I don't know

“robby…this is a person…a person can’t be a present…” duke’s a little old school, a gentleman if you will.

“sure she can…right, sweetheart?”

you nod, biting your lip and batting your lashes at the older man.

“well…shit, okay then.” duke swallows thickly as you slide yourself off the stool and sink to your knees in front of him, your fingers already working on unbuttoning his jeans.

“don’t worry, mister. i’ll take real good care of you” you smirk up at him before taking his cock in your hands, pressing a quick kiss to the tip before going to work on him.

robby stands behind you the whole time, watching intently as you take his older friend for the ride of his life, feeling like the greatest friend in the world.

Page 1:

There are currently THREE FEDERAL BOOK BAN BILLS aiming to ban all TRANS BOOKS from U.S. public schools! HR 2616, HR 8705, HR 7661

June 2026 / Maia Kobabe (a trans author, for three years in a row the most challenged author in the U.S.)

Page 2: 

HR 2616 threatens to cut federal funding from public schools if they “teach or advance concepts related to gender ideology,” as defined by an Executive Order signed by Trump in Jan 2025. It would also cut funding from schools unless they require “parental consent before changing a minor's gender markers, pronouns, or preferred name on any school form.” HR 2616 HAS ALREADY PASSED IN THE HOUSE! Please call your Senators to say NO ON HR 2616! 

Page 3: 

HR 8705 threatens to cut federal funding from public schools which teach “discriminatory equity ideology or gender ideology,” as defined by two Executive Orders aimed at suppressing “critical race theory” and trans representation. This bill is named after the late far-right activist Charlie Kirk, “The Charlie Act.” HR 8705 has passed out of committee, but has not yet been introduced in the House. Please call your House Reps to say NO ON HR 8705!

Page 4: 

HR 7661 threatens to cut federal funding from public schools which offer material deemed “sexually oriented," treating any LGBTQIA+ identity as sexual content. It specifically forbids “gender dysphoria or transgenderism,” and “lascivious dancing” (drag). This bill, titled “Stop the Sexualization of Children Act,” has 22 co-sponsors and has passed out of committee but has not yet been introduced to the House. Please call your House Reps to say NO ON HR 7661! 

Page 5: 

CALL SCRIPTS

“My name is [name] and I’m calling from [city, state, zip code]. I’m asking [Senator] to vote no on HR 2616. I oppose HR 2616 because it would restrict student’s access to books and it would specifically harm trans, nonbinary, and intersex students. Please stand against book bans and protect queer students!”

“My name is [name] and I’m calling from [city, state, zip code]. I’m asking [Rep] to vote no on HR 8705 and HR 7661. I oppose these bills because they would restrict student’s access to books and accurate history, and would especially harm BIPOC, trans, nonbinary, and intersex students. Please stand against book bans and support public education funding!”

Page 6: 

Author Maia Kobabe: If HR 2616, HR 8705, or HR 7661 pass, it would be almost impossible for any public school in the U.S. to offer or teach my books, unless they’re willing to risk their federal funding. Students would be even less likely to learn about trans stories or accurate U.S. history. 

Page 7: 

Please call your representatives: VOTE NO on the FEDERAL BOOK BANNING BILLS HR 2616, HR 8705, and HR 7661! 

Follow AUTHORS AGAINST BOOK BANS on insta & bluesky for updates on these bills!

SET AFTER:

Rockstar - Brendon Park meets his match against PTMC’s fiery new attending.

Pussy Wagon - A spilled drink leads you to see a different side of your nemesis Park The Shark.

The First Time (NSFW) - Fireworks aren’t the only explosive thing happening at Jesse’s Fourth of July party.

A Loaded Gun (NSFW) - Hate sex has never been so fucking hot…

This Is Not A Love Story - Brandon tries to set a rule after a ‘sticky’ situation.

The Game - Brendon finds himself breaking his own rules when it comes to you.

Tell. Me. To. Stop (NSFW) - Jealousy is not an emotion Brendon Park is accustomed to.

Pittfest -Brendon comforts you when you fall apart after the events of Pittfest.

Is He Prettier Than Me? - Brandon gets curious when he learns you have other plans.

The Drawer - Brendon realises your relationship may be shifting when he discovers he has a drawer at your place.

