#daughter!reader

The kiss started out sweet, innocent. You and Mack, laying on his bed, movie playing in the background. It’s the first time you’ve been together in person in months, and you haven’t let go of each other since your plane landed in San Jose earlier this evening.

Mack and Will picked you up from the airport, then took you to their favorite pho restaurant for dinner. Then you and Mack dropped Will off at his apartment, and came back here, to Mack’s. The rest of your trip to San Jose, a week long, is jam-packed full of fun activities, catching up with people, going to one of Mack’s games tomorrow. But tonight, you both agreed that it would be best to just have a quiet night in with just the two of you.

At first, the intention was just to put on a movie, cuddle, and then fall asleep.

That didn’t last long.

Pretty soon you were kissing his cheek. And then his lips. And then you were straddling his lap, making out with more desperation than you thought was possible.

Mack’s tongue is in your mouth, massaging yours. His hands are planted on your ass, holding you tight against him as his hips twitch up every few seconds. He’s hard. Really hard.

You can tell by the way Mack’s hands are gripping and kneading at the fat of your ass, how he’s shaking with the effort to hold himself back from dragging you across his boner, that he wants more. His entire body hums with barely restrained need, fingers gripping you just a bit too tight, his kisses a bit too eager. This is the farthest the two of you have ever gone, heated makeouts that stutter to an end once Mack realizes he’s not going to be able to hold himself back very much longer.

Every time you reach this point, this level of hunger and anticipation, and then Mack pulls away. Separates your bodies, puts as much space between you, and clenches his eyes shut while taking deep breaths.

And while it can definitely be a little frustrating that he has yet to allow the two of you to go farther than heavily making out, you do understand why.

You’re a virgin.

There were a few guys before Mack, but not very many. And of the few, you didn’t feel comfortable having sex with any of them. Definitely not losing your virginity to them. So you held off. When you started dating Mack, you were very transparent from the beginning about how you’ve yet to go all the way with someone, and that you want it to be with a person that you love and can trust.

Well, there’s no one you love or trust more than Mack.

You’ve decided that tonight is the night. You want him, so badly, and you know that he wants you, too. It’s definitely a little bit intimidating to think about, but you want this, want to do it with him.

And, quite frankly, your fingers just aren’t cutting it anymore.

You test the waters by grinding down, ever so slightly, on Mack’s thick bulge, which has been pressing into your core for the past ten minutes. He groans, low and hot, into your mouth, hips stuttering for a few seconds before he schools them back into complacency. You smirk, kissing the corner of his mouth, then his jaw, then finding his pulse point and beginning to suck a mark into it.

Mack’s head tips back, little moans escaping his mouth as you swivel your hips. You kiss up and down his neck, one hand tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck, the other sliding under his hoodie and t-shirt, scratching lightly at his ribcage. His entire body shudders, and you smirk.

For a few seconds, he loses himself in it. Mack plants his hands on your hips, grinds up into you, and holds you down against him so that you can both feel it. He’s moaning unashamedly now, eyes clenched shut, heat rising up his cheeks.

The air between the two of you is charged with so much electricity you both feel like live wires, moving frantically and desperately.

But then it hits him. What he’s doing, where this is headed.

“Wait,” Mack’s voice is breathless, chest still heaving up and down as he starts to push you off of him, face full of pain at just the thought of stopping.

“No, no,” you say, hands grabbing Mack’s and putting them back on your hips. He looks up at you, eyes wide, shocked and hopeful at the same time. “Don’t stop.”

Mack’s eyebrows are nearly in his hair now. “What?” he gasps, sitting up straighter. “W-What… what are you talking about?”

You place your hands on Mack’s cheeks, then lean in to press a sweet kiss to his lips. When you pull back, you just look at him for a second, gather your courage, and then say it. “Mack… I’m ready.”

“Ready?” he echoes, a look of pure disbelief on his face, like he’s trying not to get his hopes up.

“Yeah,” you giggle. “I’m ready. To have sex. With you.”

You feel Mack’s cock twitch below you.

“A-Are you sure?” he stutters out. “Because, you said that you wanted to have your first time with someone who you love and trust, and I don’t want you to rush anything because you think I want it. I’m totally okay. Don’t do it because you think I wanna do it, I only wanna do it if you wanna do it. I don’t want you to feel pressured, or worried, or–”

“Mack,” you cut him off. “I love and trust you. So much. I want to do this with you.”

He just blinks at you for a few seconds, before his shocked expression slowly morphs to one of happiness, and excitement.

You let out a yelp of surprise as Mack flips the two of you so that you’re laying down, and Mack is holding himself above you.

He kisses you again, smushing your lips together, teeth clashing. You’re both smiling into the kiss, giggling a little bit. There’s a sense of disbelief in the fact that this is actually happening, that you’re about to have sex for the first time.

Mack isn’t a virgin. He’s only had one long-term girlfriend (who he lost it to), and another girl that he hooked up with right before he got drafted. So even though he’s got slightly more experience with you, he’s by no means experienced.

“We’re um, we’re gonna have to get you ready. Prep you,” he says, pulling away suddenly.

You smile at him, biting your bottom lip. “Okay,” you respond. Your hands slide down from where they’ve been holding onto his shoulders down to your shorts, and hook your fingers in the waistband. “So, should I take these off?”

Mack gulps, eyes glued to the little sliver of stomach exposed by your shirt having ridden up a bit. He just stares hungrily for a few seconds, before apparently remembering that you’d asked him a question. So he looks up again, pupils dilated, and nods.

He shifts to the side so you can shimmy your shorts down your legs. You kick them off, leaving you in just your cotton panties, and a tiny tank top. His eyes rove up and down your body, drinking in every curve, every bit of exposed skin, practically drooling at the sight of you.

Mack looks up again, your eyes locking with his. “You’re so beautiful,” he says.

You know he’s not just talking about your body. That he’s talking about every part of you, your mind, your personality, and also your body. The reverence in his voice makes your heart soar, makes you smile, because you never thought that you would ever feel this loved. It’s an amazing feeling, and you’re so incredibly grateful that you have such an amazing boyfriend.

Mack leans in and softly kisses your lips, then your cheek, then your neck, then your shoulder. He kisses down your body, finding his way to your hip. He’s laying on his stomach now, gazing up at you with such soft, lust-filled eyes. He holds your gaze as his thumbs slip under the thin fabric at your sides, caressing your hipbone.

You watch with bated breath as he lifts his head, anticipation and arousal curling low in your stomach. Eyes still locked on yours, Mack leans in and presses a kiss to your clothed cunt, soft as ever.

“Haah,” you breathe, fingers twitching at your side.

Mack’s eyes drift closed, pressing his face harder into you. His tongue peeks out, kitten licking at your core. You let out a gasp at the feeling, one of your hands clutching the sheets, and the other flying to the back of Mack’s head, finger tangling in his hair. He stays like that for a minute, tongue wetting your panties, eyes closed in bliss. When they flutter open, slow, they’re glazed over, hungry.

His hold on the sides of your panties tightens, and he inches it down ever so slightly. He pulls back just enough to ask in a hoarse voice, “Can I?”

“Yeah,” you nod frantically, excitedly. “Yes, please.”

Mack smirks, and doesn’t hesitate. The drag of the fabric sends shivers down your spine as he slowly exposes you, your knees coming together as he pulls your panties off your feet and tosses them somewhere over your shoulder. He tsks, placing his hands on your knees and slowly spreading them, coming face to face with your center.

“Don’t hide from me,” he murmurs softly. “Never, baby.”

He settles himself back on his belly, throwing your ankles over his shoulders while simultaneously hooking his arms under your thighs. You can feel his breath ghosting over your folds, your entire body shuddering with anticipation and arousal, eyes half-lidded as you watch Mack slowly lower his head, mouth opening.

You inhale at the feeling of his tongue flattening against you, licking from your hole up to your clit. Your entire body feels like it’s on fire, a shiver wracking through you as his lips find your clit and close around it, sucking harshly once and then pulling away.

“How’re you doing, baby?” he asks, already panting. You’re staring up at the ceiling, breathing heavy, mind racing and already empty with how amazing it feels. Mack taps your thigh lightly, bringing your attention back to him. “You gotta talk to me, babe. Gotta tell me what feels good, so I know you’re enjoying yourself.”

You playfully roll your eyes, but smile down at him. “Feels good, Mackie. Keep going,” you reassure as you play with Mack’s hair, massaging his scalp with your fingers in the way that you know he likes. He hums happily, accepting your response, and then he’s back to work.

Up until now, the only person pleasuring you has been yourself. With your fingers and toys, lots of times throughout your life. But it’s never felt like this. This electric, this all-consuming, this… amazing.

Mack’s lips are wrapped around your clit, sucking gently but steadily, causing your back to arch. His tongue keeps moving down to gather as much of your wetness into his mouth, greedily slurping it up. The combination of the sight of him, absolutely going to town on you, as well as the audible wet sounds is almost too much for you to handle, your entire body buzzing with the sensation of your boyfriend’s mouth on you, sucking and licking so perfectly.

And right when you start to think there’s no way that this could possibly get better, you feel Mack’s finger prodding at your entrance.

He lifts his eyes, searching yours for any sign of discomfort. You moan, nodding your head, and then he pushes in.

For some reason, you thought you had a good idea of what it would feel like to have something inside of you like this. You’ve been using tampons since you were sixteen, when Anna (Geno’s wife) finally explained how they work.

You were absolutely not prepared.

A gasp leaves your mouth as Mack pushes in to the first knuckle. He holds it there for a second, tongue laving on your clit to distract you from the feeling of the stretch. It’s a foreign feeling, but not an unpleasant one. Mack wraps his lips around your clit and starts sucking, the feeling punching another moan out of you.

He slips his finger in farther, farther. More and more as you loosen up, and then he’s shallowly pumping it in and out, eyes flicking up to your face every few seconds to gauge your reaction.

“M-Mack…” you whimper, throwing your head back against the pillows. “Oh f-fuck,”

You feel him smirk against you, finger plunging in and out of you. He’s going slow, but deep, curling his finger when it’s buried to the third knuckle, caressing a spot inside you that you didn’t even know existed, a coil of arousal tightening in your belly with every movement.

But then he does something else.

He pulls his finger out all the way. You start to whine at the loss of touch, but it’s quickly cut off by the feeling of two fingers pushing into you.

