𝓡𝓸𝓼𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓮

"Hey doc." Your attending approached you, fingers tapping on the counter slightly above you. Doc, he only used this nickname when he needed a favor, the other times he called you simply by your surname or he added the title doctor right before it. You weren’t complaining though. You didn’t want him to give you a permanent nickname like the one he’d picked up for himself; it would have made you uncomfortable and at the same time it would have pointed out even more his lack of professionalism at the workplace.

“Since things here seem to have calmed down a bit I need you to be for a little while in triage, yeah?”

Your gaze didn’t leave the screen, you kept charting. “Do I have a choice Dr. Robinavitch?” The tone was flat.

“Actually no.” He exhaled. “Make sure to say that to Dr. Mohan too okay? I can’t find her anywhere and -”

You finished his sentence before he could continue. “Yeah I’ll tell Kwon or Ogilvie to join us too, since this is a teaching hospital.”

“Perfect, you learn rapidly. See you later. Heads up Doc,” and with that he left.

You finished your chart before leaving the nurse station in search of Dr. Mohan that was nowhere to be found so, you stopped the only person who knew everyone’s business. “Princess, hi, have you seen Dr. Mohan by chance?”

“Oh you heard the rumor too? You know, I didn’t think of you as the noisy type of girl.” She gave you a playful smile and a wink. “Apparently they have been in that room for nearly an hour now.”

Your face clearly showed signs of confusion and irritation but she didn’t seem to notice at all. “What are you talking about exactly?” You tried to hide your frustration, you were wasting too much time and in a ER you couldn’t afford to.

“Well, Dr. Abbot and Dr. Mohan. I thought you knew,” she said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“I didn’t and respectfully, I don’t care. I asked you about her cause Robby needs us in triage but I couldn’t find her.” Those words slipped out before you could even think.

Princess noticed the shift in your tone from a seemingly calm one to an harsher one. She pointed out the room in which the two of them were. “Right there Doc, see you later.” You gave her a half of a smile before heading to it.

Fucking Robby.

As soon as you stepped in you saw them. Abbot was sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless while Mohan was behind him, carefully taking care of what it seemed to be a wound. The two of them were too immersed in the moment and in the conversation they had to notice you. A sudden and sickening hollowness found its way into your stomach, accompanied by an unexpected strangling sensation. You couldn’t believe how much people loved wasting time as if they weren’t working in a damn hospital and patients struggling between life and death didn’t come in at any moment. You swallowed and shoved those unpleasant sensations away. You needed to get a grip, there were lives to be saved. So, you knocked at the glass door.  

“I’m not sorry to interrupt whatever is going on,” you said firmly.

They startled. Samira immediately got his hands off Jack’s shoulders, as if you had caught her red-handed.

You continued. “Dr. Mohan, Dr. Robinavitch need us in triage together with a med student. It doesn’t matter if it is Kwon or Ogilvie.”

She nodded and then placed once again her hand over Abbot’s shoulder.

“Now.” You emphasized.

“Okay, yeah. Are you sure that you can take care of this? Earlier you seemed to be struggling.” She asked him.

“Jesus I’m not geriatric yet, I think that I can still take care of a silly wound like that.”

She chuckled and you were about to too but you bit your lips, instantly.

“Okay well, let’s go then. I’ll search for Kwon.” Dr. Mohan informed you while approaching the exit. You followed her but as you reached the door jamb and as your colleague already headed toward triage, you turned your head in Jack’s direction. “Oh and Dr. Abbot, please put a shirt on after you finish. Patients need you.” The words that left your mouth were intended to be more stinging than they actually sounded.

A subtle smile appeared onto his face. “Yes ma’am.”

This time you were able to let out a chuckle, comforted by the fact that nobody was around. Then you went to join your colleagues in Triage.

“And all done Mrs. Fernandez.” You smiled at the patient while removing your gloves. “For the next few days you need to rest and if anything happens please, don’t hesitate to come here and ask of me.”

“I will do doctor, thank you for everything.”

“I’m just doing my job. Now carefully grab your belongings and try to get up slowly.” You instructed her, making sure that she wouldn’t hurt herself in the process. As she stood up you were ready to escort her to exit, where one of her relatives was waiting for her, but your attention got caught by Donnie calling your name.

“Yo, we need you back there.”

You nodded. “Sure. I will accompany Mrs. Fernandez outside and then I’ll be there.”

“No, I’ll do it.” He uttered with an oddly firm tone. You frowned, this was your patient not his, but before you could reply anything he began to speak. “There’s an emergency. Go, please. I’ll take care of the patient.”

“Okay, thank you.” That was all you could say before offering a smile to the old lady and rushing to the hub. The first sound that you heard once you passed the door was that of Robby’s voice.

“All right, everybody, circle up.”

Your body moved without hesitation, finding its way towards the most familiar face of the pitt.

“What happened?” You asked the night shift attending, who was standing by your side.

“System was preemptively shut down to avoid a cyberattack” Abbot casually explained.

A loud sigh escaped your mouth. “Great.”

He chuckled. “You know you’re allowed curse right? I promise you that it won’t jeopardize your career.” You rolled your eyes.

His eyes scanned you from head to toe, noticing how chest rise and fall rapidly, still not having recovered from the small run. His gaze then returned to your face and his brow arched. “Where were you?”

“Got stuck with a patience in triage. Old lady, swollen ankle, nothing too serious but she was worried. I just wanted to make sure she was doing fine of before her nephew arrived to come pick her up.”

Jack leaned over you, until his bristly chin brushed your shoulder and whispered, “You’re too good for triage, you know that?” as if he didn’t want to make you feel embarrassed. You stared at the wall in front of you, unable to say anything, too focused on his close proximity, and all of the implications involved. Had somebody noticed you? If the answer was yes, would you become the protagonist of a new bet? Or worse, would they start a rumor about the two of you that would send you directly to the HR office? But most importantly, why that small and almost imperceptible contact had brought with it a sense of warmth that you hadn’t felt in a while.

In the end, Jack resumed the distance between you two. You decided to ignore the comment, filling the silence with a “You have to tell that to Dr. Robinavitch, not me,” while meeting Jack’s eyes. But deep down you appreciated both the small compliment and the way his tone shifted when pronouncing those words, and even though your colleagues knew nothing about your life nor your personality, he seemed to comprehend you somehow. That was the part that made you uncomfortable. He saw you when you didn’t want to be seen.

He winked at you, still maintaining the eye contact. “Will do, don’t worry about that.”

After that brief exchange the three attendings instructed the staff how to work without the benefits of technology.

Jack Abbot was a man of his word. As soon as all of the instructions were given, he talked to Robby and suddenly you were no longer needed in triage.

Now that all of your patients were set up, you had a moment to dedicate to charting. But right after you logged into the computer you heard the paramedics shout an “Incoming.”

You turned your head, only to see a woman in her fifties tied to the gurney, convulsing and desperately trying to free herself from the stretcher straps that held her with such a brutal force reminiscent of a lioness trying to escape her enclosure. Without any further do, you headed to the patient, followed by Dr. McKay.

“What do we have here? ” you said in unison.

“Anne Davis. Fifty three. Overdose. Her neighbor, Halimah, found her in a deep state of confusion and also mentioned that she was hallucinating once she arrived." The paramedic explained while the lady nodded. In the meantime, you noticed that the neighbor, standing on the left side of the gurney, was holding an empty yellow plastic container. You moved towards her.

“After we got her out of the ambulance she started convulsing.” The other paramedic added.

“And she overdosed on?” McKay asked.

Halimah, visibly exhausted and shaken by the situation, handed you the container.

Once you read the label your heart skipped a beat and for a moment every sound felt distant and muffled, until you swallowed all of your sensations away and uttered, “Antidepressant. To be more specific SSRI fluoxetine, Prozac. The typical dosage is between 20 and 80 mg per day. She obviously must have been taken more than that but there has been record of someone taking 8 grams of it and still being able to recover. In comparison to other types of antidepressants they are one of the least toxic in overdose. Nevertheless, we need to act now and expel all of the medication out of her body. Get her into trauma.”

Dr. McKay gave you a satisfied look accompanied by an equally satisfied smirk, and then she clapped her hands to catch the attention of the paramedics.

“All right, you heard the doctor, get her into trauma now.” She said before the four of you rushed into trauma, leaving the neighbor outside with a nurse.  

With all of your attention focused on the patient, you didn’t noticed that there was also someone else who was watching you amidst – and despite – the chaos of the ER. Jack Abbot was about to dismiss a patient and place the paper chart on the desk when he saw the paramedics reporting both McKay and you the state in which they found the woman tied to the gurney. Right after that he heard your voice, serious and professional, delivering those information in such a firm, rapid and precise way that was uncommon for a R1, and to be frank it was a quality that was rare to be found even among the most experienced residents nowadays and yet, you never failed to surprise him. Even if you had worked together for a couple of months, you had proven to the night shift attending your expertise and willingness to learn and to improve your skills. That was apparently enough to gain Jack’s trust and admiration that occasionally became known to you during those rare moments where the two of you were alone and you could discreetly accept his compliments. But his trust and admiration could be also silently seen through the way he looked at you, if only you had the courage to let yourself losing in his hazel eyes. Today it was no exception, he was watching you with the same pride and affection that his face wore countless time, before you disappeared into trauma with a more stabilized patient that didn’t require an attending supervision, and he finally put the chart on the desk.  

By the time you entered the room, the woman had stopped convulsing and before the paramedics, together with the help of McKay and Jesse could transfer the patient to the hospital trauma bed, you quickly did an airway check.

“She’s breathing, let’s move her to the bed.” You instructed.

Once the patient was settled, Cassie and you put on a new pair of gloves before she called you and said.

“Listen. I know that we didn’t quite have the chance to work together in a while, but at the same time I also know that you handled different cases of overdose in the past few weeks and from what I’ve seen so far you seem perfectly capable of taking the lead. The convulsion has stopped now so…”

The way that McKay phrased everything was odd. Too formal and unnatural for a woman like her, always sarcastic and loose. But unfortunately you did have this effect on people. You kept yourself at distance, disturbed by the fact that eventually someone could get even a slightly glimpse of your personal history and get blinded by it, instead of focusing on your skills. It was a deliberate choice, that’s true, but it still hurt when you noticed how differently your colleagues acted when interacting with you, especially those of the day shift. All of them acted as if they were a family, and while you agreed with that statement, you couldn’t help it but to think that you weren’t part of it. You felt like the moody neighbor that had just moved across the street, the one who said hi only when forced by the circumstances. But it was okay, you were there to work, to save lives, not for socializing or worse, for finding the love of your life.

You nodded and moved towards the hospital bed. “It would be a pleasure Dr. McKay, thank you. ”

“Good.” She exhaled. “Now illustrate me the next steps.”

