._.

You've told him once about your difficulties settling into relationships, not knowing where you stand and what you were able to do without dire consequences. It wasn't fair to you, the uncertainty that you ex spilled into your life, it damaged your confidence in who you were. Jack had the privilege of watching as your quirks cautiously come up for air. He could still remember your face the first time you moaned aloud, eyes clenched shut as he pulled your pleasure forward. The first time you changed your mind in front of him without fear of a fight, of him holding what you said against you.

To see you dictate what expiry date is manageable and what would be a waste, or nudge his hip because you're changing direction, was an honest win in his books. While Jack hadn't addressed it directly, to not make you self-conscious, his gaze would catch all these small bursts of self and he would tuck them close, treasured right by his heart. 

He also found it incredibly adorable that you've stopped covering up your frustrations. Constantly being told to not be "dramatic", you used to hold a blank face against any difficulty and try to look as if "it's not a big deal". Jack couldn't really tell you how proud he was that you were angry at the grocery store because they kept shifting things around. It was that small line between your brows that told him he should just join in.

"This is just plain.." you shook your head.

"Marketing?" 

"Manipulation, Jack," you turned to him, sweeping your hand up at the the length of the isle, "Conspiracy and manipulation."

Jack nodded solemnly, "if they make us walk around more-"

"We see more and buy more! exactly!" you mock-hissed, pointing a finger at him then up at the ceiling. 

He allowed himself an over-dramatic glare at the ceiling before his eyes caught something on the right shelf, "Shit."

"What?"

Jack snorted, pursed lips trying not to smile, "I was about to say let's not fall for it, but then I just saw this egg pan I've been wanting to try." 

You looked at his face and a chortle escaped your lips. Then a giggle, which Jack is most proud of, then a hip touch as you looped your arm with his, still chuckling, "I'd fall for it willingly every time if I don't have to change stores." 

"Because they can make changes," Jack said languidly, "but the parking lot is still the best one here." 

Your cheeks stretched as you beamed up at him, "I love it when you agree with me before I even say anything."

Jack placed his jacket around your shoulders right before the refrigerated section, stopping you gently to pull your arms through the sleeves. He tucked his hand under it, palm open and steady against your lower back, and grabbing the cart handle with his other hand. 

"What about the snack stash?" you asked, tilting your head up to lightly kiss his cheek.

"We set Princess on it this week," Jack muttered thoughtfully, "might need to remedy that with some protein bars though." 

You smiled at him then stepped forward to open the glass doors to the ice cream fridge. Jack tilted his head as he watched you bypass the tubs and go for the small portions.

"Why are we getting the mini tubs of ice cream?"

"Long answer?" you asked, still browsing the flavors.

"Always," He nodded, leaning on the cart.

"We don't finish the big ones, Love," you explained, picking up three small blue tubs, "when we put it back in the freezer it ices over and I hate that so much. Can't get the cones Because if they melt even a little on the way home they change shape and I hate that too."

Jack nodded slowly, smirk gracing his lips.

You looked back him as you placed the stack of minis in the cart, "Also! Freezer space!"

"Space for that stack of sesame bagels you wanted to freeze, huh?" 

You beam brightly at him while tucking your hair behind your ears, "Precisely. You pay attention."

"You stole all of my attention when you scrunched your nose at me the first time," Jack tried tried to look gravely devastated, but his lips kept revealing a grin, "didn't even leave me any for the ED."

Your giggle left your lips sweetly and he pointed a finger at your nose, Like that. 

"Baby, I could've gotten this done," Jack whispered with a kiss to your forehead, "you didn't have to come with me." 

You were dragging your feet unconsciously, eyelids and shoulders heavy. The whole week had pulled so much from you and what scraps of energy you had left were barely enough to keep you standing. But these trips, no matter how repetitive and normal, have come to matter to you much more than you expected. Jack's presence in any domestic task is a special pleasure, and you weren't about miss out on a second of it. Walking into the grocery store with him, pausing to get your cart, the pounding at you temple was already soothed as you held his bicep.

"Jack Abbot, I already said I want to," you mumbled half-serious and poked your finger into his side, "who is it that keeps telling me to always do what I want?"

"No idea, baby," Jack flinched back a bit from your poke, huffing a laugh, "but he spoils you too much, it's backfiring."

You poked him again, your giggle bubbling out light and airy. 

As you both walked into the bakery section, looking through the selection to mini croissants and discussing how hard it is to find fresh almond ones, a small mass bumped into the back of your legs. You gasped and grabbed the cart railing to keep your balance, turning to look behind you then immediately looking to Jack in confusion.

A small child, head barely reaching your hip, stood before you wearing a t-shirt that was slightly too big, and a wide-brimmed hat with pink flowers on the edges. She looked up at you with eyes threatening to flood, wide with panic, and a bottom lip tremor she couldn't seem to stop. 

"Hey, hi," you gentled you tone and crouched down, "you ok, honey?"

Her wandering eyes snapped to you, tears spilling over her round cheeks, and her mouth opened to speak but she just hiccuped. 

Jack tilted his head down gently with a smile, his tone low and soothing, "You need some help, kiddo?"

The little girl squeezed her eyes shut and nodded, then she stepped closer to fist your sleeve in her tiny hands. You looked up at Jack and he could see your lips trembling in sympathy, he gave you a small smile and stroked your hair lightly.

"Honey, can you tell me you name?" You cooed to her, placing your hand on top of hers on your arm. 

"F- Fiona," She whimpered.

"That's a princess name, Jack," you widened you eyes playfully and told her your name, "and that's Jack, he's mine." 

The kid blinked up him, teary but curious, and Jack felt his heart squeeze in his chest. Registering your words at the same time as the kid, he tilted his head at you with a smirk. 

"I mean," you snorted when you saw Fiona's confused little brows, "he's my person."

You said it so clear, so easy, like it makes perfect sense to say that to a five year old. Like you've had that in your mind for a long time, and saying it aloud was only natural. 

"What does tha' mean?" Her little voice sounded.

"It means he does whatever I ask," you leaned close in a fake-whisper, "and he loves it."

Little Fiona looked up at him wide-eyed. Jack nodded slowly, holding a serious face and barely-contained laugh.

"Fiona, honey," you asked tentatively , "did the big store make you lost?"

The kid nodded rapidly, her bottom lip pouting. "I can't find my dad." 

"Can we help you find him, kid?" Jack spoke.

Your head tilted up to him, watching his calm voice and posture put the little girl at ease. He exuded such a steady safety even a strange child could feel it. Suddenly, the exhastion of the past week took a backstep, your gratitude for Jack's readiness to help and your own sympathy for Fiona took over. 

Brown curls bounced as the kid nodded and reached to hold your hand. You put you other arm around her shoulders and rubbed her back gently. "Let's do that, honey."

You stood to your feet, Fiona clinging close to your hip. Jack's face softened at your focus to help, glad you insisted on coming. Sweeping his eyes around, he couldn't spot a person with that frantic-parent walk. He could tell your eyes told you the same. 

"Hey," you spoke to Fiona, "do you wanna be carried or do you wanna ride the cart? He doesn't look it but Jack makes super fun cart turns."

The little girl blinked, a small smile creeping across her cheeks, and bounced on her heels, "Cart, please!"

"Perfect," Jack smiled wide, "I was hoping you'd say that."

He asked her if he could pick her up, little Fiona simply wrapped her arms around his neck and jumped. Only his instincts saved his back and he caught her, pulling her over the railing into the cart basket. 

"Alright, hang on to the front, kiddo," Jack said, "like you're driving a ship."

Fiona's smile was small, but her eyes dried up, now comfortably scanning around as the cart move forward. When Jack warned about an upcoming turn, pretending to be a copilot over a radio, she giggled and held on tight.

It took about fifteen minutes and two salted chip bags for the overhead com to announce the search for one Fiona, five years old, flower hat, light-up sneakers. 

"That," Jack announced when Fiona asked what that was, "means you dad is looking for you."

She gasped softly, small glimmer returning to her eyes when she remembered that she was lost, "I want my daddy." 

"I know, honey," you soothed, placing your hand on her shoulder, "we're going to meet him now, ok?"

Jack pushed on with purpose towards the security desk by the entrance, hand on your back with the other on the cart handle. When Fiona spotted her dad by the desk, she started bouncing hard, so Jack stopped the cart and picked her out to put her on her feet. 

"My god, Fi," the man, frazzled but immediatly relieved, caught his daughter mid-run and held her against him, "I'm sorry, baby."

"It's ok, daddy, I ride a cart-ship," she mumbled into his shirt.

You leaned into Jack's side, "I think I love her," you whispered. 

Jack snorted pressed his jaw to your forehead, "I know, Sweet."