Mack’s eyes are glued to your face, noting every little change in your expression as he starts slowly fingering you with his middle and ring fingers, kitten licking your clit to keep you opening up for him. Your thighs are shaking, attempting to close with every push in, but his shoulders are blocking them.

You clench around his fingers, small uh uh uhs leaving your mouth at his actions, and Mack clenches his eyes shut. He drops his forehead to rest on your hipbone, fingers continuing to plunge in and out of you. The wet squelch of your cunt is music to his ears, and the sight of you like this is something that he’s been dreaming about for months. He never wanted to pressure you, and has gone to great lengths to make sure you never felt like you had to do anything with him just to make him happy.

Mack has spent the last six months imagining you every time he wanted to get off. Cock in hand, eyes shut, cheeks pink, he would imagine all the things he wanted to do with you, all the things he wanted to do to you.

Actually seeing you like this? It’s ten million times better than he ever thought it would be.

He doesn’t realize that he’s doing it, not right away at least. But you do.

You glance down at Mack, breathing heavily against your skin, fingers steadily pumping in and out. Through your haze of pleasure, you notice something. Mack’s hips are shifting, up and down. And then it dawns on you: he’s humping the mattress.

Another loud groan leaves your mouth at the realization, your stomach getting hot, and you feel your arousal begin to gush again, coating Mack’s fingers and hand. “Oh my god,” you sob, your own hips bucking up to meet his fingers with every thrust.

All of a sudden, it’s not enough. You need Mack to be getting off too, to have him closer to you than anyone else has been, to have him inside of you.

“Mack,” your voice is wrecked. “Mack please. Need you inside of me.”

His head snaps up, jaw dropped open. He starts nodding, frantically, easing his fingers out of you as gently as possible. He leaves one last loving lick to your clit before sitting up straighter, hands reaching to the back of his shirt to tug it off frantically and throw it over his shoulder.

You do the same with your tank, grunting slightly as it gets caught on your ear. When it clears your head, you open your eyes to see Mack staring directly at your tits, jaw dropped, drool beginning to pool in the corner of his mouth. In the same moment, your eyes dart down to Mack’s lap, which is now exposed. He’s still wearing his jeans, which sport a large, painful-looking bulge. You watch in amazement as Mack’s hand drifts down, and starts palming at the bulge, just at the sight of you.

Butterflies take flight in your stomach as you let out a hot breath.

He just looks at you for a second, eyes drinking in every inch of you. You shift a little bit, which seems to snap him from his stupor. He swallows, thickly, and then starts pulling his pants and boxers down, his blushing, hard cock popping out.

Your eyes widen. “Oh… my god,” you mutter, sitting up straighter to get a better look. Sure, you’ve watched porn before, seen a few dirty pictures in magazines and things like that, but you’ve never seen a penis in real life before.

One of your hands reaches out, curious. Without thinking, you wrap your fingers around his length, feeling the warm, smooth skin throb as soon as you touch it.

“Fuck…” Mack breathes, eyes glued to your hand on his cock. His chest goes bright red, stomach clenching and a helpless little noise leaving his mouth as you squeeze.

Your eyes snap up to the way he reacts, amazed at the sight and feeling of him. You pull your hand back, Mack watching, heart racing, as you reach down to your cunt, gather some of your slick, and then return your hand to his cock. Mack nearly doubles over as you start stroking him up and down, the glide easy now that you have the lubrication, smiling at his reaction.

“Y’gonna kill me,” he gasps out, eyes glued to your hand, at the innocent, curious way you’re touching him. He only lets you go on for about a minute, suddenly grabbing your hand and ripping it away from him. When you look up, curious and worried, he rushes to reassure you. “It feels so, so good baby. I just… I won’t be able to last.”

The admission brings another smile to your face, but worsens the ache in your pussy.

“Are you… are you ready?” Mack asks, bracing his forearms on either side of your head. His thick cock rests heavy on your stomach, precum drippling down from his tip and onto your navel.

You nod, heart thumping against your ribcage, anticipation building in your stomach. “Yeah,” your voice is shaky, but there’s a smile on your face.

Mack is smiling, too.

He pulls away, reaching for his jeans. You shiver, wrapping your arms around yourself, and watch as he pulls his wallet from his back pocket, reaching inside to reveal a condom. You give him a look at the fact that he had one in his wallet, had one ready, but he ignores you as he rips it open, and slides it on with pink cheeks.

When he returns, he holds himself above you again. One hand holding him up, the other wrapped around his cock. He gives it a few tugs, before lining himself up with your entrance.

The feeling of his head pressed to your hole has you reaching up to grasp his shoulders, eyes locking onto his. Mack gives you the softest, most reassuring smile, one hand moving to caress the soft skin of your thigh next to his hip, before pushing in.

“Oh!” you yelp. Just the head is inside you, and you already feel split in half. You glance down, gasping once again when you realize just how much more has yet to enter you.

“You okay?” Mack asks, nuzzling into your cheek, pressing loving kisses against your skin. “Talk to me baby, tell me how you feel.”

“G-Good,” you stutter out, taking deep breaths, willing yourself to relax. “Y-You’re big….”

Mack groans, hips stuttering, as he drops his head to your shoulder. He pushes in another inch, causing you to hiss, nails digging into his shoulder. “Can’t say things like that, baby,” he says into your shoulder. “Gonna make me cum too soon.”

You smile, wrapping your arms around his neck and holding onto him as he eases the rest of the way inside. He goes slow, gentle, thumb finding your clit and pressing into it to make you feel good.

When he’s pushed all the way in to the hilt, he stays like that for a few moments, letting you adjust to the feeling. He holds you, pressing kisses to your face, whispering loving words into your ear. “Doing so good, baby, so pretty. Taking me so perfect. You feel so good.”

You can feel him practically vibrating with need, his stomach clenching, chest heaving against yours. His hips twitch every few seconds, desperate for stimulation, but he holds himself back. Forces himself to stay still for your benefit. It’s sweet, and you’re eternally grateful for him, and how thoughtful he is. That, and you’re also thankful for how pretty he looks like this. Pink cheeks, mouth dropped open in a constant low whine, cock twitching inside of you every time you clench. He grinds into your clit, moving as little as possible while also trying to pleasure you.

You have the most perfect boyfriend in the world.

“Mack,” you say, voice unsteady yet confident. “You can move now. P-Please, move.”

Mack does his best to not look too excited, but fails. He nods, and dutifully raises himself up a bit, leaning in to kiss you as he pulls his hips back, swallowing your moan at the feeling of him sliding out of you. His thumb finds your clit again, pressing on your button as he slides all the way back inside, the dull head of his cock thumping against that spot again. That spot that feels really good.

After that, it’s like Mack can’t hold himself back anymore. He pulls back again, thrusting inside with as much gentleness as he can muster while also trying to sate his need for you. Little noises leave your with every thrust, little moans and whines and whimpers that were music to Mack’s ears.

He moves to your neck, softly sucking marks into the soft skin there. You whine at the feeling, tilting your head to give him better access as he continues to pump himself in and out.

The steady thump of him inside of you, combined with the feeling of him kissing at your pulse point and pressing on your clit, has you teetering on the edge within minutes. You can tell Mack’s there too, based on the way his moans have gotten louder and closer together, directly in your ear, and the way his thrusts are getting sloppier.

Mack takes a deep breath, then starts doubling down. “Cum for me,” he says. “C’mon baby, let me feel it.”

You’re shaking like a leaf, eyes rolling to the back of your head with pleasure. Your nails are digging into Mack’s biceps, he hisses but doesn’t falter.

“S-So tight…” he grunts out as he continues fucking you like his life depends on it, the steady smack of his hips hitting yours sounding throughout he room, mixing with your moans and his. “Feels so good baby. So good….”

You hit your peak not long after that, the coil snapping in your stomach. You cry out, legs wrapping around his middle, holding him to you as you ride it out.

Mack finishes, buried inside you, nose pressed to your cheek while you come down from your orgasm. He lays against your for a few minutes, neither of you saying anything as you catch your breath. You stay pressed together like that, Mack softening inside of you, your fingers tangled in his hair. For everything that you and Mack have done together before this, you’ve never felt closer to him than right now, and you fucking love it.

After a few minutes, he lifts his head, looking at you with such raw concern it makes your heart ache. “Was that okay?” he asks. “Are… are you okay?”

You nod, feeling a blissed out smile come onto your face. “I’m great,” you say breathily, laughing a little bit. “That was… amazing.”

“Really?” Mack sits up straighter, disbelief written across his face.

You nod, pulling him down and into a kiss. “Yeah, Mackie. That was great. I’m so thankful that my first time was with you.” Your smile is wide, pressing your forehead to his.

Mack just kisses you again, smiling into it, holding you tight.

You know that it’s early, that you probably shouldn’t be thinking things like this, but Mack is it for you. You know it. The connection that the two of you have, the way he makes you feel. For most of your life, it’s been just you and your dad, and a part of you thought that it always would be. You really struggled meeting people your age growing up, especially guys. You never thought that you would experience love like this, and feeling like this with Mack? You’re so unbelievably grateful for him, and count your lucky stars for him every day.

The two of you lay together like that for a few minutes, basking in each other’s presence, holding each other. After such an intimate moment, combined with the fact that this is the first night you’re going to spend in each other’s arms after being apart for so long.

“I love you so much,” Mack whispers into your ear, pressing loving kisses to your cheek. “I can’t believe how lucky I am, that I get to be with you.”

You smile, feeling your entire being swell with love and happiness. You open your mouth, about to say something, when your phone buzzes on the other side of the bed.

Groaning, you reach over, pulling it closer to you before picking it up.

“Oh fuck,” you say, laughing. “It’s a text from my dad.”

“What?” Mack sits up, panicked.

You giggle at his reaction, as if your dad were to walk through the door at this very moment and catch the two of you… like this. “He’s just asking if I got here safe,” you smile, typing out a quick response. “You’re fine, babe.”

Mack lets out a sigh of relief. “Okay, good.”

He lays back down, nuzzling into your neck, letting out a sigh of relief. In a few minutes, you’re going to tell him to get up and clean you off. Maybe take a shower, but you’re concerned about how well you’ll be able to stand, considering your legs feel like jelly right now. Then you’re going to fall asleep in your boyfriend’s arms, and you’re going to sleep in tomorrow morning.

Nothing has ever felt more natural than this.

