Darknessofhell6668

Standing in the forest, with the moon as the only light source, you’re eyeing the Lawyer. He’s busy rustling through the book he always carries. Titus, on the other hand, is staring at you with that possessive look that still makes chills run down your spine. You’re wearing a black lace dress with long bell sleeves and a crown made of some sort of bone and thorns; you can only hope it’s animal bone. Titus matches your dark outfit, wearing a collared jacket and black pants. You’re both barefoot, something the Lawyer said Mr. Le Bail required. Numerous small details had to be completely perfect, like the fact that the Lawyer told you not to wear any undergarments. Fucking freak, you thought to yourself. Little did you know that one wasn’t even an official thing, just something Titus told the Lawyer to say. But you would’ve done this, the blood ritual you still don’t quite understand, completely naked if it was called for. 

After the meeting with your parents, Titus decided it was finally time for you to fully become his equal, seeing as you didn’t try to escape. And you need to do this to partake in other parts of Council life, which Titus has yet to disclose. He wants you by his side at everything. He wants you to feel the same unadulterated power he has. Even though you’d likely say no if he asked outright, he knows you’ll like it in the end. He’s been right about everything else so far, so this shouldn’t be any different.

Clearing his throat, the Lawyer presents you a knife and a chalice filled with a red liquid. “Mrs. Danforth,” he says, offering you the handle of the knife. 

You wince, but take it. Titus explained the ceremony was rather straightforward. You’d both drop “some” blood into a glass with wine, the Lawyer would read some sort of Satanic text, you’d both drink from the glass, and it’d be over. To Titus’s credit, he hadn’t been taking complete advantage of the fact he genuinely owned you. Besides a few really rough and hard fucks where he condescendingly reminded you of your predicament, he more or less let you have your way. He purposely held himself back, wanting to show he could be humane, even with access to total control. But, with this final ceremony, you’d have access to everything, from the properties to the money. Most importantly, you’d be able to direct the staff and have open conversations with the Lawyer, without Titus’s involvement. That alone made you more than willing to get this over with. 

Looking up at Titus, you cautiously slice the palm of your hand, as the Lawyer instructed. Grimacing, you let several drops fall into the chalice until the Lawyer nods and motions for you to hand it and the knife to Titus. Without breaking eye contact or reacting, Titus drags the knife across his palm and squeezes his hand over the chalice. As the Lawyer recites something that just sounds Satanic, Titus holds the rim of the chalice up to your lips and tilts it back. You swallow until he lowers it, pushing it into your hand. You repeat the same motion with him, allowing him to finish the remainder. 

“Welcome to The Family, Mrs. Danforth,” the Lawyer says with a polite nod before almost instantly picking up his book, the knife, chalice, and scurrying off towards the house. You smile, but not nearly as large as Titus does. You do think it’s rather odd Titus is so excited for this, but you don’t think about it too hard. Instead, you embrace him, and he pulls you into a deep kiss. Swiping his still bleeding hand across your face, he purposely smears his blood across your cheek and down his neck. 

Before you can say anything, he gruffly says, “I think you should run, sweetheart.” You swear his eyes darken and you see the excitement bubbling up behind them. Goosebumps prick your skin, but before you can even fully turn, you feel his strong bicep pressing hard into your throat. “Or maybe, I will take you right here, right now.”

You make a strangled noise, but he has you pinned securely against him. You weren’t really expecting this, but you definitely should’ve. He loves that he clearly caught you off guard. 

“My pretty little wife, all dressed up just for me. So perfect,” he coos, sinking his teeth into your neck. Not enough to draw blood, but enough to bruise. “My equal. The most powerful woman in the entire world.” You can feel the lust backing up his words. Power always makes Titus horny. Without even letting you say anything, he continues, “Yet, you can’t even fend for yourself. You’re just a whimpering mess; how pathetic.”

Squeezing his arm tighter, he purposely draws a whimper out of you, as if to show his point. “Titus,” you manage to get out, but he ignores you. 

“I think I’ll like making the most powerful woman do depraved things at my request. I’ll like making her cave to my every whim because deep down, she knows I could end her. And I know she will enjoy every single fucked up second of it, won’t you baby?” He’s slowly dragging you forwards, until he has you smashed up against a tree. 

You can feel yourself getting wet from his words alone. With a nod and whine from you, Titus can’t restrain himself any further. Shoving one of his legs between your thighs, he’s tearing at your dress. Within what feels like seconds, you’re fully naked while he remains clothed. You stay facing the tree, the anticipation of what he’s going to do next making you feel like you might explode. 

“Turn around,” he says coldly. You obey, shivering from a mixture of excitement, fear, and the chilly nighttime air. He bites his lip as you turn for him, taking every inch of your body in. In a much softer tone, he asks, “What do you want?” Even though it sounds nice, you know he’s fucking with you. He wants to hear you beg for him. 

“You,” you whine, looking up at him with doe eyes. “Please,” you add. 

“Beg properly,” is all he says. You swallow, sinking to your knees. 

Barely audible, you mumble, “Please, Mr. Danforth. I need you right now.” He groans, enjoying the sight. 

“Lean against the tree, touch yourself for me.” 

You push up against the tree, letting your legs fall open. Closing your eyes slightly, you circle your clit. Knowing he’s hungrily staring at you makes it so easy to get yourself close almost inhumanly fast.

“Eye contact,” he tsks. You bite your lip, fluttering your eyes open to stare up at him. He smirks, undoing his belt and motioning with his fingers for you to come to him.

Knowing what he wants, you crawl on your hands and knees until you're at his feet. You barely notice the sticks and rocks biting into your soft skin. Sitting up on your knees, you tug his pants and underwear down in one swift motion. With lust driving your thinking, you hardly register he is wearing underwear, something the Lawyer said was strictly prohibited. He takes a sharp breath, still keeping eye contact with you. You lick at his length, watching him twitch at the feeling. Without warning, you take his dick into your mouth, pushing it into your throat basically. A small moan slips from his lips. 

He smirks down at you. “After every single thing I put you through, you’re still willing on your knees for me. What a truly pitiful pervert. You get off on this, don’t you bitch?” You suck harder, whimpering slightly as you bring your free hand up to your clit. He lets out a cruel laugh, fully loving how desperate you are. “Is my slutty wife going to come from sucking me off? How pathetic.” 

You moan, rubbing faster and practically choking on Titus’s dick. You know you’re close, but you don’t know if he’s going to let you come or not. 

“Aw, look at how ruined you are. You’re willing to sacrifice air for your pleasure. Why don’t you go all the way?” With that, he pushes your head down, blocking out the air almost entirely. “Better rub harder, princess. You have, what, a minute until you’re unconscious?” 

Truly desperate to get off, you listen and start practically grinding against your hand. Just as your vision is starting to fade, you feel the pleasure rip through your body. Holding your head with a steady hand, Titus keeps you in place. Too stimulated to really react, with half-closed eyes, you dumbly look up at him. You barely have time to actually enjoy the orgasm. As you collapse forward, you hear him say, in a gravelly voice, “Hope you wake up for the next part, princess.” 

And you do. Titus is buried deep inside you, sucking on your neck hard, when you regain consciousness. Fucking you too hard to notice, you immediately feel incredibly sensitive. You can tell he’s drawn out multiple orgasms from you since you passed out. The fact he was playing with your body without your knowledge makes you tense up, inadvertently clenching down on Titus’s dick. Any normal person would be horrified, but you find it beyond hot. Breaking away from your neck, he groans on your ear, “Holy fucking shit.” Instantly you feel his cum flood you as he keeps a slow, steady pace. Still, clearly not aware you’re awake, he grumbles, “Can’t wait to fuck an heir into you. Your needy little pussy wants it so bad, doesn’t it? You want me to be a daddy, don’t you?” You can’t help but moan at hearing him talk that way. He’s never seriously brought up kids with you, even though you know it’s expected of you one day. 

He slows down, but stays buried deep inside you before sort of collapsing on top of you. His arms support just enough of his weight; it's not painful, but more like a weighted blanket. Gently, he kisses at the side of your face; softly he says, “Sweetheart?” 

You grunt, unable to fully comprehend the sensations your body is feeling mixed with what you just heard him say. He pushes himself up, looking down at you. 

“Are you okay?” 

You nod, offering him a soft smile. He stays like that, wanting to hear you verbalize it. “Yes,” you whisper. “Really good,” you add.

“Really, you liked it?” He says, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly.

“Top 3 of all time, for sure,” you respond, still feeling the pleasure course through you. “You want a baby?” 

You swear Titus blushes. “Of course, when you’re ready. Not now, it’d ruin all of our fun,” he says. 

You giggle, liking that he’s acting like he got caught doing something he shouldn’t. “Wouldn’t have guessed Titus Danforth had a breeding kink.” 

“Only for you,” he says with a kiss on your forehead. Slowly rolling you over so you’re on top of him, he stays deep inside you.

“And a thing for being called daddy, how cliché,” you tease. 

“Seems relatively tame compared to getting off to being choked out by my dick. You clearly loved that; it wasn’t very hard to get you off multiple times, even when you were unconscious,” he says, and you can tell he’s smirking. You shudder at the thought alone. 

Softly, you say, “I love you.” He squeezes you slightly.

It’s another day in the pitt for Jack. Back to back traumas, patient complaints, chaos and much more.

So when there was down time, people often used the lulls to not only catch up on other tasks but also gossip.

Todays’ topic and usually a topic brought up every day was that of love lives.

It was one that Jack didn’t participate in or even indulge in listening to.

It hurt to hear how others had people in their lives to love, be around, or go home to and he didn’t.

He used to but not anymore.

The staff knew Jack had a great love of his life and that now he didn’t.

No one knew who she was except Robby.

No one knew if she had been his fling, girlfriend, or wife.

Or if she was even alive.

They just knew to not bring it up.

—--

It’s halfway through his shift when Jack makes his way towards the nurse’s station. His nose is buried in a chart examining information when he hears a familiar voice.

“Hi, I need help looking for someone.”

He feels like he can’t breathe.

It can’t be you.

It can’t.

“Can I get a name for this person?” Dana asks

He holds his breath.

“Jack. Jack Abbot. I’m not sure if he still works here but I thought I'd try.”

You’re here for him?

But why?

He had ruined things.

He broke your heart.

He’s gotta find Robby and tell him you’re here but before he can sneak away he's stopped by one word.

“Jack?”

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

“Jack?”

Your heart races as you say his name.

The name of someone you hadn’t seen in five years but someone who you could never forget.

You both had once been joined at the hip.

Hopelessly and completely in love.

Engaged. 

Then it all changed.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌*𝘧𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬*﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

You stand in the kitchen as Jack paces, clothes disheveled and hands gripping his sweaty grey curls.

“𝘑𝘢𝘤𝘬, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦. 𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱. 𝘞𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘨𝘰 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘝𝘈. 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘱–”

“𝘕𝘖!” he shouts loud enough to make you freeze.

“𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘪𝘴𝘵.”

You’re still frozen in your spot with tears rapidly forming.

He turns to you and immediately regrets his words.

“𝘉𝘢𝘣𝘺,” he says gently as he approaches you “𝘐-𝘐’𝘮 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺. 𝘐 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴. 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯’𝘵.”

You nod silently as he pulls you into his arms.

—--

This had been the worst argument in the last few weeks

Jack had recently been struggling with his ptsd and the feelings that came with it.

Depression, anxiety, anger, etc.

Your heart broke for him but you could only do so much to help.

He would shut down any talk of therapy or getting help.

He was managing just fine, he thought.

Then it started to boil over.

Outbursts, spiraling, and tumultuous emotions.

You didn’t understand his past life in the military and how it affected him. You wish you could. All you wanted to do was help.

But things were coming to a breaking point.

One that neither of you wanted but one that was coming.

One you never saw coming.

—--

“𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘑. 𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘥𝘢𝘺.”

The anger in him starts stewing again.

“𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱. 𝘐 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵.”

“𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘑𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘐–”

He doesn’t hear you talking.

His mind is racing over the fact he’s hurting you by not getting help. By letting his unresolved trauma fester until it explodes with you in the crossfire.

It cant keep going on like this.

He can’t keep seeing you cry and watch your heart break over him.

What he’s going to do next is going to break you both but he can’t let his words and actions continue to hurt you.

“𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯’𝘵 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦.”

You look at him “𝘊𝘢𝘯’𝘵 𝘥𝘰 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵?”

He looks up as he gears up to say it.

“𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴.” he says as he point back and forth between you two.

You shake your head “𝘕𝘰. 𝘑𝘢𝘤𝘬, 𝘯𝘰. 𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥-𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵. 𝘋𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘑.”

You step forward to grab his hand but he takes a step back.

“𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯’𝘵 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴. 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯’𝘵 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘶𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴.”

Tears stream down your face as your heart races.

“𝘑𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘞𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴. 𝘐’𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘺 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯. 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳. 𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦. 𝘐 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘋𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦?”

He drags his hands down his face.

“𝘖𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦 𝘐 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘰 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵. 𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘰 𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘯 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘪𝘵 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘴. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐’𝘮 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘯, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘴𝘰 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘷𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳.”

Your sobs echo in the silent apartment.

“𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘑𝘢𝘤𝘬, 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶! 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶! 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘦. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐’𝘭𝘭 𝘥𝘰 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳!”

He walks up to you slowly and hesitantly pulls you into his chest.

Sobs wrack your body.

This can’t be it.

But unfortunately it is.

You both end up in bed one last time.

You don’t hear him as he packs a bag.

You don’t hear him as he kisses your forehead one last time with a quiet ‘i love you’.

And you don’t hear him as he leaves the apartment.

Sadly, you’ll never hear from him once over the next five years.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌*𝘧𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳*﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

He still looks the same as he did the last night you saw him. Soft eyes, grey curls, some stubble on his face, and just as handsome as ever.

“Hey.” 

It’s all you can get out.

You didn’t know if he even worked here anymore. You were going to check and then keep trying elsewhere, hoping he hadn’t left Pittsburgh. Let alone the state .

He’s still staring at you in shock.

“Sweetheart…” he softly mutters

The endearment grips your heart.

You hadn’t heard his voice in so long.

“C-Can we talk?” you ask with hesitancy but hope.

He nods as he moves forward and places a hand on the small of your back and leads you to an empty room.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Jack hopes you don’t feel the tremble of his hand that guiding you.

He remembers the last time he ever saw you. He remembers that emotionally charged night. The one where he broke your heart.

After he left that night he crashed at Robby’s place and only went back to the apartment when he knew for sure you had moved out.

It took a about a year before he decided to try therapy. Thank god he did because things started feeling a little better and he was finally able to start processing his emotions and trauma.

He quickly realized you had only suggested this to help him and not make him feel inferior. That you loved him enough to bring it up.

And what did he do? He pushed you away. 

The love of his life.

Jack never got over you. He regretted breaking off the engagement but was too ashamed to contact you.

So he waited.

After two years of therapy, two years of doing the work to take care of himself, he vowed that if he ever saw you again he’d get you back.

There wasn’t anyone else for him but you.

——-

He swallows hard as he pulls the curtain shut behind him.

You’re here.

Still the most gorgeous woman he’s ever seen. Even more gorgeous than that night if it was even possible.

He watches as you stand a few feet from him, wringing your fingers in your hands.

You always did that when you were nervous.

“You look good J.” you say with a small smile 

He shakes his head lightly, hands in his pockets.

“You’re still gorgeous as ever, sweetheart.”

There’s a few moments of silence before he speaks again.

“I’ve missed you...” his voice breaks a little at the end.

“I missed you too Jack. So much.”

He takes a step closer.

“What are you doing here? I know I overheard you tell Dana you were looking for me.”

He watches you swallow hard.

“I uh, this might seem a little too late or dumb or… I don’t know. But Jack, I still love you.”

His heart feels like it skips a beat.

You love him? Still?

You don’t hate him for that night?

This was the opportunity he had waited years to have.

“Y-You do?” he asks nervously 

Your head nods as you take a step forward and you grab one of his hands.

You pull your necklace from under you shirt and his eyes immediately see it.

It’s the engagement ring he gave you.

He immediately starts tearing up.

“I didn’t understand what you were going through. I know I’ll never truly know but I see that I didn’t handle things the right way back then. But I found people,”

You take a pause.

“People who could relate. To you and to me. They listened and they helped me learn how to be there for you.”

Jack’s heart races as he listens, trying to hold the tears back.

God he didn’t deserve you.

“I wanted to be ready to be there for you better before I found you again. I’m sorry it took so long.”

You look down and wring your hands again.

“I understand if it’s too late. I don’t know if you even have someone el—“

“No.” he interrupts you “There’s no one else. There’s no replacing you.”

Your heart beats faster at his words.

“I went to therapy.” he starts

“You were right. It’s what I needed and I was too angry to see it then. I wish I had seen it earlier . Saved us all of this. But I’ve been doing the work. I wanted to do better, be better if I ever got the chance to see you again. If that’s an option...”

Your hands gently hold the sides of his face.

“Jack Abbot, there’s never been anyone else for me. Never will be.”