You watched your little friend and her father as they talked, then she pointed her arm towards you and Jack. The man placed Fiona on his hip, wanting to hold on to her instead of letting her walk next to him, and came to thank you perfusely for you help. You smiled at Fiona as she looked at you from where she laid her head on her father's shoulder, her hat going crooked. 

"It's all good, man," Jack reassured him, meeting the man's handshake, "She's an awesome kid."

"She is," you winked at her.

After a hug and sneaking a lolipop into her little pockets, you stood back by Jack and a thought popped into your head just as they began to leave, Fiona hanging onto her father's neck.

"Sorry, can I ask you something?"

The man paused and nodded while Fiona waved her hand at Jack. He waved back then looked curiously at you.

"I think you're about the right generation, did you name her after princess Fiona?"

The man laughed while Jack snorted next to you. 

"I'd love to say something cool about gaelic names," He chuckled sheepishly, "but yea, it's Shrek."

The movie name immediately triggered Fiona to yell out excitedly.

+

Jack Abbot once had a gray sweatshirt with a lot of history. It had the med-school logo on it in big red letters, but it lived with him through residency, two tours in the military, and losing a spouse. At some point, when he was back in Pittsburgh dealing with losing a limb overseas, the sleeve cuff got caught in-between two metal plates of an experimental prosthetic he was trying to get used to. It was too hard to let go of that piece of his past, especially after losing a piece of himself, so he kept it. 

Ms Randal, an elderly patient he used to share the PT waiting room with, commented on the ever expanding rip by his wrist, "The more you wear it, the less wearable it will get, son."

Two more wears to PT later, the old lady basically forced him to give it up. She took it in her oversized canvas bag and gave it back to him another day, having patched the ripped sleeve with a thick line of red string. Abbot cherished that sweatshirt even more. 

Robby had seen it on the man countless times. It was well-kept, softened and clean, The letters faded slightly at the edges. Sometimes it would be found in his work bag, other times laid on the arm of his couch. Still, to Robby, seeing that garment pinged Abbot in his mind very clearly, just as the prosthetic did.

That specific sweatshirt, he was certain it was the one, was on the torso of a petite woman standing at the fresh vegetables isle. Robby couldn't blink it away, there's no way it was not Jack's. Soft strands of her hair, half pinned up, rested on the back of it and the sleeves, red string patch immediately present, were bunch up around her wrists. The hem reached low, folding around her hips, and she was trying to pick between two cherry tomato packs. 

Robby walked past behind her, carrying his own basket, and once he reached the end of the isle he heard cart wheels squeak behind him and the woman's voice-

"Nope," She said quietly but firmly, "all half-way dead. We're not doing cherry tomatoes tonight."

"Hmm," the new person with the cart responded, "are we talking late restocks or manipulation and conspiracy?"

Robby's brows knotted as he pretended to look at the onions in front of him. The lilting teasing tone of the man's voice sounded strangely like-

"Jack," she chuckled, "great callback, Love. umm, let's go with conspiracy for funsies."

Robby neck pulled tight against the urge to snap back and his eyes widened, still staring at vegetable tags. Jack as in Jack Abbot? as in the true owner of that sweatshirt she was swimming in? 

Rotating his shoulders slowly, feigning a natural movement, Robby tried to sneak a glance over his shoulder. The man's form was obscured by hers standing before him, but with years of knowing his friend, Robby could find him by the soles of his shoes. Literally, since he could recognize the specific model that Jack can wear over the foot of his prosthetic. 

Robby watched as Jack wrapped an arm around the woman's hips, sliding his hand under the sweatshirt at her lower back. She leaned back into him and muttered jokingly about the store's plans to "sell us spoiled vegetables and say its organic." 

His eyes softening as his gaze swept over his friend, Robby hadn't seen Jack in such a comfortable state in years. He was in a long-sleeved sports shirt and black cargo pants, not unusual, but he was leaning back on the cart railing, resting whenever, no hurried movements. 

The woman looked to be the same, gentle in placing items back on the shelf, soft-spoken, soft-eyed when directed at the man at her side. She was wearing the sweatshirt, Robby thought, they're clearly a set already.

Jack's low chuckle caught his ear, and he watched his graying curls bump against the woman's head, his shoulder shook with laughter. She grasped his arm round her middle and giggled breathily down into her collar, shy but joyful. Robby couldn't remember the last time he heard Jack's true laugh, belly deep and unburdened, and he felt so warmed seeing how Jack has gained something that made him laugh like that, gave him a reason to. 

So he stepped pass the isle to the next one and pulled out his phone.

"- we could use sun-dried tomatoes instead?" Jack suggested, then felt his phone buzz in his pocket, "there's a recipe- hang on." 

His brows furrowed when he saw a text from Robby. You slid under his arm to wait as he opened his messages.

Robby: 

I would think you'd tell me if someone was worthy of the red-patch

I'm disappointed

Jack snorted, looking up from his phone to you. He didn't have to look around him to understand that Robby was somehow here. But the more he looked at you, comfortable against him with your pinky hooked around his, the more he realized he'd have noticed Robby if he had been with anyone else, or alone. He was settling into his time with you, his usual vigilance wasn't so harshly present, having a good chat, making you blush and giggle, was of higher value than noticing who looked familiar in a public place. 

Jack: 

I did tell you I was seeing someone

I'm disappointed you forgot

"Shit," Robby hissed under his breath. Of course he got side-tracked by his own bullshit and forgot. Jack hadn't brought it up again, so he thought there wasn't any more to know. Guilt swept up in his gut, realizing that he could have been a better friend and simply asked. Jack had been there for him more times than he could count, even times when he didn't want him to be. Sitting in his own self-loathing and self-destructing had him so preoccupied that he slacked on his efforts to be a good friend. 

Robby:

"Seeing someone" is not red-patch certification

Taking a breath, Robby pushed himself against his age-old difficulties at admitting fault.

Sorry I should've asked

Happy for you though

Jack:

You'll meet her and you'll know

Thanks, Brother

"You're smirking at your phone," you tilted your head up at him, eyes glimmering, "you look like you won something."

Jack huffed at that, looping your arm around his bicep and going back to pushing the cart, "Oh, I did, Sweet. Big time."

an: please let know what you think! thank you for reading <3 also I'm fixing up a masterlist to organize this! yay!

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Knowing you, knowing how to please you, how to drag you through your battling thoughts and pull you past them onto a floating cloud. Holding on to you as you drift, then slowly, lovingly, pull you down. It had become one of the most rewarding, exciting, beautiful roles Jack had ever had. 

This was a scene not out of emergent necessity or anxiety, but for the love of the play. You sobbing breathlessly for the past ten minutes still counted. 

"God, you sound unbelievably … hypnotic," the drawl of Jack's voice dragged low, breath panting. 

Your whimpers and Ahs have invaded his ears, and he felt like he could stay here, between your legs, for days. Jack hadn't really kept count but it must have been the fourth time he pulled back right before you could cum. You had lost your speech around the second time, babbling and huffing. Edging is the one thing that can get you extremely frustrated, incredibly fast. 

"Hnnn-" whipping your head side to side was all you could do.

Soft fabric wrapped your wrists up above your head, your arms warm and sweaty against your cheeks. Your skin was turning pink up your neck and down your chest, and your gasping turned to moans in every other breath. 

"Tired, Baby?" Jack mumbled with his lips deliberately brushing your wet folds, "Too sensitive?"

Another brush right at your clit and your belly quivered. Jack smiled wide from beneath you, holding your ankles down. "I wonder if you came now, how long you'll keep cumming.."

You groaned hard, almost angry, at his musings, while your hips squirmed against the sheets. "Fuck-"

Jack chuckled lowly, his breath setting your skin ablaze. "Aw, sweet thing, you want to cum so badly, don't you?"

"Yes! God- Please!" you shouted, your voice breaking as tears trailed over your temples.

"Let's have another go, hm? maybe I won't change my mind when we get there, yeah?" Jack barely finished his words before diving back in.

He swiped his tongue, flat and tense, over the entirety of your pussy and you whined long, breath stuttering when his tongue stayed at your clit longer. Wet sounds surrounded the bed as he played you like an instrument, thumb pressure on your clit, tongue on your entrance. Your wetness glistened over the lower half of his face and his hot puffs of air make your thighs shudder. 

"I'll never," Jack paused for another tongue-flick, "ever have enough of this. Fucking delicious, baby."

"Plea- Jack, I'm- I'm close," you begged breathlessly.

"Hmm," he hummed against you in a teasing tone, "am I ready for you to cum…hmmm."

"I'll be good." You exhale, voice hiccuping, "I'll be so good, Jack, Pleas-"

"Oh, you are good," he cooed your name, stroking your thighs, "you've been so good for me. I was just teasing, Sweet. Here, let me make it worth the wait, hm?"

