfire.
All to say, you haven't been laid in a long time.
It doesn't hurt that he's 6'2 and gorgeous.
Even if you do get a trauma fellowship at County, the odds of you having to regularly interact with Carter are slim to none. Most of the time, you're only physically in the ER briefly, before the patient is taken to theatre.
You kept telling yourself that it won't be awkward, as he took your hand in his and led you to a far nicer floor than the one you had been staying on.
Part of you made a mental note to go digging about the state of his finances, but that had been completely forgotten when he made you cum twice before even reaching for the buttons on his own slacks.
Maybe Helen was right.
Whatever Carter may lack in technical precision, he more than makes up for with his eagerness to please.
The next morning, you'd acknowledged that it was a good time, and parted as acquaintances.
And now, eight weeks on, you're pregnant with his baby.
You're not even sure how, outside of the obvious 'man meets woman' bullshit. You've been a stickler for birth control your entire life. Never missing a day, and always taking it at the same time each morning.
You'd never considered that you might one day be part of the 0.3% that still manage to get pregnant with it.
Not when your friends would miss days and never pull out and always be fine.
Leaning forward, you drop your head into your hands and let out a heavy sigh. You shouldn't have let him finish inside, even with the birth control.
You wouldn't normally.
But both of your minds had been totally clouded by lust, and when Carter had been panting above you, cheeks flushed, you distinctly remember telling him that it was alright.
N-Need you inside. S'fine - I'm on the pill, oh, oh god, John-
This is why you're not a spontaneous person. This is why you make lists, and weigh up pros and cons before you even consider making decisions.
All it gets you is being single and pregnant and still in thousands of dollars of medical school debt.
You've seen Carter a few times in passing since the conference, and he's always been friendly. A hand on your waist as he passes behind you in the cafeteria, a kiss pressed to your cheek in greeting at the surprise party he threw Benton.
Nothing close to what you're going to have to tell him today.
*****
You find out from one of the nurses that Carter is due to finish his shift in fifteen minutes, and take up your wait in the ambulance bay. You're still feeling jittery from this morning's revelation, and worry that contact with anybody for too long will lead to you blurting out your news.
You're contemplating every life decision you've ever made when he finally appears. "Hey - what are you doing here?"
John Carter is a very easy man to read, and you can tell exactly what he's thinking right now. He's assuming that you've had the shift from hell, and just need some time to cool off.
He doesn't realise that you're about to turn this into the shift from hell.
Still - you don't want to break it to him harshly.
He doesn't deserve that.
"Can we talk?"
Not the most original of openings, but there's really no other way to do it. He nods immediately, and goes to sit down, but you get to your feet instead. "Not here - walk with me?"
"Are you alright?"
He falls into step beside you, and you can hear the concern seeping into his tone. It makes you want to cry. Rather than draw it out any longer, you shake your head, lip between your teeth.
"I'm pregnant."
Both time and John slow to a stop, the latter's mouth managing to form a perfect 'o' as he stares at you. "What?"
You swallow, wiping hastily at the stray tear on your cheek. "Found out this morning. B-But, I swear I was on the pill, and this isn't one of those like baby-trapping scenarios, I-I mean I don't even know if I want it-"
"Hey, hey," he interjects softly, reaching out to put a comforting hand on your shoulder. "That's not what I was thinking at all. I'm just shocked."
"I'm sorry," you sniff, finally gathering the courage to meet his gaze.
"You think this is your fault?" He almost laughs. "Honey - it was very much a two-man operation."
His eyes flick downwards for a second, to your currently unchanged stomach. The first of many things that would change if you kept this baby.
"Do you want kids?"
It's a surprisingly pragmatic response - one that you figure most guys would be incapable of. You weren't exactly expecting theatrics, but you thought he would seem a little more perturbed by the news.
It throws you off.
"I mean... yeah, I guess? Didn't envision it happening right now, though. Thought I'd be an attending... have a house..."
