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You can read this as Part 3 of Live a Little Give a Little and More. or you can read this as a standalone
Summary: After you and Joel officially reconnect, you may be wondering...where are they now?
Warnings: semi public, truck sexual activites, oral m!receiving, pregnant!reader, OF!Reader, porn, masturbation, facial, gagging, fingering, brief implication of breastfeeding, not proofread
18+ ONLY
- - - -
When it comes to porn, Tommy Miller isn’t super picky. Pretty much any girl with a confident demeanor and a pretty smile will do it for him. Short, round, curvy, flexible, brunette, dark, you know name it. He can stroke his cock to anything and not think twice.
As he’s scrolling some of the top blogs of the week, his eyes widen to a double take of the #6 position: a video called “Horny Guy Strokes Cock in His Car in Public and Gets Sucked Off by Pregnant Babe”, with the thumbnail of a guy doing just that—stroking his cock in the car with the camera set up at the far end to show a profile shot of his body. For amateur sake, you can’t see the dude’s face, the driver’s seat leaned far back enough that the only visible part in the screen is mostly just his lower torso and hung cock out along with the rest of the dash and windshield.
He’s not much for public stuff, but the situation looks promising enough, especially when he scrolls the quick view and gets a look at the gal: heavily pregnant, beautiful and shining like a star. You were glowing from the way the sun reflects off your skin, and that smile—fuck that’s a smile to jerk to. You’re so unlike the rest of these women on here who put their whole income into fake boobs and faker asses. You were genuinely working that glorious baby-endowed body, and the smile on your face when you “surprisingly” see the guys cock can’t even be hidden under the acting guise. There’s nothing sexier than a woman who’s into it all. No acting. No faking. Pure lust.
Tommy slathers some promising lotion along his palms before hitting play with the back of his knuckle:
-
The man is parked somewhere off road, what looks to be within a wooded trail. He turns the car off, rubbings his hands along his thighs. Cars can distantly be heard passing by in the background, but most of the sound is concentrated inside the truck.
With the driver window drawn open, grunts and little teasing groans can be heard through the mic as the man works himself over with his thick hands, adjusting himself in his seat. He pulls the lower half of his shirt up a bit over the waist, revealing the hardened tent of his crotch. His palm dances over his bulge.
He takes his reddened cock out, and Tommy nods to himself approvingly. While not necessarily here for the guy, he can appreciate a well endowed man.
Tommy fast forwards a few seconds, trying to hot scroll to when the main event happens. Finally he resumes normal play when you casually walk by the car, stopping in your tracks to approach the window.
The man chuckles, absolutely unashamed to keep stroking his cock to the sight of you.
You blush, biting your lip and unable to take your gaze away from his groin.
“Hi,” you say with a bright smile, eyes darting between his hidden face and his hand pumping over his shaft.
Tommy can’t hear the guy, but he greets you quietly.
“That looks pretty hard there,” you nod towards his dick. You look around the sides of the car, almost bewildered that no one had noticed this guy jerking off in broad daylight in his car. “I um…I’m pretty far along,” you whisper, and the man leans over, the back of his head more visible in the camera to peep your body. “And I’m getting a little hungry. Do you have a snack I could eat? I’d pay you back any way I could,” you tease, squishing your arms together to plump up those milk filled tits that are practically spilling over your pathetic excuse of a tank top.
The man says something incoherent before opening the truck door. Your entire frame now in view, Tommy gets his hands on his dick. God damn, you were gorgeous. Scantily clad in clothes definitely not fit for maternal wear, your belly bulging out at the bottom while your tits sat heavily trying to break free at the top. You weren’t wear a bra either judging but how hard your nipples pierced through your shirt.
“Wow!” You gasp, getting a much better look at the man’s shaft. Your fingers gravitate towards his thigh, inching closer. “Can I?” You ask softly with a grin. “My pregnant body makes me so achy for a cock to fill it. I can’t help it sometimes…” you pout.
The man nods, pulling his fist away just as you brush your fingertips over his bulbous head.
He reaches out for your breasts, groping one in his large hand. Fuck, your boobs were so swollen, even the dude’s massive grip barely held it.
You started stroking him with one hand, the size difference between your fingers and his girth sending a jolt of arousal down Tommy’s own core. He starts pumping in time that you jack the guy off. Giggling beautifully like you aren’t entranced with this stranger groping you as you play with his dick. “Oh, it’s so big—fuck,” you moan, biting your lips and quickly wrapping your other hand around him, double fisting. “I’ve been thinking about a big fat cock in my tight pussy again.”
Tommy can tell you’re pretty good at it. Judging by the dude’s happy groans, the tension in his chest stuttering and hips jolting up to your touch. You even ripple your fingers as they enclose around his tip before widening to accept the bigger girth further down. He helps pull his balls out of his pants entirely, giving you more toys to play. While the man roams your body, he lifts your shift, showing off to the camera your rounded pregnant tummy. his hands cupped along your sides, really giving the audience a show of how bred you are. You giggle again as he pulls your breasts below the shirt line, pinching your nipples. “They’re getting full of milk. Pretty soon I’ll need to drain them.” He chuckles with you, leaning over to kiss them. He pulls away, once again showing off your stomach by gripping your waist from behind and pulling you closer.
You were definitely well along now. Tommy growled under his breath, thinking about the lucky guy who may have knocked up a porn star. He knew nothing about you but was already enamored by your work.
You continued to jerk his dick, but now his precut and tip were rubbing along your swollen tummy. It made the man groan loudly, thrusting up in time into your fist as you pressed it closely to your bump.
“Fuck, baby,” you hum, sticking your tongue out with a lopsided grin. You put your shoulders and arms into working up and down his shaft. “I’m getting wet just thinking about it.”
The man has you back up just a little, so that your pathetic excuse for a skirt was visible. He lifts it, revealing your white cotton panties. His digits glide below your naval, down to your crotch and then pinching your clit through your undies. You whine out, rolling on your heels. He rubs your clit, and your undoubtedly wet pussy, along his middle and rind finger. Working your nerves just as you keep your hands on his cock. Pornographic (literally) whimpers escape your lips, and Tommy’s having a hard (literally) time not combusting right now. He wants to wait till the main event.
The man keeps one hand on your belly, the other between your legs, determined to get you dripping. He slaps your clit a few times, making you jump in surprise. Never enough to deter you as you keep inching closer to him, demanding more.
“Ugh fuck—fuck yes!” M’gonna—gonna cum!”
You let out a high pitched whine, stumbling through your orgasm. Your hand shake around his member, brain all fuzzy and unable to concentrate on your movements.
“Fuck yeah babygirl, that’s a good cum,” Tommy whispers to himself. He’s removed his hand entirely from his own dick, feeling his balls tense at the denial. Fuck, he wants to wait, wait for the—
“Wanna taste,” you murmur next, regaining focus on the mans leaking cock in front of you.
You don’t wait a second longer before you’re getting to your knees next to the car, pulling your hair to the side. The man assists by wrapping the strands up in his fist, ensuring your pretty face is visible. As you make eye contact with the camera, your lips part and slowly descent on the man’s cock.
He lets out a low whistle, throwing his head back again before deciding he wanted a front row seat watching you. Your tongue circles around the mushroom tip obscenely, moaning as you slobber all over him. You build up a nice lubrication before sucking him in and working down, down, down, lips engulfing inch by inch until you reach the impressive base of him. Nose shoved into the meat of his thigh and holding yourself there until your throat tenses, gagging. Like the professional you are, you contain your composure and pull off all the way, a string of saliva still connecting you.
The guy must be in fucking heaven.
You giggle drunkenly before suckling his tip, shaking your head side to side before bobbing up and down. More slobber coats and slides down his length while you suck him off. Your hand fondles his ballsack. You look like you’re having the time of your life. Taking everything at your own speed, your own leisure, but still making impressive effort that is driving the lucky man insane. His stomach rolls with pleasure, still trying to help hold your hair so that your beautiful face is always on display. From flicking your tongue along the underside to deep throating and swallowing, you were well on your way to getting the fattest creamy snack you’d been asking for.
Tommy watches as the man’s free hand roams down your backside, giving your ass a fat spank. You jolt forward, swallowing more of his cock from the shock, before continuing to suck him off. The man starts fingering your pussy again. You pull off and half laugh, half moan with a devious smile, looming back up to him. Your eyes are blown wide with lust just watching him.
He grips your chin, almost intimately, as you stare at one another. Tommy still can’t see his face, but even as you absentmindedly jerk while he plunges his digits in and out of your cunt, your expression is everything. There’s definitely something there between the two of you, and that’s what Tommy loves most about these kinds of pornos. You’re almost in a world of your own, completely forgetting the phone recording, the set up, the public space. You lean closer to him, desperate to kiss, but he spanks your ass hard again, centering you to your job again: his spit soaked and throbbing cock between your lips.
So you get back to you, bobbing harder and gagging on his length. The lewd sounds of your squelching pussy combined with the glunkgluck sounds of his dick in your mouth fill the speakers. Tommy furiously pumps his cock, straining because he can’t look away, not when you’re staring through the computer screen, practically making eye contact with him.
“Shit baby yeah, let me cum in your mouth,” Tommy groans, not feeling this hard and horny in a long time.
“You gonna cum in my mouth?” You ask as if on cue. “I want it so bad, give me your sticky hot cum, my belly needs it bad, baby.” You open your lips wide, slap his tip along the back of your tongue and jerk off the mid section, coaxing it to release into your waiting gap.
As you furiously work him to his end, he plunges in and out of your pussy at an even more deadly rate, causing your brows to draw in, shouts to echo from your throat as you start climaxing again on camera, eyes rolling and body shaking, but still keeping your lips drawn open for your big snack. You cum and cum and cum, even more determined to get him to reach his end.
The man grunts, his hips pitching upward and then stilling as ropes of cum shoot into your mouth. You moan, keep it open as his dick visibly pulses with each groan. A hot spurt of seed depositing and filling your tongue quickly. But you’re not just a pro, you’re a slut too. Cum shoots over your lips, all over your forehead and eyelashes, messily blobbed all over your face. You close around his tip again, sucking it dry of the remaining creamy goodness while the man pants heavily, the over stimulation getting to him.
You make a big show of gulping loudly before opening your mouth and revealing you had swallowed it all. Well, all that had made it into your mouth, that is.
Tommy curses loudly, knees shaking as he cums too, imaging its your facehis own spent staining the keyboard.
You kiss his tip, still smiling into the camera. “Thank you, that just hit the spot. Maybe I can offer you a snack too when I’ve had my baby,” you tease, pulling your shirt back over your tits and gesturing to their plumpness.
The guy tucks himself back in just as you adjust your clothing. The camera shakes a bit as he reaches for the phone, pulling it off the stand and going to press end recording.
And Tommy would have hit paused and called it a night were it not for his big brother’s familiar face blearily but distinctly flashing across the screen before the vid cut to black and prompted some more recommendations.
Tommy’s finger hover over the mouse, eyes trained ahead at the blank screen, his own shocked expression staring back at him. Mouth slightly agape, eyes alert but absolutely frozen as a statue, unable to process what he just watched—and more terrifyingly—what he just jerked off to.
-
Joel’s surprised to see Tommy’s name flash across his phone. It’s been a few weeks since they last really chatted. He had honestly been debating meeting up with his little brother. He knew it was only a matter of time before he needed to get his little bother caught up on the news in his life.
He answers the call and presses the phone to his ear, eager to greet the little runt.
“Hey man, long time no—“
“What the FUCK are you doing in an OnlyFans video???”
Joel feels his heart stop pumping for a solid moment. “… uh…”
“And that chick is pregnant? Like actually? How’d you find her?? how did you two meet—no wait why would you even be in the video, I mean doesn’t she have a boyfriend —oh shit does she?—man you’re way over your head, what are you doing? Was it just one thing? Are you some kind of porn star working with random—“
“No I ain’t no porn star—she—well I—The girl and I are in uh—a thing—not a porn thing but like a— she's--she's my gal now-- and the kid is— sorta—well it’s …mine.” He stumbles through his words, squeezing his eyes shut as he awaits a response to that botched explanation.
Tommy pauses for a long time, and Joel almost is sure he simply had lost connection. Finally, his little brother’s voice cracks through the receiver as calmly as possible: “I’m gonna need you to start this from the beginnin’.”
Summary: Now that you and Jack have brought Birdie home from the hospital, things start to settle in the house. Unfortunately for Jack, he can't say the same thing about his mind.
Pairing: Jack Abbot x Wife!Reader
Content warnings: MDNI, directly follows up the last installment of Doctor Google, title from a Taylor Swift song, breastfeeding, domestic fluff, vague description of postpartum body (swollen abdomen), angst, Jack is feeling guilty and unworthy, depiction of PTSD nightmare and its aftermath
Word count: 5,560
Series Masterlist | Read on ao3 here | dividers by @/strangergraphics & @/swainbaby
Author's note: no more coming up with "Doctor..." titles I am finally free of those shackles and I get to continue this story yayyy!! not much else to say since y'all don't read the author's note, but if you're on a taglist and don't reblog this post, you're getting removed. I'm serious; some of you have never reblogged even one of my posts, and that's weird for Tumblr. you can check my taglist form to make sure you're signed up for only what you're interested in, or you can subscribe to my ao3 account and leave comments and kudos there since you're anti-reblogging. and maybe that’s harsh but this is the reblogging site, not the likes and comments site. besides all that, I hope you enjoy and tysm for reading ily <3
You spend another night in the hospital, and the next morning, 31 hours after the birth, you’re about to be released from the hospital.
As you slowly pack the last of your things up, Jack gets Birdie settled in her car seat. She squirms and whimpers, but he whispers soft reassurances as he buckles her in.
“I know the car seat’s not as warm as Mommy and Daddy are, Birdie girl. I know, but you’ll be okay,” he coos. “The car ride’s only gonna be about ten minutes. Ten minutes, then Mommy’ll hold you again. You might even get the boob.”
From your spot on the foot of the bed, you let out a soft snort.
“All ready?” Jack asks once he’s got Birdie settled.
You nod and stand to step closer to peek in the car seat.
“Aw, she looks even smaller in there,” you mutter as you reach out to adjust her onesie.
“Tiny but mighty,” Jack says, placing a comforting, possessive hand on your hip.
You look from Birdie to him and find him pulling the ‘#1 Dad’ cap on.
“Wow,” you laugh softly.
Jack furrows his brow. “Hey, Jerry got it for me, so I’m gonna wear it with pride.”
Yesterday afternoon, your mom and stepdad, Jerry, came to the hospital with lunch to check in on you and meet the baby. Jerry handed the baseball cap to Jack with about as much pride as you can imagine.
“Okay, babe.” You smile and reach out to adjust the cap. “You actually do look hot in it.”
Jack grins, and you kiss his cheek, then a nurse comes in with a wheelchair.
“Ready to go home?” she asks, smiling cheerfully.
Jack dropped all the bags off in the car when he pulled it around, so the only thing left for him to grab is the car seat where Birdie is now sleeping soundly.
On the way out, he walks ahead of you in jeans that hug his ass a little too well and a t-shirt that is fighting with his broad shoulders and his grays peeking out of the cap’s strap.
His forearm is flexed as he carries the car seat, and you’re positive this moment in time is going to live in your mind forever.
When you make it to the car, you peer over Jack’s shoulder as he secures the car seat. It’s not that you don’t trust him to do it properly; it’s just that you’d like to watch over your baby.
He steps back, accidentally bumping into you, then turns around and puts his hands on your hips.
“Hi,” he chirps, happy to see you there. “Wanna ride in the back with her?”
You cover his hands with yours and lean in to peck his lips. “Hi. And, yes, I do.”
Jack takes a step back and keeps his hands hovering near you as you settle into the backseat.
“Comfortable?” he asks as your brow furrows.
Your face relaxes, and you nod. He reaches over and lovingly squeezes your knee before he shuts the door.
The entire drive home, Jack maintains exactly the speed limit on every road. He gets passed at every chance, but he’s got precious cargo in the back, so who really cares if he’s driving like his 97-year-old grandma?
When you get home, he helps you out of the car, then pulls Birdie from her car seat and hands her to you before guiding you up the porch. He unlocks the front door and holds it open for you.
“This is your house, Birdie,” you coo down at the baby in your arms. “This is where you’re gonna live with Mommy and Daddy until we find a different house.”
“Should we give her the tour?” Jack suggests.
You nod at him, then look back at Birdie. By the time you complete the brief tour of the house, she starts to fuss.
“Okay, last room, Birdie girl,” you mutter to the baby as she starts rooting for milk. “It’s your room. Your daddy and Uncle Robby–-who you’ll meet when he gets back from sabbatical–painted the room for you.” You go to sit in the glider chair and start pulling your shirt up and undoing the nursing bra. “And Mommy sat right here while Daddy built the crib.”
Jack crouches down and smooths a hand over Birdie’s soft hair.
“Need anything?” he asks as you get the baby latched.
“Not really,” you say softly, smiling contentedly.
He nods and straightens up. “I’ll bring the stuff inside from the car.”
Then it’s just you and the baby in the nursery, the only sound being her soft suckling.
“We’ve got all kinds of stuff to do,” you say, speaking softly, but not exactly baby-talking. “Gotta make your baby wellness appointment, get you on the insurance, give you a bath. All real exciting, huh, baby girl?”
For a few minutes, you just rock in the glider and watch Birdie’s jaw move.
Jack comes back in and crouches in front of the glider again.
“You gonna want lunch soon?” he asks, slipping his finger in Birdie’s grasp.
“Yeah. I think there’s sandwich fixings and chips. Will you put extra turkey on mine?” you ask, reaching a hand out to caress his shoulder.
Jack nods and leans down to kiss Birdie’s head, then pecks your lips before he heads to the kitchen.
“Your daddy’s love language is physical touch. That’s how he shows us he loves us,” you say, one hand gently stroking Birdie’s hair. “He also loves words of affirmation. I think those two are tied. He also loves doing acts of service. Your daddy’s very talkative and passionate.”
You sigh and stay quiet for a few minutes, eyes just fixed on all her squirming and swallowing and blinking and clenching and unclenching of her fists. Eventually, she unlatches, and you reposition her to nurse from your other breast.
“You know, you’re a very good-looking baby, Birdie. You look like Mommy, except for your chin. I guess sperm donor 18645 gave you that. It’s not bad. And, hey, maybe it gets him all the ladies.” You slip a finger into Birdie’s grasp. “You’re an Abbot, no matter whose DNA mixed with mine to make you. It’s no one’s business, anyway, but just so you know, Daddy and I are going to do everything we can to make sure you don’t feel insecure about that. We don’t ever want you to feel like you don’t belong.”
//
The rest of the day is spent on the couch with just the three of you. You and Jack take turns holding the baby, shirts and Birdie’s onesie long forgotten in the interest of skin-to-skin bonding. She’s relatively quiet outside of the cries that tell you she’s hungry or needs a diaper change.
When it feels like bedtime, Jack feeds her a bottle with the milk you pumped earlier while you take a shower.
You come out half an hour later–because Jack was adamant that you take all the time you need in there–wearing only a nursing bra and your postpartum diaper. You feel your most unattractive, yet Jack looks at you with awe when you emerge from the shower.
This body carried his baby and labored for hours to birth her. So, maybe you feel funny about the current state of your stomach, but Jack feels lucky to get to witness it.
“You look so pretty and happy,” he says softly as he burps Birdie, the bottle completely finished on the nightstand.
You smile and lean down to kiss Birdie’s head.
“You’re a good-looking dad, baby,” you say as you sit down next to Jack on the bed.
Jack wraps an arm around your shoulders, the two of you staring down at Birdie in the crook of his elbow, her tiny mouth slightly agape as she sleeps.
“She took the bottle well,” he says softly. “A whole ounce and a half, like a champ.”
“Mm. You like giving her the bottle?”
“Yeah, I did. Good father-daughter bonding.” He turns his head toward you.
“You’re tired,” you mutter softly, gently cupping his jaw.
“So are you.”
You huff a soft laugh through your nose. “Go shower. I got her.”
Carefully, Jack transfers Birdie into your arms, then heads to the bathroom. When the door shuts, you pad over to your side of the bed where the bedside bassinet that Jack put together today is all set up.
“Okay, Birdie girl,” you sigh, gently lowering her inside. “This bassinet only has three full walls, so you can still see me if you turn your head to the right. I’ll be right here, and when you wake up hungry, I’ll put you right on the boob. If it’s a diaper situation, you’ll have to go to Daddy, though. He’s a good man, won’t let me do the stinky stuff.”
Birdie settles immediately, not disturbed by the transfer at all. You press a kiss to her chubby cheek, then get in bed and pull the covers over your body.
A few minutes later, Jack emerges from the bathroom, and before crawling into bed, he stops by your side of the bed to kiss Birdie good night and whisper that he loves her. When he’s in bed beside you, he kisses you and whispers the same thing.
He holds onto you a little tighter tonight than he usually does. You don’t say anything. He presses another kiss to your cheek before he finally settles.
//
The next day, Birdie has her well-baby checkup in the early afternoon.
Thanks to one of the copious matching sets you bought for postpartum, you feel put together enough to leave the house confidently. You hand Jack the ‘#1 Dad’ hat on the way out the door.
Jack’s a little quieter today. You can’t tell if he’s just tired or if something else is weighing on him. He has therapy today, though. 4:00, you’re pretty sure. Maybe at 5:00. It doesn’t really matter since it’s virtual.
He pushes the stroller, walking a little slower than he would if a freshly postpartum woman wasn’t walking next to him, through the pediatrician’s office. He only talks when you get situated in the waiting room chair, asking if you’re comfortable. Still, in his quietness, he keeps one hand on the handle of the stroller and the other on your knee, ever protective of his girls.
Birdie’s name is called, and Jack follows behind you and the nurse with the stroller. Once you’re all inside the room, the nurse instructs you to strip Birdie down to be weighed.
She fusses as Jack undoes her onesie but settles when he wraps a blanket around her and cradles her in his arms while the nurse sets up.
“Alright, Dad,” the nurse sighs. “You can set her down.”
Birdie continues to fuss when the warmth is taken away again, but she gets through it.
The nurse declares that Birdie’s weight is in a good place, then measures her head and says those measurements are normal too. After all that, the nurse tells you the doctor will be in for the head-to-toe exam, then slips out.
Jack gathers Birdie in his arms, careful to make sure her whole body is covered by the blanket.
“Babe, are you okay?” you ask softly, leaning against the exam table, your head against his shoulder. “You’re pretty quiet today.”
He turns his head toward you. He shrugs and leans his head down to kiss your temple.
“Just tired. Guess all the adrenaline is finally gone,” he says softly.
You kiss his shoulder. “Hopefully therapy helps today.”
Then the doctor knocks at the door. She’s nice and performs the exam very well, in Jack’s opinion.
Soft spots of the skull are good, no signs of hip dysplasia, collarbones didn’t break during delivery, femoral pulse is strong, no irregularities anywhere.
“Possibly the most perfect baby ever,” the doctor jokes.
You ask a few questions that you came up with on the drive over. The doctor explains your concerns away, and when you look at Jack, he seems to be in agreement with the pediatrician that everything is normal.
“Alright,” the doctor says as Jack puts Birdie’s onesie back on. “That’s it for Birdie for today. Cute nickname, by the way. Remember to also take care of yourselves. You guys are a team, so lean on each other and help each other out.”
“Yeah, we haven’t crashed and burned yet,” you joke. “Thank you so much, doctor.”
The doctor smiles and shuts the door behind her.
“Wanna get lunch on the way home?” you suggest as Jack goes to open the door.
“Yeah, sounds good,” he says, following you out while you push the stroller.
//
When you get home, the three of you take a nap after you nurse Birdie. Jack sets an alarm so he doesn’t miss therapy.
By the time the alarm does go off, you’re still sleeping. As Jack puts his prosthesis back on, Birdie starts fussing. He glances at his phone and decides she probably needs a bottle after he checks her diaper.
He scoops Birdie up and sniffs her bottom. Nothing, but he checks more carefully while her bottle warms up. A peek tells him she’s all dry. Just hungry.
“You wanna sit in on therapy with me, Birdie?” he mutters to the baby as he grabs her bottle. “Yeah? Gonna do your best to be quiet?”
Birdie just stares up at Jack with her big, bright eyes, waiting for a bottle or a breast.
Once he’s signed into the virtual waiting room, sitting in your home office, he brings the bottle to Birdie’s mouth. For something so tiny, she sure is a greedy eater.
His therapist, Leo, joins the call, surprised to see Birdie in Jack’s arms.
“I see we have a guest,” he remarks, smiling.
“This is Birdie. Her mom’s sleeping, and she needed a bottle. Figured she doesn’t understand anything besides milk, so she could sit in today, if that’s okay,” Jack explains.
Leo smiles, eyes clearly fixed on the tiny baby rather than Jack as he talks. “Yeah, of course, as long as you’re fine with it. Wow, the baby’s finally here. How’re you feeling?”
Jack shrugs. “She was born on the sixth, early in the morning. We got home yesterday, took her to the doctor earlier. I feel… I feel good.” He looks down at Birdie, checking in to make sure she’s still taking the bottle okay. “She’s amazing, looks just like her mom except for the chin. I guess that’s from the sperm donor.”
There’s a pause, so Leo takes advantage.
“How do you feel about that? Your daughter having biological ties to another man?” Leo asks, blunt as always.
Jack swallows roughly. “I knew what I was getting myself into when I got involved with my wife. I always knew that Birdie wouldn’t look like me. I actually was kind of expecting her to look exactly like the sperm donor, but she’s really more of her mom’s twin, so I guess that makes me feel better.”
“Would it be possible for you to feel insecure about it if your daughter didn’t look like her mother?”
Jack doesn’t like that question; Leo can tell. Maybe that’s what makes it an important one to ask.
“Guess it could be possible,” Jack says softly, eyes fixed on the door rather than Leo on the screen or Birdie in his arms. “I wouldn’t… She’s my kid, blood or not, so I… I don’t know. I don’t want to sound like an asshole.”
Leo shakes his head. “It’s perfectly natural to want your children to look like you. With Birdie, that’s impossible, but you were there when she was born, Jack. You were friends with her mother in the early stages of pregnancy, and along the way became her romantic partner. Birdie doesn’t know that you didn’t contribute to her DNA, and she doesn’t care. You’re the man holding her right now. Nobody else is. She’ll give you gifts on Father’s Day, and her first word will probably be ‘Dada’, and even though that’s more of a phonics and developmental thing, she’ll be looking at you when she says it.”
Jack sighs and scrubs a hand over his face, holding Birdie and the bottle with one hand for a moment.
“I caught her,” Jack says softly. “When she started crowning, I moved down between my wife’s legs, and I was there to catch my daughter when she was born.”
Leo smiles softly. “You’ve delivered babies before. I assume this one was different.”
“Yeah.” Jack nods and looks down at Birdie, still suckling. “This one… I took this one home. I signed her birth certificate. She’s got my last name. I had to hold back tears when I got my hands on her head. She’s mine.” He swallows roughly again. “I never thought I’d have this.”
“Right.” Leo sighs. “Have you expressed your past feelings about children to your wife?”
Jack sighs now and lets out a sniffle. “No, I didn’t really see the point, honestly. I don’t want her to get the wrong idea and start thinking I’m not happy with how things have turned out.”
Leo nods. “It’s not uncommon to go from being neutral on an idea to being 100% on board. You fell in love with your wife, and the baby came with her.”
“It’s not just that,” Jack says. “Helene didn’t want kids. I thought it was better for me to maybe regret not having kids than her regretting having a child. Now that Birdie’s here, I can’t imagine there ever being a reality where I’m not her dad.”
His phone buzzes just then, the distinctive ringtone he set for your texts filling the room. He glances at the phone and reads the message: I know you’re in therapy, but if you want, I can pop in real quick and grab Birdie.
“It’s my wife,” he says as he sends a message back: That’d be nice. Thx
“Is she okay?”
“Yeah, she’s coming in to grab the baby.”