A tear falls down his cheek as he leans close 

His lip trembles as he gathers the words.

“Can you forgive me, sweetheart?” he whispers through tears.

“Will you still marry me?”

A few tears fall from your eyes as you let out a small laugh “Yes and yes but no take backs, Abbot.”

That one pulls a full smile from him

“Yeah, no take backs sweetheart.”

You lean in and kiss him hard. When you pull apart, a breath away, he hears you whisper

“I’m so glad I found you.”

Thank god you did.

He holds you tight, afraid to let go.

He wouldn’t mess it up this time.

Not now, not ever again.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You glanced at the daily assignment board, scratching the back of your neck. Penciled in is your name in the scrubbing section, right alongside a crossed-out Emily Winston. You’d scrubbed in for six surgeries this week, and it was only Thursday. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Emily groaned, seeing her name crossed out and replaced on the circulating nurses list. “I fucking hate this.”

She’d been working at PTMC for six years before you, and when you’d started your orthopedic nursing position back in December, she’d been the first to welcome you. It was clear, by the end of that first month, that Emily hated circulating.

“At least you get some quiet. I have to listen to Park’s EDM for the sixth time this week. I swear I can hear the synth when I sleep,” you murmur, though you have to admit, when you see the surgeon rounding the corner, your heart picks up speed.

He crosses over just as Emily stops at the water fountain to fill her cup. “Hey, I just wanted to give you a note about the case you’re going to scrub in on,” Brendon Park murmurs, crossing his arms across his chest.

“Oh! Yeah!” You nod with a smile. “I was surprised to see my name,” you gesture to the board with your thumb. “I haven’t circulated all week, and last week I scrubbed into five surgeries total.”

Dr. Park shrugged. “Rotation must be a bit off. I usually just pick whoever has good stats. You’re doing well.” 

You hum a thanks as he continues. “The patient is 58 and is coming in with severe spinal stenosis. We need to do a decompression from L3 down to S1. His thecal sac is being choked, and L4 is slipping completely off of L5. Plan is to do a wide laminectomy first; we’ll have a lot of bleeding from his epidural veins, so you’re going to need to keep the bipolar cautery and a supply of Gelfoam ready at all times. Once I have the nerves free, I’m going to move onto the disc spaces. Interbody cages on all three levels, all trial sizers, and then real PEEK cages. I’ll prep the endplates with osteotomes and disc shavers, and we’re going to need lots of bone graft mixed with the biologic. The screws will be placed at L3, L4, L5, and S1 to get the anchors in, and I’ll lock the rods down once the cages are packed.” You mentally note all of this as he gestures with his hands. 

You can’t help but hang on every word. Heat flushes to your cheeks as he finishes, “It’s going to be tedious. I want you to make sure to eat something before you meet me in twenty.”

“Yeah. I’ll definitely make sure to eat something,” you nod with a smile, glancing around Brendon’s arm to see Emily raising her eyebrows and flipping you off. You roll your eyes at her antics. 

“Good. I need you in there to make this go by faster.”

You frown, tugging off your gown and gloves and tossing them into the biohazard bin. Your eyes feel heavy, and for a long moment, you ponder if it’s normal for your vision to be slightly blurry after an eight-hour spinal surgery.

“Fuck,” Brendon groans, drawing the word out as he finishes washing his hands. He straightens, arms behind his head as his back releases a soft popping noise.

“It sounds like the ortho surgeon needs his own ortho surgeon,” you mutter under your breath with a smile, noting how he shakes out his arms and his hands, clearly releasing the tension from his body that he’d been carrying the entire operation.

He chuckles, and you can see a few of the members of the anesthesia team gawk, eyes wide at the sound. Mean, cold, closed-off, eerily observant. You’d heard the surgeon standing beside you be described as all of the above many times. While you may have believed it the first month of working on the orthopedic floor at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center, it was hard to agree with them now. “I thought my back was going to give out in hour six. The only reason I stayed straight was because I didn’t want to make myself look like a fool in front of you.”

You click your tongue, dispensing sanitizer onto your hands. “You didn’t look like a fool. I think the procedure went beautifully…although I guess I’m not the surgeon who gets to decide that.”

“You’re right. You were on top of things and saved us a lot of time. It was a nice case, and you should be proud of yourself,” Brendon responded, tentatively reaching a hand out to pat your shoulder. “You don’t need to be a surgeon to see that.”

“Oh…uh, thank you, Dr. Park. I really appreciate it,” you murmur, twiddling your thumbs. 

It’s quiet outside of the operating room for a minute before Brendon clears his throat. “Hey, I need to go write the operative notes and follow up with the family, but I’m going to give you my number. I want you to send me what you want me to order for lunch.”

“I packed food,” you mumble, reaching for your phone anyway as he pulls it from your hand, fingers typing in a contact quickly.

“I don’t care.” His words are clear, and you do your best to ignore how his confidence makes you squirm. “I’m buying lunch for you. You did great, and I like spending time with you.” 

You swear he pauses for a moment before adding, “In the OR.”

Just as you stretch your legs out on the couch, your phone vibrates. You stare at the ceiling, counting to thirty. You’d gotten called to scrub into another surgery with Park after he’d bought you — and the team, though you had been trying to ignore that bit – lunch, and had been stuck in the operating room two hours past the official end of your shift. You were exhausted, and all you wanted to do was sit on the couch, numb your brain with television and a warm chocolate chip cookie, and fall asleep for a long time. You’d stupidly picked up a half-shift for Friday to cover for your coworker while she celebrated her son’s birthday, and thirteen hours before you were scheduled to head back to the hospital, you were already regretting it. 

The last thing you wanted to do was read a notification from the hospital notifying you that they were short-staffed again. 

You knew you’d end up filling in, weak to the idea of leaving patients to fall through the cracks. Even thinking of it made your eyes water.

You turned your phone on, reading the notification and hastily responding.

“It’s a six-day trip. My siblings and their kids will be there; we’ll probably be at the beach a lot,” Brendon says, his arms folded behind his head as he stretches out on your couch.

“Are you sure it’s not overstepping if I come? I wasn’t really invited, and I don’t want to just show up,” you murmur in response, leaning into his side. You’d been sitting at the dinner table finishing up a meal after a long shift when Brendon sprung the idea of you coming along with him to visit his parents' home in New Jersey.

He assured you that you were welcome and that his family – particularly his mother – would be excited to meet you for the first time. For some reason, you couldn’t shake the familiar feeling of anxiety in your belly. You’d been dating Brendon for seven months now, and although you’d both deliberately kept it a secret at work, knowing you didn’t want to get branded as the “new nurse who is sleeping with the surgeon,” your lives outside the hospital had become intertwined. Still, visiting his family felt like taking a huge step.

Not that you didn’t want to continue moving forward with the man.

“I promise you that you’re not overstepping. My mom’s been begging me to bring you home since I told her about you.” He pulled you into his side with a reassuring smile, his arm settling around your waist comfortably. Brendon clearly liked showing his affection through touch, and you’d grown used to the contact, the warmth of his body a welcome sensation. “My sisters and brother will be there, and with all the kids running around, an extra pair of eyes will be a lifesaver when we get to the water.”

You laugh, feeling the lingering exhaustion of the surgery you’d been in for five hours fade away. “Is that all I am to you? An extra pair of eyes to watch children with?”

He pinches your side teasingly, “An extra pair of eyes and a good lay.”

“Can we drive there?” You ask, looking up at him as he presses kisses to your temple. “I’ll go only if you agree to drive.”

“Fine with me. I’ll drive; you sit in the passenger seat and look pretty,” he replied without hesitation.

Two weeks later, you peered out the windshield and watched as the familiar sight of Pittsburgh transitioned into New Jersey, the mountains flattening with each passing mile. The drive had been surprisingly relaxing, after Brendon had coaxed you into taking a Dramamine for your motion sickness, and you’d spent the large majority of it listening to the soft music of his non-operating-room playlist, grateful for the lack of EDM. His hand sat on your thigh, lightly squeezing it, and by the time he pulled into the gravel driveway of a large sky-blue house, you could hear the waves crashing against the shore.

Brendon barely had time to turn the engine of his sleek black car off before the front door sprang open and an older brunette darted out of the beach house. 

“My baby boy!” She exclaimed, wiping her hands on an apron as she hurried down the front steps and pulled him into a tight hug. You smiled at the sight, slowly stepping out of the car. 

Brendon had told you, shortly after you’d begun dating, that he was his mother’s favorite. You had been hesitant to believe him, knowing that his three older siblings likely claimed the very same thing, but as you took in his mom squeezing him in a warm embrace, you believed his words. Though you supposed it would be hard not to love Brendon loudly like this.

His mom pulled away with a bright and beaming smile, and your cheeks flushed as she apologized for not coming to you first and pulled you into a tight hug.

“It is so wonderful to finally meet you, sweetheart!” She said, drawing back to hold you at arm's length as she took you in. “My boy has talked about you so much, but his words can’t even describe you. You’re a doll!”

You chuckled, smiling at the woman. “Thank you so much, Anita. I can see where Brendon gets his looks from.”

“Oh, please call me Ma,” His mom tutted, taking your face in her hands. You’d known his family was Italian; different cultures came with different customs, and Brendon himself seemed to have no qualms about touching you, but this affection was new, and you found yourself squirming a little. 

“Please, Mamma,” Brendon groaned softly, tapping her shoulder. “At least give her some space to stretch.”

“You’re right! I’m sorry!” She patted your cheek before stepping back. “I’m trying to be less touchy, but I’m just glad my baby finally brought a good girl home. His siblings have all settled down, and I’ve been praying he’d finally get a nice one to start a family of his own with. God willing, I’d like to at least see my grandkids be born!” 

You catch your boyfriend’s eye and giggle when he gives you an apologetic grimace. His cheeks are flushed, but the way his eyes twinkle when his mom speaks to him is plain as day. You knew he loved his family, but seeing it made your heart warm.

“Come on, I’ve got dinner going, and I need you guys to help me decide which dessert to make.”

You stepped inside and were immediately hit with the rush of energy in the home. It felt alive; luggage dropped in the hallway as introductions flew by in a blur of handshakes and hugs. 

Angela, Rebecca, Chris. You’d pressed Brendon for all of the information about his siblings that he could give you on the road trip over, and were instantly grateful to have a back pocket full of icebreakers as his family easily shifted into fast conversation. Voices overlapped, but it wasn’t long before your attention moved to the large back porch where his nieces and nephews sat on a picnic table covered in craft supplies.

You looked up at Brendon, his arm around your back, and murmured, “It’s calm out there.”

Nodding, he smiled, “You can go sit if you need some quiet.” 

That was all the permission you needed to walk over and sit on the low wooden bench with Brendon’s seven nieces and nephews. “Is it okay if I join you guys?” You ask gently, waiting for their approval before you touch any of the materials. The four eldest share a glance, and you recall their names from earlier conversation: Nico, Archie, Evelyn, and Harlow. 

You wait patiently for a moment before the littlest at the table, Nora, says, “Are you Uncle Brendon’s girlfriend?”

“I am,” you respond, pointing to Brendon inside the house. He’s smiling, watching you and the children from the sliding glass door, and you swallow at the attention, feeling flustered like you always seem to when Brendon stares with such focus. “We met at work.”

The kids smile and press for more information, and you fall into an easy flow of conversation with them, picking up one of the disc looms and yarn. “These are the best bracelets! I have so much fun making them.” You say, already finding yourself immersed in the project.

“My dad said that Uncle Brendon, Aunt Angela, and Aunt Rebecca used to make them when they were kids,” Jude, the second-oldest son of Brendon’s only brother, says.

“Did you make them when you were little?” Harlow asks, handing you her loom so you can untangle the lengths of colorful yarn.

You hum, “I didn’t make them when I was your age. I think they were common with people older than me, but I got introduced to them in college and thought they were cool.” 

“You made crafts in college?” Archie gasps as he pulls his bracelet off and puts his arm out for you to tie it around. “Uncle Brendon said that he drank in college.”

You can’t help but laugh at the child’s words, imagining Brendon closer to your age, pre-medical school, when he still had time to go out with his frat brothers. It seems the opposite of the image of the calm man you sleep next to each night.

Brendon leans against the doorframe, a cup of wine in hand, watching the scene in front of him unfold. His chest warms at the sight of you with his siblings’ kids, falling into such easy conversation. You’d been shy in those first few months at the hospital, although Brendon had come to learn that you had a mean sense of humor, despite being one of the kindest-hearted people he’d ever known. 

“She’s wonderful, Brendon,” his mother whispered from her spot next to him. 

He didn’t answer right away, distracted by the way you laughed at something Nico said, his youngest niece crawling into your lap a second later. He swallowed, the stress that had followed him from the hospital all the way to New Jersey melting away at the sight of you sliding into place so easily with the people he loved most.

“Yeah,” he said softly after a long moment. “She really is, isn’t she?”

You giggle when Brendon tugs you against his side in the bed, so close you’re practically lying on top of him. He kisses the top of your head, one hand resting at your back, fingers grazing over your butt as you take the other and twiddle absentmindedly with his fingertips. “I’m so glad I came,” you murmur quietly, “Your mom is so funny, and the kids are perfect.”

“You’re perfect,” Brendon responds, pulling the blanket over the two of you as you settle into bed.  

“I’m serious, Bren,” You speak, looking up at him. “I assumed I’d like your family because you love them and I love you, but I didn’t think I’d feel so comfortable already. I thought I’d be scared.”

 He chuckles when he hears you drag out the last word, “You were scared. You squeezed my hand under the table the entire time we were eating.”

“True.”

“I’m proud of you, though. My family’s a lot, and you handled it well,” he praises, and you feel heat pass through your body. “You handled them well.”

He trails his fingers up and down your back, goosebumps rising on your flesh as he presses featherlight kisses to the top of your head. You’d never expected this behemoth of a man, called The Shark by nearly everyone in a Level 1 Trauma Center, to be so gentle. It still made your heart ache how carefully he treated you.

“Seeing my siblings and their kids…seeing my mom and dad and how much they still love each other,” you feel Brendon shrug as he pauses. “It really makes me appreciate what I had growing up. How much love was in this house, even if it was loud and messy and overwhelming.”

“I love how much you guys love each other,” you reply softly. “No embarrassment, no hiding, no nonchalance. You love, and you love loudly.”

“Quiet is good sometimes. Efficient. Effective,” he murmurs, his breathing soft and steady. “I don’t think we need to be quiet and efficient with people and feelings like that. There’s no reason to hide or to posture.”

He’s quiet for a long moment, and you wait for him to speak, knowing that sometimes Brendon needs silence to make sense of his words. “My Nonna – my dad’s mom – died when I was seven. She was only sixty-two.” He swallows, and you squeeze his right hand, doing your best to comfort him.

“She loved weddings and family events more than anything in the world. She met my Nonno when she came here from Italy at sixteen, and they got married four years later. They were too poor for a wedding, so once she got older and had kids of her own, she thought it was a gift whenever one of us Parks got to have a wedding or a celebration. She prayed and prayed and prayed for her kids to find love, and my Mamma still tells me how much she cried and cheered at her and my Dad’s wedding.”

You smile, “She sounds like a wonderful woman.”

“She was. I don’t remember her much, but God, I know she was.” Brendon shakes his head, running his thumb along your knuckles. “When she passed, and my family went through her things, we found this binder. The cover said she bought it in 1950 in Matera, Italy. She would have purchased it three months before she immigrated to the US, and it was full of things. Pictures of us grandkids, postcards from her Mamma and Papa, little souvenirs my Nonno sent her when he was in the military. Everything. And at the back of the binder, there was a letter for each of her eleven grandkids and a little envelope, too. Mine was the last one she wrote because I was the baby. My Nonno looked through them all because he didn’t want us to have to read them until he knew what she said, and I remember him telling me, ‘Nonna ti voleva più bene di ogni viaggio che ha fatto verso casa e di ogni parola che conosceva in italiano e in inglese.’” You looked up at Brendon as he translated the Italian, still not used to hearing him speak it. “Nonna loved you more than any trip she ever took home and more than any word she knew in Italian and English.” 

“Bren,” you sniffle, feeling your eyes fill at the sentiment.

He smiles, wiping the tear that slips down your cheek. “She and my Nonno didn’t have a lot of money, but they gave everything they had to my dad and his siblings. They wanted us to live well.”

You press a soft kiss to his lips before he continues, the beach house around you quiet except for the sound of his voice. “She had this little medallion of Saint Cosmas and Saint Damian that she used to wear all the time. Patrons of surgery. I got to wear it at my white coat ceremony.” You smile at the image that comes to mind of him being given his white coat, the first step in the journey that led to the two of you meeting.

“When they looked at the letters, they found out that Nonna had been saving her change and dividing it up evenly between us grandkids. She wrote letters to us that she wanted to read at our weddings and said she hoped that her and Nonno's humble beginnings would lay a foundation of love for us to build success on. I still have that money she saved for my wedding.” He chuckles at the last sentence, scratching the back of his neck, but you don’t miss the pain in his eyes as he speaks about the grandmother he clearly loved so deeply.