Be married. You don't say that part aloud.
He doesn't reply for a second.
"Do you want to?"
"Do I want to what?"
"Do it with me." His expression is earnest, and if you knew him better you might be able to detect the slight hint of excitement in his tone. A sane man would be begging you to get an abortion - that's what you'd been gearing up to hear. Just an hour ago, you were convinced yourself that you were headed that way. "Just... just hear me out. How often do you go out on dates?"
Feels like a strange segue, but you consider. "Not very often. Like once every few months."
"I'm the same. Can you see that changing in the next few years?"
You mull it over a little. "I guess not."
He nods once, like it confirms whatever theory he's cooking up. "Right."
"Right?"
"So," he shifts, angling his body towards yours. "You're probably not meeting the love of your life next week."
"That's a little bleak, Carter."
"I'm being realistic," he corrects. "It's not going to happen to me either."
When you don't seem to catch his drift, he changes tactics, gesturing vaguely. "Five years from now, what will your life look like?"
"I finish training. Become an attending," you frown.
"You work more."
"I make more money."
"You work more."
You roll your eyes. "Okay, I get it."
"No, seriously." His voice stays even. "You become an attending. You buy a house. Then what?"
"I-I don't know," You admit.
"You start dating?"
You shrug. "I'd like to."
"But will you?" He presses.
At his insistence, you try and envision a world in which you suddenly morph into a social butterfly, and manage to find your dream man on your one day off a week. "I don't know," you finally admit. "Look - where are you going with this?"
"My point is..." He pauses, choosing his words carefully. "You want kids. I want kids."
You stare at him, before letting out a short, disbelieving laugh. "And you think we should just... have a baby together."
"I think it's worth talking about."
"You don't even know me."
He shakes his head. "I know enough."
"No, you don't. I-I mean, how would we finish our residencies? Look after her? We're not even together!"
John takes each question in his stride. "Loads of doctors have kids during residency. Mark Greene had his daughter in med school, and he's fine-"
He's also divorced and sees his daughter twice a month, but you don't interrupt.
"-I could cut back on my hours and watch them. I have some inheritance, and you could have a good maternity leave too. And not being together almost makes it easier, don't you think? Just two friends, raising a kid. No complications, y'know? No messy divorce that'll scar the kid for life, no break-ups."
You hate to say it, but he's making some good points.
But it's such a huge decision to make.
Sensing your uncertainty, he reaches for your hand. "If you don't want to, that's fine as well. M'not gonna get mad at you for choosing. But if you do want to... I'm all in."
"Can I think about it?"
"Of course, sweetheart. Just give me a call when you've made your mind up, and we can go from there."
*****
John doesn't hear from you for almost a week, and he has to pretend that it's not driving him stir crazy.
Each time his phone goes, each time his pager bleeps, he lunges for it - in the hopes that it'll finally be you.
He's all but given up hope of hearing from you tonight when his cell rings. Instinctively, he grabs it, answering immediately. "Hello?"
What follows is the sweetest six words he's ever heard in his life.
he's got the money, he's got the insane drive to help people. he's also got a batsuit ready to go on days where he isn't working at the hospital.
our girl is probably involved in the hospital somehow, so she's in close enough proximity to figure it out eventually. but not before she finds herself falling for both john and the batman.
pov: a one night stand with john carter at a medical conference that ends in a pregnancy.
after some long, hard talks, you agree to co-parent. neither of you have very promising love lives, and you've both always wanted kids.
in theory, it should be simple. entirely uncomplicated. new friends raising a baby.
when rosalie carter is born, it just makes sense for john to come and stay with you both. he can help with night-shifts, and make the most of his paternity leave.
except rosie's ten weeks old and sleeping through the night, and john's now sleeping in your bed, and the idea of him ever moving out is becoming incredibly unappealing.