Then there’s a knock at the door, and Jack tells you to come in.
Eyes a little puffy from sleep, hair slightly mussed, still in the matching pink sweatshirt and shorts set, and the world’s softest and prettiest smile on your face.
His beautiful wife, mother of his perfect daughter.
Still on the bottle, Jack carefully transfers Birdie into your arms and whispers a soft thank you to you on your way out of the office.
Once the door shuts, Leo smiles. “It’s obvious your wife loves you, Jack. I’m sure she’d understand your feelings. Besides, now that Birdie’s here, how do you feel about her presence, your role in her life?”
Jack nods and swallows the lump in his throat.
“I’m happy,” he says, his voice warbly. “I don’t… I feel like I can’t believe that there was a universe where I was going to miss out on this, on being a dad. But, y’know, I wouldn’t have this if I hadn’t lost Helene, so I feel kind of… I don’t know, maybe guilty? That I’m having this life that I wouldn’t be having otherwise and…really loving it.”
The adrenaline is finally wearing off, and Jack can finally stop and let his mind get consumed with the question of how he got so lucky with you and also how to rationalize his love for both Helene and you.
He always thought everything bad that happened to him–losing his leg, his and Helene’s infertility, Helene dying–was all punishment for every bad thing he did in his life, the things he did with the American flag on his shoulder that helped a younger Jack believe it was for the greater good.
That didn’t work for long.
“That’s a valid feeling,” Leo says. “It’s true that you wouldn’t have the life you do now if Helene was still here. Let me ask you this, Jack. Are you happy with where you are today?”
Jack sighs but doesn’t hesitate to nod his head.
“I am. I’m happy with my wife and with Birdie. I just… I look at Birdie…” He trails off, eyes squinting. He clears his throat, gaze fixed on a doodle you made on a sticky note next to the computer mouse. “I look at my daughter and wonder what I did that makes me worthy of her. It’s the same thing when I look at my wife, but Birdie… She’s two days old. She’s never done anything wrong in her entire life, and she’s so pure and loved, and I… I wonder if I deserve to be in their lives.”
Leo takes a moment to come up with a response. “Jack, from what you’ve told me, you’ve married a very intelligent and thoughtful woman. She gave up on men and was going to have Birdie on her own. Then she got to know you, and you’ve become her partner in all of this. If you’re feeling doubtful about your worthiness in your family, try thinking about your wife’s decision to involve you, how much you trust her.”
“Yeah,” Jack chokes. He clears his throat. “She’s great. Amazing woman, man, so fucking strong.” He can steer the conversation. “She didn’t get an epidural for about twelve hours. She managed to stay clear-headed the whole time. Like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”
Leo doesn’t miss the avoidance, but one thing is for sure: Jack will talk about it when he’s ready, when he doesn’t feel so raw.
//
When Jack steps out of your office, he doesn’t join you and Birdie on the couch. You’re not upset; he just spent the better part of an hour talking about who knows what. He’s entitled to some alone time. You’re fine to sit on the couch with Birdie at your breast, the remote, water bottle, and a snack nearby.
It’s when nearly an hour goes by that you send him a text asking if he’s okay.
Five minutes go by, and he doesn’t respond, so you pad into the bedroom with Birdie in your arms.
He’s on the bed, back to the door, prosthesis near his nightstand.
You round the bed to put Birdie in her bassinet on your side of the bed, then crawl in next to him, leaving him some space. For someone who didn’t answer your text, he doesn’t seem to want the space as he pulls you toward him. You let him pull your left leg up and rest it on his hip as you bring a hand to his cheek.
“I love you, Jack,” you whisper as he pulls your head toward him so your foreheads touch. “I’m sorry if you’re feeling overwhelmed today, baby.”
He pecks your lips and sighs.
“Baby, are you okay?” you ask softly, brow furrowed in concern, thumb rubbing back and forth across his cheek.
He nods softly and kisses your lips again.
“I’ve just got a lot on my mind, is all,” he mumbles against your lips. “Let’s just stay here for a while until Birdie needs something. Yeah?”
He’s probably got his entire life story leading up to this point on his mind right now. If he wants to process things on his own before he talks to you about it, that’s okay. You won’t argue against letting him hold you in his arms.
“Yeah,” you whisper back. “We’ll just chill for the rest of the day. Um, tomorrow, though, I wanted to take Birdie on a walk. I think it’d be good for all of us.”
“Sounds perfect, sweetheart,” he whispers softly before pressing another kiss to your lips.
//
As the next few days go by, Jack seems to relax a bit more, which makes you feel calmer, too. The two of you take Birdie on walks in the neighborhood with her fan attached to her stroller.
After the walks is when you shower since the girdle you wear during them creates a lot of sweat.
Today is day seven of being home, day eight since you’ve given birth. Jack has put Birdie down for a nap, so he watches you in the bathroom as you carefully remove the girdle.
“It’s not giving you trouble, is it?” he asks softly. “You feel okay when you wear it?”
You smile as you meet his eyes in the mirror. “I feel fine. It’s doing its job, making things a little easier.”
He nods along, his eyes flitting from your eyes to your still swollen middle.
“Okay, good.” He steps closer to you, his hip brushing your side. “Y’know you’re beautiful?”
You smile brighter, and you caress his cheek. “I do. Thanks for not letting me forget.”
He smiles softly, his gaze softening along with it. Pure would be a good word to describe the way he’s looking at you right now.
“I love you,” you say, rubbing your thumb back and forth across his cheekbone.
He kisses the juncture of your neck and shoulder. “I love you, too.”
He pulls back and you look him in his eyes. So full of love and adoration and peace. You wrap your arms around him, chest to chest, belly to belly.
“So much better without Birdie in the way,” you mutter, your voice muffled with your cheek against his chest.
Jack chuckles softly and kisses the top of your head before letting his arms fall.
When you get out of the shower, you find Jack on the bed with Birdie on his bare chest, a soft pink blanket over her back.
Skin-to-skin has become an addiction.
You walk to your dresser in just the postpartum diaper to put on a nursing bra before you join them on the bed. Jack holds an arm out to get you as close as possible. You sneak your left arm under his neck and cover his left bicep with your hand, your right hand going to Birdie’s fist. Jack’s right hand skates up and down your back, eyes fixed on Birdie like her lip occasionally twitching is the most bewitching thing he’s ever seen.
//
Jack has told you about his nightmares. He told you they didn’t happen very often anymore. You’re pretty sure the last one he told you about happened when you were 37 weeks pregnant, but he didn’t wake you up with his screams or his fingernails digging into your skin.
It’s almost 2:00 in the morning when you hear the sounds of Jack screaming. With the lack of sleep due to having a one-week-old baby in the house, you think it’s Birdie at first. Then you feel his nails dig into your thigh, and you know it’s him.
“Ow, fuck, Jack!” you whimper, whipping your head around in his direction to find his skin drenched in sweat, his left hand gripping your thigh like it’s personally offended him.
You vaguely remember a Google search telling you not to touch him or be too loud.
So you sit there in bed and start speaking in a calming voice.
“Jack, it’s okay,” you murmur. “Please wake up.”
Birdie starts crying in the bassinet to your left.
Your head turns back and forth between your daughter and your husband.
Birdie’s upset that she’s been woken up. Jack is fighting off metaphorical demons and taking it out on your thigh. Birdie’s going to have to cry it out for a second.
You lean your head down, your fists clenching as you fight the urge to caress Jack’s cheek.
“Baby, please wake up. You’re having a nightmare,” you say softly. “Jack, it’s okay. You’re safe.”
His eyes shoot open faster than you’ve ever seen. His grip on your thigh momentarily tightens, and you fight back your whimper while he shoots up in bed.
“Jack, it’s me. You’re safe. You’re in bed with me in our house,” you whisper, keeping your distance as you sit up.
As he comes to, all he can hear is his breathing and Birdie crying.
“I woke them up,” he mutters to himself.
“Jack, it’s okay,” you say, but he barely hears it.
He finally looks at you, fear in his eyes. You’ve never seen him scared.
The hand he has on your thigh suddenly pulls back in toward himself as if he’s been burned.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his eyes glazing over.
You shake your head. “It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
His eyes focus on the bassinet behind you.
“She’s crying,” he whispers, sounding as if the notion is bringing him physical pain. “Please, you gotta pick her up.”
You furrow your brow, unsure if you should keep your focus on Jack or rock Birdie back to sleep, but his intense gaze decides for you.
Birdie’s cries die down when you finally pick her up, your legs hanging off the bed, your back to Jack as you stare at the broken blood vessels on your thigh.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, finally getting his breathing under control. “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I haven’t… I haven’t had one like that in years. I’m so sorry I woke you up.”
You carefully lower Birdie back in the bassinet and turn back around.
“Jack, it’s not your fault. Everyone’s okay,” you whisper. “Do you want to go to the kitchen and have some water?”
He swallows roughly and eventually nods.
You slip out of bed and grab his crutch for him. He takes it and follows you to the kitchen. When you hand him the cup, his eyes fall to your thigh, the dotting on your thigh telling him something hurt you.
“Was that me?” he asks softly, guilt already seeping into his voice.
You chew on the inside of your cheek as you debate lying.
You land on staying silent as you wrap your arms around him. He melts into you, which is relieving. It could’ve gone either way, given his current state.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he sobs into your neck.
“I know,” you whisper.
“You just had our baby,” he whimpers.
“It’s okay, Jack. It’ll heal in a day or two.”
“But I hurt you,” he reiterates. “You’re fragile, and I hurt you.”
“You didn’t mean to, baby. It doesn’t even hurt, I promise. I’m okay.”
You press a soft kiss to his cheek and scratch your fingernails up and down his bare back.
“I love you,” you whisper as you pull back slightly. “I’m okay. We’re all safe. Birdie’s asleep in our room, and you and I are having some water. I love you, Jack. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”
He nods, taking in your words, eyes fluttering shut as he tries to take some deep breaths.
“I love you, too, sweetheart,” he breathes.
“We can sit out here in the living room and talk if you need,” you offer. “Or we can go back to bed. Whatever you need.”
Whatever he needs.
Fuck, you just had a baby. He’s supposed to be telling you that. He’s also amazed you feel safe enough to go back to bed with him after he just about detached your skin from your quads.
Slowly, he leans in to kiss you. You reciprocate immediately, your hands flexing against his back.
“I love you,” he whispers against your lips.
Flashbacks of the nightmare play in his head. Helene sits in the middle of the bathroom floor as blood pools beneath her. You clutch a lifeless Birdie as you bleed out. It makes his stomach churn.
“I love you, too, baby.”
Jack takes in a shuddering breath and pulls back to kiss your cheek now, your temple, your forehead, then pulls you closer with one arm while he balances on his crutch with the other.
Eventually, you go back to bed. Jack’s conflicted between wanting to keep a safe distance from you and wanting to hold you in his arms to lull himself to sleep like he usually does.
You decide for him, wrapping your arms around him in a way that makes his heart ache.
He feels a little better as you rest your head on his pillow, your nose brushing against his neck, your fingers gently stroking the top of his hair, your other arm secure around his middle.
His heart breaks a little when he feels your tears rub against his skin. Your hormones are still a little all over the place, and your brain is finally able to catch up to what just happened. Jack is your strong and tough husband, and seeing him crumble like he just did hasn’t made you believe that any less; it’s just made you sad over the fact that he’s feeling anything other than content.
You shift a little closer and kiss the underside of his jaw and gently tighten your arm around his waist.
Jack begins gently scratching his fingernails up and down your back, and eventually, your stroking his hair and his scratching your back lulls both of you to sleep.
When you get things moving for the day around 10:00 AM, the sadness in both your and Jack’s eyes lessens just a bit as Birdie lies between her parents in their bed.
He grabs her tiny fist and kisses it while she looks at you like you’ve hung the moon. And after how you supported him last night, Jack would have to agree with his daughter.
*reminder that you get side eyed hard if you're on one of these taglists and don't reblog
All works taglist: @person-005 @tearsweetenedtea @canonisoptional @xoxoloverb @saralovesjoelmiller @rach2602
i'm in awe of you ALWAYS. this as the first chapter for their life after having birdie is insane. i was immediately sucked in
im gonna reread this and show u my fav lines but jesus this is so so so heartbreaking and so so so so good. you set the scenes soooo incredibly well bec ofc everything was okay at first :( ofc he'd only feel happiness when both his girls were okay. but also, ofc he's gonna deal with his own demons when things settle down
for all my yaps consider me speechless. doctor google!jack has got to be my fav jack characterization. and this is my fav chapter so far (ik technically theyre in different series but you know). i feel so vulnerable and raw rn actually. wow just wow im in awe
AHHH I’M ALWAYS IN AWE OF YOUR REBLOGS!!!! always so thoughtful; I grin big every time!!!!
cannot wait for line reactions!!!!
no honestly I proof read this and thought “wow what a bummer of a chapter” but it had to be done lol
I think Jack probably thrives most when his people (and I don’t think he has a TON) are happy, so obviously they’d bring Birdie home, and he’d be so happy that Baby Mama is so happy to finally have her baby girl home with them, but then things would calm down and since he kind of canonically is always doing STUFF to occupy himself, I think all the quietness that comes with newborns (if the newborn is chill, and Birdie is), he’d have to face all his feelings about his new life-one he thought he’d never have until literally only a few months ago.
to read that Doctor Google!Jack is your favorite characterization of him has me SICK!!!! literally stop I will cry ☹️💞 and I’m so glad you liked this chapter!! I was kind of fighting with it the entire time I wrote it, so I’m really glad it’s received well!!!
You might even get the boob. From your spot on the foot of the bed, you let out a soft snort.
he's so annoying 😭 about three paragraphs in and he's alr making me laugh. i adore him <33 also, this scene was so cute. i really really love how u write their soft, domestic scenes. i always say this but i just loooove how we see them interact in the most normal situations
He steps back, accidentally bumping into you, then turns around and puts his hands on your hips.
“Hi,” he chirps, happy to see you there. “Wanna ride in the back with her?”
You cover his hands with yours and lean in to peck his lips. “Hi. And, yes, I do.”
INJECT ITTTTTTTTT SO BUZZY
You look like Mommy, except for your chin. I guess sperm donor 18645 gave you that.
i was thinking about this line yesterday. i realized mama was just talking to her baby. she said it in passing cause it was something simple she noticed. but for jack, it became some sort of trigger. and then i remembered the not canon post u did on what if the baby looked like jack and then i got sad because it's like an alternate reality that the real doctor google jack didn't get :-( he said he's always known birdie won't look like him but :-( doctor google universe is so so beautiful. all these emotions that make them human and you tackle it so well
He holds onto you a little tighter tonight than he usually does. You don’t say anything.
yeah i dont have anything to say i just wanna give this scene a moment bc i can kiss ur brain for this. it's the start of jack's spiral and it shows mama's heart at the same time UGHHHHH
Still, in his quietness, he keeps one hand on the handle of the stroller and the other on your knee, ever protective of his girls.
:(
“I caught her,” Jack says softly.
im starting to question why i reread this so soon do i like hurting myself??? im emotional enough as it is but fuck it we continue. jack abbot i will be with u in ur struggles 🙏
His beautiful wife, mother of his perfect daughter.
HIS HIS HIS HIS
"I woke them up,” he mutters to himself.
this ruined me the first time i read it and i have tears in my eyes rn too :) take a shot every time i say love but i love how you portrayed this. it's so so so heartbreaking. why would u do this to me (ily)
You decide for him, wrapping your arms around him in a way that makes his heart ache.
He feels a little better as you rest your head on his pillow, your nose brushing against his neck, your fingers gently stroking the top of his hair, your other arm secure around his middle.
:( thinking about how he has so much guilt and trauma and with this chapter's last line, jack probably feels like she saved him in a way and now i wanna cry again
honorable mentions because im extra:
the number 1 dad cap LETS GOOOO
dad with newborn walk i see what u did there
"precious cargo in the back" 🥹
for some reason it never occurred to me to give a newborn a house tour but that makes sense
helene didnt want kids :0
"That’d be nice. Thx" 😭😭😭 old man
his nightmare being his three girls :( and his brain making that up bec of his time in the military oh my god :(
im not pasting the whole conversation they had after his nightmare but jesus that was so well written
boob line- he’s gotta remind Birdie the reward for sitting calmly in the car seat!! he’s a funny guy I love him bad
car line- BUZZY AGAINNNNN I AM SO HONOREDDDD
chin and sperm donor line- lowkey put this in here to confirm that Jack did not, in fact, forget that he donated sperm and reader coincidentally picked his sperm. all families are beautiful and they all come with their own struggles and these are Doctor Google’s!
He holds onto… line- YES! start of the spiral! things are too quiet! Baby Mama’s got her suspicions but we have to remember that despite how much they’ve been through together in the latter half of her pregnancy, she still doesn’t fully know how to handle Jack and all his trauma, but she wants to LEARN!
“I caught her”- he may not run through Birdie’s DNA but his hands are the first human touch she ever had! and that’s really personal to me!
HIS HIS HIS HIS x2 he’s so whipped for Baby Mama I love love love to write these little lines!!!
“I woke them up”- I feel like this line kind of highlights a tiny feeling of failure maybe? Failure to be strong for his wife and daughter even though he can’t help the nightmares and his reactions to it. Idk I like to make it hurt every once in a while (it’s also in character 😋)
You decide for him… around his middle- guilt and trauma galore for Abbot but he’s BEEN working through it and he will CONTINUE to do so bc he’s a good man who wants to be the best version of himself for his family!!!!
last line- in a WAY, Baby Mama saved him; this whole ordeal is a chance for Jack to matter in a way that won’t put his life/mental health in danger, and also a chance to love in ways he didn’t think he could/would ever again
HMs
1. fully bc I found the photo on Pinterest but the image it put in my head was too good not to put in everyone else’s head too
2. hot dad walk hot dad walk hot dad walk; also the amount of regular/boring men I see do it on TikTok 🫠 had to let a baddie do it
3. he’s got PRECIOUS CARGO!!! HELLO PEOPLE ON THE ROAD BE CAREFUL HE’S GOT HIS GIRLS IN THE BACK!!!
4. I got stuck about what to write so I googled what to do when you bring your baby home and a website said to give them a tour and I thought it was funny so here it is!
5. I think I’ve said this before, but I think writing it so Helene is why 50 year old Abbot doesn’t have kids makes things make a little more sense. Just writing that Jack fell in love with Baby Mama first and then accepts the baby as a package deal is fine, but I don’t think I could’ve written that in a way that kept Abbot in character. And I think he’s the kind of guy who loved Helene A LOT, so if he was unsure about kids, and she was very anti kids, he’d be happy to let her choice be his decision
6. “Thx” is so Gen X I hate it I had to put it in
7. Abbot lovesssss his girls BAD. He’s already lost one, so obviously his absolute worst fear is losing Baby Mama and baby girl
8. after the nightmare- !!!! tricky to write I was lurking in lots of Reddit forums and medical websites to figure out how to appropriately write this so I’m glad you enjoyedddd!!!
tyyyyy for your line reactions I ate them the fuck up (like always)
Summary: Now that you and Jack have brought Birdie home from the hospital, things start to settle in the house. Unfortunately for Jack, he can't say the same thing about his mind.
Pairing: Jack Abbot x Wife!Reader
Content warnings: MDNI, directly follows up the last installment of Doctor Google, title from a Taylor Swift song, breastfeeding, domestic fluff, vague description of postpartum body (swollen abdomen), angst, Jack is feeling guilty and unworthy, depiction of PTSD nightmare and its aftermath
Word count: 5,560
Series Masterlist | Read on ao3 here | dividers by @/strangergraphics & @/swainbaby
Author's note: no more coming up with "Doctor..." titles I am finally free of those shackles and I get to continue this story yayyy!! not much else to say since y'all don't read the author's note, but if you're on a taglist and don't reblog this post, you're getting removed. I'm serious; some of you have never reblogged even one of my posts, and that's weird for Tumblr. you can check my taglist form to make sure you're signed up for only what you're interested in, or you can subscribe to my ao3 account and leave comments and kudos there since you're anti-reblogging. and maybe that’s harsh but this is the reblogging site, not the likes and comments site. besides all that, I hope you enjoy and tysm for reading ily <3
You spend another night in the hospital, and the next morning, 31 hours after the birth, you’re about to be released from the hospital.
As you slowly pack the last of your things up, Jack gets Birdie settled in her car seat. She squirms and whimpers, but he whispers soft reassurances as he buckles her in.
“I know the car seat’s not as warm as Mommy and Daddy are, Birdie girl. I know, but you’ll be okay,” he coos. “The car ride’s only gonna be about ten minutes. Ten minutes, then Mommy’ll hold you again. You might even get the boob.”
From your spot on the foot of the bed, you let out a soft snort.
“All ready?” Jack asks once he’s got Birdie settled.
You nod and stand to step closer to peek in the car seat.
“Aw, she looks even smaller in there,” you mutter as you reach out to adjust her onesie.
“Tiny but mighty,” Jack says, placing a comforting, possessive hand on your hip.
You look from Birdie to him and find him pulling the ‘#1 Dad’ cap on.
“Wow,” you laugh softly.
Jack furrows his brow. “Hey, Jerry got it for me, so I’m gonna wear it with pride.”
Yesterday afternoon, your mom and stepdad, Jerry, came to the hospital with lunch to check in on you and meet the baby. Jerry handed the baseball cap to Jack with about as much pride as you can imagine.
“Okay, babe.” You smile and reach out to adjust the cap. “You actually do look hot in it.”
Jack grins, and you kiss his cheek, then a nurse comes in with a wheelchair.
“Ready to go home?” she asks, smiling cheerfully.
Jack dropped all the bags off in the car when he pulled it around, so the only thing left for him to grab is the car seat where Birdie is now sleeping soundly.
On the way out, he walks ahead of you in jeans that hug his ass a little too well and a t-shirt that is fighting with his broad shoulders and his grays peeking out of the cap’s strap.
His forearm is flexed as he carries the car seat, and you’re positive this moment in time is going to live in your mind forever.
When you make it to the car, you peer over Jack’s shoulder as he secures the car seat. It’s not that you don’t trust him to do it properly; it’s just that you’d like to watch over your baby.
He steps back, accidentally bumping into you, then turns around and puts his hands on your hips.
“Hi,” he chirps, happy to see you there. “Wanna ride in the back with her?”
You cover his hands with yours and lean in to peck his lips. “Hi. And, yes, I do.”
Jack takes a step back and keeps his hands hovering near you as you settle into the backseat.
“Comfortable?” he asks as your brow furrows.
Your face relaxes, and you nod. He reaches over and lovingly squeezes your knee before he shuts the door.
The entire drive home, Jack maintains exactly the speed limit on every road. He gets passed at every chance, but he’s got precious cargo in the back, so who really cares if he’s driving like his 97-year-old grandma?
When you get home, he helps you out of the car, then pulls Birdie from her car seat and hands her to you before guiding you up the porch. He unlocks the front door and holds it open for you.
“This is your house, Birdie,” you coo down at the baby in your arms. “This is where you’re gonna live with Mommy and Daddy until we find a different house.”
“Should we give her the tour?” Jack suggests.
You nod at him, then look back at Birdie. By the time you complete the brief tour of the house, she starts to fuss.
“Okay, last room, Birdie girl,” you mutter to the baby as she starts rooting for milk. “It’s your room. Your daddy and Uncle Robby–-who you’ll meet when he gets back from sabbatical–painted the room for you.” You go to sit in the glider chair and start pulling your shirt up and undoing the nursing bra. “And Mommy sat right here while Daddy built the crib.”
Jack crouches down and smooths a hand over Birdie’s soft hair.
“Need anything?” he asks as you get the baby latched.
“Not really,” you say softly, smiling contentedly.
He nods and straightens up. “I’ll bring the stuff inside from the car.”
Then it’s just you and the baby in the nursery, the only sound being her soft suckling.
“We’ve got all kinds of stuff to do,” you say, speaking softly, but not exactly baby-talking. “Gotta make your baby wellness appointment, get you on the insurance, give you a bath. All real exciting, huh, baby girl?”
For a few minutes, you just rock in the glider and watch Birdie’s jaw move.
Jack comes back in and crouches in front of the glider again.
“You gonna want lunch soon?” he asks, slipping his finger in Birdie’s grasp.
“Yeah. I think there’s sandwich fixings and chips. Will you put extra turkey on mine?” you ask, reaching a hand out to caress his shoulder.
Jack nods and leans down to kiss Birdie’s head, then pecks your lips before he heads to the kitchen.
“Your daddy’s love language is physical touch. That’s how he shows us he loves us,” you say, one hand gently stroking Birdie’s hair. “He also loves words of affirmation. I think those two are tied. He also loves doing acts of service. Your daddy’s very talkative and passionate.”
You sigh and stay quiet for a few minutes, eyes just fixed on all her squirming and swallowing and blinking and clenching and unclenching of her fists. Eventually, she unlatches, and you reposition her to nurse from your other breast.
“You know, you’re a very good-looking baby, Birdie. You look like Mommy, except for your chin. I guess sperm donor 18645 gave you that. It’s not bad. And, hey, maybe it gets him all the ladies.” You slip a finger into Birdie’s grasp. “You’re an Abbot, no matter whose DNA mixed with mine to make you. It’s no one’s business, anyway, but just so you know, Daddy and I are going to do everything we can to make sure you don’t feel insecure about that. We don’t ever want you to feel like you don’t belong.”
//
The rest of the day is spent on the couch with just the three of you. You and Jack take turns holding the baby, shirts and Birdie’s onesie long forgotten in the interest of skin-to-skin bonding. She’s relatively quiet outside of the cries that tell you she’s hungry or needs a diaper change.
When it feels like bedtime, Jack feeds her a bottle with the milk you pumped earlier while you take a shower.
You come out half an hour later–because Jack was adamant that you take all the time you need in there–wearing only a nursing bra and your postpartum diaper. You feel your most unattractive, yet Jack looks at you with awe when you emerge from the shower.
This body carried his baby and labored for hours to birth her. So, maybe you feel funny about the current state of your stomach, but Jack feels lucky to get to witness it.
“You look so pretty and happy,” he says softly as he burps Birdie, the bottle completely finished on the nightstand.
You smile and lean down to kiss Birdie’s head.
“You’re a good-looking dad, baby,” you say as you sit down next to Jack on the bed.
Jack wraps an arm around your shoulders, the two of you staring down at Birdie in the crook of his elbow, her tiny mouth slightly agape as she sleeps.
“She took the bottle well,” he says softly. “A whole ounce and a half, like a champ.”
“Mm. You like giving her the bottle?”
“Yeah, I did. Good father-daughter bonding.” He turns his head toward you.
“You’re tired,” you mutter softly, gently cupping his jaw.
“So are you.”
You huff a soft laugh through your nose. “Go shower. I got her.”
Carefully, Jack transfers Birdie into your arms, then heads to the bathroom. When the door shuts, you pad over to your side of the bed where the bedside bassinet that Jack put together today is all set up.
“Okay, Birdie girl,” you sigh, gently lowering her inside. “This bassinet only has three full walls, so you can still see me if you turn your head to the right. I’ll be right here, and when you wake up hungry, I’ll put you right on the boob. If it’s a diaper situation, you’ll have to go to Daddy, though. He’s a good man, won’t let me do the stinky stuff.”
Birdie settles immediately, not disturbed by the transfer at all. You press a kiss to her chubby cheek, then get in bed and pull the covers over your body.
A few minutes later, Jack emerges from the bathroom, and before crawling into bed, he stops by your side of the bed to kiss Birdie good night and whisper that he loves her. When he’s in bed beside you, he kisses you and whispers the same thing.
He holds onto you a little tighter tonight than he usually does. You don’t say anything. He presses another kiss to your cheek before he finally settles.
//
The next day, Birdie has her well-baby checkup in the early afternoon.
Thanks to one of the copious matching sets you bought for postpartum, you feel put together enough to leave the house confidently. You hand Jack the ‘#1 Dad’ hat on the way out the door.