Your jaw dropped soundlessly at the sensation of three rough fingers plunging into you, stretching and tingling all the way up your spine. Tongue becoming forceful, intentional, in it's circling, it had your nerves buzzing. You could barely locate a coherent thought, let alone find a voice to say it. 

The heat built further as Jack's maneuvers sped up, his grip tight on your hipbones keeping you from bucking. Spots of hot light sparked and accumulated at your core, pulsing higher and higher. Your clit throbbed between Jack's lips and everything muffled like cotton in your ears.

"Go on, Baby, show me," Jack purred, picking his head up to slam his fingers harder, faster.

"Ah-Jack! hnn-" you screamed as static enveloped you, vision blurred and spotty. The hight of the crushing wave stayed up, catching your breath and bringing a tremor to your entire form.

"Ohh," Jack smiled, glinting eyes attentively watching you quake through it, "Thaaat's the one."

You whined, low and long, and your knees fell open as the twitching muscles slowly melted. The float overwhelmed you then, tinted your thoughts and covered all sound in hone-

"Honey-sweet," a wet smack sounded as he dipped his fingers into his mouth, tasting you hungrily, "just for me, huh?"

You floated higher, and it was like the pressure was bringing tears to your eyes. You didn't realize you were softly sobbing until you ran out of breath to inhale.

"I got you, baby," Jack crawled up over you, running his hands over your aching arms, "you're ok, you're ok. I'm here."

His rough hands added slight pressure over your forearms and it made you sigh, shoulders relaxing a bit in your effort to breath. Jack caught it and rested his torso at half it's weight against yours, carrying the rest of his weight on his bent arm. His breath was warm when he leaned close, the kiss on your neck was soft and wet, "I'm holding you down, baby, don't be scared." 

You vaguely registered him releasing your wrists from their restraints, holding your arms where they were for a minute so as to not make a sudden movement. Your body softened against the mattress, under his pleasant weight, and Jacks hands gently massaged your arms and wrists. Blinking blearily, vision still fuzzy around the edges, you turned your face towards him. 

"There's my best girl," he whispered, brushing his thumbs across the tears on your cheeks, "You were incredible, sweet, you did so good. Can I clean you up, or do you want to wait?"

A glossy film still covered your eyes, sparkly wet and slow-blinking, and he could see you trying to answer. Then your leg lightly bumped his hip, "I- I want you inside me," you whimpered. 

"Where are we on color, baby?" he mumbled into your skin as he peppered kissed along you collar.

"Green," you breathed, wrapping your arms weekly around his shoulders, "So green, Jack." 

A wicked smirk stretched his cheek and he reached a hand down your belly, "Absolutely drenched, huh? that's what empties out your head, Sweet?"

Leaning in to kiss you, Jack's tongue instantly invading your mouth and twirling behind your teeth. You kissed back lazily, tangling your fingers in his curls and moaning into his mouth. 

"Fuck-" he groaned low when you trapped his bottom lip between yours.

You let out a dazed smile, you do love pressing one of his buttons, and you dug your nails into his nape and shoulders. Jack went for your neck, reigniting the fading colors and gifting you a new set. Red-purple half-circles bloomed under his teeth, the suckling sending waves of goosebumps over you.

You opened your mouth to keep begging, wanting the man inside you so badly, but his mouth took over yours again. Just as your nails gifted his shoulders a set of marks of his own, Jack centered himself right at your slit. Wet slap of his tip on your weeping folds. 

"'S this what you want?" he growled, muffled into your bottom lip, "what you beg me for?"

"Plea- Yes! yes, Jack-" you whined, high and almost petulant, "Fuck me."

The head of his cock spread your entrance, and the slow slow movement almost had you sobbing again, "Fuck's sa-"

"Aw, baby," He crooned as he pushed further in, "gotchu really frustrated, have I?"

Jack groaned, nose against your cheek, as he flexed his hips and pushed faster, "Goddamn heaven in there, can't get enough."

Then his hips fit into place flush against you with a final thrust, length plunging fully inside you. Jaw dropping lax, your eyes rolled up for a moment. He fit perfectly, exactly where he was supposed to be, exactly where you were, too. 

His next groan came out broken, composure fully surrendered, puffs of breath scalding hot on your neck and ear. "You- ah- you ok?"

You intended to say yes, yes please fucking move already, yes I need you to fuck me through the mattress now. But all you could focus on was the blissful cloud you were on because of the stretch of his cock inside you. 

"I love you," you breathed.

His bicep beside you trembled along with his hips, and he growled low in your ear, "I love you." Jack took a slow breath, his hands moving to slowly stroke your hair, gentle thumb against your brow. His molten eyes caught hold of yours and stayed on them as he started to move his hips back, and the sensation made his eyelids flutter. 

One sharp thrust back in, your internal nerves lighting up anew, and you both moaned in unison as your exhales merged in the small space between your faces. 

"I love you," He whispered in the next thrust, firm like he was unsatisfied with saying it once, "I love you." 

Your throat tightened at the break in his voice, like it's pushing to tell you even while the vocal cords are so overwhelmed. Jack placed his open lips on your neck, forehead hot on your cheek, and started a steady pump. "Jack-" you whimpered, tightening your fist in his hair. 

The throbbing surged right back, covering your clit in prickles that stirred with every thrust. You lost track of time in the blissfully repetitive slide of his cock, playing a rhythm your body seems to know better than you. 

"Nice and slow, Sweet," Jack grawled, hoarse with how harsh his breathing was, "you feel so fucking good- mmh-"

The rolling of his hips stayed in continuos loop, gentle and wonderfully igniting, and your breath hitched with every pass over that one spot deep inside you. Whimpers passed your lips as Jack fucked into you, holding you so close the tears prickled again over you lashes.

Jack moved his head up from your neck, running his lips from your jaw to the salty tracks on your cheeks, his breath fervant and his forearm sweaty under you. When his eyes locked onto yours, steady thrusts still rocking you both, he smiled. That gentle open one, the one he doesn't suppress with a pursing of his lips, and his eyes glimmered before you. 

"You wanna cum, baby?" he whispered, "got one more in ya?"

"Hmm-.. close," you rubbed your forehead on his, your heart pounding in your throat.

"Cum with me," Jack grunted, nuzzing his nose over your cheek, "show me how tight you can get."

You moaned, low and broken, and weekly hooked your legs above his hips. The bliss surged from low in your stomach up to your chest, bringing back that buzz in your ears. God, it was like you hadn't stopped cumming since the last orgasm. 

"Ah, Ah- Jack," You didnt know what you were saying at that point, only the cadence of Jack's voice and the scalding heat of him on top of you kept you from completely dissolving into the mattress. 

"I've got all of you, Sweet, let go."

The buzz sang in you ears, static that covered everything around you, and the tide, already high, crashed over you both. Jack's moan broke, breath stuttering and hips trembling. His cock throbbed inside you and pulsed in waved against your sensitive walls.

"Fuck-" 

In moments, Jack caught his breath just enough to drag you into a long kiss. Humming into his lips, you tightened your arms and legs around him, keeping him inside you while the throbbing subsided. 

"You did so good, baby," Jack exhaled against your lips, "So good for me."

Your tightening limbs relaxed gradually during the next long kiss, fingers caressing his hair instead of gripping, legs unlocking to relax on the sheets. You breathed deep and slow, humming with your eyes closed. You felt him starting to rub the muscles of your thighs and hips as he went down your body, his usual check-up. It never failed to make you feel like you were something precious, sacred.

Jack placed a kiss at your right ankle, then reached down to the floor by the bed for the towel and water bottle he had placed there. After gently, reverently, wiping away the sweat and release from between your legs, he climbed back over you. His thumb sweeping a soothing line down your forehead urged you to open your eyes. 

"Drink," he whispered.

Your limbs felt lathargic as you grasped the bottle and took a sip. Handing it back to him, you stretched laguidly atop the sheets, and spread an open hand towards him. There was a specific chill at the surface of your feverish skin that required him to hold you, and he could always tell by the small pout pulling at your lower lip. 

"Come 'here," adjusting himself to your side, Jacks tucked your head atop his shoulder. 

You breathed in his scent, distictly sweat and sex right then, and placed a soft kiss to his collarbone, "I love you."

"I love you too, Sweet," his grin boyish and eyes soft, "tell me again tomorrow."

an: thank you so much for reading! please let me know what you think! I will be setting up a masterlist for this series bc I wanna keep going it's so much fun, and I don't want you to be lost in navigation. ily!

taglist:

Knowing you, knowing how to please you, how to drag you through your battling thoughts and pull you past them onto a floating cloud. Holding on to you as you drift, then slowly, lovingly, pull you down. It had become one of the most rewarding, exciting, beautiful roles Jack had ever had. 

