Teller’s Anarchy

A labored breath escaped him, along with another rivulet seeping through his shirt. His free hand itched for the cell phone lying beside him on the cement. Backup was on the way, taking a bit long though.

Time was always the question and the challenge. The decisions in between were what he was usually good at, even in moments like these.

He picked up the phone. He ignored the shake in his hand as his thumb pressed a series of digits he’d long ago memorized, just in case he ever had to call you from a phone that wasn’t his, on a line that couldn’t be traced. This was one of those times.

The line rang so long, he was losing hope that you’d answer.

Until your voice finally greeted him, with a raspy clearing of your throat and sleep-laden confusion.

“Hello?”

His lips raised toward a smile. “Hey, sweetheart. Sorry I woke you.”

“Russ? Hey…what’s this number you’re calling me from? You okay?” you asked. He heard the shifting of fabric.

He could imagine you sitting up in bed, leaning on your elbow as the sheets slid down your body a little. He closed his eyes. He could pretend he was there with you, sliding in from behind and burying his face in the familiar hollow of your neck and shoulder. Your hair would tickle his forehead, but he’d get the flowery mix of your soap and body lotion stuck in his nose, rather than the copper tang of blood.

“Yeah, everything’s cool,” Russell said. He bit the inside of his lip as the gray ceiling momentarily turned charcoal in his vision. There was numbness in his fingertips. “Just had a minute, wanted to check up on you.”

“I’m good,” you said. “Miss you though.”

He was trying to keep his breathing shallow, but he needed a deeper one then.

“Miss you too, baby.”

“When will you be home?”

“Soon as I can,” he said, stifling another pained grunt as he shifted against the wall. “Keep the lights on for me.”

“Yeah? Last time you said that, you were held up for three weeks," you said wryly. "Think I need to collab with Dory and invent a virtual lie detector."

“You know what, maybe you should just tell me what you’re wearing. Give me some ideas on how to make it up to you when I get home,” he teased, though it ended on a shallow cough.

His gaze wandered the warehouse. It looked like it hadn’t been in use for a while, but he could smell the remnants of sawdust and mildew in the air. The only light came from the slivers filtering in through the closed exit doors, and a small window for ventilation near the ceiling.

He didn’t think he’d go out in a fucking backwoods middle of nowhere place like this, but it was as decent as any he could expect in this line of work. Good enough, if he got to talk to you first.

But you didn’t laugh like he expected.

“Baby,” you said. Concern crept back in. “For real, are you okay? You don’t sound right.”

“Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat. “Just a little tired. Waiting on someone to get here, so we can get this show on the damn road.”

Just then, he heard the sound of wide tires pulling to a stop outside the warehouse. Russell didn’t relax just yet. That could've either been his backup, or his target's delayed reinforcements. He tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder on his right side, wincing at the pain the movement caused as he reached for his gun.

“Actually, they just got here. Gotta let you go,” he said.

“Russ, wait.”

“I love the sound of your voice, you know that?” he said, flickering at a smile. “And I love you.”

“…I love you too,” you said, on a slightly unsteady breath.

He knew he hadn’t convinced you that everything was fine. You were too smart, knew him too well by now.

Regardless, he had to hang up. Then he raised his gun at an angle that still kept his elbow steady, resting against his side.

The door scraped against the ground as it opened. The man’s tall gait came in swiftly, then picked up speed. Russell’s vision might've been blurring on the edges, but he recognized that blonde head. He was able to relax, lowering his gun.

“Russ,” Colter said, grabbing his brother’s shoulder that didn’t have a hole shot through it, just inches below. “Hey, you with me?”

“Mhmm,” Russell said, as his eyes closed on him for a second. He forced himself to stay awake through sheer willpower. “Not goin’ anywhere, little brother.”

“That’s right,” Colter said more firmly. The worry was clear in his brown eyes, but he smiled anyway, digging into the small duffel he brought with him. He went for the antiseptic and the bandages first, then the pliers. “You’re lucky I wasn’t too far.”

He moved back Russell’s jacket, then tore at the collar of his grimy, blood-stained shirt.

“Who me? I’m fine,” Russell said. “I’ve had way worse than this.”

“You don’t look fine,” Colter said, trying to gently pry Russell’s hand away from the wound. “Here, let me see.”

“I’m good.”

“No, you’re not. Move your hand so I can see?”

Russell smirked. “So bossy.”

Despite himself, Colter shook his head in amusement.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle. You should see the other guy.”

“Right. That’s why you called me, because you have this all handled.”

Russell’s body seized up with a flinch at Colter’s pliers seeking the fat piece of bullet still lodged inside his chest.

“Hey, have a heart, huh?" Russell complained. "Some anesthetic, please.”

It was another 18 hours before Russell’s Chevelle Malibu crossed the threshold of Wyoming’s state line, and another two before he stopped in the driveway outside the modest house he now called home.

He was slow moving as he hefted his duffel bag. Every step was a calculated trudge up the wide, white stones of the pathway. The neighborhood was quiet after dark, but the porch light was on. It was his target, and his beacon.

He unlocked the front door with his keys and found mostly darkness, except for the warm glow of the hallway light. He didn’t have time to make it there though—not when you were already hurrying out from the master bedroom to meet him.

He smiled at the sight of you in a tank-top and your most well-worn sweatpants, but you looked more relieved than happy. The kind of relief that wasn’t calm, even when your hands were on him, gripping his leather jacket like you were making sure he was actually there. He let his duffel fall those few inches to the hardwood floor.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, though he stiffened and grunted in pain when your hands landed on his shoulders. Specifically, his left.

You pulled back on reflex, gasping softly. You stared up at him in worry. He looked so pale...

“It’s okay,” he said, holding you by your waist. “It’s just—”

You didn’t wait for his inevitable lie. You were verging on angry as you carefully pulled down the zipper of his jacket.

“Uh, wait a minute,” Russell said, but you couldn’t be placated. You wouldn’t let him stop you from finding whatever he didn’t want you to see.

Soon, you almost wish you had.

“Oh my God,” you breathed, though it was choked by tears as you took in the blood covering the entire left side of his gray plaid.

He had a red-tinged bandage covering the area just above his heart. It was held in place by medical tape and stretchy gauze that wrapped around his shoulder and under his arm. His chest and stomach were stained with crimson blotches leading from the wound. He smelled like rust and antiseptic, grime and sweat.

He watched every shade of your reaction, from shock to dismay. In hindsight, he should've at least tossed the shirt.

“Russell, what the fuck?” you said shakily.

His hand raised to cradle your cheek, earning your attention back up to his face rather than his body. His thumb caressed your skin, brushed away some tears.

“It looks worse than it is,” he said.

You shook your head. “You need to go to a hospital."

“I already got patched up. It’s okay, just need to sleep it off,” he replied. Colter had stabilized him enough to take him to the closest ER for the stitches. Colt even stuck with him until the doctor was done, probably to make sure Russell actually sat through the whole process.

“It’s not okay,” you snapped. “It’s not fucking okay.”

You stepped away from him and retreated back into the bedroom, holding a trembling hand to your mouth as you went.

He didn’t exactly know if he was welcome, but he really needed a shower and a solid night’s sleep, and he never slept better than when he was beside you.

But you avoided looking at him as you got ready for bed, haphazardly ripping off throw pillows and pulling back the comforter. Russell noticed your laptop on the nightstand, no less than three half-drunk mugs of coffee pushed back by the lamp, as well as a small hoard of candy wrappers and a bowl of popcorn on the floor. It was near four in the morning, and you hadn’t even tried to go to sleep. Or more likely, you couldn’t.

Russell carried the weight of that guilt into the adjoining bathroom, where he started by slowly trying to take off his jacket. He got halfway through peeling the sleeve off his left shoulder before the sharp pull of his wound forced a hiss from between his teeth.

“Fuck,” he said under his breath. There were more grunts and struggles, though he tried to keep it quiet. Once the jacket was a useless pile on the floor, he got a better look at his tattered shirt and released a steadying breath, almost shrugging at himself. All right, here goes.

He pulled back the collar of his shirt, but dried blood had adhered the fabric to the sensitive skin around his wound.

“Goddamn it,” he said lowly.

The bathroom door slid open. You paused in the entryway and crossed your arms, taking in every ridiculous part of this.

For once, Russell didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to upset you (anymore), and he had a feeling you’d appreciate a you should see the other guy joke even less than Colter had.

“Sit,” you said, pointing at the closed toilet lid.

“I got this,” Russell said. But you pinned him with a sharp look.

“Russell, sit down.”

He quirked his head. “Okay. Yes, ma’am.”

Your lips almost curved upward, but you remained firm. Your hands were gentle though; they grasped his arm and helped him sit. You started with the easiest part, kneeling down on the tile floor to unlace his boots.

Russell wanted to tell you that you didn’t have to do it, but he also didn’t want to rile you up again. Instead, he steadied himself by grabbing the edge of the counter. Guilt twinged more heavily in his heart as he watched you slide off his left boot. He tried to help you with the right one, hooking his foot behind the heel, but you laid a hand on his knee.

“I’ll do it,” you said, your gaze flicking up to his. “Just stay still.”

Russell paused, but he conceded. Soon you’d worked off his boots and socks, then slowly, his shirt. He held you to him afterward, by your hips. You saw that even his hands were stained pink. Either he’d scrubbed them raw or hadn’t scrubbed them hard enough.

“What happened?” you asked.

“Just…you know, got clipped,” he said. “It’s no big deal. As you can see, I’m fine.”

You shot him a flat look. “How did it happen?”

He sighed. “You know I can’t tell you that.”

That you did, but you hated it anyway. Your gaze once again drew to the web of bandages wrapped around his right shoulder. Your fingertips landed just beside the thickest padding above his heart. Russell’s hand covered yours.

“Thank you...and I’m sorry,” he said at last. “Didn’t mean to worry you.”

Your lips pursed. You took his face in your hands, a touch softer as you stroked his bearded cheeks. He was still too pale, but nonetheless, unfairly handsome.

“Please don’t do this to yourself anymore,” you said. “Don’t do this to me. You promised you’d be done with Horizon by now.”

Russell nodded. “I know.”

“You know?” Your brows rose. “Do you know what the past 24 hours were like for me since you called me in the middle of the night like that? I could hear it in your voice. You weren’t sure you were going to make it home.”

Your voice wavered as tears welled up in your eyes again, despite your attempts to blink them away with a sniff.

Russell didn’t have a clever retort this time. No way to downplay or tease. He had come back with a few scrapes and sprains before, but this was different. That look on your face when you opened his jacket, saw the blood and bandages, probably picturing a horror show underneath...

He wasn't ever going to forget that look. And it was better he didn't. He had to remind himself that you were a civilian. You weren't used to all this shit, the hazards of the job.

“You’re right. It’s not fair to you,” he said. “Just uh…give me a month or so to wrap things up. I already signed on for a couple more contracts.”

“You better mean it, Russ,” you said. You tilted his face upward, making sure he met your eyes. “You gave me your word.”

“I know, and I’m gonna keep it,” he said, squeezing your hips. He smiled. “To prove it, how about we reseal the deal, huh?”

You stared down at him, heaving a more exasperated sigh.

“Come on,” he said, biting his lip on a smirk. “We both know you wanna kiss the hell out of me.”

You wanted to slap him, more like.

You shook your head and pressed his face between your hands, grunting in sheer annoyance. But you still bowed your head and kissed him.

He smiled against your lips. His arms slid around your waist and trapped you against his body. He hummed at the feeling of you, of every soft curve that fit just right against him.

Your fingers slipped through his hair, gently at first. But you reminded him of your resolve with a tighter grip.

“I'm serious,” you warned, between kisses. Each one meant something different—relief, fear, yearning, passion, love, and long-suffering all at once.

He nodded, though he groaned, palming your ass as your tongue slipped against his.

“I got it, sweetheart,” he said. "Not happening again."

His hands then wandered down your back, dipping under the waistband of your sweatpants. He found you bare underneath, no panties. He was pleased at the thought as he pressed a line of open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, down your neck, earning your soft moan. His fingers trailed under your tank top next, pushing the fabric up higher and raising goosebumps in his wake.

“Take a shower with me?” he asked, with lips pressed to your skin.

“Hmph. You definitely need a shower,” you said through slightly panting breaths. You helped him stand so you both could work on getting off his jeans.

He grinned. “So that’s a yes?”

Your lips threatened a smile in return.

“That’s a, get your ass in there,” you said, but you grabbed his elbows to steady him when his broad frame teetered on his feet. “Be careful.”

His hand fell to your shoulder gratefully.

“Yes, ma’am.”

AN: lol what are we gonna do with him? 😅 I think this helps make even more sense why reader's so mad at him in Part 1 of Breaking Point.

And I seriously hope Russell comes back more regularly for season 4. That twist at the end of 3x22 is more interesting than any other episode/arc in S3 imo. Until then, hope you enjoy some angsty hurt/comfort!

Let me know what you think in the reblogs/comments! 💙🩵💛

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"No."

Garrett said at the same time as you said, "Yes."

Just to prove his point, Garrett kissed you again. You swore you could hear Allie spew out an 'ugh' before walking away.

Your hand slid underneath the table to Garrett's thigh, squeezing it a little as he kissed you hard. Garrett licked his bottom lip as he pulled away, looking over your swollen-looking ones with a glint in his eye.

"I swear I've done nothing but kiss you today." You said, licking your own lips. Garrett looked eagerly at them as you did, but made no move to lean in.

You felt his arm move from cupping your neck to just draping over the back of the booth behind you.

"Sounds like a good birthday to me."

"Okay. No need to look so smug with yourself." You rolled your eyes and let your head fall onto his shoulder.

Garrett kissed your forehead, letting you rest neatly tucked up against him.

"Didn't even get a kiss from Dean this year." You pouted.

"Going to pretend I didn't just hear my girlfriend say that." He pretended to sound offended, but he knew what you meant.

Every year Dean has kissed you on the cheek for your birthday, because before your relationship with Garrett you were trying to make him jealous with the help of your best friend Dean. One night, at a house party, things came to a heat when you asked Dean to kiss you, informing him it was just to make Garrett jealous, and he barely made it to a kiss on your cheek before Garrett shoved him out of the way and kissed you instead.

"Can't believe it's been a whole two years since that house party."

"Still think you could have just talked to me, rather than try and kiss my best friend in front of me."

"Really? And what would I have said?" You picked your head up from his shoulder to look up at him, "'Oh hey Garrett. By the way, even though you could literally have any girl on this campus, of which six of them have already thrown themselves at you tonight, I think you should actually be with me.'"

"Baby, it was always gonna be you."

Before you could respond, Dean plated a round of shots on the table.

"Right. I've had enough of you two... Canoodling." Dean, already quite drunk, pointed between you and your boyfriend.

"Canoodling?" You laughed.

"Yeah, are you 85 years old?" Garrett teased, feeling accomplished when it earned another laugh from you.

"Fuck off, Graham." Dean snarled, "This is for the birthday girl." Dean handed you a shot at the same time Garrett took one for himself.

"Thanks, Dean."

"Happy motherfucking birthday, Y/N!"

The surrounding people cheered as Dean shouted.

You swung back the shot of what genuinely tasted like pure methanol, your whole body shivering to try and get rid of the awful taste in your mouth. Dean wasn't phased at all, but he was probably already five shots in.

"You didn't even bring a chaser?" Garrett asked, offended.

"You've got your girlfriend for that." Dean patted Garrett's shoulder before meandering off to the next willing participant of doing shots with him.

"He's so drunk."

"Yeah and you don't want to be kissed by a drunk-Dean."

"Oh really?" You raised your eyebrows at your boyfriends logic, "And what about a drunk-Garrett?"

"That, I think is acceptable."

Garrett leaned forwards, attempting to kiss you again. His arm curling tighter around your neck again to bring you as close as possible to him. No distance between you was the goal apparently.

"No! Absolutely not. Enough of this." Hannah's voice appeared before Garrett could fully commit to kissing you.

"What?" Garrett asked innocently.

"You've been hogging the birthday girl all day. Enough."

"Yeah, but she's my birthday girl. I have a right to hog." Garrett argued. Was it a red flag that your insides melted over that comment? Oh sue you - Garrett Graham can get away with saying anything when it comes to you.

"Um, I'm sat right here." You perked up.

"Yeah, yeah," Hannah brushed you off and crossed her arms over her chest to seem much - much - bigger than she was. "She's coming to dance with us. End of."

"And if she doesn't?"

"Again... Right here..."

Hannah gave a smug smile, clapped her hands twice and made Tucker and Logan appear from nowhere. They instantly grabbed onto Garrett's body, pulling him from the booth as best they could.

The move was not smooth at all.

In fact, you'd had to stop thanks to a short-circuit in your brain when Garrett's top accidentally lifted up to reveal a dark dusting of hair running down from his belly button.

Fuck.

"Quick, quick." Hannah brought you back to the moment.

You successfully shuffled out of the booth with a large protest from Garrett, who looked like someone had just stepped on his favourite toy.

You raised your hands in the air as Disturbia by Rihanna played loud throughout Malone's.

Hannah, Allie, Sabrina and Grace all cheered as they formed a little circle around you. Allie pretended to throw fake money at you as you swayed your hips from side-to-side, bringing your hands down your body.

You laughed as you held out your hand for Hannah to take. She twirled you around in a circle before you returned the gesture.

The girls closed the circle then, all of you joining to form one dancing pack.

Malone's was hot now, no doubt from the endless dancing.

Your neck was sweaty and you couldn't remember that last time that you had a drink.

"I'm going to get a drink." You told Grace, who you knew would pass on the information to the rest of them.

Dispersing from the group as the music changed to play Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! by ABBA, you took note of your boyfriend watching you from across the room with a sulk on his face. His expression brightened when he realised you weren't dancing anymore, but his interested visibly peaking more when you didn't come over to him.

"Vodka cranberry please!" You asked the bartender.

He nodded and got to work, whilst your body still danced to the music. Malone's was playing good music tonight.

Your breath hitched when you felt Garrett's hand snaked around the skin of your waist, beneath your top, to place on either side of your stomach. His front was pressed firmly against your back and you couldn't help but groan at the contact.

Your head rolled back onto his shoulder, eyes closed, as you continued to sway to the music. Surprisingly Garrett swayed along with you.

He didn't miss the opportunity to kiss your neck, earning a small laugh from you.

You thanked the bartender as he deposited the drink on the bar in front of you, Garrett subtly nodding his head to the guy as if to say 'put this drink on my tab'.

"You know," His voice was husky as he spoke close to your ear, "ABBA gets me."

"Oh yeah?"

Garrett’s fingers spread wider against your stomach. “Pretty sure this song is about how devastating it is when your girlfriend abandons you to go dance with her girl friends.”

"Hmm. I thought it was about a group of girl friends going out to find a good-looking man." You took a sip of your drink.

"Well lucky for you, you found me."

You rolled your eyes, though your mouth betrayed you with a smile.

"So humble."

"I try."

Garrett’s chin settled on your shoulder as the two of you swayed absentmindedly to the music. His fingers drummed lazily against your stomach, almost in time with the beat.

"You know," you said, turning slightly in Garrett’s arms, "most boyfriends would probably let their girlfriend dance with her friends on her birthday without acting like they’re being personally victimised."

Garrett gasped softly against your neck. "That’s crazy. Name one."

You laughed again and Garrett visibly brightened at the sound, like he physically couldn’t help it.

Just as you were about to fully turn around in Garrett's arms, Hannah appeared beside you both grabbing onto your arm.

"Photobooth! Now!"

"She's always at the scene of the crime." You heard Garrett sigh as you were once again pulled from him.