This feels like the start of forever, the beginning of the rest of your life with Mack, and you can’t wait to see how your life intertwines with his.

Rebecca shifts Yn higher on her hip, pressing a kiss into her daughter’s curls. Yn doesn’t respond.

Normally, this would be her favorite part of the day.

“Mi amor,” Rebecca murmurs softly, brushing her thumb along Yn’s chubby cheek. “Look, Carmen’s here.”

Carmen looks up from her coffee immediately, eyes lighting up. “Hola, princesa,” she says warmly, switching to Spanish without thinking. “¿Quieres venir con tía Carmen?”

Yn usually would. Usually, she’d wriggle free, toddle over, climb straight into Carmen’s lap and chatter away in her mix of toddler Spanish and nonsense sounds. But today, Yn only tightens her grip on Rebecca’s shirt, her little face scrunched into a pout so deep it looks practiced.

Her bottom lip trembles.

Rebecca sighs quietly.

“She’s still upset,” she says apologetically.

Carmen reaches out anyway, gently tickling Yn’s foot. “Ay, pobrecita. Still missing Papá?”

Yn sniffles and buries her face into her mother’s shoulder.

Across the table, Lily leans forward, resting her chin in her hands. “That bad, huh?”

Rebecca lets out a small, helpless laugh. “Carlos went to press half an hour ago. You’d think I dropped her off at boarding school.”

“It’s because she’s literally his shadow,” Kika says fondly, sipping her drink. “I swear, I’ve never seen a child more attached.”

“That’s an understatement,” Rebecca replies.

Yn Sainz, three years old, curly-haired, brown-eyed, stubborn in the exact same way her father is, is not just attached to Carlos. She is glued to him. If Carlos stands, she stands. If he walks, she waddles behind him as fast as her short legs allow. If he sits, she climbs. If he disappears, even for a moment, the world might as well be ending.

Carlos encourages it too much.

He carries her everywhere. On his shoulders through the paddock, balanced on one arm while talking to engineers, perched on his lap during meetings when no one dares to say a word. Yn loves it. Loves being close, loves tangling her fingers in his hair, loves pressing her cheek to his neck and whispering secrets only he is allowed to hear.

Rebecca has learned, over time, that separating them is an emotional operation requiring planning, patience, and usually tissues.

Today was no different.

Carlos had crouched in front of Yn before leaving, holding her tiny hands in his big ones.

“Papá has to go talk for a little bit,” he’d said gently. “I’ll be back, okay?”

Yn’s eyes had immediately filled with tears.

“No,” she’d said firmly, shaking her head. “Papá come.”

“I know, cariño,” Carlos had whispered, pulling her into his chest. “I know.”

Rebecca remembers the way his jaw tightened, the way he’d closed his eyes for a second like physically walking away hurt him. It always does.

Now, sitting at the café, Rebecca feels like she’s carrying half a heartbreak in her arms.

Lily tries next. She slides her chair closer and opens her arms. “Do you want a cuddle with Lily?”

Yn peeks up briefly, eyes red and glassy, considers it, then shakes her head and hides again.

Kika pulls a silly face. Nothing.

Carmen hums a soft Spanish lullaby. Yn sniffles harder.

Rebecca rubs slow circles on her daughter’s back. “She’ll calm down,” she says, though she doesn’t fully believe it. “She just needs time.”

“She’s like a little duckling,” Lily says softly. “Imprinted and everything.”

Rebecca smiles sadly. “Tell me about it.”

Minutes pass. Coffee cools. Conversation continues around them, but Rebecca barely hears it. Yn stays quiet now, not crying, just sulking. The worst kind of sadness. Her arms are locked around her mother’s neck, her head resting heavily against Rebecca’s shoulder like the weight of missing someone is too much for her small body.

Then, suddenly, Yn stiffens.

Rebecca feels it before she sees it.

Yn lifts her head. Her eyes dart past the table, past Carmen, past the street.

“Papá,” Yn breathes.

Rebecca turns.

Carlos is walking toward them.

He’s still in his team polo, sunglasses perched on his head, phone in one hand. He looks tired in that post-press way, shoulders slightly tense, jaw tight, until his eyes land on Yn.

Everything softens instantly.

There is nothing subtle about the way his face changes.

“Hey,” he says, stopping mid-step.

Yn lets out a small gasp, like she’s been holding her breath the entire time.

“Papá!” she squeaks.

Before Rebecca can even react, Yn is wiggling free, practically launching herself out of her arms. She stumbles for half a second, tiny legs moving too fast, and then she’s running.

Carlos drops his phone without caring.

He crouches just in time.

Yn crashes into him, arms flinging around his neck, face burying into his shoulder with a sobby sound that breaks something deep in his chest.

“Hey, hey,” Carlos murmurs instantly, wrapping her up tight. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Yn clings to him like he might disappear again if she loosens her grip.

“Papá go,” she says shakily.

“I know,” he whispers, pressing his cheek to her hair. “I’m sorry, cariño. Papá’s back now.”

Rebecca watches from her chair, heart aching and melting all at once.

Carlos lifts Yn easily, settling her on his hip. She immediately tucks herself closer, one arm around his neck, the other gripping his shirt like an anchor. Her tears slow, then stop completely, replaced by quiet sniffles and deep, calming breaths.

“Better now,” Carmen says softly, smiling.

Carlos glances up, a sheepish smile on his face. “Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You didn’t,” Rebecca replies gently. “She’s been like this the whole time.”

Carlos looks down at Yn, thumb brushing under her eye. “That bad, hm?”

Yn nods seriously, her face still pressed into his shoulder.

“My poor girl,” he murmurs.

Rebecca stands and steps closer. “Press went okay?”

He exhales. “Yeah. Same questions, same answers.” He pauses, then adds quietly, “I hated leaving her.”

Rebecca reaches out, resting her hand on Yn’s back. “We know.”

Carlos adjusts his grip, lifting Yn a little higher. She sighs contentedly, like everything is finally back where it belongs.

“I’ll just—” Carlos starts, gesturing vaguely. “I’ll stand here for a bit.”

“No rush,” Lily says with a grin. “Clearly you’re occupied.”

Carlos chuckles softly. “Always.”

Yn peeks up then, eyes still a little puffy, but calmer. She reaches up and gently pulls Carlos’s sunglasses down onto his nose.

“There,” she says, very pleased with herself.

Carlos laughs, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Gracias, mi estilista.”

Rebecca watches them, the way Yn mirrors him even in stillness, how her hand rests on his chest exactly where his would if he were holding someone else, how her legs hook around his waist like muscle memory.

She knows there will be many more moments like this. Many more separations, many more reunions that feel just as intense. It’s hard. Sometimes exhausting.

But standing there, watching her husband sway gently with their daughter in his arms, whispering to her in soft Spanish, Rebecca knows one thing for certain.

Yn has never, ever doubted where she belongs.

Sometimes through silence that lasts just a little too long to ignore.

Sometimes through words that stop halfway and are never picked back up.

Sometimes through doors that close so softly you almost convince yourself they were never open at all.

And eventually, you stop noticing it happening.

That's how it gets you.

Not in the breaking.

In the getting used to it.

Because once you start adjusting, you stop questioning what's missing.

Or you pretend you don't.

It's easier that way.

To name it something harmless.

Distance.

Busyness.

Timing.

Anything but absence.

Oh, how naive you had been.

Because time doesn't fix things like that.

It reveals them.

And sometimes...

it chooses the worst possible moment to do it.

Your steps don't slow as Gotham moves around you.

The city is still alive in the way it always is, loud and indifferent, like it has no intention of ever looking up at itself. Light spills across wet asphalt. People pass without really seeing each other. Somewhere far off, a siren cuts through the air and fades just as quickly.

You've learned how to exist inside it without really being part of it.

Most days, that's fine.

Today, it isn't.

There's something sitting under your ribs again. Quiet. Familiar. Wrong in a way you can't explain without sounding dramatic, so you don't try.

You've done that before.

So you keep walking.

The manor comes into view.

Same silhouette. Same weight. Same silence it always carries like it belongs there.

Home.

The word doesn't quite land the way it should.

So you let it go.

Something is off.

Not in the way storms announce themselves, or in the way danger sharpens the air until it hurts to breathe.

This is quieter.

Wrong quieter.

The manor is never loud, not truly. But it is also never empty.

There is always movement somewhere.

Cass passing through without a sound but never without presence.

Steph talking too much in one room and laughing too loudly in another like she refuses to let the house stay serious.

Duke drifting between daytime and nighttime like the manor never quite decides which version of him it prefers.

Tim's focused chaos. Damian's controlled sharpness. Dick's attempts at filling silence with noise that almost works.

Even Bruce, when he is present, makes the space feel occupied in a way no one else manages.

Even when people leave, someone remains.

That is how the manor survives itself.

But today.

None of that exists.

You notice it in layers, not all at once.

First, the lack of movement in the air.

Then the absence of overlapping footsteps in different parts of the house.

Then the realization that you cannot pinpoint a single room that feels "in use."

The manor is not just quiet.

It is unused.

Your steps slow in the hallway.

You listen harder, like effort could force something familiar to appear.

Nothing answers.

No Jason, or Dick.

No Tim, or Damian.

No Cassandra, or Stephanie.

No Duke, or the expected noise of Alfred.

And definitely no Bruce.

But that's expected.

Your phone is already in your hand before you fully decide to use it. Nothing about it feels intentional, as if your body moved ahead of your thoughts and your mind is only catching up in fragments.

You don't call anyone. You don't even unlock it at first. It just sits there in your grip for a moment too long before you let it fall back into your pocket, like it was never meant to be part of anything important.

The house should correct that feeling immediately. It usually does. There is always something to interrupt silence here, always something to pull your attention sideways before it settles too deeply into itself.

But nothing does.

You pass through rooms without meaning to linger in any of them. Spaces that should carry traces of presence instead feel reset, as if time itself skipped over them and forgot to leave anything behind. Even your own footsteps sound slightly misplaced, like they belong to someone who isn't supposed to be here alone.

It should register as strange. It does register, but not loudly enough to become panic, only enough to sharpen the edges of your attention as you move.

By the time you reach the lower corridor, you're no longer checking rooms so much as confirming a pattern you don't want to name. The absence is consistent in a way it shouldn't be, repeating itself through every space you pass like the house has been quietly emptied without explanation.

