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“What?”

“You heard me. If you win, you go. If I win, you’ll marry me,” he repeats, firmer this time. “We’ll have a small ceremony, move into the house I bought for us—before you decided to be an insolent little bitch and broke up with me—and live there as a couple, as we should. And we’ll have children, to inherit my name, my legacy.”

He’s insane. There is no way he means this, is there? You hesitate before saying anything, staring at him, trying to read his face. But all you see there is… that he means it. He’s set on this.

You’ll have to try to find your way out of this somehow.

“Well, that’s hardly fair, is it?” You question, crossing your arms over your chest, hiding the shaking of your hands. “You know the complex better than I do. How would I be able to hide?”

“I’m sure you’ll manage.”

“But what about the rules?”

“Anything goes. Except killing, of course.”

The more he talks, the more you realize there’s no way out of this. You will have to play.

And yet you hesitate. He’s made it clear he can’t let you go, so even if you win, what’s stopping him from keeping you anyway? What’s stopping the Council from having you quietly disposed of the moment you’re no longer under Titus’ control? In the official games, Le Bail’s rules are absolute. Unbreakable. People explode for breaking them. But this? This is unofficial. There’s no contract, no supernatural enforcement, no consequences for going back on his word.

All you have is his word.

You almost ask. You can feel the question sitting right there —his word, and what it’s actually worth—but you swallow it back down. What would be the point? If he says yes, you have no way of knowing if he means it. If he says no…

Well. You’d rather not find out what comes after no.

So instead you just look at him for a moment, and then nod.

“Fine,” you say. “I’ll play.”

He was gracious enough —if that word can even apply to him— to give you some kind of head start. He let you leave the mansion before he did, which is technically the bare minimum, but in these circumstances is practically generous.

Your headstart is seven minutes. Seven.

You force yourself to think fast, clear and precise, which actually takes a lot of effort when you know your crazy ex boyfriend is literally hunting you down.

The thing about his family’s complex—you think as your feet start moving— is that it’s huge. It has a casino resort, the golf course, stylish lobbies, the kitchen, the laundry room and a gazillion other rooms you’re probably unaware of. The downside? Titus is aware of all of them. And he has eyes and ears everywhere. You can’t assume he’ll play fairly, not when it comes to you and the risk of losing you. The property will be crawling with employees that could, and probably would, report back to him on sight.

So, you choose the most even terrain you could think of under duress.

The forest.

You run straight to it, trying not to be unsettled by how unfamiliar it feels.

Sure, in the two years you were with Titus, you’ve been in the forest a few times, but it was never alone, always with him. Once it was to get to know the terrain when you started dating, the second is when he taught you how to shoot; once he’d revealed enough about his family for you to understand that your life was always at risk simply by being with him. And oh, there was a third time too, but that one was to fuck.

You try not to think much about the latter, instead, you try to focus on the first visit, the tour, trying to recall whatever useful information he’d given about the forest that you can possibly remember right now.

And as it turns out, you can’t remember shit. Not under all this pressure, not when you know he’s following you.

So you run deep into the woods, with no sense of direction or idea about the depths of it, you just run and run, trying to find somewhere with enough coverage to stop and think of something. Of a strategy to win.

Coming up with a strategy is difficult though. You could always just hide, and stay alert for any noises or signs that he’s close by, but then what? You run and confirm that you’re there by making a whole lot of fucking noise in a forest that feels like it’s holding its breath on purpose? You’ve seen that man in action before, he’s strong and unnervingly fast. And you know he’s got stamina. So you stand no chance against him. Not to mention, you have no fucking clue what time it is, and he said you’d win at sunrise. Which is… a lot of time.

Fuck.

The forest swallows you whole.

You find a cluster of trees dense enough to crouch behind, pressing your back against the bark and forcing yourself to go still. To stop breathing so loud. Your heart is doing its best to get you caught, hammering so hard you’re half convinced he could hear it from across the property.

But there’s nothing. Just the wind moving through branches somewhere above you, and the sound of your own pulse.

A minute passes. Maybe two. You don’t know for sure, it’s impossible.

You start to think, stupidly, desperately, that maybe you’re better at this than you thought. Maybe he went to the casino first. Maybe he assumed you’d go somewhere familiar, somewhere with walls and doors, with many rooms and the illusion of safety. Maybe for once in your life, you’ve managed to surprise Titus Danforth.

You almost smile.

“You always did like your trees. Especially when I fucked you against them.”

His voice comes from directly behind you. Not approaching, but already there, already close enough that you could reach back and touch him, and your stomach fucking drops. It was like he’d been standing there the whole time, patient and unhurried, just waiting for you to finish thinking.

You scramble to your feet and spin around. He looks completely unbothered. No sweat, no urgency. He looks like a man who went for a leisurely evening walk and happened to find you along the way.

“How-” you start.

“I know you,” he says simply, like that explains everything.

And the worst part is… it does.

You run.

It’s stupid, you know it is. You just mentally calculated your chances and came out in red numbers, you are aware that this is senseless and just prolonging what has always been inevitable. And yet you still try.

You hear him scoff, it echoes with how quiet these woods are, and then his steps begin.

You’ve never felt like this in your life. You had no idea you could even run like this. It’s probably the adrenaline. Your body, ironically, can’t tell the difference between being chased by a wolf and being chased by Titus. Being chased to death or being chased to marriage. There’s probably not a big difference there, to be fair.

Your lungs start to burn before you expect them to.

You push through it. You push through the branches catching on your clothes and the uneven ground trying to twist your ankles and the darkness that’s settling between the trees faster than you’d like.

You can hear him. That’s the worst part. He’s not silent and he’s not trying to be. His footsteps are steady and unhurried, like a metronome, like someone on a morning jog.

Your legs are already protesting, paired with a sharp stitch blooming under your ribs. To be honest… you don’t work out, not really. The only cardio you’ve ever gotten, the only thing that’s ever left you this breathless and aching, is Titus. Nights spent riding him until your thighs shook, mornings bent over whatever surface he wanted, afternoons where he’d fuck you slow and deep just because he could. Your body knows exertion, sure, but it knows it in the shape of him, not this. Not sprinting blind through roots and dirt like prey.

You change direction sharply, cutting left between two trees. Maybe if you’re unpredictable enough, maybe if you zigzag, double back, make it complicated-

His footsteps don’t falter behind you, there is not even a moment of hesitation in his steps, you’re not even making him make an effort or work for it.

The thought makes something cold shoot down your spine. You run faster.

You break into a small clearing and for one stupid, desperate second you think —this is it, this is where you lose him, and then…

…Then your foot catches a fucking root and you stumble, catching yourself on your hands, scrambling back up before you’ve even fully registered falling. Your palms sting. You don’t stop.

Behind you, almost conversationally: “You’re going in circles.”

You don’t answer, because you don’t want to, but also because you don't have the breath for it right now. God, you hate him.

You hate that he’s right. You’ve completely lost all sense of direction out here, the trees all look the same no matter which way you turn, and the sky above has shifted from dark blue to almost black, swallowing any hope of figuring out where the hell you are. You can’t tell north from south anymore, everything blurring together in the growing dark.

You cut right this time, then right again, mind racing toward the perimeter. If you can just find the edge of the forest, hit the fence, spot anything that gives you a landmark, then maybe you’ll have something solid to go by. But he’s closer now, you can hear his breath, steady and way too near. You hadn’t even noticed him gaining ground, but somehow he’s right there behind you.

The impact comes from the left without warning.

He doesn’t just grab you, he takes you down in one clean, decisive motion, and you hit the forest floor hard with him over you. One of his hands braces so he doesn’t crush you completely, which somehow makes the whole thing worse, that little bit of consideration cutting sharper than if he’d just slammed you flat. The breath gets knocked right out of you, and for a second the world narrows to nothing but darkness, his solid weight pressing you into the dirt, and the smell of him, unfairly familiar, wrapping around you like it has every right to be there.

You recover fast though, twisting and fighting with everything you’ve got, managing to get one hand free so you can shove hard against his chest. Titus lets you push, just enough to give you that flicker of thinking you might actually be winning for once. Just enough.

Then he shifts his full weight and you go absolutely nowhere. He’s stronger and heavier than you, pinning you so completely against the forest floor that all your struggling turns useless. He’s looking down at you with that expression you’ve seen a hundred times before, patient, certain, almost warm. and his breathing stays completely even. Not even winded. It’s so fucking unfair. He’s older than you; how the hell is he in this much better shape?

“Get off me,” you manage to gasp out.

He doesn’t. Instead he tilts his head slightly, like he’s actually considering it as a real option before dismissing the idea entirely.

“You did well,” he says instead, voice quiet. “Longer than I expected.”

“Don’t.” You twist again, uselessly, but his hand catches your wrist and pins it gently but completely beside your head. “Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not.” And the infuriating part is he sounds like he genuinely means it. “I’m actually impressed, baby.”

You go dead still. Not because you’ve given up—you’ve got way too much goddamn pride for that—but because your brain is spinning, scrambling to find the one mistake he’s bound to make eventually. He’s already onto you though. His eyes track every little twitch of your pupils, reading you with that same effortless, irritating fluency he’s always had.

The clearing around you has gone completely silent except for the ragged sound of your own lungs working overtime.

He’s crowding you now, his weight a heavy, solid heat that presses you deeper into the dirt and leaves. You can feel the direct pressure of his fingers locked around your wrist and the way he’s staring at you like you’re the only thing in this godforsaken woods worth paying attention to.

You need to say something sharp. You had a line ready, something bitchy and mean that would actually sting, but the thought gets swallowed whole the second he moves.

He doesn’t hesitate. He just takes what he wants.

His mouth slams into yours with slow, heavy hunger, lips forcing yours apart and eclaiming something that’s always belonged to him. When his tongue slides in it’s a deep, wet drag that sends a hot liquid weight straight down to your crotch. You let out a noise you immediately want to choke back, it’s half moan, half pathetic whimper, as he tilts his head for a better angle, sucking on your tongue before slicking back into your mouth in a way that’s just fucking filthy.

Your free hand scrambles for his jacket, knuckles turning white as you bunch the fabric tight. You can’t even tell if you’re trying to shove him off or drag him closer anymore, but your body isn’t listening to your brain. It arches up into him anyway, chasing the heat of his chest and the rough scrape of his stubble against your chin. When your teeth accidentally snag his bottom lip he lets out this low, vibrating groan that you feel rumble all the way through your own chest.

He pulls back just a fraction, lips wet and swollen, hot breath mingling with yours. His thumb strokes slow over the inside of your wrist, right where your pulse is hammering out the truth he already knows.

“Still want to run?” he asks.

The bastard is smiling. Not pissed, not even serious, he’s having the time of his life. You should’ve known he’d get off on the chase like this.

“Yes,” you snap.

And you mean it. Mostly.

Then you reach up, fist your hand in his hair, and haul him back down.

He goes willingly, of course he does, the man is horny by nature. This time the kiss sinks slower, deeper into the spit and heat. You slide your hands up his chest, fingers hooking into his collar as you feel him shift, settling his weight more comfortably between your legs. He’s getting distracted, his iron grip on your wrist loosens, just a tiny bit.

There it is.

You let your hand drift lower, low enough to make his breathing hitch against your mouth. He makes this thick, needy sound in the back of his throat that tells you his focus is exactly where you want it now. You shift your leg in a slow, deliberate tilt of your hip that looks like you’re just trying to get his cock flush against you.

He falls for it.

Your palm slides over his stomach and presses hard against the thick, rigid line of his cock straining through his pants. He’s already fucking wrecked for you, throbbing and hot under your hand. You rub him slow, giving him a squeeze that makes his hips jerk forward into your touch. The groan he lets out is raw and guttural, vibrating straight into your mouth as he loses himself in the kiss, his tongue licking deep and messy against yours, teeth catching your lip in a sharp tug. You can feel him pulsing against your palm, thickening even more as you stroke him through the cloth like you’re finally giving him the reward he thinks he earned for catching you. His breath stutters against your lips, his tongue moving in ways that are pure filth.

He thinks he’s finally broken you.

That’s when you plant your foot flat against his hip and shove with everything you’ve got.

It’s not a clean move by any means—it’s pure desperate leverage—but it’s enough to break his hold and create one beautiful, stumbling second of space. You’re on your feet before he can even blink, already bolting back into the treeline.

Behind you, you hear him grunt as he hits the dirt.

And then you hear him laugh. A private, delighted sound, like you’ve just done something genuinely charming instead of kicking him while he was down.

You run harder, but you’re still breathless, mind distracted by how fucking good he kisses and the way he groaned and how quick he’d gotten so hard for you. Turns out your little strategy to distract him had backfired and distracted you instead.

You make it maybe forty feet. And that’s being generous, giving yourself way too much credit.

The arm that wraps around you comes from nowhere, thick and absolutely immovable, and suddenly your feet aren’t touching the ground anymore. He hoists you up like you weigh nothing, pulling your back tight against his chest while your legs kick uselessly at open air. He doesn’t squeeze, and he’s careful not to hurt you. He just holds you there, completely secure, one arm locked around your middle as you writhe and swear and accomplish absolutely fucking nothing.

He’s breathing harder now. Finally. But it sounds less like exertion and more like pure satisfaction, like relief.

“There,” he says close to your ear, almost fond. “All done. I won.”

After that ordeal, Titus brought you back to the mansion. Once there, he personally escorted you to your shared room, as if you didn’t know the way already. Though you can’t blame him for keeping you close, not after what happened today.

You shower. The water comes out murky with dirt at first, so you wash your hair and your body as many times as it’s necessary until it’s all clear, until you cease to perceive the scent of dirt and sweat and his cologne all over you.

By the time you exit the shower, the sun has fully gone down, and you find a white gown delicately hung by the door. It’s so beautiful. And it’s a shame; because it truly is. It’s exactly your taste, in a style you adore, a fabric you seek often in formal dresses. It's perfect for you.

He’d gone to those lengths, of having a dress made specifically for you. But then again, he’s known for going to lengths.

You do your hair the way you always do, it’s all muscle memory by now, all with such ease that it requires no effort for you to look good.

Then you slip the gown on. And it’s… bittersweet. In the two years you were with Titus (or have been, are you back together? Who the fuck knows), the thought of marriage did cross your mind. You won’t sit here and pretend to be an innocent bystander. You know what he’s like. You know the things people like him do—and let’s not even go that far— the shit he has done. You know he has many irredeemable qualities. So you won’t sit here and pretend to be a victim. You stayed, longer than you should’ve, sure, but you had stayed.

Marriage had come to mind before, but you’d never allowed yourself to think too much about it. You were scared, still are, about what it would mean to marry into his family, his world. Starting with the fucking initiation. All it takes is pulling the wrong card before everyone is on a game to hunt you to death.

You shiver.

So seeing yourself in this dress is… bittersweet. You had, at some point in time, longed to marry him, even with all his issues and his bullshit. But you knew, deep down, that it’s also something you should fear. Something no one should want.

And yet, here you are.

A knock on the door makes you jump slightly in your place. You take a breath to steady yourself before doing anything.

“Yes?”

“Are you ready?”

“Almost.”

Well, you might as well have said ‘yes’, because he unlatched the door as if you’d said it.

The moment his eyes land on you, he stills completely. His gaze moves over you slowly, unhurried, like he has all the time in the world, though tonight he does; he won. It drags from the hem of the dress upward, taking its sweet time, and when those eyes finally meet yours there’s something in them that makes your stomach do a slow, unwelcome flip you’d really rather it didn’t.

You’ve seen Titus Danforth unmoved by things that would fuck other men up completely. You’ve watched him stay unbothered in rooms full of people trying to intimidate him, composed in situations that had no right to feel calm. And yet here he is, standing in the doorway of your bathroom, looking at you like you’ve just undone something deep inside him that he didn’t expect to feel tonight.

He clears his throat. Looks away for exactly one second, then his eyes are back on you, heavier than before.

“You look beautiful.”

And the worst part is that he means it. You can tell there’s no sick angle, no calculated game in the words. Just Titus being completely sincere, genuinely undone by a dress he picked out himself. It’s exasperating how real he can be sometimes, how he can drop the armor and just say shit like that without any ulterior motive.

“Thank you,” you say, and you mean it too, because what else is there left to say at this point?