"Get over it," Hannah told him. "You’ve spent the entire night attached to her like a backpack."

"A very handsome backpack."

You looked over your shoulder just in time to catch Garrett watching you go with the same wounded expression from earlier.

Honestly, it was a little ridiculous how much your chest warmed at the sight.

Because Garrett Graham - campus hockey star - looked genuinely miserable every time someone stole you away from him for longer than five minutes.

The photobooth is far too small to fit all five of you and your friends in, but you somehow make it work.

You all pose with a bunch of stupid poses; kissing and squishing each other's cheeks, trying to create finger hearts with each other and just generally laughing so much that you were all worried you might pee yourselves.

Sabrina had recorded the entire time in the photobooth on her phone, which was going to be so funny to watch back later.

They all fell out of the photobooth one at a time. Grace and Sabrina decided they were going to get another round of drinks for everyone, whilst Allie and Hannah decided to the bathroom together.

You were looking at the photo strip that had been printed, when the curtain was pulled across the entrance again and you were being pinned back against the wall of the photobooth.

"You're never beating the backpack allegations, you know?" You teased as you smiled up at Garrett.

A little curl fell down over his forehead and you reached up to fix it instantly - almost like it was second nature at this point.

"Missed you."

"Missed you too." You replied, "Want to take some photos?"

"Yeah, okay."

"Come sit here." Garrett moved and patted his lap, already sat down on the small bench inside the photo booth. He pulled on your hand, forcing you to sit on top of his thighs.

You tried not to focus on how strong and sturdy they felt beneath you.

You settled comfortably sideways on his thighs, wrapping your arms around his shoulders so that you didn’t slide off.

Garrett made sure that his arms were firmly around your waist so he could keep you sat where he wanted.

It said ‘pay to start’ on the screen, you opened your phone to open up your bank app and caught sight of you lock screen.

It was a pretty picture of your boyfriend, sitting on a beach with an ice-cream. He was laughing at something you had said and as a result had gotten ice-cream on the tip of his nose. It had been one of your favourite days ever, so you just had to keep it as your lock screen.

“You changed your lock screen.” Garrett said.

“Yeah, I did.”

“What happened to the picture of us two?” He asked.

“Preferred this one of you.” 

Instead of saying anything to you, he leant in and gave you a few kisses on your neck whilst your phone payed for the machine to start working.

“Stop. You’ll give me a hickey for these photos.”

“And?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide your smirk. Two seconds later you had to shove his face away as he started to kiss you in the same spot again.

The photobooth screen started to count down from five seconds and you positioned yourself better in front of the camera.

Garrett tightened his arms around your waist and brought you closer in to him.

The first photo was both of you just smiling into the camera. Your heads just laying on each other and squeezing each other tight, your smiles just showing how happy you both were.

The second photo Garrett looked at you so you turned to face him, his eyes sparkling at you with so much love. You rested one of your hands on his cheek and kept on looking at him as the photo clicked.

The third photo was entirely candid, after Garrett had made a joke. You laughed so loud you nearly fell backwards and it only made the entire situation funnier. The photo was captured of the both of you without you even noticing.

The last photo Garrett took the lead and kissed you.

"I love you." You whispered against his lips.

"I love you too." He mumbled against your lips.

Garrett stopped kissing you long enough to reach over your shoulder and grab the photo strips as they printed. You smiled instantly at the sight of them.

"Oh my god, the third one..."

Your laugh caught in your throat slightly as you looked closer.

In every single photo, Garrett was looking at you.

Even the first one. Even when you’d both been smiling at the camera, his eyes were tilted slightly toward your face instead.

"What?" Garrett asked softly, noticing you staring at the strip of photos intensely.

"Nothing."

His hands rubbed absently up and down your waist, "Tell me."

"You're not looking at the camera in any of these."

IT TOOK ALFIE a lot of convincing to manage to drag you out of the house with your makeup and hair done all nice and elegant.

The first eight weeks of motherhood had been an absolute whirlwind of emotions. You felt like an entirely different person, and in all fairness you probably were. You were learning new things every day, and with that, came a lot of emotional responsibility and exhaustion. You passed out basically every night, with no time to pillow talk with your boyfriend, only to be woken up three hours later to your baby’s loud screeching cries.

Alfie had been an absolute godsend during these moments, because he was up before you could even blink back the bleariness in your eyes, tending to your daughter.

“I know, I know, life is so hard as a baby.” He spoke sarcastically to the newborn, cradling her in his arms.

At seven months, you’d moved out of his one bedroom London apartment and to one in the same building as Liv and Isaac. It was more homely and had numerous bedrooms that were perfect to use. One of the rooms became a nursery, and the other was a storage holder, an absolute mess and explosion of PR packages and YoungLA boxes.

Though the move was much needed and very convenient (especially since Arabella had been born) it really began to highlight how every little thing in your life had changed. Alfie’s trip to the Fellas Studio was different. The casual walks that Arabella now tagged along in in her little pushchair was different. The local shop you went to in the middle of the night when you needed something was different.

But it was all worth it when you looked down at the little bundle of joy in your arms.

Speaking of the little one, she was currently laid on her back on your large bed while Alfie tickled her sides and blew on her stomach, causing loud cackles to ring through the apartment.

You were sitting at your vanity, applying your first full face in over two months. You hadn’t forgotten how, but you were certainly taking your time with it.

You’d pumped a whole lot of milk earlier, hoping that it would be enough to last over the night.

Oh, yeah.

Chip and Sabina had invited you, Arabella and Alfie out for the night at a decent restaurant with a couple other friends. You were quick to turn them down, not quite ready to show your face yet, but your boyfriend had convinced you.

“Nearly done, girl?” Alfie asked, holding Arabella up close to you before putting on a high-pitched voice, “Mummy hurry up!”

She whined and fidgeted uncomfortably as the volume hit her ears.

“Alfie!” You scolded gently, “That’s no good on her ears.”

“Sorry.” He mumbled, holding the baby closer to his chest, “Sorry munchkin.”

You sighed, standing up and looking at yourself in the mirror.

Your body didn’t look or feel the same anymore, something that left you feeling more self conscious than ever.

Every curve looked different, thicker. Your features were softer in a way that weighed on your heart a little. Your top seemed too tight, though it would’ve fit you perfectly this time last year, and your jeans clung a little too tightly around your thighs and bum.

“Hey.” Alfie muttered, arms slithering around your waist and lips finding your neck, “You look beautiful.”

“Yeah, but I don’t feel it.” You muttered, running your hands over your stomach.

“Oi, none of that.” He frowned, pulling your hands away and interlocking your fingers with his, “You carried a whole baby inside of you. Our baby. You’re allowed to not look the same.”

“I don’t wanna go.” You exhaled heavily, resting your head back on his shoulder.

“Too bad, sexy.” He slapped your thigh playfully, “You look fucking gorgeous, and I wanna show you off to everyone tonight.”

“You’re only saying that because you’re obligated to.” You mumbled, meeting his eyes through the mirror.

He shrugged, “Obligated or not, I’ll say proudly that I think you’re the most beautiful, sexy woman on this planet. Plus, I’m your boyfriend, so you kinda have to listen to me.”

You scoffed out laughter at his words, digging your elbow back into his ribs, making him exclaim loudly.

Before you left, you caught another glimpse of yourself in the mirror, but Alfie snatched you up by the wrist, dragging you away before you could let any more self-critical thoughts loom over you.

Everyone was fairly excited to see you when you walked up to the reserved table with a pushchair in front of you.

“Reader!” Sabina’s face lit up, as she stood to hug you, “How are you?”

“I’m okay. Tired all the time, but okay.”

“Alright, bro?” Chip dapped Alfie up with a little shoulder hug as you made your way round the table to greet Arthur, Flo, Bach and Liv before taking your seat at the very end next to Sabina, so you had room for Arabella’s pushchair.

All the boys were sat opposite the girls, so Alfie took a seat opposite you and next to Chip.

“Readerrrrr,” Liv sang out before handing you a bottle of your favourite wine, “Ordered this for the table.”

You faltered, “I don’t know if I can.”

“Why?”

“I’m breastfeeding.”

“No, we searched it up before ordering. We did it with you in mind. You can have two glasses and then wait until tomorrow to feed again.”

You nearly got emotionally at the thought of them all taking you into such consideration.

“Thanks.” You took the bottle, pouring yourself a glass.

As the meal went on, the topic of conversation began to drift slowly away from you, and more so towards Arabella.

“Is she asleep?” Arthur asked.

You peered into the pushchair and shook your head, “No, she’s awake.”

“Can I hold her?”

“Yeah, sure.” You nodded.

Arthur made his way over, carefully lifting Arabella out of her comfort zone and into his arms.

“Hi, Bella. How are you?” He cooed.

She grinned at the sight of him, her gummy smile on show.

“Oh, you are so precious. Aren’t you?”

She giggled, dramatically throwing her head back.

You moved on instinct, but Arthur caught her quicker.

“What’s that for? So silly.” He tutted playfully, tickling her cheek.

She began getting a little restless and whiney after a while, wriggling in his arms.

“It’s not you. She’s just proper hyperactive.” You swallowed some garlic bread, taking her off of him.

She was supposed to relax in your arms, but she didn’t.

She whined even louder, quickly descending into high-pitched cries.

“What’s wrong, baby?” You frowned, patting her back as she wailed down your ear.

“Has she done a poo?” Alfie asked, scooting his chair around the table to be closer to you.

You shook your head.

“Bells.” Alfie whispered, stroking her back and holding up the little half-blanket, half-teddy that was in her pushchair, “Look.”

That did absolutely nothing to help.

In fact, it might’ve just made it all the lot worse.

“Bella, can you stop crying?” You cooed, kissing her cheek as you began to notice the mix of glares you were getting from other tables.

Some people looked annoyed, some looked disturbed, some looked downright disgusted.

You were incredibly grateful for all your friends around you.

They were all calling her name, trying to distract her with little words and phrases.

“Is she hungry?” Flo asked, and Alfie was already pulling out her milk bottle from the little bag slung over the handles of her push chair.

You took it from him, offering the squishy end to your baby with a gentle coo.

She screeched loudly, turning away from it and swatting a hand out, sending the bottle flying across the table and spilling all over the cloth, your food, the floor, and your jeans.

“Arabella!” You snapped, standing swiftly as the milk hit your jeans.

“Oh, fuck.” Alfie muttered, as everyone scavenged around for napkins to dry it up.

Your harsh tone only made her cries louder, attracting even more unwanted attention.

“I’m taking her outside.” You muttered, choosing to remove yourself from the situation.

The cold air was bitter on your cheeks from the moment you stepped into it, and it most certainly wasn’t doing you any favours in trying to calm Arabella down, but you were at a loss here.

You didn’t know whether or not to just call it a night and go home, because no matter what you did, she wouldn’t stop crying.

It was beginning to affect you too.

“Bella, please stop.” You croaked, sniffling as you bounced her in your arms, “Please?”

She didn’t.

Alfie joined you outside with the pushchair and that’s when you started sobbing.

“Hey, hey.” He sighed, placing his hands on your shoulders, “Don’t cry. Reader, it’s alright.”

“It’s not, Alf.” You hiccuped, “She won’t stop and I don’t know what to do and everyone in there was giving me horrible looks.”

“Who was?” He frowned, protectiveness rolling off of his suddenly rigid body.

“Everyone!” You cried, your emotion only making Arabella’s worse.

“Alright, alright.” He took Bella from your arms, holding her to his chest and laying a soothing hand over her back while pressing kisses to the top of her head, “Calm yourself down, it’s okay.”

You leaned against the wall outside, the length of your thumb pressing beneath your eyes and trying to soak up your salty tears before they fell.

The feeling of being a failing mother weighed on your mind constantly, and to see all those strangers glaring at you in such a horrible way because you couldn’t console your daughter had done nothing but confirm your worst fears.

Especially as her tears stopped after a couple of minutes in Alfie’s arms.

He settled her down into the pushchair, as she’d weared herself out from all her wailing.

“I feel like a failure.” You whispered, voice broken and small.

“No, no you’re not.” Alfie shook his head firmly, cupping your face and wiping your tears. “You can’t fail at something you’ve only been doing for two months — okay, you can, but not when it’s something like this. Being a parent takes time and a lot of learning and adapting. You’re not gonna get it right away, and neither am I. Lord knows I fuck up on a day to day basis.”

“Yeah, but you can calm her down. Why can’t I? I’m her mummy. She was inside of me for nine months, why doesn’t she feel calm around me?”

“You can’t look at it like that, angel.” He sighed, continuing to caress your face with his thumbs, “She does feel calm around you. Look at how she was giggling at home earlier. She wouldn’t act like that if she didn’t feel calm.”

You shrugged, having no actual response to his words.

“See.” He smiled, kissing your forehead, “I already paid our half of the bill, told everyone we’d leave. Let’s get going, yeah?”

Alfie pushed the pushchair on the way home, letting you walk without having to be worried about steering or jostling the baby too much. He also carried it up the stairs, which was his designated job anyway, but it still helped to see him so dedicated.

Back inside your apartment, you were quick to get into your pyjamas, while Alfie got Arabella into hers before handing her to you briefly so he could get down to his boxers.

You sighed as you sat up in bed, the newborn resting on your chest with her fingers in her mouth, finally quieted down to nothing but a few warbles and coos every few minutes. You dragged your hand lightly over her hair, smoothing out the soft whisps.

“Let’s get her to bed, then.” Alfie lifted her out of your arms, letting her rest against his bare chest.

He began to pace your room leisurely, the motion gradually lulling Arabella into a deep sleep.

He smiled triumphantly when he’d looked down to see her eyes shut and lips parted softly.

“I feel like superman whenever I get her to sleep. Nightmare.” He commented, making you chuckle softly and slide down so you were properly reclined in bed with the covers up to your chin.

Alfie disappeared briefly to lay Arabella down in her cot in the neighbouring room, before returning, setting up the baby monitor on the bedside table on his side of the bed, meaning he should theoretically be disturbed in his slumber first.

He shut all the lights off before crawling into bed behind you, arms wrapping around your waist as he pressed a number of kisses to the back of your head.

“You’re doing good, darlin’. Promise.” He hummed sincerely.

You moved, turning over to face him, “Promise me you’re not just saying that because you have to?”

He tutted, swooping down and stealing your lips into the softest kiss you’d felt in a while. It might not have been aggressive and hungry, but you could still feel the passion and love he poured into it.

When he pulled away, he brushed his nose against yours, “I promise, angel.”

You pushed yourself further into his chest, cheek resting against his skin and legs around his waist.

And in his hold, you drifted off, body slumping against his as all the stresses and downsides of the day were brushed off as ‘just another bad day’.

He continued to press gentle kisses to your hairline even when he knew you were asleep, simply because it was habit.

Caring for you was a habit.

YOU WERE SHOCKED at the production value of the Fellas Restaurant video. Though your boyfriend had been a member of the Fellas Family for a good few months now, it still felt unreal to see the amount of energy, time and expenses that were put into one video.

You and Sabina turned up to the shoot together, little 14-month-old Arabella sat on your hip, toying with your hair.

“Oh, there’s a little rocket out there!” Chip commented at the sight of his fiancee. “And little Arab! Hi!”

“Stop calling her that.” Alfie scoffed, “Bella is fine. Always gotta be complicated.”

“Josh, can we get special treatment?” Sabina asked.

“No, fuck off. You lot are stressing me out already.”

“No swearing around the baby!” She gasped, covering Arabella’s ears, making the baby giggle.

“Her dad’s AB, she’ll be fine.”

“Dada!” Arabella exclaimed.

“I’m here, girl, what d’you want?” Alfie poked his head out from the kitchen, “Gotta detach from daddy today, he’s on bar duty. Putting in a shift.”

“Well, yeah, Alf, you’re at work.” You sassed.

He waved you off, taking Arabella and tickling her sides.

She screeched loudly, giggling and writhing in his arms.

“None of that.” Cal said, “Immediately cut that shit out now.”

“Talk to my kid like that again.” Alfie snapped playfully. “She doesn’t even cry in public. She’s well-behaved.”

“Stan! See these rockets to their table!” Chip snapped his fingers.

The younger boy came rushing over, already sweating and began guiding you to your seats.

“Hi Bella.” Stan waved, making her grin at him, smacking a hand at him as a way to say hello.

You and Sabina sat down, and Flo and Liv arrived a few minutes later.

“Oh my God!” Liv exclaimed at the sight of the baby.

“You brought her with you?!” Flo gasped.

“Yeah, no point driving all the way up north to drop her off and then come back. Might as well just bring her to the shoot.” You said, having her perched on your lap.

“Hey Bella!” Flo cooed, “Can I hold?”

“Of course, yeah, yeah.” You held her out, allowing yourself some time for your arms to rest.

“What drinks have they got?” Liv asked.

“Alcohol or diet coke.”

“Is that it?” She barked out laughter.

“Yeah, you can probably ask for non-alcoholic, but Alfie’s behind the bar, so do with that what you will.”

“Oh, God, we’re not getting non-alcoholic drinks no matter what we order.” Flo groaned.

“Reader, did you bring Arabella?” Reev piped up from a few tables away.

“Yeah.”

“Can I say hello?”

“Yeah, ‘course!”

He came over, bending slightly at the knee to get face-to-face with the baby that was still in Flo’s arms.

“Hi!”

Arabella grinned, her chubby fingers reaching out and squeezing Reev’s chin.

“Thank you very much!” He laughed, making her giggle loudly. “Wait ‘til Theo comes back.”

“Where’s he gone?” Flo asked.

“Blank Street down the road.”

“He’s gone to Blank Street?!” All four of you exclaimed at the same time.

“‘Ank See!” Arabella tried to copy what you’d all said.

“Yes, Bella. How rude of Grandpa Theo to not offer to get us a Blank Street.” Sabina nodded, pouting dramatically at the baby.

“See you in a bit, Bella.” Reev waved before returning to his table.

—

You had ordered and received your drinks in the same amount of time that it took for Reev and Theo to get their food, making all of you girls start complaining.

“Here’s another drink from Alfie.” Stan rushed out, putting the glass down in front of you, “He said it’s meant to fizz like that.” And then he was off to serve another table.

“Alf!” You shouted out, shaking your head at his inappropriate joke.

“It’s lemonade, chill out, darlin’.” He winked at you.

“I wanted alcoholic.” You pouted.

“Oh, fucking hell, then.” He huffed, starting to make you another one from scratch. “D’you want spit in it?”

“As long as it’s yours.”

“Say nuttin’ darlin’.” He smirked whilst using his strange, deep voice, pretending to spit into the glass.

Arabella reached her hand out for the glass, but you were too focused on having a conversation with Alfie across the room.

“No!” Liv exclaimed, taking the glass and quickly moving it to her side of the table.

“Oh, shit, thanks, Liv.” You laughed.

Arabella’s bottom lip began to wobble, tears welling in her large round eyes that she most definitely inherited from you.

“Oh, no, I wasn’t shouting at you, babe.” Liv gasped, feeling awful.

She began crying lightly, not loud wails, but large globs of tears were streaking down her face.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”

“It’s okay.” You shook your head, “She’s just like me, she cries when anyone raises her voice in her direction.”

You shifted the baby’s body so that she was turned into you, face buried in your chest which was muffling her sniffles and coughs.

Alfie came over, leaving the freshly made drink in front of you, “Why’s she bawling?”

“Liv shouted out about her nearly dropping a drink off the table but Bella thought she was shouting at her.” You explained.

“I feel so bad.” Liv frowned.

Alfie grunted as he picked his daughter up, patting her back, “Quit the tears, darlin’. No need.”

“Dada.” She whined, clutching onto his shirt tightly, finding comfort in his large arms.