You turn the corner and the grandfather clock is there, waiting at the end of the hall like it always has been. Ancient wood. Brass pendulum frozen mid-swing. You have watched your family disappear behind it more times than you can count. They never told you the combination. You figured it out anyway, years ago, by sitting in the dark and listening to the sequence of clicks.

Your hand finds the mechanism. You press.

The clock swings open.

The stairs go down. Cold air rises up. The lights flicker once, then hold steady, and you take the steps two at a time because something in your chest is telling you to hurry.

The cave opens around you. Platforms and screens and the row of suits standing empty. The main computer is alive, screens lit up across the entire wall, data streaming.

Windows are open everywhere. Tracker maps. Communication logs. News feeds. Security camera footage from half the city.

Alfred is at the keyboard.

He is not sitting. He is standing, hunched forward, his fingers moving across the keys in a way you have never seen before. Alfred does not type frantically. Alfred does not do anything frantically. He moves through the world with the kind of calm that comes from decades of managing chaos. You have watched him clean blood off the cave floor without his hands shaking. You have watched him serve tea during a crisis like it was any other afternoon.

Right now, his hands are shaking.

He pulls up another window and types something and the window closes and he pulls it up again. He is muttering under his breath, words you cannot catch, his voice rough and low. His jacket is unbuttoned. His hair is slightly disheveled. You have never seen Alfred with his hair out of place before.

You stop at the bottom of the stairs.

"Alfred?"

He does not hear you. He is cycling through camera feeds, each one showing a different part of Gotham, each one showing nothing out of the ordinary. Streets. Intersections. Alleyways. People walking. Cars driving. The city moving like nothing has happened.

He pulls up a map. Dots appear. Red dots, each one labeled with a name. Bruce. Dick. Jason. Tim. Damian. Cassandra. Stephanie. Duke.

None of the dots are moving.

"Alfred," you say again, louder.

He flinches. His shoulders jerk. He turns his head, and his eyes are red. Not just tired. Red in the way that comes from not sleeping, from staring at a screen for hours while the world refused to give him answers.

"You are here," he says. His voice cracks. "Good. I need you to look at something."

He turns back to the computer. His fingers start moving again.

"I have gone over this data seven times," he says. "Seven times. Their last known positions are all marked. They were fine. They checked in. They responded to each other. And then at 1:47 AM, every single signal went dark."

He pulls up a timeline. The lines are perfect, consistent, then they stop. All at once. The same millisecond.

"That is not possible," he says. "Technology does not work that way. People do not work that way. I have called everyone. Every contact. Every ally. No one has seen them. No one has heard from them."

His fingers hover over the keyboard. Then he pulls up another window. A communication log. You see the names scrolling by. Timestamps. Messages. Voice calls.

"Last night, at 1:35 AM, they all checked in with Barbara," Alfred says. "Separately. Each one confirming their position, their status, their route home. Barbara logged each check-in. She told them to stay safe. Standard procedure."

He scrolls down.

"At 1:46 AM, Barbara sent one final message. A group message. Just a reminder about a morning meeting."

He points to the screen. You see it. A single line of text from Barbara to the entire family. Tomorrow 8 AM. Don't be late.

No responses.

Alfred scrolls further. The log continues. New entries appear every few seconds, timestamped with the current time. 4:31 PM. 4:32 PM. Each new entry shows the same thing. Same locations. Same vitals. Same status updates. As if every few seconds, the system is recording the exact same information again.

"The logs are still active," Alfred says. "They are still transmitting. But nothing is changing."

He refreshes. A new entry appears. 4:33 PM. Location: Batman, last known coordinates unchanged. Heart rate: same as 1:47 AM. Suit status: same as 1:47 AM.

The data is identical to every entry that appears.

He pulls up the tracker map. The red dots are there. Bruce. Dick. Jason. Tim. Damian. Cassandra. Stephanie. Duke. Their positions are frozen. But beside each dot, the system shows a green checkmark. Signal active. Connection live. Receiving data.

The data just never changes.

"And Barbara?" you ask.

Alfred opens another window. Barbara's tracker. The clock tower. Her dot is there. The log shows entries every few seconds. Same location. Same status. Same everything. The timestamps keep moving forward. The data stays frozen at 1:47 AM.

He turns to look at you. His face is pale.

"I do not understand what I am looking at," he says.

Taglist

@kohaiyuki @wisefuncherryblossom @suvivve @eas-8 @diamondnightsky23 @marcspectorondeeznuts

Jack's relationship with your mother was unconventional. Still mourning the loss of his wife, Jack had bumped into your mother at a bar after trying to smother his feelings with alcohol and ending going home with her. They had formed a with-benefits pact afterwards, neither wanting a relation but rather a way to blow off steam. Your conception followed a few months later and Jack kept his opinion to himself; he didn't want a child, not while he was still knee deep in grief but he would never ask or tell your mother to get an abortion so he left the decision in her hands, stepping up when she decided to keep the baby.

Their co-parent dynamic didn't last long, your mother left when you were only four weeks old, still in NICU. Traumatised by the c-section and your subsequent stay in the NICU, she bowed out, unable to deal, leaving you with just your dad.

You had your first surgery before you had even hit two weeks, an open heart surgery that Jack spent the duration of stalking the halls of the hospital, unable to physically sit still. When he returns to ward, he finds you in the observation room, hooked up to a ventilator, chest tubes protruding from your tiny little body, machines tracking vitals, ready to blare in alarm when something strays from the perfectly calculated numbers it desired. 

He wasn't allowed into the room, forced to look at you from the other side of the large window, watching as your chest moved with every breath you took. The nurses had assured him that you'd only be in there for a few days, under constant observation to make sure that everything went well post-surgery and then you would be back to your regular room.

Your surgeon, the best in the city–is beside him, telling him that everything went to plan, there were no complications and it was the best outcome they could ever hope for. You weren't totally out of the woods yet, your life would be filled with complex medical issues, but this was the first step of many. 

When you were three years old, you moved to Pittsburgh, your father got a job offer there and that's where you have ever since. 

You were kept firmly away from the hospital, more specifically the ED unless you had a medical emergency. Your weakened immune system paired with the ED waiting room was Jack's worst nightmare, so you were strictly ordered to stay well away. 

Your surgeries and hospital visits hadn't stopped since you were a baby but instead of having you go to PTMC, you go to the closeby children's hospital. It's not that he didn't trust the doctors who worked in PTMC, but he preferred having you in the children's hospital.

Your father loved what he did, he loved the buzz it gave him, the high stress, busy environment is what he excelled in. Despite it being a second home; a place that he secretly loves a lot, it was also a place of too much death and despair and sometimes miracles but it was enough to keep you away.

The people he worked with knew he had a daughter, he was always happy to talk about you, updating Lena and Dana with whatever milestone and accomplishment you had achieved over the years, happily flaunting the homemade keychain you made him; multiple hanging from his backpack in a multitude of colours and his phone wallpaper was one of the first times he got to hold you, when you were still so tiny and fragile, curled up his chest, soaking up his body heat.

Despite your existence being known, only one of his colleagues had ever met you and that was Robby when you were seven. After an extremely rough shift, Robby didn't want to go home to his empty apartment so he reached out to Jack whose day off it was and Jack invited him around for beers, take out and whatever sports game that was on that night. You were meant to be at a friend's house for a sleepover, a rare occasion that Jack only allowed with the few parents he approved but your friend had fallen sick, the first signs appearing after a few hours. Your friend's parents knew of your medical issues and how strict your father is concerning your health so your friend's parents quickly bundled you up and drove you home.

Your dad hadn't answered his phone but you had assured Mrs Myers, your friend's mom, that he would be home. Your dad tended to be more of a homebody, preferring to stay at home on his days off so you knew he would be at home.

You release a sigh as you dump your backpack on the front porch before you incessantly ring the doorbell, knowing that it would irritate your dad. You peer over your shoulder, looking at where Mrs Myers idles in her car parked in front of the car, waiting until she sees your dad open the door before she pulls away.

It's not long before you see the entrance lights flicked on through the window panels of the door before the familiar silhouette of your father appears, beelining towards the door. 

Your dad blinks down at you in surprise before they land on the car idling at the curb. Mrs Myers gives him a one handed wave before she peels off down the street and your father is looking back down at you in confusion. He's quick to crouch down, hands simultaneously checking your body for any scrapes of bruises and checking to see if you had a fever. 

"What's wrong? Why are you here? Are you sick?" The questions spill from your dad in quick succession.

"Anna started to get sick so Mrs Myers took me home," You tell him, letting him fret over you, completely used to it now, "She called and texted you but you didn't answer."

Your dad pats his pockets, searching for his phone before he sighs, remembering where he left it, "Sorry buggie, I left it in the kitchen. I have a friend over, I got distracted."

You raise your arms up at him, wanting to be lifted and though you were too old for it, Jack always indulged you, telling himself that it was because you were still small for your age.

"A friend?" You may be young but you knew your dad didn't hang out with friends that much, "A girl- friend?"

Your dad rolls his eyes at you but a smile tugs on his lips as he lifts you, settling you on his hip before he swings your bag onto his free shoulder and re-enters the house. He pulls your shoes off, throwing them down to the heap of shoes near the door and dumps your bag on the staircase to remind him to bring it upstairs later on. He swings through the kitchen to collect his forgotten phone and a pizza flyer before he enters the living room where you're greeted with a stranger. 

Your hands tighten in your dad's t-shirt, gripping harder when he tries to set you down on the ground, apprehensive of the stranger.

"Lovebug, this Robby. I work with him at the hospital." Jack tells you, "He had a bad day at work so I'm trying to cheer him up."

Robby stands, staying far enough away to give you space and extends his hand out, greeting you, "Hello, I'm Michael. It's nice to meet you."

You giggle at his seriousness, as if he was introducing himself to an adult and not little you. You reach forward, one hand still gripping your dads t-shirt as you shake the extended hand, "I thought your name is Robby?"

"It is, it's my nickname. My last name is Robinavitch, so people call me Robby." Robby explains as he settles back onto the couch. Your dad once again tries to place you down but you protest, looking up at him in confusion.

"I'm just gonna get us some drinks," Your dad tells you, nudging you so that you sit down properly before handing you the pizza flyer, "Here, look at this and choose what pizza you want."

Happily distracted, you hum as you read the options as your dad dips out of the room, returning only moments later with two beer bottles and your water bottle, setting them down on the coffee table before he falls back onto the couch with a sigh, sitting in the middle of the couch.