There’s a brief stretch of silence where it’s obvious both of you want to say something more but neither of you does. This whole situation is so fucking complicated. You broke up with him this morning, and now here you are, gowned up, about to marry him. Not without a fight, but still. It makes you wonder if you ever had any real backbone at all. If you even wanted to break up with him in the first place, or if some part of you had been waiting for him to refuse to let go.

“This isn’t how I imagined it,” you finally manage to say, the words coming out quieter than you expected. “I imagined something huge, something that would probably annoy me because you know absolutely everyone that matters and I don’t, and you’d keep getting pulled aside for all those meaningful conversations. Then I’d get mad and you’d call me immature because we were already married and you’d never go anywhere without me. I imagined music, pretty scenery, flowers everywhere…the whole thing.”

He looks down at his shoes for a second. It’s brief, very brief, but you catch it. Then he adjusts his cuffs, because yes, he’s all suited up and unfairly handsome, much to your dismay.

“It’s not what I imagined either,” he agrees gruffly. “This isn’t how I had planned things to go.”

You can already feel the ‘but’ coming.

“But you left me no choice.”

Of that, you’re painfully aware. You probably threw a massive wrench into all his carefully laid plans. The breakup had been such a sudden decision, dropped right in the middle of one of the good periods between you two. You really had been in a solid place before you sprang it on him. If anything, you’re still surprised by how calmly he took it. You’d been terrified for those few seconds before the words left your mouth, half expecting him to snap, but he hadn’t. Nothing thrown at the walls, no cruel words thrown back, besides the ones you’d already said to start the conversation, anyway.

But now you understand why he stayed so calm. He wasn’t going to lose you, no matter what you said. He’d already bought the house. He’d had the dress tailored and made perfectly for you. He’d turned the whole thing into a game he knew he could win. He knew you weren’t actually going anywhere.

The attempt at breaking up had really disrupted his plans, though.

“It’s time,” he says, and extends his hand to you.

You look at it for a second. Open and waiting, like this is the most natural thing in the world, like you’re just heading out to some nice dinner instead of signing your life over. You take it anyway.

His fingers close around yours immediately, warm and sure, and he leads you out of the room without another word. The mansion is unnervingly quiet around you. Your heels click against the floor, and you focus on that sound, nothing else. Just that steady rhythm instead of letting your mind spiral about where you’re going and what happens when you get there.

The room he brings you to is small. Candlelit. There’s a man already waiting: the lawyer, or someone who passes for one in this world, standing with papers and a pen, his expression suggesting he’s done far stranger things than this. Titus is probably paying him a fortune for the discretion.

It’s just the three of you. No music. No flowers. The complete opposite of everything you’d imagined.

Titus positions himself in front of you and turns to face you fully. For a moment you just look at each other, the air thick between you.

The lawyer clears his throat and begins.

“Do you,” he says, looking at Titus, “take her to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?”

“I do,” Titus says. No hesitation. Not even a fraction of one.

Then the lawyer turns to you.

“And do you take him to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?”

And there it is.

You think about this morning, standing in front of him with your heart in your throat, saying the words that were supposed to end everything. You think about the forest, those seven minutes, the way he found you like he’d never even needed to look. You think about the dress hanging by the door—perfectly your taste, perfectly your size—bought long before you ever said a word about leaving. You think about the fact that even now, standing here, some traitorous part of you doesn’t entirely feel like a victim.

The lawyer waits. Titus waits. His eyes stay locked on yours, steady and certain, because he already knows what you’ll say. He knows you.

You take a breath.

“I do.”

Your voice comes out steadier than you feel, which surprises you considering your heart feels like it’s trying to leap straight out of your chest.

“The rings,” the lawyer says.

And of course there are rings, because this is Titus and he’s thought of everything, has been thinking of everything for god knows how long. His ring slides onto your finger with an ease that feels almost rehearsed. You slide his onto his finger, your hands only shaking a little.

“The license,” the lawyer says next, producing the papers and setting them on the small table beside him with a pen.

You sign your name. You watch the ink dry for exactly one second. There’s something about seeing it there, your name, your handwriting, now permanent, that makes the whole thing feel more real than anything else tonight. More real than the dress, more real than the vows. This is the part that can’t be undone.

Titus signs beneath you, quick and certain, then straightens up.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife.” The lawyer says it like a closing argument, the matter finalized, binding. “You may kiss the bride.”

Titus closes the gap between you, and suddenly the air in the room feels way too thin. He reaches up, his thumb dragging slow and heavy across your cheekbone, like he’s giving you every second to realize exactly what he’s about to do. His eyes drop to your lips for a quick flicker before locking back onto yours.

Then he’s on you.

It’s nothing like that panicked, adrenaline-soaked mess in the forest. This is different, slower, more deliberate. He’s taking his time, his mouth moving against yours with a focused hunger that makes your knees go embarrassingly weak right there in the candlelit room. His hand cups your jaw, holding you steady like you’re something he actually wants to keep intact, while his other arm hooks around your waist and hauls you that last inch forward until there’s no space left between you.

The kiss doesn’t just happen, it grinds and lingers, thick and heavy, delicious in a way that has absolutely nothing to do with the lawyer still standing three feet away. This is just Titus finally getting his hands on something he’s wanted for a long goddamn time, and he’s not rushing any second of it. You hear him catch a sharp, ragged breath through his nose, the sound barely held together as he deepens the kiss, tongue sliding slow and sure against yours.

When he eventually pulls away, his eyes are blown out and dark, heavy with everything he’s not saying. His thumb is still tracing slow patterns across your skin, and he’s staring at you like you’re completely his now.

Which, technically, you are. Legally and irrevocably.

“Hello, Mrs. Danforth,” he says, his voice a low vibration meant only for you, the words sinking straight under your skin.

And despite the total shitshow your life has become, despite how much you should hate him for all of this, something in your chest does something it really, really shouldn’t. It fucking flutters.

The lawyer gathers his papers with quiet efficiency, offers a curt nod that feels more like a final seal on a contract than any kind of congratulations, and slips out of the candlelit room without another word, leaving the two of you alone in the heavy silence.

Titus doesn’t move away. His hand stays cradling your jaw, thumb stroking slow, lazy circles against your flushed cheek as he looks down at you with those dark, unreadable eyes. The title he just gave you—Mrs. Danforth—still hangs in the air between you, heavy and permanent.

“You’re shaking,” he observes quietly, voice low and rough around the edges.

“I’m not,” you lie, even as your fingers twitch where they rest against his chest, betraying you completely.

A small, knowing smile curves his lips. He leans in closer, brushing his mouth against the shell of your ear, breath warm as he murmurs, “Liar.”

Before you can even get a retort out he’s scooping you up again, effortless, carrying you down the quiet hallway toward the master suite. Your heels are dangling stupid off your toes, one slips free and you don’t even care where it lands. The white gown pools and tangles around you, heavy silk whispering against your skin. You don’t fight. There’s no point anymore. The game’s over, you lost bad, and some treacherous, stupid part of you is already humming low and hot with what’s coming next, buzzing under your skin like electricity you can’t shut off.

He kicks the bedroom door shut behind him with his foot, the bang echoing a little, and sets you down on the edge of that massive bed. The room’s dim, just one lamp throwing soft light and moonlight sneaking through the heavy curtains, making everything feel hushed and secret. Titus stands over you, shrugging out of his jacket and tossing it aside without looking. His fingers work the cuffs of his shirt open real slow, deliberate, eyes never leaving yours. That stare pins you.

“Take the dress off. Slowly.”

It’s not a request, it’s an order.

You hesitate, just long enough that he notices, the corner of his mouth twitching, and reach behind you for the zipper. The sound of it sliding down feels obscenely loud in the quiet, like it’s giving everything away. The fabric slips from your shoulders and pools at your waist, leaving you in nothing but that delicate white lace lingerie they gave you for tonight. His gaze drags over you shameless, slow, possessive, hungry, lingering on the way your nipples pebble tight against the thin lace, the dip of your waist, the curve of your hips.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, the word rough, scraped raw with want. He steps closer, cups your face in both hands and tilts your head up. “My wife. Finally.”

That word shoots through you, part fear, part something way more dangerous that makes your stomach flip and your thighs press together without thinking. You open your mouth to say something—probably stupid, something to grab back even a sliver of control—but he kisses you before you can. This kiss is different, deeper, slower, filthier than the one in the ceremony room. More like the forest one but hungrier. His tongue slides against yours with lazy confidence, tasting, claiming, sucking on your tongue like he’s trying to devour every last protest, every doubt, every bit of resistance you’ve got left.

He pushes you back onto the bed until you’re lying beneath him, the gown still tangled around your hips like it doesn’t want to let go. His body covers yours, solid, warm, overwhelming in the best worst way. One of his knees nudges your thighs apart as he settles between them, grinding the thick heavy line of his cock against your clothed core with these deliberate rolling presses that make your breath hitch. You gasp into his mouth, hips twitching up involuntarily as heat floods between your legs, fast and embarrassing.

“Already so wet for me,” he teases against your lips, voice dark with amusement. “Even after trying to run from me all night. Your cunt knows who it belongs to, doesn’t it?”

“Fuck you,” you breathe, but there’s no real heat in it anymore. Not really. Your body’s already betraying you completely, aching for more of that friction, that pressure.

He chuckles, low and filthy right by your ear. “That’s the plan, baby. Until you can’t remember why you ever thought you could leave.”

His mouth trails down your neck, sucking and biting just hard enough to leave faint marks that’ll bloom tomorrow like proof. He peels the rest of the dress off you with practiced hands, tossing it aside like it’s nothing more than wrapping paper on a gift he’s been dying to unwrap for years. The lingerie follows; bra unhooked and discarded, lace panties dragged down your legs slowly. You catch the way his pupils blow wide when he notices how the crotch of your panties is stuck to your pussy, soaked through because of how wet you already are.

When you’re completely bare beneath him he sits back on his heels for a second and just looks, drinking in every inch like he can’t get enough. His hands follow, palming your breasts roughly, thumbs circling and pinching your nipples until they tighten into aching sensitive peaks. He leans down and takes one into his mouth, tongue swirling hot and wet, teeth grazing and tugging while his fingers pinch and roll the other. You arch off the bed with a broken moan, fingers threading through his silver curls and pulling hard, harder than you mean to.

“Titus, fuck—”

“Shh.” He releases your nipple with a wet pop and kisses his way down your stomach, spreading your thighs wider with his broad shoulders. “I’ve waited long enough for this, lemme taste you.”

He doesn’t tease for long. His mouth is on you in the next breath, hot and relentless. His tongue drags through your slick folds with one slow savoring lick from entrance to clit, then circles the swollen bud with firm knowing pressure. You cry out, hips jerking against his face, but his strong hands pin you down, broad shoulders holding your thighs open, keeping you exactly where he wants. He eats you as hungrily as he did the very first time, that never changes. Messy, greedy, groaning against your cunt like your taste is the only thing that’s ever satisfied him. Two thick fingers push inside you without warning, curling hard against that spongy spot that makes stars burst behind your eyes while his tongue flicks and sucks your clit with those obscene slick sounds.

You come hard and fast, thighs trembling around him, a sharp broken cry tearing from your throat as pleasure crashes through you in relentless waves. He doesn’t stop to give you some reprieve, of course he doesn’t. Keeps licking and sucking through the aftershocks, fingers pumping steadily, drawing it out until you’re whimpering, oversensitive, pushing weakly at his head.

“Too much-ah, Titus—”

He pulls back just enough to look up at you, lips and chin shiny with your arousal, eyes dark and satisfied. “Not nearly enough.” He crawls back up your body, shedding the rest of his clothes as he goes. His cock springs free finally, heavy, thick, flushed dark and already leaking precum at the tip, as it rests hot and heavy against your thigh.

“Look at me.”

You do. His eyes lock onto yours as he lines himself up and pushes in, he always loved eye contact while he slides in, and fuck, it is pretty hot. The stretch burns in the best way, filling you completely until he bottoms out, balls-deep inside your clenching heat. You both groan, the sound raw and filthy. For a moment he just stays there, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard, letting you feel every throbbing inch of him. You’re thankful for the pause—you always needed some time adjusting to his cock. It’s huge. That, and because you’re still incredibly sensitive after the previous orgasm.

“Fuck… so tight. You feel like you were made for my cock,” he rasps, and it’s such a delicious tone you have to hold back from clenching around him right then. “My wife’s greedy tight cunt sucking me in like it missed me.”

Then he starts to move.

It’s not gentle. Which is also a contradiction to how you imagined your wedding night with him as his wife, but you’re not complaining, how could you? His hips snap forward in deep punishing strokes that rock the expensive bed beneath you, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room along with your ragged moans and whimpers, mixed with his groans. Each thrust drags against every sensitive nerve inside you, the thick vein on the underside of his cock feels so good dragging along your walls, the head kissing your cervix with every brutal plunge. He fucks you like he’s trying to fuck the memory of your breakup right out of your body.

It’s working. God, it’s working too well.

His left hand grips your hip hard enough to bruise, the golden ring on his finger digging into your plush skin, a blunt reminder that he’s not your boyfriend anymore—he’s your husband now. He pulls your hips up so he can go even deeper while his other hand braces beside your head, driving into you harder, faster, angling those strong hips to hit that spot that makes you see white. You wrap your legs around his waist, nails digging into his back and shoulders, urging him deeper even as you gasp his name like it’s both a curse and a prayer.

“Say it,” he demands, voice rough against your ear, hips never slowing. “Say you’re my wife. Say you’ll always be mine.”

You shake your head, stubborn even now, biting your lip to hold back the words. But he angles just right and slams in harder, grinding against your clit with every thrust, making your back arch off the bed with a keening whine.

“Say it,” he repeats, punctuating each word with a brutal wet thrust. “Tell me who you belong to, Mrs. Danforth.”

“I’m-fuck- I’m your wife,” you finally choke out, the words breaking on a moan as another orgasm builds fast and vicious under his relentless pace. “I’m yours- oh god—”

“Good girl.” He reaches between you to rub tight rough circles over your swollen ultra-sensitive clit, pushing you over the edge again. You come with a sob, clenching around his thick cock so hard it drags a guttural groan from his throat, your walls fluttering and milking him as the waves rip through you.

He doesn’t slow down. Fucks you through it, hips stuttering only when his own orgasm starts to hit. With a low broken sound—a whimper, for your ears only—he buries himself as deep as he can and comes hard, pulsing inside you, filling you with hot thick spurts of cum that make your toes curl and your mind go blissfully blank. You feel every twitch, every rope as he empties himself, marking you from the inside.

For a long moment the only sound is your shared ragged breathing. Titus collapses half on top of you but careful not to crush you completely, his face buried in the crook of your neck. His lips brush your pulse point in something almost tender while his cock twitches inside you, still half-hard, like he’s not quite done claiming you yet.

But he’s far from finished.

After a few minutes he lifts his head, eyes heavy-lidded and dark with lingering lust. He brushes a strand of sweaty hair from your forehead, then pulls out slowly. A thick trail of his cum leaks from your swollen pussy right away. The sight seems to please him immensely.

“Round two,” he murmurs, voice husky. “On your hands and knees. I want to watch my cum drip out of you while I fuck it back in.”

He flips you over with ease, pulling your hips up so your ass is raised high, chest and face pressed to the sheets. His hands spread your cheeks and he groans at the messy sight of his release coating your folds. Without warning he pushes two fingers inside you, scooping up his cum and pushing it deeper, making you whimper at the overstimulation.

“Look at this sloppy cunt,” he says, voice thick with filthy appreciation. “Already full of me and still greedy for more?”

He replaces his fingers with his cock in one smooth thrust, burying himself to the hilt again. This time he fucks you harder, one hand fisted in your hair to arch your back, the other slapping your ass with sharp stinging smacks that make you clench around him. The angle is deeper, more punishing, his balls slapping wetly against your clit with every snap of his hips.

You come again, screaming into the sheets, and he follows soon after, flooding you with another load until it’s leaking down your thighs.

He doesn’t let you rest for long.

By the time the sky begins to lighten outside the windows, you’re a trembling, cum-soaked mess, your limbs weak, voice hoarse from moaning, every inch of you marked and claimed. Titus pulls you into his arms one last time, spooning behind you with his cock still nestled inside you, softening but refusing to leave your heat.

“Sleep, Mrs. Danforth,” he murmurs against your neck, pressing a surprisingly soft kiss there. “You’re mine now. And I’m nowhere near done with you. We’re going to see our new house later today.”

