"but you're a garden fairy!" "ironic isn't it?"

The pothole right outside Jack’s driveway (that he was seriously considering fixing himself) had now become a small pond. It had rained for three days straight now. The water racing itself to reach the flower boxes by the windows. Your flower boxes. His eyes kept moving from the dark clouds outside to the watch on his wrist. It was surprisingly his day off. Or perhaps it wasn’t that surprising anymore, since he had taken more time off work ever since he started dating you. Which leads to now. You were supposed to have gotten home at least two hours ago.

Jack had to pull a double shift yesterday so he hadn’t been able to go with you to celebrate your brother's birthday. Which he wasn’t all too happy about if he remembered all your gossip from your family. Your brother was… well he wasn’t outright mean but he could slip in comments that shouldn’t be said that went right past your parents head growing up.

The tv was playing on the show you’d wanted him to catch up on so you could watch the latest season together. You’d planned to start it today since he only had two episodes left until he was on the same season as you. But that seemed to not be an option today. It was almost midnight after all.

The food was left in the oven to try and keep its heat. He much preferred it if you ate real food over fast food. Besides, he was a good chef, he prided himself in being able to make the one food you didn’t like enjoyable.

He was just about to call you when he heard the car roll up in the driveway. The gravel making that familiar sound under the car's weight.

His brows creased as he couldn’t hear the car door slam shut. Nor the big dark brown front door opening. Or your feet against the doormat trying to get rid of the dirt that stuck to them from the rain. He swore you always complained about stones getting stuck in the grooves of your shoes.

Walking with his crutches to the front door his hands curled against the door handle at the same time you pushed it down.

“Hey swee-“ what he was faced with was not what he expected. “sweetheart what’s wrong” it could have very well been rain that made your cheeks wet but he knew better than that.

Putting all his weight against the doorframe his hands let the crutches fall against the wall with a soft thud. Hands caressing your cheeks instead. Wiping away the tears. His thumb gently moved over your lip after you licked it clean of the salty water.

“I’m fine” your sniffles said otherwise.

“Sweetheart?” blue locked onto his favorite color that was your eyes. Lips moving down at the heartbreak clearly visible.

“Mm fine Jackie” the nickname set a wrong taste on your tongue. It wasn’t usually tinged with sadness and heartbreak. But with a glint in your eye and a full smile as you’d tease him about something. The nickname didn’t sit right in Jack's ears either. Not now when tears ran down your cheeks and your eyelashes stuck together in black globs.

“You’re not fine love” his hand went to cup the back of your head as he brought you forward into him. Pressing your face into his shoulder while your hands grabbed a fist full of his shirt.

Eyes closing you let yourself be held by Jack. Hands tightening on his shirt as if it’d bring you physically closer to him.

“Did something happen? Was it your family? Your brother?” when a sob left you at the last word he shifted gently to have a better hold of you without having back pains in the morning by leaning against the doorframe. Though he’d gladly be in pain tomorrow if it meant you’d be okay today.

His head leaned against yours. Arms tightened around you in a soft squeeze as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “Do you wanna talk about it?” The murmur left him whilst his lips still hovered by your hairline.

“Not really… but I think I have to” you sniffle. His arms tighten around you once more at the sound. Burying your nose into his neck he buries his face in your hair. The slow steady miniature rocking from side to side did a lot to soothe your worries, but never fully.

Taking in his smell that always somehow calmed you down, you push away slightly. You should have told him a while ago that you were on the asexual spectrum. Actually when you started dating. But he’d never questioned or pushed you on having sex. So it never came up. And you didn’t want to destroy what you had. Your partners before had left when they found out. Or they’d try to “fix” you or guilt trip you into having sex. And when you still said no they’d leave, most of the time they’d break up over text or ghost you completely after the first date if you even got that far.

You should have known Jack wasn’t like that. But at the start of the relationship, even now, the fear still lingered. So you never told him that part of you.

The way your fingers picked at your nails didn’t escape Jack’s notice. As you both went into the kitchen. Leaning against the counter he assessed you worriedly. Taking in the way you bit the inside of your lip. The way your eyes refused to look at him. The distance you made sure to keep. A distance in space that was never there between the two of you. Not even when you fought over petty things you could never remember in the end.

Swallowing thickly your fingers finds the dish towel. Thumb gently moving over the J.A. You had custom made on all of his dish towels. Folding the fabric back and forth to calm yourself a soft huff escaped you as you thought back on the situation. In all honesty your brother had left you sad and feeling completely invalidated.

“I-“ a shuddering breath left you “I told my brother something and he didn’t react well”

“Yeah?” He tries to catch your eyes. “Mind telling me what you said?”

Lip trembling even when you caught it between your teeth the words left you in a quiet mumble. “That I’m ace”

His eyes squinted for a second. Crow’s feet more prominent as he tried to decipher what you’d mumbled so nervously under your breath. “What?” He didn’t mean to be mean about it, he just hadn’t heard you.

A deep breath left you before you looked straight at him. Taking courage from the deepest part of your heart. “I’m asexual… or well somewhere on the ace spectrum” and there it was the nervousness that settled deep in your bones. Draining the calcium from your bones, leaving you weakened and easy to break. Or at least that’s what it felt like waiting for his reaction.

“Okay” Jack’s words were slow, dragged out. His body inching towards you, whilst he still kept himself pressed against the counter to not fall over by the lack of two feets. Wanting to close the space and hold you once more, his hand already reached impatiently for contact. Clearly seeing the worry etched in your clenched jaw, and slight crease in your brows. “What did your brother say?”

Jack's words, spoken so carefully, caught you off guard for a second. He hadn’t made a big deal out of it. Had just accepted it and moved on to what had caused you to cry. No anger splayed on his face because of the secret you’d kept for the entirety of your relationship. No “I can fix you” or “have you tried it though”. The usual words of “oh so you’re just celibate” or “you’ve just had bad partners, it’ll be different with me” weren’t voiced. Just “Okay”. Which in all honesty made your heart ache in a good way. Jack accepted things so easily, took things in a stride and adapted. Maybe that’s why he was such a good doctor. Perhaps it was one of the things that drew you to him during long shifts and nights filled with coffee runs.

“Y-you don’t mind?” Hope set alight in that deep dark part of you that thought you’d never be enough for anyone. That simply holding hands and cuddles weren’t enough. The small kisses you’d stop before they went too far always left a guilty taste on your lips. Like you were withholding parts of Jack’s happiness with lock and key. You should have known Jack was different. He had never been like your exes.

It should have been enough for your past partners. If they’d truly loved you they’d be able to compromise and find a way around your sexuality. Whatever the solution may have been. Instead they just up and left without even trying. Even if most of them probably wouldn’t have worked out, trying was better than being completely invalidated and belittled for something they couldn’t force you into liking.

It should have been enough to be able to hold each other without expectations of more. Innocent love without the clouded judgement lust sometimes brings should have been enough. So why was it never enough?

Unlucky was what you always found yourself to be.

And yet… and yet here Jack was. Eyes watching you with a kindness he only reserved for you. Love tinting the corners of his lips in a soft reassuring smile. “Why would I mind”

Luck had no part of it. It was just the universe finally granting you the support and care you deserved.

“Because I’ve kept it from you, b-because you’ve probably been waiting for the time I’m ready and I may never be because it’s not really something I want and-”

“Sweetheart” he moved your head to face him with two fingers, stopping you from rambling. “I love you, and you telling me this, now, doesn’t change that, it’s just getting to know you better” He smirked slightly at the way your expression softened. He still had it in him, it seemed. To disarm you so effortlessly, by simply saying “ I love you”.

The soft thuds from the rain hitting the windows filled the room.

“Are you sure you know what I mean? what I’m talking about?"

“Y/n” his hands went back to your cheeks. He almost wanted to shake you for doubting him. “I know what asexual means, I know what you’re talking about” he couldn’t stop the charmingly flirty smile from appearing. The same smile he’d give you numerous times while he teased you at the hospital to see if he could make you blush. “I promise you, when I say it doesn’t change how I see you, I mean it”

“You don’t think I need to be fixed?”

“Never” his arms encircled your waist. Pushing you forward into him. Your face against his chest like many early mornings after a shift when you couldn’t sleep. Jack's head falling into place on your head. Fitting together like the blue nitrile gloves you used during your hectic shifts.

“My brother said I’m just pretending, that everyone wants sex, I didn’t mean to come out to him” something you now regretted blurting out. “don’t even remember how the topic came up”

You felt his hum vibrate in his chest. “Anything else he said?” He truly never had liked your brother whenever he had met him. This just solidified his opinion on him.

“That asexuals aren’t real, that I’m single-handedly ruining every relationship I’ll ever have by making my partners sacrifice the one thing that makes it a romantic relationship and not a platonic one, cause apparently you can’t love someone romantically if you don’t want to have sex with them” a teary fake laugh escaped you. That reasoning felt absurd. How cold romantic love must be if the only difference is having sex or not.

“You know that’s not true right? There’s more to it than being physically intimate”

“I know” you lifted your head slightly from his chest. It was easy to see that your friend's words and your brother’s words were wrong in the presence of Jack. He loved you without the expectations of more. He accepted you as you were and was willing to talk and compromise if need be and not just give up or force what he wanted onto you.

“You sure what we have right now is enough?”

Jason had been all too polite about you not being ready for the main event. He understood the feeling of being an older virgin, considering the whole dying at fifteen. He had gone out of his way to show you that sex was enjoyable and comfortable. It made you brave and fall just a little more in love with him each time.

He doesn’t kiss you, at least not on the lips. His lips press to your hairline as he murmurs, “I am being serious, sweetheart. Be honest.”

“I am being honest,” you reply, leaning into the contact, “I wanna sleep with you.”

His lips twitch against your skin, a hint of a smirk that tells you exactly what he’s going to say, “you already sleep with me.”

“Jason,” you scold. You pull away from him slightly, and he has the same look from before when he said you were being cute, “You know what I mean.”

“Do I?” He chides softly, “If you can’t talk about it, maybe you shouldn't be doing it.”

You roll your eyes, “You literally ate me out last week.”

“Oh? Is that what you want?” His hands shift to tickle at your waist, then drag you into his lap. One hand drops to pop the button on your jeans.

You squirm in your new spot, “Jay, stop it.”

His hand slips away, and you shake your head. He shakes his head with that knowing smile. You know he’s not intentionally teasing. He just wants your words, your consent to the whole situation. 

“Jason,” you sit primly in his lap, and he focuses on you, hands smoothing up your waist, rucking up your shirt just to push it back down, “I want to have sex with you… please.”

“You’re ready?" he asks one more time as he pulls you forward on his thighs, hips to hips. You feel him already hard under you. 

You nod, “I am ready. I want it to be with you.”

“Whatever you want, you get, baby,” he murmurs and finally kisses you softly, a gentle peck that turns into another and another until you're melting into his lap and eagerly parting your lips when his tongue prods for exploration. Your hand slides up into his hair, curling and tugging at the nape of his neck as your hips grind down on him. 

The hand that had been pressing your shirt up and down finally slips under, fingers pressing into skin before pushing up to tease at your bra. You pull back slightly to pant his name against his lips. He stares back at you, not letting you go far and evidently as enamored by you as you are by him.

“Want it off,” He says, and you blink momentarily confused. You don’t know if he was asking you or telling you. Either way, he doesn’t wait for a response, pushing your shirt high enough that all you can do is lift your arms to help. The moment your shirt is off, he pauses to stare at you, pupils dilated but still loving.

Your hands smooth against his shoulder as you shift in his lap, “What is it?”

He shakes his head, hands respectfully at your waist, thumb stroking the skin. His eyes focus on your face as he replies, “You’re just beautiful.”

You huff with a shy smile, head tipping back as you roll your eyes, “You’re so sappy.”

“You deserve sappy,” he murmurs as he takes advantage of your tipped head. He presses soft kisses to your throat, trailing wetly down to your collarbone and chest. Your head tips up to look at him as he presses an open-mouthed kiss to the swell of your breast. He meets your eye, “You deserve sweet and loving.”

“Jay,” you murmur, bringing your hand up to push back his hair from his face, “you deserve that too.”