Jack’s a little quieter today. You can’t tell if he’s just tired or if something else is weighing on him. He has therapy today, though. 4:00, you’re pretty sure. Maybe at 5:00. It doesn’t really matter since it’s virtual.
He pushes the stroller, walking a little slower than he would if a freshly postpartum woman wasn’t walking next to him, through the pediatrician’s office. He only talks when you get situated in the waiting room chair, asking if you’re comfortable. Still, in his quietness, he keeps one hand on the handle of the stroller and the other on your knee, ever protective of his girls.
Birdie’s name is called, and Jack follows behind you and the nurse with the stroller. Once you’re all inside the room, the nurse instructs you to strip Birdie down to be weighed.
She fusses as Jack undoes her onesie but settles when he wraps a blanket around her and cradles her in his arms while the nurse sets up.
“Alright, Dad,” the nurse sighs. “You can set her down.”
Birdie continues to fuss when the warmth is taken away again, but she gets through it.
The nurse declares that Birdie’s weight is in a good place, then measures her head and says those measurements are normal too. After all that, the nurse tells you the doctor will be in for the head-to-toe exam, then slips out.
Jack gathers Birdie in his arms, careful to make sure her whole body is covered by the blanket.
“Babe, are you okay?” you ask softly, leaning against the exam table, your head against his shoulder. “You’re pretty quiet today.”
He turns his head toward you. He shrugs and leans his head down to kiss your temple.
“Just tired. Guess all the adrenaline is finally gone,” he says softly.
You kiss his shoulder. “Hopefully therapy helps today.”
Then the doctor knocks at the door. She’s nice and performs the exam very well, in Jack’s opinion.
Soft spots of the skull are good, no signs of hip dysplasia, collarbones didn’t break during delivery, femoral pulse is strong, no irregularities anywhere.
“Possibly the most perfect baby ever,” the doctor jokes.
You ask a few questions that you came up with on the drive over. The doctor explains your concerns away, and when you look at Jack, he seems to be in agreement with the pediatrician that everything is normal.
“Alright,” the doctor says as Jack puts Birdie’s onesie back on. “That’s it for Birdie for today. Cute nickname, by the way. Remember to also take care of yourselves. You guys are a team, so lean on each other and help each other out.”
“Yeah, we haven’t crashed and burned yet,” you joke. “Thank you so much, doctor.”
The doctor smiles and shuts the door behind her.
“Wanna get lunch on the way home?” you suggest as Jack goes to open the door.
“Yeah, sounds good,” he says, following you out while you push the stroller.
//
When you get home, the three of you take a nap after you nurse Birdie. Jack sets an alarm so he doesn’t miss therapy.
By the time the alarm does go off, you’re still sleeping. As Jack puts his prosthesis back on, Birdie starts fussing. He glances at his phone and decides she probably needs a bottle after he checks her diaper.
He scoops Birdie up and sniffs her bottom. Nothing, but he checks more carefully while her bottle warms up. A peek tells him she’s all dry. Just hungry.
“You wanna sit in on therapy with me, Birdie?” he mutters to the baby as he grabs her bottle. “Yeah? Gonna do your best to be quiet?”
Birdie just stares up at Jack with her big, bright eyes, waiting for a bottle or a breast.
Once he’s signed into the virtual waiting room, sitting in your home office, he brings the bottle to Birdie’s mouth. For something so tiny, she sure is a greedy eater.
His therapist, Leo, joins the call, surprised to see Birdie in Jack’s arms.
“I see we have a guest,” he remarks, smiling.
“This is Birdie. Her mom’s sleeping, and she needed a bottle. Figured she doesn’t understand anything besides milk, so she could sit in today, if that’s okay,” Jack explains.
Leo smiles, eyes clearly fixed on the tiny baby rather than Jack as he talks. “Yeah, of course, as long as you’re fine with it. Wow, the baby’s finally here. How’re you feeling?”
Jack shrugs. “She was born on the sixth, early in the morning. We got home yesterday, took her to the doctor earlier. I feel… I feel good.” He looks down at Birdie, checking in to make sure she’s still taking the bottle okay. “She’s amazing, looks just like her mom except for the chin. I guess that’s from the sperm donor.”
There’s a pause, so Leo takes advantage.
“How do you feel about that? Your daughter having biological ties to another man?” Leo asks, blunt as always.
Jack swallows roughly. “I knew what I was getting myself into when I got involved with my wife. I always knew that Birdie wouldn’t look like me. I actually was kind of expecting her to look exactly like the sperm donor, but she’s really more of her mom’s twin, so I guess that makes me feel better.”
“Would it be possible for you to feel insecure about it if your daughter didn’t look like her mother?”
Jack doesn’t like that question; Leo can tell. Maybe that’s what makes it an important one to ask.
“Guess it could be possible,” Jack says softly, eyes fixed on the door rather than Leo on the screen or Birdie in his arms. “I wouldn’t… She’s my kid, blood or not, so I… I don’t know. I don’t want to sound like an asshole.”
Leo shakes his head. “It’s perfectly natural to want your children to look like you. With Birdie, that’s impossible, but you were there when she was born, Jack. You were friends with her mother in the early stages of pregnancy, and along the way became her romantic partner. Birdie doesn’t know that you didn’t contribute to her DNA, and she doesn’t care. You’re the man holding her right now. Nobody else is. She’ll give you gifts on Father’s Day, and her first word will probably be ‘Dada’, and even though that’s more of a phonics and developmental thing, she’ll be looking at you when she says it.”
Jack sighs and scrubs a hand over his face, holding Birdie and the bottle with one hand for a moment.
“I caught her,” Jack says softly. “When she started crowning, I moved down between my wife’s legs, and I was there to catch my daughter when she was born.”
Leo smiles softly. “You’ve delivered babies before. I assume this one was different.”
“Yeah.” Jack nods and looks down at Birdie, still suckling. “This one… I took this one home. I signed her birth certificate. She’s got my last name. I had to hold back tears when I got my hands on her head. She’s mine.” He swallows roughly again. “I never thought I’d have this.”
“Right.” Leo sighs. “Have you expressed your past feelings about children to your wife?”
Jack sighs now and lets out a sniffle. “No, I didn’t really see the point, honestly. I don’t want her to get the wrong idea and start thinking I’m not happy with how things have turned out.”
Leo nods. “It’s not uncommon to go from being neutral on an idea to being 100% on board. You fell in love with your wife, and the baby came with her.”
“It’s not just that,” Jack says. “Helene didn’t want kids. I thought it was better for me to maybe regret not having kids than her regretting having a child. Now that Birdie’s here, I can’t imagine there ever being a reality where I’m not her dad.”
His phone buzzes just then, the distinctive ringtone he set for your texts filling the room. He glances at the phone and reads the message: I know you’re in therapy, but if you want, I can pop in real quick and grab Birdie.
“It’s my wife,” he says as he sends a message back: That’d be nice. Thx
“Is she okay?”
“Yeah, she’s coming in to grab the baby.”
Then there’s a knock at the door, and Jack tells you to come in.
Eyes a little puffy from sleep, hair slightly mussed, still in the matching pink sweatshirt and shorts set, and the world’s softest and prettiest smile on your face.
His beautiful wife, mother of his perfect daughter.
Still on the bottle, Jack carefully transfers Birdie into your arms and whispers a soft thank you to you on your way out of the office.
Once the door shuts, Leo smiles. “It’s obvious your wife loves you, Jack. I’m sure she’d understand your feelings. Besides, now that Birdie’s here, how do you feel about her presence, your role in her life?”
Jack nods and swallows the lump in his throat.
“I’m happy,” he says, his voice warbly. “I don’t… I feel like I can’t believe that there was a universe where I was going to miss out on this, on being a dad. But, y’know, I wouldn’t have this if I hadn’t lost Helene, so I feel kind of… I don’t know, maybe guilty? That I’m having this life that I wouldn’t be having otherwise and…really loving it.”
The adrenaline is finally wearing off, and Jack can finally stop and let his mind get consumed with the question of how he got so lucky with you and also how to rationalize his love for both Helene and you.
He always thought everything bad that happened to him–losing his leg, his and Helene’s infertility, Helene dying–was all punishment for every bad thing he did in his life, the things he did with the American flag on his shoulder that helped a younger Jack believe it was for the greater good.
That didn’t work for long.
“That’s a valid feeling,” Leo says. “It’s true that you wouldn’t have the life you do now if Helene was still here. Let me ask you this, Jack. Are you happy with where you are today?”
Jack sighs but doesn’t hesitate to nod his head.
“I am. I’m happy with my wife and with Birdie. I just… I look at Birdie…” He trails off, eyes squinting. He clears his throat, gaze fixed on a doodle you made on a sticky note next to the computer mouse. “I look at my daughter and wonder what I did that makes me worthy of her. It’s the same thing when I look at my wife, but Birdie… She’s two days old. She’s never done anything wrong in her entire life, and she’s so pure and loved, and I… I wonder if I deserve to be in their lives.”
Leo takes a moment to come up with a response. “Jack, from what you’ve told me, you’ve married a very intelligent and thoughtful woman. She gave up on men and was going to have Birdie on her own. Then she got to know you, and you’ve become her partner in all of this. If you’re feeling doubtful about your worthiness in your family, try thinking about your wife’s decision to involve you, how much you trust her.”
“Yeah,” Jack chokes. He clears his throat. “She’s great. Amazing woman, man, so fucking strong.” He can steer the conversation. “She didn’t get an epidural for about twelve hours. She managed to stay clear-headed the whole time. Like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”
Leo doesn’t miss the avoidance, but one thing is for sure: Jack will talk about it when he’s ready, when he doesn’t feel so raw.
//
When Jack steps out of your office, he doesn’t join you and Birdie on the couch. You’re not upset; he just spent the better part of an hour talking about who knows what. He’s entitled to some alone time. You’re fine to sit on the couch with Birdie at your breast, the remote, water bottle, and a snack nearby.
It’s when nearly an hour goes by that you send him a text asking if he’s okay.
Five minutes go by, and he doesn’t respond, so you pad into the bedroom with Birdie in your arms.
He’s on the bed, back to the door, prosthesis near his nightstand.
You round the bed to put Birdie in her bassinet on your side of the bed, then crawl in next to him, leaving him some space. For someone who didn’t answer your text, he doesn’t seem to want the space as he pulls you toward him. You let him pull your left leg up and rest it on his hip as you bring a hand to his cheek.
“I love you, Jack,” you whisper as he pulls your head toward him so your foreheads touch. “I’m sorry if you’re feeling overwhelmed today, baby.”
He pecks your lips and sighs.
“Baby, are you okay?” you ask softly, brow furrowed in concern, thumb rubbing back and forth across his cheek.
He nods softly and kisses your lips again.
“I’ve just got a lot on my mind, is all,” he mumbles against your lips. “Let’s just stay here for a while until Birdie needs something. Yeah?”
He’s probably got his entire life story leading up to this point on his mind right now. If he wants to process things on his own before he talks to you about it, that’s okay. You won’t argue against letting him hold you in his arms.
“Yeah,” you whisper back. “We’ll just chill for the rest of the day. Um, tomorrow, though, I wanted to take Birdie on a walk. I think it’d be good for all of us.”
“Sounds perfect, sweetheart,” he whispers softly before pressing another kiss to your lips.
//
As the next few days go by, Jack seems to relax a bit more, which makes you feel calmer, too. The two of you take Birdie on walks in the neighborhood with her fan attached to her stroller.
After the walks is when you shower since the girdle you wear during them creates a lot of sweat.
Today is day seven of being home, day eight since you’ve given birth. Jack has put Birdie down for a nap, so he watches you in the bathroom as you carefully remove the girdle.
“It’s not giving you trouble, is it?” he asks softly. “You feel okay when you wear it?”
You smile as you meet his eyes in the mirror. “I feel fine. It’s doing its job, making things a little easier.”
He nods along, his eyes flitting from your eyes to your still swollen middle.
“Okay, good.” He steps closer to you, his hip brushing your side. “Y’know you’re beautiful?”
You smile brighter, and you caress his cheek. “I do. Thanks for not letting me forget.”
He smiles softly, his gaze softening along with it. Pure would be a good word to describe the way he’s looking at you right now.
“I love you,” you say, rubbing your thumb back and forth across his cheekbone.
He kisses the juncture of your neck and shoulder. “I love you, too.”
He pulls back and you look him in his eyes. So full of love and adoration and peace. You wrap your arms around him, chest to chest, belly to belly.
“So much better without Birdie in the way,” you mutter, your voice muffled with your cheek against his chest.
Jack chuckles softly and kisses the top of your head before letting his arms fall.
When you get out of the shower, you find Jack on the bed with Birdie on his bare chest, a soft pink blanket over her back.
Skin-to-skin has become an addiction.
You walk to your dresser in just the postpartum diaper to put on a nursing bra before you join them on the bed. Jack holds an arm out to get you as close as possible. You sneak your left arm under his neck and cover his left bicep with your hand, your right hand going to Birdie’s fist. Jack’s right hand skates up and down your back, eyes fixed on Birdie like her lip occasionally twitching is the most bewitching thing he’s ever seen.
//
Jack has told you about his nightmares. He told you they didn’t happen very often anymore. You’re pretty sure the last one he told you about happened when you were 37 weeks pregnant, but he didn’t wake you up with his screams or his fingernails digging into your skin.
It’s almost 2:00 in the morning when you hear the sounds of Jack screaming. With the lack of sleep due to having a one-week-old baby in the house, you think it’s Birdie at first. Then you feel his nails dig into your thigh, and you know it’s him.
“Ow, fuck, Jack!” you whimper, whipping your head around in his direction to find his skin drenched in sweat, his left hand gripping your thigh like it’s personally offended him.
You vaguely remember a Google search telling you not to touch him or be too loud.
So you sit there in bed and start speaking in a calming voice.
“Jack, it’s okay,” you murmur. “Please wake up.”
Birdie starts crying in the bassinet to your left.
Your head turns back and forth between your daughter and your husband.
Birdie’s upset that she’s been woken up. Jack is fighting off metaphorical demons and taking it out on your thigh. Birdie’s going to have to cry it out for a second.
You lean your head down, your fists clenching as you fight the urge to caress Jack’s cheek.
“Baby, please wake up. You’re having a nightmare,” you say softly. “Jack, it’s okay. You’re safe.”
His eyes shoot open faster than you’ve ever seen. His grip on your thigh momentarily tightens, and you fight back your whimper while he shoots up in bed.
“Jack, it’s me. You’re safe. You’re in bed with me in our house,” you whisper, keeping your distance as you sit up.
As he comes to, all he can hear is his breathing and Birdie crying.
“I woke them up,” he mutters to himself.
“Jack, it’s okay,” you say, but he barely hears it.
He finally looks at you, fear in his eyes. You’ve never seen him scared.
The hand he has on your thigh suddenly pulls back in toward himself as if he’s been burned.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his eyes glazing over.
You shake your head. “It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
His eyes focus on the bassinet behind you.
“She’s crying,” he whispers, sounding as if the notion is bringing him physical pain. “Please, you gotta pick her up.”
You furrow your brow, unsure if you should keep your focus on Jack or rock Birdie back to sleep, but his intense gaze decides for you.
Birdie’s cries die down when you finally pick her up, your legs hanging off the bed, your back to Jack as you stare at the broken blood vessels on your thigh.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, finally getting his breathing under control. “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I haven’t… I haven’t had one like that in years. I’m so sorry I woke you up.”
You carefully lower Birdie back in the bassinet and turn back around.
“Jack, it’s not your fault. Everyone’s okay,” you whisper. “Do you want to go to the kitchen and have some water?”
He swallows roughly and eventually nods.
You slip out of bed and grab his crutch for him. He takes it and follows you to the kitchen. When you hand him the cup, his eyes fall to your thigh, the dotting on your thigh telling him something hurt you.
“Was that me?” he asks softly, guilt already seeping into his voice.
You chew on the inside of your cheek as you debate lying.
You land on staying silent as you wrap your arms around him. He melts into you, which is relieving. It could’ve gone either way, given his current state.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he sobs into your neck.
“I know,” you whisper.
“You just had our baby,” he whimpers.
“It’s okay, Jack. It’ll heal in a day or two.”
“But I hurt you,” he reiterates. “You’re fragile, and I hurt you.”
“You didn’t mean to, baby. It doesn’t even hurt, I promise. I’m okay.”
You press a soft kiss to his cheek and scratch your fingernails up and down his bare back.
“I love you,” you whisper as you pull back slightly. “I’m okay. We’re all safe. Birdie’s asleep in our room, and you and I are having some water. I love you, Jack. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”
He nods, taking in your words, eyes fluttering shut as he tries to take some deep breaths.
“I love you, too, sweetheart,” he breathes.
“We can sit out here in the living room and talk if you need,” you offer. “Or we can go back to bed. Whatever you need.”
Whatever he needs.
Fuck, you just had a baby. He’s supposed to be telling you that. He’s also amazed you feel safe enough to go back to bed with him after he just about detached your skin from your quads.
Slowly, he leans in to kiss you. You reciprocate immediately, your hands flexing against his back.
“I love you,” he whispers against your lips.
Flashbacks of the nightmare play in his head. Helene sits in the middle of the bathroom floor as blood pools beneath her. You clutch a lifeless Birdie as you bleed out. It makes his stomach churn.
“I love you, too, baby.”
Jack takes in a shuddering breath and pulls back to kiss your cheek now, your temple, your forehead, then pulls you closer with one arm while he balances on his crutch with the other.
Eventually, you go back to bed. Jack’s conflicted between wanting to keep a safe distance from you and wanting to hold you in his arms to lull himself to sleep like he usually does.
You decide for him, wrapping your arms around him in a way that makes his heart ache.
He feels a little better as you rest your head on his pillow, your nose brushing against his neck, your fingers gently stroking the top of his hair, your other arm secure around his middle.
His heart breaks a little when he feels your tears rub against his skin. Your hormones are still a little all over the place, and your brain is finally able to catch up to what just happened. Jack is your strong and tough husband, and seeing him crumble like he just did hasn’t made you believe that any less; it’s just made you sad over the fact that he’s feeling anything other than content.
You shift a little closer and kiss the underside of his jaw and gently tighten your arm around his waist.
Jack begins gently scratching his fingernails up and down your back, and eventually, your stroking his hair and his scratching your back lulls both of you to sleep.
When you get things moving for the day around 10:00 AM, the sadness in both your and Jack’s eyes lessens just a bit as Birdie lies between her parents in their bed.
He grabs her tiny fist and kisses it while she looks at you like you’ve hung the moon. And after how you supported him last night, Jack would have to agree with his daughter.
*reminder that you get side eyed hard if you're on one of these taglists and don't reblog
All works taglist: @person-005 @tearsweetenedtea @canonisoptional @xoxoloverb @saralovesjoelmiller @rach2602
i'm in awe of you ALWAYS. this as the first chapter for their life after having birdie is insane. i was immediately sucked in
im gonna reread this and show u my fav lines but jesus this is so so so heartbreaking and so so so so good. you set the scenes soooo incredibly well bec ofc everything was okay at first :( ofc he'd only feel happiness when both his girls were okay. but also, ofc he's gonna deal with his own demons when things settle down
for all my yaps consider me speechless. doctor google!jack has got to be my fav jack characterization. and this is my fav chapter so far (ik technically theyre in different series but you know). i feel so vulnerable and raw rn actually. wow just wow im in awe
AHHH I’M ALWAYS IN AWE OF YOUR REBLOGS!!!! always so thoughtful; I grin big every time!!!!
cannot wait for line reactions!!!!
no honestly I proof read this and thought “wow what a bummer of a chapter” but it had to be done lol
I think Jack probably thrives most when his people (and I don’t think he has a TON) are happy, so obviously they’d bring Birdie home, and he’d be so happy that Baby Mama is so happy to finally have her baby girl home with them, but then things would calm down and since he kind of canonically is always doing STUFF to occupy himself, I think all the quietness that comes with newborns (if the newborn is chill, and Birdie is), he’d have to face all his feelings about his new life-one he thought he’d never have until literally only a few months ago.
to read that Doctor Google!Jack is your favorite characterization of him has me SICK!!!! literally stop I will cry ☹️💞 and I’m so glad you liked this chapter!! I was kind of fighting with it the entire time I wrote it, so I’m really glad it’s received well!!!
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Summary: Now that you and Jack have brought Birdie home from the hospital, things start to settle in the house. Unfortunately for Jack, he can't say the same thing about his mind.
Pairing: Jack Abbot x Wife!Reader
Content warnings: MDNI, directly follows up the last installment of Doctor Google, title from a Taylor Swift song, breastfeeding, domestic fluff, vague description of postpartum body (swollen abdomen), angst, Jack is feeling guilty and unworthy, depiction of PTSD nightmare and its aftermath
Word count: 5,560
Series Masterlist | Read on ao3 here | dividers by @/strangergraphics & @/swainbaby
Author's note: no more coming up with "Doctor..." titles I am finally free of those shackles and I get to continue this story yayyy!! not much else to say since y'all don't read the author's note, but if you're on a taglist and don't reblog this post, you're getting removed. I'm serious; some of you have never reblogged even one of my posts, and that's weird for Tumblr. you can check my taglist form to make sure you're signed up for only what you're interested in, or you can subscribe to my ao3 account and leave comments and kudos there since you're anti-reblogging. and maybe that’s harsh but this is the reblogging site, not the likes and comments site. besides all that, I hope you enjoy and tysm for reading ily <3
You spend another night in the hospital, and the next morning, 31 hours after the birth, you’re about to be released from the hospital.
As you slowly pack the last of your things up, Jack gets Birdie settled in her car seat. She squirms and whimpers, but he whispers soft reassurances as he buckles her in.
“I know the car seat’s not as warm as Mommy and Daddy are, Birdie girl. I know, but you’ll be okay,” he coos. “The car ride’s only gonna be about ten minutes. Ten minutes, then Mommy’ll hold you again. You might even get the boob.”
From your spot on the foot of the bed, you let out a soft snort.
“All ready?” Jack asks once he’s got Birdie settled.
You nod and stand to step closer to peek in the car seat.
“Aw, she looks even smaller in there,” you mutter as you reach out to adjust her onesie.
“Tiny but mighty,” Jack says, placing a comforting, possessive hand on your hip.
You look from Birdie to him and find him pulling the ‘#1 Dad’ cap on.
“Wow,” you laugh softly.
Jack furrows his brow. “Hey, Jerry got it for me, so I’m gonna wear it with pride.”
Yesterday afternoon, your mom and stepdad, Jerry, came to the hospital with lunch to check in on you and meet the baby. Jerry handed the baseball cap to Jack with about as much pride as you can imagine.
“Okay, babe.” You smile and reach out to adjust the cap. “You actually do look hot in it.”
Jack grins, and you kiss his cheek, then a nurse comes in with a wheelchair.
“Ready to go home?” she asks, smiling cheerfully.
Jack dropped all the bags off in the car when he pulled it around, so the only thing left for him to grab is the car seat where Birdie is now sleeping soundly.
On the way out, he walks ahead of you in jeans that hug his ass a little too well and a t-shirt that is fighting with his broad shoulders and his grays peeking out of the cap’s strap.
His forearm is flexed as he carries the car seat, and you’re positive this moment in time is going to live in your mind forever.
When you make it to the car, you peer over Jack’s shoulder as he secures the car seat. It’s not that you don’t trust him to do it properly; it’s just that you’d like to watch over your baby.
He steps back, accidentally bumping into you, then turns around and puts his hands on your hips.
“Hi,” he chirps, happy to see you there. “Wanna ride in the back with her?”
You cover his hands with yours and lean in to peck his lips. “Hi. And, yes, I do.”
Jack takes a step back and keeps his hands hovering near you as you settle into the backseat.
“Comfortable?” he asks as your brow furrows.
Your face relaxes, and you nod. He reaches over and lovingly squeezes your knee before he shuts the door.
The entire drive home, Jack maintains exactly the speed limit on every road. He gets passed at every chance, but he’s got precious cargo in the back, so who really cares if he’s driving like his 97-year-old grandma?
When you get home, he helps you out of the car, then pulls Birdie from her car seat and hands her to you before guiding you up the porch. He unlocks the front door and holds it open for you.
“This is your house, Birdie,” you coo down at the baby in your arms. “This is where you’re gonna live with Mommy and Daddy until we find a different house.”
“Should we give her the tour?” Jack suggests.
You nod at him, then look back at Birdie. By the time you complete the brief tour of the house, she starts to fuss.
“Okay, last room, Birdie girl,” you mutter to the baby as she starts rooting for milk. “It’s your room. Your daddy and Uncle Robby–-who you’ll meet when he gets back from sabbatical–painted the room for you.” You go to sit in the glider chair and start pulling your shirt up and undoing the nursing bra. “And Mommy sat right here while Daddy built the crib.”
Jack crouches down and smooths a hand over Birdie’s soft hair.
“Need anything?” he asks as you get the baby latched.
“Not really,” you say softly, smiling contentedly.
He nods and straightens up. “I’ll bring the stuff inside from the car.”
Then it’s just you and the baby in the nursery, the only sound being her soft suckling.
“We’ve got all kinds of stuff to do,” you say, speaking softly, but not exactly baby-talking. “Gotta make your baby wellness appointment, get you on the insurance, give you a bath. All real exciting, huh, baby girl?”
For a few minutes, you just rock in the glider and watch Birdie’s jaw move.
Jack comes back in and crouches in front of the glider again.
“You gonna want lunch soon?” he asks, slipping his finger in Birdie’s grasp.
“Yeah. I think there’s sandwich fixings and chips. Will you put extra turkey on mine?” you ask, reaching a hand out to caress his shoulder.
Jack nods and leans down to kiss Birdie’s head, then pecks your lips before he heads to the kitchen.
“Your daddy’s love language is physical touch. That’s how he shows us he loves us,” you say, one hand gently stroking Birdie’s hair. “He also loves words of affirmation. I think those two are tied. He also loves doing acts of service. Your daddy’s very talkative and passionate.”
You sigh and stay quiet for a few minutes, eyes just fixed on all her squirming and swallowing and blinking and clenching and unclenching of her fists. Eventually, she unlatches, and you reposition her to nurse from your other breast.
“You know, you’re a very good-looking baby, Birdie. You look like Mommy, except for your chin. I guess sperm donor 18645 gave you that. It’s not bad. And, hey, maybe it gets him all the ladies.” You slip a finger into Birdie’s grasp. “You’re an Abbot, no matter whose DNA mixed with mine to make you. It’s no one’s business, anyway, but just so you know, Daddy and I are going to do everything we can to make sure you don’t feel insecure about that. We don’t ever want you to feel like you don’t belong.”
//
The rest of the day is spent on the couch with just the three of you. You and Jack take turns holding the baby, shirts and Birdie’s onesie long forgotten in the interest of skin-to-skin bonding. She’s relatively quiet outside of the cries that tell you she’s hungry or needs a diaper change.
When it feels like bedtime, Jack feeds her a bottle with the milk you pumped earlier while you take a shower.
You come out half an hour later–because Jack was adamant that you take all the time you need in there–wearing only a nursing bra and your postpartum diaper. You feel your most unattractive, yet Jack looks at you with awe when you emerge from the shower.
This body carried his baby and labored for hours to birth her. So, maybe you feel funny about the current state of your stomach, but Jack feels lucky to get to witness it.
“You look so pretty and happy,” he says softly as he burps Birdie, the bottle completely finished on the nightstand.
You smile and lean down to kiss Birdie’s head.
“You’re a good-looking dad, baby,” you say as you sit down next to Jack on the bed.
Jack wraps an arm around your shoulders, the two of you staring down at Birdie in the crook of his elbow, her tiny mouth slightly agape as she sleeps.
“She took the bottle well,” he says softly. “A whole ounce and a half, like a champ.”
“Mm. You like giving her the bottle?”
“Yeah, I did. Good father-daughter bonding.” He turns his head toward you.
“You’re tired,” you mutter softly, gently cupping his jaw.