The one where Jack Abbot accidentally knocks up Robby's little (step)sister in his final year of college.
warnings: this blog is 18+, mdni! this fic deals with pregnancy, discussions of abortion and medical complications, explicit sexual content, slut-shaming (not by jack), reader is robby's step-sister, they are not related biologically, and reader's appearance is not described at all. in this chap - nothing really, just the obvious pregnancy
fic recap so that you don't have to re-read to catch up :)
main masterlist // supercut of us masterlist
Youâve barely stopped crying by the time Robby comes to visit. Mascara permanently clumped under your lashes, itâs potentially the worst possible time for your step-brother to plan an impromptu trip to Cornellâs main campus.
For whatever reason, the med students get to be in Manhattan, while every other degree stays in upstate New York. Itâs a four-hour drive, give or take, meaning that Robby doesnât do it very often.
Heâs always called before coming up. When heâs crashing on the couch in yours apartment, heâs got to make sure that none of Jesseâs sisters are visiting for the weekend.
Of course he picks now to drop by unannounced. First a knock, and then his voice wafting through the door. Currently, youâre curled up watching Cheers re-runs, and trying not to think about what your body is currently doing. Creating.
You only just got over the trauma of telling Jesse. Nobody else knows yet - not even Jack. You canât even consider telling anybody until he knows. Jesse Van Horn had been unavoidable, and entirely steadfast in his support since finding out.
Are you like⊠alive in there?â
You can barely quell the tears enough to hiccup a yes. Given your history and constant close proximity to Jesse, thereâs no point in trying to hide it from him. Heâs not an idiot. He knows what morning sickness looks like, even if he hasnât quite put it together yet.
Youâre not sure your lips are capable of forming the word âpregnantâ right at this very moment. Instead, you reach for the door handle, and let it creak open.
Youâd hate to see yourself right now - shivering and sick and curled up on the bathroom floor.
âShit,â He curses. âWhat the fuck happened? Do we need to go to the Emergency Room?â
You shake your head weakly, eyes flicking to the test on the counter.
If you were picking one word to describe your roommate, collected might be the one youâd go for. Currently, Jesse Van Horn looks anything but - a perfect reminder of just how big youâve screwed up.
âHoly fucking shit.â
You practically whine a reply. âIâm so, so fucked.â
âIs it⊠is it Sethâs?â
Finally, something to snap you out of your stupor. You shoot Jesse with a glare, arms covering your torso protectively. âOf course not. Donât be stupid.â
âYouâll excuse me if heâs the only guy Iâve known youâve slept with this year.â Almost immediately, Jesseâs usual sass is back in his tone, and you want to cry tears of joy. Most things are going to change, but maybe not all. When you donât reply, Jesse shoots you with his own look. âSo? Whose is it? Or do you not know?â
You muster up a glare. âI do know. But you canât laugh.â
âOh god,â He groans. âWho the hell have you been sleeping with?â
You bite your lip, ready for the impact. âJack Abbot.â
In all the reactions youâd envisioned from Jesse, laughter is not one of them. It bursts out of him, almost like a gasp of air. All you can do is look at him in surprise, and soon heâs hunched over beside you. âI cannot believe you fucked Jack Abbot. Heâs so not your type.â
âThatâs your takeaway from this?â
You wish you could be as single-minded as your roommate. Unfortunately, youâre pretty sure that your life is over.
âYou like âem annoying and pretentious. Guys in bands who like pretentious New Wave French cinema and Yoko Onoâs solo career. Not jocks who think that EDM is like the pinnacle of music.â
You donât know why an urge to defend Jack washes over you. âJack likes Clapton.â
âDoes he like Clapton, or did he tell you that he liked Clapton so that he could get into your pants?â
You think it over, as the tears dry on your cheeks. You like to think that you wouldnât be so quick to fall for something like that, but youâre also not going to bullshit yourself about Jackâs past. Heâs a self-proclaimed womaniser thatâs rarely seen with the same girl more than once.