“Today, seeing you with my family…” Brendon pauses, and you kiss the back of his hand, giving him time. “You have the same heart she did. So sensitive, so deeply feeling. I didn’t think I’d ever find that in someone. I didn’t know if I’d ever find a person that would make my Nonna proud.”

Your bottom lip wobbles when you breathe his name, and there is nothing you can do to stop the silent tears from slipping down your cheek.

“You were perfect with my family. With my Ma, with my nieces and nephews, with my Nonno, everyone.” His voice was quiet, but the softness did nothing to hide his assurance. 

“When I saw you with the kids…” his voice trailed off before he continued, “For a moment, I could imagine exactly how my grandpa felt when he saw my Nonna for the first time. When she was young and finding her way in a new country. When she walked up to his church and asked in shaky English if they had a job for her. When he made a promise to himself, when he was seventeen years old, that he was going to marry the woman standing in front of him and make a family of his own. When he did exactly that four years later.”

“That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” you mumble, voice cracking.

“It’s the truth,” Brendon breathes your name. “I know we haven’t been together for that long, I know you’re younger than me, I know we still pretend like we’re just friends at work…I know all of that. But, I just…I wanted to tell you. I wanted you to know that when I think of the future, I think of being married to you. I think of our kids who we will love more than every word we know in English, and Italian, and all of the other random languages you’ve studied for three weeks.”

You let out a choked-out laugh as Brendon wipes the tears from your face. “I love you, Bren. So much. I want all of those things with you too.”

Evening workouts were paced with laughs, trying new things and encouraging one another. You’d even become friendly with a couple of other patrons who seemed to show up at the same time as you.

Morning workouts were just you, your AirPods and people who had apparently decided you didn’t belong there with them. It was clear in the way you could always feel eyes watching you move between cardio and weights and finishing with the treadmill.

You weren’t fat per se but you weren’t someone who was built to ever be skinny. You had a soft stomach, thick thighs and a plump ass, all of which you rocked but you also took the time to take care of yourself in the gym because you liked to eat and weren’t ashamed of it.

At least you weren’t until you started morning workouts and men who looked like they drank their energy drinks with steroids in them and women who looked like they had never ate a carb before started watching you. It also smelled way worse in the mornings, like half of them had forgotten deodorant before their workouts (or thought the natural stuff was better for their body.)

The man who watched you the most didn’t fall into any of those characterizations. He clearly had a decade or so on you in life, was thick and strong, (not ripped liked you’d expect for someone like him) and he was agile, moving with almost a predators ease. (Yes, you may have watched more than once as he lifted his shirt to wipe sweat off his face and had seen the sheer bulk of him.) His short, dark hair was always a little unkempt from sweat and you’d yet to see an expression other than intense focus on his face.

He also didn’t seem to be there to make friends. Usually ending up with a group of guys watching him lift but never talking with them, never smiling as they patted his back over the weights he lifted with ease and he never basked in the attention the girls would try to give as he passed them by.

You’d watched him pick up some of the biggest weights in the gym day in and day out but the only cardio he ever did was twenty minutes on the treadmill to end his workout and for some reason it was always on the one next to you as you were wrapping up yours.

You’d had it timed pretty well now. He’d always finish with several reps of a light weight, wipe down the equipment he’d used and then head to the treadmill that seemed to be open next to you every time he wanted one.

You prepared as soon as you saw him begin to wipe the equipment down by taking a long drink of your water bottle, pulling your tank top up slightly to wipe the sweat off your face and then slowing the speed of your treadmill down just a little so you weren’t breathing as hard as before.

You picked up these habits quickly once he started walking next to you. If your breathing wasn’t a steady, even pace he would turn and watch you as you walked and it made you even more self conscious than you already were being there alone.

That’s where you’re currently at, lowering your speed as he headed towards the treadmills. His head turned to look at you as he passed and you almost tripped, he’d never been that direct in watching you before, you felt like an animal being stalked for lunch.

He once again took the treadmill next to you but unlike other mornings he was watching you immediately, not even trying to hide his stare. It was embarrassing how fast you could feel your cheeks turning a deeper red, not from your workout.

Glancing down at your outfit of black workout pants, black and pink striped tank top and matching black Nikes you tried figuring out what made him look at you today. Your boobs weren’t bouncing an inappropriate amount and your ponytail was still swaying the normal way it always did, you’d brushed your teeth before leaving the apartment and even sprayed a little extra perfume on your wrists, nothing out of the ordinary to explain the way he watched you now.

For the first time, you turn and look back at him which surprises him by the way his eyebrow raises a small fraction of an inch. Pulling your AirPods out you take a deep breath.

“I’m allowed to be here too” the other eyebrow raises now.

“Wha” you interrupt him as you stop your treadmill.

“Just because I don’t look like all the other girls here doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to be here too.”

“Well aware of that” His lips pressed into a thin line with that one.

“You don’t have to stare at me just so I stop showing up on a machine next to you for twenty minutes.”

“That’s”

“This isn’t your personal gym.”

“No, you’re” His jaw tightens as you interrupt him again.

“I’m allowed to be here too” with that you turn and walk off, your workout apparently done for the day.

You take a shaky breath as you flee, feeling his eyes still on you as you do, not knowing that they were following the slight jiggle of your ass as you moved or that Brendon Park had never been talked to, much less left speechless like that before.

You're back in the ER tonight. Even though it's a new city, it's the same routine. Libbie is next to you, leaning on you as her injured arm is being held in your lap. Judging by the way her wrist is looking, something is definitely broken or dislocated. This is the third broken bone in the past 2 years. In your head, you're starting to wonder if CPS will get involved again or if this will fly under the radar. Outwardly, you have a smile on your face as you try to keep your little sister calm.

"How much longer before we can go to John's?" Libbie asks with a slight whine in her voice. John's — or John's Pizza Palace — has become the Friday night staple after a week of work and school. But tonight, instead of eating pizza, you are at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center at 8:30 p.m. waiting to be seen.

You respond, "I don't know if we will be able to get John's tonight Lib, but I will take you tomorrow, how about that? Have you thought of what color cast you want in case you get one?"

This is not Libbie's first cast and likely not the last. Hopefully, this time she doesn't choose white again.

Right as you were shuttering, remembering the way the white ankle cast of last year turned a distant urine color with "princesses" drawn all up the sides of it, someone comes to the ER doors.

"Elizabeth?" The staff member shouts.

"That's us," you say to Libbie as you start collecting your purse filled with documents and ID cards. Libbie grabs her blanket and makes a sad whine as she holds her arm to start walking. The staff member leads you to a room, and Libbie hops up onto the bed as if this is a normal routine for her.

"Hello, I'm Emily. I'll be the nurse checking you guys in." She says as she starts hooking Libby up to the monitor to get a set of vitals.

She continues, “This one is going to give you-"

"-a big hug!" Libbie finishes her sentence as the blood pressure cuff starts going.

"Exactly. Aren't you a smart one?" the nurse responds while also glancing up at you with a question behind her eyes.

“Okay, I am going to leave this gown. She will likely need X-rays, so have her get dressed, and when she is done, open the curtain, and the doctor will come see you." With that, the nurse leaves the room.

Libbie, working quickly, already has her shoes and socks off by the time you get to her bed with the gown.

"Do you think this doctor will give me a sticker like the last one?" Libbie looks at you excitedly. You swear this child would do anything and go anywhere as long as there was a promise of a sticker. Currently, as you are taking off her shirt, you can count 3 stickers already, likely from the neighbor who babysits her after daycare while you finish your work shift.

"Maybe if you ask super nicely," you respond while tying the little gown in the back. Frankly, the doctor could give her a blank label, and she will be happy, but you keep that to yourself.

Once dressed, you open the curtain, go back to Libbie, and turn on the TV. You know the drill; this will take a while before the doctor gets to you.

About an hour later, Libbie still intensely watching Bluey, you've been drifting in and out of sleep in the uncomfortable chair, and you see movement out of the corner of your eye.

A handsome older gentleman with grey dusting his hair and a slight limp in his walk is opening the door with a small grin on his face.

"Good evening, my name is Dr. Abbot. I hear we have a potential broken arm in here." You nod affirmatively, a little nervous around doctors you do not know.

He walks until he reaches Libbie's bedside and speaks to her in a soft voice, "Hi honey, what's your name?"

Libbie, on the other hand, has no anxiety with people, exclaims, "My name is Elizabeth, but my friends call me Libbie. I'm five." She states with all the confidence in the world while holding up all five fingers.

"Can I be your friend and call you Libbie?" The doctor asks with a slight smile and a raised eyebrow.

"That depends. Do you have a sticker?"

With that said, Dr. Abbot looks towards you with a larger grin on his face. Meanwhile, you have a guilty expression and a hand on your forehead. This girl and her stickers.

Dr. Abbot reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pen. "How about this? I give you the pen, and find a piece of paper, and you draw something pretty. But next time I come back, I will have a sticker."

That seems to placate Libbie, and she immediately gets drawing.

Dr. Abbot then turns to you, his face becoming a little more serious and setting off some anxiety inside of you.

"Hi Mom, we do not have any history in our charts of Libbie. She seems pretty healthy besides the obvious arm injury, but any important medical history?"

This makes you pause. It is not the first time you have been mistaken for Mom, definitely will not be the last. But that is not what makes you pause. It's that you know, if you explain how much Libbie is in the hospital, it will end in child protective services talking to you. It happened last time when the ER doctor at Mercy Hospital didn't believe that a small fall could cause a femur fracture. Hopefully, Dr. Abbot believes you.

“Um, I am actually her older sister. I legally adopted her two years ago. But she has a little bit of a history," you start listing "epilepsy, ADHD, asthma, anaphylactic allergies, and osteogenesis imperfecta." You pause as Dr. Abbot starts typing into her chart. You start to get anxious, and when that happens, you begin to start over explaining.

"We moved recently from South Carolina, and it takes forever to get a primary care doctor, and the wait lists are 6 months long. But I still follow up with her old doctor to stay on medications. Her epilepsy has been under control now since I have adopted her. She has broken bones before due to the OI, but we've been working on being gentle with our bodies, but she always wants to play with the neighbors. That's what happened today. I was at work, and our neighbor called saying she fell while playing soccer in the backyard. I came home as soon as I could and took her here. She has fragile bones, and we are working on supplements to help, but I heard it can take a long time before we see results. I can give you the number and name of her doctor from South Carolina that proved she has it. Wait here, let me pull it up on my phone.“

“Breathe." Dr. Abbot cuts you off.

You stutter to a stop and try to avoid looking at Dr. Abbot in the eyes, but they are calling to you like a beacon.

"She's okay. You did good bringing her here," he says in a gentle voice.

You take another breath before avoiding his eye contact once again by looking towards Libbie. She is still zoned in on the television, totally unaware of a conversation happening around her.

Most days are hard for you. Gaining custody at 22 years old meant dropping out of college months before graduating to take care of your 3-year-old sister. Your mom, finally succumbing to addiction, left you with a chronically ill sister, a mortgage debt, and a broken heart. Even if she was a drug addict and made your childhood absolute turmoil, she was still your mother. You had your grandmother still to help with selling all of your mom's things and to help raise Libbie. But around 6 months ago, she passed away. Leaving you once again alone. This time truly alone, but you had your sister. So you moved to Pittsburgh for an opportunity to finish college while working full time. Most days are hard, but there is a goal to be able to give Libbie a good life with opportunities. But due to your mother's addiction issues, she used while pregnant, leaving Libbie with chronic (and expensive) problems.

It started with the withdrawal as a baby. Which lead to seizures that seemed to never stop. At 19 years old, you were rushing Libbie to hospital after hospital to find someone to help with these seizures while your mother continued to abuse substances. Eventually, a doctor was able to figure out the right meds and doses to control the seizures. At that point, Libbie was walking, and then the first broken bone happened. You and the doctor did not think much of it until it happened again. And again. Eventually, gaining the diagnosis of OI. Then, finally, when things calmed down, grandma gave her peanut butter for the first time. We were back in the ER for anaphylaxis and sent home with Epi Pens and an instruction manual. Since then, we have added tree nuts, soy, and kiwi to Libbie's allergy list.

Noticing that you are staring at Libbie, Dr. Abbot turns his attention towards your sister.

"I am going to order an X-ray, and we will go from there." Dr. Abbot says offhandedly.

Libbie, taking the time to realize there was a conversation happening, asks, "And then can I get pizza?"

Once again, you are embarrassed, cheeks starting to redden as Dr. Abbot looks towards you again with a small grin.

"Sorry, we ran right to the ED. I didn't think about grabbing her a snack." You try to explain.

Abbot, looking back at Libbie, says, "As soon as I see the x-ray pictures, I will see if I can grab you a snack."

He gives you one last look as he stands from the chair and leaves the room. Even minutes after he has left, you still feel his presence and can't stop remembering the way his eyes seemed to stare into you.

__

X-ray came by eventually, and Libbie is getting antsy and starting to wiggle around more. Bluey is not holding her attention as it did when you first got here.

Just as she began to try and hop out of the bed, there is a knock at the door.

In walks Dr. Abbot. With a delicious aroma coming in with him.

"PIZZA!" Libbie shouts, practically jumping on the bed.

Abbot is holding a whole box of fresh cafeteria pizza.

"Good news. Libbie's arm will not need surgery, meaning it's pizza time." Dr abbot states as he sets the box on the bed. You notice he has a bunch of supplies hanging out of his pant pockets.

“Okay, honey. First things first, we are putting a cast on, and then you can eat the pizza. Just make sure to give your sister a piece. She’s earned it and looks famished." Abbot sends a wink your way, and you swear your heart jumped a beat.

"What color cast are you thinking, Miss Libbie?"

“PINK!" Libbie practically yells.

Internally, you are thanking the heavens she did not choose white again.

"How did I know?" Dr. Abbot replies, taking a pink fiberglass package out of his back pocket.

He makes quick work of the cast, and Libbie is mowing down her pizza in minutes.

As she's distracted and eating, you lean towards Dr. Abbot as he is cleaning his supplies up.

You speak in a hushed tone, "Thank you for helping her and calming her, and of course, the pizza. You really didn't have to do it. I appreciate it. You really made our night."

Once again, you lock eyes and you both are in a breath-holding trance. After a pause, he finally responds slightly out of breath, "No problem at all. I'm glad to help. She's a good kid."

He seems to shake his head a little, retreats his eyes, and begins to stand.

“Alright, Libbie, no more soccer until your arm is all better. We will see you guys in 6 weeks to take the cast off."

With that, Abbot hustles out of the room.

Huh.

And as you start packing up, you notice a roll of princess stickers left on the bed. It brings a smile to your face and a longing look towards the door.

The whole way home, you swear you can still smell his cologne. And every time you closed your eyes, you could still see intense eyes looking your way.

The next day, you end up at John's Pizza Palace as promised and couldn't help but remember the doctor's kindness. You couldn’t help but remember how handsome the doctor was too.

“Fuuuuuckin’ hell, man,” Robby exhales loudly, palms flat on the back of his head as his fingers spread wide, the tension in his shoulders getting heavier as your vitals even out. You look sallow even with the oxygen they’re now supplying to you. Jack is still holding tight to the last shot of epinephrine, despite the lumen being empty. It feels both like the lightest and heaviest thing in the world, as he holds it in his hand, poised exactly as it was for him to give you the shot of medication.

He’s about to move when Jack does, his head ducked low and his hands clenched as he tosses the needle into the sharps container and rids of himself of his gloves. Calculated movements that err on the side of too fast that give away the tension he’s carrying in every muscle of his body. But he’s gentle when he reaches over your unconscious form to lay a blanket over your ruined clothing, wanting to preserve some semblance of your modesty.

His knuckles pop as he sets the guard rails in place, his grip turning the freckled skin completely white.

“You didn’t know.” Robby quietly reassures, knowing the direction of his friend's thoughts.

Jack can’t get that flicker of fear in expression out of his mind’s eye. It’s replaying like some sick film at the end of it’s roll. Flashing over and over and over, dissolving into you on the floor and convulsing something wicked and horrifying. He never wants to see anything like it again. Not when it’s you.

His composure broke.

He’ll be the first to admit it, Robby noticed it too.

Just for a moment.

But that’s all it takes for something to go wrong, for the brain to be depraved of oxygen, for organs to shut down, for skin to wither. For someone to suffer. For someone to die.

It’s only ever broken one other time.

And he doesn’t like to think about it. but it was when he first returned home earlier than normal to find his wife passed out in their previous home. He’d paused for a long while, brain short circuiting before kicking in and assessing the scene. He’d been one of those people that cradled the downed person when he should’ve immediately called for help and then done what he could to assess the situation. He knows now that he hadn’t caused any damage or further issues, but the guilt is still there. It will always be there, that he paused. That he acted like a civilian.

He's never been just a civilian.

✦✦✦✦

Jack doesn’t go home after his shift. He sits in the room with you, where you’re still a goddamn patient in the emergency department even as the sun rises on the city.