“So are you.”
You huff a soft laugh through your nose. “Go shower. I got her.”
Carefully, Jack transfers Birdie into your arms, then heads to the bathroom. When the door shuts, you pad over to your side of the bed where the bedside bassinet that Jack put together today is all set up.
“Okay, Birdie girl,” you sigh, gently lowering her inside. “This bassinet only has three full walls, so you can still see me if you turn your head to the right. I’ll be right here, and when you wake up hungry, I’ll put you right on the boob. If it’s a diaper situation, you’ll have to go to Daddy, though. He’s a good man, won’t let me do the stinky stuff.”
Birdie settles immediately, not disturbed by the transfer at all. You press a kiss to her chubby cheek, then get in bed and pull the covers over your body.
A few minutes later, Jack emerges from the bathroom, and before crawling into bed, he stops by your side of the bed to kiss Birdie good night and whisper that he loves her. When he’s in bed beside you, he kisses you and whispers the same thing.
He holds onto you a little tighter tonight than he usually does. You don’t say anything. He presses another kiss to your cheek before he finally settles.
//
The next day, Birdie has her well-baby checkup in the early afternoon.
Thanks to one of the copious matching sets you bought for postpartum, you feel put together enough to leave the house confidently. You hand Jack the ‘#1 Dad’ hat on the way out the door.
Jack’s a little quieter today. You can’t tell if he’s just tired or if something else is weighing on him. He has therapy today, though. 4:00, you’re pretty sure. Maybe at 5:00. It doesn’t really matter since it’s virtual.
He pushes the stroller, walking a little slower than he would if a freshly postpartum woman wasn’t walking next to him, through the pediatrician’s office. He only talks when you get situated in the waiting room chair, asking if you’re comfortable. Still, in his quietness, he keeps one hand on the handle of the stroller and the other on your knee, ever protective of his girls.
Birdie’s name is called, and Jack follows behind you and the nurse with the stroller. Once you’re all inside the room, the nurse instructs you to strip Birdie down to be weighed.
She fusses as Jack undoes her onesie but settles when he wraps a blanket around her and cradles her in his arms while the nurse sets up.
“Alright, Dad,” the nurse sighs. “You can set her down.”
Birdie continues to fuss when the warmth is taken away again, but she gets through it.
The nurse declares that Birdie’s weight is in a good place, then measures her head and says those measurements are normal too. After all that, the nurse tells you the doctor will be in for the head-to-toe exam, then slips out.
Jack gathers Birdie in his arms, careful to make sure her whole body is covered by the blanket.
“Babe, are you okay?” you ask softly, leaning against the exam table, your head against his shoulder. “You’re pretty quiet today.”
He turns his head toward you. He shrugs and leans his head down to kiss your temple.
“Just tired. Guess all the adrenaline is finally gone,” he says softly.
You kiss his shoulder. “Hopefully therapy helps today.”
Then the doctor knocks at the door. She’s nice and performs the exam very well, in Jack’s opinion.
Soft spots of the skull are good, no signs of hip dysplasia, collarbones didn’t break during delivery, femoral pulse is strong, no irregularities anywhere.
“Possibly the most perfect baby ever,” the doctor jokes.
You ask a few questions that you came up with on the drive over. The doctor explains your concerns away, and when you look at Jack, he seems to be in agreement with the pediatrician that everything is normal.
“Alright,” the doctor says as Jack puts Birdie’s onesie back on. “That’s it for Birdie for today. Cute nickname, by the way. Remember to also take care of yourselves. You guys are a team, so lean on each other and help each other out.”
“Yeah, we haven’t crashed and burned yet,” you joke. “Thank you so much, doctor.”
The doctor smiles and shuts the door behind her.
“Wanna get lunch on the way home?” you suggest as Jack goes to open the door.
“Yeah, sounds good,” he says, following you out while you push the stroller.
//
When you get home, the three of you take a nap after you nurse Birdie. Jack sets an alarm so he doesn’t miss therapy.
By the time the alarm does go off, you’re still sleeping. As Jack puts his prosthesis back on, Birdie starts fussing. He glances at his phone and decides she probably needs a bottle after he checks her diaper.
He scoops Birdie up and sniffs her bottom. Nothing, but he checks more carefully while her bottle warms up. A peek tells him she’s all dry. Just hungry.
“You wanna sit in on therapy with me, Birdie?” he mutters to the baby as he grabs her bottle. “Yeah? Gonna do your best to be quiet?”
Birdie just stares up at Jack with her big, bright eyes, waiting for a bottle or a breast.
Once he’s signed into the virtual waiting room, sitting in your home office, he brings the bottle to Birdie’s mouth. For something so tiny, she sure is a greedy eater.
His therapist, Leo, joins the call, surprised to see Birdie in Jack’s arms.
“I see we have a guest,” he remarks, smiling.
“This is Birdie. Her mom’s sleeping, and she needed a bottle. Figured she doesn’t understand anything besides milk, so she could sit in today, if that’s okay,” Jack explains.
Leo smiles, eyes clearly fixed on the tiny baby rather than Jack as he talks. “Yeah, of course, as long as you’re fine with it. Wow, the baby’s finally here. How’re you feeling?”
Jack shrugs. “She was born on the sixth, early in the morning. We got home yesterday, took her to the doctor earlier. I feel… I feel good.” He looks down at Birdie, checking in to make sure she’s still taking the bottle okay. “She’s amazing, looks just like her mom except for the chin. I guess that’s from the sperm donor.”
There’s a pause, so Leo takes advantage.
“How do you feel about that? Your daughter having biological ties to another man?” Leo asks, blunt as always.
Jack swallows roughly. “I knew what I was getting myself into when I got involved with my wife. I always knew that Birdie wouldn’t look like me. I actually was kind of expecting her to look exactly like the sperm donor, but she’s really more of her mom’s twin, so I guess that makes me feel better.”
“Would it be possible for you to feel insecure about it if your daughter didn’t look like her mother?”
Jack doesn’t like that question; Leo can tell. Maybe that’s what makes it an important one to ask.
“Guess it could be possible,” Jack says softly, eyes fixed on the door rather than Leo on the screen or Birdie in his arms. “I wouldn’t… She’s my kid, blood or not, so I… I don’t know. I don’t want to sound like an asshole.”
Leo shakes his head. “It’s perfectly natural to want your children to look like you. With Birdie, that’s impossible, but you were there when she was born, Jack. You were friends with her mother in the early stages of pregnancy, and along the way became her romantic partner. Birdie doesn’t know that you didn’t contribute to her DNA, and she doesn’t care. You’re the man holding her right now. Nobody else is. She’ll give you gifts on Father’s Day, and her first word will probably be ‘Dada’, and even though that’s more of a phonics and developmental thing, she’ll be looking at you when she says it.”
Jack sighs and scrubs a hand over his face, holding Birdie and the bottle with one hand for a moment.
“I caught her,” Jack says softly. “When she started crowning, I moved down between my wife’s legs, and I was there to catch my daughter when she was born.”
Leo smiles softly. “You’ve delivered babies before. I assume this one was different.”
“Yeah.” Jack nods and looks down at Birdie, still suckling. “This one… I took this one home. I signed her birth certificate. She’s got my last name. I had to hold back tears when I got my hands on her head. She’s mine.” He swallows roughly again. “I never thought I’d have this.”
“Right.” Leo sighs. “Have you expressed your past feelings about children to your wife?”
Jack sighs now and lets out a sniffle. “No, I didn’t really see the point, honestly. I don’t want her to get the wrong idea and start thinking I’m not happy with how things have turned out.”
Leo nods. “It’s not uncommon to go from being neutral on an idea to being 100% on board. You fell in love with your wife, and the baby came with her.”
“It’s not just that,” Jack says. “Helene didn’t want kids. I thought it was better for me to maybe regret not having kids than her regretting having a child. Now that Birdie’s here, I can’t imagine there ever being a reality where I’m not her dad.”
His phone buzzes just then, the distinctive ringtone he set for your texts filling the room. He glances at the phone and reads the message: I know you’re in therapy, but if you want, I can pop in real quick and grab Birdie.
“It’s my wife,” he says as he sends a message back: That’d be nice. Thx
“Is she okay?”
“Yeah, she’s coming in to grab the baby.”
Then there’s a knock at the door, and Jack tells you to come in.
Eyes a little puffy from sleep, hair slightly mussed, still in the matching pink sweatshirt and shorts set, and the world’s softest and prettiest smile on your face.
His beautiful wife, mother of his perfect daughter.
Still on the bottle, Jack carefully transfers Birdie into your arms and whispers a soft thank you to you on your way out of the office.
Once the door shuts, Leo smiles. “It’s obvious your wife loves you, Jack. I’m sure she’d understand your feelings. Besides, now that Birdie’s here, how do you feel about her presence, your role in her life?”
Jack nods and swallows the lump in his throat.
“I’m happy,” he says, his voice warbly. “I don’t… I feel like I can’t believe that there was a universe where I was going to miss out on this, on being a dad. But, y’know, I wouldn’t have this if I hadn’t lost Helene, so I feel kind of… I don’t know, maybe guilty? That I’m having this life that I wouldn’t be having otherwise and…really loving it.”
The adrenaline is finally wearing off, and Jack can finally stop and let his mind get consumed with the question of how he got so lucky with you and also how to rationalize his love for both Helene and you.
He always thought everything bad that happened to him–losing his leg, his and Helene’s infertility, Helene dying–was all punishment for every bad thing he did in his life, the things he did with the American flag on his shoulder that helped a younger Jack believe it was for the greater good.
That didn’t work for long.
“That’s a valid feeling,” Leo says. “It’s true that you wouldn’t have the life you do now if Helene was still here. Let me ask you this, Jack. Are you happy with where you are today?”
Jack sighs but doesn’t hesitate to nod his head.
“I am. I’m happy with my wife and with Birdie. I just… I look at Birdie…” He trails off, eyes squinting. He clears his throat, gaze fixed on a doodle you made on a sticky note next to the computer mouse. “I look at my daughter and wonder what I did that makes me worthy of her. It’s the same thing when I look at my wife, but Birdie… She’s two days old. She’s never done anything wrong in her entire life, and she’s so pure and loved, and I… I wonder if I deserve to be in their lives.”
Leo takes a moment to come up with a response. “Jack, from what you’ve told me, you’ve married a very intelligent and thoughtful woman. She gave up on men and was going to have Birdie on her own. Then she got to know you, and you’ve become her partner in all of this. If you’re feeling doubtful about your worthiness in your family, try thinking about your wife’s decision to involve you, how much you trust her.”
“Yeah,” Jack chokes. He clears his throat. “She’s great. Amazing woman, man, so fucking strong.” He can steer the conversation. “She didn’t get an epidural for about twelve hours. She managed to stay clear-headed the whole time. Like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”
Leo doesn’t miss the avoidance, but one thing is for sure: Jack will talk about it when he’s ready, when he doesn’t feel so raw.
//
When Jack steps out of your office, he doesn’t join you and Birdie on the couch. You’re not upset; he just spent the better part of an hour talking about who knows what. He’s entitled to some alone time. You’re fine to sit on the couch with Birdie at your breast, the remote, water bottle, and a snack nearby.
It’s when nearly an hour goes by that you send him a text asking if he’s okay.
Five minutes go by, and he doesn’t respond, so you pad into the bedroom with Birdie in your arms.
He’s on the bed, back to the door, prosthesis near his nightstand.
You round the bed to put Birdie in her bassinet on your side of the bed, then crawl in next to him, leaving him some space. For someone who didn’t answer your text, he doesn’t seem to want the space as he pulls you toward him. You let him pull your left leg up and rest it on his hip as you bring a hand to his cheek.
“I love you, Jack,” you whisper as he pulls your head toward him so your foreheads touch. “I’m sorry if you’re feeling overwhelmed today, baby.”
He pecks your lips and sighs.
“Baby, are you okay?” you ask softly, brow furrowed in concern, thumb rubbing back and forth across his cheek.
He nods softly and kisses your lips again.
“I’ve just got a lot on my mind, is all,” he mumbles against your lips. “Let’s just stay here for a while until Birdie needs something. Yeah?”
He’s probably got his entire life story leading up to this point on his mind right now. If he wants to process things on his own before he talks to you about it, that’s okay. You won’t argue against letting him hold you in his arms.
“Yeah,” you whisper back. “We’ll just chill for the rest of the day. Um, tomorrow, though, I wanted to take Birdie on a walk. I think it’d be good for all of us.”
“Sounds perfect, sweetheart,” he whispers softly before pressing another kiss to your lips.
//
As the next few days go by, Jack seems to relax a bit more, which makes you feel calmer, too. The two of you take Birdie on walks in the neighborhood with her fan attached to her stroller.
After the walks is when you shower since the girdle you wear during them creates a lot of sweat.
Today is day seven of being home, day eight since you’ve given birth. Jack has put Birdie down for a nap, so he watches you in the bathroom as you carefully remove the girdle.
“It’s not giving you trouble, is it?” he asks softly. “You feel okay when you wear it?”
You smile as you meet his eyes in the mirror. “I feel fine. It’s doing its job, making things a little easier.”
He nods along, his eyes flitting from your eyes to your still swollen middle.
“Okay, good.” He steps closer to you, his hip brushing your side. “Y’know you’re beautiful?”
You smile brighter, and you caress his cheek. “I do. Thanks for not letting me forget.”
He smiles softly, his gaze softening along with it. Pure would be a good word to describe the way he’s looking at you right now.
“I love you,” you say, rubbing your thumb back and forth across his cheekbone.
He kisses the juncture of your neck and shoulder. “I love you, too.”
He pulls back and you look him in his eyes. So full of love and adoration and peace. You wrap your arms around him, chest to chest, belly to belly.
“So much better without Birdie in the way,” you mutter, your voice muffled with your cheek against his chest.
Jack chuckles softly and kisses the top of your head before letting his arms fall.
When you get out of the shower, you find Jack on the bed with Birdie on his bare chest, a soft pink blanket over her back.
Skin-to-skin has become an addiction.
You walk to your dresser in just the postpartum diaper to put on a nursing bra before you join them on the bed. Jack holds an arm out to get you as close as possible. You sneak your left arm under his neck and cover his left bicep with your hand, your right hand going to Birdie’s fist. Jack’s right hand skates up and down your back, eyes fixed on Birdie like her lip occasionally twitching is the most bewitching thing he’s ever seen.
//
Jack has told you about his nightmares. He told you they didn’t happen very often anymore. You’re pretty sure the last one he told you about happened when you were 37 weeks pregnant, but he didn’t wake you up with his screams or his fingernails digging into your skin.
It’s almost 2:00 in the morning when you hear the sounds of Jack screaming. With the lack of sleep due to having a one-week-old baby in the house, you think it’s Birdie at first. Then you feel his nails dig into your thigh, and you know it’s him.
“Ow, fuck, Jack!” you whimper, whipping your head around in his direction to find his skin drenched in sweat, his left hand gripping your thigh like it’s personally offended him.
You vaguely remember a Google search telling you not to touch him or be too loud.
So you sit there in bed and start speaking in a calming voice.
“Jack, it’s okay,” you murmur. “Please wake up.”
Birdie starts crying in the bassinet to your left.
Your head turns back and forth between your daughter and your husband.
Birdie’s upset that she’s been woken up. Jack is fighting off metaphorical demons and taking it out on your thigh. Birdie’s going to have to cry it out for a second.
You lean your head down, your fists clenching as you fight the urge to caress Jack’s cheek.
“Baby, please wake up. You’re having a nightmare,” you say softly. “Jack, it’s okay. You’re safe.”
His eyes shoot open faster than you’ve ever seen. His grip on your thigh momentarily tightens, and you fight back your whimper while he shoots up in bed.
“Jack, it’s me. You’re safe. You’re in bed with me in our house,” you whisper, keeping your distance as you sit up.
As he comes to, all he can hear is his breathing and Birdie crying.
“I woke them up,” he mutters to himself.
“Jack, it’s okay,” you say, but he barely hears it.
He finally looks at you, fear in his eyes. You’ve never seen him scared.
The hand he has on your thigh suddenly pulls back in toward himself as if he’s been burned.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his eyes glazing over.
You shake your head. “It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
His eyes focus on the bassinet behind you.
“She’s crying,” he whispers, sounding as if the notion is bringing him physical pain. “Please, you gotta pick her up.”
You furrow your brow, unsure if you should keep your focus on Jack or rock Birdie back to sleep, but his intense gaze decides for you.
Birdie’s cries die down when you finally pick her up, your legs hanging off the bed, your back to Jack as you stare at the broken blood vessels on your thigh.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, finally getting his breathing under control. “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I haven’t… I haven’t had one like that in years. I’m so sorry I woke you up.”
You carefully lower Birdie back in the bassinet and turn back around.
“Jack, it’s not your fault. Everyone’s okay,” you whisper. “Do you want to go to the kitchen and have some water?”
He swallows roughly and eventually nods.
You slip out of bed and grab his crutch for him. He takes it and follows you to the kitchen. When you hand him the cup, his eyes fall to your thigh, the dotting on your thigh telling him something hurt you.
“Was that me?” he asks softly, guilt already seeping into his voice.
You chew on the inside of your cheek as you debate lying.
You land on staying silent as you wrap your arms around him. He melts into you, which is relieving. It could’ve gone either way, given his current state.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he sobs into your neck.
“I know,” you whisper.
“You just had our baby,” he whimpers.
“It’s okay, Jack. It’ll heal in a day or two.”
“But I hurt you,” he reiterates. “You’re fragile, and I hurt you.”
“You didn’t mean to, baby. It doesn’t even hurt, I promise. I’m okay.”
You press a soft kiss to his cheek and scratch your fingernails up and down his bare back.
“I love you,” you whisper as you pull back slightly. “I’m okay. We’re all safe. Birdie’s asleep in our room, and you and I are having some water. I love you, Jack. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”
He nods, taking in your words, eyes fluttering shut as he tries to take some deep breaths.
“I love you, too, sweetheart,” he breathes.
“We can sit out here in the living room and talk if you need,” you offer. “Or we can go back to bed. Whatever you need.”
Whatever he needs.
Fuck, you just had a baby. He’s supposed to be telling you that. He’s also amazed you feel safe enough to go back to bed with him after he just about detached your skin from your quads.
Slowly, he leans in to kiss you. You reciprocate immediately, your hands flexing against his back.
“I love you,” he whispers against your lips.
Flashbacks of the nightmare play in his head. Helene sits in the middle of the bathroom floor as blood pools beneath her. You clutch a lifeless Birdie as you bleed out. It makes his stomach churn.
“I love you, too, baby.”
Jack takes in a shuddering breath and pulls back to kiss your cheek now, your temple, your forehead, then pulls you closer with one arm while he balances on his crutch with the other.
Eventually, you go back to bed. Jack’s conflicted between wanting to keep a safe distance from you and wanting to hold you in his arms to lull himself to sleep like he usually does.
You decide for him, wrapping your arms around him in a way that makes his heart ache.
He feels a little better as you rest your head on his pillow, your nose brushing against his neck, your fingers gently stroking the top of his hair, your other arm secure around his middle.
His heart breaks a little when he feels your tears rub against his skin. Your hormones are still a little all over the place, and your brain is finally able to catch up to what just happened. Jack is your strong and tough husband, and seeing him crumble like he just did hasn’t made you believe that any less; it’s just made you sad over the fact that he’s feeling anything other than content.
You shift a little closer and kiss the underside of his jaw and gently tighten your arm around his waist.
Jack begins gently scratching his fingernails up and down your back, and eventually, your stroking his hair and his scratching your back lulls both of you to sleep.
When you get things moving for the day around 10:00 AM, the sadness in both your and Jack’s eyes lessens just a bit as Birdie lies between her parents in their bed.
He grabs her tiny fist and kisses it while she looks at you like you’ve hung the moon. And after how you supported him last night, Jack would have to agree with his daughter.
*reminder that you get side eyed hard if you're on one of these taglists and don't reblog
All works taglist: @person-005 @tearsweetenedtea @canonisoptional @xoxoloverb @saralovesjoelmiller @rach2602
I haven't read many new dad!jack fic where his insecurities and trauma are discussed let alone at this length! I especially love the inclusion of his therapy session
also! He’s like 50, widowed, and (as far as we know) childfree, so he PROBABLY didn’t want any kids, so for the sake of this story, I think it was important to explore how he would come to terms with becoming a father, especially in this situation where he comes in AFTER the baby’s conception. and then obviously he’d keep his therapist LOOPED IN!!!!
I’m so glad you enjoyed these components of this chapter!!!!!! 💞🫶🫂
guys I am not playing around about the taglist thing. if you don't reblog EVER, you are getting removed. actually what the fuck are even doing on Tumblr at that point??? to me, asking to be on a taglist is basically say "wow I really like your work and I want to know when new updates come out" which SHOULD imply that you think it's good and worth reading, so then what the fuck are doing NOT reblogging? it's weird!
I don't care if you've only been on for one post; my Google form rules are VERY clear. reblog or get removed.
Summary: Now that you and Jack have brought Birdie home from the hospital, things start to settle in the house. Unfortunately for Jack, he can't say the same thing about his mind.
Pairing: Jack Abbot x Wife!Reader
Content warnings: MDNI, directly follows up the last installment of Doctor Google, title from a Taylor Swift song, breastfeeding, domestic fluff, vague description of postpartum body (swollen abdomen), angst, Jack is feeling guilty and unworthy, depiction of PTSD nightmare and its aftermath
Word count: 5,560
Series Masterlist | Read on ao3 here | dividers by @/strangergraphics & @/swainbaby
Author's note: no more coming up with "Doctor..." titles I am finally free of those shackles and I get to continue this story yayyy!! not much else to say since y'all don't read the author's note, but if you're on a taglist and don't reblog this post, you're getting removed. I'm serious; some of you have never reblogged even one of my posts, and that's weird for Tumblr. you can check my taglist form to make sure you're signed up for only what you're interested in, or you can subscribe to my ao3 account and leave comments and kudos there since you're anti-reblogging. and maybe that’s harsh but this is the reblogging site, not the likes and comments site. besides all that, I hope you enjoy and tysm for reading ily <3
You spend another night in the hospital, and the next morning, 31 hours after the birth, you’re about to be released from the hospital.
As you slowly pack the last of your things up, Jack gets Birdie settled in her car seat. She squirms and whimpers, but he whispers soft reassurances as he buckles her in.
“I know the car seat’s not as warm as Mommy and Daddy are, Birdie girl. I know, but you’ll be okay,” he coos. “The car ride’s only gonna be about ten minutes. Ten minutes, then Mommy’ll hold you again. You might even get the boob.”
From your spot on the foot of the bed, you let out a soft snort.
“All ready?” Jack asks once he’s got Birdie settled.
You nod and stand to step closer to peek in the car seat.
“Aw, she looks even smaller in there,” you mutter as you reach out to adjust her onesie.
“Tiny but mighty,” Jack says, placing a comforting, possessive hand on your hip.
You look from Birdie to him and find him pulling the ‘#1 Dad’ cap on.
“Wow,” you laugh softly.
Jack furrows his brow. “Hey, Jerry got it for me, so I’m gonna wear it with pride.”
Yesterday afternoon, your mom and stepdad, Jerry, came to the hospital with lunch to check in on you and meet the baby. Jerry handed the baseball cap to Jack with about as much pride as you can imagine.
“Okay, babe.” You smile and reach out to adjust the cap. “You actually do look hot in it.”
Jack grins, and you kiss his cheek, then a nurse comes in with a wheelchair.
“Ready to go home?” she asks, smiling cheerfully.
Jack dropped all the bags off in the car when he pulled it around, so the only thing left for him to grab is the car seat where Birdie is now sleeping soundly.
On the way out, he walks ahead of you in jeans that hug his ass a little too well and a t-shirt that is fighting with his broad shoulders and his grays peeking out of the cap’s strap.
His forearm is flexed as he carries the car seat, and you’re positive this moment in time is going to live in your mind forever.
When you make it to the car, you peer over Jack’s shoulder as he secures the car seat. It’s not that you don’t trust him to do it properly; it’s just that you’d like to watch over your baby.
He steps back, accidentally bumping into you, then turns around and puts his hands on your hips.
“Hi,” he chirps, happy to see you there. “Wanna ride in the back with her?”
You cover his hands with yours and lean in to peck his lips. “Hi. And, yes, I do.”
Jack takes a step back and keeps his hands hovering near you as you settle into the backseat.
“Comfortable?” he asks as your brow furrows.
Your face relaxes, and you nod. He reaches over and lovingly squeezes your knee before he shuts the door.
The entire drive home, Jack maintains exactly the speed limit on every road. He gets passed at every chance, but he’s got precious cargo in the back, so who really cares if he’s driving like his 97-year-old grandma?
When you get home, he helps you out of the car, then pulls Birdie from her car seat and hands her to you before guiding you up the porch. He unlocks the front door and holds it open for you.
“This is your house, Birdie,” you coo down at the baby in your arms. “This is where you’re gonna live with Mommy and Daddy until we find a different house.”
“Should we give her the tour?” Jack suggests.
You nod at him, then look back at Birdie. By the time you complete the brief tour of the house, she starts to fuss.
“Okay, last room, Birdie girl,” you mutter to the baby as she starts rooting for milk. “It’s your room. Your daddy and Uncle Robby–-who you’ll meet when he gets back from sabbatical–painted the room for you.” You go to sit in the glider chair and start pulling your shirt up and undoing the nursing bra. “And Mommy sat right here while Daddy built the crib.”
Jack crouches down and smooths a hand over Birdie’s soft hair.
“Need anything?” he asks as you get the baby latched.
“Not really,” you say softly, smiling contentedly.
He nods and straightens up. “I’ll bring the stuff inside from the car.”
Then it’s just you and the baby in the nursery, the only sound being her soft suckling.
“We’ve got all kinds of stuff to do,” you say, speaking softly, but not exactly baby-talking. “Gotta make your baby wellness appointment, get you on the insurance, give you a bath. All real exciting, huh, baby girl?”
For a few minutes, you just rock in the glider and watch Birdie’s jaw move.
Jack comes back in and crouches in front of the glider again.
“You gonna want lunch soon?” he asks, slipping his finger in Birdie’s grasp.
“Yeah. I think there’s sandwich fixings and chips. Will you put extra turkey on mine?” you ask, reaching a hand out to caress his shoulder.
Jack nods and leans down to kiss Birdie’s head, then pecks your lips before he heads to the kitchen.
“Your daddy’s love language is physical touch. That’s how he shows us he loves us,” you say, one hand gently stroking Birdie’s hair. “He also loves words of affirmation. I think those two are tied. He also loves doing acts of service. Your daddy’s very talkative and passionate.”
You sigh and stay quiet for a few minutes, eyes just fixed on all her squirming and swallowing and blinking and clenching and unclenching of her fists. Eventually, she unlatches, and you reposition her to nurse from your other breast.
“You know, you’re a very good-looking baby, Birdie. You look like Mommy, except for your chin. I guess sperm donor 18645 gave you that. It’s not bad. And, hey, maybe it gets him all the ladies.” You slip a finger into Birdie’s grasp. “You’re an Abbot, no matter whose DNA mixed with mine to make you. It’s no one’s business, anyway, but just so you know, Daddy and I are going to do everything we can to make sure you don’t feel insecure about that. We don’t ever want you to feel like you don’t belong.”
//
The rest of the day is spent on the couch with just the three of you. You and Jack take turns holding the baby, shirts and Birdie’s onesie long forgotten in the interest of skin-to-skin bonding. She’s relatively quiet outside of the cries that tell you she’s hungry or needs a diaper change.
When it feels like bedtime, Jack feeds her a bottle with the milk you pumped earlier while you take a shower.
You come out half an hour later–because Jack was adamant that you take all the time you need in there–wearing only a nursing bra and your postpartum diaper. You feel your most unattractive, yet Jack looks at you with awe when you emerge from the shower.
This body carried his baby and labored for hours to birth her. So, maybe you feel funny about the current state of your stomach, but Jack feels lucky to get to witness it.