Your hand automatically rests on his arm, as if to remind yourself that he's right next to you and hasn't disappeared. Robby spies it and flicks his inquisitive gaze over to Jack, "Clingy?"

"Stage four clinger," The huff that comes out of Jack is fond, "It's my fault though, I'm a bit of an enabler."

"She's your kid, it's understandable," Robby rationalises. 

"Whenever I look at her all I see is that tiny baby who had to fight through every odd to get here today. She's already had three surgeries and she's only seven, she's got a lifetime of surgeries ahead of her plus she gets sick so easily, a simple cold will wipe her out for a week and it'll take another week to get her back to full health." Jack glances down at you, making sure you were properly distracted before he turns back to Robby, "I feel like I'm failing her sometimes, always keeping her by my side, wrapping her up in so much bubblewrap but I'm scared that if I don't then something will happen to her."

Robby watches you for a moment, noting how comfortable you were curled up into your fathers side, still looking over the flyer not bothered by the conversation happening beside you.

"I think you're doing a great job."

Jack looks at Robby in shock, not expecting him to say that.

"Look at her, sure she's a bit clingy but she's seven and you're her whole world. She's in and out of hospitals but she has you and you're always there when she wakes up after a surgery, you're there when she's sick and you help her recover and she knows, more than anything else in the world, that you're there for her." Robby continues, " She has friends and sleepovers and even when they're cancelled she gets to chill at home with you and order pizza."

Jack doesn't respond at first, absorbing Robby's words. He had always doubted his fathering abilities, solo parenting along with working long hours had him harbouring a lot of guilt but Robby's words settled something within him.

"Daddy!" Your chirp, waving the flyer in front of him to grab his attention, "I'm ready. I know what I want!"

"You're ready? Okay, how about we give the flyer to Robby so he can choose his while you tell me what you want." Jack says as he passes the flyer over to Robby.

"I want a cheese pizza."

Robby snorts into the glossy pizza menu. Ten minutes of deliberating only to decide on cheese pizza is something only a seven year old could do.

"Just cheese?" Jack asks, "Are you sure?"

"...And sweetcorn!"

"Okay, okay," Jack laughs as he reaches for his phone, dialling the familiar number that he called at least once a week as he turns to Robby, "You ready?"

Now almost ten years later, you have transformed into a little independent butterfly, often hanging out with friends or at the part-time job you convinced your dad to allow you to get. Your dad still fretted over you; quarantining you whenever you or your friends got sick, not wanting to take the risk and he always checked up throughout the day, especially ever since he moved to the night shift.

Jack still carried the keychains you made when you were younger on his backpack and the background on his phone was still of you but it was no longer the one of you as a baby as Jack had frequently changed it over the years as you grew.

It was the fourth of July, you were hanging with your friends all day while your dad pulled a daytime SWAT shift before working his regular nightshift. You had raised your concerns with him, criticising him for working the whole day with minimal rest in between but he brushed off your concerns and even though you didn't like it, you trusted him to know his limits. 

Your dad had been going along like normal, you woke up feeling fine, you ate breakfast with your dad and the early afternoon you had spent with friends was fun, doing last minute grocery store runs for the barbeque, fighting against everyone else as they did the same thing.

It wasn't until the sun began to set; the sky darkening into a deep orange, the bonfire was burning steadily and the stronger drinks that you were technically too young to drink were getting passed around, did you get hit with a sudden shortness of breath. At first you thought it was your asthma playing because of the fumes and smoke coming from the bonfire so you dug through your bag for the inhaler you always carried with you and took a couple of puffs in hopes it would settle your lungs but to no avail, the heaviness remained.

Then comes the wave of fatigue and you stumble over your feet as your chest begins to feel heavy, like someone was crushing it, putting on so much pressure it felt like you couldn't breath.

Your breath was coming out in panicked pants as one of your friends caught on to what was happening, rushing over to your side as they helped you lay down flat, crying out over her shoulder for someone to call 911. 

You faintly hear someone call out 'Call Mr. Abbot too!', before you pass out completely.

"Ah fuck…"

Robby curses as your unconscious body is wheeled past him by the emt's, straight into Trauma One with Al-Hashimi, Langdon and Javadi quickly following behind.

"Dana?" 

The charge nurse hums in acknowledgement.

"Page Abbot. Tell him it's urgent. Top priority. ASAP."

Dana looks up at him, confused, painting her features as her eyes briefly flutter to the busy trauma room before they return to Robby, "For this patient? How do you know that you will need him?"

"For an emergency contact. That's his daughter." With that, Robby pulls off his hoodie and disappears into trauma one.

Dana stares in shock as Robby disappears into the room before reality slams into her and she's reaching for the phone and dialling Abbot's number. She knew Jack had a daughter, she had even seen photos but Robby's reaction was more than just as simple as his friend's kid coming through, he knew something was seriously wrong before the rest of them did.

Trauma One was heaving with a mess of bodies and energy, Al-Hashimi and Langdon were trying to stabilise your vitals, calling at each other over your body, guessing what could have caused your condition. Javadi was at the computer, eyes wide as she read through your medical history, telling the doctors your chronic conditions, everything that could possibly be contributing towards your current condition.

They had only just managed to stabilise you, with the cardiology consult with them. Your vitals just pushing at the boundaries, ready to dip again at any moment when your father finally storms in, still disheveled as he only had woken up moments ago, the incessant buzzing of his phone waking him from his brief nap, his heart dropping at the notifications from your friends and Dana.

Jack ignores everyone in the room, he heads straight to your side and takes you in, trying to figure out what happened to you. He's quiet as he rubs his thumb across your cheek and only takes his eyes off you to take note of what your monitor displays.

"What happened?" Jack's voice is low and full of emotion.

"She collapsed at a bonfire with her friends," Robby tells him, "Her friends told the EMTs that at first she was struggling to breath and she tried her inhaler but shortly after that she collapsed."

There's a pause before Jack speaks again, "...Is it her heart?"

This time the cardiology consultant speaks up, "Yes. She needs emergency surgery, as soon as possible."

"Here?" Jack looks up at them, panic swimming in his eyes, "It can't be here. She goes to the children's hospital for everything, her doctor is there and every surgery she's ever had since she was three has been there. She has to go there."

The cardiologist exchanges a look with Robby before they speak again, "I understand this is difficult Dr Abbot but we're running out of time here. We don't know if they're affected by hacking either and even if they're not, requesting a transfer and getting transport over there will take time we don't have."

Robby steps forward, clasping Jack on the shoulder as he bends down to whisper to him, giving them a little bit of privacy from everyone else in the room. "I know you trust the team over there more than anyone else but you have to trust the one we have here right now. She needs surgery, Jack."

Jack gazes down at you again, seeing your eyelids flutter as you slowly gain consciousness before he looks back up at Robby and nods, "...She needs the surgery. What do I need to sign?"

The consent form is pushed in front of him and Jack immediately signs it, prompting the room back into motion again. Instructions are being called as they begin to take you upstairs to surgery.

You're half conscious as they move you into the elevator but your eyes remain on your dad. He had taken a hold of your hand at some point but you were gripping as hard as you could.

He tries to pull away once you reach the surgical floor but you cling to him, your eyes watering with tears, "Please stay…"

Jack turns to the cardiologist, ready to beg to stay in some capacity when the surgeon nods before he could even open his mouth, "Sterile scrub and gown up and you can stay during anaesthesia."

Being an attending physician at the hospital had its perks it seemed.

Jack squeezes your hand and presses a kiss to your forehead, "I'll be back soon buggie. I'll be there until you go to sleep, I promise."

Jack, scrubbed up, is by your side as anaesthetic does its job. 

"I love you so much buggie, you're my world." Jack whispers to you, eyes watering as he watches you eyelids slowly flutter closed, "My whole world and I'll do anything for you. I'll be right by your side when you wake up as well, I promise."

Jack continues to whisper to you until he has to leave, reminding you that you were strong and you would get through this unexpected surgery and you would continue to get stronger and stronger.

Your drift in and out of consciousness at first, not having a grasp on where you were or what had happened. You can tell your chest hurts and you can hear solid beeping whenever you're briefly conscious but when you wake properly, the first thing you notice is the tube in your throat, catching you off guard as you choke around it.

"Hey, hey, it's okay." A voice tells you, "Try to breathe normally…that's it, nice and slowly…in and out, that's it."

Wherever you are suddenly gets busier, multiple people are talking over each other and multiple hands on you. It overwhelms you but there's nothing you can do other than sit through it, letting it wash over you. Someone holds your hand through everything, their thumb running over your knuckles repetitively as they whisper something about buggie.

The room slowly quietens again but someone is calling your attention, it was a nurse explaining what was happening. You would remain on the ventilator for a little bit longer as they monitor you to make sure you could breathe comfortably enough on your own, then they would take you off it.

Once they leave you stare absentmindedly into the room, trying to short your racing thoughts out. You can't remember how you got to the hospital but you could guess why you were there judging by the soft ache in your chest. 

"How you doing lovebug?"

The voice startles you and you flinch as you look to your right, blinking in confusion at the man beside you before it suddenly hits you all at once. Tears spill from your eyes as you reach towards your dad, unable to speak but he knows what you want to say.

"I know honey, I know." Your dad comforts you, "I'm here for you."

You squeeze his hand, hoping it conveys what you want to say and when your dad tears up, you know it was.

The door slams open and you scream, quickly scrambling off your boyfriend and yanking the sheets over your naked body. The wetness between your legs drips onto your sheets, arousal banking in place of furious embarrassment.

“Thought I said no boys allowed?”

Your dad’s sardonic tone sounds from the doorway, his hulking figure blocking the hall light. You can’t see his face, the bedside lamp only casting enough light to showcase his slacks and the glint of a belt. His upper body’s cast in shadow, sending a thrill of trepidation down your spine. The mortification sets in deeper and burns you from the inside out.

“Well?” He shifts—stepping forward enough you can now see his arms crossed over his broad chest.

“I-I’m sorry, sir,” your boyfriend stammers. “S-she didn’t say t-that—“

Leon clicks his tongue. “Boy, I wasn’t talking to you. As a matter of fact, get the hell out of my house.”

The guy practically jumps from the bed, pulling on his clothes so fast you’re pretty sure his underwear’s on backwards and his shirt’s inside out. As he’s getting dressed, Leon steps further into your room, blue eyes locked onto your face. You and your dad watch as the now ex hightails it out of your room.