He bounced her lightly, kissing her cheek and swiping her tears away with the pad of his thumb. She calmed down a lot quicker in his arms than she did in yours, which was probably because he was incredibly nonchalant with her, getting her to stop crying and telling her that it didn’t matter because he was here now.

“Can we just say, we’ve been here 20 minutes and haven’t gotten any food.” Sabina said, “Reev and Theo have had all of their courses already.”

“They haven’t had dessert.” Alfie quipped.

“AB!” Chip shouted from the kitchen, “People want drinks!”

Arabella’s head also perked up, craning to see who had called her name.

“Shut up! I’m dad-ing right now!” Alfie snapped.

“That’s not part of your job description!”

“Aw, nah, he’s pissing me off.” Alfie grumbled for the bit as the camera was pointed at him, putting Arabella back in your arms once she’d calmed down, “In a bit, girls.”

“Wait, does she respond to AB too?!” Liv laughed.

“Yeah.” You chuckled, letting the baby gnaw at your finger, “Try it.”

“AB.” Liv cooed, “It sounds so weird saying it in a baby voice.”

Weird or not, Arabella lifted her head, blinking at Liv as if expecting a follow up question or an offer of food.

“Does he call her AB at home?” Flo questioned, and you nodded.

“He thinks it’s cool because he’s got, like, a successor, or whatever. She quite likes it too, it makes her giggle.” You replied, stroking under your baby’s chin.

—

Once the food had arrived, you were already starving, but it was surprisingly good. You weren’t expecting such a good turn out in the taste.

Except for the burger.

That was god awful.

You and Flo mutually agreed that it was way too onion-y.

You spat it out into a napkin, handing it to Stan.

“Give that to Alfie and tell him that him and his boys need to sort their shit out. That’s got way too much onion in it.”

“What? Er!” Stan exclaimed at the barely chewed beef and bun mixture in his hands.

He rushed to the bar, putting the napkin in Alfie’s hands.

“From your girlfriend. She said you lot need to sort your shit out ‘coz it’s too onion-y.”

Alfie frowned, scrunching his face up at your words and putting the food in his mouth.

“Has he just put that back in his mouth?” Theo gaped in disgust, his eyes flickering from Alfie to you.

“They have had a whole kid together.” Reev pointed out.

“Oh yeah.”

“It’s fine, Reader, what you whinging for?!” Alfie scoffed.

“It’s awful! The pizza’s good though.” You shrugged, feeding Arabella little spoons of guacamole.

It had smudged down her chin, and Sabina was very happily on the clean-up job, a scrunched up napkin in her hands to get rid of the muck when it built up too much.

—

Somehow, Theo, Reev and Charlie had come to join you and the girls, seven of you squeezed around one circular table with a camera man hovering nearby considering you, as a group, were providing the most content.

Liv had sat on the floor, cross legged, with Flo opposite her and Arabella in between. She was waddling between them, occasionally tripping onto her hands and knees.

“Whoopsies!” Flo would coo instead of causing a fuss.

“Why’s my yute crawling around on the floor?” Alfie commented, peering over the bar and watching from afar. “Hope she’s not putting those hands in her mouth after touching that grubby floor.”

“Why are you actually being such a ‘dad’ right now?” Chip chuckled, sipping the drink he’d had made for him.

“‘Coz I am now, bro. You’ll get it one day, unc.”

“I should’ve got it before you!” He argued, “Fuckin’ youth of today, popping out babies like this.”

“Chill.” Alfie reeled his arm back, pretending that he was going to punch his friend, “We’re responsible.”

“Clearly. Your mrs is on the bevs while your little one is scrounging for scraps on the floor.”

“One, Reader’s had two drinks. Two, Bells is not scrounging for scraps, she’s not even on food like that—“

“No way she’s got your food palette!" Chip cackled.

“She doesn’t. It’s just weaning her into solid foods is hard. You’ve gotta force ‘em to like it. It’s bare jarring actually, ‘coz she’ll just cry until she gets a slice of pear. It’s like, ‘nooo girl you’ve gotta have some, fuckin’’ … I dunno, whatever type of shit she doesn’t like.”

Chip was leaning against the bar, laughing hard as if he didn’t have two orders of pizzas that were waiting to be made.

“Bella.” Theo cooed, stroking the top of her head.

The baby’s head nudged upwards, looking at Theo with curiosity.

“Hi! You want food?” He hummed, holding the bowl of mashed avocado, “Nom nom?”

She nodded, opening her mouth.

He put the little spoon in her mouth, taking some of the food before wobbling off towards Liv.

“No, she’s so cute.” Theo gasped at you, making you laugh at the sheer joy on his face.

“Oh, shit! Got Grandpa Theo feeding Arab!” Chip exclaimed.

“Bro, seriously. What is with that nickname?” Alfie scoffed.

“Her name’s Arabella. Arab for short. It’s quirky. Niche.”

Alfie turned to the camera, “Bro learnt the word niche last night and won’t stop dropping it. Buzzword final boss.”

“You call her AB, you really can’t talk.”

—

“Your boyfriend is very aggressive.” Charlie commented as he walked by your table, “I asked for a smash burger and he’s actually just punched the entire thing!”

“It’s smashed, no?” You tilted your head.

Charlie looked to the camera with a ‘seriously?’ look.

“I’ll talk to him if you really want.”

“Please. I’m feeling quite— quite, unwelcome here.”

“Take that up with the chefs not me.” You shrugged.

“Alfie?” You called for him when he was at his busiest.

“Not right now, girl!” He responded, pouring two drinks at once.

“Alf!”

“Shut up, Reader! Fucking hell, I’m busy!” He snapped jokingly, throwing a dramatic hand into the air. “Honestly, I’m gonna spit in your food.”

“In my mouth first.” You snorted.

“Shut up, man!”

“AB!” Flo gasped out, adding to the banter.

“Mama shut!” Arabella repeated.

“Oh my God!” Sabina burst out laughing.

“No!” Alfie cursed, rushing over, “No, Bells, we don’t tell mummy to shut up. It’s not nice.”

“Dada shut.”

“Yes, good.” Liv nodded encouragingly, making you laugh.

“None of that.” Alfie frowned, nose scrunched up.

Arabella copied his expression, wobbling her head at the same time.

—

“Are you making the editors blur out her face?” Theo asked you after multiple rounds of peekaboo with Arabella.

“Yeah.” You nodded, “She’ll be in it but not her face. Well, they fucking better.”

Cal dropped by, “What’s this?”

“Saying how your editors better blur Bella’s face out.”

“Oh, nah nah they will.” Cal nodded adamantly, “How’s the food?”

“Did you make the burger?” You mocked him.

He panned to the camera with a bored look and then back to you, “Yeah, I did actually.”

“It was awful.”

“Okay, well you’re the only person who’s said that so you can fuck off.”

You laughed.

“Also, make another ‘burger’ or ‘stinker’ joke and I’ll rip your fellas ballsack off, cook it and serve it to you. No more kids.”

“Doing us a favour.” You shrugged, “Just means he doesn’t have to pull out anymore.”

“I can’t deal with you two. Seriously.” Cal pinched his nosebridge.

“Who’s pulling out?” Alfie asked loudly from the bar.

“Not you anymore, apparently. Cal’s gonna rip your nuts off.” You answered.

“He’s fucking not ‘coz I’ll dip ‘em in his fucking woke horse radish sauce and he can sued for having bollock sweat in his food. Gimp.”

“Why are you both ganging up on me?!— Nah, y’know what? Fuck the both of you.” Cal huffed, making his way back to the kitchen.

“Alf, are your balls actually sweating?” You frowned, just now catching onto what he’d said.

“Eurghhh!” Liv groaned.

“Balls, gooch, everything, girl!” He shouted, “Do you have any idea how stressful this is?!”

“Do you want relief?” You tilted your head.

The way his face lit up was amusing in itself, but his next words were even more so, “If you’re offering up bathroom slops, I’ll actually take you up on it.”

“No, that’s dirty.” You screwed your face up.

He looked gobsmacked, “You wanna talk about dirty!?”

“Shush! We’re in public!”

—

You, Sabina, Flo and Liv had ventured over to the kitchen to watch to food making process, as you were completely unconvinced that Cal and Chip were actually the ones cooking.

“Alright, Arab? Come ‘ere often?” Chip jokingly struck up a conversation with Arabella while she was on your hip.

She blinked at him, expression empty and confused, making you and the girls chuckle.

“Josh, you look really good in a chef’s hat.”

“Chill out, don’t even know you, girl.”

Sabina’s jaw dropped as her fiance jokingly dismissed her.

“I get this so much from the girls. Allllll the time.”

“Chip, you’re lucky you even pulled Sabina.” You chuckled.

Chip covered his face as he laughed and nodded, “It’s true, it’s true.”

“Ip!” Arabella practically barked, “Ip! Ip!”

“Is she trying to say Chip?!” Chip gasped, making Cal come over.

“There’s a ‘ch’ sound, honey.” Sabina explained gently, “Chip.”

“Ip!”

“Good enough.” Chip shrugged.

“Uncle Ip.” Alfie poked fun.

“Dada.” Arabella cooed.

“What? You want a bev? Horse tranquilliser?” He joked.

“Oi, Reader, will she eat cheese?” Cal asked, holding up a square of that burger-specific cheese.

“She’ll eat anything. Unlike daddy, isn’t that right, Bella?” You cooed, stroking her cheek.

“Why am I being slandered in my dad’s restaurant?” Alfie scoffed.

“She would eat it but she shouldn’t.” You finally answered Cal.

“Oh, alright.” He slapped the slice back down on the counter. “Nevermind then. Picky fucking baby. Just like your dad.”

“Bro!” Alfie laughed, sharp canines on show.

—

Desserts had come around, and it turned out it was just ice cream with a variety of different toppings. Rare ones too, like … jalapeños and wotsits and melted cheese.

“That’s disgusting.” Theo grimaced, looking at the wotsit dust on his vanilla ice cream. “Arabella, come eat this.”

Arabella, ever the innocent and curious one, crawled out of Reev’s lap and towards Theo.

“Theo, don’t.” Liv sighed disappointedly.

“It’s just ice cream, promise.” He held his hands up, “Also with the wotsits its actually nice.”

“You’re lying.” You scoffed, “If you like that, you’re honestly disgusting.”

“Shush. Bella, come eat this from Uncle Theo.” He whispered.

“Grandpa Theo.” You corrected.

He looked up at you, half-disturbed, half-upset.

Chip had dropped off a few more ice-cream servings at the table, a lot of them consisting of more whipped cream than ice-cream, and an array of awful additives.

You groaned in disgust at the hot honey drizzle on your ice cream.

“I’m stealing your child.” Chip said, picking Arabella up and whisking her away to the kitchen.

You just watched, hands thrown up before slapping them back down on your thighs in defeat.

Arabella’s loud cackles and screeching giggles echoed through the room.

“Why’ve you kidnapped a customer's child?!” Cal gaped as Chip came into the kitchen holding her.

“Got a new chef, lads.”

“You wanna make ice-cream?” Cal asked her gently, handing her the scoop. “Can she sit on the counter? Is that a health and safety thing?”

“Where the fuck is AB? He should fucking know.” Chip poked his head out the kitchen entry way, “AB!”

“Ip?” Arabella tilted her head.

“Not you, Arab. Your useless father.” Chip booped her nose before shouting again, “AB!”

“I’m fucking coming! Jesus!” Alfie huffed, leaving your table and coming back, “Why is Bells here?”

“Dada.” Arabella grinned, holding up the ice cream scoop and accidentally bonking it off of her head.

Cal turned away, his hand cupping his mouth as he tried not to laugh.

“Ouch.” Chip winced.

“You okay, Bells?” Alfie rubbed her head where she’d hit herself.

She looked up at him with wide, wet eyes.

“No crying, you’re okay. See, look at daddy and Uncle Chip.” Alfie took the scoop and hit Chip lightly on the head with it, “Bonk!”

Chip, always the one that needed to make her laugh, dramatically fell to the floor cupping his head.

Arabella cackled loudly at the act.

They got back to work in preparing the desserts (if they could even be called that). Arabella held the scoop at the end, thinking she was doing all the work, when in reality, Alfie was doing it all.

“Good girl!” Chip high-fived her. “What do you want on your ice-cream?”

“No, she can’t have anything else. Just ice-cream. Otherwise it’s too sweet.” Alfie said.

“Life must be so boring as a baby.” Cal sighed, “Just plain ice cream and guacamole? Nightmare.”

Theo appeared then.

“How’s the dess—“

“Which one of you thought it would be a good idea to give the girls cream pies?”

The boys burst out laughing at the way Theo had explained the randomised desserts, and Arabella cluelessly joined in.

“I did. How do you think I wound up with a little yute?” Alfie jabbed his finger down to point at his daughter, but ended up accidentally prodding her in the head harshly.

He dropped the scoop the moment she started wailing loudly, picking her up, “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, darlin’, I didn’t mean to.”

“Abusing your kids now?” Chip tutted.

You wandered over, “Why can I hear her crying from the table?”

“AB poked her on accident.” Cal sighed.

“… So?”

“No, like, really hard.”

“Alfie!” You exclaimed.

“It was an accident!” He defended himself.

“He’s getting a bollocking.” Chip laughed.

—

By the end of the shoot, you’d unfolded Arabella’s push chair and sat her in it, gently rocking it back and forth as she dozed off. She had a habit of falling asleep gripping something, so Flo had crouched down beside the push chair and offered the baby her finger.

Even now, fast asleep, she was still gripping it.

“Oh, my baby’s asleep. Siiiick. Gonna be a nightmare waking her up for the taxi ride back.” Alfie groaned, scratching the back of his head as the three ‘chefs’ walked over.

“Rate our food and service.” Cal demanded.

“2.” Liv said bluntly.

“Out of 10?” You asked, “4-5.”

“Both of you get the fuck out.”

Alfie had crouched beside Flo, tickling Arabella’s chin lightly.

“Bells.” He whispered softly.

“Alfie, do not wake her up.” You hissed.

“She’s gonna wake up when we get in the Uber.”

“That’s not for, at least, another one or two hours. Just let her sleep, please. She wouldn’t stop whining earlier.”

“Okay.” He muttered, kissing his daughters head and then standing to his full height.

“Reader, can we get Arab on the pod?”

GOING TO THEME parks with Arabella was something you’d always been wary of. The biggest worry was that you would spend so much money on entrance fees, just for her to absolutely hate the first ride and be adamant about not doing any others.

She was in a little mood because you hadn’t allowed her to wear her strappy sandals (which you knew would’ve caused her a million problems while walking all day) and had forced her into a pair of T-bar shoes with little strawberries on the front.

Sharing a knowing look with Alfie, you turned around to look at her.

She had her chin tucked to her chest and her hands were tugging at the hem of her shirt.

“Bella?” You spoke softly.

She whined, shaking her head.

You sighed, “What if we get ice cream while we’re there. Is that better?”

Her head poked up a little, and she nodded meekly, making you smile.

“And you’re gonna go on loads of rides with daddy?”

Another nod.

“Because he's too scared to go on the big rides.”

That earned a little giggle, and you reached out, stroking under her chin, “Head up, baby. You can wear your sandals another day.”

“Okay.” She hummed, finally lifting her head.

When Alfie pulled into the car park, he already began huffing and puffing at slow walkers and large families just being stood in the way. You wanted to laugh, and you would have had Arabella not been in the backseat. You were trying to teach her patience and kindness, so to have her dad cussing out other children and adults felt slightly counter productive.

“Alfie.” You scolded gently while he muttered under his breath.

“Sorry.” He replied, swiftly pulling into a space on the grass nearest to the entrance.

Upon getting out of the car, the pair of you went back and forth on deciding whether or not to bring a pushchair before deciding that it was probably for the best. Worst case scenario was that you ended up just lugging it around so you didn’t have to carry a backpack around all day, and you could just use the pushchair for storage instead.

It was absolutely beating it down with heat, and Arabella was extremely upset when Alfie began lathering her arms, legs and face in suncream.

“No!” She whined, trying to fight back against her dads hands.

You rolled your eyes, crouching behind her and wrapping your arms around her waist to hold her in place.

Her face scrunched up unhappily as his palms ran over it, rubbing the cream into her skin.

“Daddy, stop!” She exclaimed.

“No, you stop.” You said to her, “Stop causing a scene, just put it on. It’s to protect you.”

She just huffed, slumping back as he began rubbing it into her legs.

“There.” He grunted as he stood.

You were on pushchair duty since you knew the likelihood of her clinging to you when she got mardy was slim to none. She had a thing about using Alfie as a climbing frame when she was overly tired, which made no sense at all because she was only exerting more energy by doing so.

“Ice cream now, mummy?” She asked, looking up at you with her hand encompassed by Alfie’s.

“No, not now, baby. After lunch, okay?”

“After lunch.” She nodded.

Once you were in the park and surrounded by loud noises and bright colours, Arabella was bouncing on the balls of her feet, the urge to run around and go off on her own strong and compelling. Alfie wouldn’t let her, of course. His grip on her hand was tight but not crushing.

There was a mascot standing at the entrance of the children’s area, waving enthusiastically at all of the kids.

You couldn’t imagine being in a hot suit like that in this weather. You were in a pair of shorts and a tank top, but you were already sweating.

“You want a picture, Bells?” Alfie asked, and she nodded.

You pulled out your phone as she waltzed up to the mascot, having a brief exchange of words before turning to you.

“Smile!” You grinned, hoping she would replicate as you snapped the photo.

The both of you thanked the man behind the mascot before walking into the children’s area. It was a combination of themes, ranging from children’s books to tv shows and movies.

“What do you want to do first, Bells?” Alfie asked, nudging her hand.

She raised a finger, pointing to a big statue of Peppa Pig that signalled where the rides based on her theme were.

“Okay, Peppa it is.”

Thankfully, the queues weren’t too long.

Obviously one of you had to go on with her, and since Alfie had adamantly decided that he wasn’t going to be joining you on any of the big rides, he was currently squashed into a tiny cart, his long arm slung over the back of it so that he would actually fit, and going around a track at an extremely slow pace, but just fast enough that it would be thrilling for anyone under the age of eight.

You laughed as you filmed them going around. Alfie looked less than pleased, as he knew there was someone there that knew him, and if there wasn’t, you posting the video would get a million clips and reposts that would just destroy his internet image.

But he figured it was worth it if his daughter was happy, and she was.

She was beaming, big and bright, and obliged with her dad when he encouraged her to put her hands up on the tiniest drop.

Arabella giggled loudly, absolutely elated as the ride came to an end and she could hop off to find her way back to you.

“Mummy! Mummy!” She exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of her feet, “That was so fun!”

“Yeah? You and daddy looked like you were having lots of fun.” It was said in teasing jest as you smirked at your boyfriend.

He only scowled and nudged your side, “That video goes nowhere.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You shrugged innocently.

“Reader.”

“Love you!” You grinned, kissing his lips before looking to your daughter, “Where next, baby?”

After a few more waiting queues and rides, you decided on going somewhere for lunch.

There was a little chicken restaurant just outside of the children’s area, so you sat down in the outside seating with Arabella while Alfie ordered the food.

“Can you have some water please?” You requested, holding out the bottle to her.

She nodded, taking it in her hands and tilting her head back.

When Alfie returned with food, you were all at the stage of being ravenous, but you had to warn Arabella not to eat too fast.

Alfie broke up her chicken nuggets into little bitesize pieces, feeding them to her periodically while snacking on his own.

There was a big box of curly fries between the three of you.

“AB.” He hummed to get her attention after she’d zoned out.