“You look so pretty and happy,” he says softly as he burps Birdie, the bottle completely finished on the nightstand.
You smile and lean down to kiss Birdie’s head.
“You’re a good-looking dad, baby,” you say as you sit down next to Jack on the bed.
Jack wraps an arm around your shoulders, the two of you staring down at Birdie in the crook of his elbow, her tiny mouth slightly agape as she sleeps.
“She took the bottle well,” he says softly. “A whole ounce and a half, like a champ.”
“Mm. You like giving her the bottle?”
“Yeah, I did. Good father-daughter bonding.” He turns his head toward you.
“You’re tired,” you mutter softly, gently cupping his jaw.
“So are you.”
You huff a soft laugh through your nose. “Go shower. I got her.”
Carefully, Jack transfers Birdie into your arms, then heads to the bathroom. When the door shuts, you pad over to your side of the bed where the bedside bassinet that Jack put together today is all set up.
“Okay, Birdie girl,” you sigh, gently lowering her inside. “This bassinet only has three full walls, so you can still see me if you turn your head to the right. I’ll be right here, and when you wake up hungry, I’ll put you right on the boob. If it’s a diaper situation, you’ll have to go to Daddy, though. He’s a good man, won’t let me do the stinky stuff.”
Birdie settles immediately, not disturbed by the transfer at all. You press a kiss to her chubby cheek, then get in bed and pull the covers over your body.
A few minutes later, Jack emerges from the bathroom, and before crawling into bed, he stops by your side of the bed to kiss Birdie good night and whisper that he loves her. When he’s in bed beside you, he kisses you and whispers the same thing.
He holds onto you a little tighter tonight than he usually does. You don’t say anything. He presses another kiss to your cheek before he finally settles.
//
The next day, Birdie has her well-baby checkup in the early afternoon.
Thanks to one of the copious matching sets you bought for postpartum, you feel put together enough to leave the house confidently. You hand Jack the ‘#1 Dad’ hat on the way out the door.
Jack’s a little quieter today. You can’t tell if he’s just tired or if something else is weighing on him. He has therapy today, though. 4:00, you’re pretty sure. Maybe at 5:00. It doesn’t really matter since it’s virtual.
He pushes the stroller, walking a little slower than he would if a freshly postpartum woman wasn’t walking next to him, through the pediatrician’s office. He only talks when you get situated in the waiting room chair, asking if you’re comfortable. Still, in his quietness, he keeps one hand on the handle of the stroller and the other on your knee, ever protective of his girls.
Birdie’s name is called, and Jack follows behind you and the nurse with the stroller. Once you’re all inside the room, the nurse instructs you to strip Birdie down to be weighed.
She fusses as Jack undoes her onesie but settles when he wraps a blanket around her and cradles her in his arms while the nurse sets up.
“Alright, Dad,” the nurse sighs. “You can set her down.”
Birdie continues to fuss when the warmth is taken away again, but she gets through it.
The nurse declares that Birdie’s weight is in a good place, then measures her head and says those measurements are normal too. After all that, the nurse tells you the doctor will be in for the head-to-toe exam, then slips out.
Jack gathers Birdie in his arms, careful to make sure her whole body is covered by the blanket.
“Babe, are you okay?” you ask softly, leaning against the exam table, your head against his shoulder. “You’re pretty quiet today.”
He turns his head toward you. He shrugs and leans his head down to kiss your temple.
“Just tired. Guess all the adrenaline is finally gone,” he says softly.
You kiss his shoulder. “Hopefully therapy helps today.”
Then the doctor knocks at the door. She’s nice and performs the exam very well, in Jack’s opinion.
Soft spots of the skull are good, no signs of hip dysplasia, collarbones didn’t break during delivery, femoral pulse is strong, no irregularities anywhere.
“Possibly the most perfect baby ever,” the doctor jokes.
You ask a few questions that you came up with on the drive over. The doctor explains your concerns away, and when you look at Jack, he seems to be in agreement with the pediatrician that everything is normal.
“Alright,” the doctor says as Jack puts Birdie’s onesie back on. “That’s it for Birdie for today. Cute nickname, by the way. Remember to also take care of yourselves. You guys are a team, so lean on each other and help each other out.”
“Yeah, we haven’t crashed and burned yet,” you joke. “Thank you so much, doctor.”
The doctor smiles and shuts the door behind her.
“Wanna get lunch on the way home?” you suggest as Jack goes to open the door.
“Yeah, sounds good,” he says, following you out while you push the stroller.
//
When you get home, the three of you take a nap after you nurse Birdie. Jack sets an alarm so he doesn’t miss therapy.
By the time the alarm does go off, you’re still sleeping. As Jack puts his prosthesis back on, Birdie starts fussing. He glances at his phone and decides she probably needs a bottle after he checks her diaper.
He scoops Birdie up and sniffs her bottom. Nothing, but he checks more carefully while her bottle warms up. A peek tells him she’s all dry. Just hungry.
“You wanna sit in on therapy with me, Birdie?” he mutters to the baby as he grabs her bottle. “Yeah? Gonna do your best to be quiet?”
Birdie just stares up at Jack with her big, bright eyes, waiting for a bottle or a breast.
Once he’s signed into the virtual waiting room, sitting in your home office, he brings the bottle to Birdie’s mouth. For something so tiny, she sure is a greedy eater.
His therapist, Leo, joins the call, surprised to see Birdie in Jack’s arms.
“I see we have a guest,” he remarks, smiling.
“This is Birdie. Her mom’s sleeping, and she needed a bottle. Figured she doesn’t understand anything besides milk, so she could sit in today, if that’s okay,” Jack explains.
Leo smiles, eyes clearly fixed on the tiny baby rather than Jack as he talks. “Yeah, of course, as long as you’re fine with it. Wow, the baby’s finally here. How’re you feeling?”
Jack shrugs. “She was born on the sixth, early in the morning. We got home yesterday, took her to the doctor earlier. I feel… I feel good.” He looks down at Birdie, checking in to make sure she’s still taking the bottle okay. “She’s amazing, looks just like her mom except for the chin. I guess that’s from the sperm donor.”
There’s a pause, so Leo takes advantage.
“How do you feel about that? Your daughter having biological ties to another man?” Leo asks, blunt as always.
Jack swallows roughly. “I knew what I was getting myself into when I got involved with my wife. I always knew that Birdie wouldn’t look like me. I actually was kind of expecting her to look exactly like the sperm donor, but she’s really more of her mom’s twin, so I guess that makes me feel better.”
“Would it be possible for you to feel insecure about it if your daughter didn’t look like her mother?”
Jack doesn’t like that question; Leo can tell. Maybe that’s what makes it an important one to ask.
“Guess it could be possible,” Jack says softly, eyes fixed on the door rather than Leo on the screen or Birdie in his arms. “I wouldn’t… She’s my kid, blood or not, so I… I don’t know. I don’t want to sound like an asshole.”
Leo shakes his head. “It’s perfectly natural to want your children to look like you. With Birdie, that’s impossible, but you were there when she was born, Jack. You were friends with her mother in the early stages of pregnancy, and along the way became her romantic partner. Birdie doesn’t know that you didn’t contribute to her DNA, and she doesn’t care. You’re the man holding her right now. Nobody else is. She’ll give you gifts on Father’s Day, and her first word will probably be ‘Dada’, and even though that’s more of a phonics and developmental thing, she’ll be looking at you when she says it.”
Jack sighs and scrubs a hand over his face, holding Birdie and the bottle with one hand for a moment.
“I caught her,” Jack says softly. “When she started crowning, I moved down between my wife’s legs, and I was there to catch my daughter when she was born.”
Leo smiles softly. “You’ve delivered babies before. I assume this one was different.”
“Yeah.” Jack nods and looks down at Birdie, still suckling. “This one… I took this one home. I signed her birth certificate. She’s got my last name. I had to hold back tears when I got my hands on her head. She’s mine.” He swallows roughly again. “I never thought I’d have this.”
“Right.” Leo sighs. “Have you expressed your past feelings about children to your wife?”
Jack sighs now and lets out a sniffle. “No, I didn’t really see the point, honestly. I don’t want her to get the wrong idea and start thinking I’m not happy with how things have turned out.”
Leo nods. “It’s not uncommon to go from being neutral on an idea to being 100% on board. You fell in love with your wife, and the baby came with her.”
“It’s not just that,” Jack says. “Helene didn’t want kids. I thought it was better for me to maybe regret not having kids than her regretting having a child. Now that Birdie’s here, I can’t imagine there ever being a reality where I’m not her dad.”
His phone buzzes just then, the distinctive ringtone he set for your texts filling the room. He glances at the phone and reads the message: I know you’re in therapy, but if you want, I can pop in real quick and grab Birdie.
“It’s my wife,” he says as he sends a message back: That’d be nice. Thx
“Is she okay?”
“Yeah, she’s coming in to grab the baby.”
Then there’s a knock at the door, and Jack tells you to come in.
Eyes a little puffy from sleep, hair slightly mussed, still in the matching pink sweatshirt and shorts set, and the world’s softest and prettiest smile on your face.
His beautiful wife, mother of his perfect daughter.
Still on the bottle, Jack carefully transfers Birdie into your arms and whispers a soft thank you to you on your way out of the office.
Once the door shuts, Leo smiles. “It’s obvious your wife loves you, Jack. I’m sure she’d understand your feelings. Besides, now that Birdie’s here, how do you feel about her presence, your role in her life?”
Jack nods and swallows the lump in his throat.
“I’m happy,” he says, his voice warbly. “I don’t… I feel like I can’t believe that there was a universe where I was going to miss out on this, on being a dad. But, y’know, I wouldn’t have this if I hadn’t lost Helene, so I feel kind of… I don’t know, maybe guilty? That I’m having this life that I wouldn’t be having otherwise and…really loving it.”
The adrenaline is finally wearing off, and Jack can finally stop and let his mind get consumed with the question of how he got so lucky with you and also how to rationalize his love for both Helene and you.
He always thought everything bad that happened to him–losing his leg, his and Helene’s infertility, Helene dying–was all punishment for every bad thing he did in his life, the things he did with the American flag on his shoulder that helped a younger Jack believe it was for the greater good.
That didn’t work for long.
“That’s a valid feeling,” Leo says. “It’s true that you wouldn’t have the life you do now if Helene was still here. Let me ask you this, Jack. Are you happy with where you are today?”
Jack sighs but doesn’t hesitate to nod his head.
“I am. I’m happy with my wife and with Birdie. I just… I look at Birdie…” He trails off, eyes squinting. He clears his throat, gaze fixed on a doodle you made on a sticky note next to the computer mouse. “I look at my daughter and wonder what I did that makes me worthy of her. It’s the same thing when I look at my wife, but Birdie… She’s two days old. She’s never done anything wrong in her entire life, and she’s so pure and loved, and I… I wonder if I deserve to be in their lives.”
Leo takes a moment to come up with a response. “Jack, from what you’ve told me, you’ve married a very intelligent and thoughtful woman. She gave up on men and was going to have Birdie on her own. Then she got to know you, and you’ve become her partner in all of this. If you’re feeling doubtful about your worthiness in your family, try thinking about your wife’s decision to involve you, how much you trust her.”
“Yeah,” Jack chokes. He clears his throat. “She’s great. Amazing woman, man, so fucking strong.” He can steer the conversation. “She didn’t get an epidural for about twelve hours. She managed to stay clear-headed the whole time. Like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”
Leo doesn’t miss the avoidance, but one thing is for sure: Jack will talk about it when he’s ready, when he doesn’t feel so raw.
//
When Jack steps out of your office, he doesn’t join you and Birdie on the couch. You’re not upset; he just spent the better part of an hour talking about who knows what. He’s entitled to some alone time. You’re fine to sit on the couch with Birdie at your breast, the remote, water bottle, and a snack nearby.
It’s when nearly an hour goes by that you send him a text asking if he’s okay.
Five minutes go by, and he doesn’t respond, so you pad into the bedroom with Birdie in your arms.
He’s on the bed, back to the door, prosthesis near his nightstand.
You round the bed to put Birdie in her bassinet on your side of the bed, then crawl in next to him, leaving him some space. For someone who didn’t answer your text, he doesn’t seem to want the space as he pulls you toward him. You let him pull your left leg up and rest it on his hip as you bring a hand to his cheek.
“I love you, Jack,” you whisper as he pulls your head toward him so your foreheads touch. “I’m sorry if you’re feeling overwhelmed today, baby.”
He pecks your lips and sighs.
“Baby, are you okay?” you ask softly, brow furrowed in concern, thumb rubbing back and forth across his cheek.
He nods softly and kisses your lips again.
“I’ve just got a lot on my mind, is all,” he mumbles against your lips. “Let’s just stay here for a while until Birdie needs something. Yeah?”
He’s probably got his entire life story leading up to this point on his mind right now. If he wants to process things on his own before he talks to you about it, that’s okay. You won’t argue against letting him hold you in his arms.
“Yeah,” you whisper back. “We’ll just chill for the rest of the day. Um, tomorrow, though, I wanted to take Birdie on a walk. I think it’d be good for all of us.”
“Sounds perfect, sweetheart,” he whispers softly before pressing another kiss to your lips.
//
As the next few days go by, Jack seems to relax a bit more, which makes you feel calmer, too. The two of you take Birdie on walks in the neighborhood with her fan attached to her stroller.
After the walks is when you shower since the girdle you wear during them creates a lot of sweat.
Today is day seven of being home, day eight since you’ve given birth. Jack has put Birdie down for a nap, so he watches you in the bathroom as you carefully remove the girdle.
“It’s not giving you trouble, is it?” he asks softly. “You feel okay when you wear it?”
You smile as you meet his eyes in the mirror. “I feel fine. It’s doing its job, making things a little easier.”
He nods along, his eyes flitting from your eyes to your still swollen middle.
“Okay, good.” He steps closer to you, his hip brushing your side. “Y’know you’re beautiful?”
You smile brighter, and you caress his cheek. “I do. Thanks for not letting me forget.”
He smiles softly, his gaze softening along with it. Pure would be a good word to describe the way he’s looking at you right now.
“I love you,” you say, rubbing your thumb back and forth across his cheekbone.
He kisses the juncture of your neck and shoulder. “I love you, too.”
He pulls back and you look him in his eyes. So full of love and adoration and peace. You wrap your arms around him, chest to chest, belly to belly.
“So much better without Birdie in the way,” you mutter, your voice muffled with your cheek against his chest.
Jack chuckles softly and kisses the top of your head before letting his arms fall.
When you get out of the shower, you find Jack on the bed with Birdie on his bare chest, a soft pink blanket over her back.
Skin-to-skin has become an addiction.
You walk to your dresser in just the postpartum diaper to put on a nursing bra before you join them on the bed. Jack holds an arm out to get you as close as possible. You sneak your left arm under his neck and cover his left bicep with your hand, your right hand going to Birdie’s fist. Jack’s right hand skates up and down your back, eyes fixed on Birdie like her lip occasionally twitching is the most bewitching thing he’s ever seen.
//
Jack has told you about his nightmares. He told you they didn’t happen very often anymore. You’re pretty sure the last one he told you about happened when you were 37 weeks pregnant, but he didn’t wake you up with his screams or his fingernails digging into your skin.
It’s almost 2:00 in the morning when you hear the sounds of Jack screaming. With the lack of sleep due to having a one-week-old baby in the house, you think it’s Birdie at first. Then you feel his nails dig into your thigh, and you know it’s him.
“Ow, fuck, Jack!” you whimper, whipping your head around in his direction to find his skin drenched in sweat, his left hand gripping your thigh like it’s personally offended him.
You vaguely remember a Google search telling you not to touch him or be too loud.
So you sit there in bed and start speaking in a calming voice.
“Jack, it’s okay,” you murmur. “Please wake up.”
Birdie starts crying in the bassinet to your left.
Your head turns back and forth between your daughter and your husband.
Birdie’s upset that she’s been woken up. Jack is fighting off metaphorical demons and taking it out on your thigh. Birdie’s going to have to cry it out for a second.
You lean your head down, your fists clenching as you fight the urge to caress Jack’s cheek.
“Baby, please wake up. You’re having a nightmare,” you say softly. “Jack, it’s okay. You’re safe.”
His eyes shoot open faster than you’ve ever seen. His grip on your thigh momentarily tightens, and you fight back your whimper while he shoots up in bed.
“Jack, it’s me. You’re safe. You’re in bed with me in our house,” you whisper, keeping your distance as you sit up.
As he comes to, all he can hear is his breathing and Birdie crying.
“I woke them up,” he mutters to himself.
“Jack, it’s okay,” you say, but he barely hears it.
He finally looks at you, fear in his eyes. You’ve never seen him scared.
The hand he has on your thigh suddenly pulls back in toward himself as if he’s been burned.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his eyes glazing over.
You shake your head. “It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
His eyes focus on the bassinet behind you.
“She’s crying,” he whispers, sounding as if the notion is bringing him physical pain. “Please, you gotta pick her up.”
You furrow your brow, unsure if you should keep your focus on Jack or rock Birdie back to sleep, but his intense gaze decides for you.
Birdie’s cries die down when you finally pick her up, your legs hanging off the bed, your back to Jack as you stare at the broken blood vessels on your thigh.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, finally getting his breathing under control. “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I haven’t… I haven’t had one like that in years. I’m so sorry I woke you up.”
You carefully lower Birdie back in the bassinet and turn back around.
“Jack, it’s not your fault. Everyone’s okay,” you whisper. “Do you want to go to the kitchen and have some water?”
He swallows roughly and eventually nods.
You slip out of bed and grab his crutch for him. He takes it and follows you to the kitchen. When you hand him the cup, his eyes fall to your thigh, the dotting on your thigh telling him something hurt you.
“Was that me?” he asks softly, guilt already seeping into his voice.
You chew on the inside of your cheek as you debate lying.
You land on staying silent as you wrap your arms around him. He melts into you, which is relieving. It could’ve gone either way, given his current state.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he sobs into your neck.
“I know,” you whisper.
“You just had our baby,” he whimpers.
“It’s okay, Jack. It’ll heal in a day or two.”
“But I hurt you,” he reiterates. “You’re fragile, and I hurt you.”
“You didn’t mean to, baby. It doesn’t even hurt, I promise. I’m okay.”
You press a soft kiss to his cheek and scratch your fingernails up and down his bare back.
“I love you,” you whisper as you pull back slightly. “I’m okay. We’re all safe. Birdie’s asleep in our room, and you and I are having some water. I love you, Jack. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”
He nods, taking in your words, eyes fluttering shut as he tries to take some deep breaths.
“I love you, too, sweetheart,” he breathes.
“We can sit out here in the living room and talk if you need,” you offer. “Or we can go back to bed. Whatever you need.”
Whatever he needs.
Fuck, you just had a baby. He’s supposed to be telling you that. He’s also amazed you feel safe enough to go back to bed with him after he just about detached your skin from your quads.
Slowly, he leans in to kiss you. You reciprocate immediately, your hands flexing against his back.
“I love you,” he whispers against your lips.
Flashbacks of the nightmare play in his head. Helene sits in the middle of the bathroom floor as blood pools beneath her. You clutch a lifeless Birdie as you bleed out. It makes his stomach churn.
“I love you, too, baby.”
Jack takes in a shuddering breath and pulls back to kiss your cheek now, your temple, your forehead, then pulls you closer with one arm while he balances on his crutch with the other.
Eventually, you go back to bed. Jack’s conflicted between wanting to keep a safe distance from you and wanting to hold you in his arms to lull himself to sleep like he usually does.
You decide for him, wrapping your arms around him in a way that makes his heart ache.
He feels a little better as you rest your head on his pillow, your nose brushing against his neck, your fingers gently stroking the top of his hair, your other arm secure around his middle.
His heart breaks a little when he feels your tears rub against his skin. Your hormones are still a little all over the place, and your brain is finally able to catch up to what just happened. Jack is your strong and tough husband, and seeing him crumble like he just did hasn’t made you believe that any less; it’s just made you sad over the fact that he’s feeling anything other than content.
You shift a little closer and kiss the underside of his jaw and gently tighten your arm around his waist.
Jack begins gently scratching his fingernails up and down your back, and eventually, your stroking his hair and his scratching your back lulls both of you to sleep.
When you get things moving for the day around 10:00 AM, the sadness in both your and Jack’s eyes lessens just a bit as Birdie lies between her parents in their bed.
He grabs her tiny fist and kisses it while she looks at you like you’ve hung the moon. And after how you supported him last night, Jack would have to agree with his daughter.
*reminder that you get side eyed hard if you're on one of these taglists and don't reblog
All works taglist: @person-005 @tearsweetenedtea @canonisoptional @xoxoloverb @saralovesjoelmiller @rach2602
@dreamedaboutitinthedark you KNOW how much I adore your writing, but it doesn’t hurt to say it again. I ADORE YOUR MIND AND SKILL, thank you for sharing it with the world 💖
Summary: Now that you and Jack have brought Birdie home from the hospital, things start to settle in the house. Unfortunately for Jack, he can't say the same thing about his mind.
Pairing: Jack Abbot x Wife!Reader
Content warnings: MDNI, directly follows up the last installment of Doctor Google, title from a Taylor Swift song, breastfeeding, domestic fluff, vague description of postpartum body (swollen abdomen), angst, Jack is feeling guilty and unworthy, depiction of PTSD nightmare and its aftermath
Word count: 5,560
Series Masterlist | Read on ao3 here | dividers by @/strangergraphics & @/swainbaby
Author's note: no more coming up with "Doctor..." titles I am finally free of those shackles and I get to continue this story yayyy!! not much else to say since y'all don't read the author's note, but if you're on a taglist and don't reblog this post, you're getting removed. I'm serious; some of you have never reblogged even one of my posts, and that's weird for Tumblr. you can check my taglist form to make sure you're signed up for only what you're interested in, or you can subscribe to my ao3 account and leave comments and kudos there since you're anti-reblogging. and maybe that’s harsh but this is the reblogging site, not the likes and comments site. besides all that, I hope you enjoy and tysm for reading ily <3
You spend another night in the hospital, and the next morning, 31 hours after the birth, you’re about to be released from the hospital.
As you slowly pack the last of your things up, Jack gets Birdie settled in her car seat. She squirms and whimpers, but he whispers soft reassurances as he buckles her in.
“I know the car seat’s not as warm as Mommy and Daddy are, Birdie girl. I know, but you’ll be okay,” he coos. “The car ride’s only gonna be about ten minutes. Ten minutes, then Mommy’ll hold you again. You might even get the boob.”
From your spot on the foot of the bed, you let out a soft snort.
“All ready?” Jack asks once he’s got Birdie settled.
You nod and stand to step closer to peek in the car seat.
“Aw, she looks even smaller in there,” you mutter as you reach out to adjust her onesie.
“Tiny but mighty,” Jack says, placing a comforting, possessive hand on your hip.
You look from Birdie to him and find him pulling the ‘#1 Dad’ cap on.
“Wow,” you laugh softly.
Jack furrows his brow. “Hey, Jerry got it for me, so I’m gonna wear it with pride.”
Yesterday afternoon, your mom and stepdad, Jerry, came to the hospital with lunch to check in on you and meet the baby. Jerry handed the baseball cap to Jack with about as much pride as you can imagine.
“Okay, babe.” You smile and reach out to adjust the cap. “You actually do look hot in it.”
Jack grins, and you kiss his cheek, then a nurse comes in with a wheelchair.
“Ready to go home?” she asks, smiling cheerfully.
Jack dropped all the bags off in the car when he pulled it around, so the only thing left for him to grab is the car seat where Birdie is now sleeping soundly.
On the way out, he walks ahead of you in jeans that hug his ass a little too well and a t-shirt that is fighting with his broad shoulders and his grays peeking out of the cap’s strap.
His forearm is flexed as he carries the car seat, and you’re positive this moment in time is going to live in your mind forever.
When you make it to the car, you peer over Jack’s shoulder as he secures the car seat. It’s not that you don’t trust him to do it properly; it’s just that you’d like to watch over your baby.
He steps back, accidentally bumping into you, then turns around and puts his hands on your hips.
“Hi,” he chirps, happy to see you there. “Wanna ride in the back with her?”
You cover his hands with yours and lean in to peck his lips. “Hi. And, yes, I do.”
Jack takes a step back and keeps his hands hovering near you as you settle into the backseat.
“Comfortable?” he asks as your brow furrows.
Your face relaxes, and you nod. He reaches over and lovingly squeezes your knee before he shuts the door.
The entire drive home, Jack maintains exactly the speed limit on every road. He gets passed at every chance, but he’s got precious cargo in the back, so who really cares if he’s driving like his 97-year-old grandma?
When you get home, he helps you out of the car, then pulls Birdie from her car seat and hands her to you before guiding you up the porch. He unlocks the front door and holds it open for you.
“This is your house, Birdie,” you coo down at the baby in your arms. “This is where you’re gonna live with Mommy and Daddy until we find a different house.”
“Should we give her the tour?” Jack suggests.
You nod at him, then look back at Birdie. By the time you complete the brief tour of the house, she starts to fuss.
“Okay, last room, Birdie girl,” you mutter to the baby as she starts rooting for milk. “It’s your room. Your daddy and Uncle Robby–-who you’ll meet when he gets back from sabbatical–painted the room for you.” You go to sit in the glider chair and start pulling your shirt up and undoing the nursing bra. “And Mommy sat right here while Daddy built the crib.”
Jack crouches down and smooths a hand over Birdie’s soft hair.
“Need anything?” he asks as you get the baby latched.
“Not really,” you say softly, smiling contentedly.
He nods and straightens up. “I’ll bring the stuff inside from the car.”
Then it’s just you and the baby in the nursery, the only sound being her soft suckling.
“We’ve got all kinds of stuff to do,” you say, speaking softly, but not exactly baby-talking. “Gotta make your baby wellness appointment, get you on the insurance, give you a bath. All real exciting, huh, baby girl?”
For a few minutes, you just rock in the glider and watch Birdie’s jaw move.
Jack comes back in and crouches in front of the glider again.
“You gonna want lunch soon?” he asks, slipping his finger in Birdie’s grasp.
“Yeah. I think there’s sandwich fixings and chips. Will you put extra turkey on mine?” you ask, reaching a hand out to caress his shoulder.
Jack nods and leans down to kiss Birdie’s head, then pecks your lips before he heads to the kitchen.
“Your daddy’s love language is physical touch. That’s how he shows us he loves us,” you say, one hand gently stroking Birdie’s hair. “He also loves words of affirmation. I think those two are tied. He also loves doing acts of service. Your daddy’s very talkative and passionate.”
You sigh and stay quiet for a few minutes, eyes just fixed on all her squirming and swallowing and blinking and clenching and unclenching of her fists. Eventually, she unlatches, and you reposition her to nurse from your other breast.
“You know, you’re a very good-looking baby, Birdie. You look like Mommy, except for your chin. I guess sperm donor 18645 gave you that. It’s not bad. And, hey, maybe it gets him all the ladies.” You slip a finger into Birdie’s grasp. “You’re an Abbot, no matter whose DNA mixed with mine to make you. It’s no one’s business, anyway, but just so you know, Daddy and I are going to do everything we can to make sure you don’t feel insecure about that. We don’t ever want you to feel like you don’t belong.”
//
The rest of the day is spent on the couch with just the three of you. You and Jack take turns holding the baby, shirts and Birdie’s onesie long forgotten in the interest of skin-to-skin bonding. She’s relatively quiet outside of the cries that tell you she’s hungry or needs a diaper change.
When it feels like bedtime, Jack feeds her a bottle with the milk you pumped earlier while you take a shower.
You come out half an hour later–because Jack was adamant that you take all the time you need in there–wearing only a nursing bra and your postpartum diaper. You feel your most unattractive, yet Jack looks at you with awe when you emerge from the shower.
This body carried his baby and labored for hours to birth her. So, maybe you feel funny about the current state of your stomach, but Jack feels lucky to get to witness it.