Lip between your teeth, you shake your head. âHe wasnât lying.â
Your first instinct is not to answer the knock.
Maybe if you stay perfectly still heâll just give up-
Another knock. He calls your name. Then Jesseâs. Letting out a sigh, you scrub furiously at your face before catching your reflection in the microwave door.
Shit.
Your eyes are swollen. You look like you havenât slept in days. Youâre a mess. Splashing cold water over your face, you dab at the mascara smeared beneath your lashes with toilet paper, and try to make yourself look mildly presentable before you open the door.
Robby takes one look at you and immediately frowns. "...Jesus. You look rough."
Despite it all, a scoff falls from your lips. "Thanks."
"You sick?"
"No."
He steps inside without waiting to be invited, duffel bag slung over one shoulder like he owns the place, and presses the back of his hand to your forehead. âYouâre a little hot, but not feverish. Nausea?â
All day, every day. âNot really.â
âDiarrhoea?â
You make a face. âGross. But also no.â
âHuh. Must just be a bug, then. Jess around?"
"Class."
He drops the bag beside the couch before turning back to you, an unreadable expression on his face. You suddenly remember that heâs just finished up a psych rotation.
Shit.
Heâs spent the last six weeks analysing expressions and emotions.
Youâre screwed.
"You been crying?" His voice is careful and composed, and youâd put money on it being a tone he uses with patients.
Your stomach twists. "What? No."
"Kid."
"I'm tired,â You insist. âTook ages to get over the food poisoning.â
His face says he doesn't believe you for a second. "You sure?"
"Mikey."
"What?"
"You literally just got here."
"I know."
"So maybe don't interrogate me before you've even taken your shoes off. Enough with the shrink bullshit, âkay?"
He studies you for another beat before sighing. "Fine. But something's up."
You busy yourself taking his jacket before he can keep looking at you.
"I'm fine."
"Liar."
*****
The afternoon is spent trailing Robby around all his old haunts. His favourite record store, just to check and see if they got that Doors record in. They didnât.
You both grab coffee from the campus coffee shop, and then you have to talk him out of dragging you to whatever hockey practice is going on.
You argue that he can track down the guys tomorrow when youâre in class, because you want to hang with your brother tonight.
Also, one of them is the father of your niece or nephew.
That part stays in your head.
You havenât even decided if thereâs going to be a niece or nephew yet. Youâve always assumed that abortion would be the easy answer if you ever got pregnant before you were ready.
Now, despite the catastrophic consequences it could have for your life and career, youâre not sure you have it in you to go through with it.
But you also know you canât rely on Jack. From experience, you know that Robby has little-to-no free time - how could Jack possibly be a father to a baby while pulling twelve-hour shifts?
Does Jack even want a baby?
Would he want one with you?
The answer to both is most likely no.
Finally, Robby manages to drag both you and Jesse to a local bar. It isnât until the bartender asks for your order, and he rattles off your usual, that you realise your mistake.
You canât drink.
You always drink with Robby.
Jesse clocks your face as the cider is pushed across the table to you, an identical one pressed into his hand. He cocks his head.
You okay?
You give the smallest shake of your head.
Not now.
His expression smooths over so quickly Robby doesn't notice.
"Didn't know you were coming up," Jesse says, an expert at changing the subject.
"Didnât know Iâd have the time off until this morning. Thought Iâd surprise her - see how Sophomore year was going. Cheers."
You wrap your fingers around the cold glass, and try not to cry as you clink the glass against Robbyâs.
When your lips wrap around the neck, you donât allow any of it into your mouth.
A temporary solution, until Robby realises that your bottle isnât getting any emptier. Jesse sips from his own, a larger gulp than youâd expect from him. Normally, he likes to nurse a drink over hours. Your brow furrows, until Robbyâs head turns towards the door, and he casually takes yours instead.
"So," Jesse says loudly, taking an exaggerated sip from what had been your glass, leaving you both with half-filled bottles, "how's med school?"