You should hate the way that promise makes fresh heat coil low in your belly, but you don’t hate it. And yeah, you feel stupid, like you’re betraying the version of you that was set on breaking up with him yesterday, but you can’t hate this. Hate him. The break up had never been out of lack of love, if anything it had been the opposite what drove you away, it had been knowing the lengths he’s willing to go to for you and being afraid of the responsibility of having his heart in your hand.

With a sigh, you press back against him, letting exhaustion and that dangerous, ruined satisfaction pull you under.

The Danforth Estate was something you’d promised yourself would be a temporary occupation.

You’d work your hours as one of the many bev-cart girls on their golf club for enough money to fund your own way through university before hightailing it out of there.

As much as you’d made your peace with the fact that you were practically glorified eye candy for old men—you couldn’t deny that the Danforth’s were more than fair when it came to your earnings.

With the luck you’d currently been having, you’d only have to be working there for a little over a year to cover the cost of your tuition.

You’d also come to realise that the longer that you spent doing your job—the easier it all became to you.

The Danforth estate wasn’t open to the public, most of the men you served were friends or family of the Danforth’s—and thus, quickly became regulars of yours.

Chester Danforth had long reached the point of being unable to keep up with all of the walking required on the course, so more often than not you were blessed with the company of his eldest son.

Titus Danforth.

A man who walked with the arrogance and determination that only old money could buy.

Someone who’d never been used to hearing the word “no”.

You wouldn’t know what you’d say to describe Titus, only that he was completely insane.

He was brash, and stubborn and prideful.

He was also disgustingly good looking.

Though you would never have that known.

“Good Morning Mr. Danforth, would you or any of your friends like something to drink?” You asked sweetly, parking your cart next to them as they set up for their next hole.

You’d grown used to the leering looks of men over the past couple of months and what once would have made you squirm in distaste you now ignored and smiled docile as can be.

Men like these tended to like you better when you spoke less and smiled more.

“The usual for me, the rest will have beers.” Titus says without looking at the men behind him.

His eyes track as you nod quickly and make your way to fix up their drinks.

At first glance, Titus had found you unassuming at most and a distraction at worst.

Pretty young things like yourself never tended to last long under the Danforth’s.

Always too pretty, too willing, too naive.

Though as time passed, you’d adapted and progressed in a way that others before you had failed to do.

With little fanfare you disperse the beers amongst his friends, men he’d known from his time in school and some from his induction into Mr Le Bail’s court.

“Mr Danforth,” you bestow his drink to him with a murmur as you lower your gaze.

You’d learnt early on in your career that Chester Danforth hated the staff to think they were on a level even close enough to meet his gaze.

Titus though—Titus hates that you won’t look at him.

He wants you to meet his gaze, to know whether your gaze might soften in adoration or harden in anger.

He wants your world to revolve around him.

Why? Well why not? He doesn’t care for the frivolous meaning of these things.

“You look nice today,” he says, his voice softening from his usual disdainful cadence.

Your eyes widen slightly and your gaze flits up quickly before immediately launching your eyes back to your shoes.

“Um—thank you.” You say quickly, straightening and attempting to walk back to the cart to continue your shift.

Only that you’re stopped by a hand on your wrist.

“Look at me.” Titus commands, his voice gravelly and rough.

You shakily inhale, your gaze hesitantly meeting his own.

It’s no secret that Titus Danforth is one of the most eligible bachelors for his age. If anything, he has become more desirable with age.

His greying curls and crows feet had become tasteful additions to his naturally attractive appearance that had been the topic of conversation of many women at galas hosted by the Danforth’s.

“You’re scared of me.” It’s a statement, Titus says it as if relaying the weather forecast.

You frown, “No, Mr. Danforth I would—“

“You should call me Titus.”

Your jaw slackens in shock, you’ve barely shared a single conversation with this man and he demands you to call him by his first name?

“I—uh yes.” You stammer.

Titus blinks amusedly, his lips twitching into a small smile.

“You’re a shy thing, aren’t you?”

You fight the urge to scowl, you’re not shy—you’ve just known that men like him preferred that you don’t speak—

“And a bit scatterbrained apparently.” His voice tickles your brain.

You shake your head, trying to school your expression into something cool, distant and polite.

Composure, you remind yourself.

“You’re very interesting, Miss?” He probes pointedly.

You supply your name with a small frown. He doesn’t know your name?

“Ah,” he nods absentmindedly, turning his gaze as he watches the buffoons he calls his colleagues friends line up to hit their balls.

He turns his gaze back to you and watches with poorly concealed amusement as you rock on the balls of your feet, stewing in your own anxiety.

“You’ve been working here what? 9 months now?” He asked disinterestedly, swishing his drink around his glass.

“It will be 11 at the end of the month.” You say, side eyeing him in growing distaste.

“I really should be going Mr—Titus.” You amend, trying, pleading with him to let you leave.

“Stay.” He commands mildly. “You can keep me company while my friends entertain themselves.”

You bite back a sigh and nod softly instead, cool, calm and collected.

“You’ve lasted longer than any of the others.” He remarks.

You hum softly, offering no other response.

“Why? Is it the money? Surely you can’t like my family enough to willingly stick around for this long.”

You can’t help the small huff of laughter that escapes you.

“No,” you admit with a soft expression. “I—I’m saving money for my tuition.”

Titus’ gaze brightens in devilish interest, a wicked gleam in his eyes as if you’ve just offered him a new piece of information on a silver platter.

“Tuition? You want to study?”

You hum, nodding shyly as you both watch as one of his friends botches his shot.

You wince and Titus snorts a laugh into his drink.

“Your friends aren’t very good,” you interject mildly.

Titus barks a laugh that startles you slightly.

“No,” he smirks at you. “No they are not.”

Titus grows silent for a moment, and you’re surprised to find that it’s not as uncomfortable as you’d thought it would be.

“What do you want to study?”

You turn to look at him, his gaze already fixed on your own with a determined interest.

“…psychology.” You admit.

Titus bites back a smile. He thinks it would suit you well, a career that you would find…fulfilling.

That’s never been something that Titus has had before.

Whilst he enjoys the hunts, they better serve the purpose of soothing a craving.

“How much more do you need?” He demands.

You frown, reckoning with yourself about if you’d be willing to share something so personal.

However, with the way Titus is staring at you, it’s almost as he’s daring you to deny him.

“…$11,000.” You admit.

Titus barely flinches at the amount. It had been a while since he’d been in university but he’d honestly been expecting more.

Before you can ask more about his sudden interest, his next words shock you.

“I’ll pay for it.” He offers, and despite the growing shock on your face, his expression barely changes.

“You—I can’t—“

“You’re not doing anything. I’m offering.”

You feel the urge to laugh hysterically bubbling up through your chest. You suppress it with vengeance.

“Why would you do that?” You whisper shakily.

The determination in his gaze causes something to stutter within you.

His growing expression mimics something of mania, as though he’s drunk off the idea of providing for you.

“Because I want to.” He says simply, though there’s something in his eyes that has fear corroding your heart.

Your hands grow slick with sweat as you clench them at your sides.

“And…what would I be expected to do?” You exhale.

Titus’ gaze lights up in acknowledgement, “smart girl.” He praises you unexpectedly.

Your face warms yet again, this time not in embarrassment but something more sinister—excitement.

“I’m not—“ you blow out a breath. “I don’t do—that kind of stuff.”

Titus snorts with a rare grin and looks at you, “what kind of stuff?” He mocks sarcastically.

“Don’t laugh!” You protest despite his muffled chuckles over his glass.

“I don’t expect you to do anything you don’t want to.” He assures you, delighting in the way the tension slips out of your shoulders.

“Though there will be stipulations.” He amends.

You school your expression. Nodding as your hand drifts absently to nibble on your skin in contemplation.

“Don’t think too hard,” he teases you, though there’s no hiding the fondness behind his tone.

“Come see me after your shift, we’ll talk.”

With a small look at you, he dismisses you with a wave.

He hadn't seen you yet, you still had a chance. Maybe if you could get his attention away, you could sprint past him or- a noise breaks you from your racing thoughts. A noise you made. He was looking right at you now, a cocky half grin plastered on his face as he stepped off the golf cart.

You feel yourself freeze up as he stalks closer to you, taking his sweet time. C'mon, move. Run. Finally, willing your body to move, you start sprinting back where you came from, back over the grass fields and steering straight for the woods.

Titus decides to give you a head start before taking off after you. You hear his footsteps pick up in speed just as you veer off into the dark forest. Your heart is beating like a drum inside you, deafening your senses to the outside world. You needed to find some cover, to calm down and think of a new plan.

Taking a quick left, you hide behind a big tree, hoping Titus will just pass right by. Doing your best to control your breath and heart rate, you think of ways you can escape. Maybe if you can get him to pass you, you can turn back to the house. Yes, that's your best plan of action right now. You feel around with your foot on the ground, trying to find a stick or rock you can throw to get him away from you.

Suddenly, you hear footsteps close by, slow and calculating as he circles the perimeter. His gruff voice carries through the silence. "Come out, come out, little girl. I won't hurt you.. too much." You hear as he walks away a bit, his voice carries quieter around you.

This is your chance, you manage to find a stick and pick it up as quietly as you can, throwing it in what you think is the opposite direction from the resort and where you are hiding. The footsteps come to a sudden stop as the stick hits a bush further away, and you hear him speak again, his mocking tone sending shivers down your spine.

"You can't hide forever, wife, I'll get you eventually." He starts walking in the direction of the noise, and you wait a few seconds before bolting from your hiding spot. You run faster than you ever have before, through the darkness of the woods, feet getting cut up from rocks and branches. The pain is throbbing, but you can't care about that right now. You're sure you'll be out of the woods soon, you didn't go that far in the first place.

Trying to listen if Titus is on your trail, you hear boots hitting the ground hard behind you, he's catching up fast. You see some light in the distance, and relief floods you for a second before you realise you had run in the wrong direction, you were running straight to the big wall that closed in around the entire area. There was a dingy light coming from atop the wall, probably from a streetlight on the other side.

You didn't have time to think of a new escape as Titus crashed into you from behind. Slamming you into the wall with the impact, the air escaping your lungs. His rough hand grips tightly at the nape of your neck, fingertips dipping into your skin as he pushes you impossibly further into the concrete wall.

His face is close to your shoulder, you can hear the harsh intakes of breath through his nose as he rests his head on you for a second before speaking again. "I told you.. you can't hide from me." Being so close to you now, his voice vibrates through your body.

You hear the quick snap of a button, and your body freezes again as the next moment you feel cold steel against your throat. "Please.." Is all you can get out, your own voice sounding broken from how hard you're pressed into the wall. Your entire body aches from how hard he pushed you.

A gruff-sounding laugh forced its way out of him, "Pleaseee." He teased you, "Just be a good girl and do what I tell you, and I won't have to kill you." He places a deceptively tender kiss on the back of your shoulder. "Can you do that for me?"

You can't make a sound out of fear, but you get your head to move in a jerky nod, and his grip on your neck loosens. He tells you to turn around, and you do, your legs shaking as you move carefully. The knife is back at your throat, pressed to your jugular as his other hand plays with the fabric of your wedding dress.

He looks you up and down. "Take it off." Not once breaking eye contact as he instructs you. But you can't move, your entire body has frozen out of fear, and Titus sighs in frustration. He trails the knife down your collarbone and chest to where the fabric starts.

Suddenly, he's using the knife to easily slice through the dress, "I said. Take. This. Off." Every word is followed by another cut or slice as he tears the dress from your body.

Now standing almost naked in front of him, only your underwear on, still as the dress hadn't allowed for a bra. "I thought you said you'd be good for me.." His tone is filled with disappointment, "Guess I'll have to kill you now. Too bad, I was starting to enjoy this." He grips your arm tight and pulls you forward and down, throwing you to the ground.

You try to catch your fall as best you can, but your body is exhausted. All you can do is turn over so you're facing him. "Please, no, no, I can be good, I'm sorry!"

Titus is towering over you, twirling his knife in one hand, head tilted to the side as he considers your pleas. "I don't know," His words drawl in that deep voice, "That's what you said before, and you weren't." He starts getting down on his knees, one on each side of you. Effectively caging you in. Knife sliding carefully over your exposed skin, sending goosebumps all over.

You put your hands up in defense, "I know, I'm sorry, please give me another chance. I'll be good now, I promise." You were feeling desperate, one hand reaching carefully out towards his thigh, gently placing it there.

His breath has picked up again, head cocked to the side as he smirks down at you, "Yeah? You'll be good now?" The strain in his voice is noticeable. The knife slides back down, teasing at your inner thigh as you nod at him again. At your final confirmation, he slices through the flimsy fabric of your panties too and groans at the sight of your now exposed cunt.

You shiver as the cold air hits your center, and a moan is forced out of you as Titus wastes no time, pressing his thumb directly onto your clit. Your hand flies from his thigh to grip his wrist.

"Fuck, you're so wet." His fingers slide easily over your pussy, playing with your clit. "Was it the chase? Or maybe you get turned on by a knife at your throat?" The knife had been resting at your thigh, but now moved up to your throat again.

You're mortified to find him correct, you are wet. You hated it, but you had felt yourself getting increasingly aroused since he slammed you into the wall. All you could do was whine and shake your head, you didn't wanna prove him right, didn't want him to know you liked it.

Titus just laughs at you, prodding his fingers down to your fluttering hole. Circling around it before pushing in a fingertip, only to take it out just as fast. He repeats this a few times, making you squirm before finally pushing in all the way to the last knuckle. His fingers are thick, even just one punches the air out of your lungs. The finger pumps in and out of you a couple of times, just letting the wetness coat him, almost inspecting you, before adding a second finger.

The stretch is delicious, his fingers fill you up perfectly, and he knows exactly what he's doing with them. Scissoring them inside you, hitting deep as they go in and teasing your entrance as he pulls out. You feel that familiar knot in the base of your stomach, tightening as he continues the movements.

Involuntarily, you have become a moaning mess under him. Hips bucking into his hand, and your hands grip his wrist to either push it away or keep it there. You weren't sure anymore.

Titus seemed to notice that you were close and stopped what he was doing, pulling away his hand completely, earning him a loud whine from you. "Shh, I'll make you feel good soon. Turn around."

You hadn't noticed when, but he had put the knife back in its holster, and both hands were now on you, helping your limp body turn over, and of course, copping a feel while he could. His hands squeeze at anything he can access while moving you. When your chest is pressed into the ground, he gropes at your ass and hips.

He moves your body like it's no more than a rag doll, lifting your hips so your ass is at a perfect height for his hips. Spreading your legs apart as he shuffles between them to press his covered bulge against your soaking core. "Tell me you want it, tell me you want me." The hand at your hip pulls you back on him roughly, the zipper scratching at your most sensitive parts making you mewl out.

You hesitate for a moment, and Titus slaps your ass hard, "Yes! I do, I want you." You cry out loudly as the stinging spreads.

He hums at your response, soothing the sting with his hand, "That's what I thought, sweetheart." And the next thing you hear is his belt clanking as he unbuckles it, the zipper being pulled down. It sends shivers down your spine, you can't even see how big he is, but if the feeling of his bugle is anything to go by… you're grateful he decided to finger you first.

The tip notches at your entrance for a second before he pushes in to hilt in one thrust. "Ah, fuck!" You have to find purchase on the ground, something to hold onto, as he gives you no time to adjust to his size. And he was big, not very long but thick, stretching you out more than his fingers did.

He sets a brutal pace, roughly pulling you back onto his cock and slamming his hips flush to yours. "Shit, you feel so good, sweetheart. Knew you'd be perfect for me, my perfect wife." The grip he has on your hips will definitely leave bruises from his fingertips, marking you as his.

Your forehead is resting against your arm, trying to find a semblance of comfort in this position. All you can do is lie there and take it, moaning and whining as he hits all the right places inside you. Any protest you may have had died on your tongue the second he entered you. You feel one hand releasing its tight grip on your hip and roam over your ass again, thumb sliding over skin before it finds its way between your cheeks. "Wait! Don't!"

He manages to spread your ass cheeks, and you feel him spit between them before pressing his thumb inside you. He does the same process he did when he fingered you, teasing around the puckered hole before dipping in.