Scrunchies - Scrunchies… they’re the downfall of Brendon Park.

Love Games (NSFW) - Brendon and you love to play games, especially with each other.

An Exquisite Form of Torture (NSFW) - Brendon continues to turn up the heat as he holds you captive.

THAT Guy - Brendon is forced to face up to his feelings for you when he finds out your meeting up with an ex.

Seven Days - Seven days is far too long to go without you…

Save It - A thirty six hour shift leads to another admission about your relationship with Brendon.

Doctor Dick - Brendon’s day takes a turn when Whitaker gives him some critical information.

A Manipulative Fuck - You and Brendon discuss what happened with your ex.

The Call (NSFW) - Brendon decides to put a stop to David’s calls once and for all.

The One That Hates The Ravens - David’s attempt at revenge backfires spectacularly.

The Lovin Spoonful - You wake up to an unexpected surprise.

Delete, Block, Rinse, Repeat - A series of cryptic messages force Brendon to confront a secret he’s been keeping for almost a decade.

His Father’s Son - Brendon reflects on the past as he debates taking that first sip of whiskey.

The Cost of Dignity - Brendon’s greatest secret comes with a cost.

A Kiss For Luck - Brendon struggles to navigate working at the hospital after the release of THAT video.

The Craziest Fucking Thing - You take matters into your own hands after receiving bad news from Brendon.

Ride Or Die - You wake up to the sound of an angry blender after Brendon discovers what happened with Rowena.

Baby Shark - Once a year Brendon always ends up back at the aquarium.

Diamonds (NSFW) - A bet leads to naughty shenanigans in a five star restaurant.

The Call Out - Brendon’s focus on wedding planning is disrupted when he’s called out to the scene of a multi-car pile up.

Good Hands - Abbot reminds Brendon you’re in good hands as they proceed with the amputation.

Flayed - Brendon’s world crashes down as he learns the truth about the accident.

Ten Things I Love About You - Brendon discovers a pink envelope in the pocket of the jacket you were wearing at the time of the accident.

The Parent Trap - Brendon faces your parents, leading to a surprise revelation.

Sledgehammer - Brendon struggles to cope in the aftermath of everything that’s happened.

Et Tu Marianne? - Your mother throws Brendon under the bus after you wake up from surgery.

Roses - Brendon is forced to deal with a vindictive POS when a dozen red roses are delivered to your door.

The Fucking Patient - Abbot has some harsh words for Brendon regarding your care.

Chemistry - You and Brendon finally have a moment alone to talk.

A Serial Absconder - Your habit of disappearing leads to a healing journey Brendon doesn’t expect.

The Best the Ravens Have Ever Looked (NSFW) - Brendon has a real problem with your shorts.

Home - Brendon introduces you to your new home after the accident.

The Change Up - When you struggle to reacclimate at home Brendon realises you need a change up.

The Body Pillow - Brendon and you settle in for your first night at the new house.

Brendon’s been gone for approximately one hour when the boredom starts to set in. It takes you a minute to realise what’s happening because you aren’t used to being in the house alone just yet, you don’t have base line for what happens when he’s at work.

The first problem is the silence. It feels like an oppressive cloth hanging over you, draping across your shoulders weighing you down. You’re used to busy hospitals, neighbours chatting through the walls at your old apartment but the house… it’s quiet, especially with Brendon not in it.

You turn the TV on, clicking the volume down so there’s a low consistent thrum of voices keeping you company. It’s marginally better, and it helps you focus on the next issue… what to do.

Brendon took care of the dishes before he left and everywhere else is spotless so you’re currently sitting here twiddling your thumbs. You know this is how people stagnate, they lose their sense of purpose and their mental health takes a nose dive right into the toilet… so right now you need to find a new purpose, something within your capabilities.

Small daily goals is what your counsellor said to you.

You just have to figure out what they look like.

That’s when you remember the laundry hamper in the bedroom, it’s got a couple of days’ worth of clothes in and laundry can’t be that hard can it?

You are wrong, so fucking wrong that you have to laugh at yourself because you’ve realised you’ve forgotten some key components, like how to transport the actual clothing to the laundry room with your wheelchair. You can’t drag it and wheel, and there’s no way to carry it without damaging your stump so… it’s time to put those problem solving skills to the test.