Robby launches straight into a rant about anatomy labs.
You stare at Jesse.
He gives the tiniest shrug.
I've got you.
Halfway through Robby's story, he drains half his/your pint. Jesse quietly swaps your glasses back while Robby's chatting to an old friend who stopped by the pavement. The movement is so smooth you almost miss it, and before you even realise, your untouched drink disappears.
A half-empty one appears in its place.
Robby finally looks back. "Normally youâd be on your third by now."
You lift the glass and take the smallest sip imaginable. It barely wets your lips. "Nursing it."
"Lightweight."
*****
Robby stays until Monday, and you manage to avoid most further confrontations. As far as you know, he saw Jack while you were at your Friday afternoon Property Law class, and that was that. Heâs tossed you a few more concerned glances, and asked about your ex-boyfriend Seth more than once, but heâs unable to get to the bottom of your sour mood.
While you love Robby, youâre more than a little relieved to see him head back down to NYC.
His presence makes everything feel so real. The baby, the hockey player father, your dwindling future.
Youâll tell him eventually. But not today.
Not when you know that Big Red are practising today, and that Jack is guaranteed to be at the rink at five. You just need to get through this goodbye with Robby, and then fight all urges to throw yourself in front of a bus before telling your one night stand that he got you pregnant.
âMâsorry Iâve been no fun this weekend,â You mumble, face pressed into Robbyâs shoulder. âJust stressed. Promise Iâll be better next time I visit.â
Above you, Robby lets out a breath. "If some idiot's giving you grief..."
Youâre very glad that he canât see the tears pricking at your eyes as your arms tighten around him. "...I'll handle it."
After bidding Robby goodbye, you manage to make the fifteen-minute walk to the rink take forty. Spectators arenât officially allowed during practice, but it doesnât stop a group of girls from hanging around the stands.
Mostly Puck Bunnies, you note, as you take a seat a few rows back.
The term leaves a funny taste in your mouth. You canât help but see the misogyny behind it, and yet half of these girls wear it like a badge of honour.
These are the girls Jack normally goes for, a voice in your head interrupts. Not you.
You have no idea which number Jack is, leaving you in the dark for ten minutes before you manage to find it online.
#33.
Your eyes follow him across the rink.
From what you can tell, he plays excellently. Not that youâd know. Youâve always been more of a basketball gal, even with Robbyâs infatuation with hockey.
A nausea youâre becoming incredibly familiar with settles low in your belly, and you canât discern whether itâs the nerves or the Abbot baby. Maybe it senses itâs father is near, somehow.
Maybe youâre just going crazy.
After what seems like hours, the team skate off the ice and head for the locker room. You figure the group of girls are going to congregate right outside the lockers, and decide youâd rather not have an audience for this.
Your chosen spot is by the lobby door, and you suddenly hope that there isnât a back entrance out of this place that he might take.
When Jack finally appears, your breath hitches a little. Sweat dripping along his hairline, and t-shirt straining tight against his biceps, you hate yourself for the thoughts that pop into your head.
The memories of six weeks ago.
Youâre trying to formulate your opening line when his gaze lands on you, eyes widening. Thereâs a girl by his side - a pretty blonde - but he shrugs her off, something murmured in her direction before she frowns and turns her attention to one of the guys leaving after him.
âStar⊠hey,â the nickname catches you off-guard, and for a second you think he might have mistaken you for someone else.
Great.
Thatâs just what you need.
The father of your baby doesnât even remember conceiving said child.
âUh, no,â You frown. âIâm not Star.â
âNo, right, yeah,â He replies, voice almost a stammer. If you werenât a bundle of nerves yourself, youâd be able to give it more thought. At the idea that you might make Jack Abbot nervous. âI have a shit memory when Iâm drunk - couldnât remember your name-â
Boy, do you know how to pick them.