This was a scene not out of emergent necessity or anxiety, but for the love of the play. You sobbing breathlessly for the past ten minutes still counted. 

"God, you sound unbelievably … hypnotic," the drawl of Jack's voice dragged low, breath panting. 

Your whimpers and Ahs have invaded his ears, and he felt like he could stay here, between your legs, for days. Jack hadn't really kept count but it must have been the fourth time he pulled back right before you could cum. You had lost your speech around the second time, babbling and huffing. Edging is the one thing that can get you extremely frustrated, incredibly fast. 

"Hnnn-" whipping your head side to side was all you could do.

Soft fabric wrapped your wrists up above your head, your arms warm and sweaty against your cheeks. Your skin was turning pink up your neck and down your chest, and your gasping turned to moans in every other breath. 

"Tired, Baby?" Jack mumbled with his lips deliberately brushing your wet folds, "Too sensitive?"

Another brush right at your clit and your belly quivered. Jack smiled wide from beneath you, holding your ankles down. "I wonder if you came now, how long you'll keep cumming.."

You groaned hard, almost angry, at his musings, while your hips squirmed against the sheets. "Fuck-"

Jack chuckled lowly, his breath setting your skin ablaze. "Aw, sweet thing, you want to cum so badly, don't you?"

"Yes! God- Please!" you shouted, your voice breaking as tears trailed over your temples.

"Let's have another go, hm? maybe I won't change my mind when we get there, yeah?" Jack barely finished his words before diving back in.

He swiped his tongue, flat and tense, over the entirety of your pussy and you whined long, breath stuttering when his tongue stayed at your clit longer. Wet sounds surrounded the bed as he played you like an instrument, thumb pressure on your clit, tongue on your entrance. Your wetness glistened over the lower half of his face and his hot puffs of air make your thighs shudder. 

"I'll never," Jack paused for another tongue-flick, "ever have enough of this. Fucking delicious, baby."

"Plea- Jack, I'm- I'm close," you begged breathlessly.

"Hmm," he hummed against you in a teasing tone, "am I ready for you to cum…hmmm."

"I'll be good." You exhale, voice hiccuping, "I'll be so good, Jack, Pleas-"

"Oh, you are good," he cooed your name, stroking your thighs, "you've been so good for me. I was just teasing, Sweet. Here, let me make it worth the wait, hm?"

Your jaw dropped soundlessly at the sensation of three rough fingers plunging into you, stretching and tingling all the way up your spine. Tongue becoming forceful, intentional, in it's circling, it had your nerves buzzing. You could barely locate a coherent thought, let alone find a voice to say it. 

The heat built further as Jack's maneuvers sped up, his grip tight on your hipbones keeping you from bucking. Spots of hot light sparked and accumulated at your core, pulsing higher and higher. Your clit throbbed between Jack's lips and everything muffled like cotton in your ears.

"Go on, Baby, show me," Jack purred, picking his head up to slam his fingers harder, faster.

"Ah-Jack! hnn-" you screamed as static enveloped you, vision blurred and spotty. The hight of the crushing wave stayed up, catching your breath and bringing a tremor to your entire form.

"Ohh," Jack smiled, glinting eyes attentively watching you quake through it, "Thaaat's the one."

You whined, low and long, and your knees fell open as the twitching muscles slowly melted. The float overwhelmed you then, tinted your thoughts and covered all sound in hone-

"Honey-sweet," a wet smack sounded as he dipped his fingers into his mouth, tasting you hungrily, "just for me, huh?"

You floated higher, and it was like the pressure was bringing tears to your eyes. You didn't realize you were softly sobbing until you ran out of breath to inhale.

"I got you, baby," Jack crawled up over you, running his hands over your aching arms, "you're ok, you're ok. I'm here."

His rough hands added slight pressure over your forearms and it made you sigh, shoulders relaxing a bit in your effort to breath. Jack caught it and rested his torso at half it's weight against yours, carrying the rest of his weight on his bent arm. His breath was warm when he leaned close, the kiss on your neck was soft and wet, "I'm holding you down, baby, don't be scared." 

You vaguely registered him releasing your wrists from their restraints, holding your arms where they were for a minute so as to not make a sudden movement. Your body softened against the mattress, under his pleasant weight, and Jacks hands gently massaged your arms and wrists. Blinking blearily, vision still fuzzy around the edges, you turned your face towards him. 

"There's my best girl," he whispered, brushing his thumbs across the tears on your cheeks, "You were incredible, sweet, you did so good. Can I clean you up, or do you want to wait?"

A glossy film still covered your eyes, sparkly wet and slow-blinking, and he could see you trying to answer. Then your leg lightly bumped his hip, "I- I want you inside me," you whimpered. 

"Where are we on color, baby?" he mumbled into your skin as he peppered kissed along you collar.

"Green," you breathed, wrapping your arms weekly around his shoulders, "So green, Jack." 

A wicked smirk stretched his cheek and he reached a hand down your belly, "Absolutely drenched, huh? that's what empties out your head, Sweet?"

Leaning in to kiss you, Jack's tongue instantly invading your mouth and twirling behind your teeth. You kissed back lazily, tangling your fingers in his curls and moaning into his mouth. 

"Fuck-" he groaned low when you trapped his bottom lip between yours.

You let out a dazed smile, you do love pressing one of his buttons, and you dug your nails into his nape and shoulders. Jack went for your neck, reigniting the fading colors and gifting you a new set. Red-purple half-circles bloomed under his teeth, the suckling sending waves of goosebumps over you.

You opened your mouth to keep begging, wanting the man inside you so badly, but his mouth took over yours again. Just as your nails gifted his shoulders a set of marks of his own, Jack centered himself right at your slit. Wet slap of his tip on your weeping folds. 

"'S this what you want?" he growled, muffled into your bottom lip, "what you beg me for?"

"Plea- Yes! yes, Jack-" you whined, high and almost petulant, "Fuck me."

The head of his cock spread your entrance, and the slow slow movement almost had you sobbing again, "Fuck's sa-"

"Aw, baby," He crooned as he pushed further in, "gotchu really frustrated, have I?"

Jack groaned, nose against your cheek, as he flexed his hips and pushed faster, "Goddamn heaven in there, can't get enough."

Then his hips fit into place flush against you with a final thrust, length plunging fully inside you. Jaw dropping lax, your eyes rolled up for a moment. He fit perfectly, exactly where he was supposed to be, exactly where you were, too. 

His next groan came out broken, composure fully surrendered, puffs of breath scalding hot on your neck and ear. "You- ah- you ok?"

You intended to say yes, yes please fucking move already, yes I need you to fuck me through the mattress now. But all you could focus on was the blissful cloud you were on because of the stretch of his cock inside you. 

"I love you," you breathed.

His bicep beside you trembled along with his hips, and he growled low in your ear, "I love you." Jack took a slow breath, his hands moving to slowly stroke your hair, gentle thumb against your brow. His molten eyes caught hold of yours and stayed on them as he started to move his hips back, and the sensation made his eyelids flutter. 

One sharp thrust back in, your internal nerves lighting up anew, and you both moaned in unison as your exhales merged in the small space between your faces. 

"I love you," He whispered in the next thrust, firm like he was unsatisfied with saying it once, "I love you." 

Your throat tightened at the break in his voice, like it's pushing to tell you even while the vocal cords are so overwhelmed. Jack placed his open lips on your neck, forehead hot on your cheek, and started a steady pump. "Jack-" you whimpered, tightening your fist in his hair. 

The throbbing surged right back, covering your clit in prickles that stirred with every thrust. You lost track of time in the blissfully repetitive slide of his cock, playing a rhythm your body seems to know better than you. 

"Nice and slow, Sweet," Jack grawled, hoarse with how harsh his breathing was, "you feel so fucking good- mmh-"

The rolling of his hips stayed in continuos loop, gentle and wonderfully igniting, and your breath hitched with every pass over that one spot deep inside you. Whimpers passed your lips as Jack fucked into you, holding you so close the tears prickled again over you lashes.

Jack moved his head up from your neck, running his lips from your jaw to the salty tracks on your cheeks, his breath fervant and his forearm sweaty under you. When his eyes locked onto yours, steady thrusts still rocking you both, he smiled. That gentle open one, the one he doesn't suppress with a pursing of his lips, and his eyes glimmered before you. 

"You wanna cum, baby?" he whispered, "got one more in ya?"

"Hmm-.. close," you rubbed your forehead on his, your heart pounding in your throat.

"Cum with me," Jack grunted, nuzzing his nose over your cheek, "show me how tight you can get."

You moaned, low and broken, and weekly hooked your legs above his hips. The bliss surged from low in your stomach up to your chest, bringing back that buzz in your ears. God, it was like you hadn't stopped cumming since the last orgasm. 