“First we need to asses her vital signs, then her LOC, before performing a -” your explanation was interrupted by the patient, who now started convulsing again, even more violently than the first time.

Your body reacted without thinking. “We need to move her to her side now, come help me.”

Jesse, McKay and Perla came in your help and helped you moving the convulsing patient onto her left side, meanwhile some painful, yet necessary, words escaped your mouth, Facing Cassie, who was at your left. “Even though I would be perfectly able to handle this case, I’m an R1 Dr. McKay, and this is not a low-risk overdose scenario anymore. Protocol is protocol.” You then turned your head to your right, towards Perla. “Go search for Dr. Abbot.. or Robby or Al-Hashimi, an attending.” Perla looked over McKay who gave her a nod.

You were being selfish. You wanted Jack to be there because he would have let you handled the case anyways, in contrast to Robby, who somehow always seemed to underestimate your skills and knowledge.

“We need to sedate her, as soon as possible, we were lucky with the first seizure but this one could possibly be deadly.” You said while maintaining your gaze to the woman, in order to avoid McKay.

A few seconds later Perla entered into the room and said. “Dr. Abbot and Robby are in trauma 2. Dr. Al-Hashimi is nowhere to be found.”

A smirk appeared onto Cassie’s face. “I’m the boss now, so that means that you are going to handle the case. I trust you and I’ll be observing you.” You gave her an appreciative smile.

“Okay. Jesse fill a syringe with 2 mg of lorazepam diluted in an equal part of normal saline and give it to me.”

In no time the nurse handed you the syringe and you injected the medication into her right arm, the one who wasn’t getting flattened by her body-weight. In less than two minutes, the patient had stopped convulsing, and you were able to move her onto her back. Your colleagues helped you asses her vitals, and everything seemed fine since she was able to breath normally and eventually started regain consciousness.

You looked at face and at her fragile state and began to talk to her. “Hi Anne, you did something dangerous but we are here to save you. Now I have to insert a tube in your nose, it will be a bit annoying but it won’t cause you any pain, is this okay?”

The only thing that she could do was to nod.

With the approval of your senior resident you changed your gloves for the third time, to avoid potential infections, and then once Jesse and Perla passed you the supplies and placed a linen-saver pad onto the woman’s chest, you began the procedure. Gastric suction.  

You first checked which nostril was the more patent for tube insertion which turned out to be the left one then, you measured the length of the nasogastric tube and once you reached the end of the xiphoid process Perla handed you a piece of tape to note the length. After that, you generously lubricated the insertion end of the tube with lignocaine and gently began to insert the Nasogastric tube into  her left nostril and started rotating it when you were met with a slight resistance, once you reached the nasopharynx. Afterwards you continued gently pushing the tube down to the esophagus until the predetermined mark was reached, only to fix it to the bridge of her nose with an adhesive plaster. During the whole procedure the patient surprisingly remained quiet, but conscious.

In the meantime, Jesse had placed the other supplies on the Mayo table near you while McKay gave approval for your actions and attentively observed you.

You removed the syringe form the insulation bottle and inserted the it into the end of the tube, only to instill small air bolus and auscultate the patient’s stomach with your stethoscope. Once you heard the stomach gurgling, you checked the gastric residual and let the gastric content drain onto the container placed on the table. After all of the return had stopped from the tube, you began irrigating with sixty cc of saline and let the liquid drain into the belly. Then you moved the syringe towards the container and let all of the content drain back into it. You repeated this procedure several times, until the gastric contents run clear back out of the tube and removed the syringe from it, not before filling the stomach with some air.

“Okay Anne, can you take a deep breath for me now?” you asked gently.

“Yes” she said with a weary voice and you proceeded to remove the nasogastric tube while Perla disposed the linen-saver pad away.

Eventually the woman was transported into another room and immediately feel asleep.

You had saved her.

Before exiting trauma McKay gave you a pat on your shoulder and uttered. “Good job Doc. Now go check your other patients.” Those were the only words that seemed the most authentic and real. Not in terms of content but in form. Smoother than your previous interactions, more Cassie like.

You thanked her and then exited the room.

Outside trauma you were surprised to notice not only that the neighbour of Anne, Halimah, had left but also that Dana came back after finishing assisting the SA victim. She waved at you from her desk.

“Hey Doc welcome back” She greeted you while chewing a gum. You smiled politely.

Suddenly a young boy entered the bay and rushed towards the charge nurse. He put his hands on the desk and tried to catch a breath.

You moved towards him, afraid that he might be sick and needed assistance, and in fact he needed assistance, just not the medical one.

“I’m Jayce Moore.” He painted, worn out by the run he had to make to be there. “I’m umh the son of Anne Davis. My neighbour, Halimah told me that an emergency happened and she had to call an ambulance.” Slowly his breath returned normal and the painting was replaced by a tone of desperation mixed with a glimpse of hope. “Where is she? Please, tell me that nothing bad has happened to her.”

Dana was about to speak when you stepped in. “Hi Jayce, I’m the doctor who treated your mom.” You said as calmly and as sweetly as possible, in order to instill in his body some sort of calm.

He tiled his head to you and locked his glistening eyes with yours. “Is she alive?” he asked you with a trembling voice.

 “Yes. She’s asleep now. Why don’t we continue this conversation elsewhere? Somewhere quieter perhaps.”

The boy nodded and moved away from the desk. Your first instinct was that of placing a hand onto his shoulders, a simple sign that wanted to communicate to him that he wasn’t alone, even though you could only a little to ease his pain. Eventually he melted into the touch that in such a difficult and stressing moment was very much appreciated.

While heading towards the family room you turned your head towards Dana and told her, “Once Kiara is available can you send her to me?”

“Sure thing Kid.” She responded while looking at some documents.

The family room was small and cold, not in terms of temperature but in terms of atmosphere. The walls were white and there were two grey sofas placed in the middle of it, facing each other, and a small wooden coffee table. That’s it.

Jayce and you seated on the same sofa, with you deciding to keep a distance that was both appropriate for a doctor and a family member’s patient, but that at the same time communicated that you were there for him, to help him.

“So what happened to my mom?” he asked you while rubbing his hands on his thighs.

“Your mom had an overdose. Prozac. Your neighbor Halimah found her in your living room in a deep state of confusion and was also hallucinating. She called the ambulance and once she arrived here, she was convulsing. The first convulsion stopped after a minute but then she was hit with another one and we had to sedate her. Fortunately she was conscious and we were able to perform a gastric suction, without intubating her.” You explained.

He remained silent for a moment and then he dragged his hands across his face and he doubled over in tears.

“It’s my fault.” The sound of his voice was muffled by her hands.

The sight of him made your heart shrink.

While patting the space between his shoulder blades you whispered , “No it’s not Jayce.”

His hands were now holding his head. His gaze locked to the ground beneath him.

“Yes.” He sobbed. “It is. My mom is dealing with depression and instead of staying at home with her I went to a stupid fourth of July barbecue with my friends. I’ve already lost my dad a few years ago and I can’t afford to loose her too. I should’ve stayed at home…”

Chills went down to your spine. You swallowed.

“How old are you Jayce?”

“Nineteen.” He responded.

“Well it is perfectly normal for a boy of your age to have some fun. No matter how hard your situation at home is. I mean it, it was not your fault. She is safe now. That’s what matters.” You hoped that your words were comforting enough but unfortunately, that was not the case.

The boy’s sadness and tears turned into anger and guilt which weren’t directed at you, but at himself.

“No, Damn! It is it.” His fingers gripped his hair tightly. “That’s what I get for hanging out with my friends instead of looking out for her. She overdosed because of me man. Because she thought I didn’t love her or care about her.”

You removed your hand from his back, giving him space to grieve, to be angry, to feel those sensations and feelings that you knew too well, before you began speaking.

“You know…” You exhaled and continued looking at him.  “When people unalive themselves or attempt, they don’t do it to punish you. Their brain chemistry is altered in a way that distorts their perception of life. It’s not necessarily that they don’t notice how people around them care for them, but it’s more of that they can’t do it anymore.” You paused. His gaze was still focused to the ground.

You continued. “They don’t think it’s worth living life anymore. Most of the time they do it because they don’t want to be a burden to their family. In psychological terms it’s called perceived burdensomeness.”

He tilted his head to look at you. You half smiled.

“What I want you to understand is that it’s not your fault.”

His eyes started glistening again.

“You’re just nineteen Jayce. While it’s a good thing to want to care of your mom, you have the right to have fun. Your life has just begun.”

He nodded. “I know but it’s hard.” His voice broke.

“I know, but you don’t have to do everything alone. There are some grassroots organizations like NAMI which help you navigate this situation. By offering counseling and lessons meant to teach how to interact and handle people who suffer from mental illness.”

He hummed.

“Once Kiara will be here, she’s a social worker you know, she will explain to you in detail everything.”

As if to speak of the devil, Kiara knocked and entered the door.

“There she is.” You said.

Kiara sat on the sofa besides the boy and started introducing herself while you got up from it and headed towards the door and opened it. Before you could exit it though, you called him and softly said, “If you need, me go to the nurse desk and ask of me. Okay?”

His eyes met yours once again and nodded. “Will do that Doc. Thanks.”

“Anytime.” You replied before uttering.

“It is not your fault.”

Only that this time, you were saying that mostly to yourself, not to him.

Eventually he gave you a weak smile. You waved at both of them and exited the room.

To your surprise, technology was finally back in the pitt, and before you could think and replay the events that both occurred in trauma and in the small room, you took a deep breath and focused on work.

Busy with handover and charting you hadn’t noticed that it was late. Your shift nearly ended one hour and an half ago, so you decided that maybe, just maybe, it was time for a little break before clocking out. Break that Dr. Al-Hashimi was more than willing to give you, since the waters seemed to have calmed down a bit in the ER.

You headed to the bathroom near the elevator. The nearest and the quietest you could find, since only the staff could have access to it. The exact moment you stepped in, all of the noise from the ER became muffled and obviously distant. You let out a sigh, finally a moment of peace.

Everything seemed normal. You did whatever you needed to do and then you went over the sink to wash your hands, where a mirror hung over. You placed your hands to the sides of the sink and started looking at your reflection for what it seemed an eternity. You noticed your messy hair, your worn out eyes. Nothing new, it happened at the end of every shift. Not a single thought crossed your mind. It was oddly empty like a ghost town .

The water continued running from the faucet, making you realize that you starred at the mirror for too long. You turned it off immediately. Then, you lightly smiled at your own blank reflection and burst into tears.