He smiles, giddy and in love, as he ducks to press his face into your cleavage. You shake your head at his antics with a soft laugh before you shriek and cling to him as he stands up. He takes to kissing your skin again as your legs wrap around his waist, walking to the bedroom without even looking up. You laugh the entire time because it’s Jason, and you think he’s so silly and sweet sometimes. Your giggling eases after he drops you on the bed, but only because he’s pulling off his shirt and you're easily distracted.

He gently presses you down on the bed as he climbs over you, hitching your knees against his hips to slot himself between your thighs, “And you are sure about this?”

“Jason,” you playfully roll your eyes before you catch his seriousness, “Jason, I’m very sure. You're the only person I trust with this.”

His eyes flicker between yours before dipping to your lips, then back to your eyes, an unnecessary question, but one you nod to all the same. He kisses you again with a new fervor, one you return. His hand dips behind your back, and you arch as he undoes your bra, peeling it from your body and tossing it aside. He leaves your lips to once again trail his kisses downward. 

Your hands cling to his shoulder and hair as he dips down. A hand gently palms at your tit and you arch into it with a sigh, his thumb rubbing over a pebbling nipple. He kisses every inch of skin he can find, sucking soft marks almost worshipfully. 

“Gorgeous girl,” he murmurs, voice rough as he kisses around a nipple before delicately wrapping his lips around, sucking softly.

“Jay,” you gasp, eyes fluttering. Your hips shift up to chase more pressure. He settles on top of you, pinning your hips down.

He eases off your nipple with a soft pop that makes you shudder, his fingers replacing his mouth to pinch at the bud as he moves to your other breast with a “Be patient, sweetheart.”

You take a breath, trying to relax back down on the bed. You knew he’d want to take his time, but it doesn’t make you want him any less. You ignore the heat in your belly to focus on him, his weight atop you, his rough hands touching you so sweetly, and his lips reverent and explorative. Your chest heaves against his mouth, and your hand slides over his shoulder, thumb massaging into the muscle.

He groans against your breast and peeks up at you, “What’re you doing?”

“Waiting,” you give him a sweet smile. He laughs fondly into your skin before he’s pulling back slightly, calloused hand giving your breast a final squeeze.

“Taking too long, am I?” he teases as he finishes undoing your pants, pulling the zipper down and hooking his fingers into the waistband. 

You lift your hips with a shrug, “It’s okay.”

He snorts as he tosses the pants elsewhere, “It’s okay. Baby, tell me what you want. Said you get whatever you want.”

He presses a kiss to your hip, nose pressed to your skin above your panty line and breathing in your skin. Your first instinct is that Jason is so weird. Your second instinct, and the one that seems more right, is oh my god, I want Jason to fuck me right now.

“I want you,” you manage to keep yourself tame.

His eyes meet yours as he kisses your skin again, “Yeah?”

The heated pit in your belly grows as you stare down at him. You nod, biting on your lip to keep from bursting. 

“Let me get you ready,” he murmurs. He slips lower, nose dragging down the crease of your thigh. You stop him with a hand in his hair. He gives you a questioning look but obliges, moving back up your body with smattering kisses. You squirm before his lips find your mouth, kissing you gently like before.

“Change your mind?” He hums against your lips. 

You laugh at the notion, warm breath against his mouth, “No, I want you. I want you so much, I don't think you need to get me ready.”

“Ha, funny girl,” he mocks gently, prying your damp panties down your thighs, “I have to get you ready, first timer”

“Oh my god,” you laugh more, lifting your hips to help, "That's so mean, Jay.”

He tosses your underwear without thought, hand pushing your thighs open, “Mean or dutiful? Gotta make sure I don't hurt my girl.”

Your mouth opens to argue back, but the words are lost to noise, a sharp gasp as his mouth meets your cunt with a groan. Your hand slides over the back of his head as his tongue laps through your folds before sucking on your clit.

“Ya're wet,” he mumbles against you, the vibration making your thigh twitches, “not enough”

Your eyes flutter as he gets to work, licking into you eagerly as his nose bumps your clit. Your head tips back, then forward, chest heaving with moans as you try to decide if you want to bend to the pleasure or watch him. Your hips jump, and he easily pins you down. 

He pulls back for a moment to breathe, mouth and nose covered in your slick, “doing so good,” then he dives back in. 

His tongue flicks across your clit as he pushes two thick fingers into you. The stretch is barely there, slick enough that he slides in. Your fingers curl tight in his hair.

“Jay,” you whine as he focuses his mouth on your clit to slowly stretch you out. You were, by far, no stranger to Jason's mouth and fingers. If you were honest with yourself, sometimes you thought he might enjoy it more than having sex. You were eager to find out if you were right. That is, if he ever let up. 

Your thigh presses against his jaw as the heat builds steadily with each lick of tongue, every prod of his fingers inside you. Jason knew your body better than you did, and you had a feeling you would cum before the main event. Your hips press up against the hand pinning you.

“Jason,” you gasp, foot digging into his back. Your eyes sink to stare at him, and he meets yours with a determined gleam. You shake your head, “I- I want-”

You lose your train of thought as he moves faster, a moan catching your words. Your hand starts to draw tight in his hair, thighs pressing against his head. He remains focused on his goal of getting you ready, which kind of annoys you in the moment. Sure, you want to cum, but you want him inside.

You don’t have much choice in the matter, though, and who are you to fight your own body? Your head falls back, succumbing to the build. Your back arches, thighs shaking slightly as the heat in your belly starts to boil over.

“Jay, Jason! Oh!” Your body seizes with sweet release. 

Jason groans against you, making you whimper, his fingers moving slowly inside you to draw you out before stilling. He prys your hand from his hair, and you let him, hand cramping slightly from how tight you had held on. Ever so slowly, you melt down onto the mattress as his fingers slip from you. 

He climbs over you, squeezing your hip and bending down to kiss the corner of your lips with a sticky mouth. You don't have it in you to complain. Not when he’s there above you. You want him. You need him. Your shaky hands dip to undo his jeans, tight against his erection. His head dips to your shoulder as he groans at your touch. Thankfully, he doesn’t stop you, at least not until you have his jeans tugged under his ass and your hand attempts to dip into his boxers. 

“Easy,” he murmurs, “Are you sure?”

You smack his shoulder with an echoed clap. He jolts up to look at you in surprise. You give him an irritated look, which he finds entirely unnecessary, considering he’d just made you cum.

“What was that?” he huffs.

You glare up at him, “If you don't fuck me, I’m gonna fuck you.”

A laugh, more of a cackle really, leaves Jason at your horny threat before he’s leaning down to kiss you while he finishes shucking off his jeans and boxers. His cock resting on your belly, hard and leaking. Your breath stutters, and you part from the kiss to look down at him. He kisses your forehead, the corner of your eye, before pulling back.

“I’m not gonna fuck you, baby,” he murmurs as his hand curls around his dick, giving it a tug, “I’m going to make love to you.”

You look back up at his face, settled now that his pants were off, and he was so close, “There’s a difference?”

“Trust me,” he nods as he shifts on his knees, spreading your thighs wider, “There is a difference, and I can show you after this, okay?”

“Show me?” you question softly, hands curling into the blanket under you, his lean back too far for you to touch him. 

He nods and finds one of your hands prying it from the sheet to press it on to the bed by your head, lacing your fingers as he hovers over you, “First time is for love making.”

He kisses your jaw, “soft,” your neck, “slow.”

Your eyes close as he presses kiss after kiss down to your collarbone. He sucks a soft hickey there before he nudges his cock against your entrance. Your eyes fly open with a soft gasp, but he doesn't press in, simply rubs the head of him up and down your slit. Your hips twitch up, cunt fluttering with want as he spreads your slick and his precum.

He pulls back from your neck to look at you as he notches against your entrance, “You tell me if it hurts or you need a second, okay?”

You nod, and he shakes his head, “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

“I’ll tell you,” you reply and press your thighs as wide as they can go, “Just please, Jay.”

He smiles down at you, like you're the sun, like he'd wait a thousand years just to hear your voice. He dips, pressing his lips to your forehead.

“Please,” he murmurs, “you don't need to say that.”

Then he presses into you, impossibly slow, watching your face the entire time. You stare back at him, hitched breaths leaving your lips as he stretches you, warm and hard, you feel every bit of him. There's never a moment of pain, despite Jason's worry, only an uncomfortable sensation of your cunt accommodating. 

He sinks down on his forearm, hand still laced with yours, as he presses in deep. Your brow twitches at an odd nudge inside you, and he stills, hips not quite against yours.

“Talk to me,” he whispers, voice strained. You hadn't thought of how your own tight heat might feel around him. You give an experiment flex around him just to watch his eyes flutter. His hips twitch, and he nudges the spot that made your brow twitch with discomfort. 

“Feels… strange,” you whisper, and his eyes flicker back open.

“Bad?” He asks, pulling back slightly. Your free hand curls over his shoulder as you shake your head.

“Not necessary,” you murmur, then you admit, “but not comfortable.”

His eyes flicker down to where he presses in again, and you fight to keep your moan, and then he stops at the odd sensation. 

He nods like he's found something, “feel it too, let me move you a little, okay?”

You nod, and his hand, not holding yours, reaches for a pillow. He nudges your hip up slightly, and you follow, holding your breath as he stays in you. With your hips higher, he looks back to you and presses in and in. Your breath catches when his hips press snug against you, pressing against your sensitive clit.

“Better?” He asks like your mind hadn't just blanked from having all of him against you and inside you. You nod with a soft noise, and he pulls back slowly and presses back in. Your eyes flutter shut at the sensation, new, unfamiliar, but growing in pleasure with each thrust.

“Uh-huh,” you moan out as his hand slides up your thigh, hitching it up on his hip. You moan louder at a deeper thrust.

Jason's hand squeezes yours, and he drops his head to kiss you. It grounds you, pulling you back from the sensations that make your head fuzzy. Your hand curls against the nape of his neck to keep him close as you kiss him back, sloppy and uncaring.

Your focus makes you listen, listen to the soft wet noises of him pushing into you, listen to his voice, tight with quiet moans as he breathes against your mouth.

“Doing good, baby,” he murmurs before he sucks on your bottom lip like he thought you'd disappear, “tight and warm”

Your pussy tightens at the way he talks to you, and also not, like there's some higher power that needed to know. He leaves your lips to nose at your jaw, hips stuttering.

“Don’t do that, sweetheart,” he laughs, with gasping breath.

“Wasn't trying to,” you reply, just as breathless and wanting. You tip your head, kissing his brow near your lip, wanting to show your tender love the way he does, “the way you talk is just…”

“I knew you’d like it,” he huffs against your skin, “making me read those romance books to you” 

His words are startlingly funny considering the moment, and you laugh, unintentionally tightening around him. He groans, pressing his face into your neck more. His hips thrust harder, leaving you arching at the motion and the way it rubs a nerve raw in just the right way.

“Jay!” Your hand clings to his hair, laughter gone.

His hand dips, thumb finding your already sensitive clit, rubbing against it as he repeats the harder thrust. You moan, your legs moving of their own accord, wrapping around his waist to drag him deeper. Gone was any uncomfortable sensation; all you had left was Jason and the simmering heat building with a newfound ferocity.

“It's okay,” he muttered, and you're not entirely sure he's speaking to you at first, “just a little longer. Take what you want.”

His words are the only thing that makes you realise that, as much as he's thrusting, your body is meeting in bucking hips, brought by the leverage of your legs around his waist.

“Sorry,” you moan as you arch and cling to him, still trying to meet his hips. He swallows your moans with a heavy kiss, hand caressing the skin of your thigh, hip and waist, just brushing your breasts.

“Don’t apologise,” he pants against your lips, foreheads pressing, “you're so hot” 

You laugh again, terribly breathless and needy, and Jason smiles against your lips, “My girl gets what she wants, she takes what she wants.”

“Want you,” you moan as your head falls back, body starting to tense again.

His lips move down to your chest, trailing wet as he speaks, “You have me.”

His hand presses yours into the bed, squeezing to remind you of his presence as if you couldn't feel him everywhere. And just like always, he reads your body before you do, thighs squeezing at him as you moan.

“Come on,” he moans into your skin, mouthing lower to the swell of your breasts, “I've got you, baby. Come on.”

That, along with the deep thrust and circled rub on your clit, has you toppling over in the most intense orgasm you think Jason has given you. Everything feels too much and not enough as your vision whites, the only sensation you know is Jason.