"Ah, Ah- Jack," You didnt know what you were saying at that point, only the cadence of Jack's voice and the scalding heat of him on top of you kept you from completely dissolving into the mattress. 

"I've got all of you, Sweet, let go."

The buzz sang in you ears, static that covered everything around you, and the tide, already high, crashed over you both. Jack's moan broke, breath stuttering and hips trembling. His cock throbbed inside you and pulsed in waved against your sensitive walls.

"Fuck-" 

In moments, Jack caught his breath just enough to drag you into a long kiss. Humming into his lips, you tightened your arms and legs around him, keeping him inside you while the throbbing subsided. 

"You did so good, baby," Jack exhaled against your lips, "So good for me."

Your tightening limbs relaxed gradually during the next long kiss, fingers caressing his hair instead of gripping, legs unlocking to relax on the sheets. You breathed deep and slow, humming with your eyes closed. You felt him starting to rub the muscles of your thighs and hips as he went down your body, his usual check-up. It never failed to make you feel like you were something precious, sacred.

Jack placed a kiss at your right ankle, then reached down to the floor by the bed for the towel and water bottle he had placed there. After gently, reverently, wiping away the sweat and release from between your legs, he climbed back over you. His thumb sweeping a soothing line down your forehead urged you to open your eyes. 

"Drink," he whispered.

Your limbs felt lathargic as you grasped the bottle and took a sip. Handing it back to him, you stretched laguidly atop the sheets, and spread an open hand towards him. There was a specific chill at the surface of your feverish skin that required him to hold you, and he could always tell by the small pout pulling at your lower lip. 

"Come 'here," adjusting himself to your side, Jacks tucked your head atop his shoulder. 

You breathed in his scent, distictly sweat and sex right then, and placed a soft kiss to his collarbone, "I love you."

"I love you too, Sweet," his grin boyish and eyes soft, "tell me again tomorrow."

an: thank you so much for reading! please let me know what you think! I will be setting up a masterlist for this series bc I wanna keep going it's so much fun, and I don't want you to be lost in navigation. ily!

taglist:

SET AFTER:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

PREQUEL TO:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Every year on the third of October Brendon visits the Pittsburgh Zoo & Aquarium. He walks past the lions, the tigers, the giraffes and the elephants, heading straight towards the huge glass tunnel that houses the sharks. He spends a couple of hours there watching the blacktips and the zebras swim overhead, roaming the tunnel back and before he leaves and clocks in for an evening shift at the PTMC.

This year though, this year it’s different.

It’s the first time he’s brought you to the aquarium, and instead of wandering the tunnel alone lost in his thoughts, he finds himself with explaining all the silly little details he’s come to learn throughout the years about the creatures that captured his son’s heart.

“Toby forced me to learn everything about these things.” He reveals as you stand in the centre of the tunnel with your head tilted back, watching a tiger shark swim it’s way over you. The expression on your face is one of wonderment and it takes him back to the days he used to come here with his son, his tiny hand reaching up as if to stroke its belly. “We’d lie in our sleeping bags on the floor of our living room, watching the discovery channel documentaries until he fell asleep.”

He smiles affectionately at the thought, a dull ache blossoming in his chest. Memories like this, they used to hurt all the time when he was alone. Now they’re things he can look on fondly. Snapshots of the time he had with his son, instead of mourning the loss. “He used to love just watching the big sharks and the little sharks swim together, he used to point them out and say ‘look daddy, it’s us’.”

“He sounds like a very special little boy.” Your fingers entwining with his as you continue your journey through the tunnel, the water shimmering as the sharks glide past.

“He was.” Brendon says, clearing his throat against the ball of emotion that’s unspooling in his chest. “He was the very best kid but then again I’m biased.”

Your lips tug up into a smile, and that pain it’s replaced with something else. Sharing these parts of himself with you, it heals him in a way he couldn’t fathom before. He always thought he was honouring his son by keeping his memories held close to his chest but he realises now that he was grieving, that they were too big to process so he locked them away. Then you barged in right into his life in that bossy way of yours and jammed the key into the lock, and now…

Now he can talk about his kid again.

“There’s something I have to do before we leave.” He tells you, tilting his head towards the donor wall. Empathy and understanding cross your features as you squeeze his hand before letting go.

“Take your time.” You say before jerking your thumb back towards the tunnel.  “I’m kinda digging the vibe in there so I’m going to do another walk through. You know where I am if you need me.”

He waits until you’ve disappeared into the shark infested waters before he faces the plagues lining the donor wall. Toby’s used to be the only one but now it’s a collection of cast bronze with dozens of names etched into them. It brings him comfort to know that is son is amongst friends in that way, that he’s probably talking the ear off other shark enthusiasts.

He finds his own plague, the one he had made almost a decade ago. It’s been well maintained over the years, cleaned daily. He appreciates that more than he can admit. It means that Toby hasn’t been forgotten that he’s still as treasured as the days he walked these halls spouting off facts.

His fingertips run over the letters, tracing over the carvings as he smiles softly at the words.

In loving memory of Tobias Park – the original Baby Shark.

“Happy Birthday, kid.” He whispers, his voice barely more than a rasp as his eyes start to prick. “Daddy still misses you every single day.”

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

There is exactly one sound on earth known to make Emergency Department attending physicians with decades of experience under their belt run for the hills and cower under cover – and that’s high heels.

Your high heels, specifically.

It’s not a common sound in the emergency room or the hospital as a whole; most healthcare employees are in sneakers, clogs, or boots the entire time they’re clocked in. But not you. Always dressed pristinely – today it’s high-waisted tailored slacks and a mock-neck sleeveless blouse, effortless and simple with legs that go on for miles and miles – you stalk through the hospital with a mission.

Robby spots you first, strolling in from the offices with eyeliner sharp enough to slice. As his eyes widen, he flips around, briefly touches Abbot and Park on their backs, and hisses, “Find cover, gentlemen. It’s the Viper.”

Abbot breaks into a near run toward the closest open patient room he can find. While Robby scans the area for his hiding place, Park asks, “What the hell’s going on?”

Robby hustles in the opposite direction with a shrug. “Every man for himself, Shark.”

Then a bright, clear, loud woman’s voice bowls down the ED like an oncoming storm. “Dr. Park, just the man I’ve been looking for.”

Even Al-Hashimi claps him on the back and runs off with a whispered, “Good luck.”

You join him in the next second. In your heels, which aren’t even that tall, you’re looking him square in the eyes. Smiling through lips coated in a deep maroon, you ask him, “How’s the transfer to the ED treating you, doctor?”

Arms crossed over his chest, Brendon eyes you suspiciously. “Ah, good, so far. I prefer trauma to ortho. The stakes are higher. Feels good at the end of the day. Accomplished.”

“Glad to hear it. I just need a couple minutes; I know you’re busy. Can we talk here or would you like to go to my office?”

Not noticing the way every single doctor and nurse is nervously glancing in your direction, Brendon mutters, “Here’s fine if it’s quick.”

“Great!” You unlock your briefcase on the nurse’s station and remove a binder as thick as a textbook. Voice still sweet and teasing, you tut at him, “You’ve made yourself very difficult for me to find, Brendon Park.”

“I’m usually in surgery,” he replies, confused and suspicious. He vaguely recognizes you from somewhere, but he can’t quite place it. Probably just flitting around the ED when he’s been here for consults, but it’s entirely possible you’re the hot woman on PTMC’s billboard over I-376. “What’s this about?”

You introduce yourself, shaking his massive hand with yours (blood red stiletto manicure and all), and explain, “I’m the Emergency Department’s Patient Advocate Supervisor.”

“Ah,” Park sighs, eyes raking up and down your accentuated curves, “you’re my new Kevin. He was a huge pain in my ass; I hope our relationship will be better.”

“No, Kevin is a patient advocate and a damn good one, considering he had to deal with your mountain of issues; ortho’s equivalent of me is an idiot who lets the monkeys run the circus,” you correct with harsh eyes. All pretense of pleasantness gone. Brendon looks at you like you’re speaking Klingon, so you slow down your words like he’s a child and explain, “The patient advocates give their evaluations to me. I analyze them and write reports on each and every doctor in the department.”

His brows furrow. “I thought that was Gloria’s-”

“I don’t work for the hospital,” you say, offended by the very idea. “Hospital employees are beholden to the board and the bottom line. I’m a medical malpractice lawyer that the hospital contracts from a private firm to whip their doctors into shape. I don’t care about anything but how patients get treated while they’re here in the ED. I’m more than happy to testify against you in court, recommend probations and suspensions, advocate for salary cuts, or whatever else you might need to be a little more motivated to do your fucking job.”