Your mind was racing now, replaying once again the events of today. Anne convulsing onto the stretcher and then onto the hospital bed, the exhausted expression that Halimah wore, the half-empty yellow plastic container, the guilt of Jayce, the cracked and desperate tone of his voice, him putting is hands in his hair, in a sign of desperation, and the big breath that you took once you exited the room. It was all too much. To much too bear, too handle, to remember. Because all of this was deeply connected to the reason why you had left Maine, and your beautiful home near the ocean in the first place.

Tears run over your face in the same way the water was running from the faucet a few moments before. Scalding and gushing, wetting the collar of your scrub and the shirt underneath.

 You were a sobbing mess, finding it difficult to breath normally.

There was only one thing that helped you set yourself free from the intricate bramble of your thoughts. You were still in the ER, at work. This sort of thing couldn’t be possibly happen in here, where your colleagues could enter at any moment and see you.

Slowly you began to breathe with your diaphragm and started focusing on the little things around you. The muffled noise, the greenish tiles, the soft fragrance of the soap and the shocking sensation of cold water on your wrists. You repeated this little game several times, until your breath returned to a normal pace and your eyes stopped producing tears.

You splashed fresh water to your face, grabbed some paper towels to dry it, tossed them in the bin and then turned off the faucet one last time.

As if nothing had happened, you went outside, and the noise, went from being muffled to vivid.

The first person you met was Robby. Your back was facing the bathroom door. He on the other hand, was standing right in front you. Arms crossed and an expression you couldn’t quite decode. Was he annoyed? Angry? Or simply exhausted? In that position you could see all his wrinkles branch off his face and his thin chapped lips trapped by his unkept beard. He looked like a rag, even worse than you.

“Where were you?” He said with an altered tone which displayed all his annoyance.

You didn’t know whether he was tired, hallucinating, or if your level of tolerance was starting to lower to zero, as your shift was coming to its end.

“In the bathroom.” Your index finger accompanied the words that escaped your mouth, pointing out the sign RESTROOM right behind you. Your eyebrows frowned. “What happened?”

Before he could answer, a nurse needed to use the bathroom, forcing you to walk away from it and changing spot, to continue your conversation. You both went towards a slightly less busy area. Robby’s back now faced the elevator. Yours instead, was facing the corridor that lead towards central, and utility cart filled with different medical supplies was standing at your left.

“Has an emergency happened?” You resumed the conversation.

“Jesus. This is an ER, what do you think?” He let out a breathless laugh while running a hand into his hair.

You decided to not give in, keeping your composure. You found his manners rather childish and snappy. Definitely not appropriate neither for a man of his age, nor for an attending. But maybe, he just had a rough shift, like the rest of you, and definitely the fact that he was about to leave for three months didn’t help him at all.

You smiled politely, before saying. “What do you need me for, Dr. Robinavitch?”

“You know what? This is not even the point!” He shouted, causing some of the staff to look in your direction, before lowering his voice and continue. “Your shift isn’t over yet; you can’t simply disappear.” He adverted your gaze and shook his head.

“I didn’t disappear. I asked Dr. Al-Hashimi if I could take a break since my shift finished nearly two hours ago and my patients are all set up” You simply explained.

“You asked her uh?”

“Yes. She’s an attending. I don’t see what’s the problem actually.” Your tone was forcedly calm, but your body told a different story. It was tense, with your arms resting at your sides and fists clenched.

“The problem is that I’m your attending. Not her.” He emphasized his words by indicating himself. “She knows nothing about this place. Hell!” He interlaced both of his hands behind his head. “She keeps disappearing too. And you can’t hide yourself in the bathroom for fucking twenty minutes while the ER is a fucking shit show.” And then, abruptly released them.

His face was getting redder each time he uttered a word. Something had definitely happened to him today, but whatever it was he didn’t have the right to let it out on you.

He was getting on your nerves now. If only he knew why you did take a break. It was better to die and let him scream at you instead of speaking. Instead of confessing him why it took you so long in there, because you knew that eventually, he would have used it all against you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You were trying immensely to keep your cool and find the right words to diffuse the situation. He, on the other hand, was studying you with a predator’s unwavering attention. His gaze focused first on your scrub top, still a bit damp from the tears and then, on your eyes, puffy and slightly irritated.

Instantly you crossed your arms and your expression hardened. A defense mechanism, to shield yourself from his actions.

He laughed. “You’ve been crying too?”

He hit the jackpot with that one. In in response, you bit your cheek, not wanting to give in to his provocations. It simply wasn’t worth your energy.

There wasn’t a single trace of amusement in his laugh, more like irritation and awareness. “I can’t fucking believe that this ER has turned into a fucking kindergarten full of whiny babies. What have you been crying on uh? You got mommy issues like Dr. Mohan too?” He snickered.

If until that moment you had decided to be the bigger person, now it was over. He crossed a line, a very important one, and you couldn’t simply stand there, doing nothing and withstanding his words. It simply wasn’t your style. Not when someone, it didn’t matter whether he was your boss or your patient, was displaying the reason of your meltdown, was making you vulnerable in front of everyone. Making you a person, not a doctor.

In a heartbeat you slammed your left hand onto the utility cart, with such a brutal force that not only made some of the supplies tip over it, but also caught the attention of those around you. Then, with your hand still vibrating from the brutal slam you pointed your index finger at him and bawled.

 “Fuck you!”

For a second the ER remained silent, until you turned around with such an intimidating look that made all of your colleagues resume their work.

Robby couldn’t believe what he was witnessing. There were rumors about you, concerning your personality and temper. People called you cold, distant and aggressive. And while he certainly he agreed with the first two adjectives, he was having an hard time picturing you for the aggressive type, at least until now.

At this new sight of you he flinched, before biting back. “There she is. The others told me you were aggressive jeez.” He paused for a second and touched his beard while nodding. “You see, I know exactly why you left the hospital in Maine now. For your behavior.”

“You know nothing about me and nor do the others. Nothing about my behavior or my problems. So cut it.” You hissed.

He wasn’t intimidated by words. “Well I know a thing or two since you were crying in the bathroom.”

You thought that it was over, that him mentioning you mental breakdown, meant that you reached the peak of your argument. But it wasn’t like that. He didn’t give in, and with a patronizing tone he snarled. “I’ll give you a piece of advice. Keep your problems out of the fucking ER. When you clock in here your life is GONE, you need to think about your patients not about your pathetic issues.”

You didn’t back down. Your resentment for him grew even more.

“Respectfully Dr. Robinavitch, you’re the last person from who I would take personal advice from.”

“Watch it kid” He warned you by pointing his finger at you.

You couldn’t care less about his warnings.

“Or what? You gonna sign me up? Fire me? Move me back to the night shift? Seems fine to me. Really.” You mockingly reassured him.

He was the one who provoked you in the first place, openly humiliating you, hinting at your weak spots in front of everyone.

“But let’s go back to what I was saying. Why would I take a piece of advice from a man who can’t separate his work life from his personal one? Come one I mean..” You paused and sneered. “You  you flirt with Noelle and everybody see that. Oh and don’t even get me started on your sabbatical. It’s been days since you’ve been talking about it and making it a everyone’s problem. You’re supposed to be happy to have the chance to rest and instead you’re nervous, irritable and moody.” You spat those words like a snake envenomating its prey.

Part of you wanted to go further. Telling him how much of a cunt he was, treating others, especially female workers like shit. But maybe it was enough because what you uttered afterwards was far worse.

“So maybe, just maybe you should be the one taking advice from me, since I haven’t caused a single problem since I’ve started working here. Here’s the piece of advice Dr. Robinavitch. Why don’t you take your fucking motorbike and go fucking…”

“Hey what’s happening here?” A third, raspy voice that came from the back, asked.

…kill yourself.

Those words died in your mouth the exact moment Jack interrupted you.

He now was standing at your right, between you and Robby, with his arms crossed and an eyebrow arched. His eyes were darting back and forth between the both of you, waiting for a valid explanation.

“Nothing Dr. Abbot.” You said in a rush, eyes locked to the ground while a wave of shame, that forced your voice to lower, rushed over you. “I was asking Dr. Robinavitch if I could take a break and he agreed. Isn’t that right?” You glanced at the day shift attending, silently asking him to forge a brief alliance to which he agreed.

“Yes.” He answered in such a fragile way that didn’t go unnoticed to you.

Your eyes scanned him. He wrapped his right arm tightly around his left hip, while he was torturing the cuticle of his left thumb, to divert his attention somewhere else because a sudden glassy, reflective sheen coated his pupils. He was about to cry.

The realization left you shocked. A part of you wanted to sink deeper into the guilt that was finding space in the back of your throat, the other part though, was proud to have made him that miserable. He didn’t have the right to publicly expose and humiliate you like that.

That corridor became rapidly an uncomfortable place to be in, you felt trapped. You needed to go away.

An half smile appeared on your face. “Now, If you excuse me.” You said, before reaching the elevator unbothered to wait for the two men’s reactions or to notice their surprised expressions.

The exact moment the doors closed, you began furiously pressing the top floor button, convinced that if you pressed it repeatedly, the elevator would have taken you to the rooftop faster. The ride on the elevator was unbearable, one of the longest of your life. His cruel words poisoned your mind, and consequently, your whole body started trembling out of rage. Angry tears threatened to spill from your eyes. You tried to stop them by violently biting your lips and cheeks that in just a few seconds were already marked by your blood.

Once the elevator opened you hastened towards the rooftop door, opened it and took a step out. There, you were met with a warm and humid wind. You first checked if someone was there, you knew that sometimes your coworkers liked to come here, but fortunately, there was no one. Your only company were the stars that decorated the dark sky, the buildings around you and a few noises coming form the street.

Comforted by this loneliness, you furiously slammed the door and let out a violent “Fuck!”. Then, you moved a few steps to the right while running both of your hands across your face, before collapsing to the floor with the wall supporting your back. Your brought you knees to your chest, without removing the hands from your face. Pitch black and hospital soap that’s what you saw and smelled in those moments where you remained in that position, thinking that all of your rage will disappear alone, but it didn’t. You needed to released it.

Quickly your hands found the lower part of your scrub top, rolled it into something that resembled the form of a ball, and proceed to shove it into your mouth. With your mouth stuffed and your eyes squeezed shut, you began to scream. A piercing, muffled, garbled sound of pure frustration and anger that filled your body with heath. You screamed with all of your force, until your gums and teeth started hurting, until drool pooled over the part of the scrub that you couldn’t hold in your mouth, until your knuckles turned white and pleaded you to let go of that piece of fabric.

Eventually you released all of the rage that poisoned your body. You won.

After that, your arms rested open to your sides, palms looking at the sky, mirroring your face. You counted the few starts that shone despite the light pollution, melting in the night stillness that you despised so much, but that now, was more than necessary.