His thoughts consume him in the worst way.

Memories of doing this with his late wife play like some twisted movie in his head. Failure after failure reminding him why he works himself to the bone, until there’s nothing left, why he sometimes sits in deathly silence across from his therapist for the full hour of their session even as they call his name and try to bring him back to the living world.

And then Gloria is stepping into the room. Frown on her face.

“She’s turning out to be a problem, isn’t she?”

“Excuse me?” Jack’s head whips up deadly fast from where he had been holding his face in his hands, neck cricking from the movement. His anger flares up, hot and fast like it used to when he was young and trying to prove himself in the service but fell just short of getting the recognition he thought he deserved. It took time for him to learn, to understand that some things are just expected actions and nothing to be rewarded. That the things that end up getting such are the things he carries with him in his low moments, that make his body ache and his mind glitch. But this?

You being accused of something totally and wholly inappropriate and wrong?

That deserves his anger.

“Two incidents within six months is…not satisfactory.” Gloria continues on her assessment of you, of the two things out of your control when the overall track record is rather impressive. So impressive that you’ve gone ahead and accepted the offer for the attending position. But now? The same woman who sat at the table as your superiors, as your coworkers, as patient satisfaction reports and comments were read aloud for her based on your work and interactions- is saying that you are not up to snuff. That you are becoming a burden.

Jack’s not going to let it happen.

You do a perfectly fine job here at the PTMC. You take the time to talk to people in a calm, attentive voice even in a rush. You take the time out of your busy schedule to conduct street team duties and thrive in that environment- helping to bridge the gap between the often forgotten or overlooked with a soft smile on your face and a kind hand. He’ll be damned if the opportunity to continue to do good work, to be yourself and to continue to thrive in the field you’ve worked so hard and sacrificed so much to be in is taken from you over something that was his fault.

Because if he hadn’t gone across the street and gotten that damn pastry…

“You know what’s not satisfactory?” Jack’s voice is even, commanding, a little louder than normal because he’s stressed and his protective instinct was just activated. “That my patient is still waiting on a room in a hectic emergency department when she should be upstairs in a quiet hall getting some rest after having being in respiratory distress!”

Heads turn to peer in through the glass that makes up the walls of your room. As if this is just some television drama that upped the ante. Conflict for the sake of conflict. But no, this is something that Jack will not have happen, not in his department, not in his life, not to his girl.

“She shouldn’t have even been in respiratory distress to begin with, she was on the clock.”

“Oh, my bad, Gloria. Let me just- tell my staff to not fucking eat on the clock real quick and that will resolve the issue of accidental allergen consumption! What the actual fuck?” He makes an ugly face, he knows he does, a grimace that does nothing to hide his disgust at the words his superior just spoke.

And then she proceeds to-

“Dr. Abbot, I suggest you calm down.”

Tell him to calm down.

As if she isn’t literally coming after the one person that’s managed to make a home under his skin and in his heart after everything that’s happened to him.

“I suggest you leave the room, Gloria. You are not going to like any more of my responses at this time if you do not.”

“Dr. Abbot, you may have authority here but you are toeing the line like Robby,” Gloria’s words are even in tone but the underlying question is there. Are you going to start causing problems and back talking?

Jack shifts his weight on his feet, arms crossed over his chest as he fixes the woman across from him with a stern glare. She’s not even in the room completely, nor has she asked if you’re okay. She’s only barely entered the room, the door still open slightly behind her and she’s basically accused you of being a problem for having a medical emergency in a hospital.

It’s honestly the best damn place to have one of those, if you ask any one of the professionals on shift.

Regardless if you’re staff or not.

Resident, nurse, doctor, what have you.

“You may have authority over the floor in some regards but you certainly do not have it over how the workers manage their time and when they can and cannot have their own medical emergencies.”

Gloria’s eyes take in your form once more before she turns her back and takes her leave, the door is barely snipping shut behind her when a new sound breaks the tension.

“You tell ‘er,” Your weak voice croaks from behind him, making him whip around so fast his prosthetic creaks. He’s across the room in a heartbeat, hands reaching to cradle the one that you raised to reach for him. The IV along the back of it feels cold and all too familiar in against his palm but he tamps down the memories that crop up, focusing on you and the present.

And he isn’t too big a fan of what he sees but he’s determined to help you get better, to make a difference and help you get that room upstairs or discharged so he can take care of you at home.

Home.

Because it’s not his place anymore. Not just his place.

It’s been transformed into something new since you’ve moved in.

Fresh flowers in the entry way and kitchen, the smell of homemade food, fresh bread and tortillas, your perfume lingering fucking everywhere.

“Cherry, baby, I am so fucking sorry.”

“You didn’t…know, Jack.” Your voice cracks on the harsh consonants of his name, breath wheezing an uncomfortable thing from your lungs at the effort. You grimace, face twisting into something that makes your freckles and beauty marks pop against the florescent lighting even more so. You’re so beautiful, even in the hospital bed, even sallow,

“I…I should’ve.”

“How do you figure, hmm?” Robby’s voice piques up from the doorway, helping to bridge the gap of communication seeing as you’re unable to get out more than a few wheezing sounds that resemble words. You nod weekly, touching a weak pointer finger to your nose and aiming the other at the man as he approaches. It trembles with the motion.

Jack just frowns, wrinkles forming as his mouth pulls down heavily and he almost pouts with the motion.

It’s…heart wrenching.

Robby’s deep chuckle fills the room as he pulls the stethoscope from around his neck and readies it to listen to your breathing. Jack just watches, mind a little slow, turned down a bit, otherwise he would’ve thought to do that the second your eyes fluttered open.

He feels like he’s in limbo.

Not quite a doctor, not quite a partner. Something in between, but he isn’t sure what. With his wife, it was obvious he was the worried spouse, the doting husband, the doctor who worked a shift at the hospital and then one at home- but this…this is different and new in ways he’s not sure how to navigate quite yet. Not with you.

“She’s good to go upstairs, brother,” Robby announces, wringing the device back around his shoulders and gripping each end in a hand as a soothing motion. It’s not much, but it’s helping him keep his hands to himself as he regards the display of your vitals, of eyeing the steady drip of your IV, the sweep over your frame in the bed. You’d been changed into a gown, blankets piled on and pillows propped up all around you at Jack’s insistence.

Perla had asked how Jack knew you’d want so many of them but he’d remained silent in the wake of such a question. She didn’t say anything further, but followed his orders, knowing that the two of you were close. Princess and her share a look every time he lingers and then eventually when his shift was over and they were back for theirs the next morning to find him sitting there with his head in his hands.

A different twelve hours for each of them, to be sure.

“…h-home,” Is what you manage to say, fingers tangling with Jack’s atop your lap. Your grip is weak but enough for him to understand that you’d rather recover in private, with him tending to you rather than a plethora of nurses and doctors. And then there’s the issue of insurance and billing…he’s unsure if you even have medical coverage, because while the hospital is a decent place to work, it doesn’t exactly offer the best benefits for those who haven’t established themselves or are willing to pay a high monthly premium.

Regardless, he would over to cover any expenses.

Just to ease his own mind a bit.

To help you where and when you might need it.

Not because you can’t tend to it yourself but because he wants to.

To be that pillar you lean on when things get tough, to be a support for you where you have none. Not just as a man and woman but because he cares for you, he wants to be a safe space for you, to be want you want in any ways and all ways even if you might not think it.

“I’ll get the discharge paperwork all drawn up. Medications, breathing treatments, all of it packed and ready for you two to take with you. Follow up in three days for a check-up and secondary tests, Sound good?”  Robby tetters back and forth on his feet, height towering over both of them but it’s reassuring in a way at the moment. He’s going to make sure you get what you need and none of it shows up on the books. You’re thankful for that, you can’t even begin to fathom how much this mishap is going to set you back and end up costing you in extra hours at your second job.

A simple thumbs up is your reply, a tired smile pulling at your lips as you head rests heavy against your many pillows. Numbers and percentages swirling around sluggishly behind your eyes. It tires you, it stresses you, but you don’t have the energy to focus on it any more than fleetingly at the moment.

Instead, you shift to Jack. Eyes finding his hazel ones that are shining despite the overhead fluorescents being turned off in the early hours of the day. You can only assume since Robby is here and Jack appears to be so ruffled and resolutely sitting by your side. His curls care completely frizzy, the varying shades of silver that make them up wrecked from him running his hands through them no doubt. You untangle your hand from his and reach shakily for them, wanting to pat a few of them down where they stick up a little too tall, the roots no doubt teased out from his ministrations.

Robby turns towards the door just as Jack tips his head low for you, his cheek resting on your thigh lightly to allow you to thread your fingers through his locks. He sighs heavily, his breath stuttering out as a dry sob wracks his body on the exhale. You only watch with tired, glassy eyes of your own as his wrinkles crease around his clenched, freckled face.

✦✦✦✦

Anyone who even gives a curious glance in his direction as he maneuvers his truck into the ambulance bay gets a withering glare. Jack isn’t typically one for such outright aggression or stern imposition without reason, he knows he’s breaking several laws and even violating some hospital safety guidelines, but he’s not about to wheel you in your weakened state to the front pick up on the busy street side. The sun shining down harshly on the entrance alone would be too much for you, let alone the exhaust from the traffic and general stuffiness of the city. The backside of the hospital a little less so, shaded, easier, better. For you and thus for him. He leaves his hazards on and makes sure his parking pass as well s his handicap [term for pass] is on display before he shifts it into park and carefully get out.

His own legs are aching, his right a little stiff from being so tense in that chair for so long. It’d taken a few more hours for discharge to become a reality, no doubt due to Robby finagling the system in your favor.

For which Jack is grateful. He’d seen the swirl of stress begin to brew behind your eyes at the mention of medication and everything.

A soft, tired smile pulled at his lips as Mel carefully wheeled you up to the bay doors. Your little wave melts his heart and he shifts his weight on his legs to work out a kink in his hip before walking over to help.

In the quiet of the truck, after an easy transition under his watchful eye, Jack’s eyes flit to you when you whisper something conspiratorially to him in the cab.

“Your pastry fairy dropped off their weekly treats,” Your voice is weak, a little raspy, a little hoarse, but you manage to inflict a little bit of a teasing tone into the words still. The ongoing joke between you and him and Robby something that normally brings out a good laugh and the gossip lover in him.

But it seems to have a negative effect today. Your teasing falls flat.

“That’s not funny, Cherry.”

“I’m not being funny, I’m trying to cheer you up, Jack,” You reach out a hand and pull one of his from the steering wheel. But he keeps it firm, not allowing you to uncurl his fingers in your weakened state. The muscle in his jaw is twitching, letting you know he’s trying to keep his emotions in check but that he’s on edge as well. He’s about ready to pop. So you drop your hands back in your lap, attention firmly fixed outside of your window now. Heat builds up behind your face and you hate yourself for the huff of tears that well up. It’s stupid, this whole thing is so stupid.

He made a mistake; it doesn’t need to be this way. He doesn’t need to carry it like it’s some grave affront against you he did on purpose. There’s a lack of knowledge, a lack of awareness involved, accidents happen – medical or otherwise. Just because you’re both in the medical field doesn’t excuse you from the human error of that. Especially with something like this.

You can see him shutting down, now that things are sinking in, have sunk in.

That this has happened, that he’s taking on the blame for what happened. Already has before you even hit the ground all those hours ago. And you’re…too tired to help him work through it at the moment.

Wanting to just curl into yourself and give in to the emotions that are cresting and waning inside of your body. the feeling of being alone all encompassing, of being so far away from all that you know too much to even begin to handle in the wake of all this. His comfort, his hold, his attention- it would help but it wouldn’t heal. Not completely.

And that’s a damn shame.

Nobody can heal someone completely, they can only help.

But only if they can get out of their own shit long enough.

And Jack is about as deep in his shit as you’ve ever seen him.

He helps you out of the truck almost on autopilot, doctor mode fully activated, a touch too professional for the setting. For the front of his driveway, for the entry through his open garage door and the sleek, organized confines of said garage. The hallway is shadowed in the early morning whereas the entryway via the front door is dappled in the morning light, perfectly displaying the mood that swirls heavy in the air around the two of you.

✦✦✦✦

“I think…” You trail off, voice raspy from the trauma of the day before, not sure if you really, truly want to do this but need to do something. “Jack, I’m going to sleep in my room, I think we need some…space from each other today.”

He doesn’t argue, he doesn’t even say anything. He’s completely switched off, given over to this foreign version of himself you’ve only glimpsed before. It’s been easy to drag him back from the edge when you see him amble along it but he’s already halfway over and he needs to sort himself out- you know from experience of your own that any help will only be met with resistance and apathy.

But perhaps there is one person who can help, his best friend. You opt to resort to shooting off a text if Jack is in much of the same state in a few days’ time when he returns to work, having decided to stay home to help manage the breathing treatments and medication in case you get too winded doing every day tasks.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind you, your body sags, the day and everything that happened hitting you. The first sob forced its way out of your chest unexpectedly. It was a violent, involuntary sound that seems to come from the very bottom of your lungs, ripping through your body.

It hurts.

To cry so ferally, to wholly.

The emotions taking over completely.

Loneliness and stress and everything in between taking over in a way that hurts even more as it burns through your exhausted body. the burning in your throat intensifies but you ignore it, almost choking on your next breath as you stagger toward the bed. You scramble for the drawer on the bedside table, for the rosary inside that your parents gifted you when you were born.

You aren’t religious but it brings you comfort to hold it. To feel that connection with them. The grasp you have on it is so tight that it digs into your skin and smarts, distracting you from the other pain your body is going through, it’s almost a welcome distraction as you settle haphazardly on the bed and slump into yourself as the tears and sobs continue to wrack through you in waves.

He just stands on the other side of the door, frozen in his emotions of grief and guilt. The sounds of your sobs echoing around him. his chest feels like its filled with concrete, his feet like stone, he can’t move, immobile and forced to listen to the heartbreaking sound of you losing yourself to your emotions just feet away.

In his room, after you’ve gone quiet and he’s finally able to free himself from the umpteenth ring of hell of that confined hallway, Jack removes his clothing. Harsh movements rid him of the scrubs he’s been wearing for far too long.

The first ring being his hectic, insane shift full of traumas they couldn’t keep up with. The second being the way you were obviously stressed about something he didn’t know about and you were showing signs of even as you executed your job and did it well, catching things early, dismissing simple cases, amazing him and the younger residents with your skills. Then the pastry, then the shift after that- the night one he was originally scheduled for but was infinitely harder to work knowing your transition from doctor to patient.

Now he’s in his head.

Where he deserves to be after letting you cross the threshold into your own room.

The one you haven’t slept in since moving into his place all those weeks ago, months ago.

Offered and accepted but not used.

Not once. And unspoken thing. His comfort allowing you even more space to handle the things you were going through. To help him with the things he’s been going through but pushing down. The bed a common ground between two people who lead busy lives and meet in odd hours of the day, of the night with yearning bodies for human connection. The bed being such a simple thing that has become something of a safe space.

His own becoming yours as much as it is his.

Shared.

His sheets smell of your perfume. The ones he stares at through blurry eyes now. they’re mused, from sleeping beside you through the night, from tangling his body with yours in ways that have become almost second nature, comforting, an obsession if he cannot do so. You are an obsession he does not deserve. A gift and continuation of life he has not earned.

With a huff, he turns from the bed, bracing himself against the dresser. He shoves at it, anger taking over in that split second. The motion rocks everything resting atop it. a frame clatters face down, the single, sharp clink of glass cracking gives him pause. With shaking hands, he picks it up- a photo of him and his late wife, caught unaware out at a gathering. Smiling at each other, completely enraptured in each other’s orbit.

His heart thuds painfully.

He misses her.

He misses you.

Only one of you is here. Physically, alive, breathing.

Cherish what finds you next, promise me, Jack.

Some of the last words his wife spoke, in a voice that was barely her own play in his head now. Haunting him, making him hurt. Make him realize what he’s doing is casting himself into damnation and dragging you down with him- and it doesn’t have to be that way.

Cold dread, hot regret. Flashing through him with startling intensity.

He’s down the hall, his prosthetic pinching and his leg throbbing with the heaviness and quickness of his steps. He doesn’t even bother knocking on your door, rushing inside to see you simply sitting in on the edge of the bed with your hands in your lap. Something glitters in them but he doesn’t pay it much mind as your head rises and your watery eyes meet his.

He barely gives you the chance to stand up, but you do at the sight of him standing there- paused for the briefest moment. His chest heaving as if he’s run across an active war zone loaded down with gear and under fire, his neck hot and his heart thudding almost painfully. He reaches for you just as you stand and do so yourself, new tears silently racing down your cheeks.

He pulls you into him, arms caging you against him tightly. His head knocks into yours where he nuzzles it as close as he can, peppering kisses into your hair, your temple, anywhere he can.

“I’m here,” He croaks, his own tears working him up even if they don’t fall. His eyes shiny and burning with them as he clenches them shut and just feels the way you breathe against him. He only relents when you gently usher him toward the bed, hands steady save for a slight tremble as you sit turn to sit him down. You rest your hands against his bare chest as he heaves a heavy sigh, the weight of no longer standing on his leg a relief even in his worked up state.