Listening until the front door slams shut, you huff and cross your arms—hyper aware of the thin sheet covering your breasts.

“What the fuck, dad? You have never said that I couldn’t have anyone over.”

“Sure, I did.” 

He walks over to your bed and sits down on your side, angling his body to face you; his heavy weight sinks the mattress, and your body dips with the motion—making your hip rest against his outer thigh.

“You remember when you were sixteen and started dating? That’s when I said no boys over—unless I’m home that is.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve moved out since then and graduated college,” you glare at him. “I figured it didn’t apply anymore since I’m a grown ass woman.”

Leon laughs, patting your leg through the sheet before leaving it there. “Well, you had to move back in so the same rules apply, cupcake.”

“How is that fair?” You whine, chest burning hot with indignation.

He rubs his palm up and down your leg, trailing it up to your thigh and rubbing you through the thin fabric covering your naked body. Your eyes dart back and forth between his hand and his stubbled face. His lips tick up into a half smile while his hand slips closer to the apex of your thighs. Pure heat blooms in your belly, cunt noticeably empty and aching.

Excitement wars with shame—each taking up equal measure in your thoughts. Your dad has been hugging you tighter and longer than he used to—saying it’s all because he missed out on so much while he was away. But the way he looks at you is far from fatherly affection. The worst part is—you don’t care. You like that your dad sees you as a woman—a woman he wants to treat as more than just a daughter.

“What’re you doing?” You whisper, afraid to break this weird standoff between you two.

“He left you unsatisfied, didn’t he?” His voice a low rumble from his chest, and it sends chills down your arms. “Let daddy take care of his little girl.”

“What?” You breathe out, eyes wide as you watch Leon grip the sheet in his hand and pull it down. 

Too stunned to move, you don’t do anything to stop him from uncovering all of you to his hungry gaze.

“Fuck me,” he mutters, so quiet you almost miss it. “Look at my pretty girl.”

His hands splay out across your upper thighs, lightly massaging, before skimming his palms up your belly to cup your breasts from underneath. He jiggles the soft tissue with a groan. 

“Got some nice mommy milkers, don’tcha?”

“Shut up, that’s so fucking cringe,” you try to snap, but it morphs into a whine as Leon rubs his thumbs over your peaked nipples.

“Mmm, well you got a nice pair of tits, then. How’s that?” He laughs, plucking your stiff buds between his thumb and forefinger and tugging them towards himself.

Pinching each nipple tighter and tighter until you whimper, he keeps his eyes on your face—watching your every expression.

“Want daddy to fill you up, beautiful?” He murmurs, dipping his head down to suck one of your nipples into his mouth. 

“N-no,” you stutter out, eyes rolling back as Leon sucks and bites on your sensitive buds, moving back and forth until your hips writhe from the heat settling deep in your cunt.

“I think you do,” he mumbles into your breasts. “I think only daddy’s dick is gonna fill up that cute little pussy just how she likes.”

Whining, you tangle your hands into his sandy hair—tugging his head closer to your chest. “It’s wrong.”

“I know,” he simpers, pouting his lips around your nipple and turning you on even more. “But it’ll feel so good. And.. it’ll be our little secret.”

“Yeah?” You cave almost instantly, pussy dripping all over your sheets at the thought of your dad stuffing you with his cock. 

“Mmhmm, cross my heart,” he pulls away from your puckered nipples to kiss your sternum before licking his way down your body.

“Now, let me taste this needy little pussy before she cries herself out.”

His tongue dips into your belly button, tickling you and making your abdomen twitch under his mouth as he kisses his way to your puffy cunt. Groaning loudly, he open-mouth kisses your mound. Dragging his lips down your slit, he uses his tongue to part your wet folds and laps at your drippy hole.

“So good,” he growls, rubbing his face all over your cunt—smearing your slick across his lips and jaw. “Fuck, gonna have to eat this pussy all the time.”

He smothers his face into your cunt, tongue fucking into your clenching heat. The rasp of his beard burns your skin but makes it that much hotter as he eats you out. 

“Dad!” You cry out, hands twisting in the sheets at your side. Arching your hips, you press your cunt harder against his face—listening as he groans.

His hands grip your hips and hold you down, thumbs digging into the bone, and sending more slick to drip out onto his thrusting tongue. You see him grind his hips into your bed, humping the mattress while he licks and slurps your pussy like he can’t get enough.

“Damn, this little cunt’s just gushing,” he sighs out, tongue lapping up the slick oozing from your pussy.

His lips kiss the hood of your clit, rough at first then lightening up with every consequent press of his mouth to your throbbing bud. Sucking the sensitive bundle of nerves, your dad lathes his tongue slowly over it until you’re thrashing and bucking up into his mouth—motion limited with his hands holding you in place.

When your hands pull his hair, he growls, mouth suctioning harder around your clit—sucking and sucking and sucking the pudgy bud until you’re squealing from the wet heat on your delicate nerves. Pushing your head back into the bedding, you squeeze your eyes shut, fighting to keep still even as Leon’s tongue keeps flicking over your clit. 

“Dad, s’too much, fuck,” you pant, chest heaving so hard your tits jiggle.

“Hush,” he moves his face back far enough to slap your spit coated cunt. 

Whining at the sting only makes him laugh and slap your cunt again, fingertips tapping your clit almost too hard. Hips rocking up, you arch into the air, seeking more contact. 

“Can’t stop kissing this sweet little pussy, taste so fucking good,” Leon gently bites your pussy lips before he greedily laps at your hot cunt.

Slipping his tongue inside your wet heat, he moans, eyes shutting as he thrusts his tongue in and out of your pussy. Humming as more slick fills his mouth, the vibrations buzz through your puffy cunt and ramp up your arousal. Rocking his hips into the bed, he buries his tongue inside your pussy again and again, fucking your dripping hole eagerly.

Grinding into his mouth, you drag your wet cunt all over his lower face. “Dad, I’m so close.”

”Then cream my tongue,” he growls, mouthing your slit.

Using his thumbs, he pulls your pussy lips apart, exposing your slick folds to his hungry mouth. Wetly kissing your spread open cunt, he flattens his tongue and laps a broad stripe to your engorged clit. Shifting one hand up, he uses his thumb to pull back the hood of your pudgy bud, kitten licking the bundle of nerves until you’re whimpering and mewling for more.

The slow hot suction on your clit sends slick oozing down your cunt lips. Your dad slips his other thumb into your clenching hole, fingers fanning out to cup under your ass, keeping you in place. Shivering and twitching, your orgasm crashes over your body.

”Dad, dad, dad,” you chant, fingers pulling his hair and your hips bucking up into his face.

Your hole flutters around his thumb, slick gushing from your pussy and coating his hand. He groans and licks your throbbing clit until tears spill from your eyes.

”Please, dad, it’s too much, it hurts,” you whine, legs twisting next to his body.

Letting go with a pop, he sits back on his haunches, quickly unbuttoning and pushing his pants and boxers down to his thighs. His thick, uncut cock bobs up—precum glistening from his slit and dripping down his length. You can’t pull your eyes away, staring as your dad grips his dick and slowly strokes himself.

”Like what you see, sweetheart?” He teases, groaning when he swipes his thumb over the tip.

”Yes,” you bite your bottom lip, squeezing your thighs together as fresh slick drips from your hole.

Letting go of his cock, your dad reaches back over his head and grips his shirt, tugging it up along his scarred back until he can grip the hem. He pulls it completely off, pieces of hair sticking up and making him rake a hand through his fringe. Your mouth fills with saliva, gaze lidding when his bicep flexes with each movement. Sometimes you forget how hot your dad actually is—his scruffy jaw, light eyes, and bulked up physique snagging and keeping your attention.

Widening your legs, you reach down to gently rub your clit—mindful of the zing of too much from your earlier orgasm. Leon quickly finishes undressing, tossing his clothes onto the floor and crawling up your prone body. With his hands boxing in either side of your head, your dad slowly lowers himself down, moaning when his cock drags along your wet slit. You whimper and wrap your legs loosely around his lower back, giving him more room to grind into the wet mess between your thighs.

”Fuck, can’t wait to ream your little hole,” he pants, mouth hovering right above your own. “C’mon, give daddy a kiss.”

Without any warning, he thrusts his tongue past your parted lips, sloppily kissing you. You suck on the slick muscle, mewling into his mouth. He slides his tongue against yours, flicking the tip against the back of your teeth before sucking your tongue into his mouth. It’s a slow back and forth of tongues and spit, Leon settling more of his body weight down onto you as you make out. Sliding your hands along his sides, you trail your fingers up his back until you can grab onto his broad shoulders. He kisses you deeper, mouths barely parting for air—making you dizzy with more than just want. Your dad scrapes his teeth against your plush bottom lip, tongue quickly gliding across to soothe the sting.

”So good,” he rumbles from low in his chest.

Whimpering, you move one of your hands off his shoulder to tangle in the hair at the base of his neck, tugging him down to kiss you again. Slanting your mouth, you push closer—trying to deepen your kiss once more. Leon grunts, rutting his stiff cock against your sopping wet cunt. He pulls away for a breath, placing hot sucking kisses across your throat instead.

”Dad, please.” Tears prick at your waterline, threatening to trail down your cheeks.

”I know,” he coos, all condescending sweetness that goes straight to your clit.

Nipping at the pulse point in your neck, Leon drags his tongue back up to your mouth, tracing across the bow. You loll your tongue out, eager to taste him again. Chuckling, he licks a broad stripe up your tongue—over and over until his spit drips from the tip. Whining, you scrape your nails against his scalp, wordlessly begging him to do more. He ignores you, lapping at your slick muscle as you mewl pitifully up at him—eyes wet and needy as spit pools on your chest.

Finally, he presses his tongue fully to yours, groaning so loud it makes your teeth vibrate. Sloppily kissing you a few more times, Leon shifts his head away, propping his weight up on one arm as he skates his hands down your body. Tipping your head back, you gasp out syllables that might be words, your hands gripping onto him tightly. He grips his cock and slaps the heavy weight down onto your cunt—pussy so wet it makes a plap plap plap on your slick coated mound. Giving himself a few slow strokes, your dad caresses the tip with his thumb—spreading his precum over the head and making it glisten.

”Please,” you mewl, “I want it. Please, daddy.”

He smirks down at you, “Yeah?”