Instead of blinking back into reality, she just opened her mouth, letting her dad feed her.

You frowned worriedly at that, “Bella, you okay?”

She simply nodded.

You brought the back of your hand to her cheeks, feeling around her face and neck to discover that she was entirely too warm.

“She hot?” Alfie asked, and you nodded.

Taking the water bottle back, you poured some of the cold liquid into your hands, cupping them to make a good puddle before dropping it gently over her dark brown curls.

You ran your palms over her head, making sure the water was lathering in properly.

He took the initiative to retrieve the fan from your bag and began fanning her face.

She whined slightly at the feeling, trying to back away, but you kept her in place by pouring more water over her in short amounts.

Eventually, the redness in her face toned down and she became a bit more lively.

“You feel okay, chick?” You asked again, just to reassure yourself that she was okay.

Again, she nodded, “Water please, mummy.”

You chuckled, “Alright.” and handed it to her.

She took gentle sips and resumed eating, finishing your meal just before it hit 2.

After lunch, you took a walk away from the children’s area and towards all the big rides.

By this point, Arabella had climbed up Alfie’s chest and wrapped her arms around his neck, latching onto him. That was an immediate sign of exhaustion to you. Taking advantage of her lack of enthusiasm to go on any more rides, you decided to take the afternoon for yourself, queuing in line for the more extreme attractions.

On one of them, the line wound back round to the entrance, so you were able to talk to Alfie over the fence before waiting for your turn.

“You’re actually nuts, girl.” He laughed, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You’re just a pussy.” You retorted playfully.

Once you were loaded onto the ride and strapped in, Alfie nudged at Arabella.

“Look, can you see mummy?” He cooed, pointing to you.

She untucked herself from his neck and looked, nodding slowly.

“How mental is she for doing this?”

“A lot.”

“Yeah,” He chuckled, “A lot mental.”

When you came off the ride, your hair was an absolute mess, and you should’ve tied it up before going on, but you hadn’t, and now your parting was wonky and your strands were all tangled.

“Fuckin’ell!” You laughed, flipping your hair back so that it fell into place.

Alfie laughed at the state of you, wheeling the pushchair round to meet you.

“Mummy.” Arabella giggled at you.

“That was quite nice actually.”

“Nice?!” Alfie exclaimed.

“Yeah, good bit of breeze to cool me down.”

“You’re fuckin’ mental.” He scoffed.

“Naughty word, daddy!” Arabella exclaimed.

He closed his eyes and groaned before pulling out his phone and adding another line to the notes app.

They had come up with a system where every time he says a swear word in front of her, he owes her a pound. She can either save them all up and get a toy, or spend it immediately. Miraculously (because neither of you were very good role models when it came to sensibly saving money) she chose to save them all up.

You estimated that she’d managed to scrape around about £30 from her dad by now.

Before getting in line for your second ride, you lathered some more suncream onto Arabella’s skin and then left them both with a kiss on the nose and lips respectively.

Since you were in the queue by yourself, you ended up talking to a stranger just about your day and how things had been.

He was relatively friendly, never prying too much and remaining respectful, and by coincidence, you ended up seated next to each other on the ride.

The words you both screamed out of fear and a rush of adrenaline seemed to compliment and coincide with each other.

Afterwards, you walked up to Alfie with a large grin on your face.

“That was great!” You laughed heartily, peering down at Arabella in her pushchair, “Is she sleeping?”

“Mhm.” Alfie hummed, wrapping a strong arm around your shoulders and tugging you in close.

You let out a startled noise at the action, frowning in confusion as he pressed a firm kiss to the side of your head while glaring out across the park.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, trying to find where he was looking.

“That guy.”

“Who?”

“The one you were sitting with.”

“… I’m confused.”

“He was flirting with you.”

You scoffed before exclaiming, “Alfie!”

“What?!”

“He wasn’t flirting with me, he was just talking.” You rolled your eyes.

“I know what men flirting looks like, darlin’, and he was flirting.” Alfie was adamant.

“Okay, fine, he was. I agree with you. Happy now?” You huffed.

You didn’t actually agree, but if saying you did would get Alfie to stop working himself up for no reason, then you would.

He pressed another kiss to your temple before letting you go from under his arm.

Your knees clicked as you crouched in front of Arabella, tickling under her chin to slowly wake her up without startling her.

A little, dramatic huff came from her as she wriggled around in her seat.

“Bella.” You cooed, “Should we go and get ice cream?”

With her eyes still closed, obviously trying to hide under the guise that she was ‘asleep’, she nodded.

Alfie bought the three of you ice cream, with yours having sherbet on top, while his and Arabella’s were plain.

He was feeding her ice cream with a little plastic spoon while you held a napkin in your hand at the ready for when she inevitably got it all over her mouth. As she ate, Arabella made pleased humming noises, causing you both to chuckle.

It was something that you’d picked up on her doing when she was particularly enjoying a meal, and you found it rather endearing.

You and Alfie shared a couple quick, chaste kisses over the table before cleaning everything up.

“Any more rides you want to go on?” Alfie asked her.

She nodded, “Peppa again.”

“Okay, Peppa one more time then.” He agreed.

This time, Arabella demanded that you ride with her.

She’d been on it once with her dad, and now it was your turn. The seat was burning hot against the skin of the back of your thighs, making you yelp and stand suddenly.

Arabella cackled in amusement at your reaction, and as you slowly lowered yourself back down, you began tickling her sides.

“No, mummy!” She screamed, “No, too hot!”

“What’s too hot?” You asked, stopping and smoothing a hand over her back.

“Air.”

“Okay, I’m sorry.” You kissed the top of your head.

“Arms up.” The ride operator walked by, checking the bar was down properly.

Before it took off, you pointed to where Alfie was standing with his phone out and posed for a photo.

Whilst you were doing your round of the rollercoaster, a couple of fans had come up to Alfie asking for some pictures, which he took and spoke to them briefly before reuniting with you at the ride exit.

“Was so fun!” Arabella giggled elatedly, wrapping her tiny hand into the fabric of her dads grey shorts.

“Yeah? I’m glad you had fun, Bells.” He smiled, placing a hand on the back of her head, “We’ve gotta go home now, though. Okay?”

“No.” She gasped, her bottom lip starting to wobble, “No, more ride.”

“We can’t.” Alfie sighed, reaching her height to talk to her on a level, “The park closes soon. We have to go.”

“Wanna stay.”

“I know you do, baby.” He clicked his tongue, “We can come back another day, okay?”

The moment she broke down into tears, she hid her face in her dads neck, clutching his shirt for dear life.

“Oh, Bells.” He huffed, picking her up into his arms and holding her tightly.

“Bella.” You pouted, rubbing her back.

“Mummy.” She cried, “Wanna stay.”

“I know, chick.” You brought your hand to her cheek, wiping away the tears as they fell, “But like daddy said, we can come back another time, yeah?”

Alfie was sweating as she continued to wail into his skin while you walked out of the park. You felt a little bad for him because it was obvious that the body heat coming from her crying her eyes out was getting to him, on top of the sun that was shining down on the back of his neck, turning it a shade of light red.

“Should I take her?” You offered.

Alfie shook his head, “Nah, you’re alright, girl.”

“Alf, you’re sweating through your shirt.” You glanced down at the sweat patches in the underarms of his shirt.

Had this been a first date, you probably would’ve been a little grossed out, but it wasn’t, and Alfie had seen you at utter rock bottom, as you had with him too.

“Wanna suck it clean?”

“Alfie!” You exclaimed, slapping his bicep.

He cackled smugly, proud of himself for his quick, suggestive retort.

“So … is that a no?”

“I can’t believe you asked me that in front of our daughter.” You threw him a dirty look, marching forwards faster than him so you were in front.

It was funny because that exertion caused you to hunch over the pushchair that was in front of you and heave heavy breaths.

Alfie laughed before landing a smack to your ass.

“Don’t!” You scoffed at his audacity.

“Daddy, no mean.” Arabella muttered, taking her wrist and wiping at her cheeks.

“I’m not being mean!” He gasped dramatically.

“Shh.” She hushed him, putting her hand to his lips.

You threw your head back with hearty, contagious cackles.

“Oh, you can get right in the car, little missy.” He hooked his hands under her armpits and held her out as far as he could like she smelt bad.

Arabella writhed in her arms, giggling loudly, as her dad strapped her into the backseat.

He closed the door and rounded to the boot, helping you pack up the pushchair and load it in before slamming it shut.

“Successful day?” He wound his arms around your waist, letting his large paws rest on your bum.

Garrett was currently standing outside of your dorm door, with two coffees balanced in one hand, a grocery bag hanging from the other, and absolutely no intention of leaving anytime soon.

You had barely opened the door before he was stepping inside like he already belonged there, nudging it shut with his foot while you stood there in shorts and one of his old hockey hoodies looking half asleep and completely overwhelmed.

“You look terrible,” he said immediately, his voice far too cheerful for someone who had interrupted your studying at eight in the morning.

You stared at him flatly. “Thanks."

“You’re welcome.” He leaned down to kiss you anyway, smiling against your mouth for a second before pulling back. “Did you sleep at all?”

You moved aside so he could walk further into the apartment, dragging a hand down your face. “Like… three hours.”

Garrett sighed the way he always did when you admitted things like that, disappointed but unsurprised, and headed straight for your kitchen counter to unpack whatever he’d bought. The apartment smelled faintly like coffee and printer paper and the vanilla candle you’d burned so long the night before that the wick had nearly disappeared completely.

“You can’t survive finals on iced coffee and academic validation,” he told you while pulling containers out of the bag. “I brought actual food.”

You blinked at him. “Is that soup?”

“Yeah.”

“For breakfast?”

“It has vegetables in it,” Garrett replied easily. “Basically self care.”

Normally you would have laughed harder, but your brain felt like it had been microwaved for several consecutive days, so instead you just shuffled toward the table where your notes were spread out in messy piles. Highlighters, flashcards, half-open textbooks, empty wrappers. It looked less like a study setup and more like evidence of psychological deterioration.

Garrett looked at the table and let out a low whistle.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “It looks like you’re trying to cure something or solve a cold case.”

You dropped back into your chair with a groan. “I have a paper due and an exam on Thursday, and a presentation and exam on Friday.”

“And?”

“And I’m going to die.”

He walked over behind you slowly, warm hands settling on your shoulders before his chin rested against the top of your head. The simple weight of him felt grounding in a way you hadn’t realized you needed until that moment.

“You’re dramatic,” he murmured.

“I’m realistic.”

“You’re passing all your classes.”

“You don’t know that.”

Garrett hummed thoughtfully. “Pretty sure I do," he drawled, "Considering you’ve been talking about eighteenth century political theory in your sleep.”

You turned your head slightly to glare at him. “That happened one time.”

“Twice, actually.” His grin widened when you groaned louder. “Baby, you literally sat up at three in the morning and started arguing with an invisible professor.”

Heat crawled up your face despite your exhaustion. “Why would you tell me that?”

“Because it was funny as fuck.”

“It was humiliating.”

Garrett just kissed the side of your head before moving away again, completely unaffected by your embarrassment. That was the problem with him. Nothing ever seemed capable of genuinely rattling him. He moved through life with this easy confidence that made everything around him feel calmer by association.

Unfortunately, that same confidence also made him incredibly distracting.

By the third day of him practically living in your dorm, you had realized your boyfriend was physically incapable of letting you focus for more than forty consecutive minutes.

At first, it had seemed helpful.

He made sure you ate actual meals instead of scavenging prepackaged snacks from your snack cabinet. He forced you into bed before two in the morning. He quizzed you with your flashcards while sprawled across your bed, wearing gray sweats and no shirt because, apparently, he enjoyed making your life harder.

But somewhere along the way, his helpfulness had started blending into deliberate distraction.

“You’ve been reading the same paragraph for ten minutes,” Garrett pointed out from your bed that evening.

You looked up from your laptop with narrowed eyes. “Maybe because somebody keeps talking to me.”

He looked entirely unbothered by the accusation, stretched out against your pillows with one arm behind his head. “I miss you.”

You stared at him. “I’m literally right here.”

“Not mentally.” Garrett pouted slightly. “Your brain’s been kidnapped by academia.”

You rolled your eyes and looked back at your screen. “I have to finish this.”

A moment of silence passed.

Then—

“Do you think penguins have knees?”

You shut your eyes immediately, your lips pursing as a long, heavy exhale left your nose.

“Garrett.”

“What?” His voice was innocent in the most suspicious way possible. “I'm deadass!”

“You are actively sabotaging my education.” You grumbled, swiveling in your chair to face him with sagging shoulders and narrowed eyes.

“I’m enriching your life.”

“You asked me if penguins have knees.”

“And now you’re thinking about it.”

You hated that he was right.

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it, quiet and tired, and Garrett’s expression softened instantly at the sound. Like he’d been waiting for it.

“There she is,” he celebrated softly.

Something in your chest tightened a little at the way he looked at you then.

Garrett had always been affectionate, always naturally warm in a way that drew people toward him without effort, but there was something different about him during this week. Softer around the edges. More attentive.

Every time you rubbed your eyes too hard, he noticed.

Every time your shoulders tensed from hunching over your desk too long, he pulled you away from it.

Every time you got too caught up studying to realize hours had passed, he appeared beside you with food or water or a blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

It was difficult not to love him a little painfully for it.

Later that night, you were sitting cross-legged on the floor surrounded by papers when Garrett wandered into your room again after showering, his hair damp and curling slightly at the ends.

You tried not to look at him. For your own sanity and also for the sake of your Modern Political Theory class. You knew, if your eyes lingered longer than a second you would be a goner. Your papers would end up damp under the towel that he discarded... that could not happen. Not during finals week.

Unfortunately, Garrett noticed everything.

“You're staring,” he said casually.

“I am not.”

“You absolutely are.”

You kept your eyes firmly on your notebook. “You’re wearing just a towel and have your damn chain on.”

“And?”

“And you know I have no self control.”

Garrett laughed quietly under his breath before walking over to where you sat. He dropped down beside you easily, all warmth and solid weight, his thigh pressing against yours.

“You know,” he murmured while reaching for one of your flashcards, “most boyfriends would be offended that textbooks are getting more attention than them.”

“Most boyfriends don’t look at me while I’m studying ancient medical malpractice like they’re plotting something.”

“I am plotting something.”

You finally looked at him then. “That’s concerning.” Your eyebrows were raised, and despite trying to keep your gaze focused on his unfairly handsome face... your eyes wandered.

You traced the line of his jaw with your eyes, following the one damp strand of hair that was clinging to his neck. That, unfortunately, led you to his shoulders... his broad, sturdy shoulders that had checked guys double his size into the boards. The broad, sturdy shoulders that just a week before had scratches on them from your nails digging into him while you were underneath him.

His mouth curved slowly. “I’m trying to figure out how much convincing it would take to get you into bed right now.”

Your expression flattened immediately. “Garrett.”

“What?” He leaned closer, smiling when you instinctively leaned back. “You’ve been studying for like six hours.”

“I have an exam tomorrow.”

“You also have eyeballs that are about to fall out of your head, for once I'm not even trying to make those eyeballs roll back, I'm just trying to get you to rest them." He grinned, shooting you a wink.

You tried to ignore the warmth climbing into your face as he reached over to brush his fingers beneath one of your eyes gently.

“You’re exhausted,” he said more quietly this time.

The teasing faded from his expression then, replaced with something softer that always caught you off guard no matter how many times you saw it.

You exhaled slowly. “I can’t fail this class, I'm teetering on a B- and I really want to bring my grade up as much as I can."

“You won’t fail, you're literally the smartest person I know. If you're reciting this shit in your sleep I think you can do it when you're awake.”

“You don’t know that.”

Garrett’s hand slid to the side of your neck, thumb brushing lightly against your skin.

“I do know that,” he corrected. “Because you care too much not to do well.”

The sincerity in his voice made your chest ache.

For a second, neither of you spoke.

Then Garrett ruined the moment completely.

“But if you do fail,” he added thoughtfully, “I’ll still date you.”

You shoved him immediately, laughing despite yourself while he grinned so hard it became impossible to stay irritated.

“There you are again,” he said softly after a second.

“What?”

“That laugh.” His eyes stayed on your face. “Been waiting all day for it.”

The affection in his voice hit harder than it should have.

Your entire week had been stress and pressure and exhaustion, every hour blending into the next until you barely felt human anymore, but Garrett kept pulling you out of it every single time you disappeared too far into your own head.

Even now, sitting on the floor in the middle of your disaster of a dorm with papers scattered everywhere, he looked at you like you were still worth paying attention to.

Like you were something gentle instead of an unraveling mess.

Garrett leaned forward then, kissing you slowly before you could overthink any of it, one hand cupping your jaw while the other pulled your notebook out of your lap and tossed it carelessly onto the floor beside him.

You laughed against his mouth. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Mhm,” he murmured. “Still dating me though.”

“Unfortunately.”

His grin widened immediately.

Then, without warning, he hooked an arm beneath your knees and lifted you straight off the floor.

You yelped, grabbing onto his shoulders automatically. “Garrett-...”

“You need sleep.”

“I need to study, I have like 15 lecture slides left!” You protested, but you knew in the end it was going to be useless, and frankly, you weren't upset that you weren't going to win this battle.

“You need both,” he corrected while carrying you toward the bedroom. “And since you apparently won’t take care of yourself voluntarily, I’m stepping in as your incredibly handsome intervention.”

You buried your face into his shoulder to hide your smile.

“You’re so annoying,” you mumbled.

Garrett dropped you gently onto the mattress before climbing in beside you without hesitation, pulling you against his chest like it was instinctive.

“Yeah,” he said easily, pressing a kiss into your hair. “But you love me anyway.”

The way he said it, so sure and so full of love, was all you needed to let the tension in your shoulders dissipate and your head fall against his warm skin.

Maybe just one night's sleep would be okay, especially in the arms of Garrett Graham.

← MLIST. ᝰ.ᐟ edawgz 2026.

His body was hard against yours, your clothed chest pressing against his in a way that made you wish you weren’t wearing anything. Yet, it was best to be clothed in a house full of guys because you never know when they might walk—

“Hello lovers!” Dean announced as he entered the front door, Allie in tow.

Garrett groaned with annoyance as he stopped kissing you and resorted to burrowing his way back into the crook of your neck.

“Hi Dean.” You answered for both you and Garrett.

“Looking very cosy.” Dean said, hopping over the couch and landing his ass on top of Garrett’s - causing you both to wince at the added pressure.

“Dean!” Allie tutted.

“Fucking prick.” Garrett mumbled, holding you tighter to protect you from his wild best friend.

The comfort of Garrett’s arms around you was second to none. You loved feeling coddled and safe, like the world was not as scary when you were wrapped up in him.

“Dean you’re too heavy. Get off.” You whined.

“I literally weight less than Garrett.”

“And yet I have you both on top of me.”

“Well tell Garrett to get off instead.”

“No fucking way.” Garrett’s head revealed itself from your neck, showing Dean the annoyance he was feeling. “Get off.” He swatted Dean.

“Boys will be boys.” Allie laughed, sitting on the other side of the couch.

Dean shortly left you two alone and over to his girlfriend.

You and Garrett remained laid down, even though you were aware you took up an entire length of the L-shaped sofa. Your boyfriend was too happy cuddled up against you and you didn’t really have any reason to move.

Garrett’s head remained on your chest this time, giving up on trying to kiss you or bury himself deep into your neck - his safe space.

One of your hands run through his curls - something you knew he loved the feeling of. He couldn’t help the fact he was a man whose love language was physical touch.

“Did you use my shampoo this morning?” You asked quietly, as Dean was preoccupied bickering with Allie.