Silently, you gently helped him remove the pinching pieces. Dissecting him in such an intimate, instinctual way that wasn’t just due to the knowledge you’ve cultivated and honed for years. It feels like you’ve learned him, studied the subject of Jack since meeting him. You know where to press you thumb to avoid his leg jerking up, you know where his thigh tingles when the weight it first taken out of the artificial socket, you know the ache in his hip is more interior than exterior, as exhibited by your soothing fingers on the side of his body there now.

All of this is done in silence, your tears dried on your face though Jack’s reaches out to thumb at them.

You look up from where you rub in the ointment that helps relieve his aching pain and offer him a soft smile, you throat burns and your voice is raspy but you think you’d still talk to him all night if that’s what he needs. You think you love him. this man who has welcomed you into his home, who has given you the space and the time and the means to do what you need to do to become what you want. He doesn’t ask for anything in return, he doesn’t demand anything of you. he simply wishes for you to be the best version of yourself that you want to be- and that means so much.

You leave for just a beat, going into the room that’s become the den of the house, essentially. You grab his crutches, the ones with the elbow rests in them because you know he prefers those. And a change of clothes for him from the dresser in case he wants to dress. The scattered and knocked over items atop it give you pause, because you thought you heard a thud earlier but had chocked it up to him bumping into something on accident in his tired state. You eye the broken glass inside the frame, heart aching for the loss he’s experienced and thinking back to your teenage love back in your home country. Nothing in comparison to be sure, but you place the rosary from around your neck, the one you had been holding when Jack walked in over the frame as an offering before returning to you him and room down the hall.

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Reaching out to draw a card from the stack, you silently pray for anything normal. Sitting around you are 15 of the most capable Danforths, all keen to kick off the night. With a deep breath, you finally flip the card over, leaving it face up on the table without looking at it. Instead, you watch Titus’s face and pick up as his mouth pulls into a tight line. Closing your eyes and leaning back on your seat, you know what you drew: hide and seek; a hunt, the hunt. The very thing Titus has been trying to train you for in the “off chance” you’d have to do it. You already knew the outcome long before you drew the card, for the past nearly 50 years, every spouse has had to participate in a hunt.

“Sweetheart,” he whispers, and you can sense the nerves behind it. His voice like that alone is enough to make your heart start to race. You don’t open your eyes as you try to mentally remember everything Titus has been trying to drill into you. “I love you, I’ll see you very soon, okay?” Letting yourself glare up at him, you don’t respond. In this moment, you hate him for not only what he has already put you through, but practically giving you a death sentence. Looking around the room, you notice how each person at the table is smiling and watching you with calculating eyes. Your stomach sinks as you realize just how real things are going to become. Desperate to get you to respond, Titus tries again, “I love you, okay?” 

Ignoring him, you stare down at his father. “I have 30 minutes, yes?” Your voice comes out steady; something Titus made you practice over and over again. It impresses those sitting around the table, especially considering they half-expected you to not have any idea what came next. It’s rather hard to convince someone to marry when there’s even a slim chance they may be hunted down mere hours after the ceremony. 

“30 minutes, starting…now,” Father says with a nod. Immediately, the room starts to erupt into quick and crazed whispers, but not wanting to waste any precious time, you stand and walk towards the door. 

“Wait,” Titus says, lunging toward you. Before he can reach you, three of his cousins grab him, but even the three grown men struggle to maintain their grip. 

“Tsk. Tsk. You know the rules, Titus; don’t make us restrain you. That wouldn’t be very sightly for your new wife,” Ursula smirks at him, causing him to thrash harder. It’s the last thing you hear as the door snaps shut behind you and you take off running. 

You know you need to put distance between you and them. Sprinting hard, you run carefully. You purposely avoid any sticks, hoping to not leave a noticeable path. After several minutes, you stop and take stock of what’s around you. Titus hid several potential weapons for you. He made the Lawyer check the bylaws a hundred times over, and nothing said he couldn’t. Noticing the glint of something shiny in the moonlight, you recognize one of his knives stuck partially into a tree. With a hard yank, it comes free. Now armed, you try to steady your breath, not wanting to give yourself away. 

Satisfied it is as quiet as it’s going to get, you slowly start to move, staying hunkered close to the ground. Hearing a snapping of a twig, you jerk around, but it’s too late. One of Titus’s cousins has you knocked onto your back with a hard thud, sending the knife just barely out of your fingers' reach. Fuck, you think, feeling completely trapped. Sitting on your hips, he grins down at you and presses a finger to your lips. You want to bite at him, but you force yourself to lay still.

“Don’t scream, or the others will come, and we don’t want that, do we?” He coos, running his own blade along your chin, causing goosebumps to prick your skin. “So dainty and delicate, it’s such a shame you have to die.” Stretching with everything in you, you still can’t quite reach the knife. Trying another tactic Titus told you would be likely to work on any of his male relatives, you shove your pride down deep and take on the helpless victim role. 

With a small whimper, you look up at the attacker with big eyes. “Please. I can show you a really good time. Please, I don’t want to die; I’ll do anything,” you beg without shame. You need to buy yourself time to get over to the knife. 

“I see what Titus sees, or rather saw in you. I suppose there’s no harm in having a little fun,” he leans down, kissing you directly on the lips. Biting back the rising nausea, you kiss back even harder, making sure your desperation shows. Playing into his ego worked, and the man slowly slides off you, pleased that you’re so willing to have sex with him. With your newfound freedom of movement, you grab the knife and waste no time driving it into his neck. His eyes widen slightly as he wordlessly stares at you before slumping over. You don’t even have time to process that you just killed somebody; a real-life human being, just like you. Instead, the adrenaline forces you to grab your knife and keep running. 13 left, not including Titus, you think to yourself as you stalk off into the night. 

Titus has already slain 3 of his own relatives for you. He has been silently moving through the woods, hoping to find you, but continually running into his own blood. Without even so much as a thought, he killed them as soon as he laid eyes on them. He freezes as he sees a body seemingly lying on the ground, watching just long enough to ensure there’s no movement coming from it. With a sigh of relief, he recognizes one of his cousins, quelling the small but growing fear it was you. A small wave of pride washes over him; he knows you must’ve been the one to kill him. 10 more, he thinks to himself, happy that the odds are getting better so fast. And that you helped bring the number down. 

But the feeling will be short-lived. Ursula has been stalking him, hoping to subdue him in an attempt to make it easier to catch you. She knows better than anyone not to get in between Titus and his things. He is more reactive than a starving dog guarding its food dish. As he bends down to check the body, she shoots one of her arrows, dipped in a strong sedative, into his back. She knows it’s not enough to kill him, not that she wants to kill him, just enough to take him out for about an hour. 

Titus immediately latches onto the arrow and pulls it out of his back. But it’s too late, and the sedative has already been taken into his system enough. Even worse, he knows it’s Urusula’s doing without even seeing her. Only his twin would think to take him out of the race.

She steps forward, confirming it. “Poor baby brother, too busy gloating about a trivial success to see the bigger picture, like always.” He rushes towards her, but his steps are already off balance, and he drunkenly stumbles around. “The next time your eyes open, you’ll be seeing your precious little toy getting ruthlessly destroyed by your own family members. If you ask nicely though, perhaps I’ll let you kiss her goodbye.” 

“You bitch, I’ll kill-,” he mumbles as he lamely lifts his pickaxe, but it instead collapses onto the ground.

“I’m sure many of the men here will be eager to repay the favor of what you did with their wives. But I doubt you told her about that, did you?” 

“Don’t touch her,” Titus hisses, wanting to come across as threatening, but unable to even stand. Although he’s fighting it so hard, his eyes slowly come to a close as the sedative takes over. Satisfied that he'll be out for the rest of the hunt, Ursula practically skips away to look for the real target: you.

You've already seen three bodies, presumably killed by Titus. You know you’re getting close to him; you only hope you find him sooner rather than later. Each body brought you a small surge of hope that maybe you could get out alive. You’re back to creeping through the woods when you see a man crouched down by a tree. As quietly as you can, you move towards him, brandishing your knife up in the air. Wanting to make sure it’s not Titus, you softly whisper, “Hey!” Even though you know you’d never be able to catch him off guard, you really do not want to accidentally kill him. 

The man whips around, locking eyes with you. Before he even has a chance to get anything out, you slice at his throat. The sight of the blood gushing out and the sickening gurgle makes you feel ill. But you know it was between you and him. And you do not want to die. 9 more, you think to yourself, trying desperately to rationalize that you just killed a second man. And this time, it wasn’t technically in self-defense. You caught him off guard and unaware of your presence. Even so, you think back to how Titus made it very clear it was every man for himself. The thought that he would kill you without even hesitating allows you to justify the fact you sort of did like seeing the look of confusion tainted by fear on his face right before you slashed his throat.

Pushing that concerning thought down, you keep moving. You need to find Titus, but you don’t know where to look. By now, you thought he would have found you. Just ahead, you see two bodies slumped over on the ground. Assuming it’s two more kills from him, you creep over to them. With a small gasp, you realize one is Titus. A sinking feeling in your stomach grows rapidly, and you press your fingers to his neck, checking for a pulse. Relieved, you notice he is alive. Curious as to what incapacitated him, you see the small arrow lying next to him. Great, one of his freak family members drugged him, you think to yourself. You find yourself getting mad at Titus. How could he be so careless as to leave you alone out here? And, if one of his family members was able to do this to him, there’s no chance in hell you stood a chance against them. Grabbing his pickaxe, you decide you shouldn’t stay in the clearing. Whoever did this could be lingering nearby, waiting for you to show up. 

If it is possible, you feel yourself more on edge than before you found Titus completely helpless. You had no choice but to leave him there. None of the family members would dare harm him, even if they could. As a High Seat family member, he couldn’t be killed anyway. Even if you didn’t fully believe his ramblings before, you decide to now, even if it’s to make you feel better about your semi-selfish choice. I shouldn’t feel bad; he’s the reason I’m fucking here, you think to yourself, angry you’re finding yourself caring so much for the man who has caused you so much pain and suffering. 

Nonetheless, you know you must continue. There are several more hours until sunrise, when the game will be called off and you’ll be granted Mr. Le Bail’s protection. Looking around, you barely catch a woman silently watching you. She is leaning against a tree, trying to blend in with the background. And she almost does, but Titus’s relentless training made you able to spot her figure. Not sure the best way to continue, you pretend not to notice and keep walking. Until you feel what looks like some sort of hatchet just barely misses your head and lands solidly into a tree. Diving onto the forest floor, you wait for her to jump onto you, but she never does. Realizing she must’ve only had the one hatchet, you jump up and look around for her. She’s running away from you, but tripping over the brush on the ground. Expertly, you give chase and catch up to her with ease. Raising Titus’s pickaxe above your head, with a sharp crack, you catch her in the shoulder as she falls to the ground. She lets out a blood-curdling scream, the pain searing through her body. You grimace, knowing people had to have heard it. 

“Shut up,” you hiss, trying to dislodge the pickaxe from her shoulder. The jerking around of it only causes her to keep screaming. Getting desperate, you slice at her throat with your knife. The blood splatters across your face, hands, and arms. 8 more, you think to yourself. Giving the pickaxe one final tug, you accept you’re going to have to continue without it. You know you need to put as much distance between her and yourself as possible. Deciding it best to run as fast as possible, you blindly pick a direction and set off. 

Ursula, hearing the screams, knows you must’ve gotten someone else or someone got you. Locking into the direction, she starts running through the forest. Unlike some of her family, she grew up here and knows the terrain well. In no time at all, she’s by the woman. With a cruel smile, she takes in the scene, appreciating that you used Titus’s own weapon of choice against his family member. She’s starting to think she may have underestimated you. Or, rather, underestimated how much time and effort her brother put into ensuring you had the best odds any normal human could have. Sensing someone else stalking up, she draws an arrow and aims. This time she’s ready to kill, not knock out with a sedative. Focusing in on her target to double-check it isn’t you, and seeing what looks to be one of the younger female cousins, she lets the arrow fly. 

It strikes the woman in the chest, but doesn’t kill her, at least not right away. She slouches to the ground with a groan. She feels a touch of remorse for hurting one of her own. But she doesn’t want to take any chances on someone else capturing you. Plus, she reasons, she was so inexperienced she might’ve spooked and hurt me. Unlike Titus, Ursula never took any particular pleasure in killing for a hunt. She found it to be instead a necessary, yet undesirable and messy, task. Not to say she couldn’t kill; she had the same training Titus had, just without the bloodthirsty mindset. 

It's been three days since you blew up in Titus's face. 

Three days and you still haven't answered any of his texts. 

He's starting to get fucking angry. 

Titus: I pay you to answer me. Pick up your fucking phone. 

Titus: I pay for your fucking phone plan. Answer your damn phone. 

Titus: Do not make me come over there. 

Little does he know, you tossed that phone the day of your argument. So when he tracks it and finds it in a bush a few blocks away from the hotel you stormed out of, he knows you're gone. 

You've left him completely. 

Because you aren't in the house he bought you. 

The car he got you is left on the street with parking tickets piling up. 

You haven't bought a thing on any of the credit cards he has given you. 

To make matters worse, nothing of yours remains. 

It's like you wiped the earth of your existence. 

The bed doesn't smell like you. None of your soaps are in the bathroom. You took every ugly mug that you brought from your shitty little studio from when you first met Titus. 

All that is left is a hollow shell of what was once a lived in, vibrant home…

A place Titus loved to go to, to be with you in your element. 

The warmth he can never get back.

Because he has no fucking idea where you went. 

And it's all his fault. 

He knows that. 

But he can't possibly live without you. 

Not when he has grown so used to the comfort you provide him.

Why else would he spend copious amounts of money to keep you by his side?

But you don't want his money anymore.

You want nothing to do with him.

And so, you're gone. 

After a certain while, you didn't need his money anymore. You had plenty of it. That's just what happens when you never have to pay a bill while still getting paid. You were sitting on a giant pile of money that you never needed to use. 

That you plan on living the rest of your life with. 

Titus probably never thought that you had a plan in place for the day you were done with him. Maybe that was his ego or his trust that you and him had something more than just a transactional relationship.

You believed, for a moment, that it could be possible. That you could be more than just the person he pays to be available to him whenever he wants you to be. That you could mean something deeper. 

But then he said the stupidest fucking thing you've ever heard in your life. 

“I'm getting married.” He tells you as you're stepping into the hotel room with him.  

“Alright.” You respond with a curt nod, not phased by his words at all. “I'll pack my things and go then.” 

“What? Why?” Titus is confused. 

You look at him, just as confused. “What do you mean “why”? You're getting married. You don't need me anymore.” 

“Of course I need you.” He steps up to you, his hands going up to cup your face. “She's just my wife. You'll always be my princess.” 

You scoff, pulling his hands off of you. “In case you forgot our agreement, I told you that the moment you got in any kind of serious relationship, this would end. I'm not looking to be tangled in a mess.” 

“You can't be serious.” He knows that's what he agreed to, but that was years ago. 

Surely you aren't holding him to that when the two of you have done so much together…right? 

But you do. “I am serious. Your wife deserves your undivided attention.”

Though, you really only said that because it's what you deserve. And the thought of him going home to someone else sinks your heart into your stomach.

You'd rather not play that game. You'd rather just remove yourself entirely. 

Even if it means giving him up. 

“She's barely my wife. It's an arranged marriage.” 

“That doesn't change our agreement.” 

“Fuck the agreement.” Titus pulls out his phone, logging into his bank app. “Name a number and I'll pay it.” 

You stare at him, baffled. “There's no number you can pay that'll make me change the one boundary I established, Titus. I told you from the very beginning that the moment you had anyone else, I would be done.”

“But I don't care about her.”

“You don't care about me either.” You say back to him, clear as day. “Because if you did, you wouldn't throw money at me in a poor attempt to sway me. You would understand where I'm coming from, if you really cared.”

But you know he doesn't care about anyone except himself. 

That is made very apparent when he goes, “you aren't allowed to just leave me because I'm getting married.”

“I'm not allowed?” You let out a laugh at that. “Okay, watch me.”

So, you do. You walk right out of that hotel room. You toss the phone he gave you into a bush a few blocks away. You pay for a cab back to the house he bought for you to stay in. Then, you packed all your shit into a storage locker, paid it off for the next five years and then left. 

“She didn't leave a phone number? A forwarding address? Anything?” Titus asks the private investigator who found your storage locker.

“Nope. Got it all on tape. Just said she'd come back for her stuff in five years and paid extra to not have any questions asked.”

Because five years was the amount of time you believed it would take for Titus to forget all about you. 

You could live without your stuff for five years. You don't mind waiting. It was better than to be tied down to a married man. 

You weren't inexperienced when it came to the world of being a sugar baby. Titus is not your first sugar daddy. But he was the first you made your strict agreement with. Because you had dealt with it enough times before.