Despite your protest, you clench around him as he pumps his thumb into you, and while you can't see it, you know he has that stupid grin on his face. "Oh, you like that, huh?"

Not once during this has his pace slowed down, he's still slamming into you as if his life depended on it. You grit your teeth, swallowing back a moan, and you refuse to let him win this. "You make me sick." You look back at him as you snarl.

He hooks his thumb inside you, using it for leverage as he pulls you back even harder, and his cock throbs inside you, "Fuck, say that again, I'm close." He's starting to get out of breath, losing his grip on you as sweat pearls over your body and his hand. Pace falters slightly as he changes the position, still behind you, but he slings one arm around your neck and pulls you up into him.

You back now flush with his front, he holds you in an almost chokehold, and he starts fucking into you fast again. The restriction around your throat has you seeing stars, and it brings you right to the edge now. Your fingers claw at his arm while your pussy betrays you, clenching down hard again.

Titus' other hand leaves your ass and goes to play with your clit. "Come on, wife, make a mess on my cock."

And you do, you tip over the final edge, that knot in your stomach finally snapping as you come on his cock, pulsing around him as you can barely breathe. The hold around your throat and the orgasm stealing your breath. Titus works you through it, letting you enjoy it before he takes his own pleasure. The arm loosens from your throat, his hand coming up to squeeze your cheeks instead, turning you to face him as much as you can. "Yeah, that's it, milk my cock. Such a pretty sight. All bruised up for me."

He holds eye contact while huffing out the words, your eyes are dazed, but you don't dare close them. His hips start stuttering, his pace falters as he gets close too, and just as he's about to come, he forces a kiss from you. Lips crashing into yours as you feel his seed fill you up. He keeps milking his cock in you until he's empty, whining against you as he does.

You cringe at the feeling of both your juices running down your thigh as he finally stops kissing you. Your knees hurt and are cut up from the branches under you, you whole body is sore.

You had been charting for what felt like hours, though it had merely been twenty minutes that consisted of you re-reading the same ten words over and over. You could hear distant footsteps and voices from every direction, with the occasional beep of a machine finding a way to occupy the limited space in your mind.

A gentle hand being placed on your shoulder snapped your attention back to the environment around you, as you looked over your shoulder to find a familiar smile looking down on you.

His salt and pepper curls frizzed out in every direction and fluffed up around his face to exhibit the constant running of his fingers through his hair.

His body seemed to move slower than normal in exhaustion as he crouched down to meet your eyes from where you were sitting behind the nurses station.

"Hey, hon. Just wrapping up, wanna head out soon?" Jack asked with heavy, tired eyes. You could only imagine how similar yours looked.

You nodded at him as you spoke, "Yeah 'course. Just finishing a couple charts." His rough, warm hand began to rub up and down your arm as he gave you a gentle smile that barely met his eyes.

He muttered an okay, before giving your arm a light squeeze and standing to go back to whatever he needed to do.

Jack knew that you were exhausted. Knew that you were beyond exhausted.

You couldn't sleep the whole day before your shift. Of course, Jack laid next to you the whole time, trying to tire you out and comfort you in any way he could. But from rubbing your back with his calloused hands to going on a walk with you in the middle of his interrupted sleep, nothing seemed to work.

You sighed and rested your cheek against your palm, holding yourself up in any way you could to finish your work.

It always made you feel guilty to know that you kept Jack up with your lack of sleep, but he always insisted that there was nothing he'd rather do than be with you and take care of you.

Which is exactly what he did after you had finally clocked out for the night.

He followed you into the changing rooms as you slowly lifted your charcoal scrubs over your head, leaving you in nothing but a bra and pants with frizzy hair from the lengthy shift.

As he took off his own shirt, his eyes wandered over to where you stood, checking on you and admiring you all in one glance.

Jack always thought you were the most beautiful thing to ever exist, even when you claimed you were anything but.

He simply adored you and everything you did.

Before your clean shirt found its way over your head, Jack grabbed onto your waist and pulled you into him. You let out a gentle grunt at the unexpected contact, but melted into his bare chest nonetheless. He wrapped his arms tightly around you as yours found their way around his waist.

"You're so beautiful." He muttered into your hair, gently rocking you side to side.

You scoffed, "Oh please, I look like shit." You stated, referring to your current state of fatigue and overexertion.

"You could never look like shit", he sighed with a light press of his lips to your head, "You're perfect. My sweet girl."

You hummed at his words, tilting your head up and resting your chin onto his chest, finding his eyes with your own.

"I love you, baby." You pouted, making him chuckle and move his hand to rest on the side of your cheek.

"I love you too, sweetheart." He said, leaning in to press a firm kiss against your lips. You both sighed into the kiss, cherishing the first peaceful moment you two had all night. "Let's get out of here, yeah?"

You nodded and pulled away to finish changing into your clothes, taking his hand as you walked out of the changing room with all of your belongings.

As you got to his truck in the parking lot, Jack opened the door for you and held your hand as you climbed inside.

From finding small ways to take care of you (even when it’s something you could easily do yourself), to showing you off as if you were the most precious thing on Earth, Jack made sure you knew you were loved in any and every way he could.

As Jack began to back up out of the parking spot, your eyes found his demeanor and noticed how he looked just as tired as you, if not worse.

His eyes drooped with sleep and his shoulders hung low, yet here he was, taking care of you as if he wasn't just as near collapse.

You frowned and wrapped your arm around his bicep, letting your head fall down to rest on his shoulder.

He glanced down at the contact before pressing a kiss on the top of your head, turning his eyes back to the road.

For the rest of the drive home, you stayed wrapped around his arm and resting on his shoulder, softly humming to the music being played on the radio.

Every few minutes Jack would glance down as you, taking it in and smiling, even though you couldn't see him.

As he pulled into the driveway you sat up, stretching your arms over your head and exhaling. He stepped out of the car and walked over to the passenger side, opening your door and helping you out, like he always did.

The sun had already begun to rise but the brisk morning air still nipped at your cheeks as you both made your way into the house.

His warm hand stayed laced with your own, solid and gentle all at once.

You kicked off your shoes and immediately flopped onto the couch, letting out a loud sigh.

"Quite the shift, huh?" He joked, sitting next to you and placing a hand on your thigh.

"Yeah something like that." You mutter, letting your head fall back and your eyes close.

"How 'bout we get ready for bed then, hm?" Jack took your hand, pulling you up to stand after a few moments of protest.

He walked you into your room, before sitting you on the bed and turning to the en suite bathroom to turn on the shower.

As he walked back in, you couldn't fight the smile on your lips.

"What?" He chuckled, leaning down to remove his prosthetic, while you grabbed his crutch next to the bed.

"I got so lucky with you." You said, walking over and swapping him, prosthetic for crutch.

"Oh, sure." He rolled his eyes.

"No seriously, Jack." You said firmly, taking his free hand in yours, stopping him from turning back to the bathroom, "You are so good to me."

He shook his head and let go of your hand to place his palm against your cheek, "I'm just giving you what you deserve."

He pressed a light kiss to your forehead before walking with you to the shower, removing his clothes and taking a seat on his shower chair that he always insisted was 'unnecessary' (but he used it everyday anyway).

Stepping into the shower, you let the steam envelop your skin in a warmth that merely mimicked the heat you felt in your chest from being around Jack.

As the hot water rose around you and created a dense fog, your sight immediately drifted back to the man sitting in front of you.

Jack smiled at you and patted his thigh, urging you to sit on his lap.

Obliging, you let your knees fall atop his thighs and around the chair, before tilting your head to press a solid kiss against his lips.

He groaned and moved his hand to the back of your head, pulling you in farther while tangling his fingers into your hair.

When you pulled apart to catch your breath, he rested his forehead against yours.

"I'm so proud of you." He said, opening his eyes to look into yours. The speckles in his brown eyes captured yours with a million unspoken words of admiration and devotion while his hands held your body and face like you could slip away at any given moment and he was refusing to let you do so.

You frowned before leaning back into him as the water ran down your back and continued to fog up the space around you.

And he kissed you like the world was ending.

His lips pressed to yours with every ounce of passion you could ever comprehend.

His hand on your back slid lower, pulling you tighter into him while he slightly opened his mouth against yours. Your tongues found their way to one another, pressing into each other and exchanging all the words you didn't need to say aloud.

Once you finally pulled away, he didn't move a muscle. He just held you there.

His head rested on your shoulder as he left warm, wet kisses all across your neck and shoulder. Though his hands stayed where they were before, cradling your head and back.

"Hey, Jack?" You spoke into his hair.

"Yes, sweetheart?" Another kiss to your neck.

"Promise me this will never change?"

He paused, looking up at you.

"Baby you are all that I am," his hand moved to rest upon your cheek, "I don't know where, or how, but I know that this will always be."

And so he held you through another night,

promising you,

showing you,

letting his grace remind you how to find your own,

Smurf slaps him, "We're not killing a girl you had on your fuckin' payroll. The people at Lena's school know her because you can't raise your own fuckin' kid. So you're gonna listen to me about your daughter."

Baz snarls and walks to the other side of the kitchen.

"This is such bullshit. Just cos Pope is all heart eyes for her? Not like you, Smurf, to get sentimental," he says.

Smurf bares her teeth like a wild animal.

"We don't kill women because we lose our temper. Get the fuck out of my house," she hisses.

Smurf finds you later, after you've brought Lena for ice cream. She pouts at the cuts on your face.

"Lena, why don't you go to the pool?" Smurf suggests as the little one runs off.

"Now, sweetheart, I can't let you go back to Baz's house. Not after what he did to you. But Lena needs someone to take care of her. I was thinking you could move in here to help me with her," she said, fixing your hair.

You frown. You don't trust Smurf. You've known so many women like her. But you also know not to get on your bad side. Thankfully Pope comes to your rescue, stepping into the kitchen. He puts an arm around your waist.

"She's moving in with me, Smurf," he says in a tone that doesn't leave room for argument.

"And what about Lena?" Smurf asks. "Baz clearly can't take care of his own daughter."

You shake your head, "No. I'll still nanny for her. I just won't be a live in nanny. I...maybe I could take her instead of Baz's? If that's not overstepping. She just loves being with you Smurf. She is always talking about you and the pool!"

Smurf smiles at you, her eyes narrowing for a moment. She's not an idiot. But she'll allow it. You're making Andrew happy.

"Of course, sweetheart," she says softly. "You can sleep here with Lena when Baz isn't around. I think that's for the best."

You smile and nod your head, "Of course, I think that would be perfect. She needs a strong woman in her life now that her mother is...gone."

Later as you sit in Pope's truck, you look at him, "Are you sure you want me to move in with you?"

He sniffs, "Where else are you gonna go? Not back to Baz."

You roll your eyes, "Ain't you romantic?"

But you like living with Pope. He always makes you breakfast in the morning, telling you that you need to start your day with food rather than running on coffee for hours. He likes having you here as well. Pope can't sleep. But with the weight of you on his chest, he sleeps like a baby. Although on the nights he can't, he can wake you up with rough hands and soft kisses.

You adore that as well. Pope could spend hours eating you out, just drowning in your pussy. He makes you cum over and over and over. Until you have to pull him up and away from you. And he'll look at you with his eyes almost black. If he's not between your legs, he's at your tits, kissing and palming at them for hours on end. You don't even think it's sexual anymore, it's like a comfort for him. A soother... And if that's what Andrew needs you give it to him.

But you adore when he's inside you. Hard and deep, slamming his hips against yours. He manhandles you, having you in breeding press, kissing you desperately. Or he'll flip you onto your stomach, you love how he fucks you prone bone. Sometimes he'll hook his thick bicep around your neck, making your eyes roll back on your head. You love riding him on the couch after a long day.

When you stay at Smurf's you tell him sex is off the table. You know she's listening. But Pope can't keep his hands off of you. And Smurf isn't an idiot, she sees how Pope hangs on your every word. So after a few months of you living between her home and Pope's, she does some digging into your background.

You're folding laundry in the kitchen when Smurf approaches you.

"Hey baby," she coos, calling you the name she reserves for her sons and grandson. "Where did you say you grew up?"

You look up at her and smile.

"I didn't, Smurf. But I grew up the other side of San Diego. But I haven't been back since I was eighteen. I started applying for au pair jobs in my senior year of high school," you explain. "So I left a few days after graduation."

Smurf hums, "And no one cared about your time in juvenile detention?"

You freeze and look up at her.

"My records were sealed after I turned eighteen," you tell her. "So no one needs to know."

"I have my people...and my people found that you did 18 months for robbery and breaking and entering," she says with a hum. "Must have been tough for your foster family."

You twist your mouth in annoyance. You hate talking about your past.

"Yes, Smurf. I grew up in foster care. CPS took me away when I was eight. I was still cute then, got a nice foster family," you say with a shrug. "But then they got pregnant. Triplets! And I was thirteen and starting to act out. So I went back to foster care. Bounced around families for a while. You know how many foster dads are creeps?"

You scrub your hand over your face.

"So I learned how to pickpocket. I just wanted enough money so I could get an apartment. I made friends with a few of the rich kids in the area. And I'd case their places when they weren't around. One of their parents found me. I thought they were on a trip...Her dad was a lawyer so I was screwed."

You look at Smurf, "Is that a problem?"

Smurf smiles at you and pulls you in for a hug.

"Oh baby, you're perfect."

You're not stupid. You are very aware how to Cody family get their money. You're not there for the meetings or the jobs, of course. And you like to play dumb for Smurf, although you're sure she can see through you. But both of you play this game, pretending you don't know what the other one knows. And she likes you like this. Still pliant to her.

You know when the boys are doing a job because Smurf will give you the day off. She'll keep Lena in the house. And you will wait patiently for Pope to come home. It is always a variant on the same theme when he finally walks in the door of your now shared home. Sometimes he will take you desperately, needing to be buried inside you. He'll push you onto hands and knees or press you into the couch and just bury his weeping cock in you with rough, angry thrusts. Other times, you can see the tears threatening to fall from his eyes and he'll kiss you desperately. He'll slowly rock his hips against yours, hiding his face in your neck as you can feel soft sobs rack his body. Sometimes, rarely, he's happy. It's gone well, and sex is soft and smooth and gentle.

One day you're fixing Lena's hair and you overhear Baz talking to Smurf.

"People who have nannies have money," he tells her. "You said she used to do this shit. Why can't she scope out a few places for us? Even just fuckin' job interviews. I don't know. Babysitting gigs so it's not too permenant."

You can hear Smurf take a sharp intake of breath, "We only do jobs with people in the family."

You can practically hear Baz's eyeroll at that.

"She's not doing the job she's just-"

Pope cuts him off, "We're not involving her in this. She doesn't need to be a part of this shit."

"What Pope?" Baz suddenly snaps causing Lena to flinch next to you. "You think you can just run off with her into the sunset? You're sick in the head, man. And soon she'll fuckin' see that. She's gonna drain your wallet and then leave you."

On the drive home, you can tell that Pope is withdrawn. You can see the gears in his head working overtime. You hate that Baz can get to him like that. You reach out and run your fingers through his curls but he flinches away from you. You try not to let it affect you. You know it's Baz and his family who have worked their way under his skin. But still, Pope has never been upset with something you've done.

You make him dinner in silence. Pope likes the quiet but when he finally looks up at you, he sees the hurt etched across your face.

"I'm sorry," he gruffs out. "I just...Baz always says shit like that. Says how I'm weird and I'm not weird."

"No baby, you're not weird," you soothe, stroking his knuckle with your thumb.

"I just...You know...With my family, it's hard. I don't know Smurf was never a proper mother to us. First time I saw someone die I was six. She used have sex with these men in front of me and Julia. And we just thought all o' that was normal. And she likes...She likes when I'm angry. I know she wants to keep me angry. But I don't want to be angry. I want a normal life."

He take a deep breath, "But I don't know how to be normal. I wanna be normal for you. I really do. I don't wanna be Smurf's muscle or Baz's fuckin' punchline."

You look at him, watching the tears roll down his freckled cheeks. You brush each away with soft kisses to his flushed skin. You just want to take him away from this, from his family, from Oceanside.

"Baz thinks no one would wanna be with me. That you'll leave. He thinks no one will settle down and have a baby with me," he sobs.

This makes you pause.

"I wanna have a baby with you, Andrew," you tell him ever so gently.

His eyes flick up to yours as if assessing the situation. Were you being serious? A baby...with him?