But that sensation of relief didn’t last very long. Your brain replayed the conversation that you had with Robby and guilt washed over you. For a moment you starred at the skyscrapers in front of you, hoping to find some distraction, but you could feel remorse and shame in every bone of your body. Emotions that were slowly consuming you because ultimately, you almost said to your attending, a human being who was definitely struggling, to end his life.

You felt sick. You couldn’t feel a drop of pity for yourself. What you almost did was wicked and unforgivable. Especially because everything, starting from Anne and Jayce and finishing with that, led back to the reason why you left your home.

Instantly your hands reached the pockets of your scrub pants, pulling out three objects. Your phone, your headphones and your most beloved and important possession, a silver heart-shaped locket necklace. You left the first two on the floor, while opening the locket on your lap. You traced its rim with your fingers and exhaled, looking first at the small piece of paper that said “We love you, M. & D.”; and then, at the photo within. A younger, happier version of you at the centre, hugged by the light of your life, your parents, that now were dead and gone. You eyes lingered on the smiling face of your mother, and there, you broke.

You brought the open locket to your lips like you were reciting the rosary, and then, you whispered with a strained voice. “I’m sorry mom, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have thought that.” Heavy and uncontrollable tears flooded your face and your breath began hitching. You repeated those words like a mantra, a mantra that accompanied your despairing wail.

Desperate for a second of calm in the midst of sorrow, you reached for your headphones and put them on. Calm music began soothing your ears while you hugged your knees and your hands still held the necklace. You stared at an indefinite point in front of your, unconcerned about the tears that were dripping from your chin.

Memories came in waves, and soon, you let yourself drown in them.

You were standing in the hallway of your childhood home. It was October. The clock on the wall read 1.23 AM. You had been awake for more than thirteen hours. Your shift had been a nightmare that day, a mass casualty  had occurred and you had to remain there until those of the nightshift could handle the patients alone. Tired, you dropped your backpack near the staircase, not bothering to switch on the lights, as the moonlight coming from the window lighted your way. You called your mom, informing her that you were finally home. She didn’t respond which was odd, because she usually stayed up until 2AM. You didn’t worry too much about it though, sometimes the antidepressants made her fall asleep earlier. She was diagnosed with depression three years prior, after the death of your dad. On your first year of medical school. He died from heart attack on his way to work, the doctors in the ER tried to save him, but it was impossible. In the end, your mom and you grieved him differently, you like a daughter and she as a wife, married to the love of her life.

You called her another time, still no response. But again, you weren’t particularly worried, as the last few weeks proved that she was getting better. “She is just asleep”, you thought. You were the one in the first place that told her that, when you had informed her of your extra stay at the ER. “It’s okay darling. I love you so much and I’m proud of you.” She answered softly.

Still, you went to her bedroom, illuminated by the same moonlight that led you there. You leaned on the jam, arms crossed. You saw her, peacefully sleeping on her left side, with one arm that dangled over the bed, no duvet on. You moved towards her, as silently as you could and sat right next to her, in the small space that her body made. Her hair was all over her face, you chuckled and whispered a sweet “Goodnight” while stroking her head. It was only in that moment that you realized she wasn’t moving, nor breathing. You swallowed, you eyes began to sting. Slowly you tilted your head to the nightstand, where the empty bottle of Zoloft stand with the lid open. You had picked up the prescription the day before. You starred at it for too long, unable to do anything. The realization hit you like a truck. She ended her life, and you weren’t able to save her, to prevent that. You bursted out crying and pulled her cold body in your arms, with your tears wetting her soft hair, unable to say a word. You remained like that until you had the strength to call your neighbour.

Three days later, after the funeral you asked for a leave of absence that eventually led you to sell your house and continue your first year of residence at the PTMC.

Your memories were interrupted by a pair of cargo pants materializing in front of you. One hand found immediately your heart, not expecting anyone to come after you. In a second, you took your headphones off and wiped out your tears, while still holding the locket in one of your palms.

You looked up and met Jack with a paper cup in his hand.

“Jesus Christ! You scared me Dr. Abbot.” You said still recovering from the little fright.

He chuckled. “I didn’t think that I was that ugly. And please, it’s just Jack now okay?”

No, he wasn’t. Even at your lowest you couldn’t help but to notice his old-fashioned beauty. It was definitely the weariness that spoke for you, because you never truly admitted that to yourself before, scared that that simple recognition led to something more dangerous and unpredictable.

“Okay Jack.” You remarked, too tired to keep your professionalism intact. After all here, there was no one besides the two of you.

That was the first time you called him by his first name. There was something in the way your voice pronounced his name that made Jack’s heart fumble.

“May I?” He asked while pointing at the empty space near you.

You nodded. Before checking in, still looking at him. “Sure your leg won’t hurt?”

“It will or maybe it won’t. Who knows.” He playfully answered while seating at your right. Cup still in his left hand. Unlike you, he sat with his legs stretched out to the floor. The wall though, kept supporting both of your backs.

Unsure of his response, you turned your head to him and with a serious voice you ordered. “Take it off. You’ve been standing all day.”

He mirrored you. In that close position you could smell the sting odor of the hospital sanitizer as well as see an unexpected sparkle in his eyes. Your shoulders were brushing against one another, mimicking the closeness you experienced earlier that day.

He smirked. “At your orders Dr. Sweetheart.” He momentarily put the cup onto the ground, taking off his leg and placing it besides him.

Dr. Sweetheart. A nickname that you hadn’t heard in months. A nickname that Jack gave you after seeing you how you treated patients, with consideration and empathy. A nickname that he used only when no one was around, because he didn’t want the others to start stupid rumors about the two of you.

You shook your head and let out a breathless laugh. “I’m not a sweetheart Jack you know it, especially after today.” Bitterness and melancholy could be found in the tone of your voice. There was a time in which you were one, at least within the walls of your house. Outside though, you had always been a bit distant to people, even though you had formed occasional friendships throughout the years. But after the death of both your parents the distance you kept with people only got bigger and bigger, and the sweetness you once were familiar with was replaced with pain.

This didn’t go unnoticed by the night-shift attending who tried, as best as he could, to diffuse the situation.

“Nah. You are one. Especially with patients, and sometimes with me.” The last words were whispered, as if he didn’t want you to hear them which in that position was impossible. He was the one who felt too exposed for once.

He lowered his gaze, lifted it again. “At least when I have a shirt on. You know.”

His witty comment earned a laugh from you, a honest and hearty laugh that you didn’t have in a while. It was the first time he truly ever saw you like this and he felt mesmerized by it, by you letting him see more of you. You were different around him, unconsciously more at ease. Funny thing was that neither of you were able to fully catch that.

Before He could forget, he grabbed the paper cup and handed it to you. “I made this for you.”

Your smile faded and your brows frowned, and took the cup.

“Shift is already over. You never leave without drinking tea.” He continued.

You swallowed, and the warming sensation you felt earlier, when Jack leaned over you in central, found its way in your belly.

You took a sip. You murmured. “It’s Jasmine. My..”

“Favourite.” You both said in unison.

You bit your cheek because suddenly your eyes were becoming a bit watery. It had been a while since someone had shown you some kindness, and care perhaps.

You adverted his gaze, as he changed the topic of the conversation.

He rubbed the palms of his hands on his thighs before gently asking, “What happened down there with Robby?”

You froze. Placed the cup on the floor and then started fidgeting with the chain of the necklace. Gaze focus on it. “We had a conversation that led into an argument.” You coldly said.

He cleared is throat, “Yeah, he informed me about it.”

“Then why asking?” You retorted, meeting his eyes again.

Jack waited a moment before answering, trying to find the right words. He knew how difficult that question was for you. How difficult it was for you to conversate about something that wasn’t work related, to reveal something of you. He only had glimpses of you, but just because it was a good observer. But right now, that question was more than necessary and in the end, instead of finding complicate ways to address the conversation and his concern for you, he opted for the truth.

“He also told me that you were crying in the bathroom. And seeing you like that, it felt weird. I-umh never saw you yelling like that. I got worried.”

You froze for the second time in a row. You felt as getting caught red handed, like you found Dr. Mohan and him this morning.

Both of the attendings knew you were crying in there. But there was something else that unsettled you even more. He was worried about you.

With your fingertip you wiped one small tear that was threating to escape from the outer corner of your eye. You then sighed. “I almost told him to kill himself Jack.” You met his attentive gaze which never stopped leaving you really.

 A quiet, breathless “Oh” escaped his lips.

You squeezed your eyes tightly shut, not wanting to cry in front of him. But mostly, you feared you had disappointed him with that confession.

 “If you hadn’t interrupted us, I would have told him that.” Your voice cracked, and the guilt returned stronger than ever.

You tried, so so hard not to cry, thinking that your body had expelled all of the tears possible, but it wasn’t like that. You quickly covered your face with your hands, a shield that masked your sobs and weep.

Jack at first didn’t utter a word. Both surprised and concerned, he circled your shoulders with his arm, pulling you closer to him, before placing a tender kiss between your hair; as if he had done it a million times. “It’s okay sweetheart. Even if you thought it, you didn’t say it. You were angry. You didn’t mean any of that.” He murmured, still holding you. “You’re a good person, and he’s not gonna fire you, if that’s what you’re worrying about.” He planted another kiss.

You cried even harder, not because of what almost happened with Robby, but because of that delicate touch, paired with those soft words contained in his raspy voice, that you accepted. You were crying because you was accepting was he was willing to give you: affection and care. Because you didn’t avoid his touch, you melted into it. You were crying, because you realized that you had feelings for him. Because Jack was able to find its way beneath your armor and towards your heart.

But the man didn’t know what happened inside your mind. He only saw and heard you wail and suddenly, he thought that he overstepped. He tried to fix the situation as best as he could.

“Do you want me to call you someone? Maybe a friend or your parents in Maine. Sometimes it helps hearing a familiar voice during hard times.”

But little did he know…

You knew he had good intentions, really, but your body reacted anyways, stiffening and he noticed it. You removed your hands from your face and quietly let go of his touch.

You handed him your opened locket. He grabbed it and a light smile appeared on his face at the sight of the younger you.

“The only people that I ever truly had and could call are trapped in there.” You confessed with a touch melancholy.

His smile instantly faded. He didn’t need to ask you for further explanation. He understood and gasped “I’m sorry. I didn’t-”

“Don’t be.” You placed you hand on his palm, the one that held the locket. “Nobody knows.” You half smiled.

At those words he closed his fingers around your hand in a gentle motion that made your heart flutter.

Eventually you gave in, and revealed him the true reason why you left Maine. You told him everything, not because you felt obliged to, but because you wanted to.

He was the first person to know about the death of your parents and the tragedy behind it, after your therapist.

His brows frowned and he shook his head. He was visibly moved by your story. “You’re so strong sweetheart.” And his thumb softly stroked yours.

You chuckled. “Says the veteran.”