”Uh huh,” your hips twinge with how wide you spread yourself open.

“Then I want my daughter to ride me,” he murmurs, pupils blown and dark.

”Okay, okay, I can do that,” you nod, willing to do almost anything if it means your dad giving you his fat cock.

Legs shaky like a newborn calf, you slide out from under Leon’s bulk and climb on top of his lap. He pats your ass with a grin.

”Look at you,” he laughs, “so eager. So wet for me.”

Not able to help yourself, you lick a line between his pecs, tasting the salt of his skin—his salt and pepper chest hair tickling your lips. He moves one of his hands to grip the back of your neck and yank your face up to his, kissing you messily. His tongue licks past your lips, making spit drip down your chin as slick drips from your cunt. Shifting his hands down, he gropes your ass, slapping one cheek with a sharp crack. You whimper into his mouth and pull back. 

“C’mon, baby, you gonna bounce on it or just sit there looking pretty?” He grumbles, both of his hands now loosely guiding your hips to drag your wet slit along his dick.

Grinding down harder, your pussy lips part to sandwich his cock, letting you rub your clit against his uncut tip. You both moan, your toes curling as pleasure zings from the friction on your swollen bud. Moving one of his hands between your bodies, Leon grabs the base of his dick and presses the head at your hole.

”Sit on it,” he nods down to where he’s notched just inside your drippy pussy.

Whimpering, you raise up on your knees just enough that he slides out. You reach down and feel for his hand. He hisses but doesn’t shy away, circling his fingers around the base as you grip his shaft. You ease your self down onto his cock, feeling every inch as you sink further and further until he’s buried completely inside your clenching pussy. Eyelashes clumping from the earlier tears, your eyes flutter while you adjust to being split open on your dad’s dick.

”Slick and tight,” he grunts, hand splaying across your abdomen so his thumb can swipe across your clit. “Gonna bust my load deep in this fertile little pussy.”

”Dad!” You keen, squeezing down on his cock. “Fuck, you can’t say that.”

”Why not?” He raises his eyebrows. “I’m already balls deep in you, anyway. What’s one creampie gonna hurt?”

You shudder, breasts feeling heavy and full. “I don’t know…”

His thumb taps down on your pudgy bud. “Don’t you want it? Wanna feel me breed your sweet cunt until it’s dripping out? It’ll feel so good. I promise.”

”Okay,” you whine, hips rocking slowly—keeping his cock snugly pressed to your front wall, right against your g-spot. “You can cum i-in me.”

”Atta girl,” he croons, lighting up your brain. “I’ll keep you stuffed all night long.”

Deciding you must have adjusted enough, Leon pulls his cock out until just the tip rests inside before thrusting back into your slick heat. The wet squelching from your pussy makes your chest burn hot, but you can barely breathe with how fast and hard your dad pounds his dick into your tight hole. Squealing, you wiggle on his lap, trying to adjust the angle, but his hands keep you held down. Fresh tears bead your eyeline as his cock rubs the spongy spot in your cunt that has you seeing stars.

”That it?” He coos. “That the spot? Who knew my daughter’s pussy would be so easy? Fuck, I bet you’re a squirter.”

””m not,” you slur out, body jostling in his hold with every pump of his hips.

”Wanna be?” He laughs. “Bet I can make that pussy gush. Fucking soak my cock.”

Shaking your head, your nails scrabble at his chest, sinking into his pecs. He growls, fucking you even harder somehow.

”Go ahead, scratch me up,” his eyes are dark in his face. “Like having proof that I fucked a hole so good, she couldn’t help but mark me up.”

”Dad,” you cry out, “fuck, I can’t. You’re gonna make me cum.”

”That’s the point,” he teases, his thumb rubbing tight little circles on your clit. “Got that cute pussy all primed when I licked her, didn’t I, baby?”

”Uh huh,” you mumble, bouncing in his lap, slamming your ass down on his thighs as you chase after his cock with each roll of your hips. “Got me so wet, daddy.”

”Fuck,” he snarls. “I don’t think I can last long.”

”I want it,” you babble. “Want your cum.”

”Got you cockdrunk off of just one taste, huh?” He shifts the hand holding your hip up to your neck, squeezing your throat for a split second. “C’mere and give me a kiss.”

He pulls you down easily, your mouth already open and panting—whining when he kisses you messily. You can’t stop yourself from clenching and shivering, back arched so your dad can fuck you as hard as he wants. Moaning into your mouth, he lets go of your neck to slap your ass. Whimpering, you suck on his tongue, nails scratching red lines into his skin.

Grunting, he slaps your ass again before groping the tender skin. He guides your hips into a faster pace, gripping your ass tightly to make you ride his cock harder.

”Too deep,” you pant against his kiss swollen lips. “Daddy, it’s too deep.”

”What’s too deep?” He muses, eyes wrinkling with his smirk.

”You are,” you whine. “Your cock’s too deep.”

”Where am I too deep? I can’t help if I don’t know.” His voice is laced with amusement, making your clit throb.

”Daddy, you’re too deep in my pussy,” you gasp, eyes rolling back when the head of his cock taps your cervix. “Right there! You’re cock is too deep in my pussy.”

”Aww, am I?” He simpers, making your blood thrum hotly through your body. “I just wanted to give my girl all the kisses she deserves. Don’t you like it when daddy’s cock kisses your womb?”

Hole pulsing around his cock, you mewl and writhe against his body. “I don’t know.”

”Sure you do,” he coos. “C’mon let daddy give you some kisses.”

He slots your mouths together, kissing you while his dick presses into the opening of your womb. You sink into his embrace even more, the slight pain morphing into pleasure that pools low in your belly. It doesn’t take long for your climax to hit you while in this position. Moaning loudly, you buck and twitch, pussy squeezing his dick so hard Leon can’t even thrust inside you anymore.

”There we go. Such a good girl,” his praise makes it that much better. “Keep that up and I’m gonna breed your slippery little cunt.”

His thumb keeps circling your swollen clit and it extends your orgasm until it’s too much. Whimpering, you try to tell him, but Leon only ruts his cock deep into your spasming pussy. Dropping your head into the crook of his neck, you pant wetly skin against his skin. Your dad moves both hands to your ass, grabbing a cheek in each hand and thrusts recklessly up into your pussy.

”Fuck, that’s it, fuck, gonna breed you, get you nice and full, god, gonna knock up my own daughter, fuck, fuck,” he cuts his rambling off with a punched out groan, burying his cock to the hilt inside you.

Hot spurt after spurt of his thick cum coat your inner walls. Whining softly, your burrow your nose into his neck—breathing in hints of his aftershave. Leon’s cock kicks inside your used cunt, balls emptying his load into your pussy until it drips out past his own softening length. Hands skimming up your back, he pets you gently—leaving his cock inside your stuffed hole.

”Mmm, that was a good one,” he chuckles, rubbing across your shoulder blades. “Almost gets me hard again.”

You can’t do anything but hum—brain totally offline in every way. You clench around him and hear Leon moan quietly.

”Keep that up and I probably will get hard,” he mutters to the top of your head, fingertips drawing nonsensical shapes on your skin. “Lets go get a shower.”

”Noo,” you whine petulantly. “Don’t wanna move.”

Leon grins although you can’t see it. “That good, huh? This old man’s still got it.”

”Don’t you ever shut up?” You grouse, lips pressed to his throat.

”You know I don’t.” He pats your shoulder. “C’mon.”

Groaning, you peel yourself off of his chest, wincing at the sweat sticking you together. “Gross.”

He raises one eyebrow at you. “See?”

Rolling your eyes, you shrug. “Whatever.”

Leon slaps your ass and you yelp. “What the hell, dad?!”

”Up and at’em,” he grins. “The slower you are the more I’m gonna spank that fat ass.”

Going hot all over, you unsteadily shift off of him—legs trembling when you stand from the bed. “Okay, okay, I get it.”

Leon climbs off your bed with a low grunt. “Back’s not what it used to be.”

”C’mon, get up already, old man,” you mock.

He glares at you, the furrow in his brow deepening—making your fingers twitch to smooth it out. “I’m not too old to take you over my knee. Although…” his eyes drag down your naked body and his cock twitches against his thigh. “I think we’d both like that a little too much.”

Ducking your head, you avoid his knowing gaze. “Yeah, yeah,” you wave your hand. “Are we taking a shower or what?”

He hums and wraps his hand around your bicep, helping you walk out of your room and to the bathroom. “Oh, don’t worry, daddy’s gonna get you all nice and clean.”

”Perv,” you mutter under your breath.

”And you like it,” he whispers into your ear, breath gusting over the flyaways and tickling you.

Sighing, you go quiet and let your dad lead you into the hall bathroom. It’s actual a cozy affair—much to your surprise. For all his teasing and dirty innuendos, Leon takes his time to bathe you—helping you wash and dry off before doing the same for himself. Now that your legs feel a little less like jello, you follow him back out of the bath. He snags your arm before you can head to your room and pushes you towards the master—towards his room.

“What’re you—“

”How am I gonna snuggle you if you’re in your room?” He quips, ushering you over to the bed as he shuts and locks his door—a habit he’s had your entire life.

Clambering onto the mattress, you tuck yourself under the sheets and watch him as he double checks the window before crawling into bed with you. Reaching over, he pulls you into his arms and rubs your back.

”Goodnight,” you tilt your head back to kiss his chin.

”Night, baby,” he dips down and kisses you softly on the lips. “Wake me up if you need me.”

”I will,” you murmur, snuggling back into his chest.

Jack Abbot wasn't a strict dad by any means — After losing his leg; after losing his wife, it felt unfair to beg for anything more than for his daughter to be happy, healthy, and — most importantly — safe. Her safety was the one non-negotiable that he had set in place when raising her. She had driven to a party and drank anyway? She called him and he would pick her up, no lecture given. She felt unsafe at any given point, no matter because of who or what? She told him or a trusted adult (the list was short of the adults he trusted — Robby, Dana, Shen and Ellis) and they would take care of it.

"Hey, Grumpy! Haven't seen the kid around in a few? Where's Tiny?" Parker Ellis grinned as she slid up next to Jack at the nurses station, head tilting at him as she saw the way he just starred intensely at his phone.

Hey, you OK? was the message starring back at him menacingly, the timestamp next to it reading two hours earlier. He blinked blearily at the tiny Send beneath it, willing it to change into a Seen.

"Abbot?" Ellis called out again, her grin slowly melting into a concerned frown.