"You wanna have a baby with me?" he echoes.

You nod your head, pulling him in for a desperate and messy kiss. You moan against his lips which is enough to have Andrew Cody gripping your hips and lifting you onto his lap. Your hips work on their own rolling against his thick thigh, your skirt bunching up around your waist as as your grind on him. Your clit bumps over the rough fabric of his jeans under the cotton of your panties. But Pope never breaks this kiss.

"Put a baby in me, Andrew, please," you beg desperately.

"You needa cum first," he responds.

It's like you can do it on command because after a handful more rocks of your hips you're soaking his thigh. He grunts out in appreciation and then grips the meat of your ass to lift you onto the table.

He falls to his knees, pulling your panties down your legs. His eyes zero in on your sopping wet cunt that is clenching around the air desperate for him. He doesn't give you a second before he starts eating you out. Pope loves giving you head, could (and has) spent hours between your legs. But today he is on a mission. He zeros in on your clit, sucking and slurping desperately. He knows exactly how to pull you apart and he does in record time. You come undone over his tongue to his satisification. He moans out into your cunt. He could cum from this as well, but he can't. Not when you've asked him so sweetly to put a baby in you.

Finally he stands, unbuckling his belt so he can push his jeans and boxers his thick cock finally free. It rests heavy against his black t-shirt that he still hasn't taken off. But he's desperate for you. And getting you pregnant is his number one priority. He presses inside you in one fluid motion. He doesn't let you adjust. He just splits you open. He's worked you over so well, he slips in without an issue. And then he's off to the races.

He hooks your knees over his forearms, spreading you wide and he slams into you. His heavy balls slam against your ass as he fucks you.

"Gonna put a baby in ya. Gonna see you so fuckin' full. And I ain't ever gonna let you leave," he grunts in your ear.

His words go straight to your cunt and you honestly don't know how many times you cum over his cock until he stutters to a stop. Thick walls of cum coat your walls. But he doesn't pull out. He just presses his weight on you for a few minutes. Your chests heaving in time with one another.

When he eventually moves, he presses two thick fingers inside you.

"Can't waste it. Not when I gotta get you pregnant."

And Pope takes his job very seriously. Every morning and every night he's inside you. If you're free in the afternoon, he pounces. If the two of you are alone he's fucking you. And you love it.

"Is Pope tryna eat you?" Deran asks as you sit by the pool in a bikini that showcases all the hickies Pope has left on your body. There are bruises in the shape of his fingers as well around your hips, ass and even the hint of them on your neck.

You roll your eyes at him.

"Don't be jealous cos you're hard up," you say before jumping in the pool and splashing him.

Out of all of Pope's family, you like Deran the best. If Pope's not around, you usually cling to him. He also has a short fuse for Baz's bullshit. Which is ongoing in the kitchen right now.

"Are we still paying her?" he snaps at Smurf who is counting out cash.

Smurf's eyes flick up, "You hired her because you couldn't take care of your daughter. So yes. We are."

"Well she's not doing a good job is she."

Pope grabs a beer from the fridge, "Lena's at school. You'd know if you spent any time with your kid."

He storms out to the backyard with Baz hot on his heels.

"You think you're a big man now cos you're getting your dick wet?" Baz snarls.

Pope doesn't respond as he watches you in the water.

"I mean, it looks like she'll spread her legs for any of us. Number three is right there," Baz says, nodding to where you and Deran are in the pool.

This catches Pope's attention. He turns and looks at Baz then.

"What's that supposed to mean?" his growls, his whole face darkening.

"You think she was living in my house, with me and not givin' it up? Come on. I'm a hot blooded man! You were always obsessed with my sloppy seconds. Ri-"

But Baz doesn't get to finish his sentence before Pope lunges. Pope is on top of him, landing punch after punch. But Baz is sly and digs him in the ribs. Smurf hears the commotion and comes to watch by the door. You're jumping out of the pool immediately.

Smurf sees you and sighs, "That's enough boys."

Usually her word is law but they're too caught up in the fight to hear anything.

"Andrew, that's enough," you bark.

Pope slams Baz onto the concrete once more before hauling himself off him. He reaches for your hand and drags you back to his car. You can get your stuff later, he grumbles. Smurf's eyes narrow as she watches you. It looks like you have your claws in her eldest boy deeper than she thought.

Of course, Smurf doesn't do anything right away. But she'll have to get Andrew away from you. She thought you simply calmed him down. But if he listens to you over her that's not good.

You can sense that something has shifted with Smurf. But you're not dumb enough to delve into that. No you play dumb. Act like nothing has happened.

"When's you're birthday, Smurf?" you ask her one evening as you help her with dinner. "I doubt your boys ever spoil you. And you do so much for them. They should bring you out for dinner."

Smurf smiles, "That's sweet but I like cooking for them."

You sigh as you watch J, Deran and Craig outside.

"I hope I'm half the mother you are. I mean, Pope talks about you all the time. How you worked so hard for him and Julia as a single mother. And in the seventies, that can't have been easy," you coo.

Smurf freezes for a millisecond, too quick to even notice. Unless you're watching...and you are.

"Does Pope talk about his sister?" she asks tightly.

You nod your head as you throw cherry tomatoes in the salad.

"Oh yes, all the time. Such a beautiful name. Maybe if I'm ever blessed with a girl I'll call her Julia. Maybe Julia Janine...JJ! So sweet," you say before carrying the salad out to the table.

Smurf stabs her knife into the cutting board. Oh she fucking hates you.

In the months that follow, you can feel the tension rising in the house. Not just between you and Smurf. But something has happened between her and Baz. You're not sure what and you're not stupid enough to ask.

One evening you're sitting by the pool on Pope's lap. You're nursing a Coke after dinner wondering when you can go home.

"Baby, do you want a real drink?" Smurf asks you as she sips on her vodka cranberry. It's rare she doesn't have one in her hand.

You flush at the question ducking your head before shaking it quickly. Pope is grinning ear from ear.

"Smurf, I can't," you say as Pope presses a thick hand over your stomach.

A few weeks ago, you had woken up feeling...well...like shit. You pulled up your calendar and realised that you were late. Your period was due almost a fortnight ago. But yours was nowhere to be seen. You immediately ran (literally) to the store. You shoulda bought pregnancy tests but you didn't wanna jinx it.

When Pope found you almost an hour later crying tears of joy as you looked at the two little lines on the stick, he couldn't stop himself from crying. You both had your own worries and didn't want to share until you were over the first trimester. But now, at almost fourteen weeks pregnant you decided to share with the rest of the Cody family.

You could see Smurf's face immediately brighten. Yea, she didn't like how you had gotten your claws into her baby boy. But a baby? Well, Smurf loved babies. So she rushed over to kiss both you and Pope.

"You should move back in here, baby," she cooed at Pope.

He shook his head, "Not with the parties, Smurf. A baby needs sleep and not to get into Craig's coke stash."

Craig frowned, but he couldn't argue.

The only person who wasn't happy was Baz. Which you expected. He was rarely at the house these days. And when he was it usually ended in a fight between him and Smurf. J had become a little lap dog for Baz. And you hated that. But it wasn't your place to get involved.

Since announcing your pregnancy, things between you and Smurf thawed. She brought you shopping for baby stuff. Even though you didn't want to be in her debt. But sometimes you liked to be mothered...it had been so long. So you let her brush your hair when you were too tired and make you herbal tea and even slept over when Pope was away on jobs.

You sit, cradling your now swollen stomach, as Smurf tells you about Julia. How she couldn't take care of her when she was pregnant with J. Everyone who talks about Julia tells you a different story. Pope talks about her like she hung the moon, J speaks about a sad, ghost of a woman outcast from her family and Smurf? Well, Smurf talks about a problem child. A bad apple intent on spoiling the bunch.

You're not sure if it's not just the tree that is poison.

But you let Smurf dote on you because you're not stupid. You want to keep her on side. Not like Baz...Baz has seemingly been outcast from the family. Lena is always with Smurf and her father is spending less and less time here.

Pope tells you one night in bed as he strokes your growing belly that he has a mistress in Mexico. That he plans on taking Lena and going to start a new life down there.

"With whose money?" you ask, your eyes flicking up to Pope.

Has Baz been stealing from Smurf? You don't doubt that he has enough money of his own. But you always know that Smurf has a majority of the funds.

They have enough to live very comfortably on. But nothing too crazy. But you don't argue about that.

One night, Pope is out with Craig and Deran. It's not like him, but you tell him to spend more time with his brothers. It's okay. You know he doesn't like parties or loud spaces. But sometimes they just drink in the back of Deran's bar. And you want him to have that connection again. Especially after losing Baz.

Even though you don't know good of a friend and brother Baz was to him. Pope tells you about Baz and Julia's relationship. How he could be J's father. How he fell for Cath when they were teenagers but Baz took her too. How he didn't want to lose anything else to Baz.

"You won't lose me or the baby to him. I promise," you whisper.

So when you hear the door to the house open you presume it's Pope. You hum, shifting in your bed to give him room to join you. But Pope's footsteps are almost silent and these? Well, these are not. You try not to move, hoping whoever it is will just steal some shit and go. They won't try the bedrooms.

But you recognise those footsteps as they come closer and closer. You know it's Baz. And he's not here for petty theft. You lean across the bed to Pope's side and pull open the drawer of his bedside locker. You're trying not to make noise as you fumble in the dark for what you're looking for.

But it doesn't matter because Barry Blackwell has been in Pope's shitty little beachfront condo before. He knows where the bedroom is and he knows where he'll find Pope's girl. He's known that Pope killed Cath. Even though he knows that Smurf put him up to it, it was Pope who did it. And now he can do the same to Pope.

An eye for an eye.

The baby is just the cherry on top of the cake. Baz should care that by killing you, he'll also be ending the life of his brother's unborn child. But he doesn't really care. He slams the door open making you jump.

"Pope isn't here," you tell him, feigning ignorance.

You blink, pretending that you've just woken up.

"That's okay. He doesn't need to be," Baz says as he stands in the door frame. "You know, Lena loves you. She loves when you take her to the beach and that you've taught her how to swim. Craig's got her her own surfboard now."

You smile and nod, sitting up in the bed. You stroke your baby bump, showing it off to Baz as if to remind him that you're just a woman. A pregnant woman. A soon-to-be mother.

"So it's really going to hurt her feelings when she finds out her uncle murdered you," he tuts.

You freeze at this. He's going to frame Pope?

Of course, he is. Pope already has a violent record. The police won't even question it when Baz calls it in. Because he will. He's an upstanding citizen. And when Lena's nanny who got involved with his mentally unwell brother doesn't show up for work, he'll get worried. He'll call the cops. He might even cry.

Smurf'll be pissed but hell, he might kill her too while he's at it. Pope went on a spree. How fun!

"Don't do this," you beg through tears.

Baz shrugs as he takes a step forward. You try to stay brave, strong. But fuck you're scared. But you look at the man who has only ever made your life worse since he came into it in the eyes as you pull Pope's gun from under the covers. You point it straight at his face.

He gives you that shit eating grin. That pretty boy bullshit smile. He thinks he can get away with this. But he can't. He won't.

And you pull the trigger.

You don't expect it to be so loud. Your neighbours definitely heard. You don't expect the blood spray either. It's messy. But you had no choice. You couldn't fight him hand to hand.

You get out of bed, wiping down the gun with your nightie and immediately getting in the shower. You wash off all evidence of Baz from you and change into Pope's t-shirt and a pair of shorts. You drive to the bar you know the Cody brothers are at. You smile at the patrons and pat your stomach.

But when Pope sees you, he knows something is wrong. He soothes you, tells you that you did everything right. Deran and Craig stand behind him as they look at their older brother's now dead body. You know they all loved him. But he was a monster.

"I took Lena's father away," you whisper. "But he was gonna kill me. He was gonna kill us."

Pope presses a hand to your stomach.

"Take her somewhere," he tells Deran. "We need to clean this up."

Deran brings you to his place, to his boyfriend (although you have to pretend he's just a friend), Adrian. He tells him that someone tried to break in and you're freaked out.

"Why not bring her to Smurf?" Adrian asks as you sit looking at the blank wall.

Deran just shakes his head before leaving.

You don't know when Pope comes to get you. But you go home with him. He gets you into the bath, soothing out your muscles.

"I've never done that before," you finally confess.

"And you won't have to do it again, baby," he promises as he massages your neck.

"We're gonna go. We're gonna leave Oceanside. Craig went to Baz's place and found where he's stashed Smurf's money. We're gonna take our share and go. With Lena," he promises.

"She won't let us," you respond.

Pope presses kisses into your hair.

"She doesn't have a choice," he responds gently.

Smurf believes Pope when he tells her that Baz has run off to Mexico.

"And left Lena?" she tuts and shakes her head. "Typical."

She knew it was his plan so why would she look into it any further? What she doesn't expect however, is less than a month later is to wake up and find Lena's bedroom empty.

She rushes to call you. But the phoneline is disconnected. Pope's is too. She calls Deran and Craig who shrug. They don't know where you've gone.

And while they know that you were leaving. Helped you get everything in order, you never told them where you were going.

"Where are we going, Uncle Pope?" Lena asks from the backseat of a car you jacked.

"Somewhere safe," is all he responds, as he rests his hand on your blossoming stomach.

a/n: thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed! any and all feedback appreciated. requests open

taglist: @sweetashhh @orangecheescakeleftover @elenamoncadaibarra @joelmillrenthusiast @abbotaes @onlyforyuto @meetmeatyourworst 

"This is a live-in position?" you clarify as you sit at the breakfast bar in his home.

He nods his head, "Yea, um, with my job I have to be away from home a lot. I don't like leaving Lena alone."

You blink, "Well yes, she's six. I wouldn't leave her alone either. That's fine. I'll just take Saturday afternoons until Monday mornings off."

The man before you frowns, "What if I need you to work weekends?"

"We can discuss overtime, Mr Blackwell. But I will be taking weekends. I'm being generous with Saturday mornings," you say with a frown.

His frown deepens but he nods.

"Lena's mother would do a grocery run-"

"Mr Blackwell, I'm not a maid. Of course, I'll cook for Lena. But I don't clean, I don't cook, I don't grocery shop."

"If I paid more?" he asks then.

You cock your head to the side, "If you paid more, then we can discuss that, of course."

So that's how you end up working for Barry Blackwell.

You don't mind living in the house by the beach. You get Lena up every morning, you make breakfast, bring her to school. You go clean the house when she's away, even do the damn grocery shopping with the wad of money he leaves on top of the microwave each week. When you pick Lena up from school, you always bring her to the beach.

"Daddy never takes me to the beach," she tells you one day as you eat ice cream.

Yea, you gather. You really don't like her dad. But he's rarely at home like he said.

"Uncle Pope brings me," she says. "We go to the swings."

You stroke her curls and smile, "Your uncle? Does he live around here?"

Lena shrugs, "I think so. Sometimes he's at Grandma Smurf's. But he was away for a really long time. I don't know where. But he's nice."

One morning after you drop Lena to school, you walk into the house to find a blonde woman sitting in the kitchen. You jump when you see her. Nobody has been in the house bar you and Lena since Baz left at the start of the week.

She sizes you up and down, "Where's my son?"

"Mr Blackwell?" you ask.

You've never seen this woman before. Baz told you not to let anyone into the house when he was away. Fuck. The older woman softens at your tone.

"Who are you exactly?" she asks, pursing her lips as she eyes you up.

"I'm Lena's nanny," you explain. "Mr Blackwell hired me a few weeks ago. He needed the help after his wife left. I just dropped her at school. Sorry, he never mentioned any family."

She frowns at your words, "Well that would be why I haven't seen my grandbaby in so long. I didn't know what Baz was doing with her. But he's got a pretty girl like you taking care of her.

"You can call me Smurf. Everyone else does. How about you bring Lena over to my house after school?"

"Oh, sure. I, well, don't know where you live," you confess.

Smurf smiles, "Well why don't you come over now. And we can go get Lena together. We have a pool," she tells you.

You brighten up immediately, "Oh! I was trying to teach Lena to swim. She loves to go to the beach but she can't swim. You think I could teach her in your pool?"

Smurf is delighted by the idea. Let's you gather your and Lena's things before driving you over to the Cody house. You've never been to this area of Oceanside. You don't expect the huge house. And you don't expect to meet Smurf's other sons.