“That’s my girl,” he groans, fuzzy to your ears. His hips keep rocking his cock into your spasming cunt, dragging out your release, and then he disappears as he comes across your belly with a heaved moan, squeezing your hand like its life line.

You slowly come back to the land of the living, eyes blinking up at him in the dimming light of the evening in the apartment. He looks unfairly attractive in the sunset, but you let it slide for the way he smiles at you, panting for breath.

“Hi,” he folds back down over you despite the mess to kiss you softly.

“Hi,” you softly reply, worn out in a way you didn't know possible.

“Are you okay?” He asks as he shifts off you, gently prying your legs from his hips to lie beside you, blindly grabbing a shirt to wipe up your stomach.

“Okay?” You giggle as you roll on your side, shifting from the pressure of your thighs before settling comfortably. He copies you, lying on his side and curling his hand back in yours. 

He brings it to his lips and murmurs, "I didn't think you'd laugh so much. That bad?”

You shift again, faces close, “No, that good. It was everything a girl could wish for.”

You bring a hand up to comb through his sweaty hair and watch his eyes close, leaning into your touch. A peaceful quiet takes over as you both lounge bare on the bed, but together.

You nearly fall asleep like that before Jason shifts, picking you up bridal style. You wake right back up but don't argue, just lean your shoulder against him, “Where're we going?”

“The bathroom, “he kisses your hair, “aftercare, sweetheart. It's just as important as the sex.”

 You smile at his words, “How did I manage to get you?” 

“Being insane enough not to run from a shoot-out,” he laughs as he sets you on the counter.

“Oh, don't be mean!” You laugh with him. 

He holds his hands up in retaliation, “Alright, alright. The mean is only for when I fuck you tomorrow.”

You gap at his statement as he runs the bath, “You're planning?” 

“You asked,” he returns to gently hold your hips, smoothing you with more kisses, “and what my girl wants, she gets.”

---------------

Masterlist

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Jack is the king of aftercare. He checks in with you every chance he gets—“Are you okay? How’re you feeling? Was I too rough?”—and all you can do is give him a blissed out smile because this man knows how to fuck.

Jack makes sure you go to the bathroom first and foremost. He’ll carry you to the bathroom if need be. Once you’re done, he’ll have water and a snack ready on the nightstand. No matter how long or short the sex was, Jack makes sure you’re hydrated and you have access to one of your favorite snacks. Then, for the rest of the night, it’s cuddles and soft kisses until you both fall asleep.

B = Body Part (Their favorite body part of theirs and of yours)

Jack loves his chest. He loves how broad he is compared to you. He loves how much you love it too. How you always kiss down his chest. How you nuzzle against it when you’re cuddling. How you’re absolutely obsessed with it! Jack knows he’s a thicker guy. He’s worked hard to achieve that kind of look. So knowing you love it makes him love it.

When it comes to you, I’d say Jack also loves your chest (I’m convinced Jack is a boob guy). Jack loves boobs—it doesn’t matter how big or small they are, overall appearance doesn’t even matter! Jack will love them all the same. Jack is a simple guy. His partner has boobs? He’ll appreciate them. His partner’s boobs can be used as a pillow if he’s tired or relaxing. He will give them equal attention when initiating foreplay with you. He loves coming on them too. Seeing his spend painting your skin is one of his favorite things. And if it happens to be on your tits…well he’s in heaven for sure.

C = Cum (Basically anything to do with cum)

Like mentioned above, Jack is a simple guy. When you guys are having sex, he would love the opportunity to come inside you—but only if you both have discussed it first. Only if you’re both comfortable with it. He loves knowing he could fill you up and watch his come leak out of you, but if that’s something neither of you are comfortable with yet (or at the very least haven’t discussed doing), then Jack will come on your stomach and tits, maybe your back. Seeing you covered in his spend is kind of a marking/primal thing for Jack. Same with coming in you. He likes to think he’s too old for that, but deep down, watching ropes of his come decorating your body, or painting your walls, satisfies something almost animalistic in him. You’re his and he’s yours and this just solidifies that.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Kind of like my Lyonel Baratheon NSFW alphabet, I kind of see Jack thinking about adding a third in the bedroom. He’s still on the fence about it, kind of uncomfortable with the thought of another person seeing you both in such an intimate position. But the thought has crossed his mind. The only problem is finding someone he trusts enough to ask.

Jack has thought about asking Robby—he’s seen the looks Robby’s thrown your way. But, like mentioned before, Jack is on the fence about it. He wants to talk to you before he does anything drastic. If you’re not comfortable with it, then he’s tossing the whole thing out. If you are comfortable with it, then he’ll consider texting Robby to see if he’s interested.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Jack has years on you. He was married for quite some time. It’s safe to say he has experience. Maybe he’s a bit out of practice after the death of his wife, but he knows how to please a woman. He knows how to curl his fingers when they’re buried in your heat. He knows what to do with his tongue and mouth when he’s eating you out. And he’ll angle his hips to find the best possible way to fuck you. Jack will figure you out quickly so you can have the night of your life.

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying)

Jack loves when you ride him. Because of his leg, missionary is difficult and out of the question. But that doesn’t mean you guys can’t get creative! So when you first ride him, Jack swears he’s died and gone to heaven. Seeing you bounce and grind on him, your tits bouncing and hearing the noises coming out of your mouth—it’s almost sinful. The plus side of you riding Jack is that he gets a face-full of your breasts. That gives him full access to suck, nip, fondle, etc., your breasts to his heart’s content!

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous?)

Jack, for the most part, is fairly serious during sex. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t have his moments. He’s able to crack a joke or two or do something that makes you laugh, but he’s more focused on pleasuring you than anything else.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes?)

I like to think Jack keeps himself well-groomed. He’s always been that kind of guy, I think. He’s got a dusting of chest hair and a happy trail. But when it comes to that area, he keeps it neat and tidy. Now, I don’t think the carpet necessarily matches the drapes. We all know Jack is silver-haired—a mostly salt with a dusting of pepper looking guy. But his pubic hair is the same reddish-auburn color from when he was younger. He’s not sure why that hasn’t changed, but he’s learned to stop questioning it.

When you first noticed it, needless to say you were shocked. Jack found it a bit embarrassing, but you loved the idea that your man was a redhead when he was younger.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment? The romantic aspect)

Jack is very intimate! He is doing everything in his power to make you feel good. He’s learning how your body reacts to him. He’s taking notes, he’s making sure you come before him every time. Your pleasure brings Jack pleasure. You learned that early on. He’s rutting against your cunt, fingers circling your puffy clit to give added pleasure. Jack is kissing your neck, nipping at the soft skin and nuzzling against the hollow of your neck. He’s saying the right things to make this moment feel even better for you. He’s checking in to see if you’re okay, to see if you’re feeling good, to see if you’re happy.

Similarly, Jack knows when to dial up the romance. It doesn’t have to be a special occasion for the romance to slip in. Maybe Jack is feeling sentimental. Maybe Jack just wants to spoil you. Who knows? All you know is that you’re in for an incredible night!

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

After his wife’s death, Jack never really felt the urge to (naturally). After some time, after Jack allowed himself time to grieve and mourn, and after several therapist appts. to work out his emotions, he found himself occasionally jacking off. Part of him wondered if it was truly because he was aroused or if he was just bored or just had too much energy that work and SWAT couldn’t handle, and he needed a release.

But once he started dating you, Jack rarely ever jerks off. If you guys have differing schedules, he might do it every once in a while, looking at pictures of you on his phone or coming up with scenarios in his head. But he doesn’t really feel the need to jerk off once he has you.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Jack has a lowkey breeding kink and a kinda high-key competency kink. He’s also into vouyerism.

He likes a partner who knows their shit and knows how to get it done. He also likes a partner who knows when to ask for help and advice when the time calls for it, because not everyone is capable of doing everything by themselves. So if you come to him asking for help or his advice on something, that drives him wild. You’re coming to him. You want him to help you out. That just does something for Jack.

Jack is also aware that he’s older than you. But he’s always wanted kids. Him and his wife never got around to starting a family, and that was one of his biggest regrets after her passing. So he resigned himself to never having kids. So when he met you, that spark came alive again. But he knows you’re young. Having a family hasn’t even crossed your mind yet. So that’s why he wants to discuss it with you—him coming inside you has risks. If you’re not comfortable with it, then he’ll put it on the back burner. And if you don’t want kids, then that’s okay. He loves you. You guys can find a way to work around this.

Some people look at Jack and think he might be a traditional kind of guy. He would only have sex in the bedroom. NO! This man is a menace and he’s fully aware of it. He loves getting you off in public. Whether it’s with his fingers or his cock, both strategically done so no one truly knows what’s going on, he will make sure you’re getting teased and pleased at the same time.

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

Jack Abbot is a menace. He knows he’s a menace. He thrives in it. So when you guys first started sleeping together, it was in the bedroom. Fine. Whatever. You’re okay with that. But when he starts doing sexual acts in public—fingering, dry humping, pulling his dick out while you’re on his lap and stuffing it in you when you’re wearing his favorite sundress that one time, you know you are with an absolute menace to society.

Jack says it’s for you. He loves you so much, he just can’t contain himself. You know it’s because he’s a flirt and a tease. The man will do anything to get a rise out of you. You love him for it. You want to hate him for it, but you can’t.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going?)

You doing your job. You talking, laughing, smiling, or thinking. You doing nothing at all. You wore that sundress he loves that one time. You’re wearing sweats or shorts and one of his old shirts. You’re doing mundane tasks around the house. You’re sitting on the sofa, minding your business watching tv or reading a book. You’re simply existing.

Jack is now insatiable and he has you to thank for that.

N = No (Something they wouldn’t do/turn offs)

Under no circumstances will Jack do anything to hurt or degrade you.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

As mentioned before, Jack is older than you and at one point was married. He’s a munch. This man loves going down on you. He loves seeing you arch and squirm as he eats you out. Feeling your legs wrap around him, adding pressure when he gets you just right, it’s enough to get Jack off. He also just loves the taste of you. Lapping you up when you’re coming is his favorite thing in the world.

As for receiving, Jack isn’t opposed to it, but he’d much rather go down on you than you go down on him. He does appreciate you wanting to reciprocate for him, though.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual?)

It depends on Jack’s mood. If he’s feeling a lot of pent up energy, or you were being a brat, then he’ll be rough with you. Not to the point of hurting you, just so you feel a bit sore the next day. If he’s feeling romantic or just wants to feel close to you, Jack will be slow and sensual. He will be rutting against your wet heat, his body wrapped around yours, the two of you hot and sweaty but focused so much on how you both feel and less about getting to a release.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Jack is not opposed to an occasional quickie. If there’s just enough time for both of you to do it, then you bet your bottom dollar it’s happening!

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? Do they understand the risks?)

It depends on the risk. He doesn’t want to do anything that will hurt you, so that’s out of the question. If it involves toys, sure he’s game! Maybe it’s tying one of you up and putting on a blindfold—okay! That sounds fun. If it’s fairly harmless and won’t end in either of you getting hurt or in trouble, he’s willing to try at least once.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

Jack has good stamina. He can go for at least three rounds, four if he’s really feeling it. Jack makes sure you’re coming first before he ever does. Your pleasure takes precedence over his. After you’ve come maybe two or three times, will Jack allow himself a release.

T = Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

You have toys. You had them from before you met Jack. You were having a bit of a dry spell and needed to let loose somehow. Jack is fine with you using them when you’re together. He doesn’t make it weird or anything, he knows that you both have needs and sometimes there are moments where the other isn’t available when you need them. So does that mean you send him videos of you using a dildo or a vibrator on yourself? Coming while crying his name? Yes. All the time. So Jack needs to find a private spot to take care of his boner. Does that also mean Jack will use them on you to tease you? Absolutely. The man loves teasing you.

U = Unfair (How much they like to tease)

Jack loves teasing you! It’s his one of his favorite things to do. You swear half of the time spent during foreplay is Jack teasing you with a good time. He’s left you in tears at one point cause he kept edging you. But he did manage to make you squirt, so that was a plus.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Jack is loud. I’m imagining ‘Yes, Chef’ kinda loud (yes I’m still obsessed with that)—moaning and whimpering in your ear and talking dirty to you. That’s something you love about Jack, he’s not afraid to be loud. Most of the other people you were with were quiet, which is fine if that’s what works for them, but you want to know how you’re doing, how good you’re making them feel. Jack’s not afraid to do that.