He didn’t even register your joke, because his mind was already somewhere else.

“Come back to the night shift. So far the day shift hasn’t done you any good.” He said off the cuff.

“Jack…” You rebuked, “You know I’m having troubles working at night, after my mom committed suicide it’s..”

He cut you off. “I know but, if something happens to you I can help you. Because now I finally know why out of the blue you decided to move to the day shift. You couldn’t bare it anymore.”

His hand gripped yours tighter.

You were about to speak, but he didn’t let you.

“The night crawlers miss you.”

You shook your head, adverting his gaze, but he didn’t give up.

“Ellis misses giving you unwanted gossip and gaining no reaction back. Shen misses not being the only one having a drink addiction of some type.”

You lightly laughed.

“Jeez!” He exclaimed. “Even Walsh misses you. She misses  working with a clever R1 while she’s operating.”

“Really?” You were frankly and oddly surprised by that.

He nodded. Then his voice, as well as his gaze, lowered, concentrated on the small circles that he was drawing on your knuckles with his thumb. It seemed that what he was about to say was only meant for himself.

“And I miss you. I miss having you around all the time.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Not ready for that confession that came unnoticed. But once again, you didn’t escape from it. Instead you observed him. His grey curls, the freckles that covered his arm and his eyes that were still fixated on your interlaced hands.

You acted on impulse, ignoring the anxiety that tried to find space in your head, telling you to stop.

With your free hand, you lifted his chin and closed the space between the two you. You pulled him into a soft and tender kiss. After the initial shock, he cupped your face with his other hand and shifted slightly his position to have a better taste of you; and for the same reason, you adjusted yourself too. You felt the scrape of his beard on your chin, his work-worn hand against your cheek, and his slightly chapped lips melting against your equally chapped ones. It was a kiss that tasted of tears shed and jasmine tea. It was a kiss that spoke of mutual respect, trust, admiration and that silent devotion that both of you started feeling right after you arrived in the pitt, on February.

When you parted, you rested your foreheads against one another. Both smiling shyly.

“Was it unprofessional?” You asked a bit embarrassed.

“No, it wasn’t.” He whispered out of breath.

He then let go of that position, and of your interlaced hands, carefully placing the locket on the ground, and after that, he opened his arms. “Come here.”

You didn’t hesitate to welcome his comforting hug. With your chin rested on his shoulder and his fingers gently running through your hair he murmured, “I hate to say it but in a bit we must go. You haven’t clocked out yet. Can’t let you waste your fourth of July.” He paused for a moment. “Lemme accompany you at home, you’re exhausted. The others won’t find out I promise.”

You hummed, trusting Jack’s promise and accepting his offer, while feeling his smile against the top of your head.

In that moment there was no space for fear and preoccupation. There was just Jack and you, and a proud feeling that settled in you, for letting yourself admit your feelings and ultimately, for letting yourself set free from your own self-imposed chains, even for a slightly bit.

taglist: @goddess-of-spring

note: he’s pretty pathetic here, i think we all want to see that… reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!

You have spent years working right beside Wilson Fisk. He trusts you without hesitation because you earned that position through loyalty. Managing the organization for him requires being the bridge between Fisk and the people working beneath him. People who need access to him have to go through you first. You hear the desperation in their voices whenever they beg for an audience. Sometimes being that bridge gives you satisfaction since everyone knows he is the man in charge. Being someone he completely trusts gives you access to handle sensitive information and coordinate operations before those requests ever reach his ears. You make sure the plans reach the right people without mistakes, because if something falls apart, you are the first person expected to fix it. You earned your job through results rather than ruling by fear. Fear breeds cowards, but competence keeps the empire standing while Fisk values competence above other traits.

You have proven time after time that you can solve problems before they get messy. You rarely wait to be told about what needs doing because you already know his expectations. You understand his demands just by watching the way his jaw tightens. Anticipating his needs requires you to notice details other people overlook, and noticing those details means you catch subordinates when they stumble over basic instructions. Watching them fail means you routinely tie up loose ends before they become liabilities for the business. Leaving a messy trail guarantees an early grave, but you will never ever let that happen. You will burn the evidence away until there is no proof to trace back to him, yet some evidence can’t be burned or buried, so you make sure it never speaks again. Handling that dirty work yourself feels like something you must do because others inside the syndicate only rely on clumsy brute force or intimidation.

You view their loud displays of anger as a weakness rather than a threat. True power means knowing when a conversation has reached its end without needing to raise your voice. You handle the jobs yourself without hesitation, as having blood on your hands is something you refuse to deny. You refuse to lie about the monster you became to survive, since guilt stopped bothering you a long time ago. It no longer drives your decisions, so you never feel the need to remind people who you are. You see their shoulders stiffen the second you enter a room, and the sudden drop in their voices tells you what you need to know about their fear because power doesn’t need to be flashy. You prefer to keep your influence out of sight until the moment it matters, as bragging about authority only makes you a bigger target. You don’t have to shove it in their faces to get respect when the way they scramble to follow your instructions serves as proof enough.

Any hesitation disappears the second you look their way. People understand that ignoring your orders is the same as ignoring Fisk himself. They know the punishment for crossing you will be the same as crossing him. That fear makes them shut their mouths when they leave, and their silence ensures very few people outside know your real name. Keeping your identity a secret prevents people from understanding your influence over the city. They spend years trying to figure out the criminal empire. Reading their flawed reports proves they rarely realize how many pieces happened through your hand as they chase the wrong suspects while you orchestrate the operations from the dark. You prefer keeping out of the spotlight while other men take the attention. Letting them take the credit saves you from being targeted. You have no interest in fame or building a new empire of your own. Your work is for the stability of the organization.

The desire for power did not appeal to you as much as the desire for control alongside this life because it gives you a purpose. You firmly believe loyalty is proven through actions rather than empty promises. You have spent years proving where your loyalty belongs. That proven loyalty is exactly why overseeing the personnel takes up a large part of your time, and Fisk trusts your judgment enough to leave the daily management in your hands. He focuses on expanding his empire while you ensure every worker serves their purpose. Everyone beneath him has a specific job to do, and you make sure they never step out of line. You watch over the employees to ensure the operation runs smoothly, and you always review their backgrounds to understand their capabilities. You understand that loyalty can’t be demanded of everyone in exactly the same way, since some are motivated by fear, while others care about money or ambition.

One of your skills is remembering details about the people working for the business, and you treat them all as replaceable tools to maintain order. The syndicate survives because you figure out what drives someone before managing them, and that responsibility extends to Benjamin Poindexter. You know who he is from his history long before ever meeting him, and you memorize his reputation without forgetting the role he fills within the business. His records mention his accuracy just as often as they mention his psychiatric history, but neither detail changes your opinion of him. Knowing those details is part of your job because you refuse to oversee someone without knowing how they think. The reports reveal a pattern you use to keep the organization running efficiently since Benjamin performs best when someone gives him structure alongside direction. He seeks approval from authority figures and becomes unstable whenever that approval disappears.

You ignore his personal issues as long as he does exactly what he’s told. You adjust your approach by giving clear instructions and maintaining consistent expectations to ensure he becomes a reliable asset. Praise is never excessive while criticism is never emotional because you know inconsistency creates unnecessary problems. You never view your approach as manipulation since it’s simply effective management. He begins responding to your routine faster than you expect as he handles the messy jobs other people fail to finish without causing problems for the business. He starts completing assignments exactly as instructed while paying attention to the details you point out. He always waits for your opinion before considering a job finished, and you see it as proof your methods are working perfectly. You have never concerned yourself with building personal relationships inside the business, so you don’t see him as a friend.

You see no reason to treat him any differently than anyone else since you care only about his usefulness and view him as just a weapon for Fisk to use. Keeping a professional distance has always made your job easier, even when small acknowledgments gradually become enough to shape his behavior. A simple nod after a successful assignment keeps him in line, and you allow him to stand at your side during meetings. None of those gestures mean anything unusual to you because you offer them for a purpose. Benjamin begins attaching far more meaning to them than you ever intended. The people around you notice the difference before you do because Benjamin rarely questions your decisions. He follows your instructions without hesitation, and some coworkers assume Fisk placed him under the only person capable of controlling him. Others joke about Benjamin being your favorite operative, but you pay little attention to the comments.

You believe you found the most effective way to manage him without realizing you’re becoming the center of his need for approval. The desperate need for validation makes his failure today unacceptable because the plan was supposed to end with Karen Page dead. You had already removed every possible complication you could predict before handing the final part to the one person you believed could not fail. Karen had survived far too many situations she shouldn’t have survived, and you were tired of adjusting your plans because of her luck. This assignment wasn’t just another routine job for him to complete. This was Benjamin’s chance to fix his mistake with Foggy Nelson, where he almost got caught and exposed the entire operation. Completing this task was his way to prove you were right to keep defending him to Fisk. Karen Page being alive and breathing completely ruins that effort.

You hear the news of his failure before he can make an effort to tell you, so you make sure you are already waiting inside the safe house when he finally arrives. You hear the lock click before the door swings open to reveal him standing in the hallway. You don’t bother greeting him or asking if he took any damage during the fight. He steps inside the room, knowing immediately from your expression that you aren’t interested in hearing his excuses. Coming close doesn’t matter when the target walks away, and it will take a long time to get that chance to put them on the ground again. The job wasn’t finished, so whatever he has to say means absolutely nothing to you. You stare straight at him while he closes the door behind him and looks uncomfortable under your glare. You let him take a few short steps inside the room before you confront him about the outcome. You don’t raise your voice at him because you have never needed to yell to get your point across.

The anger is already obvious in the way you look at him. You cross your arms over your chest while waiting for him to speak first. He refuses to meet your eyes, so you decide to break the silence yourself. “Tell me exactly how Karen Page managed to walk away from you,” you demand in a calm tone while watching his reaction. Benjamin stops walking right in the middle of the room as he finally looks up at you. He opens his mouth to speak but quickly closes it again when he sees the disappointment on your face. You know he hates failing you more than he hates failing the actual mission itself. “She had help,” Benjamin replies while staring at a spot on the wall right next to your head. That excuse does nothing to improve your mood since you explicitly told him to anticipate interference. “I don’t care who helped her because you were supposed to eliminate anyone who got in your way,” you state plainly while watching his jaw clench.

You take a step closer to him so he is forced to actually look at you. “He was waiting for me,” Benjamin says while shifting his weight nervously under your gaze. He knows he messed up, and your lack of sympathy makes his failure even worse. “Daredevil showed up before I could take the shot,” he adds to explain the fight on the rooftop. You observe his expression as he talks about the interference. The more he talks, the less interested you become in the details because every sentence sounds like another excuse instead of accountability. You remember giving him the specific instruction to expect interference before the operation even began. You chose him over everyone else for this job because he was supposed to adapt to any obstacle. He was supposed to overcome the problem and finish the job anyway. All you hear is him trying to convince you that the outcome was unavoidable.