Craig and Deran are making noise by the pool when you walk in. Smurf just ushers you into the kitchen.

"Have you had breakfast?" she asks you.

"Um, no I usually eat after I come back from dropping off Lena," you respond.

Smurf immediately starts cooking for you. You hate being doted on like that. You haven't been in so long. So you try to help but Smurf tells you to sit.

"Can I make you coffee at least?" you finally ask.

Smurf allows this, and you get to work with making fresh coffee for them. You look up when you hear heavy footsteps approaching. Your heart skips a beat when you look up to see a man storming into the kitchen handsome, auburn hair, hazel eyes and sun-kissed skin.

"Who's that?" he asks Smurf, ignoring you.

"Baz hired a nanny for Lena," his mother responds, introducing you.

He frowns as he sizes you up, "What did he do that for? We can take care of her."

Smurf scowls at him, at the suggestion. She doesn't want him to say something stupid in front of this stranger. She puts her arm around you, squeezing you gently.

"This is my eldest boy, Andrew," she tells you. "He's a bit rough around the edges but I promise, he's a sweetheart underneath it all. Now you go eat your breakfast while I speak to him."

You do as you're told. A part of you knows better than to go against what this woman says. It's a gut feeling. And you don't go against gut feelings.

When Smurf leaves you and Lena back to Baz's, Smurf grips your wrist, stopping you from getting out of her car.

"Let's not tell Baz about this visit. I think it's best if we just keep it between us," she says.

You nod your head. You're not stupid enough to disagree with her. And anyway, it's just swimming lessons.

Since Pope learned about you, he knew he needed to keep an eye on you. He spent a week following you. Watching as you brought Lena to school. Where you do your grocery shopping. He watches you when you go to the beach before you have to collect Lena. He likes watching how your body moves in the water when you go for a swim. He tries to ignore how his body reacts to you when you walk out of the sea, water sliding down your body.

You have no idea about Pope Cody. One morning, when you go to wake Lena up to get her ready for the day, you go into her room, and she's not there. Your heart drops. She's not watching TV. She's not in the bathroom. You search every inch of the house.

You're about to call Baz when the door opens and Lena walks in. You rush over to her, falling to your knees and cupping her little face in your hands.

"Where were you?" you ask. "You know you can't just wander outside on your own."

"I wasn't alone," she says as the door opens wider.

You look up from where you're kneeling on the ground to see a man come in. Andrew. The man who you met briefly at Smurf's house.

"Uncle Pope brought me to swings."

You lean back on your kneels with a frown as you look at him. He stares you down and you can't help the way your heart races. You blame it on the stress of Lena going missing.

"You shoulda woke me up," you say to her, stroking her cheeks again before standing up.

Andrew, Pope, looks at you. Cocking his head to the side.

"Where's Baz?" he asks, his voice rough.

Lena answers, "He's away..."

"And is he away a lot?" Pope asks, his eyes flicking to you.

"Lena, can you get ready for school, sweetie. I'll make you breakfast in a second," you say.

As soon as Lena rushes off you turn your attention to Pope.

"You can't just break in here and take off with her," you tell him. "I thought she was kidnapped. Mr Blackwell woulda killed me!"

Pope sizes you up, "She's my niece. I can see her whenever I want."

You look at him like he's crazy. He has to be crazy. It's barely 6am and he thought he'd pay a visit?!

"I knew Baz wasn't around. I was worried about Lena. I thought she was here alone."

"And you didn't call your brother?" you ask, folding your arms in annoyance.

"He didn't answer. Where is he?" he retorts.

You shrug as you turn to the kitchen, Pope's eyes fall to the swell of your ass under your sleep shorts.

"He told me he travels for work. Is that not true?" you ask as you pull out bacon from the fridge.

Pope just sniffs in return. He knows his brother is probably with Lucy in Mexico. Leaving his daughter with a stranger.

"You're a nanny?" he asks then.

"Yea, I worked in Europe as an au pair. I've done all my courses. Everything is above board, if that's what you're tryin' to get at," you say as you start making breakfast.

"And you live here? With Baz?"

You shake your head quickly.

"I'm a live-in nanny. But I don't live with Baz," you say, maybe a bit harsher than usual. "You want coffee?"

Pope's lips twitch, as close to a smile as you'll get. He likes you.

You don't expect Pope to still be there after you get home from dropping Lena to school. But he's there, cleaning the kitchen.

"Lena really likes you," you say. "When she goes to her grandmother's she's always asking if you'll be there. I'm teaching her how to swim. I can't believe she's a Cali girl and she can't swim!"

Pope just shrugs. He's not much of a talker.

"Look, I have no problem with you seeing her but I'd appreciate if you told me first."

He takes another minute before looking at you.

"So I need your number," you say offering him your phone.

That's how you end up texting Pope Cody.

Pope Cody: Hello. I can pick Lena up from school today. I'm in the area.

Pope Cody: Good Morning. I can take Lena for breakfast, she likes a pancake place on the way to school.

Pope Cody: Hello. I made too much spaghetti, I can bring some over for Lena and you if you'd like.

You smile whenever your phone vibrates. You like talking to Pope. Even if it is just about Lena.

Whenever Baz is there, the texts don't come in. Sometimes Pope will come over to hang out with Baz. But you never get to say too much to him as Baz suggests you take Lena somewhere else.

Although one day you walk in as Baz snarls in Pope's face, "No one is ever gonna have a kid with you."

Pope can't meet your eyes as he walks past you to leave.

You spend your Saturday afternoons and Sundays out of Oceanside. Unless Baz has requested that you stay. He pays you in cash beforehand, and you just spend the weekend with Lena. Sometimes at Smurf's. Sometimes with Pope.

You're on the beach one Saturday with Lena, Pope is pushing her on the swings and you are watching on. A woman comes up to you and smiles.

"Your little girl is so cute and your husband is so good with her," she says. "I have to drag my husband out with them."

You should correct her, but you don't. You want people to think that you're a family. It would be nice...

Soon you find yourself texting Pope, not just about Lena.

You: I watched a documentary about wolves I think you'd like

You: I was going to go to the beach tomorrow did you wanna come? Deran said you used to like surfing!

Baz comes in all flustered one afternoon. He hasn't been home in almost a month. It's the longest that he's been away. He rushes over to Lena and she's so happy to see her Daddy. You go back to cleaning as she babbles about everything that has happened since he's been away. You smile.

She's a great kid. One of the best you've taken care of.

You hear Baz ask her to repeat herself and your head shoots up.

"She's teaching me how to swim in Grandma Smurf's pool," you hear her say.

It's not her fault. She's just a kid. And even though you had told her not to say anything about Pope or Smurf, you can't blame her for spilling details. But the colour drains out of your face nevertheless. Especially when you hear Baz telling her to go to her room. She does as she's told.

You continue cleaning as you hear Baz's footsteps storm into the kitchen. He grabs your hair and pulls you backwards. He's pressed against your back and you're looking up at him, fear coursing through your body.

"I thought I told you not to let anyone in the house. And now I hear Smurf has been sniffing around. And you're bringing my kid around to her house," he hisses at you.

You whimper as his grip on your hair tightens.

"She's her grandmother. I didn't think-" you being before Baz slams your head against a cupboard.

"Yea, you didn't fuckin' think. When I tell you something, you fuckin' listen. You stupid bitch," he snarls, hitting your head against the cupboard again.

You're bracing yourself for another slam, but you're suddenly falling to the ground. Baz has been hauled off you. You collapse. You turn to see Pope dragging him off you. He punches him once before pushing him to the other side of the room.

You whimper when you hear footsteps coming towards you but it's not Baz. Pope scoops you up into his arms and carries you out of the house.

"Lena," you breathe shakily.

You don't wanna leave her alone in that house.

"She'll be okay. Baz isn't gonna hurt her," Pope promises as he brings you to his car.

He puts you into the passenger side and drives you to his home. You've never been to Pope's house before, even though you spend most days with him now. You start to get out of the car, but Pope once again gathers you in his arms, bringing you into the house.

"Are you okay?" he finally asks, his face a mask of anger.

He places you down on the couch. He strokes the cuts on your face, he can already see where the bruises will come up. Baz at least hadn't broken your nose.

"Let me clean you up," he breathes after you nod that you're okay.

You're shaken but it wasn't the first time that you've gotten hit. It's just been a while. Fuck, you thought you were over that stage of your life. Shouldn't have gone to fuckin' Oceanside to mind some kid.

"You promise Lena'll be okay?" you ask him when he finally returns with water and cotton pads.

Pope grunts as he cleans you up, "I wouldn't have left her there if I thought Baz would hurt her...I'll get her in the morning and bring her here. Is that okay?"

"Thank you, Andrew," you say softly. "You didn't have to do any of this. And thanks for being there."

You don't query how he knew you needed his help. You're just glad he was there. His large hands are still holding your face and his rough thumb slides over your lower lip. He is well aware that he shouldn't do this. But he can't help himself. You gently kiss the pad of his thumb, your eyes never leaving his.

He brushes his thumb slowly over your cheekbone. His eyes never leave yours. Pope has never been good with eye contact but he holds yours for what seems like hours. He doesn't want to push you. Not after what Baz did to you. But you're the one who finally breaks and presses your lips against his. Pope tentatively kisses you back but when he hears your little whimper, he's a goner. His hands drop from your face to your waist, pulling you onto his lap.

You've been waiting for months to run your fingers through his auburn curls. You tug at his curls as you deepen the kiss. You're suddenly dry-humping with Pope Cody on his couch like two teenagers. And you couldn't stop if you tried.

That is until his hands slide up your shirt and grasp your tits. You moan into his mouth as his rough palms press against the swell of your breasts, squeezing and releasing. He pulls your shirt over your head, breaking the kiss for just a second to do so. He doesn't even undo your bra, just pulls the cups down so your breasts fall free. He flips you onto your back. He kisses down your neck and then to your tits. He spends what feels like hours laving at your nipples. Whichever tit isn't in his mouth is being played with by his rough hands. Your arousal is all but rolling down your thighs when he finally pulls away from your tits.

His eyes are so blown out they're almost black. He pulls your jean shorts and panties down in one move. He groans at the sight of you.

"Lemme see that pretty pussy, baby," he tells you as he spreads your legs. You've never been this turned on in your life.

"Andrew Cody, if you don't fuck me right now," you whine out.

Your whines only result on him smacking you hard on your weeping cunt. Your back arches off the couch. Fuck you need him.

"Now lemme see that pussy."

Pope crawls between your legs, getting eye level down with your pussy.

"So pretty," he praises as he spreads you open, his eyes scanning you. He blows on you, causing you to shudder. His thumb teases your clit watching how you clench around nothing.

"So, so pretty," he praises.

Finally he presses kisses up your thighs and eventually presses his tongue inside you.

"Fuck, yes, right there," you whine out in pure need, grinding against his face.

Pope decides he needs to have you ride his face next. But not yet. He wants to play some more. He focuses his attention on your clit, hooking your legs over his wide shoulders. And within just a handful of ministrations, you're coming undone over his tongue. Your orgasm hits like a freight train. You're painfully turned on. You've been wound up for so long. And Pope Cody is just so happy to help you let loose.

Once you come down from your high, you pounce on him, pulling his clothes off. Desperate to see him. He chuckles softly as he helps you take his clothes off.

You follow his lead, kissing over the freckles on his neck, down his chest and stomach. He tenses under your movements and you smirk, nipping over his abs. His cock is leaking, standing to attention. And he's fucking huge. You should have expected that.

"Wanna fuck my face, daddy?" you coo up at him.

That name sends Pope wild, he grabs your hair and guides you down onto him. Once you've gotten used to him, he starts rocking his hips up. He holds onto you as he starts fucking into your mouth just like you asked.

"Fuck, sweetheart. Shit," he grunts after just a handful of thrusts. "I can't take this anymore. I need to be inside you. I need to fuck that pretty pussy of yours."

Pope grips you, flipping you back onto your back so he's on top of you again. He teases your clit with the head of his cock, smirking as you start to squirm.

"You want daddy's cock, huh? You gonna be a good girl and take my cock?" he growls in your ear.

You nod desperately, dumbly. Finally he's pressing inside you, inch by inch. You lock your legs around his hips as he finally bottoms out.

"Just like heaven, baby girl," he breathes in your ear.

He should be gentle, sweet, slow, after what Baz did to you. But he's desperate. So he starts jerking his hips in and out of you. The snap of skin on skin fills the room. Your pussy is so wet you can hear it just as well. You're so desperate for him.

"You gonna cum on daddy's cock?" he breathes as he fucks you. His hands palm at your tits with each thrust.

And as if on command, you cum again. You soak him and Pope looks victorious. But he's not finished with you yet. He pulls out to flip you onto your stomach and press inside you again.

"Fuck, so big, daddy," you whine for him as he pounds into you.

Pope kisses over your neck and down your spine, as best as he can from this angle. He buries his face into your neck as he hits that sweet spot inside you over and over again. Your eyes roll back in your head as your third orgasm hits you.

This time you clench so tightly over his cock, Pope can't move. Your cunt literally milks his cock, forcing his orgasm out of him. He hasn't cum in so long that his release his hot and thick. It starts sliding out of you as your abused pussy can't take it all.

And Pope, you hates mess, marvels at the sight. After you've both come down from your highs, he gathers you in his arms.

"Sorry...was that too much?" he breathes.

You shake your head, "No. It was perfect. Needed it. Needed you."

"I can sleep out here," he says suddenly.

You look at him in shock, "Oh no baby. I wanna sleep right next to you. What if I need daddy's cock in the middle of the night?"

Pope gives you a wolfish grin as he kisses you again.

Baz thinks everything is alright when he wakes up the next morning and sees that Lena is already gone to school. But then he realises that all your shit is gone. And he sees red.

He drives straight to Smurf. Planning on spreading some bullshit about the nanny. Some sly bitch you tried to swindle him. He walks into the house, crocodile tears at the ready so mommy can fix his mess.

He frowns when he sees Pope sitting on the couch looking like a fucking king and you curled into his side. He's running his hand up and down your arm as the cuts and bruises Baz left on your face are on display.

"Baz," Smurf tuts when she sees him. "We need to work on your temper."

a/n: thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed! any and all feedback appreciated. requests open

taglist: @sweetashhh @orangecheescakeleftover @elenamoncadaibarra @joelmillrenthusiast @abbotaes

But alas, he was in a state of romantic crisis yet again. And all because he had texted you, and you had left him on read. For one whole day.

At first he thought you were tired, or busy with something. But by the fifth text of him checking in with no answer, on the night of a new shift the next day, Jack was confused.

Jack genuinely did not know where he had gone wrong. You had been kind enough to look over your apparent dislike of soldiers—a detail he still hadn't quite gotten to the bottom of, though he was hoping to ask you about it very soon. He thought you two were on the same page.

He was sitting in the staff breakroom, taking a much-needed breather after a grueling four-hour surgery, staring blankly at his quiet phone screen yet again.

“Trouble in paradise with the flight attendant?”

Dr. Parker Ellis came up right behind him, trying to playfully peek over his shoulder at the screen. “Do you have a picture of her yet? Shen says she’s a total knockout.”

“Stop that,” Jack muttered, quickly flipping his phone face-down on the table. As he did, a sudden, annoying realization hit him: he didn't actually have a single picture of you. If you decided to just disappear into thin air, he wouldn't even have a photo.

“So it really is trouble in paradise?” Parker teased, picking up on his irritated tone with a chuckle. She pulled out a chair and sat down across from him. “Come on, it’s been two days. You can’t mess it up that quickly. What use is it being the charming flirty attending doctor if you can't even hold a woman down?”

Jack chuckled, crossing his arms. “Don't you have a patient to go to?”

Parker rolled her eyes, taking a slow sip of her coffee before leaning against the counter. “I heard she’s from out of state. Where is she staying anyway? Your place?”

“A hotel. She’s hiding the injury from her sister, ” Jack said, rubbing his temple. “Let me ask you something. You’re young. Do hotels really matter that much? I don’t really know why she picked the one she did. She chose a place fifteen minutes away from the area. Her sister's house is over thirty minutes out, and there are a dozen cheaper, closer options in that direction.”

Parker paused, her coffee mug hovering halfway to her mouth. “She probably did that so you could visit her easier.”

Jack let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “That’s the dream.”

“Did she give you a card?” Parker asked casually.