Jack's head snapped up, dropping the hand holding the phone "Hm? Oh, uh, she had exams this week. 's out with her friends tonight to celebrate their newfound freedom."

"Oh— I see how it is!" Ellis hummed thoughtfully, the grin reappearing, "Grumpy Abbot has a hard time letting go."

Jack shook his head ever so slightly "It isn't like that."

It really wasn't like that. Jack trusted his daughter — more than anyone, probably. He had raised her — all on his own ever since she was a three years old toddler that threw tantrums when served broccoli for dinner and asked When is mommy coming home? while dangling her legs from a swing — and he knew he had given her every single ressource to make smart decisions and to know that, even if she had a crashout (whatever that meant; Jack had long given up trying to understand the way she spoke) he was there to pick it up, piece by piece.

In simple terms; he had raised her to be his best friend.

Jack didn't trust anyone else — Not with his daughter. Certainly not with his daughter.

His fingers moved swiftly over the screen again, Ellis' laughter barely audible over the ringing in his ears. Call me when you get this please. Love you. He send the text, mentally chastising himself for opting out of sharing locations with her in fear of coming off to overbearing.

The doors to the pitt slid open, a trauma being wheeled in fast and steady, effectively pulling Jack back into the chaos of the ER and — after the brief panic that it could be her had subsided — he was by the gurney, sharp and focused, the worry over his daughter only a distant pain in his chest.

The trauma took a lot longer than Jack had thought — MVA, three victims; a family. The daughter, only six years, had died after Jack spend 47 minutes perched over her chest, doing chest compressions until the sweat dripped down his forehead and now he was sprawled out in a chair at the nurses station, too exhausted to even think about making the way up to the roof.

"That was a rough one." Shen sighed, leaning up against the hub across from Jack, hands fiddling with the straw in his Dunkin Donuts cup.

"The child ones always are. Always makes you wonder..." Lena trailed off with a frown, noticing the tight set of Jack's jaw. Everyone at the PTMC knew about Jack Abbot's daughter — Tiny Abbot as Shen and Ellis always proclaimed so lovingly when she once again spend one of Jack's night shifts, huddled up in a seat next to Lena, head stuck in a book. By now they had also all noticed, that Jack seemed to be on edge that night, hands and eyes trained to react at the slight buzz of his phone. 
Shen furrowed his eyesbrows, mulling over whether it was safe to ask or if Jack would rip his head off for just as much as suggesting that something was amiss when the ringtone Jack had specifically set for his daughter made his body jerk into action.

"Kiddo, hey!" Jack breathed, all the air escaping him in one as he registered her name in bold letters on his screen. The relief was short-lived, however, when the line crackled; a tiny whimper cutting through the jumbling noise.

"Dad? Dad, I— I'm sorry. My friends— They left me. I'm drunk, I don't know— They kept saying I should loosen up and I should drink more and then they just left me! I'm scared, I—"

The sirens in Jack's head were blaring two times over as he listened to his daughter's babbling and blubbering "Hey, baby. Baby, it's okay—" he cooed, jumping up to his feet against the strain it put on his prosthesis. "Yeah, it's okay. I'm at work but send me your location, okay?" he turned over, eyes wide with a panic that was entirely unusual for the always so stoic doctor "Lena, call Robby. Kiddo's in trouble, I need him to pick her up."

Lena nodded, hands already grabbing for the red phone — hospital emergencies only policy be damned. Tiny Abbot was one of PTMC's own; a staple in the dysfunctional family that was the night shift and, most importantly, the one thing to bring Jack Abbot from the dark every single time.

"Dad, I'm sorry." Tiny sniffled and she sounded so sad Jack had a hard time not ditching work to pick her up himself. His head spun to string together the worst images it could muster — The idea of his daughter sitting on a curb somewhere far out of his reach, only a dim street lamp as company as she tried to keep herself warm (She never took a jacket with her; no matter how much Jack nagged).

He let out a sound somewhere between a sob and a sigh, scrubbing his free hand over his face to get rid of the haunting images "You've got absolutely nothing to apologize for. You hear me, kiddo? Nothing." he soothed desperately, shooting a look at Lena "Send me your location and I'll have Robby pick you up and bring you here, okay?" he added after Lena gave him a nod and a brief thumbs up.

53 minutes — That's how long it took from the moment his daughter had hung up the phone to call Robby ("uncwe Wobby" as she used to call him all those years ago) to the doors of the ER sliding open to reveal a worried-looking Robby — an usual sight; dressed in sweatpants and a faded band tee — arm wrapped around Jack's daugher. She looked even more sad than she had sounded; Robby had brought her one of his hoodies and a pair of one of her sweatpants that were always flying around at his place to change into in the car and, mixed with the smudged make-up Jack had watched her put on mere hours ago, she looked like a lost little lamb brought to the slaughter.

"Tiny Abbot..." Shen frowned, as he appeared next to them, holding out a fresh Dunkin Donuts' iced coffee "Grumpy Abbot told us what happened so I immediately got your favorite. Donuts are in the break room."

"Thank you, Johnnie." she sniffled, giving him a watery smile, that had Shen's frown deepening, as she took the cup tentatively "Where's dad?"

Shen grimaced "Still with a patient, kiddo. He should be out soon— C'mon let's get you seated. You need something?"

She shook her head, letting Robby and Shen guide her over to a chair at the safety of the nurses station. All she wanted was a hug from her dad — letting him wrap her up in his arms and keeping her safe from all the bad things like he did when she had a nightmare as a kid.

It took seven minutes — seven agonising minutes for Jack, who'd been told that his daughter had arrived safely — for him to finally dismiss himself from the room; eyes seeking out his daughter's form immediately.

She was still sitting at the hub, legs pulled up to her chest with Robby keeping watch over her from his place leaned up against hub across from her. Her eyes were cast down to her fingers fiddling with the straw from her iced coffee but as soon as she recognised the sound of his uneven gait her head was flying up, relief melting her body into a slumped form as she found his gaze.

"Hey, kiddo." he breathed out, pulling her up to her feet and crushing her against his chest with no hesitation "Are you okay?" he murmured, pressing a tender kiss to her head.

She hummed, nodding against his scrub top "'m okay, just... sad, I guess." she shrugged. Jack nodded wordlessly — He had had his suspicions about her friends for a while now; they always seemed nice enough during the few moments they spend at their place. Every now and then, however, Jack heard the quiet comments — He heard the insults, cowardly slipped into a passing comment over a snack at their dinner table, saw the glances and smirks shared when his daughter wasn't looked but he'd kept quiet about it; had smiled at his daughter when she came home all giddy and giggly and had told her how happy he was that she did have finally found friends, after all.

Now he loathed himself for never saying anything.

He pressed another kiss to her head, one heavy hand moving towards her back to trace absentminded circles. Jack had always been good at fixing injuries or sickness — He knew what to do when she fell and scraped her knee and he knew how to take care of her when the flu once again caught up to her, but he always struggled with the emotional side of parenting. Years and years of therapy had helped; he was better at being emotionally present now, the words of comfort came easier to him now, but — every now and then; just like now — he had a hard time figuring out what to say.

"Are you good to go home?" he asked instead as he pulled back, eyebrows furrowed together in almost paralysing worry "Robby's gonna drive you and stay with you until shift change."

"Okay, okay..." she muttered quietly, rubbing her eyes with a muffled sniffle, before bringing herself back against her dad's chest; head flush against his broad chest "'m sorry, dad."

She didn't know what she was apologising for — For worrying him? For drinking? For losing friends? Again? Surely, he didn't think it was cute for his sixteen years old to say that her dad was her best friend.

Jack shook his head vehemently, shifting his stance so she could lean all her weight on him without his prosthesis hurting "Kiddo. You are not at fault here — Absolutely not; in no way. People who do that? Who guilt-trip you into getting drunk and then abandoning you? These people are not your friends and they never were."

His daughter cried something in his chest and it took a beat for Jack to understand that she had said, that she just wanted to belong.

"You belong, baby." Jack spoke firmly, slipping a finger underneath her chin to look into her eyes "You belong with me. You belong in this life. You belong."

She sniffed again, more tears spilling over but yet she nodded, rubbing her head against his chest one last time before taking a final step back. Robby was there immediately, his arm coming up to wrap itself around her shoulder again "Let's get you home, kiddo, hm?"

She nodded tentatively and — after a last hug and a long kiss to her forehead — Jack had to watch his best friend guide his daughter out into the dark night that awaited them outside of the hectic walls of the pitt.

The remaining two hours of his shift dragged on for seemingly forever — All he wanted was to get home to his daughter, maybe stop by the breakfast place they frequented at every Saturday morning and get her one of the cinnamon buns she loved, and put on her favorite movie in the living room where he could keep an eye on her.

Jack Abbot may not be a man of emotional loaded words, but, what he was was a man of actions.

By the time he finally stepped into the townhouse he and his daughter had been living in for the past fifteen years the sun had long risen behind the horizon "Kiddo? I'm home." he called out softly as he closed the front door with one hand, the other one clutching a bakery bag, the sweet smell of cinnamon following him.

Jack had spend the last two hours berating himself for never saying anything — He'd spend ten minutes in between patients, doing the breathing exercises his therapist always spoke off and Lena still called him out for looking brooding — and the cinnamon buns felt like a kind of peace offering now; an apology of sorts for failing her.

"Dad?" a voice breathed. Jack's head whipped around and, for the first time, Jack understood why everyone at the PTMC called her Tiny. His daughter was standing in the doorway to their living room, her favorite fluffy blanket wrapped around bony shoulders and a stuffed rabbit Robby had gotten her when she was younger and refused to go to sleep every time her dad was on night shift clutched to her chest.

She looked like a little kid, all over again.

"Hey, baby." Jack swallowed down every heavy feeling, forcing the corners of his lips into a soft, weary smile as he held up the bag. "I have cinnamon buns."

Her face twitched into something akin to a smile despite the tears brimming hot and heavy behind her waterline. "Robby already helped me move all the blankets and pillows to the sofa."

"Hot chocolate and Princess Diaries?" Jack grinned.

"You always know how to cheer me up, old man."

Jack huffed out a laugh at the old man, dismissing his go-back carelessly by the door as he moved to wrap an arm around her. With a tender kiss to her head he began guiding her towards the sofa, turning off the police scanner while he was at it — He didn't need that today.

Today was all about her.