“You look so pretty and happy,” he says softly as he burps Birdie, the bottle completely finished on the nightstand.
You smile and lean down to kiss Birdie’s head.
“You’re a good-looking dad, baby,” you say as you sit down next to Jack on the bed.
Jack wraps an arm around your shoulders, the two of you staring down at Birdie in the crook of his elbow, her tiny mouth slightly agape as she sleeps.
“She took the bottle well,” he says softly. “A whole ounce and a half, like a champ.”
“Mm. You like giving her the bottle?”
“Yeah, I did. Good father-daughter bonding.” He turns his head toward you.
“You’re tired,” you mutter softly, gently cupping his jaw.
“So are you.”
You huff a soft laugh through your nose. “Go shower. I got her.”
Carefully, Jack transfers Birdie into your arms, then heads to the bathroom. When the door shuts, you pad over to your side of the bed where the bedside bassinet that Jack put together today is all set up.
“Okay, Birdie girl,” you sigh, gently lowering her inside. “This bassinet only has three full walls, so you can still see me if you turn your head to the right. I’ll be right here, and when you wake up hungry, I’ll put you right on the boob. If it’s a diaper situation, you’ll have to go to Daddy, though. He’s a good man, won’t let me do the stinky stuff.”
Birdie settles immediately, not disturbed by the transfer at all. You press a kiss to her chubby cheek, then get in bed and pull the covers over your body.
A few minutes later, Jack emerges from the bathroom, and before crawling into bed, he stops by your side of the bed to kiss Birdie good night and whisper that he loves her. When he’s in bed beside you, he kisses you and whispers the same thing.
He holds onto you a little tighter tonight than he usually does. You don’t say anything. He presses another kiss to your cheek before he finally settles.
//
The next day, Birdie has her well-baby checkup in the early afternoon.
Thanks to one of the copious matching sets you bought for postpartum, you feel put together enough to leave the house confidently. You hand Jack the ‘#1 Dad’ hat on the way out the door.
Jack’s a little quieter today. You can’t tell if he’s just tired or if something else is weighing on him. He has therapy today, though. 4:00, you’re pretty sure. Maybe at 5:00. It doesn’t really matter since it’s virtual.
He pushes the stroller, walking a little slower than he would if a freshly postpartum woman wasn’t walking next to him, through the pediatrician’s office. He only talks when you get situated in the waiting room chair, asking if you’re comfortable. Still, in his quietness, he keeps one hand on the handle of the stroller and the other on your knee, ever protective of his girls.
Birdie’s name is called, and Jack follows behind you and the nurse with the stroller. Once you’re all inside the room, the nurse instructs you to strip Birdie down to be weighed.
She fusses as Jack undoes her onesie but settles when he wraps a blanket around her and cradles her in his arms while the nurse sets up.
“Alright, Dad,” the nurse sighs. “You can set her down.”
Birdie continues to fuss when the warmth is taken away again, but she gets through it.
The nurse declares that Birdie’s weight is in a good place, then measures her head and says those measurements are normal too. After all that, the nurse tells you the doctor will be in for the head-to-toe exam, then slips out.
Jack gathers Birdie in his arms, careful to make sure her whole body is covered by the blanket.
“Babe, are you okay?” you ask softly, leaning against the exam table, your head against his shoulder. “You’re pretty quiet today.”
He turns his head toward you. He shrugs and leans his head down to kiss your temple.
“Just tired. Guess all the adrenaline is finally gone,” he says softly.
You kiss his shoulder. “Hopefully therapy helps today.”
Then the doctor knocks at the door. She’s nice and performs the exam very well, in Jack’s opinion.
Soft spots of the skull are good, no signs of hip dysplasia, collarbones didn’t break during delivery, femoral pulse is strong, no irregularities anywhere.
“Possibly the most perfect baby ever,” the doctor jokes.
You ask a few questions that you came up with on the drive over. The doctor explains your concerns away, and when you look at Jack, he seems to be in agreement with the pediatrician that everything is normal.
“Alright,” the doctor says as Jack puts Birdie’s onesie back on. “That’s it for Birdie for today. Cute nickname, by the way. Remember to also take care of yourselves. You guys are a team, so lean on each other and help each other out.”
“Yeah, we haven’t crashed and burned yet,” you joke. “Thank you so much, doctor.”
The doctor smiles and shuts the door behind her.
“Wanna get lunch on the way home?” you suggest as Jack goes to open the door.
“Yeah, sounds good,” he says, following you out while you push the stroller.
//
When you get home, the three of you take a nap after you nurse Birdie. Jack sets an alarm so he doesn’t miss therapy.
By the time the alarm does go off, you’re still sleeping. As Jack puts his prosthesis back on, Birdie starts fussing. He glances at his phone and decides she probably needs a bottle after he checks her diaper.
He scoops Birdie up and sniffs her bottom. Nothing, but he checks more carefully while her bottle warms up. A peek tells him she’s all dry. Just hungry.
“You wanna sit in on therapy with me, Birdie?” he mutters to the baby as he grabs her bottle. “Yeah? Gonna do your best to be quiet?”
Birdie just stares up at Jack with her big, bright eyes, waiting for a bottle or a breast.
Once he’s signed into the virtual waiting room, sitting in your home office, he brings the bottle to Birdie’s mouth. For something so tiny, she sure is a greedy eater.
His therapist, Leo, joins the call, surprised to see Birdie in Jack’s arms.
“I see we have a guest,” he remarks, smiling.
“This is Birdie. Her mom’s sleeping, and she needed a bottle. Figured she doesn’t understand anything besides milk, so she could sit in today, if that’s okay,” Jack explains.
Leo smiles, eyes clearly fixed on the tiny baby rather than Jack as he talks. “Yeah, of course, as long as you’re fine with it. Wow, the baby’s finally here. How’re you feeling?”
Jack shrugs. “She was born on the sixth, early in the morning. We got home yesterday, took her to the doctor earlier. I feel… I feel good.” He looks down at Birdie, checking in to make sure she’s still taking the bottle okay. “She’s amazing, looks just like her mom except for the chin. I guess that’s from the sperm donor.”
There’s a pause, so Leo takes advantage.
“How do you feel about that? Your daughter having biological ties to another man?” Leo asks, blunt as always.
Jack swallows roughly. “I knew what I was getting myself into when I got involved with my wife. I always knew that Birdie wouldn’t look like me. I actually was kind of expecting her to look exactly like the sperm donor, but she’s really more of her mom’s twin, so I guess that makes me feel better.”
“Would it be possible for you to feel insecure about it if your daughter didn’t look like her mother?”
Jack doesn’t like that question; Leo can tell. Maybe that’s what makes it an important one to ask.
“Guess it could be possible,” Jack says softly, eyes fixed on the door rather than Leo on the screen or Birdie in his arms. “I wouldn’t… She’s my kid, blood or not, so I… I don’t know. I don’t want to sound like an asshole.”
Leo shakes his head. “It’s perfectly natural to want your children to look like you. With Birdie, that’s impossible, but you were there when she was born, Jack. You were friends with her mother in the early stages of pregnancy, and along the way became her romantic partner. Birdie doesn’t know that you didn’t contribute to her DNA, and she doesn’t care. You’re the man holding her right now. Nobody else is. She’ll give you gifts on Father’s Day, and her first word will probably be ‘Dada’, and even though that’s more of a phonics and developmental thing, she’ll be looking at you when she says it.”
Jack sighs and scrubs a hand over his face, holding Birdie and the bottle with one hand for a moment.
“I caught her,” Jack says softly. “When she started crowning, I moved down between my wife’s legs, and I was there to catch my daughter when she was born.”
Leo smiles softly. “You’ve delivered babies before. I assume this one was different.”
“Yeah.” Jack nods and looks down at Birdie, still suckling. “This one… I took this one home. I signed her birth certificate. She’s got my last name. I had to hold back tears when I got my hands on her head. She’s mine.” He swallows roughly again. “I never thought I’d have this.”
“Right.” Leo sighs. “Have you expressed your past feelings about children to your wife?”
Jack sighs now and lets out a sniffle. “No, I didn’t really see the point, honestly. I don’t want her to get the wrong idea and start thinking I’m not happy with how things have turned out.”
Leo nods. “It’s not uncommon to go from being neutral on an idea to being 100% on board. You fell in love with your wife, and the baby came with her.”
“It’s not just that,” Jack says. “Helene didn’t want kids. I thought it was better for me to maybe regret not having kids than her regretting having a child. Now that Birdie’s here, I can’t imagine there ever being a reality where I’m not her dad.”
His phone buzzes just then, the distinctive ringtone he set for your texts filling the room. He glances at the phone and reads the message: I know you’re in therapy, but if you want, I can pop in real quick and grab Birdie.
“It’s my wife,” he says as he sends a message back: That’d be nice. Thx
“Is she okay?”
“Yeah, she’s coming in to grab the baby.”
Then there’s a knock at the door, and Jack tells you to come in.
Eyes a little puffy from sleep, hair slightly mussed, still in the matching pink sweatshirt and shorts set, and the world’s softest and prettiest smile on your face.
His beautiful wife, mother of his perfect daughter.
Still on the bottle, Jack carefully transfers Birdie into your arms and whispers a soft thank you to you on your way out of the office.
Once the door shuts, Leo smiles. “It’s obvious your wife loves you, Jack. I’m sure she’d understand your feelings. Besides, now that Birdie’s here, how do you feel about her presence, your role in her life?”
Jack nods and swallows the lump in his throat.
“I’m happy,” he says, his voice warbly. “I don’t… I feel like I can’t believe that there was a universe where I was going to miss out on this, on being a dad. But, y’know, I wouldn’t have this if I hadn’t lost Helene, so I feel kind of… I don’t know, maybe guilty? That I’m having this life that I wouldn’t be having otherwise and…really loving it.”
The adrenaline is finally wearing off, and Jack can finally stop and let his mind get consumed with the question of how he got so lucky with you and also how to rationalize his love for both Helene and you.
He always thought everything bad that happened to him–losing his leg, his and Helene’s infertility, Helene dying–was all punishment for every bad thing he did in his life, the things he did with the American flag on his shoulder that helped a younger Jack believe it was for the greater good.
That didn’t work for long.
“That’s a valid feeling,” Leo says. “It’s true that you wouldn’t have the life you do now if Helene was still here. Let me ask you this, Jack. Are you happy with where you are today?”
Jack sighs but doesn’t hesitate to nod his head.
“I am. I’m happy with my wife and with Birdie. I just… I look at Birdie…” He trails off, eyes squinting. He clears his throat, gaze fixed on a doodle you made on a sticky note next to the computer mouse. “I look at my daughter and wonder what I did that makes me worthy of her. It’s the same thing when I look at my wife, but Birdie… She’s two days old. She’s never done anything wrong in her entire life, and she’s so pure and loved, and I… I wonder if I deserve to be in their lives.”
Leo takes a moment to come up with a response. “Jack, from what you’ve told me, you’ve married a very intelligent and thoughtful woman. She gave up on men and was going to have Birdie on her own. Then she got to know you, and you’ve become her partner in all of this. If you’re feeling doubtful about your worthiness in your family, try thinking about your wife’s decision to involve you, how much you trust her.”
“Yeah,” Jack chokes. He clears his throat. “She’s great. Amazing woman, man, so fucking strong.” He can steer the conversation. “She didn’t get an epidural for about twelve hours. She managed to stay clear-headed the whole time. Like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”
Leo doesn’t miss the avoidance, but one thing is for sure: Jack will talk about it when he’s ready, when he doesn’t feel so raw.
//
When Jack steps out of your office, he doesn’t join you and Birdie on the couch. You’re not upset; he just spent the better part of an hour talking about who knows what. He’s entitled to some alone time. You’re fine to sit on the couch with Birdie at your breast, the remote, water bottle, and a snack nearby.
It’s when nearly an hour goes by that you send him a text asking if he’s okay.
Five minutes go by, and he doesn’t respond, so you pad into the bedroom with Birdie in your arms.
He’s on the bed, back to the door, prosthesis near his nightstand.
You round the bed to put Birdie in her bassinet on your side of the bed, then crawl in next to him, leaving him some space. For someone who didn’t answer your text, he doesn’t seem to want the space as he pulls you toward him. You let him pull your left leg up and rest it on his hip as you bring a hand to his cheek.
“I love you, Jack,” you whisper as he pulls your head toward him so your foreheads touch. “I’m sorry if you’re feeling overwhelmed today, baby.”
He pecks your lips and sighs.
“Baby, are you okay?” you ask softly, brow furrowed in concern, thumb rubbing back and forth across his cheek.
He nods softly and kisses your lips again.
“I’ve just got a lot on my mind, is all,” he mumbles against your lips. “Let’s just stay here for a while until Birdie needs something. Yeah?”
He’s probably got his entire life story leading up to this point on his mind right now. If he wants to process things on his own before he talks to you about it, that’s okay. You won’t argue against letting him hold you in his arms.
“Yeah,” you whisper back. “We’ll just chill for the rest of the day. Um, tomorrow, though, I wanted to take Birdie on a walk. I think it’d be good for all of us.”
“Sounds perfect, sweetheart,” he whispers softly before pressing another kiss to your lips.
//
As the next few days go by, Jack seems to relax a bit more, which makes you feel calmer, too. The two of you take Birdie on walks in the neighborhood with her fan attached to her stroller.
After the walks is when you shower since the girdle you wear during them creates a lot of sweat.
Today is day seven of being home, day eight since you’ve given birth. Jack has put Birdie down for a nap, so he watches you in the bathroom as you carefully remove the girdle.
“It’s not giving you trouble, is it?” he asks softly. “You feel okay when you wear it?”
You smile as you meet his eyes in the mirror. “I feel fine. It’s doing its job, making things a little easier.”
He nods along, his eyes flitting from your eyes to your still swollen middle.
“Okay, good.” He steps closer to you, his hip brushing your side. “Y’know you’re beautiful?”
You smile brighter, and you caress his cheek. “I do. Thanks for not letting me forget.”
He smiles softly, his gaze softening along with it. Pure would be a good word to describe the way he’s looking at you right now.
“I love you,” you say, rubbing your thumb back and forth across his cheekbone.
He kisses the juncture of your neck and shoulder. “I love you, too.”
He pulls back and you look him in his eyes. So full of love and adoration and peace. You wrap your arms around him, chest to chest, belly to belly.
“So much better without Birdie in the way,” you mutter, your voice muffled with your cheek against his chest.
Jack chuckles softly and kisses the top of your head before letting his arms fall.
When you get out of the shower, you find Jack on the bed with Birdie on his bare chest, a soft pink blanket over her back.
Skin-to-skin has become an addiction.
You walk to your dresser in just the postpartum diaper to put on a nursing bra before you join them on the bed. Jack holds an arm out to get you as close as possible. You sneak your left arm under his neck and cover his left bicep with your hand, your right hand going to Birdie’s fist. Jack’s right hand skates up and down your back, eyes fixed on Birdie like her lip occasionally twitching is the most bewitching thing he’s ever seen.
//
Jack has told you about his nightmares. He told you they didn’t happen very often anymore. You’re pretty sure the last one he told you about happened when you were 37 weeks pregnant, but he didn’t wake you up with his screams or his fingernails digging into your skin.
It’s almost 2:00 in the morning when you hear the sounds of Jack screaming. With the lack of sleep due to having a one-week-old baby in the house, you think it’s Birdie at first. Then you feel his nails dig into your thigh, and you know it’s him.
“Ow, fuck, Jack!” you whimper, whipping your head around in his direction to find his skin drenched in sweat, his left hand gripping your thigh like it’s personally offended him.
You vaguely remember a Google search telling you not to touch him or be too loud.
So you sit there in bed and start speaking in a calming voice.
“Jack, it’s okay,” you murmur. “Please wake up.”
Birdie starts crying in the bassinet to your left.
Your head turns back and forth between your daughter and your husband.
Birdie’s upset that she’s been woken up. Jack is fighting off metaphorical demons and taking it out on your thigh. Birdie’s going to have to cry it out for a second.
You lean your head down, your fists clenching as you fight the urge to caress Jack’s cheek.
“Baby, please wake up. You’re having a nightmare,” you say softly. “Jack, it’s okay. You’re safe.”
His eyes shoot open faster than you’ve ever seen. His grip on your thigh momentarily tightens, and you fight back your whimper while he shoots up in bed.
“Jack, it’s me. You’re safe. You’re in bed with me in our house,” you whisper, keeping your distance as you sit up.
As he comes to, all he can hear is his breathing and Birdie crying.
“I woke them up,” he mutters to himself.
“Jack, it’s okay,” you say, but he barely hears it.
He finally looks at you, fear in his eyes. You’ve never seen him scared.
The hand he has on your thigh suddenly pulls back in toward himself as if he’s been burned.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his eyes glazing over.
You shake your head. “It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
His eyes focus on the bassinet behind you.
“She’s crying,” he whispers, sounding as if the notion is bringing him physical pain. “Please, you gotta pick her up.”
You furrow your brow, unsure if you should keep your focus on Jack or rock Birdie back to sleep, but his intense gaze decides for you.
Birdie’s cries die down when you finally pick her up, your legs hanging off the bed, your back to Jack as you stare at the broken blood vessels on your thigh.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, finally getting his breathing under control. “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I haven’t… I haven’t had one like that in years. I’m so sorry I woke you up.”
You carefully lower Birdie back in the bassinet and turn back around.
“Jack, it’s not your fault. Everyone’s okay,” you whisper. “Do you want to go to the kitchen and have some water?”
He swallows roughly and eventually nods.
You slip out of bed and grab his crutch for him. He takes it and follows you to the kitchen. When you hand him the cup, his eyes fall to your thigh, the dotting on your thigh telling him something hurt you.
“Was that me?” he asks softly, guilt already seeping into his voice.
You chew on the inside of your cheek as you debate lying.
You land on staying silent as you wrap your arms around him. He melts into you, which is relieving. It could’ve gone either way, given his current state.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he sobs into your neck.
“I know,” you whisper.
“You just had our baby,” he whimpers.
“It’s okay, Jack. It’ll heal in a day or two.”
“But I hurt you,” he reiterates. “You’re fragile, and I hurt you.”
“You didn’t mean to, baby. It doesn’t even hurt, I promise. I’m okay.”
You press a soft kiss to his cheek and scratch your fingernails up and down his bare back.
“I love you,” you whisper as you pull back slightly. “I’m okay. We’re all safe. Birdie’s asleep in our room, and you and I are having some water. I love you, Jack. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”
He nods, taking in your words, eyes fluttering shut as he tries to take some deep breaths.
“I love you, too, sweetheart,” he breathes.
“We can sit out here in the living room and talk if you need,” you offer. “Or we can go back to bed. Whatever you need.”
Whatever he needs.
Fuck, you just had a baby. He’s supposed to be telling you that. He’s also amazed you feel safe enough to go back to bed with him after he just about detached your skin from your quads.
Slowly, he leans in to kiss you. You reciprocate immediately, your hands flexing against his back.
“I love you,” he whispers against your lips.
Flashbacks of the nightmare play in his head. Helene sits in the middle of the bathroom floor as blood pools beneath her. You clutch a lifeless Birdie as you bleed out. It makes his stomach churn.
“I love you, too, baby.”
Jack takes in a shuddering breath and pulls back to kiss your cheek now, your temple, your forehead, then pulls you closer with one arm while he balances on his crutch with the other.
Eventually, you go back to bed. Jack’s conflicted between wanting to keep a safe distance from you and wanting to hold you in his arms to lull himself to sleep like he usually does.
You decide for him, wrapping your arms around him in a way that makes his heart ache.
He feels a little better as you rest your head on his pillow, your nose brushing against his neck, your fingers gently stroking the top of his hair, your other arm secure around his middle.
His heart breaks a little when he feels your tears rub against his skin. Your hormones are still a little all over the place, and your brain is finally able to catch up to what just happened. Jack is your strong and tough husband, and seeing him crumble like he just did hasn’t made you believe that any less; it’s just made you sad over the fact that he’s feeling anything other than content.
You shift a little closer and kiss the underside of his jaw and gently tighten your arm around his waist.
Jack begins gently scratching his fingernails up and down your back, and eventually, your stroking his hair and his scratching your back lulls both of you to sleep.
When you get things moving for the day around 10:00 AM, the sadness in both your and Jack’s eyes lessens just a bit as Birdie lies between her parents in their bed.
He grabs her tiny fist and kisses it while she looks at you like you’ve hung the moon. And after how you supported him last night, Jack would have to agree with his daughter.
*reminder that you get side eyed hard if you're on one of these taglists and don't reblog
All works taglist: @person-005 @tearsweetenedtea @canonisoptional @xoxoloverb @saralovesjoelmiller @rach2602
Ok ok I’m first story reblog!!! I’m still very fucking scared but that’s a ME thing I’m overthinking about this and I have no idea why. I’m slowly easing into reblogging idk why it terrifies because all it does it boost the stories I love, babes I have no idea why I overthink and then have panic attacks about this. Anyways!!!! This little family is the cutest! I’m so happy is talking to someone if it isn’t reader at the moment. I’m glad we got to see a little more jacks side in this. 💛
Summary: Now that you and Jack have brought Birdie home from the hospital, things start to settle in the house. Unfortunately for Jack, he can't say the same thing about his mind.
Pairing: Jack Abbot x Wife!Reader
Content warnings: MDNI, directly follows up the last installment of Doctor Google, title from a Taylor Swift song, breastfeeding, domestic fluff, vague description of postpartum body (swollen abdomen), angst, Jack is feeling guilty and unworthy, depiction of PTSD nightmare and its aftermath
Word count: 5,561
Series Masterlist | Read on ao3 here | dividers by @/strangergraphics & @/swainbaby
Author's note: no more coming up with "Doctor..." titles I am finally free of those shackles and I get to continue this story yayyy!! not much else to say since y'all don't read the author's note, but if you're on a taglist and don't reblog this post, you're getting removed. I'm serious; some of you have never reblogged even one of my posts, and that's weird for Tumblr. you can check my taglist form to make sure you're signed up for only what you're interested in, or you can subscribe to my ao3 account and leave comments and kudos there since you're anti-reblogging. and maybe that’s harsh but this is the reblogging site, not the likes and comments site. besides all that, I hope you enjoy and tysm for reading ily <3
You spend another night in the hospital, and the next morning, 31 hours after the birth, you’re about to be released from the hospital.
As you slowly pack the last of your things up, Jack gets Birdie settled in her car seat. She squirms and whimpers, but he whispers soft reassurances as he buckles her in.
“I know the car seat’s not as warm as Mommy and Daddy are, Birdie girl. I know, but you’ll be okay,” he coos. “The car ride’s only gonna be about ten minutes. Ten minutes, then Mommy’ll hold you again. You might even get the boob.”
From your spot on the foot of the bed, you let out a soft snort.
“All ready?” Jack asks once he’s got Birdie settled.
You nod and stand to step closer to peek in the car seat.
“Aw, she looks even smaller in there,” you mutter as you reach out to adjust her onesie.
“Tiny but mighty,” Jack says, placing a comforting, possessive hand on your hip.
You look from Birdie to him and find him pulling the ‘#1 Dad’ cap on.
“Wow,” you laugh softly.
Jack furrows his brow. “Hey, Jerry got it for me, so I’m gonna wear it with pride.”
Yesterday afternoon, your mom and stepdad, Jerry, came to the hospital with lunch to check in on you and meet the baby. Jerry handed the baseball cap to Jack with about as much pride as you can imagine.
“Okay, babe.” You smile and reach out to adjust the cap. “You actually do look hot in it.”
Jack grins, and you kiss his cheek, then a nurse comes in with a wheelchair.
“Ready to go home?” she asks, smiling cheerfully.
Jack dropped all the bags off in the car when he pulled it around, so the only thing left for him to grab is the car seat where Birdie is now sleeping soundly.
On the way out, he walks ahead of you in jeans that hug his ass a little too well and a t-shirt that is fighting with his broad shoulders and his grays peeking out of the cap’s strap.
His forearm is flexed as he carries the car seat, and you’re positive this moment in time is going to live in your mind forever.
When you make it to the car, you peer over Jack’s shoulder as he secures the car seat. It’s not that you don’t trust him to do it properly; it’s just that you’d like to watch over your baby.
He steps back, accidentally bumping into you, then turns around and puts his hands on your hips.
“Hi,” he chirps, happy to see you there. “Wanna ride in the back with her?”
You cover his hands with yours and lean in to peck his lips. “Hi. And, yes, I do.”
Jack takes a step back and keeps his hands hovering near you as you settle into the backseat.
“Comfortable?” he asks as your brow furrows.
Your face relaxes, and you nod. He reaches over and lovingly squeezes your knee before he shuts the door.
The entire drive home, Jack maintains exactly the speed limit on every road. He gets passed at every chance, but he’s got precious cargo in the back, so who really cares if he’s driving like his 97-year-old grandma?
When you get home, he helps you out of the car, then pulls Birdie from her car seat and hands her to you before guiding you up the porch. He unlocks the front door and holds it open for you.
“This is your house, Birdie,” you coo down at the baby in your arms. “This is where you’re gonna live with Mommy and Daddy until we find a different house.”
“Should we give her the tour?” Jack suggests.
You nod at him, then look back at Birdie. By the time you complete the brief tour of the house, she starts to fuss.
“Okay, last room, Birdie girl,” you mutter to the baby as she starts rooting for milk. “It’s your room. Your daddy and Uncle Robby–-who you’ll meet when he gets back from sabbatical–painted the room for you.” You go to sit in the glider chair and start pulling your shirt up and undoing the nursing bra. “And Mommy sat right here while Daddy built the crib.”
Jack crouches down and smooths a hand over Birdie’s soft hair.
“Need anything?” he asks as you get the baby latched.
“Not really,” you say softly, smiling contentedly.
He nods and straightens up. “I’ll bring the stuff inside from the car.”
Then it’s just you and the baby in the nursery, the only sound being her soft suckling.
“We’ve got all kinds of stuff to do,” you say, speaking softly, but not exactly baby-talking. “Gotta make your baby wellness appointment, get you on the insurance, give you a bath. All real exciting, huh, baby girl?”
For a few minutes, you just rock in the glider and watch Birdie’s jaw move.
Jack comes back in and crouches in front of the glider again.
“You gonna want lunch soon?” he asks, slipping his finger in Birdie’s grasp.
“Yeah. I think there’s sandwich fixings and chips. Will you put extra turkey on mine?” you ask, reaching a hand out to caress his shoulder.
Jack nods and leans down to kiss Birdie’s head, then pecks your lips before he heads to the kitchen.
“Your daddy’s love language is physical touch. That’s how he shows us he loves us,” you say, one hand gently stroking Birdie’s hair. “He also loves words of affirmation. I think those two are tied. He also loves doing acts of service. Your daddy’s very talkative and passionate.”
You sigh and stay quiet for a few minutes, eyes just fixed on all her squirming and swallowing and blinking and clenching and unclenching of her fists. Eventually, she unlatches, and you reposition her to nurse from your other breast.
“You know, you’re a very good-looking baby, Birdie. You look like Mommy, except for your chin. I guess sperm donor 18645 gave you that. It’s not bad. And, hey, maybe it gets him all the ladies.” You slip a finger into Birdie’s grasp. “You’re an Abbot, no matter whose DNA mixed with mine to make you. It’s no one’s business, anyway, but just so you know, Daddy and I are going to do everything we can to make sure you don’t feel insecure about that. We don’t ever want you to feel like you don’t belong.”
//
The rest of the day is spent on the couch with just the three of you. You and Jack take turns holding the baby, shirts and Birdie’s onesie long forgotten in the interest of skin-to-skin bonding. She’s relatively quiet outside of the cries that tell you she’s hungry or needs a diaper change.
When it feels like bedtime, Jack feeds her a bottle with the milk you pumped earlier while you take a shower.
You come out half an hour later–because Jack was adamant that you take all the time you need in there–wearing only a nursing bra and your postpartum diaper. You feel your most unattractive, yet Jack looks at you with awe when you emerge from the shower.