It gets way too messy when there's a significant other or a family involved. And you knew Titus wanted to have children eventually. 

You were not going to be the other woman that would inevitably haunt those children and their mother. You refuse to be the boogeyman that instills distrust in his family unit.

Even if Titus has never been a very honest man to begin with. But still, you had your moral boundaries. This was one of them, established through enough experience of how poorly it ends. 

You've barely made it out unscathed those first few times.

You surely wouldn't make it out of this one without breaking your own heart.

Because, as much as you hate admitting it to yourself, you felt something for Titus. It may have just been a strange sense of companionship but…you liked spending time with him. It wasn't like the others before him. 

Though, it helps a lot that he's incredibly handsome for an older man and takes very good care of himself. You can thank money for that but also his drive to make sure he could keep up with you in many different ways. 

It's strange to think you'll miss having sex with him. It's supposed to be work, technically. It has always been work for you, since you were eighteen and struggling to take care of yourself. 

But with him, it felt…different. 

You didn't like that it felt different. But you were paid not to think too deeply about it. 

It was hard not to when Titus confided in you that he was a virgin when he first hired you. And that since that moment, he has grown to get to know your body better than you do. He reveled in making you cum because it was something he never thought he'd ever get good at. The moment he did, he made sure never to stop. 

You figured it was mostly to stroke his ego. You thought it was because he got off on knowing he could make you unravel so easily now. 

Because it would be foolish for you to think otherwise. 

So, the thought of him having real feelings for you never crossed your mind. 

You assumed now that he had ample skill in his repertoire, he could easily find someone else to spoil if that's what he wanted. He didn't need you anymore. He never did.

That's what you think, at least. 

That isn't the truth, though.

The truth is that every day since you left him, he has been obsessively searching for you. 

Titus calls off his own wedding, telling his father to fuck off and threatens to kill anyone who attempts to marry him. That rumor spreads and it's enough to obliterate any prospects in that regard. 

He will not lose you again. He will not give you a reason to say no to him, to leave him again. 

But first, he has to find you. 

And that proves to be impossible. 

You leave no trace, besides a one-way ticket to Europe. You could be anywhere on the continent, on several different continents. That's something you did on purpose.

You figured Titus would try looking for you for a while. You thought maybe for a year or two, though you tried not to let your ego get in the way. You doubted you were all that special to him but you still remained as hidden as you could be, moving countries every few months, paying only in cash, stashing money all over the place to come back to. 

You were a ghost. And Titus hated how no matter how much money he spent, no one he hired could find you.

You never spent time in big cities. You always stayed in underdeveloped areas, places you knew had no surveillance that could ping you on facial recognition. You kept yourself busy by volunteering with local communities, which in turn fed you and housed you in most cases. 

You always left them a bit of the large lump sum you had earned from your years with Titus. 

That is what inevitably gives you away. 

“A woman matching her description has been traveling around to small towns, spending a month or two helping them with small community projects before leaving behind a large donation for anything else they might need. She's done this in several different places, all over Europe, Asia and Africa. Always moving.” One of the private investigators Titus hired explains over the phone. “It could be her.”

It is you. 

He knows it is. 

Because that's what you told him you'd do with his money if you ever were on your own. But he always said that he'd never let you go and you'd laugh, thinking it was just a joke. He was never joking. 

You were his, whether you realized it or not. You were his the moment you held him so gently when he would complain about his family, his father's abuse, his sister's intolerance, his stuck up life as someone with wealth and power. 

He was not going to risk losing his only outlet. The only person who could make him feel human. 

So, when he finds you in one of those small towns on the edge of nowhere, he pays a local to spy on you and report back to him. And he does this in each town you go to from then on. 

For five years. 

You return to the states then, having had your fun traveling around, meeting new people, enjoying the sights and sounds of different cultures and the delicious variety of cuisines. But you miss home. 

You've been away long enough. 

You no longer avoid surveillance because you assume Titus hasn't thought about you in years. You have no idea he has been watching your every movement up until now. 

That's why you're startled the moment you open your storage locker and he's inside of it. 

You blink a few times, wondering if it's just your imagination. 

But it isn't.

It is Titus. 

“What are you—” You don't see the needle in his hand. 

You just feel it when Titus stabs it into the side of your neck and you go limp immediately, falling into his arms. He holds you for a moment, breathing deep, missing the smell that only you can radiate. 

The smell of home…

You wake up so groggy. You try to remember the events that led up to this. 

Then, you remember seeing Titus. 

And then you see him, standing in the doorway, arms crossed. 

“The doctor said it would take you a few hours to wake up. You must be hungry.” He says to you like he didn't just inject you with a sedative. 

“What are you doing here?” You look around. You've never been here before. “Where am I?” 

“Let's talk over some food.” He gestures for you to follow him.

You get up from the bed, which you notice is incredibly plush compared to the ones you've been sleeping on during your travels. You also notice that you're wearing a nightgown that sits just above your ankles. And on your ankle, there is the tiniest incision mark. 

You walk out to meet up with Titus and ask, “what did you do to my ankle?”

“I put a tracking chip in it.” 

“A what.” 

“A tracking chip.” He pulls out his phone, showing the way it's pinging your location. “That way you can't go anywhere without me knowing again.” 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You run up to him, shoving at him. “Take it out!”

“No.” He states sternly back at you. “I am not losing you ever again.” 

“Losing me…” You can't believe what you're hearing. “Titus, you never had me to begin with. You bought my services. That's it. That's all we—”

“I don't believe you.” He cuts you off, his glare more menacing now. “I don't believe for a second that you didn't feel anything for me.” 

“What would I have felt for you?” You ask him, furrowing your brow. “You were my employer. You weren't—”

Titus doesn't let you get another word out. He just grabs your face and kisses you, pressing you right up against the wall of the hallway, his body flush against yours. You bite down on your own tongue to stop yourself from making a sound when his hard cock grinds right up against your bare pussy through his pants, making you very aware that you don't have any underwear on right now. Just a flimsy nightgown he could easily shred off. 

You push at his chest, trying to get him off of you, but he won't budge. He feels stronger than a few years ago. Bigger too… 

“Stop!” You tug him off of you by his hair and he hisses at you in response, snatching your wrists before pinning them above your head. “Let me go!”

“No.” He says directly into your face. “I'm not ever letting you go.”

You go to kick at him but he presses his thighs against your own, locking them in place, smothering you against the wall. 

You can't wriggle out of his grip!

“Titus—” Your attempt to speak to him is silenced once again by his lips, his tongue slipping into your mouth, his hips grinding against yours. 

You feel his free hand slide down the side of your body and with a single rough tug, your nightgown tears off completely, leaving you bare. You squirm when his hand dips between your spread legs, touching your pussy directly. 

He chuckles that eerie laugh of his against your lips, “you haven't fucked anyone in years but you can still get this wet for me?” 

How does he know… “Have you been following me? This whole time?” 

“I let you have your fun.” He grazes your clit with his fingertips, watching how you shiver in response. “Now I'm having mine.” 

You shake your head. “Stop, Titus—”

“That's not what you're supposed to call me, princess.” He leans forward, whispering against your ear, “you know what to call me.” 

“I'm not going to—” You bite down on your lip when Titus dips two fingers deep inside of you without warning. 

You're fucked now. Because he knows that if he curls his fingers just right…

You cum immediately, unable to control the release. Your orgasm hits you hard and fast and it doesn't stop, his fingers pounding into you without mercy, pressing over and over again in the exact place they need to in order to make you squirt all over his hand. 

You're gasping for air, the pleasure overwhelming after years of not feeling anything of the sort. 

It's too much—

“Stop, daddy, please stop, please.” You cry out before he can torture you anymore.

He stops, thankfully, and you breathe out strained huffs of relief, your mind feeling fuzzy from the sudden rush of pleasure. 

“Ah, so you do remember. That's my princess.” He gives you a kiss on the cheek that provides you no sense of comfort. 

Your lip quivers from fear but you swallow back your nerves to ask, “why are you doing this?” 

“Because you left me.” Titus pulls his fingers out of you, freeing you from the torment of being filled for a moment, bringing them up to his lips so he can lick them clean while you watch. “And you made me crave you for years. Now, I'm going to have my fill of what I've missed out on.” 

You turn away from him when he tries to kiss you, drawing an annoyed grunt out of him.

“You can resist me all you want. I know you'll cum either way.” He presses his lips against your neck since you won't let him kiss your lips and he nibbles at your flesh exactly the way you like it, shooting tingles all over your body. 

Another feeling you haven't felt in years…one you've been trying to forget. 

“So you fuck me.” Your eyes shift back to his and all Titus sees is a blank stare. “And then what? What is your endgame, Titus? For us to go back to the way things were?”

“Yes.” That's all he wants. 

“That isn't going to happen and you know that.” You aren't going to pretend like everything will be okay. “It's been five years. You're married. You probably have a—”

“I'm not married. And I definitely don't have a kid.” His eyes shift down to your belly then he says, “maybe I could, though. With you.” 

“What are you talking about?” He didn't get married? 

“I called off the wedding. I made sure that no one would ever want me. So trust me when I say, I am never letting you go again.” Titus doesn't want anyone but you. “You got what you wanted. My undivided attention.”

“That isn't…” You let out a sigh. “That isn't what I want.” 

“Then what do you want? Tell me and I'll give it to you. As long as you're mine.” 

“I'm not property to be owned, Titus.” You're a human being. You discovered so much about yourself over the last few years. You don't want this life anymore. 

You want to be free. 

“You can't buy me.” You tell him, remembering how he tried to all those years ago. 

“You're right.” Titus's words shock you. “I can't buy you. But I can make sure I've ruined you just as much as you have ruined me.” 

He lets go of your wrists then. And points down the hallway. 

“Run, princess.” He shrugs off his jacket and then unbuttons his white collared shirt, draping it over you. “Because the moment I catch you, I'm going to make sure your body belongs to me.” 

You blink at him, not believing his threat. But then he goes, “ten…nine…eight—”

You run right then, pulling your arms through the sleeves of his shirt so it doesn't fall off your body. You can't let him catch you but you also know you can't run far from him. He has that tracker embedded in you.

This is just a game for him. 

Because he knows he will win. 

But he loves the chase, the thrill of catching you. 

Of trapping you completely. 

You sprint outside, picking a direction to go, spotting the giant pool. You must've paused a second too long because Titus tackles you right into the water. 

You shove and kick at him but he grabs you by the waist, tugging you towards him, swimming the two of you back up. You take in a big breath of air before you continue to fight him but he shrugs off your meager attempts, completely unphased by your hands smacking him all over the place. 

“I will tie you up if you keep this up.” He snatches your wrists again but you manage to slip out of his grip because of how slippery you are while drenched in water.

You quickly swim as fast as you can to the staircase that leads out of the pool, climbing your way up to the surface, only for Titus to tug you right back towards him by your hips.

You claw at the rim of the pool, unable to get a grip on the smooth stone, your knees scraping on the step below you with every failed attempt to worm out of his grasp. 

You think you have an opportunity when his hands let go of your hips but then your body stills at the sound of his belt unbuckling and his pants unzipping. 

And you lose the chance to escape. 

Titus has you by the hips, lining his cock up, pressing the tip into you as his body weight holds you in place. You splash water at him as a poor attempt to dissuade him from pushing any further but it only eggs him on. He thrusts more of his cock inside of you, splitting you open like he always has given his size. 

You’re too familiar with the shape of him. It's like your pussy has molded to it because every time he pounds in deeper and deeper, your legs want to give out. Your body remembers how his cock feels inside of you. His body remembers the right pace and the right angle to get your knees to wobble. 

“Titus, please, stop before I—”

“You can cum, princess.” He slides his hands up your sides before drifting inwards, cupping your breasts, tugging at your hardened nipples. “Cum for your daddy.” 

You shake your head, not wanting to. But the tension building in your core is desperate to burst free. Especially when he's playing with your breasts as he pounds his cock inside of you. He knows you love this. You love the feeling of his body holding you down. 

It doesn't help that the sound of the water rippling around you is insanely erotic. Or when you look back at Titus for a brief second and see the way his thin wet undershirt clings to his upper body, showing off just how much he has worked out since you've been gone. He wanted to make sure he was fit when you came back into his life.

He prepared himself for your return. 

This is his sick, twisted way of showing devotion. 

You chew on your lip, trying your hardest not to let a sound out, but he grabs a hold of your hair and tugs, forcing your lips to release the moans you've been keeping at bay. 

Your voice echoes through the quiet estate. 

If there was anyone nearby, they'd hear the crazed sounds you're making as Titus fucks you right through your orgasm, your eyes rolling back into your head, the pleasure searing your skin with heat. 

“See what your daddy can give you?” He pulls you back by your hair so he can hover above your face, his lips brushing against yours. “I can make you feel even better than that. You know I can, princess.” 

He presses a gentle kiss against your lips and you nearly cave, your body shaking at the simple touch of his lips. 

So you have to figure out how to push him away. 

That's why you say without skipping a beat, “I'm not on birth control. If you cum inside me, you have to marry me. I'm not having a baby with a man who isn't my husband.”

Titus slows to a stop then, as you thought he would. You bite back the disappointment you feel when he pulls out of you completely, leaving you feeling so empty. You hate that you feel empty. Because you shouldn't miss him.

You shouldn't feel anything for him.

So why does your heart stop in your chest when he goes, "is that it?” 

You turn around, sitting on the step of the pool, staring up at him. Titus looks down at your puzzled expression, smirking. 

“I said, is that it?” He repeats himself, bending forward, putting his hands on either side of you. 

“I-I…” You can't find the words.

You're not sure if you believe him. 

Why would Titus marry you? 

You're…someone he paid to teach him how to have sex. You're a body he used to warm his bed. 

You're just his sugar baby, aren't you? 

“Earth to princess.” He snaps in front of your face. “Are you going to ask for anything else or can I fuck my fiancé now?” 

“Your…” You're in so much shock that when you feel his lips on yours, you don't know how to react. 

Except for lace your fingers into his hair and pull him towards you, kissing him back. 

Titus smiles against your lips, deepening the kiss, loving how eager you are now that you're all his. 

“Are you being serious?” You breathe out, nervous that this is all some ploy.

“Give me your left hand.” He demands and you listen to him without hesitation.

You watch as he pulls your ring finger into his mouth then bites down on the base, his teeth leaving an indent like a ring would. 

“I'll get you a real ring when we leave.” His eyes roam your body, basking in the way you look with just his unbuttoned shirt on, your bare body peeking out so beautifully in the center. 

“Give me your hand.” You want to do the same to him. 

Titus slips his ring finger between your lips and you bite down on the base hard before you lightly suck on his finger, swirling your tongue around the tip of it. He groans at the sight of you teasing him like you used to. 

“I'm going to fuck that mouth later.” He warns and you respond by sinking his finger further into your mouth, faking a little gag that has him pulling his hand away. “Don't fucking tempt me, princess.” 

“You're really going to say no to me sucking your cock, daddy?” Your words make him clench his jaw, much to your amusement. 

“I'm not saying no. I'm saying wait. Because I want a taste first.” 

Titus hauls your body up until you're seated on the rim of the pool, your legs dangling off the ledge. He spreads your thighs wide open, staring at your pussy, licking his lips. He hasn't done this in a long time. 

He has missed this. 

More than you will ever know. 

There's just something wonderful about your hand in his hair, your hips grinding against his face, his tongue flicking your clit until you cum. He can't get enough of it. He could spend hours right here. 

Maybe he will. 

But you start to whine for more. “Titus, can we go to a bed at least?” 

“You don't like fucking outside? There's no one here. No need to be embarrassed, princess.” He swipes his tongue over your clit again, marveling at how swollen it's gotten from his mouth playing with it. 

“I want to fuck my fiancé in bed.” You look at him with those soft eyes you put on when you want something. He always caves when you act this cute. “Please?” 

“Please what?” He wants you to address him correctly. 

“Please daddy, can we go to bed?” You purposefully dip your hand between your legs, spreading your pussy for him. “Your princess wants you to fuck a baby inside of her.” 

His jaw clicks. Then, he lets out an insane laugh. Before he pushes you onto your back on the stone ground behind you and drives his cock right into you. 

“Titus!” You shout his name as he thrusts deep inside of you, teasing that spot right up by your womb. 

“You asked for this.” He smirks, leaning down to kiss you once. “We fuck like this then we can fuck in bed.” 

You grab him by his shirt and then in one sudden, swift motion, you push him onto his back and straddle him, riding his cock. He groans under you, cursing, “fuck, I've missed this.” 

Titus always loved it when you were on top. It's a great view. Especially when you're enthusiastic about it, grinding against him, pulling him up to kiss you, your hands roaming his chest and arms. 

“Hold on.” He whispers against your lips before he hauls you up from the ground, driving his cock deeper inside of you. 

“Oh fuck.” You grab onto his back, clinging to the wet fabric of his shirt, your legs wrapped around his middle as he carries you back into the house. “Titus, this is—when did you get so strong?” 