The bathroom has a nice seagrass basket that holds hand towels, it would slot perfectly on your lap. You retrieve the item, unrolling the handtowels and folding them neatly on top of the body towels, messing up Brendon’s system.

He’ll get used to it, you console yourself as you roll back into the bedroom and park alongside the hamper with your breaks on, the basket set up in your lap. You reach into the hamper and begin to sort through the clothes, depositing them in your basket. It takes a couple of trips to and from the washing machine to fill it, but you feel pretty accomplished once the machine is on, and the water is swirling around. You leave the basket on top of the dryer for the next stage before returning to the kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea.

Although the laundry antics have worn out your body, your mind is still chaotically busy, looking for engagement so a nap is completely out of the question but… there have been some things you’ve been meaning to Google, things you aren’t ready for Brendon to find out about just yet.

You power up your laptop on the kitchen table and begin to type.

Best sexual positions for RBKA…

It’s a rabbit hole of information.

Medical studies, amputee charities, Reddit posts.

Most of them are dedicated to male amputees but the Reddit posts prove fruitful… and eye opening.

There’s a lot of information to digest so you pull up an excel spreadsheet to keep track of the positions, the pillow placements, sex aids. You’re impressed by how versatile it really is. A lot of things will have to wait until your stump has healed but there’s still enough to work with in the meantime. You’d worried that sex would become boring with your amputation, that you’d be limited to a certain set number of positions but that is not the case at all.

You snigger as you take in the full depth of the spreadsheet, it’s a full colour coded affair with tabs and tables separating positions, toys and adaptions. You’ve essentially made a database of things to try when you’re feeling ready for it and if that isn’t the most Type A bullshit you’ve ever heard of you don’t know what is.

By the time Brendon gets back from the hospital you’re folding dry laundry on the couch, watching one of your shows. The pile sits on the cushion beside you, the folded items resting in the seat of your wheelchair so it’s all within close proximity.

“You have been a busy girl.” He murmurs, his lips skimming over your forehead in greeting.

“Oh Brendon.” You smile, tilting your head up so that you can capture his mouth. “You have absolutely no idea.”

Like My Work? - Tip your friendly fan fic writer here!

She discovers her voice by the time Valentine’s Day rolls around, and what starts as mere babbling quickly turns into a language only the three of you can understand.

Jack especially can’t get enough of chatting to her. A firm hater of the baby-voice, he speaks to her like any other person - sometimes Gwen gets more levity than the likes of Robby. One of your favourite things to come home to is Jack running her bedtime routine on days where you have late classes.

Sometimes, you’ll hover in the hallway, listening to their little chats. Tonight, the topic appears to be the latest volume of the American Journal of Emergency Medicine.

He has her perched on his knee, one hand spreading the pages of the journal, the other at the wheel of his wheelchair, pushing them back and forth softly. She’s always loved the rhythm of the wheelchair - to the point where the rocking chair in her nursery has been replaced by one of Jack’s backups.

It’s a sure way to have her asleep within half an hour.

Jack loves that he’s the only one that can do it with her. Even if you try and sit in the chair, replicate his movements exactly, she’ll just start to fuss for her daddy.

“I see what you’re saying,” comes Jack’s voice, low and playful. “But it’s all about the politics, Gwenny. You can’t just decide on a uniform protocol for something like that - every doctor has their own preferences.”

Gwen responds in babbles, and you find yourself leaning against the wall to listen in, fighting a smile.

“Well, now you’re just being ridiculous. Sounding too much like your Uncle Robby for your own good, huh? We’ve got to think about the funding, Gwendoline. How are we going to pay for that?”

A small pause, before Jack pretends to gasp. “My credit card? And here I thought we had a few more years before you became a teenager.”

Only when Gwen erupts into a flurry of giggles do you finally enter, dropping your bag down in the doorway. “Are you trying to indoctrinate our daughter into medicine already?”

“Well, she clearly has the knack for it already, honey - even if her spending habits leave something to be desired.”

“Hm, I don’t know. I still think she’s got a novel or two in her. With the way she loves books and stories.”

“Why make her choose? She can be the world’s best doctor, and write books on the side to supplement. Make sure she can support us in our old age.”

The smile he shoots you is easy, and you find yourself leaning down to press a kiss to Gwen’s head. When you pull back from the wheelchair, Jack pouts. “Nothing for me?”