This body carried his baby and labored for hours to birth her. So, maybe you feel funny about the current state of your stomach, but Jack feels lucky to get to witness it.
“You look so pretty and happy,” he says softly as he burps Birdie, the bottle completely finished on the nightstand.
You smile and lean down to kiss Birdie’s head.
“You’re a good-looking dad, baby,” you say as you sit down next to Jack on the bed.
Jack wraps an arm around your shoulders, the two of you staring down at Birdie in the crook of his elbow, her tiny mouth slightly agape as she sleeps.
“She took the bottle well,” he says softly. “A whole ounce and a half, like a champ.”
“Mm. You like giving her the bottle?”
“Yeah, I did. Good father-daughter bonding.” He turns his head toward you.
“You’re tired,” you mutter softly, gently cupping his jaw.
“So are you.”
You huff a soft laugh through your nose. “Go shower. I got her.”
Carefully, Jack transfers Birdie into your arms, then heads to the bathroom. When the door shuts, you pad over to your side of the bed where the bedside bassinet that Jack put together today is all set up.
“Okay, Birdie girl,” you sigh, gently lowering her inside. “This bassinet only has three full walls, so you can still see me if you turn your head to the right. I’ll be right here, and when you wake up hungry, I’ll put you right on the boob. If it’s a diaper situation, you’ll have to go to Daddy, though. He’s a good man, won’t let me do the stinky stuff.”
Birdie settles immediately, not disturbed by the transfer at all. You press a kiss to her chubby cheek, then get in bed and pull the covers over your body.
A few minutes later, Jack emerges from the bathroom, and before crawling into bed, he stops by your side of the bed to kiss Birdie good night and whisper that he loves her. When he’s in bed beside you, he kisses you and whispers the same thing.
He holds onto you a little tighter tonight than he usually does. You don’t say anything. He presses another kiss to your cheek before he finally settles.
//
The next day, Birdie has her well-baby checkup in the early afternoon.
Thanks to one of the copious matching sets you bought for postpartum, you feel put together enough to leave the house confidently. You hand Jack the ‘#1 Dad’ hat on the way out the door.
Jack’s a little quieter today. You can’t tell if he’s just tired or if something else is weighing on him. He has therapy today, though. 4:00, you’re pretty sure. Maybe at 5:00. It doesn’t really matter since it’s virtual.
He pushes the stroller, walking a little slower than he would if a freshly postpartum woman wasn’t walking next to him, through the pediatrician’s office. He only talks when you get situated in the waiting room chair, asking if you’re comfortable. Still, in his quietness, he keeps one hand on the handle of the stroller and the other on your knee, ever protective of his girls.
Birdie’s name is called, and Jack follows behind you and the nurse with the stroller. Once you’re all inside the room, the nurse instructs you to strip Birdie down to be weighed.
She fusses as Jack undoes her onesie but settles when he wraps a blanket around her and cradles her in his arms while the nurse sets up.
“Alright, Dad,” the nurse sighs. “You can set her down.”
Birdie continues to fuss when the warmth is taken away again, but she gets through it.
The nurse declares that Birdie’s weight is in a good place, then measures her head and says those measurements are normal too. After all that, the nurse tells you the doctor will be in for the head-to-toe exam, then slips out.
Jack gathers Birdie in his arms, careful to make sure her whole body is covered by the blanket.
“Babe, are you okay?” you ask softly, leaning against the exam table, your head against his shoulder. “You’re pretty quiet today.”
He turns his head toward you. He shrugs and leans his head down to kiss your temple.
“Just tired. Guess all the adrenaline is finally gone,” he says softly.
You kiss his shoulder. “Hopefully therapy helps today.”
Then the doctor knocks at the door. She’s nice and performs the exam very well, in Jack’s opinion.
Soft spots of the skull are good, no signs of hip dysplasia, collarbones didn’t break during delivery, femoral pulse is strong, no irregularities anywhere.
“Possibly the most perfect baby ever,” the doctor jokes.
You ask a few questions that you came up with on the drive over. The doctor explains your concerns away, and when you look at Jack, he seems to be in agreement with the pediatrician that everything is normal.
“Alright,” the doctor says as Jack puts Birdie’s onesie back on. “That’s it for Birdie for today. Cute nickname, by the way. Remember to also take care of yourselves. You guys are a team, so lean on each other and help each other out.”
“Yeah, we haven’t crashed and burned yet,” you joke. “Thank you so much, doctor.”
The doctor smiles and shuts the door behind her.
“Wanna get lunch on the way home?” you suggest as Jack goes to open the door.
“Yeah, sounds good,” he says, following you out while you push the stroller.
//
When you get home, the three of you take a nap after you nurse Birdie. Jack sets an alarm so he doesn’t miss therapy.
By the time the alarm does go off, you’re still sleeping. As Jack puts his prosthesis back on, Birdie starts fussing. He glances at his phone and decides she probably needs a bottle after he checks her diaper.
He scoops Birdie up and sniffs her bottom. Nothing, but he checks more carefully while her bottle warms up. A peek tells him she’s all dry. Just hungry.
“You wanna sit in on therapy with me, Birdie?” he mutters to the baby as he grabs her bottle. “Yeah? Gonna do your best to be quiet?”
Birdie just stares up at Jack with her big, bright eyes, waiting for a bottle or a breast.
Once he’s signed into the virtual waiting room, sitting in your home office, he brings the bottle to Birdie’s mouth. For something so tiny, she sure is a greedy eater.
His therapist, Leo, joins the call, surprised to see Birdie in Jack’s arms.
“I see we have a guest,” he remarks, smiling.
“This is Birdie. Her mom’s sleeping, and she needed a bottle. Figured she doesn’t understand anything besides milk, so she could sit in today, if that’s okay,” Jack explains.
Leo smiles, eyes clearly fixed on the tiny baby rather than Jack as he talks. “Yeah, of course, as long as you’re fine with it. Wow, the baby’s finally here. How’re you feeling?”
Jack shrugs. “She was born on the sixth, early in the morning. We got home yesterday, took her to the doctor earlier. I feel… I feel good.” He looks down at Birdie, checking in to make sure she’s still taking the bottle okay. “She’s amazing, looks just like her mom except for the chin. I guess that’s from the sperm donor.”
There’s a pause, so Leo takes advantage.
“How do you feel about that? Your daughter having biological ties to another man?” Leo asks, blunt as always.
Jack swallows roughly. “I knew what I was getting myself into when I got involved with my wife. I always knew that Birdie wouldn’t look like me. I actually was kind of expecting her to look exactly like the sperm donor, but she’s really more of her mom’s twin, so I guess that makes me feel better.”
“Would it be possible for you to feel insecure about it if your daughter didn’t look like her mother?”
Jack doesn’t like that question; Leo can tell. Maybe that’s what makes it an important one to ask.
“Guess it could be possible,” Jack says softly, eyes fixed on the door rather than Leo on the screen or Birdie in his arms. “I wouldn’t… She’s my kid, blood or not, so I… I don’t know. I don’t want to sound like an asshole.”
Leo shakes his head. “It’s perfectly natural to want your children to look like you. With Birdie, that’s impossible, but you were there when she was born, Jack. You were friends with her mother in the early stages of pregnancy, and along the way became her romantic partner. Birdie doesn’t know that you didn’t contribute to her DNA, and she doesn’t care. You’re the man holding her right now. Nobody else is. She’ll give you gifts on Father’s Day, and her first word will probably be ‘Dada’, and even though that’s more of a phonics and developmental thing, she’ll be looking at you when she says it.”
Jack sighs and scrubs a hand over his face, holding Birdie and the bottle with one hand for a moment.
“I caught her,” Jack says softly. “When she started crowning, I moved down between my wife’s legs, and I was there to catch my daughter when she was born.”
Leo smiles softly. “You’ve delivered babies before. I assume this one was different.”
“Yeah.” Jack nods and looks down at Birdie, still suckling. “This one… I took this one home. I signed her birth certificate. She’s got my last name. I had to hold back tears when I got my hands on her head. She’s mine.” He swallows roughly again. “I never thought I’d have this.”
“Right.” Leo sighs. “Have you expressed your past feelings about children to your wife?”
Jack sighs now and lets out a sniffle. “No, I didn’t really see the point, honestly. I don’t want her to get the wrong idea and start thinking I’m not happy with how things have turned out.”
Leo nods. “It’s not uncommon to go from being neutral on an idea to being 100% on board. You fell in love with your wife, and the baby came with her.”
“It’s not just that,” Jack says. “Helene didn’t want kids. I thought it was better for me to maybe regret not having kids than her regretting having a child. Now that Birdie’s here, I can’t imagine there ever being a reality where I’m not her dad.”
His phone buzzes just then, the distinctive ringtone he set for your texts filling the room. He glances at the phone and reads the message: I know you’re in therapy, but if you want, I can pop in real quick and grab Birdie.
“It’s my wife,” he says as he sends a message back: That’d be nice. Thx
“Is she okay?”
“Yeah, she’s coming in to grab the baby.”
Then there’s a knock at the door, and Jack tells you to come in.
Eyes a little puffy from sleep, hair slightly mussed, still in the matching pink sweatshirt and shorts set, and the world’s softest and prettiest smile on your face.
His beautiful wife, mother of his perfect daughter.
Still on the bottle, Jack carefully transfers Birdie into your arms and whispers a soft thank you to you on your way out of the office.
Once the door shuts, Leo smiles. “It’s obvious your wife loves you, Jack. I’m sure she’d understand your feelings. Besides, now that Birdie’s here, how do you feel about her presence, your role in her life?”
Jack nods and swallows the lump in his throat.
“I’m happy,” he says, his voice warbly. “I don’t… I feel like I can’t believe that there was a universe where I was going to miss out on this, on being a dad. But, y’know, I wouldn’t have this if I hadn’t lost Helene, so I feel kind of… I don’t know, maybe guilty? That I’m having this life that I wouldn’t be having otherwise and…really loving it.”
The adrenaline is finally wearing off, and Jack can finally stop and let his mind get consumed with the question of how he got so lucky with you and also how to rationalize his love for both Helene and you.
He always thought everything bad that happened to him–losing his leg, his and Helene’s early struggles, Helene dying–was all punishment for every bad thing he did in his life, the things he did with the American flag on his shoulder that helped a younger Jack believe it was for the greater good.
That didn’t work for long.
“That’s a valid feeling,” Leo says. “It’s true that you wouldn’t have the life you do now if Helene was still here. Let me ask you this, Jack. Are you happy with where you are today?”
Jack sighs but doesn’t hesitate to nod his head.
“I am. I’m happy with my wife and with Birdie. I just… I look at Birdie…” He trails off, eyes squinting. He clears his throat, gaze fixed on a doodle you made on a sticky note next to the computer mouse. “I look at my daughter and wonder what I did that makes me worthy of her. It’s the same thing when I look at my wife, but Birdie… She’s two days old. She’s never done anything wrong in her entire life, and she’s so pure and loved, and I… I wonder if I deserve to be in their lives.”
Leo takes a moment to come up with a response. “Jack, from what you’ve told me, you’ve married a very intelligent and thoughtful woman. She gave up on men and was going to have Birdie on her own. Then she got to know you, and you’ve become her partner in all of this. If you’re feeling doubtful about your worthiness in your family, try thinking about your wife’s decision to involve you, how much you trust her.”
“Yeah,” Jack chokes. He clears his throat. “She’s great. Amazing woman, man, so fucking strong.” He can steer the conversation. “She didn’t get an epidural for about twelve hours. She managed to stay clear-headed the whole time. Like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”
Leo doesn’t miss the avoidance, but one thing is for sure: Jack will talk about it when he’s ready, when he doesn’t feel so raw.
//
When Jack steps out of your office, he doesn’t join you and Birdie on the couch. You’re not upset; he just spent the better part of an hour talking about who knows what. He’s entitled to some alone time. You’re fine to sit on the couch with Birdie at your breast, the remote, water bottle, and a snack nearby.
It’s when nearly an hour goes by that you send him a text asking if he’s okay.
Five minutes go by, and he doesn’t respond, so you pad into the bedroom with Birdie in your arms.
He’s on the bed, back to the door, prosthesis near his nightstand.
You round the bed to put Birdie in her bassinet on your side of the bed, then crawl in next to him, leaving him some space. For someone who didn’t answer your text, he doesn’t seem to want the space as he pulls you toward him. You let him pull your left leg up and rest it on his hip as you bring a hand to his cheek.
“I love you, Jack,” you whisper as he pulls your head toward him so your foreheads touch. “I’m sorry if you’re feeling overwhelmed today, baby.”
He pecks your lips and sighs.
“Baby, are you okay?” you ask softly, brow furrowed in concern, thumb rubbing back and forth across his cheek.
He nods softly and kisses your lips again.
“I’ve just got a lot on my mind, is all,” he mumbles against your lips. “Let’s just stay here for a while until Birdie needs something. Yeah?”
He’s probably got his entire life story leading up to this point on his mind right now. If he wants to process things on his own before he talks to you about it, that’s okay. You won’t argue against letting him hold you in his arms.
“Yeah,” you whisper back. “We’ll just chill for the rest of the day. Um, tomorrow, though, I wanted to take Birdie on a walk. I think it’d be good for all of us.”
“Sounds perfect, sweetheart,” he whispers softly before pressing another kiss to your lips.
//
As the next few days go by, Jack seems to relax a bit more, which makes you feel calmer, too. The two of you take Birdie on walks in the neighborhood with her fan attached to her stroller.
After the walks is when you shower since the girdle you wear during them creates a lot of sweat.
Today is day seven of being home, day eight since you’ve given birth. Jack has put Birdie down for a nap, so he watches you in the bathroom as you carefully remove the girdle.
“It’s not giving you trouble, is it?” he asks softly. “You feel okay when you wear it?”
You smile as you meet his eyes in the mirror. “I feel fine. It’s doing its job, making things a little easier.”
He nods along, his eyes flitting from your eyes to your still swollen middle.
“Okay, good.” He steps closer to you, his hip brushing your side. “Y’know you’re beautiful?”
You smile brighter, and you caress his cheek. “I do. Thanks for not letting me forget.”
He smiles softly, his gaze softening along with it. Pure would be a good word to describe the way he’s looking at you right now.
“I love you,” you say, rubbing your thumb back and forth across his cheekbone.
He kisses the juncture of your neck and shoulder. “I love you, too.”
He pulls back and you look him in his eyes. So full of love and adoration and peace. You wrap your arms around him, chest to chest, belly to belly.
“So much better without Birdie in the way,” you mutter, your voice muffled with your cheek against his chest.
Jack chuckles softly and kisses the top of your head before letting his arms fall.
When you get out of the shower, you find Jack on the bed with Birdie on his bare chest, a soft pink blanket over her back.
Skin-to-skin has become an addiction.
You walk to your dresser in just the postpartum diaper to put on a nursing bra before you join them on the bed. Jack holds an arm out to get you as close as possible. You sneak your left arm under his neck and cover his left bicep with your hand, your right hand going to Birdie’s fist. Jack’s right hand skates up and down your back, eyes fixed on Birdie like her lip occasionally twitching is the most bewitching thing he’s ever seen.
//
Jack has told you about his nightmares. He told you they didn’t happen very often anymore. You’re pretty sure the last one he told you about happened when you were 37 weeks pregnant, but he didn’t wake you up with his screams or his fingernails digging into your skin.
It’s almost 2:00 in the morning when you hear the sounds of Jack screaming. With the lack of sleep due to having a one-week-old baby in the house, you think it’s Birdie at first. Then you feel his nails dig into your thigh, and you know it’s him.
“Ow, fuck, Jack!” you whimper, whipping your head around in his direction to find his skin drenched in sweat, his left hand gripping your thigh like it’s personally offended him.
You vaguely remember a Google search telling you not to touch him or be too loud.
So you sit there in bed and start speaking in a calming voice.
“Jack, it’s okay,” you murmur. “Please wake up.”
Birdie starts crying in the bassinet to your left.
Your head turns back and forth between your daughter and your husband.
Birdie’s upset that she’s been woken up. Jack is fighting off metaphorical demons and taking it out on your thigh. Birdie’s going to have to cry it out for a second.
You lean your head down, your fists clenching as you fight the urge to caress Jack’s cheek.
“Baby, please wake up. You’re having a nightmare,” you say softly. “Jack, it’s okay. You’re safe.”
His eyes shoot open faster than you’ve ever seen. His grip on your thigh momentarily tightens, and you fight back your whimper while he shoots up in bed.
“Jack, it’s me. You’re safe. You’re in bed with me in our house,” you whisper, keeping your distance as you sit up.
As he comes to, all he can hear is his breathing and Birdie crying.
“I woke them up,” he mutters to himself.
“Jack, it’s okay,” you say, but he barely hears it.
He finally looks at you, fear in his eyes. You’ve never seen him scared.
The hand he has on your thigh suddenly pulls back in toward himself as if he’s been burned.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his eyes glazing over.
You shake your head. “It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
His eyes focus on the bassinet behind you.
“She’s crying,” he whispers, sounding as if the notion is bringing him physical pain. “Please, you gotta pick her up.”
You furrow your brow, unsure if you should keep your focus on Jack or rock Birdie back to sleep, but his intense gaze decides for you.
Birdie’s cries die down when you finally pick her up, your legs hanging off the bed, your back to Jack as you stare at the broken blood vessels on your thigh.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, finally getting his breathing under control. “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I haven’t… I haven’t had one like that in years. I’m so sorry I woke you up.”
You carefully lower Birdie back in the bassinet and turn back around.
“Jack, it’s not your fault. Everyone’s okay,” you whisper. “Do you want to go to the kitchen and have some water?”
He swallows roughly and eventually nods.
You slip out of bed and grab his crutch for him. He takes it and follows you to the kitchen. When you hand him the cup, his eyes fall to your thigh, the dotting on your thigh telling him something hurt you.
“Was that me?” he asks softly, guilt already seeping into his voice.
You chew on the inside of your cheek as you debate lying.
You land on staying silent as you wrap your arms around him. He melts into you, which is relieving. It could’ve gone either way, given his current state.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he sobs into your neck.
“I know,” you whisper.
“You just had our baby,” he whimpers.
“It’s okay, Jack. It’ll heal in a day or two.”
“But I hurt you,” he reiterates. “You’re fragile, and I hurt you.”
“You didn’t mean to, baby. It doesn’t even hurt, I promise. I’m okay.”
You press a soft kiss to his cheek and scratch your fingernails up and down his bare back.
“I love you,” you whisper as you pull back slightly. “I’m okay. We’re all safe. Birdie’s asleep in our room, and you and I are having some water. I love you, Jack. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”
He nods, taking in your words, eyes fluttering shut as he tries to take some deep breaths.
“I love you, too, sweetheart,” he breathes.
“We can sit out here in the living room and talk if you need,” you offer. “Or we can go back to bed. Whatever you need.”
Whatever he needs.
Fuck, you just had a baby. He’s supposed to be telling you that. He’s also amazed you feel safe enough to go back to bed with him after he just about detached your skin from your quads.
Slowly, he leans in to kiss you. You reciprocate immediately, your hands flexing against his back.
“I love you,” he whispers against your lips.
Flashbacks of the nightmare play in his head. Helene sits in the middle of the bathroom floor as blood pools beneath her. You clutch a lifeless Birdie as you bleed out. It makes his stomach churn.
“I love you, too, baby.”
Jack takes in a shuddering breath and pulls back to kiss your cheek now, your temple, your forehead, then pulls you closer with one arm while he balances on his crutch with the other.
Eventually, you go back to bed. Jack’s conflicted between wanting to keep a safe distance from you and wanting to hold you in his arms to lull himself to sleep like he usually does.
You decide for him, wrapping your arms around him in a way that makes his heart ache.
He feels a little better as you rest your head on his pillow, your nose brushing against his neck, your fingers gently stroking the top of his hair, your other arm secure around his middle.
His heart breaks a little when he feels your tears rub against his skin. Your hormones are still a little all over the place, and your brain is finally able to catch up to what just happened. Jack is your strong and tough husband, and seeing him crumble like he just did hasn’t made you believe that any less; it’s just made you sad over the fact that he’s feeling anything other than content.
You shift a little closer and kiss the underside of his jaw and gently tighten your arm around his waist.
Jack begins gently scratching his fingernails up and down your back, and eventually, your stroking his hair and his scratching your back lulls both of you to sleep.
When you get things moving for the day around 10:00 AM, the sadness in both your and Jack’s eyes lessens just a bit as Birdie lies between her parents in their bed.
He grabs her tiny fist and kisses it while she looks at you like you’ve hung the moon. And after how you supported him last night, Jack would have to agree with his daughter.
*reminder that you get side eyed hard if you're on one of these taglists and don't reblog
All works taglist: @person-005 @tearsweetenedtea @canonisoptional @xoxoloverb @saralovesjoelmiller @rach2602
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sneak peek of ch. 1 of "Songbird" (Doctor Google sequel)
tw: mention of postpartum girdle + fluff
//
As the next few days go by, Jack seems to relax a bit more, which makes you feel calmer, too. The two of you take Birdie on walks in the neighborhood with her fan attached to her stroller.
After the walks is when you shower since the girdle you wear during them creates a lot of sweat.
Today is day seven of being home, day eight since you’ve given birth. Jack has put Birdie down for a nap, so he watches you in the bathroom as you carefully remove the girdle.
“It’s not giving you trouble, is it?” he asks softly. “You feel okay when you wear it?”
You smile as you meet his eyes in the mirror. “I feel fine. It’s doing its job, making things a little easier.”
He nods along, his eyes flitting from your eyes to your still swollen middle.
“Okay, good.” He steps closer to you, his hip brushing your side. “Y’know you’re beautiful?”
You smile brighter, and you caress his cheek. “I do. Thanks for not letting me forget.”
He smiles softly, his gaze softening along with it. Pure would be a good word to describe the way he’s looking at you right now.
“I love you,” you say, rubbing your thumb back and forth across his cheekbone.
He kisses the juncture of your neck and shoulder. “I love you, too.”
You look him in his eyes. So full of love and adoration and peace. You wrap your arms around him, chest to chest, belly to belly.
“So much better without Birdie in the way,” you mutter, your voice muffled with your cheek against his chest.
Jack chuckles softly and kisses the top of your head before letting his arms fall.
When you get out of the shower, you find Jack on the bed with Birdie on his bare chest, a soft pink blanket over her back.
Summary: After finding you were pregnant with Joel's baby, the two of you couldn't be happier, after the nights you spent trying. And as time goes on, Joel finds himself head-over-heels with how your body has changed to provide for their baby. And though you don't find yourself as attractive as before, he'll make sure you know that he loves and is feral over every single part of you.
Content Warnings: Established relationship, fluff, smut - MDNI 18+, pregnancy kink, breeding kink, Joel being feral over readers body, piv, dirty talk, insecurities (reader), praise kink, . Let me know if I miss anything!
Word Count: 2.1k
A/N: This is the second part of 'Till It Sticks. The idea was given in the comments of 'Till it Sticks by @rafeysgirl5, and I couldn't get it out of my head, so I hope this lives up to what you imagined. This is my take on it.
AO3 | Main Masterlist
'Till it Sticks: Part 2
When you and Joel began trying for a baby, you two made a promise to not to make it methodical or something that became a forced habit instead of the intimacy naturally happening. And that's what the two of you did. Whenever you'd be intimate, it'd always be because the two of you wanted to do it, not because it was something that needed to be done.
Around six months ago, you told Joel that you were pregnant. And he lost it, in a good way. Through the months, he was attentive to your every need and want. He made sure to keep you satisfied in any way he could. That even meant he made sure that you knew he adored your changing body more than anything.
And he wasn't lying.
When he took in the sight of your stomach rounding out with his baby, the way your breasts were changing to provide for the baby, it did things to his body that he couldn't hide from you, no matter how much he tried. And today, that was one of the things you needed most from him.
Being pregnant meant that the amount of intimacy you had with Joel before had lessened, mainly because he didn't want anything happening to the baby. And you couldn't blame him, not in the slightest, because it was also one of your fears, too.
The house was quiet in a way that had grown familiar throughout the days. Afternoon light drifted in through the slant in the window, caused by the curtains. You find yourself watching the way the light came and went when the clouds went by, lost in your own thoughts. Your hands were folded together over the gentle swell of your stomach as you tried to settle the restless knot in your chest.
It wasn’t that you doubted Joel’s love - you never once had a reason to - but there were days when your own reflection felt unfamiliar. When the changes in your body made you feel like you were borrowing someone else’s skin, and all you saw was a stranger staring back at you.
Joel moved through the room with his steady presence that always made you feel at home. His boots created the familiar pattern against the wooden floors. He had just gotten back home. When you looked up, he was already there, leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed, expression gentler than he probably realized he was capable of showing. But with you, it came naturally.
“You okay?” he asked, voice low, gentle.
You nodded out of habit. In the past few months, you didn’t want him overly worried about you, but either way, he always pressed for the truth, saying that “I’m supposed to be takin’ care of you,” and “That’s our lil’ one in there. Whatever either of you need, I’m gettin’. it”
“Yeah, just… tried, I guess.” It wasn’t necessarily a lie, not entirely. The days felt heavier lately, your body asking more of you than it ever used to. Some nights, the exhaustion came easily, and the aches in your body were followed by comforting massages that Joel effortlessly provided, no matter how long or difficult his way was.
He crossed the room in a few strides before he crouched in front of you with a small grunt, one hand coming to rest at your knee. “You don’t gotta pretend with me, darlin’. What’s goin’ on?” His touch was light, like he was holding himself back from putting the full weight of his hand on your knee. It was as if you were something precious, and he didn’t want to break you with a tiny movement.
You softly nodded, because you knew he was right. You let out a slow breath and looked down at your hands. “I know you say you love how I look,” you began, “but sometimes I don’t even feel like me. I feel like I’m looking at someone I don’t know. And it feels like I’m taking up too much space. I dunno if you still want me like this.”
Joel’s brow creased, and for a second, he looked like he was processing your words. He slid his hand up, resting it over yours where it was resting on your stomach. “You ain’t takin’ up space,” he said quietly. “You’re makin’ it. For kid.” He lifts one of your hands, unfolding it from your other before pressing a kiss against your knuckles. “I see you. All of you. Nothin’ ‘bout this makes me want you any less,”
He shifted closer, tilting his head so he was leveled with you, his gaze searching your face. “I know this is hard. Your body’s changin’ more than you like. But what you’re doin’ ain’t small. It's pretty damn beautiful, and nothin’ to feel bad ‘bout.”
You swallowed, eyes dropping to where his hand is holding yours, trying to blink back the tears that formed from his words. He followed your gaze, “You’re still beautiful, baby. I don’t ever want you thinkin’ I see you as fragile, or off-limits, none of that. You’re still you, still mine. Still the woman I fell for and chose every day.
His thumb stilled against your palm before leaning forward, pressing a kiss against your stomach, his eyes still on your gaze, “And if there are any more days you don’t recognize yourself,” he added quietly, “then you let me do the recognizin’ for you. I got enough room in me to do that for you, alright?”
You swallowed, emotion tightening your throat. It helped to hear it said out loud, helped to have his steadiness anchoring you back into your body. When you leaned forward, the best you can, he met you halfway, forehead resting against yours.
For a long moment, neither of you moved. The quiet wrapped around you again, but this time it felt fuller, charged with the things you weren’t saying. Joel’s hand drifted from your stomach to your side, settling there with a certainty that made your chest ache.
“Come here,” he murmured, voice roughened by emotion more than anything else. He drew you closer, slow and deliberate, like he was giving you time to pull away if you wanted to. You didn’t. The closeness eased the knot in your chest, the familiar comfort of him grounding you.
He lowered his head, his lips finding the taut skin of your belly. He didn’t just kiss it; he worshipped it. He pressed open-mouthed kisses along the curve, his tongue darting out to taste your skin. “Every inch of you,” he murmured against you, the words vibrating through your core. “So soft. So round. All mine. All for me.”