W = Wild Card (A random headcanon for the character)

I think you and Jack have filmed sex tapes before. He wants to relive the moments, hear you crying his name and seeing you tremble as you come undone. Jack is obsessed with knowing he’s making you feel good!

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Jack’s cock is as thick as he is. When erect, he’s a little above average, curving a little with a reddened tip that always leaks precome. There’s always a stretch when he’s in you, a pleasurable kind of stretch that leaves you breathless for a moment. The curve has him finding your g-spot with ease.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

You cannot convince me that Jack doesn’t yearn. His sex drive is a little higher than most of the people you’ve been with. You’re his person, the one he wants to love and please. Like mentioned in the motivation piece, you could be doing your job, nothing at all, or the most mundane tasks known to mankind, and you’ll have this man begging for you. He wants to go for as long as he can if it means you’re being taken care of.

Z = Zzz (How quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Jack Abbot stares a lot. I mean, it’s part of his job… to observe, to monitor, to make sure the hellhole that is the PTMC runs the way it should. But mostly, Jack stares at you. His gaze always catching on your frame across the nurses’ hub as he takes in the way you work, oblivious to the way his keen eyes glaze over with something that could not be described as anything else but want. You catch him sometimes as he guides you through a procedure, wearing an unreadable look on his face that to any passer by, just looks like a concentrated mentor focusing on guiding a resident through a difficult task. It’s clinical, efficient, unattached. 

Only he knows, that there is nothing clinical or unattached running through his mind as he watches you. The mind that can’t help but think about brushing the loose piece of hair that covers your face behind your ear, or how your hands that always move so gently and skillfully would feel touching the stubble of his jaw, or the ripples of his back. He thinks about how they would feel wrapped around his cock, with the same gentle reverence that he sees you display in everything you do.

Would you touch him so softly that he couldn’t help but buck his hips into your hand just to feel a little more while you innocently stare back at him? Would you squirm and clench your thighs at the sounds he makes as he leaks all over you? Would you shut your eyes tight with a little wrinkle between your brows or tearily look up at his face when he finally gets to fuck you, as you uncontrollably flutter around him, your breath hitching and your jaw hanging open as he grinds his hips up after each thrust so that he hits the spot that makes you whine and gush around him as he whispers how good you are in your ear.

His thoughts are interrupted when you call out for him with a gentle “Doctor Abbot?” as you await his instructions. The expectant, wide-eyed look donned on your face makes the remaining blood in his head rush to his already aching cock. After quickly guiding you through the remainder of the procedure, Jack rushes to the bathroom for the nth time this month to wash his flushed face with cold water, hoping that it’ll will his hard on away, and praying that it takes his guilt away with it.

When he returns to the bustle of the ED, his focus is renewed, and the Jack Abbot he wants to be returns, focused, steady, and not plagued by thoughts of you. But that doesn’t last long—it never does—because the next time he sees you, the all too familiar stir in his pants returns, and he has nobody to blame but himself.

Getting home after a shift doesn’t ease his mind off you either. He just can’t help but think of your pretty face while he palms his wet cock under the cool spray of the shower and imagine it was you touching him instead, watching every shake of his breath, staring coyly at him as you make him watch what you do to him with your bottom lip teasingly tucked between your teeth.

He cums with the image of your face flashing behind his eyes and a desperate whimper of your name, almost like he’s afraid you’ll hear him. As he watches the proof of his depravity swirl down the drain, the guilt returns, but Jack knows that he is a weak man, and he knows that come tomorrow, he’ll do the same as he fantasizes about you again, and he also knows that he’ll do nothing to stop it.

Ortho had a reputation and Brendon had leaned into it wholeheartedly. Fast, brutal, precise, and deeply uninterested in anything that didn't have to do with bone mechanics or operative planning. 

Park the Shark. He'd heard the name passed between residents in the corridor like a warning, and he hadn't minded. Warnings kept the noise down.

He was, all told, completely fine.

And then he met you. At the hospital coffee counter on a Wednesday morning, over a cup of black americano, and everything went sideways.

The barista set his coffee down and he was on his way to get it. Pretty normal stuff. Stuff that happened everyday. 

But before he could get there, there was you, his cup in your grasp, and then between your lips. 

He'd opened his mouth to say something. Sharply, probably. The same voice that made interns forget how to speak. But then, you drank. 

Your face did something spectacular. Nose scrunching up, eyes going slightly wide, mouth opened like a fish, as though you were offended, devastated, betrayed by a fucking beverage. You stared into the cup for a full second like you were waiting for it to apologize. "Okay," you said, to the cup, mostly. "That's — what is that?"

Brendon stared at you.

"What'd they put in this?" you continued, as if you were workshopping a complaint, a comical lilt to your voice. 

In the fifteen seconds of you taking his drink and drinking it, it didn’t occur to you that you’d just consumed something belonging to someone else. The coffee — he didn’t think you’d agree for it to be called a coffee, to be really honest — had shaken you so much that it took you a minute to compose yourself. 

When you did, you turned the cup in your hand, read the side and looked up, a sheepish smile on your lips. 

As you found him just standing there, gaze locked on you, your eyes dropped between him and the cup. "Oh, it's got your name on it." You had the audacity to look adorable — what the fuck did he just think? "Is this yours?"

Brendon nodded. Fucking nodded. 

Embarrassment should not have looked that good on anyone. How could someone look like that while questioning life decisions, evaluating choices that led to this moment?

"Right." You set it down on the counter between, like you were disarming a situation. "Sorry. I genuinely thought — mine's supposed to be a latte and I just grabbed it, I wasn't looking at the name. I'm really sorry."

Dark circles under your eyes, hair pulled back like it was done in thirty seconds without a mirror, lime green scrubs that had no reason looking good, no reason making you look good. Who even looked good in that colour? Who even chose that colour? 

You were somewhere between mortified and trying to hold it together, which was fair, because you had just walked up to a stranger's drink and had at it. "Can I at least — I'll pay for a new one, here—"

You were reaching into your pocket and Brendon, who had been on the verge of saying something very reasonable like it's fine, not a problem— "No."

Accidentally spoke in the voice. He didn't always mean to use, it just comes out that way by default, making fourth-year residents straighten their spines. And he’d used it. To you. 

You looked up at him with an expression he could only describe as a deer having second thoughts about the road.

He hadn't meant — he wasn't angry. He'd said no out of reflex. Most things he said were out of reflex, and now this person was staring at him like he'd personally threatened her. He had the strange and unfamiliar experience of wanting to walk it back. "I meant—" he started.

But you'd pulled yourself together, apparently deciding that whatever his problem was, it was his problem. 

"Okay, no." You held your hands up, like you were placating a toddler. "Noted. For future reference though, why would you get it like that, it's — is this fun for you? Like do you enjoy it?"

He blinked, heat rising up to his cheeks. He could only hope you didn’t notice it.

What you did notice was that he looked clueless and you clarified, "the coffee," you pointed to his cup. "There's nothing in it. I took one sip and I think my tongue is still reeling from it."

"That's what coffee tastes like," Brendon said.

"That's a very sad thing to believe." You stated, completely without malice, which made it worse somehow. A genuine opinion. To make matters worse, you were already looking back toward the counter, scanning for your actual order.

Brendon stood there holding his americano while everyone else and everything else continued their life, including you. 

The barista called your name. You went to get it, came back briefly into his sightline, and gave him a small, still-somewhat-mortified wave on your way out the door.

He watched you go and drank his coffee, the same one your lips touched. It tasted exactly like it always did, which was fine, he liked it fine.

Do you enjoy it?

He took another sip. It was objectively bitter.

Lime green. A colour he couldn't immediately place. It bothered him, sitting in the back of his head while he moved through his afternoon. 

PTMC colour-coded by department. He knew this. He just didn't have them all memorized, a gap he'd never needed to fill before.

He decided to ask his ward nurse, Delgado, at the end of his post-ops. Casual as he could make it, which for him was still pretty clinical — "lime green. You know which department?" 

Delgado looked up from her chart. "Lime green," she repeated, slowly, like she was checking the words for a hidden compartment.

“Yeah.” 

“Are we talking about scrubs here, Dr Park?” She had her eyebrows crossed like she was trying to read him. 

“Yes.”

“Neonatology,” she answered. 

Four floors up, the opposite end of the building, behind two sets of badge-locked doors and a hand-washing protocol longer than some of his procedures. He'd been in there exactly twice in his career, both times for consults that took fifteen minutes and ended in a referral elsewhere.

It made sense. You looked like sunshine incarnate, all airy and beautiful, effortlessly skilful — not that he’d seen you work, but he had an idea. 

"Right." He turned back toward the board.

"Dr. Park."

"Mm."

"Are you — Is there something involving neonatology that I should know about?"

A small, unwelcome lurch happened inside his chest. He kept his face the way he kept it in the OR — nothing on it, nothing to read — and he could tell, with horrible clarity, that it wasn't working.

“Something?”

“A case?” 

Brendon could see that she’d worded it carefully. "No."

"Okay," Delgado said. "No reason then." She didn't believe a word of it and had decided not to push, which was worse because he could’ve handled an argument. An argument had an end.

Without looking at her, he said, “you can go.”

"I'm charting."

"You can chart elsewhere."

"This is the nurses' station, Dr. Park."

She was smiling. He knew that without even looking. He went back to his board and did not say anything else, hoping this was the end of it. 

It was in no way shape or form, the end of anything. It only took him five minutes to look it up. Not you specifically, he wasn’t doing that. Yet, the back of his mind supplied. 

He was just reading about fellowship timelines, the NICU admission criteria for some reason? He also learned it’s two or three more years of training, all of it happening four floors above his OR in a unit he had approximately zero clinical reason to enter.

The fact that he even went down this road is embarrassing. But he went a whole another mile. 

Clavicular fractures were the most common birth-related bone injury. Unfortunately — now, he hated himself for even thinking the word — they were managed entirely conservatively. Swaddle the arm, follow up in two weeks. It wouldn't require an orthopedic surgeon, much less him, to stand in a NICU looking purposeful.

For about four seconds, he entertained inventing a reason. He got as far as picturing himself walking through those doors in his scrub cap with some flimsy excuse half-formed, and the picture was so stupid — so transparently, embarrassingly stupid — that he closed his laptop immediately.

The hospital was large and your departments were, in practical terms, on separate planets. 

You’d been in the coffee shop on Wednesday, which meant you probably used it, which meant theoretically he'd encounter you again just by existing in the building. He told himself he wasn't going to engineer anything, he was just aware of the possibility. That was all.

Two days passed. He did four surgeries including a complicated tibial nail revision that took three hours and came out beautifully, and one very satisfying conversation with a referring physician who had misread an MRI and needed correcting. Normal week, right? 

Next day, he got his coffee at six forty, same as every morning, and stood at the counter a beat longer than the transaction required, scanning the line behind him without meaning to. Nobody in lime green. He told himself that meant nothing, took his americano, and left.

Friday, same thing. He noticed himself doing it the second time, which didn't help — like catching his own reflection mid-expression and not recognizing the face looking back.

He didn't see you. Abnormal week. 

ER consult. Friday, mid-afternoon. A fracture dislocation that the ER attending had flagged as needing operative planning. Brendon came down at two-thirty, and found Abbot by trauma three looking over a film.

Coming down to the ER wasn't his favorite part of the day. Not the work — the work was fine, usually obvious, usually somebody else's problem until it became his — but the way the place ran, all motion and noise hot under his skin. Abbot, somehow, thrived in it.

They'd gotten through about two minutes of the consult — Abbot walking him through the case, Brendon pulling up the images, the two of them doing back-and-forth of people who'd worked a building together long enough to skip the preamble. Uneventful. 

But then the ER entrance on the left side of the bay opened and you walked through it.

Same lime green scrubs and a your Dunkin' cup in hand. Shen next to you, also holding a Dunkin' cup, saying something Brendon couldn't hear from this distance, and you were laughing. Brendon, to his disappointment, noticed it was not a poilte laugh. Your shoulder bumped into Shen’s with the force of it, a fully open-mouthed laugh, and you looked gorgeous.