“Do you like how strong your daddy got just so he can toss you around?” Titus gives you a cunning smile. “Remember how much you loved it when I'd throw you down and fuck you, princess?” 

He chuckles into your shoulder when he feels your pussy clenching around him. That's enough of an answer for him. 

You cum so hard when he slams you down onto the bed, ramming his cock as deep as it can go inside of you. Stars dance in your vision, your mind going hazy from how quickly your orgasms build. It only amplifies when his lips are back on yours, kissing you with so much desire in every movement. 

By the time he finally cums inside of you, you're spent, wrung out beneath him, your body shivering all over. He has always loved the look of you like this. He'd pay to see you like this everyday from now on. 

But he doesn't have to. 

Because Titus knows you want him as much as he wants you.

And if you ever forget again, he's happy to remind you who you belong to. 

a/n: you know that scene in bridgerton where anthony gets out of the lake? yeah imagine that but titus. that's literally the only reason I wrote this, so I could fantasize about what that would look like. also pool sex. very fun!

The kitchen is bland, black marble on the counters, white cabinets and drawers. You rub your stomach slowly as you continue following the realtor around the house. She shows you the bathrooms, the bedrooms, master bedroom with a walk in closet, “I don’t even think we own enough clothes to fill that” Brendon whispers in your ear; you snicker. Hand still wrapped in his as you walk to the back yard, “I like this”

You hum, “yeah. The overhang is nice for the grill, especially on the patio” You point, “with that wrap around porch, and I like how it steps out here because when it rains and snows we can still grill”

Brendon wraps an arm around your shoulders, “and you like the open windows by the front? And how the doors slide open in the back to get that fresh air in?”

You nod, “talk in the car?”

Brendon and you do exactly that, hiding your absolute love of the house from the real estate agent, only discussing on the way home, “and the neighborhood has a bunch of families so baby won’t be the only kid.” You note as he drives away from the house, “plus I routed it when I went to the bathroom, it’s way closer to the hospital than our townhouse now”

Brendon puts a hand on your knee, “I like the stairs, and the kitchen is really open” He notes, “the bathroom might need some work but it has good bones”

You smile, “only the orthopedic surgeon would mention bones while buying a house” you poke at his side, “but I like it. The front yard is great, and the garage fits two cars, plus driveway” you twist at your wedding ring, “and I like how close the rooms are. And the master bedroom is huge”

“I know, and I could see a nursery in the room next to the master, and the two rooms with the jack and Jill bathroom work really well if we want to keep the kids close in age” Brendon says, slowly pulling into your driveway of the bustling city you live in, “and the neighborhood is much more quiet, I think we’d get an actual night of sleep”

You step out of the car, rubbing your temples as you do so, “yeah, the noise really gets to me” you groan softly, then reaching to soothe the kicking baby inside of you, “how much is it?”

“560” Brendon kisses the side of your cheek, “don’t worry about it, I’ll take care of it”

You trust him, you did when you first met him when he was in med school and you were in college, and when he proposed and promised to love you forever. And when he moved you from North Carolina to Pittsburgh, “okay, but you like it? The windows and trim?”

Brendon nods, “if you like it I like it” he takes your hand as you step into the small townhouse. A simple kitchen and living space, then upstairs a bedroom and a bathroom. Just enough for the two of you, not enough room for three, “does your head hurt?”

“A bit; I’m probably just tired. Can I sit and look pretty while you make me dinner?” You ask; plopping down onto one of the barstools to watch him ponder into the fridge

“Isn’t that how I always make dinner?” Brendon raises an eyebrow as he pulls out a pan and some chicken breasts, “pasta? With a chicken?”

You nod, “yummy, I love my husband especially because he cooks for me”

Brendon scoffs slightly, but he continues seasoning the chicken, cutting the fat off and everything else, “so you want the house?”

You nod, “if that’s okay? As long as you like it.. I mean you’re paying for it” you bite at your nails. An anxious habit you’d been trying to break

“Hands outta your mouth baby” Brendon says, voice firm and eyes focused on the middle finger between your lips, “it’s your house too. You’ll be spending the most time there with the baby” you know he’ll be there too. But he is right, you usually work from home, and with having a baby. You’ll need to be there to feed it.

“Yeah. I do love it… I like how it’s like the homes back from home? The shutters on the window. Big front porch and yard. And the windows. Imagine how much light we’ll get during sunset” you imagine.

Brendon continues cooking, “I know, you like all that light, and the front lawn I thought we could plant some native flowers. Like wild flowers?” He asks, putting the pasta in with the cream sauce

“I like that, yeah. Let’s buy it or- however you purchase land…” you laugh a little, feeling oddly immature over the entire situation

Brendon nods, “okay, we should try and move in before the baby comes. Unpack the nursery and bedroom before everything else”

The car chimed as you reached for your fruit platter in the backseat. You decided on something more simple, after your trial run on a cherry pie went to shit. It was the first time Sammy was taking you to meet his mother, and the last time you were introduced to a partner’s parents was high school. 

“She doesn’t even know you and she already loves you.” Sammy reassured from the other side of the car, reaching for Nate in the car seat. Picking him up and resting him in his arms, he said, “You didn’t even have to bring anything.”

“My mom told me I should never show up empty-handed, especially if I’m meeting a boyfriend’s family.” You said before shutting the door with your free hand.

“It’s just Maura.” He said as he rounded the car to your side. Stopping in front of you, he adjusted Nate’s shirt.

“I hate that you call your mom by her first name.” You sighed, looking at Sammy in front of you as you put a hand on your hip.

“Not to her face.” He smiled cheekily as Nate reached out to grab a strand of your hair. You removed his hand delicately as Sammy tilted his head, “C’mon, baby, no need to worry. Nate already talks you up to her.”

“He barely knows English, Sammy.” You scoffed, squeezing the palm of Nate’s tiny hand. 

Playfully, Sammy covered Nate’s ear and leaned in to whisper, “Not in front of him!”

The house wasn’t anything special. The paint was chipped a little in the front, but only as a sign of loving. It had a nice lawn with flowers and plants that looked hand-picked. It was a one-story, which, for some reason, you didn’t expect. 

At the front door, you looked at Sammy and he gave you a small, encouraging smile. You heard his mom shuffling around inside, then saw the top of her head through the window as she approached the door.

Swinging it open, she immediately yelled, “Gorgeous young girl!” 

Maura was a shorter lady, her hair in a mousy blown out bob. Despite her wrinkles and freckles all over, she was so youthful in energy. She had the same eyes and nose as Sammy, but her accent wasn’t Californian— maybe more mid-Atlantic and almost Jersey-ish.

Her arms flung out wide and came towards you with a surprised laugh from her. She hugged you tightly, like she knew you well, and patted your shoulder.

“I brought you this,” you offered her the platter in your hands and she beamed.

“Oh, this is beautiful! Thank you, hun.” She gave you a big smile, taking it from your hands, then greeted Sammy and Nate with a big smile.

“Hey, mom.” Sammy grinned, giving her a kiss on the cheek. She patted his shoulder and squeezed before reaching for Nate.

She said, “There’s my little guy.” Her fingers squeezed Nate’s puffy hand as he gave a cheerful sound. Maura waved her hand in for you. “C’mon in, you guys, I made some brownies.” Then to Sammy with a pointed finger, she jested, “No weed this time, I promise.”

With a raised eyebrow, you looked at Sammy and he shook his head to himself.

The house smelled like caramel and an autumn Yankee Candle. It also looked how you expected it to: warm colours, frames along the cream walls, cherry wooded floors. It was a piece of Sammy you could see in his eyes. It was cozy, inviting, just like a home ought to be.

Maura had put Nate down by his toys in the living room and insisted you sit in the dining room because you were a guest. Sammy was with Nate for a bit, as Maura was bringing out some lemonade. She set you by the wooden dining table, which had a red flannel runner long-ways. The brownies were in the middle of the table, along with a few plates and napkins. There was also a woven bowl with apples in it beside the brownies. You could tell she was the type of woman who dressed her house according to season, no matter if she lived alone or not.

“Sammy said you grew up in LA, hun, where you from?” Maura spoke, coming out of the kitchen. 

“Oh, just over in Altadena, not too far.” You spoke as she poured you a glass. 

“Do you still live over there?” 

“No, ma’am, I moved to Eagle Rock.”

“Oh, Eagle Rock is nice! Why Sammy moved all the way to Castaic, I don’t know.” She threw her hand in the air frivolously as she sat.

You looked over your shoulder at Sammy, who was leaning against the kitchen doorframe. You cocked an eyebrow at him as he playfully rolled his eyes.

Sammy had grown up in North Hollywood, and Maura still lived in his childhood home. Last you heard, his father moved over to Long Beach with his boyfriend. Living in Castaic only meant isolating himself from his family more, especially now that Tammi relocated to the city. Basically everyone he knew wasn’t sure why he moved so far out.

Maura asked questions about how you grew up, your family and where they were. She asked about your college experience and what you did now. Every joke with her hit, you were almost afraid she was laughing out of politeness. She did comment on your youth and how she remembered her days.

She recounted how she met Sammy’s father, on the docks in Long Island, where she was from. He was working on the docks for that summer, staying with his family in Montauk but originally from California. She’d call it her Great Gatsby fairytale, because his boat had a green lantern that he’d turn on at night. Eventually, she had been the one to propose to him, saying Let’s just get it over with. Then, she said he ended up being a Nick Carraway type, and that told you enough. 

“Now, when are you gonna pop another grandchild out for me?” She teased suddenly, which made you choke on the lemonade in the glass. “Well, I mean, I had Sammy around your age. I hear you’re good with Nate.”

You laughed politely, taking a napkin to pat your mouth. 

She continued, “You and Sammy would have a beautiful kid together. Nate’s nose kinda looks like you-know-who.” 

“Mom,” Sammy gritted his teeth, “Can’t just say stuff like that.”

“Oh, Sammy, you know I never liked that Tammi.” You pressed your lips together, attempting to stay out of it. Leaning towards you, she asked, “Does she still have that shrill voice? Always so obnoxious.” 

You attempted, “Well, Tammi’s not that bad.” 

“Oh, please, don’t kid yourself.” Maura sighed, sitting back in her chair, “It’s a shame you married her, really, Sammy.”

“I was young.” Sammy sighed in the same way Maura did, moving over to sit beside you at the dining table.

“Oh, that reminds me!” 

Suddenly, she jumped up from her seat. You watched as she headed for the living room. She walked over to the bookshelf and started searching for the right photo album on the shelf.

“See, angel?” Sammy whispered, reaching his hand over the wood to squeeze yours. He brought your hand to his lips, placing a kiss on the back of your hand. “Already likes you.”

“Terribly low bar.” You shook your head, a smile growing on your lips as you squeezed his thumb in your palm.

Maura returned with two albums in tow, throwing her hand in the air frivolously as she placed the two albums on the table, “Okay!”

“Ugh! I’ve been waitin’ to show someone these.” Maura rubbed her hands together before putting her reading glasses on. Both covers were soft fabric, patterned reds with big letters spelling out Sammy’s name.

“I’m excited.” You said with a grin growing on your face. Scooting closer, you watched Maura open one of them, the front cover holding a baby Sammy.

“You’re in for a treat, hun.”

She showed you each photo, having a backstory for nearly everything. Sammy was a chubby baby, huge head and everything. Apparently, he had been very clumsy but happy. He’d run into furniture or slip on himself, but get up and start laughing anyway. It was a lot about not being able to handle his head. You didn’t want to be disrespectful, but Maura took all the jokes out of your mind and said them aloud.

“Huge, right?” She tapped her red nails at an image of baby Sammy lying down with his chubby fingers wrapped around an action figure. His smiley face and shut eyes on display, smiling just like he did now, his head basically was the size of his torso. “Sometimes I’d look at his head and wonder how the hell that came out of me.” You laughed, louder than you meant to, causing Sammy to roll his eyes playfully.

Skimming through his toddler years, she showed you pictures of Sammy and his father. Sammy looked more like Maura than his dad— maybe Sammy had his eyebrows and his curls, but freckles, smile, and face were all his mother’s. She joked her genes were so strong, that it contributed to her dominant personality.

Sometime through the album, Sammy left the dining room to check on Nate. You were still cackling over his teeball days with Maura. Holding Nate in his arms, a smile couldn’t rip itself off of his face when he watched you interact with his mom, how comfortable it looked, how natural you were.

Sammy got kicked out of the teeball league when he got into a fight with one of the kids over the rules. Rule follower, Maura called him that multiple times, through images of his buttoned-up Picture Day best, spelling bee awards, and the first image of him at a police station, age 7.

“That’s why this is about to be surprising,” Maura raised an eyebrow at you, a joking smirk on her face.

Bringing Nate over, Sammy noticed you had fallen into the album of his teenage years, where he looked like he didn’t want to be in any photos— attributed to the tilt of his head, fine line of his lips, and the furrow of his eyebrows. He had long hair, curls that hung just past his chin. He wore baggy clothes and his friends looked just as miserable as him.

He peered over your shoulder as you landed on a picture of him and his friends. He had been in a band, and it was a photo taken in the garage, when Maura insisted on bringing them snacks. He was holding a microphone, mid-song, as his punk friends were on instruments behind him. All disheveled, they looked like the kids that hung out under the bleachers when you were in school.

“Oh, my God. I would’ve hated you in high school.” You said, looking back at Sammy.

“He was not a ladies man.” Maura confirmed with a chuckle, taking a sip of her lemonade.

Your high school experience was more normal, you'd say. You attended parties and kept social, but still focused on school and grades to go to college. You definitely didn’t find yourself in a specific category, not like Sammy did.

“Oh, yeah, the Spoon guys.” He rocked Nate in his arms as he examined the photo.

“Spoon?” You raised an eyebrow as Nate reached for your hand. 

“Sammy, Paul, Oliver, Nick. Yeah,” he smiled fondly, “It was like really shouty ska music. My band played two house shows in Van Nuys and got the cops called on us both times. Nick works in insurance now, and Paul took over his dad’s pool company. No idea where Oliver went.”

You couldn’t imagine long-haired stoner Sammy no matter how hard you tried. Even with the evidence in front of you, your Sammy had been so different from what he was. He rarely ever talked about his high school years, just that he’d gone and it was bad on him. Opening up his childhood home to you was like opening a side of Sammy you’d never known. 

Pictures of him as a child, pictures of him as a teenager, his eyes stayed so sweet through it all. Whether he was smiling wide with missing teeth or staring into the camera like he was tough, his hazel eyes pulled through all of it. Everything he had experienced without you rested inside of him, waiting to be known by you. If you looked now, the warmth and comfort and love in his eyes were the same… And still yours.

“I saw Brenda and Charles, Nick’s parents, last week. Say he’s a mess on his fourth kid.” Maura shook her head with a frown as she swept her hands back and forth, palms down. Grasping your hand, she curled an eyebrow and peered at you over her glasses, “That’s why two is perfect.”

“Mom…”

You took Nate from Sammy’s arms and into your lap as you nodded at Maura to continue. He played with strands of your hair as you adjusted him over your thighs.

“I was done after this one ‘cause I became a Nurse Practitioner. Busy, busy. Always.” She said, as if it were a warning rather than a suggestion. 

Sammy placed a hand on your shoulder, before mumbling into your ear, “Just gonna use the bathroom, sweetheart.”

You nodded, watching him as he left. Maura’s gaze followed yours until he fully disappeared into the hallway.

Leaning towards you, she lowered her glasses and said quietly, “I don’t think I’ve seen Sammy this happy since he got a college acceptance letter.”

You chuckled bashfully as you shook your head to yourself.

“No, really, hun.” She placed a hand on your shoulder, grounding you. Her warm eyes, reminiscent of Sammy’s, looked at you with such kindness and welcomeness. “You’re a smart girl, you’re good with Nate, Sammy’s absolutely taken with you. I can see it in the way he looks at you. It’s like he found a proper place to put his heart. He’s never been like that in all his life, hun. You’re it.”

Your mouth ran dry with Nate in your arms. The comfort of walls, the smell of sugar, someone to come home to, and his mother holding you like family. Your heart fluttered at the notion that this could be yours too.

“You really think so?” You asked, eyes twinkling as you smiled at Maura.

Sammy came out of the hallway with the click of his cellphone. He looked disoriented, eyes scattering as he ran a hand through his hair. Her hand released from your shoulder when she looked up at him.

“Hey, uh, Tammi’s getting really antsy for some reason. She said she wants Nate now instead of later.” He furrowed his eyebrows as his eye caught yours.

You nodded reflexively, as Nate’s whereabouts weren’t really for your concern. The sun had already turned warm against the thin cream curtains as it toed the horizon. You offered Maura another soft grin before standing up and hoisting Nate on your hip.

“I don’t understand the need for Tammi.” She thought aloud as she started walking the two of you out.

You exhaled in a hidden chuckle as you followed her and Sammy towards the front door. 

Pulling it open, Maura reached her arms up and around you to give you a tight hug. It was another one of those made from welcoming comfort, one that said you belong here. You smiled sheepishly into her shoulder as you hugged her with the arm not holding Nate up.