You roll your eyes dramatically, but there’s no heat behind the action, and you press a soft kiss to Jack’s cheek. “Happy now?”

“Very.”

*****

Now in April, Gwen is pulling herself up on every piece of furniture she can find. Her favourite target is the low coffee table, where Jack accidentally leaves his mug one evening. You catch her just as her stubby fingers wrap around the ceramic handle, her tongue sticking out in pure, concentrated determination.

"Gotcha," you breathe, lifting her away just in time.

"Good catch," Jack says, walking into the room with a stack of fresh diapers. His eyes drop to your mouth, just a flicker, before he blinks and looks down at the baby in your arms. "She’s getting too fast for us.”

“I’m sure we’ll blink and she’ll be twenty.”

“Don’t say that,” Jack groans. “She’s not allowed to ever get any older than she is right now.”

You laugh as Gwen immediately twists in your arms, reaching back toward the coffee table like she has unfinished business there.

“Oh, really? Because two months ago you were begging for her to sit up on her own.”

“That was different.”

“How?”

“Because sitting up is cute.” He points at Gwen. “This?” He gestures as she lunges for absolutely nothing in particular. “This is the beginning of the end.”

“The end of what?”

“Our peace.” You snort, while Jack drops the stack of diapers onto the sofa before holding his hands out. “Come here, kiddo.”

Gwen practically throws herself toward him. The betrayal is immediate. “Wow,” you say. “Nice to know where her loyalties lie. Guess if she likes you so much, you can take bedtime duty tonight.”

Jack’s head immediately snaps to yours. “What? I did it last night!”

“Are you seriously turning your daughter down?” You ask. It’s cruel, really, playing him by using Gwen. But after a full day of classes, you’re not sure you can face three rounds of The Hungry Cateroillar.

You pass her over, and Gwen rests her head briefly against Jack's shoulder. The sight catches you off guard, even though you’ve seen it on a daily basis for the past however many months. It’s just a startling reminder that she is, in fact, growing up. Slowly but surely, and yet somehow all too fast. These little flashes where she seems less like a baby and more like a tiny person with preferences and routines and opinions.

A tiny person who absolutely prefers Jack's left shoulder over his right.

A tiny person who laughs whenever you sneeze.

A tiny person who somehow knows exactly where forbidden objects are located at all times.

“You look sentimental,” Jack comments, and you snap out of your daze, realising you were staring. “All weepy like you’re the one who doesn’t want her to grow up.”

“Sorry. Uh, just thinking.”

“Yeah? About what?”

Suddenly slightly concerned you’re about to cry, you decide to dodge the topic altogether. “About how you should do bath and bedtime tonight?”

“Hm, you’re lucky I love you both.”

*****

You lie awake, staring at the ceiling and trying to warm your toes under the heavy duvet, when you hear it.

A muffled, choked sound comes from the bedroom down the hall. Far too low to be Gwen. You check the baby monitor, just to be safe, and see her sound asleep in her crib. A few seconds later, it happens again - a low, fractured groan that twists into a sharp, desperate gasp for air. It isn't the sound of someone snoring.

It sounds like somebody in pain.

Kicking off the covers, you slip out of bed. The hardwood floor is ice-cold against your bare feet as you creep down the dark hallway, bypassing Gwen’s room, and stop outside Jack’s cracked door.

The pale moonlight cuts through his blinds, casting sharp shadows across the room. Jack is thrashing under his sheets, his large frame tangled in the blankets. His head turns violently from side to side, his jaw locked tight.

"No," he chokes out, his voice thin and entirely stripped of his usual assurances. "No, wait. Don't go.”

"Jack," you whisper, stepping into the room.

He doesn't wake. He lets out another ragged, breathless sob that makes your chest ache. You cross the room and sit on the edge of the mattress - reach ping out to place a firm, steady hand on his bare shoulder. He’s burning hot and slick with sweat.

"Jack, wake up. You're dreaming," You murmur a little louder, shaking him gently.

He bolts upright with a violent gasp, his eyes wide and blank, staring straight through you. His chest heaves as he fights for oxygen, his hands instantly clawing at the sheets. He is entirely unmoored, trapped somewhere between the nightmare and reality.