“Mm.”

“I can smell it.”

“At least it smells good.” He gave a slight chuckle.

“It does.”

“Reminds me of you.”

You kissed the top of his head, inhaling the smell of almond butter and something fruity.

The front door opened again and Hannah, Logan, Grace and Tucker came in. Everyone greeted each other, and fortunately no one was rude enough to jump on top of you this time.

“So what time is everyone getting ready?” Tucker asked, sitting down on the edge of the couch next to Allie with a bowl of crisps.

“Ready for what?” Grace asked, curled up besides Logan.

“Party tonight. Here.” Dean answered for her.

“Another one?” Allie threw her head back with a sigh.

“It’s fun, Allie Cat.”

“Bite me.”

You could feel the sexual tension dripping off them both from a mile away, let alone sat just across the room from them.

Instead of giving Dean the opportunity to make some gross joke, Logan chimed in. “I’m only going to take a quick shower. So… In, like, an hour Tuck?”

“Quick shower that turns into an hour long makeout session with your girlfriend.” Dean rolled his eyes and laughed when Logan threw a pillow at him.

“He does have a point.” Garrett’s voice vibrated against your chest as he spoke.

“Says you, G.” Logan scoffed.

You chuckled through a blush, noting Garrett’s own smug smirk.

“Well us girls are getting ready together. You guys are on your own.” Allie announced, making Logan pout and Dean dramatically cry out.

Garrett protests by tightening his hold on you, keeping you in his strong hold beneath him.

“Coming, Y/N?” Hannah asked.

She held her hand out to you, ready to help you escape your boyfriend.

You gripped her hand and she tugged with as much force as she could, but it barely made you move an inch. No thanks to your - as established by Dean - boyfriends heavy weight.

“Save me!” You joked.

“Noooo.” Garrett grumbled.

“I’ll get him, you get Y/N.” Dean walked along the sofa and hovered over Garrett’s body, ready to physically remove him from you.

The rest of the room were either laughing-on or filming. Allie came to stand beside Hannah, holding out her other hand for you to take.

“Ready?” Hannah laughed, “3, 2, 1…”

“Heave!” Dean shouted.

Your body moved from underneath Garrett’s more easily as Dean lifted him up. Garrett was trying to bite back a smile, but ultimately he was pissed that you were being dragged away from him - literally.

Your body slid over the side of the sofa. Your top half was on the floor, whilst your top half was still on the sofa.

“Piss off.” Garrett said, trying to struggle against Dean.

“Boys?”

Dean called the other guys over and the helped raise Garrett off you completely.

After you were cleared of Garrett - feeling surprisingly cold without him near - you hugged your girls hello. It had been a long week and you were happy to get to hang with them now. Even if your boyfriend hated the distance.

Garrett (8:08PM): I miss you.

Garrett (8:08PM): Like a lot.

“God, you two are so disgusting.” Hannah laughed as she read the notifications on your phone. She was helping you with your makeup as the messages from Garrett came through.

“Hey… rude.”

“I mean, you’re also stupidly cute together.” She shrugged her shoulders, applying more highlighter to your cheekbones.

“How are things going with Justin?” You asked her, leaving Garrett on delivered (so needy).

“Okay, yeah. We’re taking it slow.” She smiled.

“Slow’s okay.”

“Yeah. I’m not sure he agrees though.”

“Well that’s shitty of him. You deserve happiness on your own timeline.”

Hannah smiled at you with her kind eyes. She gave you a hug at that comment and you squeezed her tight.

“Love you.” She said.

“Love you too.”

Allie and Grace walked into Garrett’s room then, which you had all taken over to get ready together. Garrett had been allowed to grab some clothes and cologne, but after that he had been banished.

They walked in with two drinks each.

“What are we cuddling for?” Allie asked, placing one drink on Garrett’s desk for you - Grace doing the same for Hannah.

“Love.” Hannah smiled.

“Oh I can get in on that.” Grace laughed, pulling herself around you and Hannah. Allie joined next.

“Ugh okay. Let’s get drunk!” Hannah escaped the hug, forcing you all to disperse.

“Hell yeah!”

“Aye!”

The next half an hour was spent doing finishing touches on makeup, hair and outfits.

Allie had borrowed clothes from Hannah’s closet. Grace had borrowed Allie’s makeup. You stole some of Hannah’s jewellery.

This was what girlhood was about.

You were wearing your own high waisted, black, pin-stripe trousers along with a ridiculously flattering burgundy corset top from Hannah’s wardrobe. Your shoes were your platform Doc Martens.

After you’d taken a fair amount of pictures with each other, as well as some solo-shots, you decided that you were finally ready to join the party.

Technically the party had started at 7PM and it was now almost 9PM, but no one ever turned up this early.

The girls left Garrett’s room and you told them you’d be there in one moment, because you almost forgot to put back on the necklace that your boyfriend had bought for you. You’d had to take it off whilst getting ready, at risk of it getting damaged.

You were stood by your overnight bag, watching out of Garrett’s window as party-comers arrived, and fiddled with the clasp of your necklace to secure it.

When Garrett’s arms melted around your waist you didn’t panic, because you knew it was him.

His lips kissed your neck, causing you to automatically lean away for him to have better access.

“Stop.” You laughed.

“Stop?”

“Yes, I’m trying to put my necklace back on.”

“But,” He kissed your neck again, “You’re,” Kiss, “So,” Kiss, “Beautiful.” Kiss.

“You’re intolerable.”

“Maybe.” He kissed you one last time, before taking his arms from around your waist and bringing them up to help you clasp your necklace together. “Or maybe I just love you.”

With your necklace secured, you turned around to face him.

His eyes were darkened as he looked down at you - genuinely, probably, undressing you with his eyes.

From this distance you could smell his cologne and it was so delectable. You subtly breathed him in and tried to keep calm over how feral it made you.

He was wearing a forest green sweater, with a white t-shirt peeking from underneath and his classic gold chain on show.

“What?” You smiled, blushing.

Garrett didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to.

His hands came to cup your cheeks and tilt your face to an angle where he could kiss you better.

You melted like butter as he kissed you.

It was only a safe peck, but one that you could get lost in for a moment. You could tell he knew that you’d be mad if he messed up your makeup at this point in the night.

He pulled back an inch, with a smirk, only to lean back in and kiss you again because he really couldn’t get enough of you.

“You taste like cherry liqueur.” He said.

“Allie made us do shots.”

“Sounds about right.”

Garrett’s hands dropped from your cheeks down to the waistband of your trousers, looping his finger into the belt holds.

Your own hands slid up his chest, scrunching the material there.

Both of you stared at each other for a few moments. A silent conversation passing between you both with nothing but sparkling eyes and breathing tempos to go off.

“Ready to go downstairs?” You asked.

“I mean… We could just stay in here..”

“That’s not an option.”

“So there is an alternative to going downstairs?” He raised an eyebrow.

You shook your head, “I promise I’ll be in your bed at the end of the night, Graham. Just not yet.”

You leaned up to kiss him one more time, but before he could get too into it and completely make you ignore what you’d just promised you broke away from him and walked over to his open bedroom door.

“C’mon.” You held out your hand for him.

He made a sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, before pretending to be reluctant in joining his hand with yours and head downstairs.

There are surprisingly more people downstairs than you thought there would be.

Dean and Allie are already on the makeshift dance floor. Tucker and Logan are doing shots. Hannah and Grace are chatting to some new people.

Garrett holds your hand as he leads you down the stairs, looking back every so often to get a glimpse of you. He's always had a hard time keeping his eyes off you for more than five minutes at a time.

"Want a drink?" He asked.

You both walked into the kitchen area. "Not yet." The drinks you'd had upstairs with the girls kind of felt like your limit already.

"Okay." He kissed your forehead and let you go so he could grab himself a beer from the fridge.

You looked around the room as Garrett took a long drink.

There were some people here that you knew, through friends, hockey or another reason, but there were also so many people that you didn't know. Like the crowd of girls that were sat on the sofa and shamelessly ogling your boyfriend.

“Garrett Graham, holy shit.” You could hear them from over here.

You looked down at yourself then, tugging at the bottom of your top to cover the slither of skin that had started to appear on your waistline.

Garrett's hand slunk around your waist moments later, pulling you close to his side.

Your gaze lifted to his, smiling when you realised he was already smiling down at you.

"G! What's up?" A guy shouted as he entered the kitchen area.

Garrett smiled, his hand leaving the comfort of your body to give the guy a bro-hug. "Hey, man. You know Y/N, right?”

"Yeah of course." The guy nodded at you, before moving onto the next guy to greet.

Garrett's hand came back home to land on the small of your back, watching carefully to make sure no one bumped into you whilst they were greeting one another.

You watched on as Garrett keep greeting new people, but always keeping you close.

He would kindly introduce you to everyone you didn't know, even if most of them never stuck around long enough to actually learn anything about you. There were only a few things guys at parties ever really wanted to talk about; hockey, sex, and girls. Since Garrett no longer participated in conversations about two of those things, people tended to drift away pretty quickly - especially when they realised his girlfriend was standing right beside him.

As Dean came over and started talking about some inside joke, you noticed that Garrett was hanging on to every word his best friend was saying.

This was a good moment for you to let him have his fun with the guys.

“I’m gonna go find the girls for a bit.” You said.

"Okay baby.” He smiled and kissed your forehead.

You walked out of the kitchen area feeling weird.

Like the second you stepped downstairs, the party had stopped feeling like Garrett’s home and started feeling like everyone else’s territory instead.

You smiled politely at someone who walked past you, rubbing your arm subconsciously as you weaved through the growing crowds of people to your girls.

As you spotted the girls jumping up and down, whilst simultaneously grinding on each other, you overheard a couple of girls voices on the sofa in front of you - the same ones that had been ogling Garrett before.

"Wait, that's his girlfriend?"

One girl had her phone open on Garrett's Instagram, looking at a photo from a charity hockey ball of the two of you. She clicked on the photo, bringing up your tag and clicked on it to bring her to your page.

"Y/N." The other girl said, "Doesn't she work at Malone's?"

"Yeah."

"Got Garrett Graham as a boyfriend and yet still has to work a side-job? Yikes."

Your gaze focused back on your friends having a great time with each other, but you couldn't find it in your heart to go and join them now.

You were becoming so aware of yourself in that moment. Your clothes suddenly feeling wrong and you don't know where to stand.

Before you could overthink it, your feet were already carrying you back toward the stairs.

Back to Garrett’s room.

Back to somewhere that felt familiar.

"Ready for another round of shots?" Dean asked, causing a chorus of cheers from the surrounding guys in the kitchen area.

Garrett laughed to himself, sipping on his first and last beer.

He looked towards the makeshift dance floor, looking for you but his eyes could only pick out Allie, Hannah and Grace from the crowd.

Garrett's eyebrows furrowed as he pushed off the counter he was leaning on to get a better view. His hand reached for the phone in his trouser pocket, checking to see if you had messaged but there was nothing.

Perhaps you had gone to the toilet.

“I’ll be back,” he muttered to Dean before moving through the crowd toward the girls.

A hand on his sweater tugged him away from the direction he was going and he turned around instantly, thinking it would be you, but his gaze only darkened when he realised it was a random girl he had hooked up with years ago.

"Hey Garrett."

“Hey,” he answered politely, already trying to step around her.

"Do you want to, maybe..."

"No." Garrett interrupted before she could even finish asking. Garrett sighed, not unkindly, just distracted.

"But..."

"I have a girlfriend."

"What she doesn't know won't hurt her."

Garrett stared at her for a second like she’d said something genuinely confusing. “Yeah, not really how this works.” He walked away from her before she could even reply.

The girls cheered when they spotted him approaching, but Garrett barely reacted.

He felt as though he wasn't completely right without you standing next to him.

His hand felt lost without having a place to hold against you. He shoved his beer-less hand into his trouser pocket for something to replace the feeling of yours.

“Where’s Y/N?” he asked immediately.

"I... don't know." Allie's expression visibly softened when she realised that Garrett was concerned.

"I haven't seen her since she came downstairs." Hannah said. "Why?"

"Doesn't matter. I'll catch you in a bit." He nodded at them in thanks.

As Garrett migrated his way through the house, he tried checking every corner of the room. People were constantly greeting him, but he was only focused on finding you.

After he had done a couple laps of downstairs and outside and still hadn't found you, his eyes drifted towards the stairs.

Garrett handed his half-finished beer to some random person before ascending the stairs.

You were laying on Garrett's bed when he came in.

"There you are."

You watched Garrett's eyes soften when he saw you. He closed his door behind him, locking it too, but not once taking his gaze off you - at risk of you disappearing again.

"Hey." You smiled.

"Hey."

He climbed on his bed, laying down next to you but slightly angling his body towards yours. One of his hands picked up one of yours to hold, his other softly brushing some hair off your forehead.

“Been looking for you.”

To anyone else, having Garrett Graham hovering just above you and focusing on nothing but you might be really intimidating, but to you there was no place you felt safer... or seen.

"Sorry. Just needed a minute."

You can tell your struggling to convince Garrett that you're okay, no thanks to the avoidance of eye contact and the fact you'd started rubbing your thumb against Garrett's hand anxiously. He didn't make any move to stop you though.

There was no way that you could hide how you were feeling for too long.

Garrett knew you too well.

There was no doubt that he could see the tension in your body and the way your smile hadn't fully reached your eyes.

"Talk to me, baby."

Garrett waited patiently beside you, thumb still brushing slowly over your knuckles. You focused on the movement, otherwise you were going to fall apart sooner than you wanted to.

“I don’t know.” You admitted quietly.

“You don’t know?”

“I just…” You huffed softly through your nose, staring somewhere near his shoulder instead of at him. “I suddenly felt weird downstairs. Like everybody else just… fit there better than I did.”

Garrett moved a little, rolling his neck slight, "“Did somebody say something to you?”

“Not really.”

"Baby... Help me understand." You focused on him then, and you could see his heart break when he noticed the pools of tears in your eyes. "Hey..."

"I'm sorry." Your lower lip wobbled. “It’s so stupid.”

"No, no. Don't do that. If you're upset, it's not stupid." He furrowed his eyebrows, desperately trying to understand you.

"I'm sorry I'm ruining your night."

"You're not, baby. At some point Dean is going to do a shot out of Beau's belly button and that will ruin the night."

You laughed at that, your chest raising up and down that let Garrett know it was a real life. He smiled at the sight, relieved to see the sparkle in your eyes come back to light.

“There she is.”

Once you stopped giggling over his Dean comment you felt ready and comfortable to let him in.

"I just didn't feel like I fit in down there. And it’s nothing you did. Or the girls. Or the guys. I don’t know. I sound insane trying to explain it."

Garrett shook his head softly.

"Sounds pretty human to me." He said.

"Garrett..." You scoffed.

"Y/N..." He returned the sentiment.

"I just zoomed out and felt uncomfortable being there. Just wanted to be somewhere else. Somewhere safe."

"And you chose my room?" Garrett made the moment sound so sweet.

"Of course." You nodded and Garrett’s expression softened so completely it almost made your chest ache.

“Baby…” he murmured. He stopped holding your hand, so he could cup your cheek gently, thumb brushing beneath your eye. Your throat tightened immediately. “I don’t want you feeling alone in a room I’m standing in."

"And I don’t… I didn’t feel alone. I think I just got in my head. It's probably that time of the month." You brushed it all off, feeling silly now.

"Not for another 13 days."

You gave Garrett the side eye with a knowing smirk, "13 days huh?"

"Precisely." He smiled, "So whatever you felt tonight was still okay to feel."

Garrett leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead before pulling you against his chest. You melted into him easily this time, the tight feeling in your chest finally beginning to loosen.

Downstairs, the bass still rattled through the floorboards and Dean’s voice echoed loudly through the house - no doubt doing that belly shot.

YOU WERE NOT expecting such sweltering heat considering how the early days of April were already going, and as much as you loved the black leather, racing-style jacket you were wearing with your boyfriend's last name proudly printed on the back, you had to take it off.

Your jeans and white spaghetti strap tank top were perfectly fine to wear alone.

You were sat with Yasmin and Liv, waiting for your boyfriends to appear on the pitch, and although they were on the other team to yours, you were all still there to support each other and cheer everyone on.

After all, it was a charity match, the outcome didn’t really matter. Though, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t hoping for some sort of success on Alfie’s behalf.

When the teams walked on, the atmosphere became electric as screams and shouts echoed throughout the stadium.

Arabella, forever a daddy’s girl, was on Alfie’s hip as he walked out, trying to communicate with Olive, who was perched in Ethan’s arms. Though there was a year and a half age gap between the two and they didn’t see each other as much as you’re sure they would’ve liked, they got on like two peas in a pod, always running around with each other and sharing food.

“And there is AB with his mini AB, come to steal the spotlight as she shouts across to Olive, who looks equally as desperate to get out of her dad’s arms.”

“They should let the girls join their teams. Substitute for their dads.”

Arabella had her head resting on Alfie’s collarbone as he stood in the line up.

You clapped until your hands stung, waving at him as he stood on the pitch. His eyes found you and he waved a hand in greeting, before shifting Arabella and lifting her arm for her, making her wave to you as well.

When they walked around to the other team to greet them and wish them luck, almost all of Youtube Allstars greeted Arabella with grins and waves, especially George and Bach. When she came face to face with Olive again, the two girls tried hanging onto each other, hands clasped together tightly and refusing to let go until Alfie pulled Bella off.

Because he wasn’t playing immediately, he was able to drop her off back to you from where you and the girls were sat above the walkout tunnel. She settled in her arms with a little whine as you pecked him on the lips.

“Good luck.” You hummed, pulling away.

“Love you.” He gave you one last kiss before backing off.

“Love you too.”

He jogged back down to the pitch, waving to fans as he went.

“Daddy.” Arabella whined, watching him go with a pout.

“It’s okay, you can see him soon! When he scores you can give him a big hug and a kiss, yeah?”

She nodded, arms coming up and around your neck.

You were quick to find her ear defenders from the little carry on bag you’d bought for her and slid them over her head. Now you were free to scream for your boyfriend as loud as you wanted.

She was perched on your lap, unhappy with the defenders covering her ears and trying to knock them off, but once Yasmin began tickling under her chin and Liv played peekaboo with her to get her to settle better without her dad being around, she was giggling and distracted.

You were nothing short of elated when Jack put Alfie into the match. You knew he was rapid and eager to please, but you just hoped he wouldn’t injure himself or wear himself out too much. The last thing you needed was for him to vomit later.

“Look, there’s daddy!” You cooed to Arabella, pointing as Alfie jogged about on the field, staying alert and light on his feet.

“Daddy.” She grinned, clapping.

“It is!” You laughed, kissing her cheek as she waved at him, thinking he could see her.

Observing Alfie get slide tackled by Danny Aarons was not on your Sidemen Charity Match bingo card, and you were not expecting to get as frustrated and passionate as you did.

“Fuck off, Danny!” You shouted, cupping your mouth, “Ref, have a fucking word!”

Liv burst into reverberating cackles, slumping back in her seat and shaking her head at your unabashed heckling.

Like you knew how the game worked.

You cringed at Alfie’s awful miss of a goal, lowering your phone and stopping the recording instantly. You loved him more than anything, but that was truly dreadful. Even he knew how bad it was as he dropped his head to his hands and laughed it off.

“Gosh, even his girlfriend is humiliated for him. Reader, run while you still can!”

Throughout the rest of the game, Alfie was subbed on and off, and Arabella went through phases of walking and down the floor, to sitting in your lap and talking to you.

At half time, you enthusiastically sang along to Tinie Tempah with the girls whilst feeding your daughter little chunks of fruit.