“She offered it,” Jack said, his tone entirely matter-of-fact. 

“And you accepted?”

Jack opened his mouth to explain his highly logical, airtight clinical reasoning. Then, his brain did a sudden, violent rewinding of the tape.

Fuck. Jack went entirely quiet. The silence in the breakroom stretched until it became heavy.

Parker burst out laughing, the sound echoing loudly against the breakroom.

He pulled out his phone and dialed your number on the spot. You didn't answer.

He tried again. Nothing. By the fifth missed call, Jack was practically pacing the breakroom, but the universe had terrible timing. Before he could even think about calling again, a major multi-car trauma was rolling into the ambulance bay, forcing Jack right back into his scrubs and under the bright lights of the ER.

He worked the grueling shift with a frantic, hyper-focused energy. Even Robby noticed his hurried, impatient cadence during handover, whispering to Shen that he looked like he was working on a countdown clock. The very second the final patient was stabilized and his administrative duties were cleared, Jack flew out of the hospital. He called you one more time in the parking lot—still no answer. He almost let out a self-deprecating laugh at his own expense as he entered his car.

Twenty minutes later, Jack was standing in the carpeted hallway of your hotel. He hadn't even taken the time to change out of his wrinkled hospital scrubs. He walked up to your room door, swallowed the lump of nerves in his throat, and knocked.

He waited a tense, agonizingly quiet minute before the lock finally clicked, and you slowly opened the door.

You were wearing a plush hotel bathrobe, the collar slightly damp. Jack guessed you had just gotten out of the shower because you smelled absolutely divine—that familiar, intoxicating mix of jasmine, cedar wood, and warm skin that had been haunting his car for the last two days.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble.

“Morning,” you replied, your voice quiet, lacking its usual sharp bite.

“May I come in?” he asked, shifting his weight.

You stepped backward into the room, leaving the door open for him to follow. Jack stepped inside and clicked the door shut behind him, his keen eyes immediately locking onto your posture. He could instantly sense that you were in retreat. You were actively avoiding eye contact, your shoulders slightly tight as you walked toward the small desk in the corner, unable to fully face him.

“So, what is it?” you asked, your back still turned to him as you aimlessly rearranged a few things on the desk.

“Just checking in,” Jack said, taking a few slow steps into your space. “You didn’t answer my calls. And I know you’ve been awake since dawn. You read my text.”

He closed the distance between you until he was standing directly behind you, the heat of his body radiating against your back. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing, really,” you said, shrugging your shoulders in a weak attempt to dismiss him. “Just... a little embarrassed.”

Jack’s lips twitched. The heavy knot of panic that had been twisting in his chest since the breakroom completely dissolved, replaced by a sudden, warm wave of relief. He reached out, his large hands gently capturing your shoulders and turning you around so you were forced to face him.

“What for?” he murmured, his smile spreading.

Instead of answering, you instantly buried your face in your hands, hiding the burning blush that was creeping up your neck. Jack tried his absolute best not to laugh, but he failed, a soft huff of amusement escaping him.

“Hey,” he said softly, his fingers gently tugging at your wrists, trying to pull your hands away from your face so he could see your eyes. “You gotta be easy on me. I haven’t dated in years, and you’re…”

You peeked through your fingers, finally dropping your hands to look up at him.

“Young. You’re young,” he chuckled, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. “And I’m apparently an idiot sometimes. I might miss a thing or two, alright? You gotta forgive me here. I didn’t even realize what was happening. You gotta tell me these things.”

You let out a soft, defeated sigh, your shoulders dropping. “Yeah, I figured that was the case. I did wonder why you didn’t ask me out before that, though. You had plenty of time on the drive over. It just... makes me feel silly.”

“For what?”

“For liking you,” you muttered, the admission slipping out raw and honest.

Jack’s heart did a violent, sudden leap against his ribs. His heart rate spiked instantly, a sensation sweeter than any adrenaline rush he’d ever experienced in a trauma bay, and his smile grew wider than it had in years.

“Oh, so you like me, huh?” he said, his voice dropping an octave as he leaned in close, deliberately crowding your space.

“You’re pushing it, pal,” you warned, your hands coming up to press against his chest to make some distance. But Jack’s arm was already moving, his large hand wrapping firmly around your waist to anchor you right against him. He only laughed, thoroughly enjoying the brilliant way you blushed under his gaze.

“Shh… settle down. Let me enjoy it,” he murmured, his thumb tracing a slow, heavy circle against the fabric of your robe. “You rejected me last time, remember? Everyone knew about it. A guy could get seriously discouraged from trying again if he doesn't get a little reassurance.”

The playful banter slowed, the atmosphere in the room shifting instantly into something thick and heavy with anticipation. You didn't push away this time; you let him lean in closer, your breath hitching as his face hovered just inches from yours. The romantic tension built rapidly, filling the small gap between your lips. Jack looked down, his eyes darkening as he caught sight of the soft slope of your chest where the bathrobe had loosened slightly.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered against your cheek, his breath hot and uneven.

“I’m all bruised up,” you replied, your voice barely a breathy murmur.

“Still a knockout,” he shot back automatically. You gave him a dry, pointed look through your lashes, and he chuckled softly against your skin. “Too soon?”

Instead of answering, your fingers trailed slowly up the fabric of his arms, moving over his biceps before finally resting on his broad shoulders. You were teasing him now, and Jack could feel the sudden surge of bold, brave energy in your gaze as you looked up at him. You were entirely aware of the effect you had on him—aware of his shallow breaths, the heat of his eyes, and the way his body went completely rigid when your fingertips slid against his neck, subtly tugging on the V-neckline of his hospital scrubs.

“You’re handsome,” you said finally, matching his intensity.

Jack’s grip on your waist tightened, pulling you so flush against him that there was no air left between you. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“I just got off a twelve-hour shift, you know,” he murmured, his eyes dropping to your lips, completely transfixed. “I probably smell like the hospital. Rubbing alcohol and bad coffee.”

You ignored his words entirely, your fingers tangling into the short hairs at the nape of his neck and pulling him down. Jack didn't need any more permission. His mouth slid over yours in a deep, slow, possessive kiss that effectively silenced the rest of the world. It wasn't a tentative, careful first kiss; this was heavy and demanding, his tongue sliding past your lips to claim you fully.

And boy, you could kiss.

You let out a soft whimper into his mouth, your hands clutching tightly at his scrubs as his hands found the tie of your bathrobe, loosening it effortlessly. The kiss deepened, growing hungrier and more urgent with every passing second, until standing up became entirely too much to bear. Guided by pure instinct, Jack kept his mouth locked to yours and began blindly walking backward, his large hand anchoring your waist to pull you along with him.

When the back of his knees hit the edge of the mattress, he sank down onto the bed, smoothly tugging you down right with him until you were straddling him, sitting entirely on his lap. He came up right under you, his heavy hands sliding up the bare skin of your thighs beneath the loose robe.

He was hard against you. He knew that for sure, and he had a feeling you already knew. Even before you sat completely against it.

He wanted to slow down, to savor the terrifying beauty of this, but the hunger in his gut was winning.

"You have no idea," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin as he looked up at you, his gaze dark and uncharacteristically raw, "what you're doing to me right now."

He managed to rest his back to the headboard and let you sit on his lap more comfortably— or rather, a better position for him to move you up and down. It felt damned good even though his cock was straining against his pants like crazy.

“What am I doing?” you asked. Your voice was raspy and different.

“Torturing me,” he said quickly. “The good kind.”

You let him lower his head against your neck, then lower again to the valley of your breasts.

A sudden realization flashes through his mind—the lack of protection. Fuck, he hadn’t bought condoms in fucking ages. How should he know this would happen? It wasn’t likely fifteen minutes ago.

His worry went out the window when you moved your hips harder. It seemed you were content moving your hips just like this while making out. He had no complaints and went all in.

He shifted his movements. He pulled you closer, helping you move your hips— where the fuck did you learn how to do that?

“Feels so good,” he breathed, his breath hot against you. “Just like that.”

You arched her back instinctively, your fingers tightening in his hair, pulling him closer as if you couldn't get enough of the contact. 

"Jack," you breathed, your voice a fragile thread of sound.

He didn't answer with words. Instead, he pressed a lingering, fervent kiss to the swell of your breast, his hands tightening their hold. 

Then he began to grope you with a frantic, hungry desperation, his large palms sliding under the silk of your robe to claim the bare skin of your breasts. He squeezed and kneaded you, his thumbs brushing over your peaking nipples, sending fresh waves of lightning through your nerves. The sensation of his rough surgical hands against your soft, sensitive flesh was almost too much to bear, driving you to arch your back and press even harder against him.

Every time you ground your pelvis against his, the friction of his cock through the fabric felt fucking fantastic. And for someone who hadn’t had sex for what felt like centuries, Jack was in heaven.

He was nearly there. His breathing had turned into shallow, jagged gasps, and his movements had lost all semblance of his usual clinical precision. He was raw, driven by a singular, desperate need to reach the edge. He thrust his hips up into you with a sudden, violent urgency, his hands sliding down from your breasts to squeeze your ass, pulling you so tightly against his groin that there wasn't a single breath of space left.

"Fuck," he choked out, his head falling back against the headboard as his eyes squeezed shut.

He was hovering on the precipice, his muscles straining and his pulse drumming a frantic, heavy beat against your thighs. Every grind of your hips, every desperate slide of your bodies together, was pushing him closer to the brink of a total, shattering release.

With a sudden, decisive movement, Jack gripped the lapels of your robe and shoved it down, baring your chest to the cool air and his searing heat. The sudden exposure made you gasp, but the sensation was instantly replaced by the overwhelming warmth of his mouth. He leaned forward, his head dipping between your breasts, and took one of your nipples into his mouth.

The sensation was electric. He suckled with a fierce, rhythmic intensity, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak before his teeth grazed you just enough to make your toes curl. The combination of his mouth on your skin and the relentless friction of his hips against yours was driving you toward a fever pitch.

"Jack..." you whimpered, your head falling back as you felt the tension in your lower belly coil tighter and tighter.

He didn't slow down. If anything, the sight of your bare skin seemed to fuel his desperation. His hand slid down from your waist, his fingers finding the center of your heat through the thin fabric of your underwear. He began to move his hand in a fast, punishing rhythm, mimicking the heavy, driving thrusts of his hips. He was chasing release with a singular, obsessive focus, his movements becoming faster and more uncoordinated as he tried to bridge the gap between your pleasure and his own.

He was working you with a primal urgency, his thumb applying a heavy, rhythmic pressure that made your vision blur. He was grinding his cock into you with everything he had, his breath coming in ragged, desperate hitches, his entire body trembling with the effort of holding on to the very last second before he shattered.

The tension in the room reached a breaking point, a sudden, violent crescendo that shattered the last of Jack's legendary composure. As you arched against him, your own pleasure spiraling toward the edge, a low, guttural sound tore from his throat. His entire body went rigid, his muscles coiling with a strength that felt like it might crush you, and he buried his face in the hollow of your neck to muffle the sound.

He let out a long, shuddering groan as his hips gave one final, powerful thrust upward, pinning you against him.

The sensation of his release, so intense and unbridled, sent you over the edge right along with him. Your own body buckled and shuddered under the force of your climax.

Through the layers of his scrubs and your underwear, the warmth was unmistakable: a sudden, heavy soak as he released himself deep inside his pants, the heat of it spreading rapidly against his skin.

For a long minute, the only sound in the room was the ragged, desperate rhythm of your synchronized breathing.

Jack didn't pull away; he slumped forward, his forehead resting heavily against your shoulder, his chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath. His hands, still wrapped tightly around your waist, were trembling against your skin. The clinical, controlled Dr. Abbot was entirely gone, replaced by a man who looked utterly, beautifully wrecked by you.

“Warn me before you let me do that next time,” he said, a weary, breathless laugh vibrating against your collarbone. “You could have given me a heart attack.”

“You lost control for a bit there,” you murmured, a soft smile tugging at your lips.

Jack, who had just had one of the absolute best moments of his life—and after a grueling twelve-hour shift at that—could barely hold his eyes open. As much as he wanted to place another soft kiss on your lips and just watch your face flush in the morning light, his body was completely drained. The adrenaline was entirely gone, leaving only a deep, heavy exhaustion.

What happened next was a pleasant blur. He didn't even remember the mechanics of changing out of his wrinkled hospital scrubs or throwing them over the back of the desk chair. He vaguely remembered the soothing, quiet cadence of your voice speaking to him, guiding him, but before he could fully process it, he was tucked beneath the crisp hotel sheets.

He was shirtless, clean, and resting with you tangled up securely against his side. The contrast of the cool room and the intense, radiating heat of your body next to him was a luxury he hadn't realized he was starving for.

Jack glanced lazily at the digital clock on the bedside table. He had exactly ten more hours before his next shift—and as he pulled you a little bit closer, burying his face into your hair, he was already mentally planning to come in late.

He thought he had all the time in the world.

The attending that was kind to everyone who worked with you.

You, who was fair tempered. Humorous and light hearted. Direct when necessary.

Forthright whenever patients overstepped boundaries.

You were an aspiration to all the med students and interns that passed through the Pitt.

You had a tenderness to your approach. 

One they assumed had been garnered from your years being a mother to three. 

A fact that you loved to talk about when time allowed. Speaking sweetly about your three little sweethearts. 

There were your two girls, Frankie and Finn. Your two fraternal twin girls who were polar opposites to each other. Acting like day and night. 

Where one was sunshine incarnate, as the other was pensive as the glistening moonlight. 

But they tried their best to mimic one another despite not being identical. 

They were witty and intensely curious in their own way. Bright eyed and in your opinion behaved a lot like their father, opinionated and forthright. 

You also had your eldest son, Lenny. 

Considerate and kindhearted, who was often compared to your own self. He loved watching out for his younger sisters, helping guide them. 

Such as the best way to get out of trouble... 

They were the apples of your eye. 

And filled your heart with immense joy. It was clear you were overwhelmed by a happy home life. With a supportive husband by your side. 

One that, come to think of it, you’d never mentioned him by name?

Too busy rambling on about what your kids had gotten up to. Asking Cassie for advice every now and again, considering her son Harrison was a few years older. 

Hearing about your home life was always a little bit of a bright spot. And humorous as you retold stories of what they had gotten up to. 

Even if it was a little chaotic. You wouldn’t change them. 

You were thoughtful with everyone in the ER. Paying attention to their questions and concerns. 

Remembering little details. Asking about how they were. An open hand for if times became difficult or they simply needed an open ear. 

Lightening the mood when things became heavy. Or simply being by their side, quiet and reassuring. 

Though as it appeared to everyone else. 

The only person who didn’t afford your kindness. 

Was Park the Shark.

For one reason or another it appeared as though you and Park were sworn enemies. Always locked in a battle of wits every time you crossed paths. 

As you retorted dryly. 

Face plastered with a smugness that only seemed to appear as Park entered the ER. 

It was rare and only on occasion. Whenever he came down. Stern as he crossed the threshold into the trauma bays. Eyes analytical and observant. Straight to the point. You often gravitated towards him whenever he appeared. 

It was always a spectacle. 

If not at least a little satisfying to watch you go toe-to-toe with PTMC’s Shark. 

There was a feistiness that his presence seemed to elicit from you. 

As you muttered with folded arms, shaking your head as he’d respond with the bluntness of a rusted saw. 

“Oh, fuck off,” you’d huff. 

Clicking your tongue if he ever insulted a med student while in your presence, “Don’t be such a prick”

Shaking your head with a sarcastic quip, “Could you be any more tactless”

Passing phrases that you simply slipped into the conversation whenever the opportunity presented itself. 

Insults and retorts that made everyone hold their breaths. 

Lying in wait for Shark to retaliate. To shoot you a stone cold glare. Before ripping you a new one. 

But the retaliation never comes. 

No matter how harsh your retorts are. Or how many times you tell him to piss off. 

He only rolls his eyes. Simply biting his tongue in exasperation. Never once snapping at you. 

This isn’t to say you’re always abrasive towards him. Just most times. Enough times for everyone in the ER to believe you hated the man. 

And no one would blame you if you did. It just felt as though you didn’t really have a reason to. 

Park was never outright rude to you. Never dismissive towards you. If anything he seemed. Nice?

It was puzzling for many. 

Most swept the interactions under the rug. 