The sight in front of him was only fogged by the fact that it was Shen who was at the receiving end of it.

The blush climbed before he could stop it, heat crawling up the back of his neck and into his ears. He thanked every god he didn't believe in, that Abbot was still looking at the film and not at him.

Brendon's jaw locked. Back teeth coming together, the muscle in his jaw pulling. He knew it’d give him a headache if he kept it up. 

He didn’t really know Shen, not really. Having entirely met him through corridors and in consultations. But in that moment he decided, with an immediate, total conviction usually reserved for diagnoses, that he didn't like him.

Because he didn’t want to stare, he looked back at the X-ray on the tablet. "So the fracture pattern —" he spoke.

"You okay?" Abbot cut in.

Brendon looked at him. Abbot looked like he already knew the answer and was just asking to pull his leg, like most ER attendings. 

"Fine," Brendon said. "The fracture is comminuted. Needs ORIF. I’ll book an OR, do it first case tomrorw morning."

Abbot nodded as he scribbled on the iPad. Didn't look fully satisfied with the fine but let it go. Brendon knew that about Abbot — the latter picked his moments.

Brendon looked back at the X-ray.

In his peripheral vision, you and Shen had stopped near the nurse’s station, still talking. You had the cup halfway to your mouth, nodding at whatever he was saying, and then you laughed again, smaller this time, shaking your head. Like whatever Shen had said was ridiculous and you were conceding it anyway.

His molars hurt from pressing down too hard. "ORIF tomorrow, first case," he said again, to the iPad at his hand, to no one.

"You already said that," Abbot noted.

He pulled up the next item on his consult list — a possible Montaggia fracture, a cakewalk for him, nightmare for others. "I'm confirming."

He was not confirming. He had no idea why he'd said it twice. 

You'd moved further into the ER now, past his sightline, and he found himself looking at the entrance you'd come through for a second before he caught himself and looked back at Abbot. The latter was watching him like he was trying very, very hard not to smirk.

"Do you need something?" Brendon asked.

"I'm just standing here," Abbot said.

"You're doing something with your face."

"I'm a person, Park, my face does things." Abbot tucked his hands in his pockets. Nodding towards the general direction of where you might be standing, Abbot said, "I didn't know you knew anyone in neonatology."

"I don't," Brendon interjected soon. Too soon. 

"Hm." Abbot’s head did a sweep of the ER, probably searching for you, and then looked back at Brendon. "Right."

Brendon put his iPad under his arm, said he'd have the operative plan by end of day and walked back toward the elevator, which took him directly past the nurse’s station, where you had apparently remigrated with Shen, talking to the desk coordinator about something.

He did not slow down.

But in the two seconds he passed within range, he did clock that you smelled like coffee and something warm underneath it, something sweet, vanilla maybe. You didn't notice him, but Shen did and nodded. Brendon nodded back and kept walking, very normal. Walk of a man who was fine.

The elevator took forty-five years to arrive.

He stood in front of it for all forty-five of those years, staring at the closed doors with his hands in his coat pockets, acutely, miserably aware that Park the Shark had just sped up his pace to get past a girl with a Dunkin' and was now standing at an elevator hoping it would hurry up.

Somewhere behind him, he was fairly sure, Abbot was still smiling.

It was a horrible week for the ortho residents. And it wasn’t even Tuesday. 

It wasn’t because of the caseload. The caseload was what it always was, a rotating carousel of fractures and dislocations and the occasional spectacular screw-up from another department who'd missed a bone scan. 

No, the residents had a terrible week because Brendon Park had decided, somewhere between Friday evening and Tuesday afternoon, that their technique was uniformly sloppy and their pre-op prep was an embarrassment to the profession, and he'd said so. Repeatedly. In front of each other.

It wasn't personal. He thought so and would tell you so, if anyone asked him. No one was brave enough. 

His residents just kept standing in his eyeline when he was already irritated, and that was their problem, really.

Delgado, to her eternal credit, had not said a single word about it. She'd watched him tear into a second-year over a chart — like who enters the date wrong? — and kept her face entirely professional. The kid went pale, stuttering through his apology, and Brendon didn’t care. 

He'd noticed it himself. The snapping. He was moving through the ward with even less patience than usual, which was saying something. He did a K wire banding, ate lunch at his desk, reviewed post-op films, and at six-fifteen found himself at the hospital coffee counter scanning the room before his order was called. It was mortifying enough on its own, and you weren't there, so it brought double the mortification. 

He went back Tuesday. Sat down, which was something he genuinely had never done. He had always taken his coffee to go. There was no reason to sit, the hospital was across the street, he drank it walking. 

But this time, he sat. Kept his phone out, drank his coffee and checked his messages. He absolutely did not look at the door every ninety seconds.

You weren't there Tuesday either. Which was fine. People had schedules. Neonatologists especially — the NICU didn't exactly run on a nine-to-five, he knew that much. He'd looked it up. For professional reasons, of course. For someone who’d prided himself for working 24/7, he was humbled real quick. 

Wednesday, he sat again. He had a consultation at nine, no reason to rush. He could drink his coffee like a human being who used chairs. He pulled up his post-op notes on his phone, found Abbot's message about a fracture dislocation follow-up, which Abbot didn’t have to do but does it anyway. Abbot was like that sometimes. 

When he looked up, his coffee was in front of him. And so were you.

Lime green scrubs, your own drink in your other hand, and you were sliding his cup toward him. The look on your face that said you'd been watching him not notice it for at least thirty seconds. He had been reading an MRI report. A fascinating one.

"I really should get you a coffee," you said.

Brendon laughed. It was him. That was his laugh. Coming out of his face, in a coffee shop, at seven in the morning.

It came out before he could stop it or do anything about it. Just a short, but real sound, surprising him enough that he almost looked around to check if someone else had made it. 

You were watching him with that same expression from the first time, like you found him interesting the way you'd find an unusual rock formation interesting. Curious but not unkind. It was doing things to his blood pressure.

"You're still doing that to yourself, I see." You nodded at his cup.

"It's coffee."

"Doesn't taste like it, though." Your nose scrunched up, just like the first time, just as adorable. Did he just say adorable again? 

He picked up the cup, took a sip purely out of spite, and looked back at you.

You sat down across from him. Which he had not expected and also had absolutely expected. Two things existing simultaneously, almost fucking him up. 

"You're here a lot," you said.

"The hospital's down the street."

"Is it?" You glanced at him, stirring your drink. "Because I've only ever seen you take it to go, and now you're sitting." You took out the stirrer and placed it on a tissue. "Three days in a row."

The back of his neck went warm, mouth opening to say something. Deny it probably, which was stupid and a waste of time. But you interrupted him. 

Brendon Park is not someone who’s interrupted. People let him talk, and only think about answering when they’re sure he’s finished. 

You, on the other hand, did not care. "You're kinda hard to miss with all the brooding going on."

"I don't brood."

You took a sip of your drink, watching him over the lid, expression doing a tremendous amount of work without saying anything. 

He held your gaze. You lowered the cup. "You totally brood. It's an ortho thing, right? Comes with it."

"You know I'm ortho?"

"Everyone knows you're ortho." You said it completely matter-of-factly. Like, yes Brendon, the sky is blue and you’ve got an Ortho bro vibe going on. "You have the whole —" You made a vague gesture in his direction, encompassing, apparently, all of him. "You've got the OR energy."

"Half the people here have OR energy. It's a hospital."

"No, see, ER people have this sort of —" you tilted your head, "— controlled chaos thing. They're always braced for something. But, you walk around like you’ve won everything already. It's very obvious, easy to pick out."

Pick out what? Him from a line-up?

He watched you say all of this with zero self-consciousness, just stating observations, a woman delivering a verdict. He realised his coffee was halfway to his mouth and he hadn't drunk it. You talked about him like he was a case study, and he was sitting there letting you, taking all of it.

"So where else do you brood," you asked, "besides here and the OR?"

"I don't brood."

"Besides here and the OR?" You prompted, dismissing his non-answer. 

"The ER… sometimes," he heard himself say it. See, he did not think of saying it, but said it anyway. Crystal-clear experience of a man who had just walked directly into something. He'd had five years of attendings trying to catch him out on rounds. None of them had managed it. You'd done it in under ten minutes, twice, while drinking a latte.

You made a sound. Not quite a laugh, more like an intake of breath with amusement in it. "The ER."

"Consults."

"Right." You traced the rim of your cup with one finger. "Were you in the ER last Friday?"

And… there it was.

He could've said he didn't remember. He could've been very busy, very unbothered, a man who passed through ERs constantly and didn't register the days. He was a surgeon. He was in various hospital departments routinely. There was nothing notable about Friday.

"Yes," his mouth admitted.

You nodded slowly, like something had confirmed itself. "I thought I saw you. You walked really fast."

He put his coffee down. "I had somewhere to be."

"Okay." The word stretched, like you weren’t entirely convinced. He wouldn’t blame it, he wasn’t exactly convincing. An infant could catch him in a lie, and you apparently were their queen. You went quiet for a second and then looked back at him, debating whether to say it or not. Affirmative won apparently. "You saw me with Shen."

It wasn’t a question. And he wasn’t exactly thrilled to answer it. He'd spent five days being awful to residents over it. A little late to play it cool.

"I figured." The amusement on your face was warm rather than sharp, which made the ache in his chest somehow worse. Whoa, whoa, what ache? "We have a thing going, me and Shen. Whoever lost the bet had to do the coffee run. I'd just lost." You paused. "For the fourth time. I'm apparently terrible at predicting admission numbers."

"The fourth time," Brendon parotted.

"In a month. I know." You shook your head, shaking the thought, a soft sigh leaving your parted lips. "I don't know why I keep agreeing to it. Every time I'm like, this time I'll get it right, and then the board goes completely feral and I'm standing at Dunkin' at two in the afternoon getting Shen's ridiculous—" You stopped to look at him, and he had his utmost attention on you. "Anyway. That was just the loser tax."

Loser tax. He sat with this for a second. The whole week reshuffled. Him being a monster to those unsuspecting residents — it’s not like it's unwarranted, but still. 

You and Shen, a bet. A coffee run. A losing streak that apparently had nothing to do with the bond between the two of you and everything to do with ER admission patterns, which, if he was being honest, were genuinely unpredictable, nobody could forecast those accurately, it wasn't —

"You walked so fast," you spoke again, this time interrupting his thoughts. He noticed you liked to do that, keep him on his toes. There was a laugh behind it now, delighted almost. "I didn't know an orthopedic surgeon could move like that without a reason."

"I had a reason."

"What was it?" You prodded.

I just couldn’t stand you bumping shoulders with Shen like you belonged together. 

His eyes dropped to his coffee at his hand and found you again. You looked back at him. You had the same ‘interested in rock formation’ thing going on, except closer now and clearer somehow. He had the increasingly urgent sense that you knew exactly what you were doing.

"You were with someone.” He sighed.

A smile adorned your lips like you’d won, finally beat him. 

Like your mind was displaying in neon, Sunshine neonatologist : 1. Big bad ortho guy : 0. 

You let it sit there between you while you took another sip of your drink. "I was getting Shen's order," you said finally. "Because I lost a bet."

"I know that now."

"But you didn't walk fast because of Shen specifically. Did you?"

His molars found each other again. What is with you and asking him impossible questions? Was this like your hobby? Hit the ortho guy until he falls over? At what point in medical school had someone taught you to do this, and could he have a word with them?

Without giving him a moment to recover, you spoke again. "So," you set your cup down, straightened up a little in the chair, met his eyes with an expression so direct it nearly made him blink. "When are you buying me a coffee?"

He stared at you. Staring was not his thing. He assessed, evaluated, and arrived at conclusions. What he did not do was stare, sit with his mouth slightly open like a fucking goldfish. 

"That's what you've been trying to do, right?" Your voice was mild, conversational, voice of a woman confirming a meeting time. "For three days. In a row. Sitting here."

The heat that climbed his face was complete, total and immediate, and there was absolutely nothing to be done about it. Park the Shark. Sitting in a coffee shop for three days like a golden retriever who'd learned to use a chair.