His hands traced the lines of your stretch marks, not with hesitation, but with reverence. “And these… Jesus, honey. These are proof. Proof that I was here. That I put this baby in you. That I loved you so goddamn deep your body had to change to make room for it. There is nothin’ sexier in this whole damn world.”
Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, a potent mix of emotion and pure, unadulterated lust. Your insecurities melted away under the heat of his gaze, the sheer devotion in his touch. He moved up your body, capturing your lips in a deep, claiming kiss that tasted of love and a desperate, aching need.
When he pulled back, his eyes were burning. “I need to be inside you, honey. Need to feel you. Need to remind you who you belong to.”
You nodded, wordless, already arching your hips up to meet him. He wasted no time, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties and sliding them down your legs. His own boxers followed, and then he was settling between your thighs, the thick head of his cock nudging at your slick entrance.
He looked down at where your bodies were about to join, his jaw tight with a primal kind of awe. “Look at that,” he breathed. “So ready for me. Always so fuckin’ ready for your man.”
He pushed inside, a slow, deliberate stretch that stole the air from your lungs. He filled you completely, a perfect, overwhelming fullness. He stilled for a moment, his forehead resting against yours, his breath coming in ragged pants.
“Feel me?” he rasped, his hips rocking in a shallow, teasing rhythm. “Feel how deep I am? How I’m already so close to her?” You whimpered, your hands clutching at his broad shoulders.
“Yeah, you like that, don’t you?” he smirked, a dark, knowing glint in his eyes. “Like knowin’ I’m right there. Like knowin’ I already bred this perfect pussy once, made it swell up with my baby. Fuck, honey… I could do it all over again. Right now. Just fill you up until you’re drippin’ with me.”
His words were filthy, a deliciously dirty litany that pushed you higher and higher. He began to move in earnest then, his strokes long and deep, grinding against that sensitive spot inside you with every pass. One hand slid down to grip your hip, holding you steady for his thrusts, while the other remained protectively on your belly, even as he was in the middle of making love to you.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” he panted, his rhythm picking up speed, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. “All swollen with my kid. Made for me. Made to take my cock, made to carry my babies.”
The pressure inside you was building to an unbearable peak, a tight coil of pleasure winding in your core. “Joel,” you gasped, your nails digging into his back. “Please…”
“I know, honey,” he grunted, his thrusts becoming harder, more erratic. “I feel it. Squeezin’ my cock so tight. Come on. Give it to me. Show me how good I make you feel.”
He shifted his angle just slightly, and that was all it took. The coil snapped, and you cried out as wave after wave of intense pleasure crashed over you. Your inner muscles clenched around him, rippling and milking his length.
“Fuck, yes,” he groan, his own control shattering. He drove into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt as he came, his hot release pulsing deep inside you. He collapsed against you, his face buried in the crook of your neck, his body trembling with the force of his orgasm.
For a long moment, you just lay there, tangled together, your hearts beating a frantic, synchronized rhythm against your ribs. The air was thick with the scent of sex and sweat and something deeper, something that was uniquely Joel and you.
He finally stirred, pressing a soft, tender kiss to your temple. “I love you,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “Both of you. So goddamn much.”
He shifted to his side, pulling you with him so you were spooned against his chest again, his arm draped protectively over your waist. His hand came to rest on your belly, and you felt it then—a tiny, fluttering kick against his palm.
Joel froze, then a wide, awestruck grin spread across his face. “See?” he whispered, his lips brushing your hair. “Told you. She knows her daddy’s here. And he’s never, ever leavin’.”
You lifted your head just enough to look at him, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the way your chest still felt tight with emotion. “She?” you echoed, arching a brow. “Since when are you so sure?”
Joel huffed a quiet laugh, the sound more breath than anything, his thumb brushing slow circles against your arm. “I dunno,” he said, a little sheepish now that the awe had softened into something gentler. “Just feels like a girl. Call it a hunch.”
“Or call it you gettin’ ahead of yourself,” you teased lightly. “What if she’s a he, huh? You gonna take that back?”
He shook his head, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple. “Ain’t takin’ nothin’ back,” he murmured. “Boy, girl—don’t matter to me. Long as they’re healthy. Long as they’re ours.” Then, after a beat, he added, “As long as your there with us.”
You laughed softly, warmth blooming in your chest at the certainty in his voice. “I’ll be okay.”
His grin turned lazy, fond. “Yeah,” he agreed easily. “You better be.”
The familiar warmth of him, the steadiness of his presence, eased the last of the doubt from your chest. You felt lighter in a way you hadn’t realized you’d been missing, like something you’d been bracing for had finally loosened its grip.
You turned your head just enough to look at him, your fingers tracing an absent pattern against his side. The fear you’d been carrying—the quiet worry that you were somehow less to him now—felt smaller in the face of everything he was and everything he showed you without needing to say it. He was here. He always had been.
Taglist (Let me know if you'd like to be added or removed): @kokoluwie, @cozymochaa, @picketniffler, @christinamadsen, @harriedandharassed, @rosharanfiction, @xfanficluvrx, @isabellaboo2025, @kirsteng42, @missadangel, @bishtrouille, @death-in-a-tar0t-card, @mystickittytaco, @missladym1981, @armandispunk, @whattheflipsiesss, @isimpforfictionalmen, @haileycopter17, @needz1nk, @anoverwhelmingdin, @stellar3em, @javiismyhsbnd,
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guys i unfortunately have to come out as a Wabbot shipper. crack or not crack. idk let me watch s3 (pls bring back Walsh for s3 pls Noah Wyle) the edits steered me to ao3 and I lowk want to contribute
quite the conversation starter - john shen x wife!reader
warnings: suggestive content at the end, discussion of babies (family expansion)
“I need to be institutionalized,” you murmured to yourself, tucking your phone into your pocket.
“What’s that?” Abbot mumbled, eyes fixed on the iPad in his hands as he scrolled through a patient chart.
You shook your head. “My mom,” you replied. She’d sent you yet another video of a giggling baby, a not-so-subtle hint that she’s ready for a grandchild. “She just needs to go to bed.”
For the few months, your mind had been stuck on one thing: babies.
It seemed every case you picked up in the hospital seemed to be a pediatric patient. Coughs, headaches, broken bones, weird rashes all on children with parents who were worried sick.
It had started with a little girl named Lauren. Three years old and covered in a bright red rash that stretched from her wrist to her shoulder, she looked up at you with tear-filled eyes, her gaze fixed on the blue gloves covering your hands. You sat on the stool, scooting closer for a better look.
“It’s okay,” you said gently. “These are just to keep everything clean.”
Lauren blinked at you before glancing back at her parents. Her moms looked exhausted with worry, though one managed a reassuring smile as she kept a hand on Lauren’s back.
“Here, honey,” you said, reaching into the glove box mounted on the wall. You pulled out a fresh glove and handed it to her. “You can feel it if you want. We can even blow it up like a balloon in a little bit.”
She accepted it carefully with her rash-free arm. “Thank you.”
You smiled. “You have wonderful manners, Lauren. Can I take a closer look at your arm?”
Lauren nodded. “Hurts.”
“It hurts?” You questioned. You directed your next questions to her parents.
No recent travel. No new foods. The only thing was a day to the park.
“Is it okay if my friend comes to look too?” You asked, mostly to Lauren before looking at her moms. All three of them nodded.
You slid the curtain open just enough to slip through. In search of an attending, you found your husband hunched over a desktop computer, typing away at a chart.
"Can I borrow you for a second pair of eyes?" you asked, patting his arm. "I've got a three-year-old with what I think is poison ivy. Maybe poison oak."
"Fever?" he asked.
You shook your head. "Afebrile. Lungs are clear. She's itchy, says it burns, and she spent this afternoon crawling through bushes at the park looking for bugs."
With a tap, he logged out of the computer and looked up at you from his stool. "You should learn to trust your instincts," he teased.
You smiled, unable to resist glancing at the silicone wedding band on his finger. "C'mon," you said. "She's three years old, and she looks terrified. I just want to make sure she doesn't end up back here."
"Oh, alright," he murmured, following you back to the exam room.
By the time you returned, Lauren had managed to wiggle her hand into the glove. She waved enthusiastically when she saw you.
"Well, look at you," you said with a grin. "Get you another one, and I'll have to put you to work, Miss Lauren."
Lauren giggled, but her smile faded when her eyes landed on John. You gave his arm a reassuring pat.
"This is my friend, Dr. Shen," you said gently. "He's just going to take a quick look at your arm just like I did. Is that still okay?"
Lauren studied him for a moment before giving a small nod, raising it a little higher. A few minutes later, Lauren's arm was coated in a topical ointment, and she was proudly carrying her own copy of the discharge instructions. Her moms each had one too, but Lauren had insisted on taking one herself. Before she left, she wrapped her little arms around your leg in a quick hug, then disappeared through the doors with her parents.
The next few weeks weren't any easier.
Usually, it was the trauma cases that stayed with you. Standing beside people on the worst day of their lives had a way of draining every ounce of energy out of you. But this time, it was the kids.
The weight of a feverish six-month-old lingered in your arms long after he'd been discharged. The memory of Lauren's tiny hug clung to you for days. Even the laughter of a pair of identical twins, both sporting matching broken wrists and proudly choosing the same color casts, echoed in your mind long after they were gone.
You decided it was time for the conversation when you and John somehow managed to get the impossible: five days off in a row.
For weeks, the two of you had been ships passing in the night. You'd been buried in swing shifts and doubles while John had been trapped on nights. Conversations had been reduced to missed texts, half-finished cups of coffee, and leftovers tucked into the refrigerator with I love you scribbled across sticky notes.
After some creative schedule reshuffling, promises to pick up a shift if the department got slammed in your absences, and a tray of treats of their choosing strategically delivered to both Robby and Abbot, you'd somehow earned five uninterrupted days together.
The first day disappeared into sleep and the two of you didn't crawl out of bed until nearly six in the evening, exhausted enough to laugh at yourselves before ordering takeout and falling asleep on the couch halfway through a movie.
The second day was your chance.
You sent John on a wild goose chase for ingredients you didn't really need, casually mentioning two different grocery stores because "the first one probably won't have everything." He'd raised an eyebrow but kissed your forehead anyway before grabbing his keys.
The second the front door clicked shut, you sprang into motion.
You hurried through the house, straightening the living room, fluffing couch pillows that hadn't been touched in weeks, and tossing abandoned scrubs into the laundry basket. The bedroom was next, where you made the bed, cleared off both nightstands, and opened the curtains just enough to let the late afternoon light spill inside.
Then you got yourself ready.
You traded your usual sweats and oversized T-shirt for your best bra, a pair of well-fitting jeans, and a blouse that rested just off your shoulders. You spritzed on the perfume John had given you as a wedding present, the familiar scent instantly calming your nerves. A little concealer hid the evidence of too many overnight shifts, and a quick curl of your lashes made you look a little less like someone who lived under fluorescent hospital lights.
When you caught your reflection in the mirror, you smiled. Tonight, for the first time in weeks, you and your husband were finally going to have a real conversation.
By the time John got home, he'd somehow managed to juggle three grocery bags, a paper sack from the bakery, and the bouquet of flowers a fundraising kid from around the corner had convinced him to buy because, according to her, "your wife deserves flowers if she's making you dinner."
"I almost bought you a third one," he chuckled as he nudged the door shut with his hip. "She's going to make an excellent advertiser one day."
You laughed, hurrying over to relieve him of two bags before they could spill onto the floor.
He followed you into the kitchen, setting the remaining bags on the counter while you unpacked them, moaning at the scent from the loaf of bread that was still warm enough to fog the paper bag and the expensive pasta neither of you ever bought because someone always said the generic brand was fine.
You filled a pot with water while John unpacked the vegetables, quietly sliding things into your reach before you even asked. It was muscle memory after years together. You reached for the olive oil; he was already handing it to you. You searched for the pepper grinder only to find it waiting beside the cutting board. Neither of you had to think about it anymore.
Soft music drifted from the speaker in the living room, just loud enough to fill the comfortable silence that settled between the chopping of onions and the hiss of butter melting into a warm pan.
John leaned against the counter, watching you with the same expression he'd worn ever since he'd walked through the door.
“You’re staring,” you mumbled, moving from the counter to the stove and then back again.
John wandered behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and settling his chin in the crook of your neck. He sighed dreamily, kissing your skin lightly.
“You’re wearing your wedding perfume,” he murmured. “And wearing the jeans I love on you.”
You chuckled, reaching for the second half of the onion. “Yeah, so?”
“What’s going on?”
“What ever do you mean?” You teased, subtly shrugging him off of you as you turned towards the fridge for the heavy cream.
"I mean..." He gestured vaguely around the kitchen, leaning against the opposite counter to give you space to cook. "You're making homemade pasta sauce from scratch. The house cleaner than it's been in six months. You look..." He hesitated, smiling to himself. "Ridiculously pretty."
Heat crept into your cheeks, your shoulders shrugging. “And?”
"You trying to butter me up?" He accused. “Hiding something?”
“No,” you smiled, stirring the sauce before it could stick to the bottom of the pan. "I just..." You shrugged, forcing your shoulders to stay loose. "We've barely seen each other lately."
He didn't interrupt.
"I wanted one night that didn't involve microwaved leftovers or eating cereal at two in the morning before one of us passed out." You looked over your shoulder and smiled. "I'm excited to have my husband to myself for a change."
Something softened in his face. He crossed the kitchen in two easy strides, slipping his arms around your waist from behind while you stood over the stove. His chin rested lightly on your shoulder again.
"I've missed you too," he murmured.
You leaned back into him without thinking. “Love you.”
“Love you too.”
The only thing that pulled you apart was the finished meal. You pulled two plates out of the cupboard as John went to slice the bread. You guffawed when you caught him sneaking a piece.
“John,” you chided.
"Quality control," he defended around the mouthful. He placed his bitten slice on his plate, plucking it from your hand. “Hey, you married me!”
“I was young and naive,” you muttered, grabbing the second slice and placing it on your plate.
“You were 27,” he laughed. “Your frontal lobe had already developed.”
The candles you'd lit earlier flickered softly between you, throwing warm light across the table. Neither of you reached for your phones. They sat abandoned on the kitchen island, blissfully ignored. After all, emergencies would go through loudly regardless.
The conversation wandered the way it always did when neither of you was exhausted enough to fall asleep sitting upright. John told you about the guy who'd convinced himself appendicitis was "probably just bad vibes" and could cure it with herbs. You countered with the middle-aged man who'd come to the emergency department convinced he'd swallowed his dentures, only for them to be sitting in his shirt pocket the entire time. John laughed so hard he had to set down his fork.
You exchanged war stories and gossip until silence settled over the two of you. You each ate with one hand, holding each other throughout the entire meal. He squeezed you gently every few bites, catching your attention only to smile like he hadn’t done anything.
You could feel the words somewhere behind your teeth, hovering and desperate to come out.
Do you want a baby? Do you think we’re ready? I think I’m ready for a baby. I want to start planning soon. What do you think of themed names?
Everything that had been on your mind for weeks threatened to spill if you took too long between bites. It was serious and life-changing in a way you never thought you’d be able to have.
You’d given up on love after your first college breakup. You'd been devasted and instead threw yourself into med school and bounced around the country. Then you ran into John thirty minutes before your shift and honestly, it was love at first sight. Neither one of you had noticed each other’s scrubs, somehow going on dates twice a week for three months before realizing you worked in the same place and same department, just separate shifts. It had been an HR nightmare at first, but seeing as the two of you could act professionally with each other, so much so that even the most eagle-eyed employees of the Pitt hadn’t caught on, things were alright.
You knew you loved him when your mother had called you to let you know that the neighborhood stray cat who lived under your porch had passed. John had been there for you through the grieving process. Winnie had never technically been your pet, but you loved the creature so much that she might as well have been. He paid for your plane ticket home, surprising you with it by leaving it on your pillow.
He’d be a wonderful father. He’s kind and patient. John could always make light of anything, defusing even the most tense situations. He traded coffees for stuffed animals from the pediatrics department to share with the kids in the ED. He could make a crying, confused, scared child laugh in under a minute and never treated the extra time taken as an inconvenience.
He was the kind of man who became your favorite person before you knew it was happening. Hopefully someday soon, he could become someone else’s favorite person.
“Listenin’, honey?” he asked gently, smile on his face. “I was thinking of changing the cabinets in the guest bathroom. It’s a little outdated.”
Just say it, you thought. The man had seen every bit of you. He held you for hours when you lost your first patient. He’d seen you so drunk you mistook him for a stranger and instead of arguing, let you call Parker to take you home. He’d fished you out of Abbot’s pool when you refused to get out and laughed when you pulled him in fully clothed.
The words rose in your chest with each pound of your heart.
“Yeah,” you nodded. “Do you think we should paint it too? The green is a little dreary, don’t you think?”
You immediately busied yourself with another bite of pasta as John thought about it.
“Sure. We can go with a lighter green or maybe a blue,” he wondered aloud.
You nodded a little too enthusiastically. The question still sat heavy in your chest, refusing to disappear. Forty-eight hours ago you’d talked down the most combative patient of your career then immediately held a woman’s hand as she gave birth in the ambulance bay, and still, this was the hardest thing you’d ever done. You should ask him now.
Instead, you found yourself asking if he wanted more parmesan.
He smiled and held out his plate. "Always."
Once dinner was finished, he stacked the dirty plates without being asked and carried them to the sink, humming quietly as he turned on the hot water. Months ago, he'd offered to install a dishwasher. You'd refused. The one in your college apartment had leaked so consistently that you'd ended up handwashing everything anyway, and even when it was fixed, it somehow managed to leave every plate feeling gritty. You'd declared dishwashers a waste of money and maintenance. John hadn't argued. Instead, he'd researched dish racks until he found one with a slanted drain tray that funneled the water directly back into the sink and installed it that weekend. He'd also trimmed the tree outside every spring so sunlight reached the drying rack through the kitchen window. According to him, the dishes dried faster that way.
He never tried to convince you that your worries were irrational. He simply found another solution.
When winter rolled around, he bought snow grips that slipped over your boots because he knew you'd refuse to stop walking to work just because the sidewalks iced over. There were always packets of HotHands tucked into the ceramic bowl by the front door before the first snowfall. Somehow, they never ran out. During the summer, he'd insist you showered first after work because he knew how much you hated the feeling of dried sweat clinging to your skin after a shift.
There were hundreds of those little things he did. None of them were grand enough for anyone to notice or really comment, but every single one made you feel seen and loved.
You wandered around the counter after blowing out the candles, your fingertips trailing across the cool granite until they came to rest beside the framed wedding photo that permanently occupied the corner of the kitchen.
The wedding itself had been... disappointing. Your schedules had been impossible, so the two of you had only taken your wedding day off, promising a lavish vacation later on. Friends and extended family had politely declined because they couldn't rearrange work or book flights with so little notice. Some relatives had apologized that the travel simply wasn't possible. Even half the people you worked with couldn't make it because someone still had to cover the emergency department.
The tailor who'd been making your dress had lost her shop in a fire only weeks before the ceremony. You settled for another dress that didn’t feel like yours. John offered to postpone, but your lease was ending and your family would be extremely disappointed if you moved in with John before you had the ring.
You'd spent years imagining an outdoor ceremony beneath late spring sunshine. Instead, a storm rolled in that morning without warning. Even the forecast had insisted the skies would stay clear. Instead, you married in a cramped room in the back of the venue you’d chosen, the rest of the venue was being set up for someone else’s wedding. By every measurable standard, the day hadn't gone according to plan.
You smiled at the photograph anyway. The photographer had caught the exact moment John leaned over and kissed you without warning. Your eyes were barely open and your bouquet was a blur as it fell to the ground mid-photo and your arms barely visible as they were moving around his shoulders. You weren't thinking about the rain or the missing guests or the dress you hadn't wanted, you were simply looking at your husband the way you always did.
“Everything alright over there?” He poked. “I’ve asked you like three questions and you’ve ignored them.”
You shrugged, setting down the photo. “Just thinking.”
“You’ve been doing an awful lot of thinking.”
You laughed softly, hoping it sounded convincing enough to end the conversation. “I work in emergency medicine. Thinking is kind of in the job description.”
John folded the dish towel over the oven handle before turning to face you fully.
“No.” He shook his head once. “This is different.”
You busied yourself with straightening the corner of a placemat that didn't need straightening. “How so?”
He leaned against the counter, arms loosely crossed, watching you with the same careful expression he reserved for patients, leaving enough silence for you to jump in when you felt comfortable.
“You've started zoning out,” he continued quietly. “I'll say something, and you won't hear me. You'll stare at absolutely nothing for five minutes.” A small smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “Yesterday I asked if you wanted Chinese or pizza, and you answered, with ‘yeah, mhm’.”
Your smile faded as a lump formed in your throat. The room suddenly felt much smaller than it did a few seconds ago, your skin warming under his gaze.
“Did something happen?” He asked gently.
You couldn’t speak.
“Did I do something to upset you?” John asked again, voice straining like the thought of you being upset with him was enough to make him cry.
John noticed the way you picked at your fingernails, shoulders curling in like you were trying to hide from the conversation. He'd spent years reading faces for a living. He searched for those tiny shifts in expression, changes in breathing, and the hesitation before an answer. Those skills didn't disappear when he walked out of the hospital. No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t turn them off, especially when it came to you.
He closed the distance between you until only a step separated you. “You’ve been tossing and turning for days,” he said softly. “And I heard you cried at work the other day.”
Your eyes flickered up to his. His expression softened at the alarm in your eyes.
After all these years, it took a lot to rattle you at work. Emergency medicine had taught you how to compartmentalize. You learned to focus on the next task, the next patient, the next decision. If something stayed with you, you carried it home quietly. Maybe it caught up to you during your walk back from the hospital. Maybe in the shower with the water hot enough to drown out your thoughts. Very rarely did you full-on cry before your shift was over.
A little boy had come back looking for you, no older than seven. Earlier that week, you'd cared for his mother after she'd arrived in a panic. The trauma team worked around her, assessing her wild vitals until she crashed, losing consciousness and eventually wound up intubated. The boy and his sister had been lost in the shuffle until she was stable and the team filed out to get ready for the next case. He'd sat in the consultation room with his six-year-old sister asleep across his lap, one hand over her ear to drown out the noise and his jacket tucked over her eyes carefully.
You offered to take them to another room to wait for the social worker to contact their dad. He'd simply told you, in a voice far too steady for someone his age, that his dad had asked him to be the man of the house until he came home from helping his mom settle into her new retirement home. You stepped away to start her chart and every few minutes he'd glance toward the hallway, waiting for someone to tell him whether his mom was still alive or if she’d be okay. Eventually, you sat on the little stool and explained every machine attached to his mother before she left for the operating room. What the breathing tube did. Why the monitors beeped. Why everyone had been moving so quickly. You answered every question he asked, no matter how small, never once pretending to know something you didn't. When you admitted you didn't know how long surgery would take, he'd simply nodded and thanked you for being honest.
Two days later, he'd come back. His father stood beside him, exhausted but smiling when he recognized you. Lupe buzzed him in through the doors with your permission. The little boy had shyly held out a folded piece of construction paper.
"I made this for you."
Inside was a thank-you card. There was a drawing of his family holding hands beneath an enormous sun that took up nearly half the page. Tucked inside was a poem, written in careful, uneven handwriting. He wrote about being strong isn’t being the biggest person in the room, it’s someone who is brave and listens. He told you about how his mom was at home now, safe and sound in bed. By the time you'd looked back up, his father was crying. You hadn't lasted much longer.
"...Yeah," you murmured now, your voice barely above a whisper.
John reached for your hand again. “You can tell me what’s bugging you, sweetheart.”
The words burst out before you could lose your nerve.
"I want a baby, John!"
The sentence came out louder than you'd intended, echoing slightly through the quiet kitchen. John’s eyebrows lifted instantly.
“You what?”
"I want a baby," you repeated, your voice cracking this time. Tears blurred your vision almost immediately. "I want a little you or me running around this house." You laughed through a sniffle, wiping impatiently at your cheeks. “I want to wake up and make pancakes every morning that just get thrown on the floor. I want to hear a little voice in the backseat begging for a bucket of Munchkins when you get your coffees.”
“Baby, slow down,” he said, shaking his head like he was trying to catch up.
"I want to be woken up at some ungodly hour because somebody needs a glass of water or had a nightmare, and one of us has to go check the closet for monsters." More tears escaped despite your best efforts. "I-I want my feelings hurt because they decide they like you better than me for a week."
A watery laugh slipped out. "I want to argue over bedtime and soccer practice and who's picking them up from school. Imagine the fridge covered in drawings and our phones filled with pictures of all of us together."
Your shoulders sagged. "I just..." You looked at him helplessly. "I want a family with you."
The clock in the living room ticked impossibly loud, practically thundering in your ears for exactly three seconds. John shook his head, a smile forming on his lips.
“Okay,” he shrugged.
“Okay?” You blubbered, wiping your cheeks again.
“If that’s what you want.” He placed his hands on his hips. “You want to start now?”
"Sometimes," you said, shaking your head through your tears, "I hate how calm you can be."
John let out a surprised laugh. "What?"
"I've been carrying this around for weeks! I thought you were going to need time to think about it."
His expression softened into something almost disbelieving. "Sweetheart..." He stepped closer, gently cupping your face in both hands. "This is, like, the best thing you could've asked me for."
"It is?" You whimpered as he dragged you into his arms.
"I thought you were about to tell me you were dying." He gave a breathless laugh. "Or that you hated living here. Or that you wanted a divorce."
"A divorce?" You blubbered.
"You've been acting like you were carrying around the end of the world."
Despite yourself, you laughed.
"I've been sitting here trying to prepare myself for the worst, and instead..." His grin spread wider. "Instead my wife tells me she wants to have my babies."
Your face immediately flushed. "When you say it like that, it sounds... dirty."
"It sounds fantastic." He leaned down, resting his forehead against yours. "I've wanted that too."
You smiled up at him, relishing in the way your bodies fit together. If you played your cards right, tossed out the condoms in the nightstand, and let yourself dream just a little, a year from now, you could be separated only by the curve of a baby bump.
“So,” he started. “A few minutes ago, I asked what you wanted for dessert and now we have three options. Ice cream from the freezer, and we have bananas so we can split a banana split.”
You grinned. “Funny.”
“We could go get cookies from that place around the corner.” A cocky grin formed on his lips. “Or we could have each other for dessert.”
You stared at him for a beat before dissolving into laughter, slipping out of his arms. "Oh, that was terrible." You pointed toward the refrigerator. "Bring the whipped cream you just bought."
John followed after you as you disappeared down the hallway. "But you're picking option three, right?" he called, stopping in the kitchen doorway.
You'd already vanished around the corner. A second later, your blouse landed in the hallway, followed by your jeans, tossed just far enough for him to see. “Just bring the whipped cream!” you called.
A grin split across his face. "Yes, ma'am."
He made a beeline for the refrigerator, yanking the can of whipped cream from the top shelf. In his enthusiasm, he clipped a stack of plastic containers, sending them wobbling before they crashed onto the floor with a clatter. John glanced down at the mess before picking them up and throwing them back into the fridge and closing the doors before they could come tumbling back out.
"...Tomorrow's problem,” he murmured to himself, grabbing both of your phones.
He gave the can a quick shake, sprayed a generous swirl into his mouth, and hurried after the trail of discarded clothes.
The bedroom door stood open. Still swallowing the whipped cream, he froze at the sight of your bare legs stretched across the mattress. Your bra had been tossed to the floor already and your underwear was looped around an ankle. He stepped in, his cheeks flushing at the sight of you entirely bare, drawing circles over your chest.
“Thought we could eat it off each other,” you whispered seductively. “Then rinse off in the shower together?”
After a fit of coughing over another dollop of whipped cream, he walked around the bed and looked at you with a crooked grin. He giggled as he drew a line across your chest, making you squirm at the coldness.
"Oh," he managed between laughs, "our water bill is going to be absolutely insane this month."