"Hey, look at me," you insist, shifting closer and placing both of your hands on the sides of his face, forcing his frantic gaze to anchor on yours. “You were just dreaming. You’re fine. It’s okay, Jack.”

It takes another second for his eyes to refocus, and only when you reach out to take a hand do his shoulders start to relax. “Shit. I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” You murmur. “Want to talk about it?”

He nods, but there’s no words don’t come, and instead he leans into your touch.

Your fingers gently smooth the hair at the back of his neck. "Was it the army? Or your mom?"

He stays still for a long moment, his forehead pressed hard against your shoulder as his breathing slowly hitches. When he finally pulls back just enough to look at you, his face is wet, his expression completely raw.

"No," he whispers, his voice cracking. "It wasn't them. It was you."

You blink, caught entirely off guard. "Me?”

“I dreamt I was losing you. That I’d already lost you. A-and we didn’t even have Gwen, and it was so awful, and-“

He cuts off in the horrible realisation that you both lived that dream almost eighteen months ago. "Jack, I'm right here," you say softly, your voice steady against the howling wind outside. "I'm not going anywhere.”

A single tear leaks down his cheek, and you pull him into your arms, until you can wrap them round his entire body. “C-Can you stay the night? I-If you don’t want to, that’s fine-“

He’s never sounded more vulnerable, and it breaks your heart. “Of course I can stay, Jackie.”

“You and Gwen are the best things in my life - you know that right?”

“You prove it to us every day.”

Almost tentatively, you draw him down towards the pillows, slipping under the duvet beside him. Jack turns onto his side, facing you, and pulls you tightly against his chest. His arm tucks securely under your head, anchoring you to him, while his other hand rests flat against your waist. You wrap your arms around his torso, burying your face in the crook of his neck, letting your heartbeat match his.

You stay awake for a while, listening to his breathing smooth out into a deep, uninterrupted sleep.

*****

Jack knows he’s being unreasonable. Insane, even. You’re only thirty minutes late from when you said you’d be home, and he can feel himself spiralling.

By minute thirty, his hands are shaking so badly he can barely scoop the formula into Gwen’s bedtime bottle. He has paced the living room until his leg aches, Gwen tracking his frantic movements from his arms. Every time he looks at the clock, the knots in his stomach tighten. He calls your phone for the sixth time. Straight to voicemail. The flat, automated tone triggers a sharp spike of adrenaline in his chest. His mind immediately bypasses every logical explanation and constructs a worst-case scenario: a car accident on the slick March roads, a breakdown on a dark shoulder, something terrible.

He cannot fathom how you possibly did this alone.

He cannot fathom doing any of it on his own.

"Come on, sweet girl, let's get you down," Jack mutters, his voice thick with a panic he is desperately trying to hide from the baby. Gwen responds with a sleepy little noise and presses her face into his shoulder. His left shoulder.

At least one of them is calm.

Jack glances at the clock again. Thirty-two minutes late. He swallows heavily, and begins to get Gwen changed into her pyjamas with hands that won't stop trembling. She watches him with wide eyes while he fumbles with snaps he's fastened a hundred times before.

"Sorry," He murmurs when he misses one. As if his eight-month-old daughter cares.

Normally, bedtime is his favourite part of the day, but tonight he can hardly focus, and when the front door lock finally clicks at fifty-seven minutes past the hour, Jack is waiting right there in the shadows of the hall.

You walk in, balancing your bag and a stack of papers, looking tired but entirely fine. "I am so sorry," you start immediately, kicking off your shoes. "One of my students needed help with an essay rewrite, and then my phone died on the way out, and I couldn't-"

You stop because Jack has crossed the carpet in two strides. He doesn't wait for you to finish. He drops his forehead against your shoulder, his hands gripping the heavy fabric of your winter coat so tightly his knuckles turn white. He is trembling, as he pulls you into the tightest hug of your life.

"Jack?" you ask, the papers slipping slightly in your grip. "What's wrong? Is Gwen okay?"

"Gwen is fine. She's asleep," He croaks, his voice thick and rough against your neck. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes bloodshot and frantic, searching your face as if verifying you are actually here. Here and okay. "Your phone was dead. You didn't text. I thought... I thought you were in a ditch somewhere. I thought someone hurt you."

"Jack, I'm less than an hour late," You say gently, shocked by the sheer terror radiating off him.