You laughed. It filled the air and came right back to him. And he thought, sitting there red-eared with his black coffee, that it was the best sound he'd heard all week.

Possibly longer.

He only remembered that you asked a question when you raised your eyebrows. Right. The question. Which he totally didn’t forget when he was staring at your lips and thinking about how they would feel pressed to his. 

"I have a nine o'clock," he said. "Seven works."

"That's very early."

"You work in a NICU. You guys are up since five."

You looked at him for a moment and he had no idea what you were looking at. But he sat very still, which was insane on his part. He only hoped he passed whatever test you were conducting. Apparently having looked enough, you picked your cup up, along with the tissue paper and the stirrer you discarded, and stood. "Seven," you said. "Don't brood while you wait."

He watched you walk out. He looked down at his americano. He drank it.

It still tasted exactly like it always did, and he liked it fine, and he was aware, in a dim and reluctant and completely inescapable way, that this was probably not going to be the last time he sat in this coffee shop.

Not by a long shot.

MY MASTERLIST !

You were still mulling it over when he asked you back to his house, picking you up on his way home (taking an extra ten minutes out of his way, but he’d never admit that). 

Laying on his bed, waiting for him to finish up his shower as you thought of the best way to express what you wanted tonight. Should you just come out right? Or maybe just do it? No, you shook your head. You weren’t going to bite him out of the blue. That was ridiculous and so not right. 

Maybe you should have worn better lingerie. 

“You could have joined me, you know,” Park said as he walked out, drying his hair with one towel, another wrapped around low on his hips.

Seeing that you were in fact not paying attention to what he was saying and rather just staring at him. He paused his movements, trying to see if you noticed, when you didn’t, he smirked and removed the towel around his hips. 

Your eyes instantly going to his length, you felt your mouth drop as you saw him start to harden. Eyes never leaving his cock, you watched it bob against his thighs as Brendon made his way over you. 

Climbing over you, he bracketed your frame with his arms, leaning on one hand he placed a hand on your cheek tilting your face to meet his. Pressing his lips to yours, Brendon was a bit ashamed at just how he melted into your touch. 

It’s only been twelve hours since he touched you last and he felt like a drug addict. Being with you felt like the first time he was in an OR, he couldn’t get enough.

Deepening the kiss, he laid you down, his weight slowly coming down on you. Pulling away from you, he felt his cock harden as he heard your sigh of content as he started placing kisses down your neck. 

“Beautiful,” murmuring against your skin. “Missed you.” 

“Brendon?” You asked quietly, so quietly that he pulled back instantly, worrying that he may have done or said something wrong.

“You alright?” 

You nodded, feeling warm at his concern, “Can we. Can I try something?” 

Relaxing his shoulders, “What do you want to do?” 

“I wanna bite you,” you said shyly, feeling your cheeks heat. “I liked it when you bit me.” 

“You wanna bite me?” He grinned, flashing his canines, and there was that heat again. He looked absolutely thrilled at your suggestion. “I thought I was the shark.” 

You made a face and groaned, “Why would you say that to me? I’m like, dry now,” you knew that was a big fat lie. 

Spreading your legs, Brendon scoffed and his hand drifted down to your very damp panties. “Sure, princess,” grinding his thumb against your clit, Park watched intently at the way you threw your head back, your breathing becoming laboured. “So dry.” 

“Shut up,” you huffed, watching intently as he slid down your panties. 

“Let me eat you first and then you can bite me all you want,” sweeping his tongue from your hole to your clit. 

-

It was two orgasms later that Brendon finally slowly sank his cock into you. He entered slowly, as usual, allowing you to adjust to his size. When you nodded for him to move, his hips moved with purpose as he continuously hit your sweet, spongy spot. 

“Fucking missed this,” he rasped out. “Missed this fucking pussy, baby.” 

“It’s been ten hours, Brendon,” you partly laughed, a particular rough thrust interrupting the noise. 

“Twelve,” he corrected, as his hand went to your neck. 

“Brendon,” you gasped, feeling his teeth sink into the meat of your shoulder, dragging your nails down his back, you could hear his grunt against you, the jerk of his hips against yours. 

Removing himself away from you, Brendon licked the bite languidly, a contrast to the drive of his hips. “Look at you,” he purred, eyes taking in the multiple marks against your skin. “Beautiful.” 

You looked up at him and then to the meat between his neck and shoulder, his traps practically making you salivate. Sensing where your attention was, Park grinned to himself and lowered his shoulder. “Come on, baby.” 

Testing the waters, you slowly and gently bit down on the muscle. You frowned, you thought this would be better, but it wasn’t hitting the spot you thought it would. Maybe you just enjoyed being bitten instead. 

“I’m not going to fucking break, bite me,” Park growled out, annoyed at the thought you were putting off your pleasure because you thought you could hurt him. Still a bit hesitant, you moved your mouth back to his traps, this time sinking your teeth harder and you could feel Brendon squeeze your hips. “That’s my girl,” encouraged by his words, you bit harder, causing him to growl and buck his hips harder. 

“Fucking hell, baby, who knew you had it in you,” he praised as you licked your bite. “Think we have a little shark on our hands.” 

Flipping you over so you were now on his lap, Brendon wrapped his arms around you, his mouth feasting on your breasts as you began arching your back. Grazing his teeth to your nipple, a strangled noise left your mouth. 

Rolling your eyes to the back of your head, you relished in the feeling of him. He felt deeper, bigger, in this position. 

“Brendon,” hands running through his hair. “Feel so good.” 

“Yeah, I’m making you feel good?” Rolling your hips, you whimpered and nodded. You messily tilted his head up, needing his lips on yours again. 

You nibbled on his lip, dragging your lips down his mouth, to his jaw, leaving bites when you felt like it. Caressing the column of his neck with your canines, you debated on whether you could leave open marks on him. 

As if reading your thoughts, you felt one of his hands push the back of your head down to meet his neck. Thighs smacking against each other, in that moment you didn’t feel like yourself. Your teeth digging into the flesh of his neck, suckling and leaving your mark, and him doing the same, your nails claiming his back as your own. 

You’ve read stories about this, heard your co-workers who were more confident talking about their sex life at work describe this feeling. You’ve thought about it. But this was something else. 

Brendon Park was something else. 

You felt alive. Electric in a way that you never thought you could. He awakened some kind of hunger in you that only he seemingly could satiate. 

You pulled him away, and held his face in front of you. You clenched your pussy tighter, your quads were screaming in pain but all you wanted was to be filled by him. You touched your foreheads together, Brendon moving one hand to grip your hair, keeping you close to him. 

Your noses were touching, you could see the sweat drip down from his forehead, you could feel one of his hands going to your back, grasping your skin as if he wanted to be in it. 

Your chests were together, stuck together by your sweat, breaths combining as you couldn’t bear to be apart from him in this moment. 

“Fucking love your cock, Bren,” you stuttered out, as you slammed your hips down. “Fills me up so well.” 

At your words you watched Brendon’s face light up, his lips curling into a smirk, “There’s my fucking girl,” smashing your lips together, you pulled him closer to you, clammy hands on his shoulder. For the first time, you allowed yourself to take charge. 

Sliding your tongue into his mouth, you guided it out his lips, sucking on the muscle as soon as space allowed it. It was messy, it was loud and it was everything that you could need at this very moment. 

Pulling away you saw the strand of saliva connecting you fall down the valley of your breasts. Brendon dipped his head down licking the liquid, his tongue leaving a trail, eventually finding his home on your lips. 

“Such a fucking good girl, aren’t you?” He spoke against your mouth. “My good fucking girl.” 

“Want you to fill me up again,” you panted. “Want to always be filled with your cum.” 

As if finding a new sense of vigor, Brendon planted his feet on the mattress and began to rut his hips harder.  “Knew you were in there,” he growled against your lips. “Perfect girl.” 

“I’m close,” you closed your eyes and jerked your hips faster, your clit catching on his pubic hair, giving you the friction that you need. “Please, Bren,” you showed your neck to him, and he quickly latched onto the skin. Licking away from the mark, he slid his tongue around the hollow of your neck, collecting the sweat that’s collected there. 

Swallowing the salty liquid, Brendon felt his senses heightened. You were something else. Every part of you was just so fucking good. 

“Come on, baby,” he rasped in front of you, hand going down to rub messy, tight circles on your clit. “Cum around me.” 

With a final slam of your hips and a rough pull of his hair, you cried out his name and you felt the warm rush of your orgasm course through you. You panted against his face, your grip slacking as your body began to melt against his. 

“That’s my girl,” he praised as he felt your walls spam against his shaft. “That’s my perfect fucking girl,” he groaned as he felt your release coat his cock. Hands bruising your hips, his mouth kept sucking marks into your neck. 

He followed a moment later, tightening the grip on your hair, pulling you closer to him, as his cock twitched and filled you up. “So fucking good for me,” placing tender kisses against your chest, he rubbed your back soothingly. “Perfect,” he repeated the word as he kissed every part of you he bit.  

Shallowly moving, you could hear the squelch of your combined release. Dipping your fingers into it, you raised them into your mouth, before you could taste it for yourself, Brendon moved your fingers into his mouth.

“Bren,” you chided as you watched him lick every crevice of your hand. “Want to taste you,” you whined. 

Pressing his lips to yours, he allowed you to suck his tongue again, before you pulled back a pout on your pretty fucked out face. “Not the same.” 

“You’re spoiled,” he rolled his eyes as he slipped out of you. Whining at the loss of contact which you were promptly shushed by the man beneath you. Watching as he collected your cum, he lifted up his hand to you. 

“Taste good,” you expressed, as you swallowed every drop on his hand. Pressing a soft kiss against the palm of his hands, you giggled as you shifted in his lap, closing the gap that was forming between the two of you. 

“Yeah, baby, you do,” Brendon said as he leaned back on his pillow, you in tow. 

“Need to have another shower,” Brendon breathed out, his arm resting behind his head, his other rubbing small circles on your back. 

“Can join you this time,” you murmured hazily against his still sweaty skin. Climbing up his body, you straddled his stomach and you could feel yourself leak out a bit. Abashed, you hovered slightly. 

“Don’t,” Brendon warned, his hands tightening on your hips and planting you down back on his stomach. “I like it.” 

You nodded and curled into his body. He was solid beneath you, feeling the thrum of his heart under your ear, you felt at home. Playing with the strands of your hair, you curled more into his body. 

“Thank you,” you said against his chest. 

“For what?” You could feel his neck tilt down to look at you. 

“For letting me bite you,” you said quietly. 

“I’d let you bite me anytime, baby, just ask,” Brendon laughed as he rubbed the back of your neck. 

You let the quietness wash over the two of you. Hands drawing nonsensical images on his chest, you felt him do the same to your back. The quietness allowing you to just think about everything and nothing. 

You tilted your head up and looked at Brendon, admiring him from that angle. 

He looked down, noticing your staring, “What’re you looking at?” 

“Nothing, you’re just handsome,” you said plainly, the compliment falling from your lips easily. Tracing his jawline with your pointer finger, “But I’m sure you know that, and a lot of people have told you.” 

“They have,” he affirmed. “But it’s better coming from you.”

And if you could feel his heartbeat accelerate, well that was just between you and his heart. 

“Come on, baby, we got to get you showered,” sitting up, you felt Brendon cup under your thighs and lifted you up. You wrapped your hands around his neck as he effortlessly walked you to his bathroom. 

Setting you down near his sink, he walked over to the shower and turned it on. 

“Holy fucking shit!” You leaned over his counter and looked at yourself in the mirror. “Brendon Park!” You exclaimed at the very obvious, very large marks on your body. 

He looked at you, his lips twisting into a satisfied smirk. What he wouldn’t tell you was there were more marks on your back. 

“You said that you liked it when I bit you,” was all he said, puffing his chest a bit when he saw you inspecting all of his marks. 

“I never said to treat me like a chew toy,” you grumbled, as you frowned, already trying to pick out what clothes to wear to hide them. 

“And what about me, princess?” He caged you with his arms, looking at you through the mirror. “How can I explain your marks?”

Whatever words were going to leave your lips were taken out by Brendon softly kissing your neck. “Shower’s ready, baby,” scooping you up (once again), as he carefully walked into the shower. 

-

Freshly showered, you shimmied in your spot as you dried yourself. “Do you have any moisturiser?” 