He lets out a defensive half-chuckle sound, not quite believing the way you’re speaking to him when he’s used to nothing but deference from his coworkers. “I do my job just fine.”

You tap the thick binder and say, “This is your disciplinary folder, Dr. Park. You cut up patients just fine – and that’s an apt description, considering your outcomes aren’t any better than the other surgeons you treat like imbeciles despite doing identical work to yours.” He scoffs and goes to argue, but you barrel ahead, “Don’t ever interrupt me and don’t ever try to correct me; I don’t say things unless I’m completely certain they’re backed up by the data.”

With wide eyes, Brendon confirms, “That’s my file?”

“Yes. You have more patient complaints than any other surgeon in the hospital. I had to switch it from a folder because it has so many entries your previous PAS didn’t go through, so now I have to deal with a two-year backlog. She didn’t do her job of keeping you in line and I won’t be repeating her mistake. Your luck has run out; I expect you in my office at five this Friday for a comprehensive review of your existing file and every Friday after that until your performance improves.”

With his mind reeling, all Brendon can get out is, “Ah, I usually head out early on Fridays. Do a long surgery in the morning and get home by three or four.”

“I know that; I have your schedule history.” With a pat to his shoulder, you smile and tell him, “I want you to spend every weekend from now on thinking about how fucking annoying it is that some bitch from legal won’t let you leave the hospital until seven – and remember that it’s your own fault for being an asshole to patients and it’ll end as soon as you try to be nice and smile for once.”

Slack-jawed, Brendon just watches as you turn on your red-soled heels and head toward your next victim. After a couple of steps, though, you turn back toward him and add, “Oh, and welcome to the Emergency Department. I’m sure you’ll fit right in.”

And all that’s left of you is a waft of warm, citrusy perfume. Park leans against the nurse’s station and breathes out slowly as the other attendings gradually reappear. Baffled, he just shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair. “What the fuck?”

Robby slaps him on the back. “A good public reaming by the Viper is a rite of passage in the Pitt; you were bound to get your first one sometime. You’re one of us now.”

Feeling dizzy and breathless, Brendon says softly but confidently, “I’m gonna marry that woman.”

Robby shakes his head and snorts out a laugh, “That’s a fucked up thing to say.”

“No, no, I can see it,” Jack cuts in, chuckling too. “You’d have the tallest, smartest, meanest children around.”

“I’m serious,” Park insists. A smile threatens his lips. “Give me six months, boys, and I’ll have a ring on that finger.”

“Not a chance in hell,” Robby replies simply. “I heard she dumped her last boyfriend because he polished her shoes with the wrong rag. She doesn’t want a man; she wants a whipping boy.”

Brendon looks between them both and sighs almost wistfully. “A girl like that? I’d let her whip me any time she wanted to, especially if I ruined her $1,000 heels.”

It’s Jack’s turn to laugh. Shaking his head as he grabs a new chart, he mutters, “Something is deeply wrong with you, man.”

That evening, Park waits around your office for you to leave, hustling behind you when you stroll past in your stylish knee-length coat, ready to brave the autumn air. You see him in the corner of your eye and hold up a hand. “Whatever it is, it can wait until morning.”

“No, no, I don’t need anything,” he assures, quickening his pace to match step with your relentless one. “I think we got off on the wrong foot back there, Ms. Viper.”

You cut him a smirk. “Based on your file, I have a sneaking suspicion that’s how things usually go for you.”

“Well, I’d like to apologize for making your life so difficult over dinner and expensive wine.”

You stop in your tracks and turn around; he nearly barrels into you as he stops short. “Are you seriously asking me out on a date right now?”

“Yeah, I absolutely am. Are you saying yes?”

“Wow, you really do have all the social grace of a baboon.” With your hand on his chest, you give him the cruelest and most effortlessly dismissive laugh he’s ever heard, like he’s a snail by your foot and not an attractive, successful doctor. It makes him shiver. “You’re punching above your weight class, Dr. Park.”

But he just gives you a hunky grin, undeterred. “I can bench almost twice what I weigh; how much bigger do I need to get to take you out?”

You chuckle and reply, “Lift a thousand pounds with one hand.”

“No problem; give me two days.”

Trying to push down how charming he is, you turn at the entrance to the parking garage and tell him simply, “I’ll see you on Friday for your review.”

“Perfect.” He nods and, like it’s an assignment, confirms, “I’ll be done by then for sure.”

Friday afternoon, right on time, Brendon knocks on your office door. He pushes it open when you call for him to and slips inside with the air of a child who knows he’s in trouble.

“Sit,” you order, nodding to the chairs on the opposite side of your desk. He does so right away, clearly waiting to hear what you have to say instead of jumping into something himself. You set the contents of his disciplinary file on the desk and gesture to the piles. “Well, your reputation certainly precedes you, Dr. Park.”

He tries out a smirk to keep some semblance of confidence. “Not the first time I’ve heard that.”

You tilt your head and narrow your eyes. “Been a bully your whole life, then?”

“I meant more that-”

“Yeah, I’m not stupid.” You show him each of the three piles of paperwork and explain, “Since you started in the ED, I’ve been sorting through the complaints against you. This tallest stack is complaints I can handle myself without your help or where your help would only make things worse.”

“What does that mean?”

You level him with a gaze so stern it makes him squirm. “Ones where the problem was your personality, basically.”

“Brutal.”

“Like you.” When he hears himself in your words, Brendon doesn’t like it. For maybe the first time in his life, he questions his own behavior. So it sounds like an opportunity when you go on, “This one is complaints that I’ll have to pass on to the review board if you refuse to help me resolve the problems.”

After pinching the bridge of his nose, he taps the smallest stack of two thick documents held together by binder clips. “And this one?”

You sigh and tell him, “These two are going to the review board no matter what.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, turns out that-” you show him the cover page of each complaint “-pressuring parents into high-risk surgeries for their child isn’t very nice.”

“Well,” he bites back, still pushing up against his over-groomed ego, “being a good doctor isn’t about being nice.”

“You’re right.” You match his intensity. “It’s about effective patient care, which is impossible if your patients don’t trust you.”

Gesturing like he’s trying to find the right words to grab, he argues, “The kid would’ve died without the surgery.”

You let out a harsh laugh. “And when you gave a blood transfusion to a Jehovah’s Witness?”

“They came in unconscious and had no identification of their religious status.” He throws his hands up defensively. “Could not possibly be construed as misconduct.”

“Clearly the complainant disagrees.” You sigh and lean back in your chair, fuse burning short at his constant belligerence. “Look, Brendon. Your surgical work is fine – good, even – but your bedside manner is nothing short of atrocious. You don’t spend enough time getting informed consent, you don’t listen to concerns, and you regularly exhibit disrespect to patients and other doctors. Now, I understand that surgeons receive more complaints than other specialties – less face time with patients, uncertainty about post-op results, all that. But you, doctor, are a true outlier among outliers. And if you want to keep your job at this hospital, then you need to cooperate with me in resolving these complaints.”

Your words hang heavy in the air for a minute. Brendon hates that you know exactly how to deliver a monologue that makes him feel like he’s in the time-out corner and absolutely deserves it. There’s never been a coworker – or a woman, frankly – who’s put him in his place like this. Finally sounding on the border of humble, he asks, “What the hell am I supposed to do?”

“Whatever I say.”

“In practical terms, please.”

You can’t help but let out a laugh at his pouty tone. “You’re going to take mornings off surgery for the next two weeks to meet with aggrieved former patients. You will listen, you will sincerely apologize, and you will agree with every single thing I say to convince them not to escalate.”

His eyes widen and he balks, “You seriously expect me to not do surgery?”

“My proposal has already been cleared by hospital administration and the meetings are scheduled. I’ll add them to your calendar.”

Reaching for anything to get out of what he imagines would be the worst thing on earth – trapped with a gorgeous, cruel woman who hates him and a jilted patient – Brendon mutters pathetically, “I thought we weren’t supposed to apologize to patients for fuckups.”

“That’s a myth and one that makes my life way more annoying on a regular basis.” You rifle through some papers on the cabinet behind your desk and hand him a pamphlet on malpractice, explaining, “Physician apologies cannot be used to demonstrate guilt in a court of law and they’re actually the number one reason patients agree to mediation and ultimately drop complaints.”

Brendon absently flips through the pamphlet, trying to resign himself to his fate. “What do I do, then?”

“Come to my office first thing in the morning,” you start, giving him a ‘don’t you dare’ look when he opens his mouth to crack a joke about that. “Wear a light-colored button-down and your white coat. Mousse your hair instead of gelling it so it’s soft. Practice looking like a human being in the mirror.”

Once again, his expression turns to a mix of offense and dread, scoffing, “What, like I’m a murderer trying to convince a jury I’m not a psycho? The damn Menendez brothers in their pastel fucking sweaters?”