"I know that's not a long time. I know normal people don't immediately assume the worst because somebody's fifty minutes late."

"Jack-"

"I called you fourteen times."

You blink. "What?"

"Fourteen." His voice is flat with embarrassment now, and he runs a shaking hand over his face, his skin pale under the hallway light. "I started picturing the highway near the campus, thinking about how slick the roads get when the ice melts. Then I started thinking about someone cornering you in the parking lot after dark. I couldn't stop it. O-Or some kind of accident on the freeway-”

"Hey," you whisper gently, dropping your bag and the stack of papers onto the bench by the door. They slide and scatter slightly, but neither of you moves. You wrap your arms around his waist, pulling yourself tight against his solid frame. "Look at me. I'm right here. I'm safe. I'm completely okay. And I’m sorry. I should’ve charged it in the car.”

He’s shaking his head. “You don’t have to apologise.”

"Come on," You murmur, sliding your hands up his back, feeling the tense, knotted muscles of his shoulders begin to give way under your touch. "Let’s go sit down.”

Steering him gently, you guide him into the dimly lit living room, pulling him down beside you on the sofa

One hand slides into his hair, fingers threading through the soft strands at the back of his head, while the other settles firmly at his back.

For months, he's been trying to be everything for everyone. Strong for Gwen. Strong for you. You know him well enough to catch the signs. He still feels guilty for missing out, so he’ll run himself ragged in order to look after you both.

You haven’t seen a single bill in almost four months. Neither of you have ever had to want for anything. You can work whatever classes you want, because Jack will rearrange his own schedule to look after Gwen when needed.

Your fingers continue moving through his curls. Slow. Steady. The same way you soothe Gwen when she's upset - rubbing soft circles into her scalp.

Eventually, his shoulders begin to loosen, and he gently catches one of your hands, his thumb tracing over your knuckles - though he can't quite hold your gaze. "I'm so sorry for everything I did to you. I was just... I was so low after my mom died. I didn’t want to be here anymore. I was angry and exhausted and grieving, and somewhere along the way I convinced myself I didn't deserve to be happy."

“We don’t have to get into this again, Jackie.”

Finally, he looks up at you. “We do. I-I don’t feel like I’ll ever be able to apologise enough for leaving.”

“You’ve given both of us the best life - if I could go back and change the way I handled things, I would, but I really need you to stop feeling so guilty. And stop imagining a ditch.”

The corner of his mouth twitches despite himself. “Not just one ditch." You stare at him, and Jack sighs heavily. "There were several ditches."

A surprised laugh escapes you, and the tension breaks for half a second. “You’re insane-“

“I love you,” he bursts out, and you freeze.

“What?”

"I love you," he chokes out. "God, I love you so much, and the thought of losing you just destroyed me. I kept telling myself I didn't want to get married again. That I wasn't built for it anymore. That I'd already done it once and couldn't go through all of that a second time."

He lapses into a pause, and you wonder if you should speak. Before you can, he stumbles on, shaking his head again.

"But that wasn't the whole truth. The truth is I was scared." He looks away again, jaw tense. "After Marisol died, I felt guilty for everything. For laughing. For having good days. For even thinking about a future that didn't include her. Part of me got stuck there. In that hospital room. And every time things got serious with you, it felt like I was being forced to choose between holding on to her and moving forward. I thought if I let myself love someone else the way I loved her, it meant I was leaving her behind.”

“Marisol belonged to that specific time in my life. A-And I still love her, and miss her every day. But this? What I feel for you? It’s all-consuming. It’s this constant, heavy pull in my chest that I can't shake, no matter how hard I try. You’re just everywhere in my head now. And the thing is, I don't even want to fight it anymore.”

You have no idea how to sum up decades of history. Instead, you simply nudge his shoulder with your own, and mumble, "You had an entire collection of ditches."

"We’re still on that?” The words are murmured, and he finally leans sideways and lets his head fall against you.

"I'm sorry I scared you."

He lets out a long breath. "I wasn't scared."

You raise an eyebrow. "Jack."

"I was absolutely terrified." He swallows heavily, “I think I’ve always loved you a little bit. Since we were kids. But I’ve been the biggest fucking idiot on the planet, and I’d understand if you didn’t want anything to do with me like that. This house is as much yours as it is mine, and I-I don’t want you to feel like you can’t live here in peace.”