“She escaped while he kept me pinned down,” Benjamin continues to defend his failure. He speaks fast, as if an explanation will make you forgive him. A short laugh escapes you before you shake your head in disbelief. You throw his own words back in his face to make him hear how pathetic it sounds coming from someone with his reputation. “A blind man,” you say while looking into his eyes. “You lost your target because of a blind man,” you repeat to mock his excuse. His jaw clenches tight before he looks away from you. The thought that Benjamin Poindexter came back defeated because of a blind vigilante makes you feel insulted. “He isn’t just some regular guy,” Benjamin argues to defend his loss. You refuse to accept that excuse when you put your own standing on the line for him. You close the distance between you two until you are standing right in front of him so he has no room to step back.

Benjamin is the person you defended when no one else in the organization wanted to take the risk. You stood up for him after the Foggy Nelson disaster. You cleaned up the consequences to protect his place within the syndicate. You made yourself responsible for him to convince everyone his mistake wasn’t who he was. You gave him this chance to fix things, but he repays that effort by coming back empty-handed. “I defended you,” you remind him while holding his gaze. Benjamin’s throat bobs as he stares at you. “I know you did,” he mutters while keeping his hands tight at his sides. “I stood in that room to tell them they were wrong about you,” you say as you watch his expression fall. You risked your own position for him, and he makes your judgment look foolish in front of Fisk. You refuse to let him look away from you. “Do you have any idea what you just made me look like?” you ask while letting the anger show in your voice.

He opens his mouth to answer, but no sound comes out. He clenches his teeth together as he tries to figure out a better response. He realizes this is much worse than just missing a target. You stare at him while he struggles to find an excuse that matters, but he finds nothing because you both know he ruined the one chance you gave him. “I know I messed up, but I can still fix this,” he says to salvage whatever trust you still have in him. He keeps his hands at his sides as he tries to find a way to fix the situation. He takes a breath before speaking again, “Just give me another chance to go back there-” You uncross your arms to lift a hand, then you slap him across the face with all your strength before he can finish another excuse. You don’t strike him out of pure anger. You only do it to make him stop talking. The room becomes dead silent, and you watch his face turn to the side from the impact.

He stands there looking surprised because slapping him in the face was the last thing he expected you to do. You don’t give him a single second to recover when you grab his jaw with your hand. Your nails dig into his cheeks hard enough that he has no choice but to face you. You want him to see how angry you are right now since he has never seen this side of you before. You never raise your voice at him, which makes the situation feel much worse for him. “Look right at me when I’m talking to you,” you demand while pressing your thumb against his cheekbone. He doesn’t look away from you, and his pulse races under your palm. “You don’t get another chance until I decide you deserve one,” you state while your fingers dig deeper into his jaw. He needs to understand his place before he tries asking that you let his mistake slip. “That bitch should’ve been dead,” you tell him as you force his head up a little higher. You are tired of changing every plan just because Karen Page survives every attack.

She is a problem that should’ve been eliminated months ago, and this assignment was supposed to put a stop to her interference, yet Benjamin let her walk out of his sight. Your nails bite harder into his cheek to make him listen to every word. “I am so fucking tired of cleaning up after Karen Page,” you say without yelling. You wonder how a reporter manages to survive a highly trained killer. “Every time I think she’s finally gone, someone gives me another reason to deal with her,” you add as you glare at him. You observe his chest rise and fall rapidly as if he’s trying to calm himself. “Do you have any idea how much time I’ve wasted because of that bitch?” you ask while pulling his face a little closer. He just had to put a bullet in her to end the problem, but he failed you. You have to fix his mistake yourself today. You keep your hand tight around his jaw to bring up why you trusted him in the first place.

“Bullseye,” you say to him so he remembers his own title. Everyone knows him as the man who never misses. You expected him to live up to that reputation tonight instead of returning empty-handed. “Maybe I gave you too much credit,” you state as you watch his posture stiffen. Benjamin doesn’t pull away from your hand even though your nails hurt him. He says nothing to defend himself and just waits for you to finish talking. He knows interrupting you again will only make things worse, so he accepts the pain. “I know I failed,” Benjamin says while his breathing picks up. It sickens you to see a trained professional acting like a desperate child. You want him to realize apologies mean nothing when a job is left unfinished. “Send me back right now,” he begs for a chance to fix the mess he created. He looks at you like a stray dog begging for a scrap of approval. You refuse to reward his incompetence with an immediate yes.

“I won’t come back until she’s dead,” he insists in a rushed voice to prove he can still be useful. He assumes finishing the assignment late will erase the disrespect he brought to your name tonight. “I won’t make the same mistake twice,” he promises as he leans into your touch. You wonder if he hears how pathetic he sounds. Empty words do nothing to rebuild the reputation you risked for his sake. “Just give me the order and I-” he starts to say before you cut him off. You squeeze his jaw much harder until his words stop right in the middle of the sentence. He winces from the pain, but he refuses to step back. You have zero interest in hearing another useless guarantee. “You still don’t get it,” you say while shaking your head at him. The problem goes far beyond a single surviving reporter. “This stopped being about Karen the second you walked back in here,” you tell him as you force his face closer.

He needs to understand failing a mission is bad, but making you look stupid is unforgivable. “You need to realize the true price of your mistake,” you state while watching him struggle to figure out the real issue. “Your incompetence makes me look like a fucking idiot for trusting you,” you tell him so he understands exactly what he ruined. You refuse to let anyone else think you made a mistake by keeping him around. “I put my own reputation on the line when I swore you were worth the risk,” you state while keeping your hand firm on his face. You convinced everyone he deserved another chance after his last disaster. You put your own judgment behind him so he could keep his place in the organization. “You knew I stood up for you, yet you still repay me with this pathetic failure,” you say as you observe his expression change. The harsh insults never seemed to bother him, but hearing how deeply he humiliated you finally gets a reaction.

He always focused on proving himself to Fisk without realizing you were the only shield keeping him alive inside the syndicate. “God, I was fucking stupid to believe you were better,” you spit out while glaring at him. Benjamin finally understands what you are really saying. “Please don’t regret choosing me,” he begs as his chest rises faster. The panic in his voice shows exactly how terrified he is of losing your protection. “I never meant to make you look like a fool in front of them,” he says to salvage your trust in him. His eyes search your face for any sign of forgiveness to keep you from turning your back on him. He stares at you like a dog waiting for its owner to fix the mess. “I’ll make it right. You’ll never have to defend me again,” he promises to convince you he can fix this. His hand lifts for a second, as if he wants to reach for your wrist. He stops himself before his fingers can even brush against you.

He knows better than to make another move without your permission. All he can do is stand there and let you hold his head in place. You refuse to let go of his jaw even when he looks at you with that desperate expression. “I have no reason to keep protecting you after tonight,” you state while pushing your thumb harder into his cheekbone. You have already spent way too much time cleaning up his mistakes. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t replace you right now,” you demand in a cold tone. You want him to realize how close he is to losing the only person who covers for him. “Tell me why I shouldn’t walk out that door and let you face the consequences alone,” you add to make the threat perfectly clear. He knows he will fall apart the second you stop telling him what to do. “Because right now I am struggling to remember why I ever gave a shit about you,” you tell him while watching him panic.

The thought of you walking away terrifies him more than the anger in your voice. He needs your orders to keep himself grounded, so losing you means losing his purpose. “You’re the only one who understands how to use me,” Benjamin answers while maintaining eye contact. You can hear the pure desperation behind his words. He sounds completely willing to do whatever it takes to stay under your control. “I’ll do exactly what you want without asking questions,” he swears to secure his spot at your side. He wants to prove his obedience right here so you don’t replace him with someone else. He doesn’t care about Fisk or the organization anymore because his only concern is your approval. “Tell me how to fix this, and I’ll do it,” he pleads while standing under your hand. He waits for your command because he refuses to let you abandon him over one failed assignment. “You think you’re the only guy we have?” you ask in a cold tone while digging your fingers into his face.

You wonder if he actually believes his title makes him immune to consequences. “I can find a replacement to clean up your mess by tomorrow,” you tell him so he understands how fast you can throw him away. Your hand drops from his jaw the second he lunges forward to grab both of your hips. He catches you before you can step backward because he hates hearing how disposable he is to you. His hands hurt your waist, but you don’t break eye contact as he refuses to let you walk away from him tonight. He acts desperate to keep you close by dropping his head forward to hide his face right against your neck. “N-no. You can’t replace me,” Benjamin argues as his fingers dig deeper into the fabric of your shirt. You feel his breath against your neck when he speaks into your shoulder. “Nobody else can do what I do,” he insists in a panicked voice while shaking his head against you.

His desperation makes you want to laugh right in his face. You expect a trained killer to have at least a shred of dignity. “There is only one Bullseye,” he adds as he tries to convince you he is the only weapon Fisk will ever need. Hearing him use his own nickname sounds more like a plea than a threat. “I won’t fuck it up next time,” he promises while holding you tighter against him. He needs you to believe he can fix this failure. “I’ll do whatever you want,” he begs in a rushed breath. You wonder how much pride he is willing to lose to earn your forgiveness. Listening to him beg proves exactly who holds the power between you two. “You need me,” he says to convince you not to abandon him. You realize how much you owe him when he acts this pathetic for your approval. You shove his chest backward with enough force to make him stumble away from you. He loses his balance for a second before you grab a handful of his hair.

You yank his head backward so he is forced to stare straight into your face. “Ah- fuck,” he grunts, but he lets you drag him without fighting back. You want him to realize he has no room to negotiate with you right now. “Whatever I want?” you ask as your fingers tighten in his hair to keep his head pulled back. He gulps nervously before nodding as much as your hand allows. You take his desperate promise to heart to see how far he is willing to go. “Then get on your fucking knees,” you command without hesitation. He drops to the floor without waiting because he fears making you angry. You let go of his hair so you can grab his jaw again once he is down there. You angle his face upward so he has to look up at you from his knees. “Look at me,” you order while digging your thumb into his cheek. He keeps his eyes glued to yours as his life depends on it. “Prove you can be useful,” you demand while looking down at him.

Benjamin leans forward to rub his cheek harder into your hand. He turns his face to kiss your palm before he opens his mouth to take your thumb inside. He sucks on your finger to show you exactly how desperate he is for your attention. He keeps both of his hands at his sides while using only his mouth to please you. You watch him act like a pathetic animal begging for scraps. “Tell me how,” he mumbles against your fingers. You pull your hand away from his mouth so you can take a slow step backward across the floor. “Show me you know how to follow,” you order while looking down at him. He refuses to let any empty space exist between you, so he follows you by crawling forward on his knees. You observe him drag his knees across the floor without ever trying to stand up. His eyes never leave your face as he follows you across the room and keeps his hands to himself. You don’t stop taking those steps until the back of your legs brushes against the edge of the living room sofa.