â-so Star was kind of like a place-holder. You said you liked music, and played in a band, so⊠rockstarâŠâ He trails off, cheeks tinging pink. âWhatever, itâs stupid.â
Maybe if you weren't having the worst week of your life, you'd find it endearing.
Part of you doesnât even want to remind him of your name. Youâre not sure he deserves it. Even if he is even more attractive without the haze of the alcohol.
It takes gargantuan effort to remind yourself that youâre carrying his baby. Unfortunately, a name exchange is necessary, and grit it out.
Jack smiles, grin crooked as he takes you in. âSuits you. But I still think somethinâ about you screams Star.â Just like that, the jock persona is back, and he looks totally at ease. You wish you could say the same. âWas wondering if I was gonna hear from you. When you didnât text me, figured you werenât interested,â He shrugs, a level of candour you donât expect from a hockey player.
âHow the hell would I text you? I didnât have your number. I didnât even know your last name until-â
You cut off, suddenly unwilling to share your connection to Robby. This is already awkward enough as it is - letting Jack know that he knocked up one of his best friendâs sisters would complicate it far more than necessary.
Youâre simply two strangers, who made a mistake, and need to fix it.
Nothing more.
Jackâs eyes narrow a little. âI left a note. Beside the bed. With my number.â
âWhat? No you didnât.â
His arms are crossed as he leans against the doorway. âCross my heart, honey. You were the one who left me hanginâ. But itâs alright - Iâm not a vindictive man. Iâm happy to forgive and forget.â
The urge to roll your eyes overtakes you. You donât have time for this. âIâm not here to fuck. I⊠god, I donât even remember most of what we did.â
A complete lie. Youâve replayed it almost every night since it happened.
"You've really got a way of making a guy feel memorable, you know that?"
Again with the amused expression. Like heâs in on a joke that you didnât even know existed.
"I wasn't trying to make you feel anything."
"No?"
"No."
His grin fades just enough for something more thoughtful to settle in its place. "I thought maybe I'd said something."
"You didn't."
"Or did something."
"You didn't."
âWell then, Star,â he replies, âto what do I owe the pleasure? If you arenât here for round two?â
No time like the present.
Glancing around to make sure that nobody else is within earshot, you prepare to break it to him gently. Maybe give him a recap on exactly how babies are made, just so he canât try and blame you entirely. Instead, all that comes out is, âIâm pregnant.â
All amusement vanishes from his face. His expression empties so completely that, for one awful heartbeat, you wonder if heâs having some kind of stroke.
He just stares.
At you.
Not your face, exactly - his gaze flicks downward for the briefest instant before snapping back, as though the words have suddenly given your body a shape he can't quite reconcile with the one standing in front of him.
His mouth opens.
Closes.
When he finally draws a breath, it's shallow. âWell - youâre obviously getting rid of it, right?â
While you hadnât been expecting him to jump for joy, he still manages to disappoint. You know that the answer should be an easy yes. It is a yes. Youâre planning on hitting up Planned Parenthood next week, even with your lingering doubts.
But thereâs something about his tone that makes you bristle.
The most illogical part of your brain is annoyed. At Robby, for making this all so much more complicated than it needed to be. At yourself, for letting it happen in the first place. At Jack, for acting like this is just some minor inconvenience, when itâs your whole life at stake.
The last thing you want is to let him think heâs got one-up on you.
âI wanted to talk to you about it, first,â You grit out. âDidnât feel right not telling you. It is half-you, after all.â
âIs it definitely mine?â
The question stops you in your tracks, and if looks could kill, Jack Abbot would be a dead man. âOf course itâs yours. Do you really think I would lie about something like that? Youâre the only person Iâve slept with in the past six months, so if it isnât yours then this is some kind of fucking Jesus situation, okay?â
"I didn't mean-"
"No?" You cut in, your laugh sharp. "Because it sounded an awful lot like you were asking if I'd been sleeping around. Like youâre some sort of fucking saint?"
"I wasn't saying that."