Brendon pointed to the amber coloured glass container on his counter and you waddled over to it. 

Before you could start putting on the lotion, you felt yourself being picked up. You briefly saw Brendon grabbing the bottle in his hand as he sat you down on his bed. Pumping a couple times, he rubbed his hands together. 

“You don’t have to do this,” a flash of embarrassment ran through you. Somehow him having cum in you was less intimate than him putting moisturiser on you. 

“You could hardly stand in the shower,” was all he said before massaging the lotion to your skin. 

You followed the path of his hands, occasionally looking at his face, there was no lust in his gaze. There was no heat in his touch that indicated he wanted this to turn into something more. It was innocent. Like he just wanted to be there for you. 

Not that you’d admit it to anyone other than yourself, you could feel his touch having a way of lighting the old dull flames that you stowed away. Of the domestic fantasies that paralleled this current situation. 

“Done,” he called out, as he rubbed the last bit on your neck. Dropping a kiss to your forehead, you watched him silently as he walked back to his bathroom and cleaned everything up. 

Walking to his dresser, he pulled out two shirts, holding them up, you jerked your head to the right.

“You want some sweats?” He asked, tugging his boxers on. “You got cold last time.” 

“Yes, please,” you responded, and then, “and socks, please.” 

Nodding, he fished the items out of his dresser, walking back to you. Kneeling down he rolled the socks on your feet, an amused smile appearing as he saw how big it was on you. “Up, sweetheart,” complying, you lifted your hips up and watched as he tugged the sweats on. 

“Could do this myself you know,” you spoke but he ignored you, as he dressed you in his shirt, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. 

“You smell good,” he said as he sniffed your hair. 

“I smell like you, genius,” you remarked as you moved underneath the covers. 

“We can go for breakfast in the morning,” he commented as he slid in next to you. “There’s this place near my place we can go to.” 

“I can cook,” you suggested sleepily, already tucking yourself into his side, one leg slipping between his. “Can cook for you.” 

“Mmm,” Brendon hummed against the top of your head. “We have to go shopping. We don’t have much at home.” 

“Bren?” you asked against his chest, your voice laced with sleepiness. 

“Yeah, sweet girl?” 

“Missed you too,” you confessed, and maybe come morning you’d regret saying that to him. Maybe you’d overthink it. But right now, wrapped in his arms, you really didn’t care about tomorrow, you just cared about him. 

Exhaustion taking over you, you nodded once, “Night, Bren.” 

“Night, sweetheart,” placing another tender kiss on your head, Brendon wrapped his arms around you, tugging you closer to his body.

-

“When you said shopping, I thought you meant a Whole Foods or something,” you commented, as you both entered the market. You were instantly bombarded with the smell of fresh food. 

“This is shopping,” Brendon commented as he placed his hand on the small of your back. 

“Do you seriously go to the markets every week and shop here?” You asked, as you manoeuvred through the crowd. 

“Obviously.” 

You scoffed, the picture of the Brendon Park looking around every weekend looking at the different fruits, carrying a basket full of fresh veggies, freshly baked bread stuffed in his bag. 

“What’s so funny?” He asked, his breath tickling your ear. 

“Nothing, I just never thought that Park the Shark would do his shopping at a farmers market,” you quipped, shoulder bumping his. 

The two of you strolled through the market, his hand never straying from its place on your back. 

“So, this is how the other side lives,” you mused as you placed down a punnet of tomatoes, costing you almost the shirt you were wearing (or were borrowing from Park). Whistling lowly as you scanned the prices on the shelf. “Should have become a surgeon.” 

Hearing the low chuckle of your companion, you looked towards him, holding a variety of fruit in his hands. You nodded to the bananas in his hand, and he handed it off to the vendor. 

“What do you feel like?” You turned to Park who was standing off to the side now, just watching you.

“Eggs Benedict with truffles, and a homemade berry muffin,” he stated simply, and you rolled your eyes. 

“You’re so funny,” you deadpanned, turning back to the produce stall, trying to see which apple was better.  

“I wasn’t kidding,” he replied, as he stood next to you, his hand resting just above your ass. “This is good,” he tapped the apple in your right hand and you passed it to him. “They sell truffles over there.” 

“I actually do like truffles,” you mused. 

What turned out to be grabbing essentials for your breakfast, completely turned into a proper grocery shop. Not wanting to acknowledge how domestic everything was. Or the fact that it felt so easy, and right, that it felt like you’ve done this a million times with Brendon, you distracted yourself with the amount of variety around the market. 

At some point your hand found itself attached to his waist, and his hand that was on your lower back, casually hooked itself over your shoulder. 

“Those are pretty,” you said offhandedly as the flowers caught your eye. 

Brendon hummed in agreement and looked over to the other side, “I have to go grab something,” jerking his head over to the other stalls. 

“I’m gonna look at the bread,” you pointed towards the vendor on the other side. “Meet me there?” 

Brendon nodded and as if on autopilot, you reached up on your tiptoes and placed a kiss on his cheek. You stood still in shock at what you just did, comparatively, he just smiled at you, and wordlessly took your bags. 

Greeting the vendor, you perused the bread, trying to figure out what Brendon would prefer. “Probably multigrain, or wholemeal, something with a lot of protein probably,” you grumbled under your breath. 

Trying to distract yourself with the bread and not overthink about what just happened, you asked for two different loaves and an interesting looking pastry. “Can I get those sliced please?”

“It’ll take a couple of minutes, ma’am, is that okay?” The girl behind asked. “We’re just a bit backlogged.” 

“You’re all good, take your time,” you nodded and stepped out of the line. 

You could smell him before you felt him, “How do you feel about a bacon and egg sandwich, with hashbrowns?” You leaned back into him, “I think they have some of the fancy bacon over there,” jerking your head over to the right side, Brendon looked and hummed. 

“That sounds good,” he answered. “We can pick up some cheese as well.” 

“I might pick up some chutney too,” you mused. Turning to him your eyes caught a bundle of pink and purple in his hands. “What’s that?” 

“Flowers, genius,” he quipped. What you couldn’t see or feel was the palms of his hands starting to get clammy.  

“The flowers that I said were pretty?” You raised your eyebrows, your body flushing with warmth. You didn’t want to assume. You shouldn’t assume. “Interesting.” 

“You have good taste,” Brendon shrugged. Bringing them up to you, you hesitantly took it, scared that he’d pull it out of your hands at the last minute. 

Brendon watched as you sniffed the flowers, a smile appearing on your face. He didn’t know what you would do if he took a photo right now. Taking his chances, he pulled out his phone and quickly took a photo of you. So quick that if your eyes weren’t already on him, you wouldn’t have noticed. 

Arching a brow, you looked at the man expectantly. 

“You looked nice,” he all but shrugged, placing his phone back in his pocket. 

“I always look nice,” you replied instantly, a playful smile on your face. 

“You do,” this time it was him that replied instantly. 

Curling your hands on the hem of his shirt, you pulled him to you, this time pressing a kiss to his lips. “Thank you.” 

-

Humming to nothing, Brendon watched you bop around his kitchen, placing everything away, an ease in your actions as you put everything in their rightful place. 

“How do you know where my things are?” He asked, arms crossed as he leaned against his kitchen island. 

You sheepishly turned to him, “I got hungry a couple of nights ago and I didn’t want to wake you.” 

“You should have woken me up, I would have made you something,” you tilted your head, gauging his words. If you weren’t wrong, he seemed a bit upset. 

You shrugged, “You were sleeping. I didn’t want to wake you.” 

“Next time, wake me,” he gently requested. 

“Maybe,” throwing him a cheeky smile. “You snore by the way?” 

That got him out of his somewhat upset mood. “I do not.” 

You hummed, “Yes, you do. Quite loud actually,” you smirked, as you turned around and placed the juice away. 

“Baby,” he started, a warning in his tone, but whatever he wanted to say was interrupted as he saw his shirt slipping off your shoulder. Locking his eyes to the bites he’s left on you. Stalking forward, he couldn’t help but trace his marks on your body. Heat filling his body knowing that there were more underneath your clothes. 

“Let me help,” he offered, well not really. You’ve mostly placed everything away, minus the ingredients you needed to use. 

Placing his hands on your waist, he rubbed up and down, tilting his head and nuzzling into your neck. 

“Oh, by help, you meant kissing the bite marks you left on me?” You laughed, but moved your neck so he had more access. 

Lifting you up on his counter, Brendon stepped between your legs, sliding his hands up your thighs before finding its home on your hips. 

“I’m soothing them,” he spoke against your skin, the gentle breath causing you to shiver a bit. “It’s medicinal.” 

With the way he whispered his words, you couldn’t help the loud snort, and the loud laughter that followed. You continued to laugh, head falling to his shoulders, body shaking with uncontrollable laughter. 

“It wasn’t that funny,” he looked at you, a mixture between fondness and bewilderment. A small chuckle leaving his lips and you quickly tucked the sound inside the folds of your brain. 

“I know,” you stressed out, still chuckling a bit. Replaying the moment, you threw your head back and started cackling. 

“You’ve ruined the mood,” he rolled his eyes while still rubbing circles on your hips. Patting your thigh, Brendon gave you a soft and tender kiss, “Now, hop off sweetheart, it’s time for breakfast.” 

Using him as a way to get down, you hopped off the counter, already heading to the stove. You watched, a bit annoyed, as he started getting the ingredients and pans ready. 

“I said I was cooking for you,” you pouted, holding the spatula out and watching as he took it from you. “I wanted to cook for you.” 

“You grocery shopped for me,” he pointed out, and when you went to interrupt, he threw a glare your way. “It’s only fair that I cook for you.” 

Bumping your hips into his, you moved him over, “We can cook together.” 

“Sit,” he commanded, slapping your ass to emphasise his point. “Or look around, I’ll call you when I’m finished.” 

-

And you did just that. 

You landed in his living room. It was spacious, once again, very neat in a way that you came to expect from Park. It was lived-in, a homey feeling to it. Far from what you expected. 

You looked at the books littered on his shelf, snorting in disbelief when you saw a couple of knick knacks here and there. “Who knew?” You whispered to yourself. 

Medical textbooks were placed neatly around his space, some having a notepad with some points jotted down. You peeked at them. Methodical and neat, very Brendon Park. Flipping through the notepad, your eyes scanned the pages until you saw your name pop up. 

Looking closer, you saw your name and a note ‘tell her about this’. Flipping through the book, you realised it was an entry about an unusual medical case. Realising that it was very similar to a case you once had, something that truly knocked you off your feet. You remembered confessing to Brendon the second night at the embarrassment that you felt at how you floundered under everyone’s gaze, not knowing what to say, until Langdon came to your rescue. 

You furrowed your brows, wondering when he had the time to do this. And why he would do this. 

Warmth engulfed you, as you noticed there were more notes with your name, alongside comments: make her read this, she should know for her test. Looking at the final one caught your breath. 

For her fellowship in cardio. Ask Barrett. 

Underneath, in what appeared to be fresher ink. 

Draft a letter in case she wants me as a reference. 

You didn’t even know that he knew that you wanted to pursue a fellowship in cardio. Something was in your throat and a feeling (a welcoming one at that) wrapped around your heart, cradling it in its hand. 

Closing the book, you placed it back gently and sat for a minute. 

Thoughts ran through your head. Why would he do this? Since when did he do this? And again, why would he do this? 

Shaking yourself, you didn’t want to dwell on it, you didn’t want to dwell on what it could mean. And certainly didn’t want to dwell on the fact that you weren’t freaked out he was doing this. You felt cared for. You didn’t have enough courage to say that other word. 

Finding yourself in the little hallway between the kitchen and living room, you looked at the family photos. You never thought that Brendon would be so sentimental. You smiled softly as you saw the various photos of his parents, and who you assume to be his siblings. 

“Oh my god,” you mumbled as you saw a baby photo of Brendon. Without thinking, you took out your phone and instantly took a photo. “He’s so cute,” you cooed at the photo. 

Arms wrapping around your middle, feeling a kiss to the back of your head, you leaned back into his embrace. “Have fun looking around?” 

You wanted to bring up what you saw, ask him but you realised, not now. You’d ask later, so instead, you nodded. “You’re cute,” you pointed to the photo of him as a baby. “You made a very cute baby.” 