You sit down on the cushions, and you spread your knees apart to give him access. He keeps crawling until he places himself right between your legs. He wraps both of his arms around your thighs so you can’t shove him away from you again. You look down at him while he kneels on the floor directly beneath you as he holds your legs tight enough to make sure you can’t push him back. He buries his face directly into your stomach to hide his expression from you. He holds your thighs tight while his hands slide upward to grab the fabric of your waistband. He takes a deep breath against you before he finally lifts his head back up. He looks up at you with his chin resting against your belly as he waits for your permission. He stares at you with pure desperation in his eyes. “Let me make it up to you,” he whispers against your shirt. He refuses to let go of your clothes until you tell him what to do next.

You run your fingers through his hair very slowly to keep your voice gentle because hearing you speak to him that way destroys his pride. He pulls his face away from your stomach just enough to put a little distance between you two. His hands move down to the buckle of your belt before he undoes it. “I gave you this job because I wanted you to be the one to do it for me,” you tell him as you watch his shoulders drop under your touch. “It makes me so sad that I trusted you with this,” you add while running your thumb across his cheek. He flinches at the disappointment in your tone, but he leaves his hands on your waist. You offer him a sympathetic smile as you look down at his face. He doesn’t like feeling inadequate, and he has a desperate need to prove he is good for something. He tilts his head back to look up at you right as his fingers shake against the fabric of your pants. He pops the button open before pulling the zipper all the way down.

“You tried so hard, but you just couldn’t manage it, could you?” you ask while letting him undress you. “I really wanted to be proud of you tonight, Dex,” you murmur as you stroke his hair again. He looks completely devastated by your words, but he refuses to get up off the floor. You sigh quietly like you are exhausted from defending him. He grabs the waistband of your pants right as you let out that breath. He leans back to give himself room to work the clothing down your legs. He pushes the fabric down your hips and thighs while you monitor him from above. “I tell everyone that you are my best guy,” you state as you run your nails over his scalp. He pauses to take a shaky breath. “Now they are going to think I was stupid for believing in you,” you say while watching his hands shake. He clutches your pants tighter as he stares up at your face. He reaches down to pull the pants over your ankles before he throws them onto the floor.

He leans forward again to hide his face right against your thigh. He presses a desperate kiss just above your knee to find some comfort. “I’m sorry... please don’t sound so disappointed,” he begs into your leg. “Please don’t replace me,” he pleads while shaking his head against you. He kisses your leg again to show his devotion. “I’ll be good. I promise I’ll be good,” he tells you as he holds your thighs. “I’ll do anything you want,” he promises in a rushed breath. He lifts his head from your leg to look right up at your face. His hands drag up your legs until his fingers hook underneath the elastic band of your underwear. He stares up at you while waiting for an answer. “Let me take care of you... please,” he whispers as he keeps eye contact. He sounds so desperate to prove his worth right here on the floor. “I can still be useful. Tell me I can take these off,” he insists while tugging on the waistband. You don’t say a word back to him, so he realizes he has to ask better.

He clenches the elastic band of your underwear as he stares up at your face. He refuses to pull the fabric down until you give him explicit permission to uncover you completely. “I just want to make you feel better,” he says from between your legs. He waits for your order since he refuses to make another mistake today. “Can I? Please?” he asks while looking up at you like a dog. You swat his hands away from your waistband before his fingers can slide your panties down. You grab his wrists, and you shove his arms straight down to his sides. “Did I ever give you permission to do that?” you ask while he stares up at you. He realizes he crossed a line, so he forces both hands behind his back to prove he knows how to follow orders. You check his posture to make sure he does what he is told. “You haven’t earned the right to have me tonight,” you state as you look down at his pathetic expression. A heavy swallow escapes him, and he refuses to move his arms from behind his back.

You grab a handful of his hair to yank his head forward until his face presses against your crotch. His breath hitches from the closeness, and he leaves his hands right where you told him to put them. He takes a deep breath against the fabric of your panties while he waits for your next command. “You have to work a lot harder if you want these off,” you tell him while tightening your hand in his hair. He shakes against your thighs because having you this close drives him crazy. “Don’t move your fucking hands from behind your back,” you warn him to ensure he doesn’t try to touch you again. He rubs his nose right against your covered cunt to show you he understands. You look down at him while he waits against you for some kind of release. “You failed your assignment today, so you have to taste me through the fabric,” you declare to remind him about his mistake. “Lick right through the material,” you order while forcing his head down onto your crotch.

He lets out a needy whine, and he parts his lips to obey your command right away. “You only get to taste whatever soaks through because you were useless today,” you say as you watch his mouth open wider. “Make it wet enough, and I might forgive you,” you add to give him a reason to try harder. He presses his tongue against the fabric to follow your order without a second of hesitation. He licks right over the seam of your panties while he tries to balance himself without using his hands. You watch the material turn dark with his saliva as he tries to please you. He wants the real thing so much, and he accepts being denied since he knows he deserves the punishment. You feel the wet heat of his mouth seeping through the panties to soak your cunt. He drags his tongue up and down the seam time after time to drench the entire area for you. He refuses to bring his arms forward even when he wobbles on his knees.

He pauses to breathe before looking up at you from between your legs. “Mnn... is this good?” he asks while looking at your face. He dives right back down to lick the soaked material before you can even answer him. You feel his tongue working the wet fabric into your slit so he can taste you. “I’ll make it so wet for you,” he mumbles against your crotch before letting out a grunt. He stops licking to look up at you with desperate eyes. “Please let me taste the rest,” he begs while staring up at you. You hold your hand tight in his hair to remind him who is in charge right now. He leans back so he can look into your face while leaving his mouth very close to you. “Tell me I’m doing a good job,” he pleads to get some validation for his efforts. You refuse to give him any praise until the fabric is ruined with his spit. He takes your silence as a cue to work harder, so he pushes his face right back into your cunt. You let out a sigh as his tongue laps at the soaked material.

“Mmf- please tell me I’m good,” he whines into your crotch while rubbing his nose against you. The urge to use his fingers makes his arms twitch, but he forces his hands behind his back anyway. The punishment drives him crazy because he wants to touch your cunt. His mouth has to do all the work while he kneels on the floor between your legs. You see him shove his face into your center to get a better angle. His hot breath fans the damp fabric of your panties before he opens his mouth. “Fuck- just like that,” you groan while staring down at his head. “Ahhn- keep going,” you command as you tighten your hand in his hair. A wet sound fills the room when his tongue drags hard against the center seam to find the exact spot you need. The soaked fabric turns see-through under his mouth as he laps right over your clit. “Shit- right there,” you curse while your hips jerk upward. You feel the rough texture of the panties rub against your folds.

He parts his lips to close his mouth right over your clit through the material and sucks it. “Mnn- suck it harder,” you demand while tilting your hips forward. “God... fuck yes,” you sigh as his tongue flicks against you. The annoyance of not having the whole thing makes him too impatient to wait any longer after being denied for so long. Tasting you through a layer of fabric frustrates him because he craves the real thing. You feel him turn his head just enough to bite down on your panties. He hooks his teeth into the fabric and tries to yank your panties to the side so he can taste you without it. He drags the material far enough out of the way before releasing it from his teeth. His mouth dives forward the second his lips are free. A hot breath escapes him when he swipes his tongue against your slick folds. He laps you up with a sloppy sound while his nose nudges into your thigh. Tasting your cunt makes him groan right against your slit, and he devours you without using his hands because you told him to leave them behind his back.

Your juices coat his chin while he eats you out, and you feel his tongue working deep into your hole as he tries to make up for lost time. He wants to prove how useful he can be right here on the floor. “Did I say you could move those?” you ask while looking down at his head. You yank his hair backward to stop him from licking your cunt any further. A whine escapes him, but he lets you drag his head away from your center. Your juices shine right on his chin when he looks up at you with needy eyes. He pants through an open mouth as he waits for your next instruction. You hold his head tilted back to make him look at your face. “You’re so fucking impatient,” you taunt while watching his chest heave. He tries to lean forward again, but you pin him in place. “Fucking desperate,” you state as you observe him beg for another taste. The punishment of being so close yet so far from his reach drives him crazy.

A heavy breath escapes him while he stares up at your face, and his hands twitch behind his back as he fights the urge to grab your thighs. You let him suffer on his knees for a few more seconds before deciding what to do next. The desperation in his eyes proves how much he hates disappointing you today. He rubs his cheek against your thigh to ask for forgiveness without using his words. Refusing to give him an immediate answer makes him squirm under your gaze. You run your thumb across his cheekbone as he leans into the touch. You let go of his hair and point straight at the floor. He frowns at you because he hates being pushed away right when he got a taste. He wants to dive back into your cunt, but he waits for your next instruction. “Move backward on your knees,” you order as you glare down at him. You can see the annoyance in his expression over the distance.

“Why do I have to move?” he whines while staring at your wet slit. Looking so desperate makes him pathetic. He actually thinks he gets a say in this. “I was doing what you wanted,” he argues as he refuses to budge. You wonder if he really believes arguing will change your mind. “Did I ask for your opinion?” you ask while keeping your finger pointed down. His eyes widen when he realizes you might make him stop for good. “Four steps back right now,” you demand so he knows you mean it. Frustration makes him groan before he shuffles backward on his knees to put some distance between you two. You watch him move away before you lift your hips off the couch cushion. You slide your wet panties down your legs so you can step out of them. You grab the soaked material before tossing it onto the floor right in front of his knees. Pure instinct makes his hand shoot out from behind his back to snatch it up.

“I’m keeping these,” he grunts as he shoves the wet fabric into his pocket. He acts like a feral dog hoarding food because he refuses to let you take it away. “Don’t try to take them back,” he begs while guarding his pants. You roll your eyes at his behavior before deciding to give him a break instead of punishing the slip. “You can bring your other hand out from behind your back,” you state to give him full permission. He brings his arms forward to reach for you because he thinks he gets to feel your body after being denied for so long. He wants to grab your thighs, but you point straight at his pants before he can touch your legs. He drops his hands while he looks up at you in confusion. “You won’t let me touch you?” he whines as he stares up at your face. He stares at his empty hands like he expects you to change your mind. You can see how much he hates being denied after following your orders. “I just want to hold your legs,” he pleads while looking between your face and your thighs.