“Bella!” Liv gasped out as she peeled open a pot of yogurt for her.

Yasmin was busy fanning the back of Arabella’s neck, helping to keep the two year old as cool as possible to prohibit any whining and/or crying.

“No.” She shook her head, turning away from the spoonful of yogurt.

“No? Why no?” Liv pouted.

“Not yummy.”

“Oh, well that makes me really sad.” She sagged dramatically, trying to convince the toddler to eat.

“That just means more for mummy.” You shrugged, leaning towards Liv with an open mouth as she fed you yogurt instead.

“No mummy!” Arabella huffed, hitting your arm softly, “My gogurt!”

“Gogurt.” Yasmin repeated the way the two year old messed up with a scrunched up face and a laugh. “She’s too cute.”

“Oh, now you want it.” You tutted as she nodded.

Liv gathered more yogurt onto the spoon, feeding Arabella.

Your daughter hummed and gave you a smile, eyes scrunched shut and cheeks chubby as ever.

“Good?”

“Yes.” She nodded.

Whilst you were still waiting for some time to pass by, you and the girls took a picture for your instagram story, and you captioned it ‘sat amongst the rivals, they’re just funnier. sorry babe x’ before tagging Yas, Liv and Alfie.

You knew he’d see it since he was sitting in the changing rooms doing nothing.

You expected a funny reply, but he was obviously way too exhausted from running back and forth to even think up a clever response, so he just replied to it with a simple heart eye emoji.

The second half of the game commenced with Alfie on the sidelines again, tiny little vlog camera in his hands.

You prayed for him the moment he got back onto the pitch. This was his moment now. With twenty five minutes left on the clock, you were tense. He needed a serious redemption after the mess in his first half.

When you said redemption, you meant a few good passes or tackles, you didn’t mean an actual goal.

You weren’t expecting it at all considering how far away he was from the goal, but when he tested his luck and kicked the ball with a ferocious amount of power, your bum left the seat slightly, and when it swooshed into the back of the net, you were on your feet immediately, screaming louder than anyone else with your hands in the air, clapping wildly.

Something that didn’t shock you, were the immediate tears burning in your eyes.

You were so fucking proud of him.

This was a massive moment for him; scoring such an amazing goal like that isn’t something to be brushed aside or treated casually.

You were fully sobbing at this point as he stood for a celebratory pose in front of the camera. Your chest was wracking as Liv and Yasmin hugged you while you all jumped up and down in enjoyment, Arabella stood on the chairs behind you.

You scooped her up, pointing to where Alfie was jogging around, pumping his fist.

“Daddy scored, baby! Can you believe it?”

“Yay, daddy.” Arabella giggled.

He rounded the pitch until he got to the area directly in front of where you were standing. Though he was a good few metres away, the both of you waved enthusiastically.

He blew a dozen kisses at you, and you could barely make out his exclamation of love.

“I love you too!” You shouted back.

“His lovely girlfriend and daughter, so happy for him.”

“Yes, I think she might be crying for him, but it’s an emotional moment. You cannot blame her. Just 22 with a long-term girlfriend, a baby, and a Wembley Goal. What else could a man ask for?”

“For him? A trip to Turkey maybe. Sort out those nashers.”

You didn’t care for the rest of the match anymore. The outcome didn’t matter, because your boyfriend had done the most outstanding thing you could’ve expected him to do. Whether his team won or not really didn’t matter anymore.

Your heart was swelling in your chest, and though you were sure it should’ve been a health hazard the way it was pounding under your ribcage, you couldn’t care less.

You quite literally couldn’t put into words how outstandingly proud you felt of him. There weren’t enough words in the English dictionary to even begin to explain it, and even if there were, they would be insurmountable.

When Bach scored his second goal of the day, you all cheered with Liv as she filmed it for her own vlog.

“I can’t believe it!” She exclaimed, “Two goals— Wow, I’m so proud of him!”

Arabella began getting very bored of the game as it neared the end. The penalties were everything but suspenseful, because it was blatantly obvious who was going to win after the first two shots were taken.

Though Sidemen FC ended up losing, your joy never faltered, and your cheeks were aching from beaming nonstop since the 71 minute mark.

He must’ve been boiling to the point of nearing on passing out as all the boys did a lap of the stadium, but he, Will and Tobi had removed their shirts, walking around shirtless. You stuck your fingers into your mouth and whistled loudly.

“Behave!” Yasmin scolded you with a playful slap to the arm, the both of you laughing.

You were more than pleased to see him approaching after gathering his medal from the referee.

Wasting no time at all, you leaned over the barrier, slinging your arms around his shoulders and kissing him passionately. Yasmin was holding Arabella while Liv filmed and got some candid photos that she would send you later.

But you weren’t bothered about that for now.

You ended up growing emotional again mid-kiss after his hands came up to hold your face.

“I’m so proud of you, Alf.” You cried, resting your forehead against his, “I love you so much, you really deserved this.”

“I love you more, darlin’.” He grinned, stroking your nose with his before pressing a kiss to it.

He swiped your tears away with the pads of his fingers, being careful not to smudge your makeup.

“Where’s your jacket gone? Not repping the family name!” He laughed.

“On the seat. Alf, my tits are sweating off.”

“I fucking hope not.”

You scoffed, pushing him off.

“Alfie’s mrs getting a little grabby grabby with him there. Cheeky. Arabella watch out, you might have a sibling on the way after tonight.”

“Come and sit on the field with us.” Alfie said, taking Arabella from Yasmin.

She clung to him tightly, hugging him as much as she possibly could with her tiny body.

“Am I allowed?” You frowned.

“Oi, Josh!”

He turned around.

“Can Reader come sit with us?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” He nodded.

You gathered your stuff, saying goodbye to the girls and promising to send them all the photos you’d taken. You slung Arabella’s carry on over your shoulder and Alfie took your jacket so you didn’t have to carry it.

She pressed a sloppy kiss to his cheek with a giggle.

“Thank you, princess!” He grinned, kissing her cheek back.

The sun was beaming down on the pitch when you sat down on the grass, making it feel like the perfect type of afternoon to go and sit in a beer garden with your mates. You were sure there would be something like that after everyone had gone home and showered. If not tonight, then maybe tomorrow.

Alfie once again removed his shirt, not that you were complaining in the slightest, and slid it over your head.

“Alfie, it stinks!” You guffawed, immediately taking it off and fixing your hair.

“Bro!” He laughed, “Obviously.”

“Wash it and then I’ll wear it with pride.” You smiled, folding it up and putting it on the floor in front of you.

He dipped his head down to mutter into your ear, hand around your waist, “Wear it while I fuck you?”

“Don’t be dirty in public.” You scoffed before smirking, “But, after that goal? Baby, you can do whatever you want to me.”

“Too right.” He grinned like a cocky bastard, pressing a few pecks to your lips before turning away and getting involved in a conversation with someone else.

Halfway through your own conversation with Harry, Alfie had slipped his medal around your head so it rested on your neck instead.

“Bella, stay close please.” You called out to her as she walked on wobbly feet.

She was a confident walker, but she occasionally got way ahead of herself and stumbled.

Harry was keeping a watchful eye on her, shuffling around to follow her as she went, hands ready to reach out and catch her.

“Hi, Arabella!” JJ gasped, face lighting up at the sight of the toddler.

He had a football, the football that your gorgeous boyfriend had scored with, under his shirt, pretending to walk around pregnant.

She grinned up at him, waving with one hand as the other was clutching onto his leg.

“Will she kick a ball?” JJ asked you as he took the football out from under his shirt.

“Yeah, she will.” You nodded.

“Really?” Harry gaped as his friend put the ball in front of her.

Arabella looked down at the ball, reached her foot out, and nudged it forward a little bit.

“Oh, wow!” He gasped over dramatically, making her grin.

“She’s a better baller than me!” JJ laughed as she kicked the ball again, running after it.

Whilst being too focused on her feet and kicking the ball, she ended up tripping over and bumping into Tobi’s foot.

“Oh, hello!” He grinned at her as she dusted her hands off.

“You okay, baby?” You asked, half lying in Alfie’s lap at this point.

She nodded.

“Bella.” Tobi whispered, crouching down to get to her height, “You look very pretty today.”

She beamed at his compliment, “Dress!”

“Yes! With flowers.” He pointed to the larger flower embroidered over the fabric that wrapped around her stomach.

She giggled at the ticklish feeling.

“You guys, she’s so cute.” Tobi gushed, looking up at the two of you.

“Me!” She squealed.

“Yes, you!”

Alfie was scrolling on his phone as you rested your head in his lap, hand shielding your eyes from the sun.

The sound of a connecting call blared in your ear.

“AB! How you doing, bro?!” Chip exclaimed down the phone.

They had a conversation for a short amount of time as the YouTube AllStars lifted the trophy and celebrated their win.

“AB, come here.” Alfie beckoned Arabella away from where she was chasing Arthur around on the grass.

He was pretending to be slow so she could catch up to him, which made you smile endearingly.

“Can you stop calling her that?” You slapped him on the abs.

“Why, it’s her initials?”

You rolled your eyes and shook your head as your daughter came bounding over, peering at what her dad had to show her on his phone.

“Ip!” She gasped, choking in her own air and coughing.

“You good?” Alfie hummed, patting her back.

“Hi Ip!”

“Yo, my little Arab! How you doing? You proud of your dad?”

“Mhm!” She hummed, rocking back and forth on her feet, “Had gogurt.”

“Your dad had yogurt?”

“No, me!”

“Oh, you had yogurt! Of course!” Chip laughed heartily, “You know who makes a good yogurt?”

He panned the camera to Sabina.

“‘Ina!” Arabella exclaimed, trying to get closer to the screen as if that meant she would be closer to Sabina.

You sat up to hold her back slightly, placing her on your lap because being that good to a screen would be no good on her eyes.

“Hi Bella!” Sabina greeted, waving.

You leaned over, resting your head on Alfie’s bare shoulder and humming contently as he let Arabella take the phone to talk to her uncle and auntie. Alfie turned his head, kissing your hair repeatedly.

“Arab, go find Uncle Arthur for me, I wanna say something to him.” Chip asked of her.

She clambered out of your lap and went waddling towards the man.

You laughed, sitting up as you and Alfie were granted some time to yourselves.

You sat up, shuffling to be facing him with your legs on the floor but your knees tucked up.

His legs were extended outwards.

“I am so proud of you, Alf.” You smiled, pressing a kiss to his lips, “So proud.”

He just grinned at you, shining, sharp canines on show.

“And it’s got nothing to do with the goal. Whether you scored or not, I would’ve been proud either way.”

“God, gonna make me cry, girl. C’mere.” He pulled you closer so your chests were pressed together and your chin was resting on his shoulder as he pressed kisses to her neck and jawline.

“Love you so much, Alfie.”

“It’s 3 days before the match and I’m trying to decide what to wear.” You motioned to the floor of your bedroom, where clothes piled high and messy. It felt like you’d tried on everything remotely appropriate and yet nothing felt right. Obviously you were going to support your boyfriend, but knowing how many eyes and cameras there were going to be, you wanted to look good as well. “As you can see, I’m not having much luck.”

You frowned at the camera, hands on your hips as you tried to make up your mind. Maybe there had been something good that you missed, or maybe you needed to try a different combination together. It was impossible to do this on your own. You needed a second opinion. A neutral party. Although, your boyfriend would probably tell you you looked good in everything, which would be even less help. 

“Alf?” you called. 

There was no reply but you could hear his footsteps thundering up the stairs. He paused in the doorway at the sheer mess all over the floor. Then did a double take at your state of undress. He wasn’t sure what he was more interested in. 

“What’s up?”

“I can’t decide what to wear for the charity match. I need your expert opinion.” You pouted just for good measure, hoping it would sway him into helping you. 

“Aren’t you wearing my shirt?” He actually sounded a little deflated at the idea that you wouldn’t be wearing his name and number. That was one of the silly little things he’d been looking forward to this whole time. 

“Course I am, but I’ve got to take some good pictures first. And I have to wear something under the shirt, Alf.” 

The grin that creeped onto his face told you exactly what was about to come out of his mouth before he said a word. “I’d rather you didn’t.” 

You rolled your eyes, shoving at his chest so he fell back onto the bed. “Can you just sit there and tell me what looks good, please?” You shouldn’t have even needed to ask. As if he was going to turn down the chance to sit there and watch you take your clothes off. Sometimes you forgot he was a very simple man. 

5 outfits in and he was bored, scrolling through his phone to try and pass the time. Seeing you get undressed never got old, but watching you turn every which way in the mirror to see your outfit at all angles, that was boring. 

You only had one option to regain his attention realistically. 

His eyes roamed your figure, narrowing on the face printed onto what he assumed was a plain black shirt. His brow furrowed. This wasn’t a shirt he’d seen before– he had a feeling he would remember. 

“Is that me?” 

You giggled, nodding your head. It was a silly gag gift from one of your friends that had sat in the back of your wardrobe for maybe a year. You never thought you’d get a chance to actually use it, but now felt like a fantastic occasion. Besides, you did in fact heart your boyfriend. “Do you like it?” 

If his laughter was anything to go by, the answer to that question was yes. At least one way or another, with or without his team shirt, he would be letting everyone in that stadium know you were his. 

“Is it giving WAG Cheryl Cole?” 

He blinked. He knew what all those words meant, just not together. “Erm…” He scratched his head, looking at the camera like anyone could help him. In the end he had to go out on a whim and guess. “Yeah?” 

You beamed, bending down to press a kiss to his lips. “Perfect.”

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The night before the match had your stomach in knots. Your body was acting like you were the one playing in the match and not him. For the most part he’d seemed pretty relaxed, but you had a feeling he wasn’t being entirely honest with you. Shoving a camera in his face to ask the question probably wasn’t the best way to get an honest answer, but he did say he wanted you to document the whole process so… Only he was to blame.

The two of you were laid in bed, due to go to sleep any moment now so he wasn’t tired tomorrow morning. You were a little too excited to sleep yet. 

“So, it’s the night before the match,” you started, angling your camera to fit the two of you in frame. Your head was on his bare chest, his arm around you while he scrolled through his phone. He was trying not to think about it too much to be honest. “How you feeling, handsome?” 

He hummed. “Okay.”

“Are you excited?” 

“Yeah. Don’t think the nerves have quite hit yet though.”

“Well, no matter what happens, I’m proud of you.” 

His eyes softened. “Yeah?”

You looked up at him, smiling sweetly. “Yeah.” 

For a split second you thought he was going to lean in and kiss you. He did too. Until he remembered the camera still recording you both. He took it from your hand with a cheeky smile, reaching over to place it on the table beside the bed, planning to turn it off as soon as he was done talking. 

“Sorry, chat, what we’re about to do next isn’t Youtube friendly.”

“Alfie!” 

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“Okay guys, this is my outfit.” You pointed the camera to the mirror, letting them finally see the vision you put together the other day. White shorts, brown boots and your beloved top with Alfie’s face on. The ‘I heart my boyfriend’ shirt was definitely your favourite part. The viewers could faintly see a Sidemen FC shirt thrown over your arm in preparation. “I also have one of Alfie’s shirts ready to put on when I get there.” 

The smile on your face hadn’t dimmed all morning, not since Alfie left you in bed with a kiss on your head and a promise to see you later in the day. You were so excited for him that you almost felt sick. You couldn’t wait to see him in his kit running around the pitch. 

There was sometime before prep and kick off for you to see him. Obviously, that meant you needed a tour of the changing rooms. He showed you his little cubicle with his name and number on, making you feel emotional before the match had even started. 

“Let me take a picture.” 

You instructed him to sit down and pose for your phone camera. The moment he did that silly one finger pose, you sighed. “No, Alfie. Smile.” He didn’t protest, just dropped his hand and plastered a bright smile on his face for your camera.

You stared at it for a minute after you took it, feeling silly for finding yourself teary over a simple picture of your boyfriend. But it was a picture you were going to cherish— maybe even make it into the lockscreen rotation.

He beckoned you over, letting you perch yourself on his knee as you basked in the quiet of the room before the chaos was due to start.

He kissed your head, sticking his tongue out at the small camera in your hands.

“Gonna score for you, just watch.”

You shot a look at the camera. The odds of him scoring on his debut match were slim, especially when he wasn’t the best footballer you’d ever seen, but you appreciated that his heart was in it. He was here for a good time but he also really wanted to do well. 

“Have faith, girl. When I score I’m gonna dedicate it to you, trust.”

“We’ll see.”

The kiss you shared before he left almost made you breathless. You were trying to pour every ounce of pride you felt for him into it, meanwhile he wanted to get across his gratitude for the fact you were here with him. Who would have ever guessed this was where you’d be when you started talking all those years ago? 

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You didn’t know too much about football. You’d never really cared to be honest, watching it only when Alfie dragged you to the pub when it was on or made you sit with him and watch– though that didn’t mean you knew what was happening. Which made it all that much more amusing to the friends you were sitting with whenever something happened concerning Alfie. 

A slide tackle from Danny Aarons made your blood boil, seeing your boyfriend go down in a way you could only imagine hurt. At the sight of him on the floor you scoffed, getting to your feet. “Foul! Ref?” Liv couldn’t help her laughter from beside you. You had no idea what you were talking about, or why no one even blinked an eye when it happened. You were fuming. 

You turned to your camera with a scowl. “I’m like 99% sure that was illegal. This game’s rigged, I swear to god.” 

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“So, as you can all see, Alfie’s doing an absolutely masterclass right now. Smoking everyone on the pitch.” The camera was pointed towards the pitch, although it was nearly impossible to tell which one of the moving figures he was. 

“Look at how fit my man looks.” You suddenly turned the camera back to you. “Actually I take that back. Don’t look at my man. He’s for my eyes only.” 

Liv could be heard giggling next to you.

The cheer of the crowd alerted you to another goal, but not from the team you were rooting for. It was Will celebrating on the corner of the pitch in the red kit. You booed where your friend cheered. “Offside!” 

“Do you even know what that means?” 

You shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Offside, ref!” 

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“Hi, everyone, Alfie just scored so I’ve briefly taken over Y/N’s vlog while she tries to stop crying.” Liv turned the camera to you, showing how you sat curled into her side with your hands over your face, shoulders shaking. She kept rubbing your back to try and soothe you, but every time you thought about the Alfie you met when you were 18, the tears started falling again. “Are you okay, babe?”

You sniffled, lifting your head to show the smears of mascara under your eyes. “No,” you whined. You were an emotional wreck. 

“Look!” Liv pointed to the big screen showcasing Alfie’s celebration. 

You looked just in time to see the way he blew kisses to the crowd, aimed your way. He knew exactly where you were sitting. He made sure of that in case something like this was to happen. He looked small on the pitch, but you could still tell he was looking at you. Your heart throbbed, blowing a kiss back that you weren’t certain he could see. 

This was possibly the proudest moment of your life so far. 

When you looked at Liv holding your camera again, your lip wobbled, still caught up on Alfie’s goal even as the game resumed. You must have looked like a crazed fan. Sitting in a shirt that said AB on the back with tears streaming down your face. “That’s my boyfriend,” you cried. 

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You were almost buzzing with energy at the thought of seeing Alfie after the match. You were disappointed his team didn’t win, but there was no way he could be upset with his performance. And at least he got a medal for it.

You didn’t want to wait long enough for him to get said medal.

You wanted to see him immediately.

The moment you were let loose on the field you ran like a mad woman to find your boyfriend.

If he wasn’t so big you might have accidentally tackled him when you threw your arms around his neck. He laughed, lifting you so your legs wrapped around his waist.

“I’m so proud of you,” you whispered into his ear.

He didn’t reply, but he did squeeze you tighter.