“Thank you for the fruit platter. You’re welcome here anytime, hun.” She smiled, her thumb going to pinch your cheek softly and endearingly.

“We should get brunch or something next week, Maura.” You said, adjusting Nate in your arms.

“I’d like that.” She nodded sweetly before sending you on your way.

Sammy’s heart melted as he watched the interaction, a soft blush of pink tinting his cheeks. He moved over after your farewell, allowing you to step through the door before him. He gave his mom a big hug and a small goodbye before following you out as well. 

She stood by the door, leaning on its frame as she watched you move down the walkway to the car. With a little wave, she sent you on your way.

The drive to Tammi’s new place didn’t take long, as traffic was virtually nonexistent at that time. You stayed quiet most of the ride, letting your thoughts culminate and pile over, also not wanting to say anything in front of Nate just yet.

“Say bye to mama.” Sammy said as he helped Nate out of his carseat.

“Buh, mama.” Nate spurted out, waving both his hands in the air. “Mama.”

The whole mama thing with Nate just stuck, so you stopped trying to fight it. If you were around more than Tammi, if you posed actual importance in Nate’s life, then so be it. He even started picking up habits from you and little things you said or you showed him. You embraced your closeness with Nate, and you refused to view it as a negative thing.

“See you later, bud.” You blew a kiss from your palm, which he did the exact same— little hand wide and exhale through his open mouth in your direction. 

After a brief exchange of irritation, Sammy put Nate and his things in the hands of Tammi then trailed back to the car in the driveway. He slipped back into the driver’s seat with a tired sigh. 

You reached your arms out to him, wrapping around before he drove again. You let Sammy rest his head on your shoulder as you raked your nails through his growing curls. He exhaled into you, hand finding your thighs to paw at. 

“Did you have fun, baby?” He asked, voice muffled by your shirt.

Chin resting on his head, you nodded and hummed, “I like Maura.”

“Maura likes you,” he moved his face to plant in front of yours with a wide smile.

“I know that.” You chuckled as you surfaced a hand on the side of his face and placed a kiss on his cheek.

“I need a burger.” Sammy said abruptly with the cheesy smile still stuck on his face.

Deciding on a whim, the night ended at your house. Sitting on the couch together, you watched the next few episodes of your show, the many-seasons-long sitcom you had been working through with Sammy. 

You were comfortable with his arm around your waist and your legs over his. Fries loose on the table, sodas gathering condensation, and burger wrappers discarded, he rested his head on your shoulder as the studio laughs formed a lullaby.

─── ⋆ CHAPTERS ⋆

PART ONE 𖤓♡ — Jack Abbot values his routine and structure. Work, SWAT, gym... and for the past six weeks, spending his Sunday mornings admiring the enigmatic single mom who's apartment balcony sits across from his. [3k]

PART TWO 𖤓♡ — A scuffle in the hall causes Jack to accidentally take Phoebe’s wallet to work instead of his. He gains himself a new nickname amongst the Pitt and finally learns a thing or two about you and your daughter. [7.3k]

PART THREE 𖤓 — A trip to the ED, a retirement meal, and a phone call with Robby. One leaves you up close and personal with your neighbor, one has Phoebe spilling secrets like it's an Olympic sport, and another has Jack realizing he's got a fucking crush on the single mom in apartment seventeen. [7.1k]

PART FOUR 𖤓♡ — Phoebe's birthday party consists of four sets of eyes ogling Jack from the second he enters your apartment, screaming children, your mom noticing something rather interesting, and a night on the balcony that changes the trajectory of everything. [8.7k]

⤷ PART 4.5 𖤓 — You don't hear from Jack for three days after the kiss. But despite being swamped at the hospital, after he reaches out via text, he doesn't stop. [SMAU]

PART FIVE 𖤓★ — When Jack offers his company in the form of a date to celebrate your book release, he gets to understand the inner workings of your mind a bit more. Unfortunately, it does leave him with an ache he has to tend to using nothing but his own imagination. [7.8k]

PART SIX 𖤓★ — Three months of dating with no label and no real sense of security has you spiralling a bit when Tom demands to meet Jack. And you quickly start to realize that despite your attempts of keeping Phoebe and Jack apart, some bonds form whether you intend for them to or not. — [8.2k]

PART SEVEN 𖤓★ — When the double date from Hell roles around, you're left with a new friend while Jack is struggling to come to terms with the type of person Phoebe is stuck with as a father. But despite that, it doesn't stop you and Jack from ending your evening with a bang. [12.2k]

PART EIGHT — TBA

PART NINE — TBA

PART TEN (FINALE) — TBA

─── ⋆ BONUS CONTENT ⋆

TBA

─── ⋆ MISC. ⋆

#APT.17 (a tag for anything related to this series)

SUNDAY FUNK DAY SPOTIFY PLAYLIST

Tag list for this series has grown way too big for me to keep up with so it’s unfortunately CLOSED. You can however follow the #apt.17 tag instead for updates on the series!

The first clue should have been the lunches and not because they were extravagant, you didn’t seem like the type for extravagant anything, but because they were consistent. The same way a child’s school lunch is.

Every day around noon, a neatly packed lunch appeared in the break room refrigerator with a small sticky note attached. Everyone saw it, everyone talked about it, yet very few actually knew who placed the lunch you were eating in the fridge.

Don't forget to eat today. -B

Protein. You've skipped breakfast three days in a row. -B

Or everyone's personal favorite: If you trade these vegetables for coffee again, I will find out. -B

"Who writes threatening vegetable notes?" Santos asked one afternoon, holding up the latest message while the rest of the residents crowded around.

"A spouse," Whitaker said confidently.

"An overbearing spouse," Santos corrected, pointing at him.

"An attentive spouse," Javadi argued with a shrug. "Honestly, it's kind of sweet."

Santos narrowed her eyes, “you're only saying that because you've never dated anyone who monitored your diet.”

”Correction Trinity, I have never dated anyone… ever,” Javadi said back, stating the last word quietly as she realized that was not the comeback she initially thought it was.

Santos simply rolled her eyes in response.

Just outside at the nurses station you sat quietly charting, seemingly oblivious to the debate raging on the other side of the break room door. The thing the residents didn’t know is that you were far from oblivious to the situation, you simply chose not to acknowledge it.

Which, according to the well seasoned nurses of the Pitt, only made things more fun.

"It has officially been seven months," Princess announced during a lull in the ER. "Seven months since the new crop of residents arrived, and none of them know who our favorite sweetheart's mystery husband is."

Perlah looked up from stocking supplies and shook her head, “pathetic.”

Dana, sitting at the charge desk, didn't even bother hiding her amusement, she had a smirk that said everything she didn’t.

“It's not pathetic,” Whitaker protested, his tone laced with offense, “she literally never talks about him.”

“Or her,” Santos added, “could be a wife.”

"True," Javadi agreed.

Dana laughed without looking up from the work she was focused on.

“Oh, you think that's funny?" Santos said immediately, “you all know, don't you?"

Dana carefully sipped her coffee, "I know lots of things,” she shrugged, “I’ve been working at this nursing station longer than you’ve been alive.”

"That means yes," Whitaker whispered.

Princess grinned, "Dana's known for years."

"You know?" Santos demanded.

"I might,” Princess shrugged casually.

"Who is it?" Javadi deadpanned.

"Nope,” Perlah and Princess said at the same time.

"Come on!" Santos said with a huff.

"No,” Dana said.

"Please?" Javadi begged with a fake pout.

"Absolutely not,” Dana said.

Whitaker looked betrayed, "I thought we had a mentor-mentee relationship.”

"We do,” she said casually.

"Mentors share information,” he said, narrowing his eyes.

Dana smiled pleasantly, “not other people’s personal information.”

By the end of the week, the betting pool had begun, as it did with every class of residents.

Technically, the experienced nurses had been running it for years. Every new class of residents eventually became obsessed with discovering the identity of your mysterious spouse.

The rules were simple. One guess per resident. No cheating. They had one more week to put in their final guesses, and if there is any cheating, the residents have to buy the nurses dinner.

The winner gets free dinners for a week, courtesy of Dana, Princess, and Perlah.

The catch? Nobody has ever guessed correctly.

"Firefighter," Santos declared confidently with her arms crossed thoughtfully.

"Why?" Javadi asked, pursing her lips.

"Because she's calm in a crisis, organized, and way too good at lifting patients. Firefighter spouses rub off on people,” Santos said matter of factly.

Whitaker frowned, “that's not science. Those are also all qualities of a good trauma doctor."

Santos shrugged again, "it's vibes."

"My guess is professor," Javadi said. "Maybe literature."

Everyone stared at her.

"What?" she asked defensively.

"Why literature?"

"She says things like 'that's an interesting perspective' when she's angry. That's someone married to an academic. Plus she’s super calm and probably likes to read books," Victoria said, defending her thesis.

"Okay," Whitaker said. "I think it's another doctor."

The nurses exchanged looks and Dennis noticed immediately.

"Oh my God,” Dennis said as his eyes widened.

"No," Dana said instantly, shaking her head in indifference.

"Your face did something,” he said pointing towards her.

"My face did not do something,” she deadpanned.

The investigation intensified after that.

Santos began casually asking questions while the two of you sutured a laceration together or when you let her perform certain tests and procedures under your supervision.

"So," she said casually, "what does your husband do?"

You glanced up, "he's actually a surgeon."

Santos nearly dropped the forceps, she mumbled an apology to the patient who was now concerned. "WHAT KIND?" She whisper-yelled over the limb.

You smiled innocently, “surgical."

"That's not an answer,” she said, rolling her eyes.

You shrugged your shoulders, not looking up from the incision in front of you but biting back a smile.

Santos groaned in frustration.

Javadi tried next.

"How long have you been married?" She asked innocently as you held up the X-ray images in front of her.

"Eight years,” you said, keeping your eyes on the broken femur in front of you.

"Children?" She asked innocently.

You nodded, “a dog."

"Name?" She continued, seemingly catching you in one of your chattier moods.

"Lily,” you said sweetly, finally peeling your eyes away from the tablet and looking at her.

"Awww I love dogs, do you have any pictures?” She asked, testing her luck.

You immediately brightened and pulled out your phone, proudly showing off approximately three hundred photos.

To her disappointment, not one included your husband. And she had to sit there and watch you scroll through photos for eight whole minutes and left with no information.

Whitaker resorted to espionage and failed spectacularly.

He happened to be standing beside you at the front desk when your phone rang.

The screen lit up: Husband ❤️

Whitaker practically launched himself sideways trying to see more.

You bit back your laugh and answered anyway.

"Hi, honey."

Pause.

"No, I remembered lunch."

Pause.

"Yes, I actually ate it."

Another pause.

You sighed, "I ate it all."

Whitaker mouthed husband Santos across the department while slyly pointing to where you sat on your phone.

You looked over slowly, moving the phone away from your ear, "Dr. Whitaker."

He froze, "yes?" Trying to cover up his nosiness with a polite smile.

"You know eavesdropping is generally considered rude,” you said simply.

"I wasn't eavesdropping,” he said, still smiling.

"You are basically hanging upside down over the desk,” you pointed out.

He removed himself from the uncomfortable position he hadn’t even realized he had folded himself into while trying to listen. He mumbled an apology, took his chart, and sulked away. Once he was gone, you put the phone back to your ear.

When he approached Trinity she was already bent over laughing, “real smooth.”

Months later, no one was any closer and that made the nurses even more insufferable.

"At this point," Santos complained, "I'm starting to think you all made him up."

You looked genuinely offended, "I assure you my husband exists."

"Prove it,” she quipped back.

You considered it for a moment, even pursing your lips in thought, “no.”

The reveal happened completely by accident. The Pitt was beyond its natural state of chaos. Every room was full, EMS kept rolling in, and you hadn't stopped moving for six straight hours.

The bets were currently in: Whitaker - Doctor names Ben, Santos- undecided named Brian, Javadi - vet named Bobby.

Dana had all her money on Whitaker getting it right, while Princess and Perlah stood firmly on the side of no one getting it.

Dana finally cornered you, “take ten minutes.”

"I'm fine,” you huffed.

"That wasn't a suggestion,” she said.

You sighed, “yes, Mom. If I take ten, you take ten.”

Dana pointed toward the lounge, “go. I’ll meet you in there.”

Five minutes later, a tall orthopedic surgeon walked into the emergency department carrying a takeout bag.

Several heads turned.

Mostly because Dr. Brendon Park from Ortho rarely ventured into the ER unless someone had broken something particularly impressively, and even then he usually sent a resident down to consider whether it was worth his time.

"Hey, Dana," Brendon said, “she around?"

Dana looked up from the desk and a slow smile spread across her face.

"Oh, this should be fun,” she said slyly.

Santos, Whitaker, and Javadi all looked over, but unable to hear Dana amidst all the commotion.

Brendon frowned, but ignored the stares, “heard it’s been rough down here today.”

Dana nodded towards the break room door, “she's in the lounge.”

"Thanks,” he tapped the counter in acknowledgment before heading in your direction.

The residents all followed him with their eyes as he disappeared into the break room.

Whitaker frowned.

Two minutes later, you emerged from the lounge carrying coffee, smiling in a way no one in the department had ever seen before.

Brendon followed behind you, but the catch was… he was almost smiling. The tips of his ears were slightly pink, and he almost looked happy.

You both stopped outside the door and faced one another. Without hesitation, he reached over, tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

"Try to sit down for at least ten minutes," he said.

"I will,” you said.

"You said that yesterday,” he said back with a sigh.

"I mean it this time,” you said quickly.

"You also said that yesterday,” he murmured.

You smiled sheepishly, "I love you."

"Love you too,” he said quietly.

Brendon finally noticed everyone staring. "...Why is everyone looking at us?"

You looked around then, meeting Dana’s eyes and immediately giving her a knowing smirk.

"Dinner's on you three for the next week,” Dana said pointing at all the residents.

Santos looked like she'd been struck by lightning, “how is this cheating? He cam down here.”

Whitaker's mouth had actually fallen open, “I was at least somewhat close. In my defense, I thought his name was Shark.”

Javadi simply whispered, "orthopedic surgery. Of course."

You blinked, "oh."

You looked between everyone, “were you all still trying to figure out who my husband was?"

"STILL?" Santos shrieked.

You looked genuinely confused, "I thought it was obvious."

The nurses dissolved into laughter. Dana wiped tears from her eyes, “tonight I would really like that Chinese place with the eggrolls.”

Then she turned to you. “Sweetheart, you've been married eight years and half this department wasn't convinced he was real. The other half still doesn’t know.”

You considered that, “huh.”

Beside you, Brendon smile, “to be fair, she's very private and quiet.”

"You're one to talk," Dana shot back.

Brendon looked offended, "I talk."

Princess snorted without looking away from the triage board, "you speak exclusively about bones and your wife."

You quietly slipped your hand into his and Brendon immediately relaxed.

"Oh my god," Trinity whispered. "They're adorable."

"Disgustingly so," Dana agreed with a smile.

And somewhere in the distance, Perlah was already planning the next betting pool.

Tags (all): @ilocuras24 @nyxmoretti @kmc1989 @destinyg237

Tags (the Pitt): @sexychickenmagnet @thehockeynerd30 @woderfulkawaii @renegadebirch

Dark!Park who never asked you to be his. He just automatically claims you.

Dark!Park who is obsessed. He will track your phone. He has to know your schedule. Any appointments, your working hours. Which tend to be the same as him anyway since you work in the ER department. Your days off.

Dark!Park who needs to know who you’re with at all times, if you’re not with him or at work.

Dark!Park who needs to know immediately if someone makes you feel uncomfortable whether that’s a patient, a colleague or anyone.

Dark!Park who immediately is pissed if he sees someone flirting with you. He will place a hand on your waist, pulling you against him. And glaring at the person flirting with you.

Dark!Park who takes you home and is rough as hell with you. Marking you. And reminding you that you belong to him. “You are fucking mine. Remember that!”

Dark!Park who possessively touches you. A hand on your lower back as you’re stood next to each other. A finger under your chin forcing you to look at him when he’s talking to you. A hand around your throat when you’re alone.

Dark!Park who will punish you if you disobey him.

Dark!Park who starts controlling different aspects of your life. From who you can see, to what you wear. You can’t wear anything too revealing out in case men get the wrong idea. He’s only trying to protect you. You can wear extremely revealing clothes when it’s just the two of you at his or your apartment.

Dark!Park who is happy when your friends stop making plans with you. It means other than work, he gets to keep you all to his self.

Dark!Park who will always take what is his, even if you try to put up a fight.

Dark!Park who can be aggressive in the bedroom. Knife play with a sterile scalpel, cutting your underwear, and lightly tracing your skin as he’s buried deep inside of you. Breath play until you nearly black out. Bites and bruises are left all over your body.

Dark!Park who will threaten anyone who touches you. “Touch her again and I’ll break your fucking hands.”

Dark!Park who cuffs you to the bed when he really wants to punish you. There’s no way for you to escape.