Unable to take it anymore, you shift angle, and press your lips to his.

Jack’s right. All-consuming is the only word for it. A desperation permeates into his every movement. One hand cups your face, so gently as if he’s terrified you’re about to disappear, while the other wraps around your waist, holding you as tightly to him as possible.

“Missed you so much, sweet girl,” He mumbles between kisses. “So fucking much.”

It’s teeth and tongue and gasping for breath, until you’re sitting in his lap and feeling like you might die if you don’t get to have him right now. “Bed?” You offer, knowing it’s what’s easiest on his leg.

“We don’t have to-“

You’re interrupting immediately. “But do you want to?”

“More than anything,” he breathes, and you’re back on each other. Your movements are clumsy as you navigate up the stairs, trying to keep quiet so you don’t accidentally wake Gwen - you’re pretty sure there are more apologies tumbling from Jack’s lips as he trails down your skin.

Clothes are discarded in heaps, and soon Jack is seeing your body for the first time since having Gwen. It’s a far different body to the one you used to have, and you’re still working on loving it. Jack Abbot seems to have no such problems. “God, you’re so beautiful, honey. Prettiest girl in the whole world. Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

You’re sure that’s not true, but when Jack dips his head to wrap his lips around your nipple, all you can focus on is the feeling of his tongue against you. He’s always been big on foreplay - insisting you get off before he even takes his pants off. Tonight, you just want to be near him. “J-Jack, need you-“

Ever a pleaser, he complies immediately, hand moving to your hip so he can draw you closer to him. He’s hard already, leaking against your thigh, and you’re dizzied by how good it feels to be with him like this again.

“Promise you’re up for this?” He asks, forehead dropping to rest against yours.

You just nod, lip between your teeth. “Don’t leave me again,” You whisper, a few tears leaking from your eyes as he finally pushes in.

“Never,” His reply is instantaneous. “I promise, sweetheart. M’so sorry.”

The rhythm he sets is slow and torturous, nothing like the frenzied kissing as you made your way upstairs. He’s savouring this, moving like he knows this is forever. He knows you have the rest of your lives to relearn each other’s bodies, and make each other happy. The way he should have been this entire time.

Six months later.

The September sun warms the secluded little clearing in the botanical gardens, filtering through the trees in patches of gold.

There’s just a simple wooden altar, ten chairs arranged on the grass for your closest friends, Jack, and a walking, fourteen-month-old Gwen in a tiny linen dress. Normally, the bride and groom are supposed to remain separated until the ceremony.

Given you've done everything else out of order, you don’t pay much attention to tradition. Last night, you and Jack put Gwen to bed together, before falling asleep in each other's arms. There's nowhere you'd rather have spent your last night as a single woman.

You stand in front of the full-length mirror, smoothing down the front of your wedding dress. The fabric is cool against your skin, flattering in all the right places. The baby weight still isn't gone entirely, but it's been nice having your boobs back to yourself with Gwen stopping breastfeeding.

A soft, hesitant knock sounds at the door.

Before you can answer, the handle turns, and the door creaks open. Jack steps into the room, holding Gwen against his hip. "I told her we should wait a little, but Gwenny wanted to see Mommy in her pretty dress-"

His voice trails off as you turn, finally getting the full view of it. Keeping the wedding dress secret had been one of the few traditions you'd actually subscribed to.

Gwen, entirely oblivious to the weight of the moment, breaks the silence. She lets out a loud, cheerful babble and reaches her chubby arms out toward you, her fingers curling and uncurling as she recognises your face. "Mama!"

The sound breaks Jack out of his trance. He lets out a soft, breathless laugh, his eyes never leaving yours as he finally walks into the room. He closes the distance in a few slow strides, stopping just inches away from you. "Doesn't Mama look beautiful?"

"Boo-tifull!" Gwen echoes, giggling.

"God," He whispers, his voice low and incredibly thick with emotion. He shifts Gwen slightly on his hip so he can reach out, resting his palm against your waist. "You look... you look absolutely beautiful. I knew you would, but seeing you standing there like that… can't believe how lucky I am."

"You look pretty incredible yourself," you say softly, a tear threatening to spill over your eyelashes as you look up at him.