Simply passing it off as Shark knowing when he was beat. When it was best to let things slide. Knowing better than to attack you with his brusque nature. 

Never realising how your words lacked bite as you directed them to him. 

Only ever focusing on the content. And never the delivery. Or the glint in your eyes when you crossed paths. 

Until one day. 

Joy, the new med student, simply asks outright. Abrupt as Park finishes a consult, after you had once again thrown a quippy remark his way. 

“Aren’t you going to retaliate? Dr L/N literally just called you an asshole,” the question fell out of her. “You’ve yelled at me for less. Surely this goes against all of HR’s policies”

She had said the very words that were on everyone’s mind. 

The very question no one had ever dared broach before. 

Park simply raises a brow. Lips pulled taut, at her question. Letting out a huff. His eyes darted to meet yours. 

A deadpanned expression crossing his features. 

Is she serious?

While you bite your lip, holding back the laugh threatens to bubble out. Until it eventually succeeds, the laughter echoing brightly and freely around the room. 

Thankfully the patient before you was sedated. Otherwise who knows how unprofessional this would come across to them. 

The sound of laughter bubbling out of you, catches everyone in the room off guard. Freezing them in place. 

While Park only sighs, shaking his head as a small chuckle escapes him. 

Only furthering their confusion. 

They felt like they were having a stroke. 

Had the world turned on its head? What the fuck was happening right now?

The Park the Shark. 

Infamous for his steely, cold demeanor. 

Was laughing?

What had the world come to. 

Perhaps it was the apocalypse, the end of the world, aliens had finally decided to invade Earth…

All of which seemed far more likely than witnessing Shark laugh.  

Eventually you catch your breath, wheezing slightly as you muster out, “He has no right in telling me off, not when I birthed his three kids”

“You’re the one that wanted a big family,” He remarked. 

Your lip quirks into a knowing smirk, teasing and light hearted as you retorted, “I distinctly remember that being you who said that” 

All of the words that come from the two of you only leave the people in the room further left in a pitt of confusion. 

“What the fuck?” Santos had muttered beneath her breath. 

“He’s my husband” 

“She’s my wife” 

You had stated at the same time. As you add, brows furrowing in thought, “I’m sure I’ve mentioned him before?” 

“No you have not! We were not picturing Shark when you said your husband was considerate and kind?” 

You shrug, stifling your laugh. “He is considerate and kind when he wants to be” 

Blinking in realisation, turning to Park, “Also, did you remember to pick up Finn’s soccer cleats?” 

He nods, “Of course I did, they’re in the car for her”

“Good,” You nod with a bright smile, “Thank you”

“You know I’d do anything for you,” he murmurs, as you slide into the space beside him. Pressing a chaste kiss to the side of your head. 

You pat his back, catching his lips with yours as you lean up. Before clapping your hands, “Ok. Let’s not hold you up any further, I’ll see you later, handsome,” You winked. 

A quirk of his lips, as they curve into a smile. Fond. Appreciative. 

“Love you” 

As the others around you murmur. 

“I think I preferred when they hated each other,” Santos commented.  

While Whitaker responded, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, “I feel like my head is about to combust” 

Moving back through the ER, as the trauma room is cleared. You are trailed behind by a flock of med students and nurses, all wanting to know how it was possible that you. 

You, who was always so considerate and kind hearted. 

Was married to Park the Shark?

It made no sense to them. 

“How long have you been married?” Mohan asked. 

While Princess added, “Forget that, how long have you been together?” 

You replied as you moved to complete some charting, “Married for 9 years, almost 10 next month” pulling out the chain that always hung around your neck, tucked beneath your scrubs. As a pair of rings dip low pulling the chain down, one of which had a beautiful light blue diamond sparkling brightly. “We’ve known each other for well over 15 years, met through some mutual friends from med school” 

“Has he always been like this?-” Javadi begins, failing to reach an apt description for Park. 

“Like?” you raised a brow. 

“So Shark like?” Jesse interjected, as Javadi snapped her fingers in agreement with the description. 

“I mean kind of. But only as menacing as a whale shark to me,” you grin. 

He had been brash when you first met. But the sharpness of his attitude had eroded and softened over time. You wouldn’t be with him otherwise. 

And he knew that if he didn’t change. 

You might’ve slipped from his grasp. 

“So you have three kids together?” Langdon questions. Also intrigued by the news of your relationship. 

Nodding with prideful glee, “Lenny, Frankie and Finn”

“Finn?” Cassie grinned, “That doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that Park’s nicknamed Shark does it?”

“Well. Maybe” You replied. 

“....All three might be influenced by that fact actually”

“No”

“How did you manage that?”

“How did you get him to agree!?” 

“I feel like everything I’ve ever known about you is a lie…in the best way possible”

A flood of questions only managed to bog you down further. 

“Does anyone here know the movie Shark Tale?” you always chuckled to yourself each time you were reminded as to what led you to your children’s names. 

The group around you murmured with faint acknowledgement of the movie, “Lenny and Frankie are sharks in the movie, so it felt fitting, and well, Finn is pretty self explanatory”

It had started as a little inside joke. Just for yourself. 

Not even Brendon had caught on to the theme. 

Simply excited and so in love with you. 

Lenny. 

You had softly spoken the name, whispered to the tiny little baby boy in your arms. Testing how it felt to slip from your tongue. 

In your eyes it was the perfect name for your first child. You had hooked Brendon into picking the name by explaining how it meant to be brave as a lion. 

So Brendon couldn’t resist. 

Not when you whispered that name with such reverence. 

And then in the lead up to your due date, throughout your secondary pregnancy. As he stayed by your side closely. Attentive and dutiful towards you. 

Taking care of everything. Evenings after he’d put Lenny to sleep, he’d sit on the couch gently rubbing your feet. 

You would talk aloud about the names you liked for your twin girls. 

Frankie

That was one that had caught his attention. 

You did always love the song Can’t Take My Eyes Off You by Frankie Valli. So he simply assumed that was where the name came from. 

It simply helped that it was derived from the name Francesca, meaning to be free. Independent. And if that wasn’t something he wished for his baby girl. He didn’t know what else there was to hope for. 

And he was none the wiser.

To the fact that those names had been derived from a film. One that was unhinged and hilarious.

One that had sharks called Lenny and Frankie. 

He had no idea his children were going to be named after sharks….

Well. 

Not until you insisted on the name Finn. 

That was the very name when you knew the jig would be up.

The moment you would finally have to reveal. Brendon Park’s kids’ names were all Shark themed…

But in that moment where you suggested the name.

And he had no right to go against you. 

Not when you had just gone through 10 hours of labour to birth the twins….

Not that he even considered arguing with you over it. Finding the inside joke equally amusing. 

He simply sighed with a small smile, kissing your head sweetly, in your arms the little bundle of endless possibility and within his own arms wrapped neatly was Frankie. 

Murmuring softly, “Whatever you wish, love” 

He might be brash and blunt with everyone else. 

But for you. 

And your three little kids. 

He was as soft and pliable as playdough. 

Even as you teased him relentlessly at work. Putting him in his place, just as you had done all those years ago. When you had first met. 

Unafraid and bold. 

It was what had made him fall in love with you after all. 

He was so fucking grateful for you. 

And if it meant naming your kids Shark themed names. 

Then he would do whatever it took to keep that bright smile upon your face.

To be able to love and to hold you tightly. 

As you kissed him softly. 

Loving him tenderly. 

You were his home. 

Reeling him back to you.

You had him, hook, line and sinker.

And that was perfectly fine by him.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed. Once again I indulge myself. Soft Park the Shark for his lover. Also who doesn't love a little secret relationship trope?? And I literally couldn't help myself with the kids names, I thought it was funny and sweet. (Shark Tale in my opinion is a hilarious film, nostalgia filled opinion) Let me know what you think! ✨ Read Part 2: Hooked On A Feeling Here! Comments, Reblogs and Likes are welcomed and appreciated 💕 Feel free to find my Dr Robby x Wayne!Reader Rinse & Repeat Series Masterlist here 🩺 Or check out my overall Masterlist here

Langdon is the one who calls you back, still stuck working chairs at Robby’s orders. The PTMC staff knew you. The numerous times you’d show up with lunch for Brendon, the occasional times you’d stop in with an injury of your own, various work events. Everyone got along with you well, much more than with your predator of a boyfriend. Jokes that weren’t actually jokes but comments disguised behind a laugh would often flow about how Park the Shark ended up with you.

That being said, you knew someone definitely bumped you up in line. You weren’t going to complain though. The pain was bad enough that you just wanted to go home and pass out in bed the second this was over.

Frank smiles at you, genuinely happy to see you. “Hey Shark Bait, what’re you doing here?” The nickname manages to bring a small smile to your face. The shift in Frank’s tells you it resembles more of a grimace, though.

“Fucked up my collarbone, probably a couple ribs too.” You groan as you settle down on the exam chair.

His fingers gently probe over your shirt. Running as light as possible down the side of your ribs, clearly sensing the pain in your face the second he applies pressure. “Yeah, definitely feel some things outta place there. Let’s get you sent back for some imaging. I’ll page Park.”

Your only acknowledgement is a small nod and thumbs up. Within minutes, Perlah’s at your side and walking beside you as you slowly make your way to exam 8.

The curtain is pulled back abruptly and the sight of Robby comes into view, his hands furiously rubbing sanitizer over themselves. “Heard we had a VIP in the ER, figured I should come take care of it myself.” He jokes, eyes focused on reviewing your chart.

“Aw, Abbot not in yet?” You tease. Robby shoots you a raised brow over his glasses with a sharp glare and you chuckle. The movement sends a shock of pain through your entire left side, causing your lungs to constrict. It’s another 10 seconds before you’re able to take a semi-full breath again.

Robby’s face falls into sympathy, “Want anything for the pain?”

“S’alright. I’ve gotta drive home. Besides, you know it doesn’t do much for me anyways.” Nodding solemnly, Robby moves to your side.

“You mind if I have some students sit in with us? Not every day we get a hypermobile Ehlers Danlos patient in here. No one better to teach ‘em than you.” His hands are carefully starting to feel down your left arm, checking for a pulse and nerve reactions. You look up and see the med students already standing there.

Javadi you know well enough. Some new students, Ogilvie and Kwon, you’re pretty sure. Behind them Santos and Whitaker are walking past the nurses station and when Santos sees you, she quickly pivots and pulls Whitaker with her.

“What did we do to deserve fresh bait in here?” Santos jokes.

You shift awkwardly, face flushing and throat suddenly dry. It makes a grating sound when you clear it and speak lowly to Robby, “Could this maybe not be a teaching moment?”

It took a good three hours of gaslighting yourself before you let yourself believe maybe, you should get medical attention. Another two after that to finally accept yes, I should get this checked out just to be safe. The hickeys and bruises from last night were impossible to hide. The second closest ER would’ve taken another half hour to get to and you’re pretty sure it wasn’t wise to drive in your current state as is.

The last thing you wanted was half of the PTMC’s emergency department staff to see the evidence of your latest fuck with one of their surgeons who regularly does orthopedic consults. Robby alone would be bad enough.

Robby’s face scrunches in confusion but he immediately complies, nodding. “Yeah, yeah that’s fine. Let me go get Dana to sit in.”

Turning, he ushers the small crowd that started forming out of the room and ducks his head into the hallway to call for Dana. She walks in a few moments later and closes the curtain behind her and sighs when she looks at you. “What’s going on, hun?”

“Oh you know. Think I dislocated a couple things trying to walk and chew gum at the same time.” She grants you a small laugh and comes over beside you, hand hovering over your shirt.

“Need a hand with this?” Nodding you lean back a bit to give her a better angle to help reach for the hem. “Got anything underneath? Should I grab you a gown?”

“No I’ve got something on, thanks. Besides, not like y’all haven’t seen tits before.”

Dana huffs a true laugh out at that, “More than I’d like to sometimes, kid.”

Robby’s keeping his head down as he pulls on his gloves. Despite the fact he’s about to be touching your exposed chest he still wants to give you a sense of privacy. When the shirt starts to come up over your stomach you startle.

“Uhm-”

Dana halts her movements, shirt held in place. Robby looks up then, trying to see what went wrong.

“Listen, just, please don’t say anything. Okay?”

Robby’s brows shoot up, confused by what you could mean as you let Dana slide the shirt the rest of the way off. From her place slightly behind you, she doesn’t have the same view as Robby.

Robby who takes in the sight in front of him and mutters out, “Fuckin’- what the hell?” Voice full of concern and disbelief.

Dana comes around to see what Robby’s reacting to and instead of shock gracing her face, it hardens. After a moment she tilts her head down to force you to meet her eyes. “Park do this to you?”

You say nothing, just place your head in your right hand with a pathetic whimper of embarrassment. The sound must’ve come across wounded because Dana pushes on, “Someone you love shouldn’t do that to you, sweetie. We can help.”

Robby finally finds his voice. “There is zero tolerance for domestic assault in this hospital. We have people in the building right now who can handle this in minutes.”

Your head shoots up, “No! God, no, it’s not what it looks like.” You try and explain, but how the hell do you explain the situation without telling your dirty, kinky secrets to your partner’s coworkers.

“It looks like someone’s been hurting you.” Robby says flatly.

“I wanted it.” Dana’s brows shoot up at that. You struggle for the words to continue.

“Listen we,” you sigh, “Brendon and I are-”. Your voice breaks off in an insanity fueled laugh, “I mean have you seen him?”

Robby is clearly not following what you’re saying.

“Neither of us are exactly, gentle lovers. Last night was just a little intense. It wasn’t anything I didn’t want though, I asked for it.” You explain. Voice speeding up as you ramble, “Please don’t think Brendon would ever hurt me like that. Fuck no. He’s the most caring, loving man I’ve ever met. Really.”

Dana just started shaking her head with a small laugh, smirk tugging on her lips. “Alright then. Whatever floats your boat.”

Robby still looks like he’s trying to compute the information he’s gained in the last forty seconds. Dana starts attaching leads to you to get a vitals check and by the time she’s done, Robby is still just standing there.

“Dr. Robby! Would you please assess our patient?” As if broken from a trance, Robby’s eyes meet yours and quickly flit to Dana.

“Yes, of course.”

Robby is barely looking at the injury for three minutes when the curtain is dragged open. The space wide enough to expose you to the nurse’s station, leaving your secret vulnerable to anyone nearby. Well, at least it would be if it weren’t for the 6’2”, hulking man standing in its gap.

The same man whose teeth had sunken into your flesh over and over and over again last night, making you cry out noises you didn’t even know you were capable of. His eyes dark as he drank down every sound were now filled with concern.

“What happened?” He’s quickly closing the curtain behind him, not a single inch of your skin being exposed to the curious and prying eyes of a certain pair of nurses with an R2 behind them. His tone is sharp, quick and to the point. Like it always is whenever he’s worried about you.

“Nothing, baby. I’m fine I promise. I just wanted to be safe and get it checked out.” You try and soothe him, his hands immediately coming to rest over your collarbone.

The warmth of his skin is the only thing you feel, or maybe it’s the only thing you let yourself focus on. “When did this happen?”

You quickly drop eye contact with him. “Early this morning. ‘Bout an hour or so after you left.”

“Sweetheart, I left at 5am this morning. It’s past 1pm.” His hand finds your chin, making you look at him. All you give him is a small smile.

“Oops?”

“Why didn’t you call me.” He removes his hands, done with his assessment.

“I didn’t want to worry you. Figured it would go away within a few hours, but it just kept getting worse.”

“The clavicle dislocation is anterior. I want to get an x-ray on the ribs just to be safe but I think it’s just pinching a nerve this time.” Brendon explains, looking over at Robby who nods and places the order.

Brendon sits down on the bed next to you, hand stroking over your cheek lovingly. “We’re done here.” He doesn’t even glance over his shoulder towards the other people in the room as he dismisses them.

“I’ll be back to take her up for imaging myself.” Dana calls as she and Robby slide out from the curtain.

“I’m so getting you back for this later.” You tell Brendon and he only smirks as he lets his eyes fall to appreciate his handiwork.

“I hope you do.”

_

“Looks like Shark was a more accurate nickname than we thought, huh, Robinavitch?”

Robby doesn’t dignify Dana with a response.

He’d like a moment of silence to try and remove the intricate knowledge of his coworker’s sex life from his mind.