"You literally just asked if it was yours."
"I just-" He scrubs a hand over the back of his neck, frustrated. "People panic and they say stupid things."
"Clearly."
His jaw tightens. "I said I'm sorry."
"No," You reply evenly. "You said you didn't mean it. That's not the same thing."
âWell, I am sorry,â he concedes, gaze dropping to his shoes. âFuck⊠you just - thatâs not what I thought you were going to say.â
You give him a little bit of space to process, lip between your teeth while you wait for him to speak again. When he does, your mind is made up. Any sliver of you that had considered keeping the baby dies away, at the idea of having to co-parent with this man for the rest of your life.
âI canât have a baby. Weâre in the championships. I-Iâm going to med school.â
âYou think I donât know that? Itâs not like I donât have plans too. Shit. I don't even know why I'm here. This was a fucking mistake."
"Youâre here because you wanted me to know."
"Yeah." You nod once. "And now you do. Guess weâre done here.â
âOh come on,â He sighs, reaching for your arm. You tug it out of reach just before he can make contact. âDonât be like that. Do you want me to like⊠come, or anything? Or pay for⊠fuck, I donât know.â
You snort humourlessly. âAfter today, Iâm not sure I ever want to see you again.â
His expression morphs into one of incredulity, and you realise youâd really like to smack him right now. âYouâre mad at me?â
Your jaw drops. âYou just cited hockey as a reason you canât have a baby.â
Jack lets out a sharp breath through his nose, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "That's not what I-"
"No?" Your laugh is thin and brittle. "Because that's sure as hell what it sounded like."
"Will you stop trying to put words in my mouth? I fucked up. Iâm sorry. Can you blame me for being shocked? I know it's inconvenient."
"For you."
"For both of us."
You think you might scream if you have to look at him any longer. âWhatever. I have to go. I have work.â
You turn on your heel, but Jack reaches for you, hand wrapping around your wrist. You can feel each callous on his fingers, the warmth radiating from him despite the chill of the rink. "Will you... let me know you're okay?"
You sling your backpack over your shoulders, and roll your eyes. "I'll be fine. You can pretend this never happened and go back to your picture-perfect life."
You donât give him the satisfaction of glancing back as you storm off, and yet you get the impression that his eyes donât leave you until youâre out of sight.
thinking about fireman bradley again he plagues me đđ imagining our girl getting a cheeky little tour round the station from bradley intended to be completely innocent but they're so obsessed with each other so it takes a little detour... and mav (fire captain at the station i'm thinking?) walks in on them and meets our girl for the first time and of course loves her and wants to properly get to know her "but maybe not wearing your helmet in the locker room, bradley" (the man in question is as red as his helmet and our girl's just there giggling)
It had started out as an innocent tour.
Still in the early stages of dating, and with Bradley's long shifts, he'd figured that while he's pulling doubles all week, he may as well make the most of it.
Except now he has you pressed up against his locker, and he's not sure how he's supposed to go three more days without spending the night in your bed.
His helmet is discarded beside you both, from where you'd just been trying it on, and his hands snake under your thighs to hoist you up against him.
Just then, the door to the locker room bursts open, and you both freeze. Much to your horror, standing in the doorway is Pete Mitchell, Bradley's godfather.
A man who is so important to Bradley that you've seen a multitude of pictures of him already, and who you very much don't want to meet with your legs wrapped around his son's waist.
A squeak escapes from your lips, while Bradley's face starts to steadily redden. "Mav, we were just-"
A hand is raised. "I don't want to hear from you right now." His gaze shifts to you, expression softening a little. "Pete. Nice to finally meet you. Bradley talks about you literally all the time."
"He does?" You're a little surprised. It's only been a few months, and with the hectic work schedules you both follow, you'd been trying to take it slowly. "It's nice to meet you too, Mr. Mitchell."
"I would rather the circumstances were different, but I suppose, that's all Bradley's fault. Not yours."