Jack leans down, pressing his forehead gently against yours. The scent of his cologne washes over you, warm and familiar, anchoring you instantly. He closes his eyes, just breathing you in for a long, quiet second, his grip on your waist tightening as he holds his girls close.

"I love you so much," he murmurs against your skin.

Gwen chimes in again, smacking her tiny hands against Jack’s shoulder and demanding to be part of the huddle. You both laugh, the remaining nerves melting away entirely. You reach out, letting your fingers intertwine with Jack’s free hand, while your other hand gently strokes Gwen’s hair. "What do you say, Gwenny? Want to help Mommy and Daddy get married?"

A/N - thank you so much for reading!! hope you enjoyed this lil family <3

Through every exhausting hour of the night, he'd carried the image of you with him—your sleepy smile, the way his t-shirt would hang off one shoulder when you shifted beneath the blankets to make room for him.

He could almost feel it already: the warmth of the bed, the familiar weight of your head settling into the space between his shoulder and neck as if it had been made for you. Even half-asleep, your hand would find its way to his chest, your fingers tracing absent, comforting patterns against his skin.

It's all he's thinking about when he leaves the Pitt. It's all he's thinking about when he takes the fast way home, weaving through familiar streets with a tiredness settled deep in his bones. By the time he finally reaches his door and turns the key in the lock, he can almost feel it already.

It takes him a second to realise something's different.

The house isn't quiet like usual.

Jack hangs up his jacket to the sound of blaring music echoing down the hallway as a sweet smell drifts towards him. He slows when a softer voice joins in as he makes his way into the house.

It's yours.

Jack rounds the corner and leans against the doorway. From there, he can see you standing at the stove. You flip a pancake, then lift the spatula to your lips like a microphone, belting along completely unabashed.

His lips spread into a wide smile. For a moment, he doesn't say anything. He just stands there and watches.

You're swaying slightly to the music, completely unaware he's there. One of his old t-shirts hangs off one shoulder, and there's a faint dusting of flour across your cheek.

God, he loves you.

The song ends, and he finally starts clapping. "That was a nice performance," he grins. "Almost better than the nightly ones."

You let out a startled yelp, nearly launching the spatula across the kitchen. "Jesus. What the fuck, Jack?"

His laugh comes out tired but genuine as he pushes away from the doorway and crosses the room. "Sorry."

You glare at him over your shoulder. "No, you're not."

"No," he agrees.

Your glare lasts all of three seconds before he reaches you. His hands settle automatically on your waist, thumbs brushing back and forth over your shirt. The ache in his leg is still there. The headache, too. But being close to you makes both seem a little quieter.

He ducks his head, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You try to stay annoyed, but your mouth twitches. "You're home early," you mumble.

"Thank god, I was." He wraps both arms around your middle and rests his chin on your shoulder. "Would've missed the concert."

You groan.

"Encore?" he asks.

"I'm charging you for that."

"No husband discount?"

"No husband discount."

"Hm." His nose brushes your cheek, then your jaw, before he presses a lingering kiss beneath your ear. "I don't mind paying full price."

You finally turn in his arms, one hand settling against his chest. Now that you're standing face-to-face, there's no hiding how exhausted he is.

Your expression softens immediately. "Long day?"

"The longest." His forehead drops against yours. For a moment, neither of you says anything. The music continues quietly in the background while you smooth a hand through the hair at the back of his neck.

His arms tighten instinctively around your waist, and he lets more of his weight settle against you, holding you a little closer. Your hips sway gently together.

He closes his eyes. Home. This is home.

Then you gasp. "Oh, no." You twist around. "My pancake."

Smoke curls up from the pan. He watches as you rescue what is now essentially a hockey puck. You stare at it. He stares at it.

"It's a little crispy," he offers.

"It's charcoal."

"I like charcoal."

You snort. "You are such a liar." Jack grins as you point the spatula at him. "Go shower. I need to focus."

"Bossy."

"Jack."

He steals one last kiss anyway, quick and warm, then another because you smile halfway through the first one.

"Go."

"Going." His hand slides across your hip as he passes, giving you a gentle squeeze.

Behind him, he hears you start singing again before he's even reached the hallway. His smile follows him all the way to the bathroom. It isn't what he'd spent the last twelve hours imagining.