You can’t help laughing at the irony. “Brendon, listen to yourself.”

He sighs heavily and runs his fingers through his end-of-day-loose hair. “Christ, I really am an asshole, aren’t I?”

“Acceptance is the first step in recovery,” you lilt. Then you pick up a few of the files and say, “Now, let’s go over the meetings I have lined up for Monday morning. The more prepared you are for what they’re going to say, the better we can handle it.” Watching him tentatively take the first file and read over it with furrowed brows, you go on, much softer, “I know everyone at the hospital thinks I’m a bitch – and, to be fair, I am – but it’s only because I want your patients to have a good experience with you. When your patients view you as competent and trustworthy, they’ll return to you for care, they’ll follow instructions better, and ultimately your outcomes will improve. So just work with me here and we’ll get this figured out.”

He nods slowly, guilt trickling into his veins as he actually reads over the details of the complaints for the first time. Patients who felt dismissed, who didn’t understand his decisions, who ended up with post-op complications they didn’t feel comfortable bringing up. After what feels like forever, his voice lowers and you see a flicker of humility in his eyes. “Yeah, okay. I trust you. I don’t-” He swallows hard, averts his eyes, and manages to admit, “I don’t want to be the kind of doctor people avoid. I want to be better.”

You reach across the desk and give his forearm and small, affirming squeeze. When you smile at him earnestly for the first time, it makes his heart flutter a little too embarrassingly for him to acknowledge. “That’s all I need to hear for us to work together.”

The two of you make it through reviewing the first week’s-worth of low-level complaints by seven, going back and forth to understand his perspective, the patient’s, and the advocate’s. You hate to admit it, but when Brendon actually accepts that there’s a problem and gets determined to fix it, he’s…good. He cares. He has the work ethic of an ox and you can tell he’s the kind of man who needs to right his wrongs.

It doesn’t hurt that most of the complaints against him have to do with him being hard-headed, not incompetent or malicious, usually bulldozing patients because he’s right and wants to do the best he can. Not like some of the ED doctors who have fewer complaints that are much more serious. You know he just needs to find the balance of that skill and confidence with communication and understanding. He’ll be the best of the hospital if he can do that.

Your watch beeps at seven, interrupting the flow of your conversation. You stand up first to make it clear that Brendon’s officially free, saying, “Thank you for coming in and for your understanding. You can do this.”

As you collect your things and he does the same, he ensures, “So we’re done for now?”

“Yeah, we are. You can head out.”

“Great.” He opens up your office door to let you walk through and says seriously, “Let’s circle back on that conversation we had earlier this week now that we’re off the clock. Would you like to go on a date with me?”

You laugh and shake your head. “Your biceps aren’t looking any stronger since we last went over this; sure you’re ready to lift that thousand pounds for me?”

All cocky again, he whistles and muses, “So you have noticed how big my arms are.”

You nudge him in the arm with your elbow as he falls into step next to you. “I’ve noticed your scrub tops are a size too small, yes.”

“God, you are far and away the most brutal, beautiful  woman I’ve ever seen and I can tell you’d sucker punch a bear if it didn’t mind its manners,” he absolutely swoons. While you try not to smile, he goes on, looking for all the world like he’s about to break into song, “I’m smitten over here. I’ll take you somewhere nice, dress up like a gentleman, the whole damn thing. What do you say?”

“I only date doctors with a patient satisfaction score in the double digits, Brendon.”

“God, my name sounds so good in your mouth it’s like this is the first time I’m hearing it. You can make the meanest insult sound like a song. What a gift.” While you laugh and push out of the hospital’s front door toward the parking garages, he follows behind you like a puppy and goes on, “Plus, I know for a fact my patient satisfaction score is 51 because Robby was thrilled to have a doctor who scored lower than his 65. I’m proud of that.”

With an eye roll, you remind him, “You really shouldn’t be.”

“And you really should go on a date with me. I’d treat you so well; you have no idea,” he insists as you walk through the parking garage toward your reserved spot halfway down the first row. “I’d lick this garage floor right now if you’d let me open your car door for you.”

You stop next to a sexy little silver Miata and snicker, “I’ll let you do that today, but only because I have my hands full.” Brendon immediately drops to his knees and bends toward the ground with his tongue out, making you shriek out a laugh and smack him with your purse. You cover your smile with your hand and chastise, “You’re horrifying.”

“And you’re just a few more interactions from falling in love with me.” He stands up with a satisfied, goofy grin that’s far too boyishly charming for his features and opens your car door, stepping back and gesturing with a flourish. “Get home safe, beautiful.”

You slide into the front seat, settle your belongings, and tell him, “If you smile like that at your patients, you might actually have a chance with me, big guy.”

He salutes and promises, “I’ll spend the whole weekend practicing for you.”

The whole ride home, you have to keep forcibly wiping the school-girl smile from your face. You’re totally aware that Brendon Park can 1000% wear you down. Definitely not your usual type with his wolfish smile and domineering attitude, but gorgeous, broad, and just cocky enough to turn you on without intimidating you.

The problem is that his very existence is an annoyance to you. If you were going to date a doctor in the ED, it would be Abbot, who seems to actually give a shit about making your job easier and treating his patients like people and not puzzles. Shen is by far too happy and Al Hashimi is too sweet. Robby repulses you on a visceral level for more reasons than you can name.

But Brendon Park? He’s a big question mark for you. All you know about him is from his file, which doesn’t paint a particularly flattering picture. When he talks and smiles, though, you can sense a sweetness in him that he doesn’t show often. Maybe that means he can open up and be better – but you doubt it.

That flicker of hope in your gut? You aren’t sure whether to stoke it or blow it out.

You fully expect Brendon to drop his crusade to go out with you after a couple of rejections. He could have any girl he wanted with a snap of his fingers, you’re sure, so there’s no way he’d keep going for someone as off-putting and crass as you. Especially after two full weeks of morning meetings that essentially consist of you bending him over and letting patients spank him red, you’d guessed that his interest would fizzle out into something more akin to begrudging tolerance.

But no.

Brendon Park is not a man easily dissuaded.

Every time you spend two hours on Friday afternoon verbally beating the shit out of him so he’ll become a better doctor, he inevitably goes through the same routine.

“Go out with me, gorgeous, I’m begging you,” he tries again. His latest addition to the song and dance is insisting on carrying your file box and briefcase out to your car because, quote, ‘your manicure is too sexy to risk chipping.’ Sticking right by your side, he swears, “I’ll get on my knees right now if you just say yes.”

You meet his too-pretty blue eyes and insist, knowing it’s only about 40% true now, “Not in a million years.”

“No problem,” he beams, “I’ll wait a million and one just to sweep the floor in front of you so you don’t get any scuffs on those designer shoes.”

“Cute, but how about you start working on that list of calls for me instead? Give me an update the next time you see me.”

“Oh, I’m already on it,” he assures like a dog showing off a new trick and hoping for a cookie, “but if it gets me another single solitary second breathing in that perfume of yours, I’ll go double time.”

You roll your eyes and ignore it – but you’re smiling, and that’s enough for Brendon.

By the time you and Brendon are on the last week of his patient apology tour, your resolve is about as strong as a toothpick. He’s bringing you coffee and pastries every single morning, just setting them on your desk without a word while the two of you prep. He always compliments not only what you’re wearing but the little details alongside it – your perfume’s top notes, the shade of your lipstick, the way your earrings catch the light. With every ounce of his earnest affection, he can tell your resolve is wearing very, very thin, but it’s definitely still there. He can smell the blood in the water even if he isn’t quite sure when or how to make the final strike.

Brendon figures out his plan of attack because of the wisdom of one Dana Evans.

You’re working on the floor of the ED today because a nasty bug has taken out two of your patient advocates. In picking up their workload, you end up floating through Brendon’s peripheral vision all day. For everyone else, you’re the viper who might bite their neck at any turn. But, for Brendon, it’s like, well, the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen is just there for him to gaze at in between surgeries.

While going over plans with him and a few nurses, Garcia turns to him and offers, “One of my friends wants me to set her up with a doctor and I said I’d try. Park, you’re single, right? She’s funny, pretty, successful. Maybe a little nice for you, but you never know.”

Brendon smirks, glancing in your direction, and answers, “I’m single, but I’m not available.”

Princess rolls her eyes and cuts in for the sake of the gossip: “What the hell does that mean, Shark?”

“I’ve got a girl in mind,” he replies easily, voice smooth and cool as a saxophone. “Got a feeling she’s finally gonna give me a shot soon.”

Garcia faux-gasps. “You’re groveling for a girl? You know you’re, like, eight feet tall, buff, and rich, right?”