It was probably 2 whole minutes later when he finally set your feet back on the ground, desperate to see your face and tell you all the great parts of playing in the match.

First he needed to kiss you. That was most important.

His big hands framed your face, leaning down to press a sweet kiss to your lips. He didn’t care who was watching anymore. When he pulled away you started rambling on about what it was like to watch him from up in the stands, but he didn’t hear a word. He was lost in a daze, staring at you as warmth bloomed in his chest, his stomach. He didn’t know if he’d ever been this happy and getting to share it with you, the person who was always by his side, was incredible. 

“I love you,” he cut you off. 

You smiled, not even caring about the interruption. “I love you.”

He brushed your hair out of your face, grazing his knuckles against your cheek. Then he kissed you again, longer this time, like he might die if he didn’t get his fix. 

He didn’t know it was possible to be so overwhelmed with love.

“I’m so glad you’re here. I don’t think I could have done any of this without you.” He watched as you pouted, eyes growing watery at his words. You had already cried enough today. What was he playing at? “I’m so glad you’re the person I get to experience all this with.” 

Alfie wasn’t normally this sappy. Today it felt necessary. Today was possibly the best day of his life.

“Don’t make me cry again, I’ve already had to fix my makeup twice.” 

He laughed, kissing you again, once, twice, three times. You almost didn’t recognise him— this was the man who was adamant he never wanted to be caught kissing on camera, yet right now he couldn’t care less.

“You still look perfect.” 

Your eyes trailed from his face down to the medal resting around his neck, smiling brightly at the memorabilia he could keep forever. You ran your fingers over the engravings, shocked by how heavy it actually was. 

He lifted it from over his neck, slotting it onto yours, helping you lift your hair out of the way so he didn’t ruin it. You wouldn’t admit how your stomach fluttered at such a simple gesture. 

You looked down at the medal resting against your chest. You were so proud. “You really deserved this. And man of the match in my opinion.”

“Oh, really?”

“Sexiest man of the match, definitely.” 

“Oh, wow. That might be a bigger achievement than my goal, you know?” 

“You scored a goal?” you teased. There was no way you were ever hearing the end of this. 

He nodded. “Yeah, your man scored a goal at Wembley.”

“My man,” you hummed, leaning in for another kiss. Something insatiable was stirring deep inside you. 

A heavy hand landed on Alfie’s shoulder, startling him away from you. He whipped his head around to find Cal smiling brightly, slinging his arm around his shoulders. You barely listened as they caught up, staying tucked into Alfie’s side despite how sweaty he was. You managed to catch the congratulations he gave on the goal, followed by a invitation to head out to some bar with some of the other lads.

Alfie’s gaze flickered to you questioningly. You shook your head, already grinning. “Nope. We’re going straight home. I’ve got plans for you tonight, Buttle.” 

He looked back at Cal and shrugged. “Sorry, mate.”

alfie didn’t waste a second in dragging you into the shower with him when you got home from sidemen charity match. you were so tremendously proud of him, and you felt like you could give him a million kisses everyday and it still wouldn’t be enough.

the water pressure was perfect as it ran over the both of your bodies. you kept your hands clasped at the base of his spine, arms folded around his middle and cheek resting against his chest, occasionally kissing his skin.

you hummed contently as he lathered shampoo into your hair, using the tips of his fingers to massage your scalp.

you obviously returned the favour, making sure to give him more care and attention.

he slotted his lips against yours as the water rinsed through your hair, sending the soapy shampoo suds down your back and chest.

“love you, alf.” you grinned, “you did so well today, really.”

“that means everything coming from you.” he responded sincerely, kissing your nose and then forehead before reaching for the conditioner

throughout the shower, the two of you shared a couple dozen more soft, meaningful and meticulously placed kisses.

you didn’t even let the thought of blow drying your hair cross your mind when you stepped out, instead choosing to briefly towel dry it before changing into your pyjamas (one of alfie’s old youngLa shirts that didn’t fit him anymore) and got into bed with him.

he scrolled through his phone, ordering dinner from wagamamas before burying his face in your neck, collapsing all of his bodyweight onto you.

you groaned, patting his back as your arm were partially pinned to the mattress and your sides.

the pair of you enjoyed a sweet cuddle full of lingering pecks and muttered words of approval. your hand was buried in his curls, stroking through them and rubbing at his scalp, making him hum and shut his eyes. your other hand rested over his face, your thumb switching between stroking over the length of his nose and his cheekbone.

when your food arrived. you ate on the sofa with each other, cuddled up as you rewatched game of thrones for the millionth time. the way you ate was leisured and lethargic, the both of you starving out of your minds but also desperately ready to sink into the mattress in the room above you.

when bedtime finally came, you were both brutally knackered. he’d had an entire day of running up and down, kicking his legs about and constant adrenaline rushes, whereas you’d worn yourself out through screaming and jumping in celebration.

you were half expecting him to collapse on top of you again like he did prior to dinner, but instead, he pulled you on top of him, your leg hooked over his waist and head resting on his chest.

one of his hands rested on your thigh, the other at your upper back, stroking along your spine as you spoke mindlessly, lazily and comfortably.

some sentences earned a tired chuckle, while others earned nothing more than an acknowledged hum.

the intimacy was gentle and casual with his lips occasionally brushing your hairline and your fingertips tracing shapes and the number ‘23’ on the skin of his pec repeatedly.

it didn’t take long for the either of you to fall asleep, your lips parted and cheek smushed against his collarbone, a sight that made him snort and chuckle to himself. he reached for his phone, snapping a picture of a moment he found endearing and worthy of a snapshot in time.

after putting his phone back on the bedside table, he switched off the lamp and sunk further down into bed, careful not to disturb you in your slumber.

The apartment is quiet in a way it never used to be.

Not silent—never silent. There’s the soft hum of the fridge, the distant city noise bleeding through the windows, and most importantly, the tiny, sleepy sounds coming from the bassinet beside your bed.

But it’s calm.

And that’s new.

You wake up before the baby does. It’s instinct now. The light filtering through the curtains is pale gold, and the early morning Chicago sun warms the edges of the room. You turn your head slightly.

Carmy’s already awake.

He’s lying on his back, one arm tucked under his head, staring at the bassinet like it might disappear if he blinks too long.

“You’ve been watching her again, haven’t you?” you murmur, voice still thick with sleep.

He glances at you, sheepish but not denying it. “Just… makin’ sure she’s breathing.”

You smile softly. “She is.”

“Yeah. I know.” He pauses. “I just—yeah.”

First-time parents.

The words still feel surreal.

Your daughter makes a small, squeaky noise, her tiny hands flexing like she’s stretching in her dreams. Carmy’s entire body tenses for half a second before he leans closer, hovering over the bassinet.

You reach out and gently hook your finger through the back of his t-shirt, grounding him.

“She’s okay,” you whisper.

He nods, but he doesn’t move away. Instead, he brushes one careful fingertip over her cheek. The movement is so gentle it barely dents her skin.

“I can handle a dinner rush with two hundred covers,” he says quietly. “I can run a kitchen. I can fix a broken fridge in under an hour.” His voice softens. “But this? This is… different.”

You sit up slowly and rest your chin on his shoulder.

“You’re doing amazing,” you tell him.

He huffs softly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You changed a diaper at three a.m. without swearing once.”

“That’s not true,” he mutters. “I definitely swore.”

“Under your breath. It doesn’t count.”

He laughs quietly, careful not to wake her. The sound is warm and unguarded, softer than the sharp-edged one he uses at work.

She stirs again, blinking her big, unfocused eyes open.

Carmy freezes.

You’ve seen him plate Michelin-star dishes with steady hands. You’ve seen him work through cuts and burns like they were nothing.

But when she looks at him, really looks at him, his whole face melts.

“Hey, baby,” he whispers.

His voice is nothing like it is in the kitchen. No urgency. No edge. Just warmth.

He slides one hand beneath her head and the other under her tiny body, lifting her with the same precision he’d use handling something fragile and priceless.

Which, to him, she is.

He sits back against the headboard, settling her against his chest. She fits there like she was designed for it, her head just under his collarbone.

“You see this?” he murmurs to her. “This is your mom. She’s the reason you’re this perfect, okay? Not me. I just—helped.”

You roll your eyes fondly. “You did more than help.”

He looks at you then. Really looks at you. His hair’s a mess, there are faint dark circles under his eyes, and there’s a softness in him that only comes out in moments like this.

“I’ve never been more scared in my life,” he admits quietly. “But I’ve also never been more sure about anything.”

You slide closer, pressing your thigh against his.

“She doesn’t need perfect,” you say. “She just needs you.”

The baby makes a tiny cooing sound, like she agrees.

Carmy’s lips twitch into a smile. He leans down and presses the softest kiss to the top of her head. Then he looks at you.

“Thank you,” he says.

“For what?”

“For this. For her. For trusting me with… all of it.”

Your chest aches in the best way.

You reach out and brush your thumb along his jaw, over the faint stubble there.

“You were always meant to be her dad,” you whisper.

For a moment, he just breathes. Then he leans forward carefully, still cradling your daughter, and presses his forehead to yours.

The three of you stay like that.

No chaos.

No shouting.

No kitchen timers.

No tickets printing endlessly.

Just slow morning light, the steady rhythm of your baby’s breathing, and Carmy’s hand finding yours, lacing your fingers together like he needs the reminder that this—this quiet, beautiful life—is real.

“Fucking zippers, man.” Alfie groaned quietly in annoyance as he finally stepped into the tent after struggling to open it the first few times. The flashlight shining from his phone and through his front hoodie pocket lit up the dark blue tent, giving him the perfect view of you lying down in your green sleeping bag. His matching one lay out right next to you. 

Alfie’s eyes widened, and he quickly pulled out his phone to turn off the flashlight, not wanting to wake you up. But the tired groan leaving your lips, accompanied by the rustling of your sleeping bag, he knew he was too late; you were already up. Nonetheless, he turned off his flashlight and was welcomed by the darkness of the cold tent. 

“Be careful of the—“ your sleep-filled voice broke the silence of the tent as you tried to warn him of the electric lantern that was at your feet, not wanting him to hurt himself. But you're cut off by the sound of him stubbing his toe against the said lantern, a wince and muttered curse leaving his lips quickly after. 

You giggle tiredly as you rub at your tired eyes before slowly sitting up, blinking the sleep from your eyes as you reach for the lantern, searching blindly for the turn switch. A hum of success leaves your lips when you find it, and then the tent lights up with a warm range hue. You look up at your boyfriend with a tired look as he gives you a bashful smile, as he rubs his shin, his cheeks flushed from the bonfire. 

“Hurry and zip the tent before more cold air gets in.” You shivered as you rubbed your hoodie-covered arms, your sleeping bag and Alfie's hood not doing much to protect you from the cold waft of air. 

He nearly tripped again as he clumsily crouched down and turned around to zip up the tent, looking back at you with a teasing smirk, “Need me to warm you up?” 

“Please,” you gave him a faux innocent smile as you doubled down, unzipping your sleeping bag and scooting a little so he could have some room to slip in with you. You bit your lip to stop yourself from laughing as you watched him quickly lean down to take off his shoes, eager to cuddle with you. A small laugh left your lips as Alfie dropped to his knees and slipped into the sleeping bag with you. 

“Mmm, hey girl,” he whispered flirtatiously as he rolled on top of you, putting most of his body weight on one of his forearms while he used his free hand to reach behind him, pulling the sleeping bag over his broad shoulders. You zipped up the sleeping bag as you spread your legs more, letting him comfortably lie between your legs. 

Alfie let out a small hum of appreciation and dropped his head to rest in the crook of your neck. The feeling of his lips brushing against your neck gave you goosebumps. You whispered tiredly, “Hi.”  

You smiled as you felt his long eyelashes flutter against your neck, letting you know he closed his eyes. You slipped your hand down his back and under his hoodie, your warm hand soothing his cold skin. You brought your other hand up to run your fingers through his dark curls, a pleased sigh leaving his lips at the feeling. 

After a few minutes of silence and just enjoying the warmth coming from each other's bodies. Alfie started to get restless. Being so close to you was too much for him. He tilted his head to the side and brushed his lips against the soft skin of your pulse point before placing a soft kiss. A pleased sight left your lips at the feeling, and Alfie took that as an okay to keep going. 

Alfie continued to kiss up your neck and jaw, small sighs and heavy breaths leaving your lips at the feeling of his soft lips kissing and sucking against your skin. You tilted your head to face him, and God, did he look so pretty, flushed cheeks, his brown curls a mess from you playing with them, his pretty eyes already looking into yours…a look in his eyes you knew all too well. 

You nodded softly, and he was quick to lean down for a kiss, your noses bumping against each other before you felt his lips on yours. You loved how he kissed you; he was never in a rush, even in situations where he had to rush; no, he wanted to savor the feeling and taste of your lips on his. Alfie moved his free hand slowly up your side to cup your jaw softly as your lips moved slowly in tandem. 

Alfie gently bit on your bottom lip, and you were quick to accept his request, parting your lips for him to slip his tongue into your mouth. 

You were starting to lose your breath from the passionate kiss, the air in the tent getting hotter from the shared body heat. You broke the kiss to whisper breathlessly against his lips, “You taste like chocolate ‘n beer” 

You tasted the s'mores the two of you made with your shared group of friends as you all sat around the bonfire, and the beer you all sipped as you laughed and talked for hours. 

An infectious laugh leaves Alfie's swollen lips from the kiss you shared, as he softly dropped his forehead on your chest, his shoulders shook with laughter. It wasn’t even that funny; clearly, he was still tipsy from all the drinks. The vibration of him laughing against you gave you butterflies, and you couldn’t help but join him in laughter. 

Alfie rested his chin on your chest and looked up at you as you brought your hand up to brush his curls out of his face, as he smirked teasingly, “Oh, so I taste delicious, eh?”

”Mhm, so delicious,” you teased back as you brought your hand up to boop his nose softly with your finger, smiling at the cute nose scrunch he does at the soft feeling. His heart filled with warmth at the sound of your laughter, God, you've made him into such a simp, he thought to himself as he looked up at you with love in his eyes. Taking in every detail of your beautiful face, which looked so heavenly under the orange hue. 

The sweet moment filled with your laughter and soft kisses were interrupted by the sound of your friend shouting from his tent, he shared with his girlfriend, tiredness in his tone as he complained. “Hey lovebirds, some of us want to sleep here!” 

Alfie quickly covered your mouth with his hand to muffle your giggles, he himself having to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing. After a few moments, the two of you calmed down, shifting around a little so that you were more comfortable in the sleeping bag. 

Alfie placed a long kiss on your forehead as he held you close to his chest, as the two of you lay on your sides, whispering sleepily against your skin, “Night love.” 

You fluttered your eyes closed as you melted in his arms, placing a soft kiss on his jaw, tangling your legs with his as you murmured, “Night, Alf.” 

┊࿐ ❛❛ continue on to my…. 𝙢𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 and 𝙬𝙞𝙥𝙨 ❜❜

Ი𐑼 here’s my first fic for this account 🥹 I really hope you guys like it , I’m still trying to get used to writing for ukyt so please be kind <3 please give me some feedback , comments and reblogs are very much appreciated , ily mwah 🤏🏻🤏🏻

۶ৎ taglist is open

Maybe you see it because he lets you. Because he feels he doesn’t have to hide as much when he’s around you. Or maybe it’s because you’re always looking for him in a crowd—your eyes scanning every face until they land on his.

You know he has a harder time dealing with his past than he ever admits. The therapist he’s been seeing seems to help, but it’s not like you can erase everything he’s been through. You’re glad he’s getting the help he needs, and you make sure he knows he has a support system he can lean on whenever he needs it.

He has Robby, and he has you.

When things started getting serious between you and Jack, the first person he wanted you to meet was Robby. You could tell immediately, from the way they interacted, that they shared a long and heavy history. And in the short time you spent with Robby, you could see that he too carried scars from the past.

Robby liked you right away—he was genuinely happy that Jack had someone to share his life with. But beneath Robby’s gentle smile, you sensed something else. A kind of relief hidden behind the easy banter and relaxed expression.

And when he cornered you one evening, glancing around as if making sure Jack wasn’t nearby before whispering, “I’m glad he has someone by his side. I can’t always keep an eye on him with our opposite shifts and all. I’m glad you’ve got his back,” you realized Robby knew Jack in ways you had yet to discover.

It had taken you a while to understand what Robby meant, but one night shift made everything painfully clear.

You’d been searching for Jack everywhere, and you were no closer to finding him. It was unlike him to just disappear—he was the attending, after all. Your worry had started creeping in when Robby walked in and caught the look on your face.

He seemed to know exactly what you were looking for. His hand landed gently on your shoulder to get your attention, a soft look settling over his features.

“You’re looking for Abbott, right? He’s probably taking a breather.”

“No, I checked outside. He wasn’t there,” you answered, eyes still darting around the room.

Robby gave your shoulder a small, knowing squeeze.

“Might wanna go check the roof.”

Robby must’ve seen something in your face shift, because he didn’t hesitate—he just said, “Come on,” and started toward the stairwell. You followed him up the flight of stairs until the sunshine hit your face and the rooftop door thunked shut behind you.

Jack was there. Standing on the edge of the roof, on the opposite side of the railing.

Your heart lurched. Your body moved before you even thought, breath punching out of your chest. Your eyes went wide, your mouth opened—but nothing came out.

Robby’s hand snapped around your arm, steadying you before you could take another panicked step.

“Hey—hey. It’s okay,” he murmured, voice low, like he’d rehearsed this line a thousand times.

You froze, pulse thundering in your ears, as Robby walked forward with a familiarity that made your stomach twist tighter.

He leaned casually against the railing, like this wasn’t terrifying, like it wasn’t a two-story drop to concrete.

“Hey, man,” he called out. “You bird-watching or something?”

Jack jolted—just slightly—like the sound tugged him out of a fog. He turned his head, and his eyes found yours over Robby’s shoulder.

Something flickered there. Recognition. Then shame. Then something soft.

He ducked back under the railing and stepped onto the safe side. Robby clapped him on the back and stepped aside, letting Jack walk toward you.

You stood there, hands trembling before you could stop them, the image of him on the wrong side of the railing burned into your mind. When he reached you, Jack didn’t say anything—just pulled you into his chest, arms strong and shaky all at once.

“Hey,” he murmured into your hair, breathing you in. “You don’t gotta worry. I wasn’t—I wasn’t doing anything stupid. Just… needed a look around.”

You didn’t say anything. You just held onto him, trying to let your body relax beneath his arms. When you finally glanced over his shoulder, your eyes met Robby’s. His expression was soft, a little tired, and without either of you saying a word, you understood.

This was what he meant. This was why he wanted someone else watching Jack’s back.

That was the first time you saw Jack’s armor crack.

But it wouldn’t be the last.

Today had been a particularly rough shift. You were exhausted—bone-deep tired—and more than ready to go home. When you saw Robby walk into the ED for his morning shift, you mustered a smile and walked over to pull him into a hug.

“How was your night?” he asked, like he always did.

“Hell, as usual,” you sighed.

Robby gave you that knowing look, the one edged with sympathy and the kind of exhaustion only long-time trauma can carve into someone. His eyes swept the room, scanning faces out of habit.

You knew exactly who he was looking for. Who he always looked for.

“He’s upstairs,” you said, no explanation needed.

Robby’s gaze snapped back to you, understanding immediately.

“That bad, huh?”

“Yep.” Your shoulders sagged under the weight of the night. “Pretty much.”

“You want me to go get him?”

You gave his shoulder a gentle pat. “No, I got it. I was just giving him a little alone time first. You know how he gets.”