“I did,” you couldn’t help but chuckle at his confidence. 

“Fat and squishy,” you hummed, giggling when you saw his face. “I just want to squeeze your cheeks,” you cooed. 

Turning around in his embrace, you squished his cheeks together. “Cute,” you repeated. 

Seemingly unamused, he looked down at you, arms still wrapped around your waist. Using his cheeks to move his face down to yours, you gave him a quick peck on the lips before letting him go. 

“I was a cute baby,” you mused. 

“Yeah?” He tilted his head, his mind trying to picture you as a baby. His heart warmed at the thought of a little you, and his brain started to think of what if?

“I’ll show you them sometime,” you nodded. “I was also fat and cute.” 

“Not squishy?” He teased, his canines featuring as he smiled down at you. 

“Oh, I was very squishy,” you agreed vehemently. 

Mimicking what you did to him, Brendon carefully squished your cheeks together. “Cute,” he repeated. 

“You’re sweet,” you said softly, words blurting out of your mouth but coming out a bit garbled. “And thank you for today.” 

“Stop saying thank you,” he gently scolded. “It’s the bare minimum.” 

“But still,” you whined. “You’re so sweet,” you continued. “And I never thought you would be sweet,” you emphasised your point by poking him. “But don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.” 

“It’d ruin my reputation,” he looked at you. 

“Baby, I think you shopping at the farmers market and carrying a little tote bag would ruin your reputation,” you chuckled. “But sweetness is only for me.” 

A genuine smile curled around his lips at how casual you said the pet name. “Yeah, sweetheart, only for you.” 

You smiled brightly at him, electricity running up and down your body. 

“Breakfast is done,” he mumbled against your lips, but making no move to go to the kitchen. Instead he moved his hands so they were settled on your waist, bringing you in closer. 

“I really don’t want breakfast right now,” you said, hands gliding up his chest. Pulling his collar, you yanked him closer to you, tongue already entering his mouth. 

-

“What’s that?” Princess looked at your neck and leaned in closer. “Are those teeth marks?” She smirked at you, already planning to tell Perlah about it. 

You blushed instantly, heat rising up your body and suddenly your scrubs felt too tight, too heavy on your frame. Brendon’s too big of a long sleeve shirt doing nothing to hide his marks. 

“No,” you stuttered out but Princess knew better. 

“Who knew you had it in you,” she smirked approvingly. “Who is it?” She whispered and leaned in conspiratorially. She looked around the ER, her eyes landing straight to Robby. 

“No,” you said instantly, as soon as you saw where her gaze went. “I have to go check on my patient,” scurrying away, you tripped on your own feet but thankfully something, or someone, broke your fall. 

“Woah, hey, you okay?” Robby said, as he caught you, a small smile appearing on his face. “Careful, sweetheart,” internally your stomach squeezed, not knowing why the pet name didn’t land sweetly as it usually did. 

“Fine, thanks, Robby,” you smiled at him, then you saw his eyes dip down to your neck. Flushing you muttered a quick excuse and high-tailed from his sight. 

-

Gossip ran rampant, as you expected. You could feel the stares thrown your way and all you wanted to do was hide under the beds and do your charting there. Luckily no one knew who was the person who left them on you, but people had guesses. Loud guesses. 

This wouldn’t have happened if you had your turtleneck, and you did. Truly you did. You packed it with you before you left your house when Brendon picked you up. You made a mental note of making sure you wore it before you guys drove to work. 

But Brendon seemingly had other plans. Keeping you in bed until the last possible moment. Rushing out of the door, you accidentally took his shirt, planning to change into it in his car. 

You sat up in your chair. You took his shirt. 

Your eyes blew wide. 

He didn’t have his shirt. He didn’t have anything to hide the marks you left him. 

Stupid Brendon and his stupid lips this morning. 

“Oh God,” you muttered under your breath, hand on your face. You hoped that everyone would be none the wiser, hoping with every molecule in your body that people wouldn’t put the two and two together. 

-

“What about Abbot?” Princess suggested, “They’re close aren’t they?” She sent Perlah a knowing look. 

“What?” Mel asked, brows furrowed, trying to remember if you ever brought up Doctor Abbot. 

“No,” Perlah shook her head. “Think that stopped when she switched back to day shifts.” 

“We’re looping back to that,” Langdon said and pointed to Perlah. 

“Robby?” Javadi asked, knowing the weird thing between the two of you. 

“No, she shut that down immediately,” Princess said, then narrowed her eyes. “Maybe too quickly.” 

“Hello,” Robby greeted loudly, as he practically slammed down the folder on the counter. “It’s a beautiful day to treat patients, isn’t it?” He smiled tightly as he watched everyone move away from him. 

Looking back to where you were practically sinking in your chair, Robby debated on whether to go to you or not. He wasn’t deaf, he’s heard the chit chat that was going around about you. He also wasn’t blind as he saw the cause of said chit chat on your body. 

An uneasy feeling settled in his stomach as he realised that you in fact were probably seeing someone. All he could hope for was that it was casual. 

-

Trinity stood off to the side, Garcia standing next to her. The latter paying half attention to the gossip in front of her. “Huh,” Garcia made a contemplative noise. “Park had some marks on him too.”  

“Shark?” Trinity turned around, eyes wide. “No,” Trinity shook her head. “Definitely not. She’s practically in love with Robby.”

“Could just be a coincidence,” Garcia shrugged. “Or they could be hooking up.” 

“No,” Trinity repeated again, slower this time. She watched as you manoeuvred the ER, the clipboard way too close to your chest. You tried to not make any contact with anyone 

-

“Nice marks,” Trinity grinned as she looked at you. 

You groaned into your clipboard and took a deep breath, “You’re allowed exactly thirty five seconds to say whatever you want then you can never, ever bring this up, Trinity Santos.” 

“So, the shark bites in bed, huh?” She nodded, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Is that why he has that nickname?”  

“Park?” You scoffed, hoping that the hospital fluorescent lights did something to hide the red creeping up your neck. “That’s so out of pocket, Trin.” 

She watched as you continued to blabber on how ridiculous it was for you to be with Park. Never actually quite denying you did anything with him. You defended it just a little bit too much for it to be a ‘no’. 

“I mean, Park?” You blew a raspberry, “Please,” muttering more denial under your breath as you moved away from her. 

“A no would have sufficed,” Trinity called out, a knowing smile on her face, already pulling out her phone to text Garcia.

-> coming soon! (next part, but can be read as a standalone!)

-> dont go wasting your emotions masterlist

park taglist 

@realwhoreforfictionalmen | @noisynightmarepoetry | @popecodysgirl | @hehehehahahohohuhu |

don’t go wasting your emotions 

The hotel smelled like Japanese incense and lily petals. You make your way up the elevator and to the room that Choso booked for your shoot.

It only takes two knocks before the door clicks open.

“Hi, I'm Choso.”

…

This guy is way hotter in person.

You slightly stutter before introducing yourself as well.

“Come in," he says, gesturing at the door. The hotel room is ridiculously nice. The cameras are already set up. Though you notice Choso's manager isn't here to guide you both. Neither is your manager; she thought you could handle it by yourself.

"Alright," he starts. “I was told this is just gonna be a simple shoot. You ride my cock, and I'll give you a little praise with some degradation. That works for you, right?”

“I heard you're mostly a dom," you start.

“I am. Why do you ask?"

"Well," you start to walk towards him, beginning to draw circles on his collarbone. “I plan to change that.”

"What—"

You suddenly push Choso onto the bed. You quickly check to make sure the cameras are rolling, and then you're on him.

"Wa-wait, what are you doing?"

“Putting you in your place. Have you ever gotten your ass eaten?" you say while twirling his hair.

“N-no… seriously, what's this about? I thought you were just gonna ride me.”

“Well, the moment I looked at you, I knew you were a true sub. You just want mommy to take care of you, hm?”

"I-I guess I'm not opposed to the idea...”

“Good boy. Flip over for me, will you?”

“O-okay…”

You quickly let off Choso so he can flip himself over. You slowly tug his pants and boxers down so you can see his cute ass. You stretch open his ass so you can quickly spit on his puckered hole.

“Ah-ah! What was that for…”

“Just preparing you. You have a really cute hole, you know. I bet your little cock is even cuter.”

“T-thank you?”

You slowly lean down to spread your spit all over his hole before slowly pushing your tongue in.

"Mm," you mumble. “Does that feel good?”

"Y-yes, it does…”

"Come on, you can do better than that. What do you refer to me as?"

“M-mommy…” he whispers.

“Let's try this one more time. What do you refer to me as?”

“M-mommy!”

“There you go. Such a good boy. Now arch your back for me.”

Choso kneels, letting his slutty back arch. At the angle you’re in, you can see a bit of his cute cock. Including his piercings glistening under the lighting.

“Good boy. You’re being so obedient for me.”

“J-just for you, Mommy."

You hum in acknowledgment before making him turn his head to look up at you. "Cho," you start. “If you feel uncomfortable during this, please say so, okay?”

“Okay, I understand."

“Good boy. I’m going to stretch you out now so you can take me. Sound good?”

“Y-yes.”

“Good good.” You slowly push into him once more before fiddling with his balls. rubbing at the sensitive skin there. “God, you're so wet for me. Such a needy, pent-up baby.”

"Just needed you so bad—"

"I know, I know. Don't worry, though. Mommy's going to take care of you."

You continue stretching him out and every so often fondling his balls. Finally, he's nice and loose for you.

"Stay here, Cho."

"O-okay..."

Choso sits awkwardly on the bed as you walk over to your bag to grab the biggest strap you brought. A ten-inch pink veiny strap. You adjust it on yourself before walking back into the frame where Choso's jaw is dropped.

"How am I going to take that..."

"I'm sure you'll be able to do it. Now, bend over for me. Remember what mommy likes.

Choso bends over and makes sure to have his ass presented and ready for you to fuck. You apply a good amount of lube onto the strap before beginning to push the tip in. Choso lets out a gasp and a sob at the intrusion.

"A-ah-! Please feel so good." He babbles out.

"I'm so glad. Do you think you can take more Cho?"

"Yes, I can do it!"

"Good boy." You pepper kisses on the back of his neck before continuing to push in. You're about halfway in now. So five inches.

"I-is it all the way in?" Choso says. A gasp. Moan. And a cry as he feels the cock's veins rub against his insides.

"Oh my pathetic mutt, we're only halfway in."

"Half?" Choso asks out in fear.

"Yup. Can you take more for me?"

"Yes, I can do it. I promise. I'll be good for you."

"Good job, Cho. So obedient for me."

"Just for you, Mommy."

You smile to yourself before beginning to push in two inches, three, and finally all five inches of the strap. Choso's cock has been leaking on the bed this whole time. It almost looks exhausted. You haven't even touched his cock yet, and he's already leaking. How cute.

"Okay, Cho. I'm all the way in. I'm going to start moving now, okay?"

Choso lets out a nod mixed with a whine as you begin to move. The lube provided gives it a nice glide as you thrust into Choso's hole. You suddenly touch Choso's cock, making him whine and freeze up. You fiddle with the piercings as he whines and cries.

"Oh, it feels so good, please. So good, so good, so good. Fuck!—"

"Yeah? You like that, Cho? Putting you in your place? Just a pathetic puppy for Mommy, hm?"

"Y-yes! I'm your pathetic puppy. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, Mommy, please let me cum. I've been so good."

"Hold it for me, Cho. I want to try something first."

You quickly flip him over and begin to continue to thrust into him while playing with his nipple piercings.

Ah-ah! Mommy, please, it's too much. I can't—" You hold the base of his cock while continuing to play with his nipple piercings. "You cum when I say so; don't get bratty now. Hold it a little longer, Cho."

Choso just continues to shake as you keep using his hole. God, seeing him like this. It's everything you wanted and more.

As you let go of the base of Choso's cock, all you can hear are the sounds of the lube squelching and Choso whining and begging to cum. You rub at his slit and play with his piercings once more before you whisper, "Cum for me, Cho. Let it all out. You pathetic little mutt."

Choso whines and thrashes before ropes of cum paint his stomach. He breathes out heavily as you slow your pace. You gather a bit of cum from his stomach and say, "Suck."

He does just that.

a/n: can you tell i got a little lazy in the end 🌝🌝