“And that means there’s nothing sexier than a woman who needs to be courted.”

“Ew.”

Absently listening to the exchange, Dana glances up at him over the rims of her glasses. “You’re cock-blocking yourself with her, Park, you know that, right?”

Princess looks between Park and Dana, beyond nose, and presses, “With who, exactly? This girl works at the hospital?”

“The Viper,” Dana explains like that’s not some top-shelf, high-value chisme. “He’s been trying to get her to go out with him for weeks now. It’s obvious.”

Garcia’s mouth falls open in horror. “You like her?!”

“Shut up,” Brendon hisses, nervous about the potential of you overhearing just a few feet over. He narrows in on Dana and demands, “What do you mean? I’ve never put more effort into trying to convince a girl to date me.”

“Kid, she likes you already. She laughs at your bad jokes and she squeezes your arm like it’s a prize tenderloin she’s thinking about buying. She wants to go out with you.” Staring him down from over her glasses, Dana explains, “But you know what’s not attractive? Being the reason she had to work overtime almost every day this month. You wanna go on a date with someone after you spend four hours defending them to angry patients and lawyers?

This isn’t some playground back in the ‘90s when we tried to convince girls it was cute for a boy to pull her pigtails or tease her. A lady like that expects better for herself. You’re clearing all these complaints for her, but, in the meantime, you’re collecting plenty of new ones. Bring her all the coffees and donuts you want, but until you’re a guy she can actually rely on to make her life better instead of worse, it’s a lost cause.”

“Damn, Evans.” Brendon lets out a long, slow breath, watching you talk with a patient using those soft eyes you don’t give to anyone else. God, you’re so beautiful it aches. The harshness of you and the softness, too. With a sharp nod, plan solidifying in his mind, Brendon claps Dana on the shoulder and says, “Heard.”

After the very last patient from the backlog of Brendon’s complaint file leaves your office, you stretch your arms above your head, down the last of your coffee, and tell him, “Congratulations, Dr. Park. You’re officially rid of me until you get a brand new complaint – so, I’m guessing I’ll see you this afternoon?”

With a shit-eating grin, he muses, “Oh, you haven’t heard?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Heard what?”

Shrugging like it’s easy and obvious, he explains, “I’m not gonna get a single complaint this month.”

You bark out a sharp laugh and start preparing for your next meeting. “For the first time in your career? Is that so?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he vows, almost somber in his conviction. “I’ve got a brand new wave of motivation.”

You lean forward and balance your chin in your hands like you’re tuning in for a gossip session. “Do tell.”

“Turns out my bad behavior has a direct negative effect on the girl I like, so I’ve gotta shape up if I want to make her mine.”

Your heart flutters and you unintentionally bite your lower lip before catching yourself and admonishing your brain for responding to something so…so…charming. As he leans in your doorway, lingering instead of leaving, you ask, “And what do you think the odds are on that?”

“Oh, they’re astronomical.” Sounding positively wistful, he gazes at you affectionately and continues, “She never gives me the time of day and she scares the shit out of me; it’s the most amazing thing that she still absolutely knocks my socks off. I’ve got no idea what the hell’s wrong with me when it comes to her.”

“Yeah, me neither,” you giggle. Fuck, you didn’t mean for it to come out as a giggle. Shaking your head and averting your eyes to your computer because the embarrassment of being caught feeling all flirty and cute is too much, you say,  “Get back to the ED, Brendon; I’ve got my next meathead doctor in a few minutes.”

“No problem, gorgeous, but I’ve gotta tell you one more thing, though.”

You look back at him, careful to keep your face together and not too wooed. “What’s that?”

He steps forward and leans over your desk, hands planted on the tabletop. His eyes bore into yours. “My odds may not be good, but they’re not zero. And that minuscule chance? That keeps me going. You’ve just gotta give me a single second and you’ll fall in love for the rest of your life, I promise you that.”

A little breathless, you meet his baby blues. “Do you?”

“I’m gonna treat you so well and make your life so much easier; it’ll be impossible not to fall for me.” Then, so confident it steals whatever’s left of your breath, he cups your cheek and says, “I’m gonna fix this whole department’s patient satisfaction scores starting with my own and then I’m gonna learn how to shine your shoes just how you like. I’d do nothing but sit in your closet with a dehumidifier to make sure the humidity for your leather heels is just right if that’s what you wanted.”

You swallow hard as his touch stays on your face long after he withdraws his hand. “Sounds a little scary.”

Brendon shrugs, smiles, and backs toward the door once more, always reluctant to leave you. “Then you’ll just have to give me something else to do to make you happy. Let me change your oil; you don’t even have to be there while I do it. Or I can mow your lawn, bring over my own push mower and everything to make sure I get the stripes just right how you want them. I’ll hand wash your floors with my toothbrush. Anything.”

You shake your head and sigh tenderly, “What am I gonna do with you, Brendon?”

“Whatever you want, whenever you want. Have I not made that clear enough?” Brendon’s eyes rake over you once more like he’s memorizing the sight of you to savor for the rest of the day. “Man, even when you’re rejecting me, you’re just about the loveliest thing I’ve ever set my eyes on. The things I would do for you if you’d even brush a hair off my shoulder.”

“That would be the most action a man’s gotten from me in a very long time.”

“Yeah? How long?”

“I’ll see you later, Dr. Park.”

“See you soon, Viper.”

Brendon makes absolutely zero attempts to ask you out for the next 30 days straight. You’re honestly starting to believe he may have lost interest until he waltzes into your office at 5PM on a Friday, the last day of the month. He knocks dramatically on the door frame even though it’s propped open.

In the middle of collecting your things, you shrug on your jacket and sigh, “Can I help you with something, Dr. Park.”

Standing with his hands suspiciously bashfully behind his back, Brendon steps into the office and informs you seriously, “You should sit down for this, gorgeous.”

You lean against your desk and nudge, “Why’s that?”

“Because,” he announces, voice grand like he’s about to call an auction, “you, the Viper of the Emergency Department, are about to agree to go out with me, your humble subject, and, after your many rejections, I have to imagine that’ll be so shocking for you that you might pass out.”

With your stomach full of butterflies you can’t deny, you hop up on your desk dramatically and gesture broadly like a queen for her jester. “Alright, Sharkie, go ahead.”

Brendon’s smile only grows at your teasing. He takes a deep breath and explains, “Dana told me this morning that I had to check my mailbox because it had gotten too full. The whole time I worked in ortho, I think I checked my box maybe once. When you get served, they put the notice right in your hand, so why bother? But I go to the mailroom and she’s right; my cubby’s got a million fucking envelopes in it.” From behind his back, he hands you a stack of cards. “They’re from patients. My patients.”

He lets it hang as you inspect the papers he’s handed over. Like he said, they’re all cards and they’re all from patients. There are hand-drawn ones from kids with pictures of sharks, sentimental ones from old ladies, ones with shitty jokes from the convenience store. There have to be twenty of them here, each one telling a story of a doctor who truly made them feel seen and cared for.

The last of your resolve crumbles into dust.

Brendon steps forward, studying your expression carefully, and says softly, “Turns out that while I’ve just been trying to impress you, I actually became a better doctor for my patients. And a better man, I hope. So, first and foremost, I wanted to thank you for that.”

When he doesn’t launch into another attempt to ask you out immediately, you let the silence linger for a moment. Thumbing through the cards, you make your mind up once and for all. You meet his baby blue eyes, let a small smile part your lips, and reply, “Okay.”

His eyebrows go up. “Okay?”

You nod and sigh out, “I’ll go on a date with you.”

He fist pumps the air in a way so dorky and adorable you almost back out and lets out a dramatic whoop, “Fuck, yes! Jesus, I really didn’t think that would work.”

You roll your eyes at him even though it’s become physically impossible to suppress your delighted smile that matches his. “Alright, slugger, calm down. I’m just a woman.”

Brendon shakes his head and scoffs, “Au contraire. You aren’t ‘just’ anything.”

“Well, regardless, you win.” You take a Post-It from your desk, scribble your phone numbers on it, and hand it over to him. “Text me your address. Make me dinner tomorrow night.”

“Make you dinner? You know I could get us a table at any restaurant you wanted.”

You cross your arms over your chest and challenge, “And I want you to cook for me. It’s the perfect test for a man.”

Staring down at your phone number in your swoopy handwriting like it’s made of diamonds, Brendon absently asks, “Yeah? Why’s that?”

“It means one of the three things.” You explain seriously, “He can already cook, which is a green flag. He can follow a recipe, which means he’s teachable, or he utterly fails and that means he can handle being humbled, which is sexy.”

“It’s sexy when a man gets humbled?”

“What exactly do you think has been going on between us?”

“Honestly, I haven’t heard a single word since you agreed to date me.”