Robby nodded, expression softening. “Call me if you need me.”

You offered him a tired smile before turning and heading for the stairs—your feet already knowing the path to the roof.

Jack is in his usual spot.

Same place he always goes when the shift has taken too much out of him. Same spot where the world stretches out before him far enough that he can pretend he’s not drowning in his thoughts. In his feelings.

You ease the rooftop door open, letting it click shut behind you. He has his back to you, but you know he knows you’re here. You take a couple of slow steps toward him, leaning on the railing like Robby had the first time you’d found out about this routine of theirs.

“Anything interesting down there?” you say softly, voice drifting over to him like you’re afraid of startling him.

Jack glances over his shoulder. It’s not really a smile he gives you—more a tired twitch of his mouth that’s trying to be one. The kind he uses when he doesn’t want you to worry, even though the fact that he’s up here already tells you plenty.

“Nah,” he mutters. “Same old streets. Same old mess.”

The wind is cool up here, biting at your cheeks. Jack’s eyes stay fixed on the drop below. Yours stay glued to his profile.

“You want to talk about it?” you ask gently.

He huffs out a breath. “Not really.”

You nod, because you’re not here to force it out of him. You’ve learned that pushing makes him shut down harder. And besides—that tone? You know that one. It’s the I’m-still-in-it tone. The one he gets when some patient or some moment kicks up dust from the part of his past he tries not to look at. The part filled with dirt and gunfire and screams that don’t belong in a hospital.

Jack’s jaw flexes. You see the tension in his body. Not just the usual post–twelve-hour-shift tension, but the kind he carries from years of seeing more shit than anyone should see in their whole lifetimes. It always lingers. Waiting beneath his skin. Waiting for something to pull it out into the open. And tonight, it’s clear something had made it bubble up.

You keep your eyes forward as you ask, “Want me to go get Robby?”

It’s not jealousy. It’s not insecurity. You know how deep their history runs. Sometimes Jack needs his best friend before he needs anyone else.

But he shakes his head immediately.

“No.” His voice is low, rough. “I just… need a little quiet.”

You give another small nod. “Okay.”

And that’s it. No fixing. No prying. You just sit down, letting the silence stretch the way he needs it to. The wind whistles, cars honk far below, and Jack’s breathing slowly evens out—slowly, gradually, grounding itself in the fact that you’re here.

After a while—maybe minutes, maybe longer—you hear him shift. You watch as he ducks under the railing, stepping back toward the safe side before looking down at you from where you’re still sitting. You lift yourself off the ground, moving so you’re standing in front of him. You stay a couple of steps away for a moment before reaching your hand out.

His fingers brush yours, hesitant at first, then more sure when you curl your hand softly around his.

“Wanna go home?” you whisper.

Jack exhales—a shaky, tired sound that breaks your heart a little.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah… I’m ready.”

And with that, he lets you pull him back inside.

He’s quiet the whole walk home, which isn’t unusual on days like this. Still, you miss the easy chatter you usually fall into together. You miss the feeling of his hand in yours as you walk side by side, miss the silly comments he always makes just to get you to laugh.

But you know it isn’t personal. Sometimes the weight of the past is just too heavy to carry, and Jack has to put all his strength into keeping himself together. There isn’t much left over for anything else.

So on days like this, you just match your pace to his, silently following him all the way back to your shared apartment.

You walk into your apartment, keys clattering softly against the door as you push it open. Jack trails in behind you. You slip your shoes off, and he quietly closes the door, locking it before doing the same.

You head straight for the kitchen, washing your hands at the sink before opening the fridge and grabbing the food you’d set aside for the two of you. On normal days, you and Jack share the shower—taking turns helping each other wash the grime and weight of the shift away. But today… you know he won’t be up for that.

So you call out from the kitchen, loud enough for him to hear you from the entryway.

“You go first, Jack. I’ll start heating the food up.”

He passes by the kitchen doorway, giving you a small, tired nod before heading toward the bathroom.

After he gets out—looking just as tired as when he went in, but at least cleaner—you make your way to the bathroom next, focusing on washing the shift off your own skin. You both settle down to eat afterward, the low murmur of the TV drifting across the room while you eat in silence. When you’re done, the dishes washed and teeth brushed, the two of you climb into bed.

You reach over to click the lamp off and start to settle, already preparing yourself to fall asleep without Jack’s arms around you. But just as you’re about to turn your back to him, he says your name—soft, almost hesitant.

You turn, barely able to make out his face in the dark.

“Yeah?” you answer quietly, voice barely above a breath.

“No cuddling today?” he asks, the words gentle, almost sheepish in the dark.

Your eyes soften instantly.

 “Didn’t think you’d be up for it,” you whisper.

Jack reaches out, his hand brushing your cheek before gently tugging you closer until your noses touch.

“Always up to cuddle with you, baby,” he murmurs, the teasing warmth in his voice muted by exhaustion but still sincere.

You smile, pressing a soft kiss to his lips before shifting until your head rests against his chest—right where you’ve always fit perfectly.

“Goodnight, Jack,” you say softly, your voice melting into his skin.

“Night, baby,” he replies, the words low and sleepy. 

He can feel the sweat against his temple. Can feel it run down his neck and seep into his uniform. He can smell the dirt and blood and gunpowder. Can hear the explosion, the screams, the bullets ricocheting.

His feet pound against the ground as he runs, bag rattling against his back with every step. There’s a rifle in his hand—he can feel the weight of it, the metal pressed beneath his fingers. The sound is muffled, but he can still make out orders being shouted somewhere beside him. He takes another step. 

And that’s when it happens.

He doesn’t even have time to react before his body is launched backward. His back hits the ground and, for a moment, he can’t hear anything. The explosion blows out everything else, dust filling the air and swallowing what little he could see.

And then it hits him.

Pain.

Searing pain, shooting through him so fast he doesn’t even have time to scream.

The world tilts. His vision blurs. When he finally manages to bring it into focus, his eyes trail downward to assess the damage.

He catches it immediately.

Blood. Shredded fabric. Jagged bone.

The panic settles in instantly, and the scream that rips from his throat makes his lungs burn. Hands grab at him—soldiers barking his name, trying to drag him away—but everything blurs, their faces smearing together.

His vision tightens, tunneling. He feels the blood pumping out of him, warm and fast.

And then darkness surrounds him.

Jack jerks awake with a gasp so sharp it almost sounds like a sob.

The room is dark. Quiet. Safe. But his body doesn’t know that—his heart is racing like he’s still on that damn battlefield. His hands fist at the sheets, tugging them off him in a panic. His eyes land on the place where his leg should be and, even though it’s not there—even though it’s been years—he can still feel the pain as if it had happened just now.

He’s so focused on the sight in front of him that he doesn’t feel you stir in bed. Doesn’t even remember you’re there next to him until your hand finds the center of his back.

His head snaps toward you, panicked eyes locking onto your worried gaze. The sight of you seems to pull him back into the present, inch by inch. He lets out a shaky breath just as you say his name again—because he didn’t hear it the first time.

“Jack? Hey — talk to me. What happened?”

He swallows. It’s hard. His throat feels tight, scraped raw.

“I… it was my leg.” His voice trembles in a way he hates. “I was back there. I saw it happen again.”

His breath stutters. He drags a trembling hand over his face, trying to wipe away the nightmare like it’s something he can physically scrape off his skin. You shift closer, slow and gentle, giving him every chance to pull away. He doesn’t. If anything, he leans toward you without realizing it, like his body is reaching for something solid to anchor to. 

“Is it hurting?” you whisper.

He nods, jaw clenched. “Feels like… like it’s still there. Like it’s still being blown off.” A shaky laugh slips out, humorless. “Stupid, right?”

You shake your head, reaching out to take his hand — letting him decide if he wants to hold on.

“That’s not stupid,” you whisper. “Phantom pain isn’t imaginary. And neither is what you lived through.”

His fingers curl around yours. Tight. Desperate.

For a moment, he just breathes. Eyes closed. Shoulders trembling.

Then he lets out a quiet confession, barely audible:

“I hate waking up like this. I hate that you have to see it.”

Your shoulders sag at the words. You know he struggles with being vulnerable, know he hates making you worry. But it doesn’t bother you — in fact, you’re glad to know he isn’t alone. Glad that you can be there for him when he needs someone, even if he tries to avoid it as much as he can.

You press your forehead gently to the side of his, grounding both of you.

“I’d rather be here with you through the bad,” you murmur, “than miss the chance to be here for the good.”

Jack lets out a sound that borders on a sob and a sigh. He shifts his head to the side so that your foreheads touch. Your hand moves up to cradle his cheek, making his eyes close.

“I’m here,” you murmur against his hair. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

He leans into your touch like he’s been holding himself upright for too long, like the simple act of your hand on his cheek is the one thing keeping him anchored.

You stay like that for a moment, his uneven breathing fanning across your face as your thumb continues to caress his skin. His hands move forward, grabbing onto your hips as if he needs to make sure you’re real.

“Sorry,” he whispers, voice raw. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

You shake your head gently, brushing your thumb over his cheekbone.

“Jack… you don’t have to apologize for having nightmares.”

His jaw tightens like he wants to argue, but the fight leaves him before it ever really forms. His shoulders slump, exhaustion settling back over him like a heavy blanket.

“It felt so real,” he admits, the words barely catching the air between you. “Every time it happens, it feels like… like I’m right back there. Like I’m losing it all over again.”

Your heart twists. Not out of pity — never pity — but out of that deep ache that comes from loving someone who’s been hurt in ways you can’t erase. You angle his face toward yours, gently guiding him until his eyes meet yours in the dark.

He gives you a look that almost makes your heart shatter in your chest. For a moment, you don’t see the Jack everyone else sees — the chill Jack who makes jokes and walks around like nothing ever gets to him. You see the man beneath the armor. The real Jack. The one who carries the world on his shoulders, the one who keeps going even when the pain gets unbearable.

You see your Jack.

The one you love with every fiber of your being.

You can’t promise him the nightmares won’t come. Can’t take the pain from him. Can’t promise that nothing will ever hurt him again.

So you say the only thing you can — the thing you feel every time you see him like this.

“I’m so sorry, Jack.”

Jack’s brows pull together at your words — not in frustration, not in dismissal, but in something softer. Sadder. He shakes his head almost immediately, hands tightening on your hips as if anchoring you in place.

“Don’t be,” he whispers, voice barely holding itself together. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You swallow, but the ache in your chest doesn’t ease.

“I know. I just… I hate that you went through that. I hate that you still have to.”

You sigh softly, the sound threading through the quiet of the room.

“I wish I could make it better.”

Jack pulls back just enough to see your face, his hand moving from your hip to your cheek, warm and steady as his thumb brushes your skin.

“You do,” he whispers.

You give him a sad smile and lean forward to press a soft kiss to his lips. He accepts it immediately, sinking into the tenderness, savoring the love you pour into him—trying to commit the feeling to memory.

When you pull back, he follows you, leaning in until his forehead rests against your collarbone. You wrap your arms around him instinctively, holding him close, cradling him as his fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt.

For a long moment, neither of you speaks. It’s just the two of you breathing in the dark, his heartbeat slowly finding its rhythm again, your hands moving up and down his back in calm, soothing strokes.

Eventually, Jack exhales — a low, weary sound that seems to release a little of the weight crushing him.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, voice muffled against your chest.

You run your fingers through his hair, soft and steady.

“For what?” you ask gently.

“For staying,” he breathes. “For… not being scared of me. Or of this.”

You press a kiss to the top of his head.

“Jack,” you whisper, “I’m not going anywhere.”

He holds onto you tighter after that—the kind of hold that says he believes you, even if it scares him to. He presses a kiss to your neck, lips soft against your skin.

“I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you too, Jack.”

He lifts his head just enough to look at you, and you offer him a tender smile.

“Wanna try and get some sleep?”

He breathes shakily against you, the fear of the nightmares creeping back in making him never want to sleep again. You can sense his apprehension, so your hand moves gently to hold his face.

“Don’t worry. I’m right here. I’ll keep you safe.”

Jack can’t help but smile at your words—because he can hear in your voice that you genuinely mean them, and that makes him believe them too. He unlatches from your body, moving to lie back down on the bed. You settle beside him, tugging the sheets over your bodies as you inch closer.

You tuck yourself against him, your fingers drawing slow circles along his ribs, a steady rhythm he can follow back into calm.

“Stay… right here,” he murmurs, voice thick and low.

 “I’m not moving,” you promise. “Sleep if you can. I’ve got you.”

Jack exhales, the sound shaky but softer than before. His chin rests lightly atop your head, his heartbeat gradually syncing with yours. His hand slips around your waist, pulling you closer as though he’s trying to merge the last of the fear out of his body and into your warmth. 

And little by little, you feel his body start to relax against yours, the nightmare losing its grip as he lets himself rest in the one place he still feels safe.

you were still in the thick of it all; learning to navigate these long nights of comforting, feeding, and changing. a task that was proving to be more demanding and difficult than any patient in the ptmc emergency room had ever been.

robby had come home earlier that evening after his shift — having stayed at the pitt overtime as he usually did. although, since the two of you had welcomed your baby girl into the world, he’d developed the habit of not lingering a second longer than absolutely necessary. which was applaudable for a man as dedicated to his work as robby.

it couldn’t have been later than 2am, and you didn't want him disturbing the already scarce sleep he got.

you knew how adamant he was about helping with everything concerning the baby, especially with you in this fragile postpartum state. but you wanted him to rest. and properly rest at that. not fuss around you all the time.

"it's okay… i've got it.” you assured him, your voice still thick and groggy with sleep.

before you could properly shift to soothe the crying child, you felt a warm, gentle hand settle on your forearm. stopping you in place.

"no, it's fine. i'll take care of her." the words were slightly hoarse, a low rasp in the dark, but to your surprise robby sounded far more alert than you did.

which could only mean one thing; he had stayed up late again, undoubtedly overthinking the events of the day.

you sighed; under any other circumstance you might have protested, argued that he needed his strength for tomorrow. but the persistent ache in your bones fought the idea of slipping from the sanctuary of your warm sheets.

"michael—"

"uh-uh." he gave your hand a firm squeeze and was already slipping out of bed. “you need to get rest.” and with that the sheets rolled over to your side as he stood up carefully.

you realized quickly there was no point in arguing with him when he set his mind on something. typical robby.

so you begrudgingly slumped back into the pillows.

"okay baby, it's okay…" you heard him murmur. his voice a soft coo as he moved toward the crib where your daughter lay.

“daddy's coming." she was still wailing ferociously when he reached her. he quickly scooped her into his arms with practiced tenderness.

"oh… what is it, sweet girl? huh?" he adjusted her against him. his large hands dwarfing her tiny form. it looked as though he was holding a delicate loaf of bread and not the human being the two of you had created.

"what's bothering you so much?" he cooed and rocked with experienced gentleness. checking the fabric of her onesie to ensure it wasn't soaked through.

he sensed no wetness, no sharp scent of a messy diaper, yet her cries of irritation persisted.

he squinted a brow. "shhh…" shifting her so she was splayed completely against his chest, beginning to pace the room.

the floorboards creaked beneath his heavy weight, a familiar noise as he treaded around the perimeter of the moonlight.

your sleep-addled mind perked up when you heard him start to sing. a soft melodic tune and a stream of hebrew seeping from his lips.

it was a lullaby. undoubtedly a fragment of his childhood. a song his grandmother had lodged into his heart. your own squeezing at the thought.

you silently watched from the shadows of the bed as your husband cradled your daughter with one hand. silently praying his warmth and steady lullaby would be enough to anchor her.

"you certainly have a pair of lungs on you, huh," he chuckled pressing a light kiss to her forehead.

"it's alright. i hear you just fine. don't have to wake the entire neighborhood though. especially your mommy… she needs to sleep sometimes too you know."

even in your half-consciousness you couldn’t help but smile meekly at his words.

“oh… i know… i know…” she desperately clutched the star of david which hung from his neck.

he moved to reposition her, laying her carefully along the length of his forearm.

his almost thirty years of experience, from both life and medicine, came in especially handy when handling his fussy daughter. even if he wasn't a pediatrician, he still had a few tricks up his sleeve.

how many babies had he seen during his years at the pitt? how many newborns had he cradled or helped usher into the world? how many terrified parents had he calmed with a steady look and a few carefully measured words?

yet none of it compared. none of it could even graze the surface of what he felt while holding her. his daughter. your daughter. the physical evidence of a love he had always thought himself incapable of. unworthy of.

he patted her back gently, awaiting the small release of air.

after a series of soft pats and a few final indignant cries, she finally relented. the small belching noises finally escaped her. the tension seemingly bleeding out of her tiny frame.

"there you go…" he praised, carassing the small tuft of dark hair on her scalp.

her sobs weakened into tiny whines before lulling into quiet puffs of air. "there you go honey."

he brought her back to his chest, silently padding back to the crib.

he stood there for a few long moments, just holding her in the silver light, admiring the small, miraculous creature the two of you had created.

she was the light of his life. the carving of his very soul made flesh.

she was born from your shared love, a quiet victory after so many hardships, so many sleepless nights, so many arguments you had weathered through to get to this fragile peace.

what had he done to deserve this? what had he done for god to grant him such a precious, untainted gift? what could a man so scarred and weathered by the world do to merit such grace?

he couldn't find it in himself to understand.

and then — for the first time perhaps, dana’s voice echoed somewhere in the back of his mind.

you're a good man, michael robinavitch.

his lips pressed into a thin line and he let out a silent, shaky hum. her words playing in his mind.

he gently tucked the baby into the soft sheets.

as he was adjusting the blanket she cooed up at him. her dark round eyes opening for a fleeting second. eyes that mirrored his own so perfectly.

he felt the corners of his lips tug upward into a soft, irresistible smile.

he offered a finger and her tiny palm encapsulated it with a ferocity which caught him off guard. a silent testament to her resilience.

you watched him from the bed. your chest blooming with an incredible, sweeping sense of warmth and pride as he leaned over the wooden crib. it was in moments like these you found yourself falling for your husband all over again.

admiring with such affection and tenderness he took care of your daughter.

he remained slightly bent, watching as her eyes finally drooped for good. her breathing steadying into a familiar unbreakable rhythm.

as he gazed down upon her, a feeling of love so ferocious and overwhelming washed over him. a sensation he thought had been lost on him years ago.

but that was before you. before you had come into his life. before he had tentatively and fearfully accepted all the good you had offered him. all the goodness he thought himself undeserving of.

he bit the inside of his cheek, feeling his eyes shimmer with a sudden heat before he shook himself out of the reverie.

he didn't know if he deserved this life, but he knew that every day for the rest of his years he would work to earn it.

when he was certain she was fully adrift in the land of dreams, he turned and padded back to your sleeping form in the bed.

you heard the soft rustle of fabric as he slid under the covers, pullng the warmth back over his body.

"thank you…" you whispered drowsily, turning toward him in the dark.

your eyes were half-shut when you felt him pull you into the curve of his chest. pressing a quiet lingering kiss to the crown of your head.

"nothing to thank me for.” he murmured against your hair. feeling your form relax in his arms. and you gradually felt sleep began to take you back.

you mumbled something indecipherable. perhaps a soft sound of contentment.

and michael felt another swell of unrestrained love engulf him. this time he didn’t try to suppress it.

because truly, he should be the one thanking you.

you had given him the greatest, most cherished gift of his life.

your daughter. your family. and for the rest of his life, he would make sure you knew exactly how much he appreciated this little world the two of you had built together.

©padmespetal 2026: I DO NOT APPROVE OF MY WORKS TO BE TRANSLATED OR COPIED ANYWHERE WITHOUT PERMISSION