Begging only proves how desperate he is for physical contact. “Take it out and touch yourself,” you command as you point down at his pants. He swallows hard because he realizes you intend to keep denying him. You lean back against the couch cushions while you look down at his pathetic expression. “You haven’t earned the right to touch me,” you state to remind him of his place. He looks down at his jeans before looking right back at your wet cunt. “Just tell me I can taste you again,” he begs while his hands shake in front of his chest. You refuse to answer him until he does what you told him to do. He undoes his belt and unbuttons his pants to free his hard cock from his jeans. He pulls his dick straight out from his underwear without taking his clothes off. He wraps his fingers around himself to stroke his cock while he watches your face. “F-fuck- mmh,” he stutters as he pumps his fist up and down his shaft.

You nod in approval so he knows he can come back to his spot between your legs. “Come here,” you offer as you monitor him jerking off. He works his hand faster as he scrambles forward on his knees to reach you. He hurries back to his spot between your legs without stopping his hand. He buries his face back into your wet cunt so he can lick you out while stroking his own dick. He pumps his fist along his shaft as his tongue swipes right against your slick folds. He lets out a muffled groan against your slit when he tastes you again. He laps at your clit as he jerks himself off right in front of you. You watch him devour you while his hand moves fast over his cock. He uses his mouth on you without hesitation since his hands are too busy to touch your thighs. He dips his chin down a bit to align his mouth with your opening before he curls his tongue to push it just past your folds.

He slides it into your slick entrance before dragging it back out to thrust in again while a sloppy noise comes from his lips. He strokes his own cock with his fist while he breathes loud enough to hear over the sounds of his mouth. “Fuck- Dex-” you groan while tilting your hips closer to his face. He looks good on his knees. “Ahhn- right there,” you curse as his tongue works inside you. You watch him swallow saliva leaking past his mouth. He takes orders better than you expected. “Keep doing that,” you command while looking down at him. He needs leverage to hold his mouth in place, and his empty hand reaches out to grab your thigh for support. You smack the back of his hand the second your fingers brush your leg, but he brings his arm right back up. His fingers twitch toward your knee a few moments later because he wants to grab you. “Mnn- keep your hands down,” you warn while glaring at his messy face.

You slap his knuckles hard enough to leave a mark the moment he tries to sneak his palm toward your waist. A pathetic whine vibrates against your cunt every time you reject his touch, but he refuses to pull his mouth away even after you slap him. “F-fuck... yeah,” you sigh while he swallows down another whine. He pumps his fist up and down his shaft while his tongue laps at your opening. He attempts to slide his fingers over your calf one last time before you lift your foot and dig your heel right into his shoulder to push him back. “You don’t get to touch me,” you taunt as he whines against your slit. He takes the rough treatment without a fight because he refuses to stop tasting you. He presses his empty hand against the base of the couch to hold himself back. He pants through his nose to catch his breath between each push of his tongue. “Feels good,” you praise while watching him take the punishment.

You see his eyes dart up to follow your hip movements. You want him to beg for a touch later. “Shit- fuck yes,” you curse as his mouth laps at you. He looks up at you through his eyelashes to gauge your reaction, and the sight of his messy face makes you arch your back off the cushion. Arching your hips forces your clit to bump right against his nose while his tongue pushes at your entrance. “Nngh- take it,” you demand while your hips press forward. He exhales against your folds while his hand moves fast over his cock. You stop telling him what to do once the pleasure gets too much and your breath breaks into ragged sighs. You drop your head back against the couch cushions before lifting one hand to cover your eyes and hide your face while Benjamin watches you fall apart. “Nnngh... fuck,” you whine as you struggle to catch your breath. He lets go of his own shaft because he needs to use both hands.

He ignores your previous warnings to reach up from between his legs and wrap his fingers right around your bare thigh. He pushes your knee outward to open you up for his mouth while your free hand tries to swat his knuckles. You move too slow to stop him, and his other hand comes up fast to catch your wrist before you can slap him. He forces your arm straight down into the upholstery to hold you in place. He presses your arm against the cushion while his other hand holds your thigh tightly. He observes your face while you gasp for air. “Shh- let me just hold your leg,” he murmurs while staring right at you. You yank your arm against his grip, but he refuses to let go. “Y-you don’t get to do that-” you stutter as your hips twitch. “You don’t have to fight me,” he interrupts without raising his voice as he waits for you to stop struggling. “Mmn- let me take care of you,” he tells you before leaning forward.

He holds your arm down and brings his mouth back to your folds while his tongue moves slowly over your clit. A frustrated noise escapes you when he refuses to go faster, and your hips jerk forward to chase his mouth. He pulls his head back an inch to let his tongue graze your clit because he refuses to give you the pleasure you want. “Hah- nngh... faster,” you beg while twisting the wrist he presses against the couch. He ignores your begging and instead uses the distance to speak. “Don’t cover your eyes,” he instructs while squeezing your thigh harder. You press your hand against your face to hide your expression until he nudges his nose against your clit to force a reaction out of you. “Fuck you- ahhhnn,” you curse while moving your hand away from your eyes to glare down at him. “Look right at me,” he demands before diving his tongue back inside your hole. You stare down at his messy face while he drags his tongue over your clit over and over without speeding up.

He knows you need him to go faster, but he refuses to change his pace while your toes curl and you squirm against the cushion. “Hngh... Dex, please,” you beg while arching your back. He pushes his tongue inside you the second you ask for it. “I got you,” he promises while he laps at your entrance to make you beg for everything. You drop your free hand from your face down to his head to tangle your fingers in his hair. You shove his face hard against your folds to force his nose right into your slit. You thrust your hips up to grind your cunt against his mouth. “I never told you to touch me,” you spit out while glaring down at his messy face. You tighten your fingers in the strands at the base of his neck. “Y-you didn’t get my permission to put your hands on me- nghh,” you scold while you grind your hips against his nose. He ignores your complaints to let go of your thigh and move his hand higher up your leg. He finds your clit and rubs his thumb over it to shut you up.

You thrash against him, but he shoves your pinned arm harder into the couch to stop you from fighting back. He thrusts his tongue inside your hole while his thumb rubs over your clit. Your words cut off into a loud groan because his tongue and thumb move at the same time. You yank his hair to hold his face against your slit because you want him closer. “Hngh... f-fuck,” you stutter as your hips grind up to chase his mouth. He strokes your clit with his thumb right in time with the thrust of his tongue. He rubs you over and over to make your hips shake against the couch. Your breathing turns into short gasps while you ride his mouth. “Hah- ahhhnn... right there,” you beg while your back arches up. He pushes his tongue further inside your cunt to answer your demands. You lose the ability to scold him because you need his mouth too much. Your toes curl against the floor while you grind against his face.

“Don’t you fucking stop- nnngh,” you command while your nails dig into his scalp. He rubs his thumb over your clit to make you beg. You gasp for air because you need what he does to you. “I swear to God, Dex- mmph,” you curse while your hips jerk against his nose. Benjamin feels your hips jerk against his face before he leans back to take his mouth away from your slit. He moves his tongue just out of reach while you thrash against the sofa because you want the release bad enough to fight for it. “Wh-what the fuck are you doing? Nnh- don’t stop,” you complain while you tug his hair to force his head back down. He refuses to budge, but he presses his thumb over your clit. He looks up at your face while you stare back at him. “Tell me how much you like my mouth on you,” he demands while he watches your expression. He presses his thumb against you to make you speak.

“Tell me to make you cum,” he taunts while he drags his finger over your clit to pull another moan from your throat. You spit out a curse, but your chest heaves for air. “Fuck you... You don’t get to order me around- ahhn,” you stutter as your hips jerk up to chase him. Your cunt clenches with a need you can’t control while your legs shake on either side of his head. Your fingers twist into his hair before you stop fighting him because you crave his mouth way too much. “Fine... God, I like it,” you admit while you let out a ragged breath. Your fingers untangle from his hair when you give up. “Please Dex... mnnnh- make me cum,” you beg as you give him all your attention. He pushes his face right back into you the second you confess to sliding his tongue over your slit. You let out a loud gasp when he releases your pinned arm and his fingers dig into your thighs while he speeds up his pace. He moves his thumb faster until your breath hitches, and you lift your shoulders off the backrest to get closer to him.

Your hands leave his hair to grab his shoulders to drag his mouth straight against your folds. “Dex- Fuck- yes...” you gasp while you dig your nails into his skin. He grunts against your slit before dragging his tongue over your clit to make you cum. His mouth makes your head fall back before a loud moan escapes your throat. Your toes curl while your back arches off the sofa. You squeeze your thighs around his ears while you thrust your hips up into his face. Your hips jerk while you cum all over his tongue. He leaves his mouth against your slit to swallow every drop. He laps his tongue across your folds to clean you up, and he refuses to move away until your legs stop shaking. You drop your back onto the couch to catch your breath. “God... hahh... you’re a bastard,” you mumble while you let your eyes fall shut. Benjamin chuckles against you before he speaks up. “I always get what I want,” he states while he places a kiss right over your clit.

Benjamin pulls away from your thighs before he gets up from the floor. He places his feet on either side of your legs to tower over you. Both of you look down at his cock because he stopped jerking off to make you cum. His dick twitches in the open air while he catches his breath. You tilt your head back to look up at his face. A smirk forms on your lips when you look at his undone pants. “Looks like someone got left out,” you point out as you gesture toward his crotch. You lean forward to reach your hand out toward his waist. You wrap your fingers around his cock to take him into your palm. “Sh-shit- fuck,” Benjamin groans when your hand grabs him. He tilts his head back while a rough breath escapes his lips. You drag your hand up and down his dick without speeding up the pace. He thrusts his hips forward into your palm because he needs more. You squeeze his cock to stop him from moving.

You rub your thumb over the tip of his dick. “Let me finish what you started,” you offer while you look up at him. He lets out a rough grunt before he glares down at you. “D-don’t play with it- ngh,” he grunts as he pushes his waist against your palm. You ignore his words to drag your hand up his length again. You wrap your fingers tighter around him to make him gasp. “Mmn- I guess you want this,” you murmur while you stroke him at a slow pace. Benjamin mutters a curse under his breath before his fingers clamp around the wrist of the hand wrapped around his cock. He pulls at your arm to move your fingers away from him, but you refuse to let go. “You’re going to make me- ngh,” he groans while his knees buckle. You use your free hand to grab his hip to pull him closer to the couch. You pump your hand over his cock again to pull another moan out of his throat. He watches your face while you move your fist up and down.

“Fuck... do it,” he commands as he lets go of your wrist. You grab his hip to drag him down onto the other side of the couch before he drops onto the seat to face you with his legs spread wide apart. You scoot forward to close the distance between your bodies, and he watches your face when you tighten your fingers around his cock. You lean in to put your lips against his neck as you pump your hand up and down his shaft until a loud breath escapes his throat the second your mouth touches him. “Are you going to beg for my mouth?” you ask him before you press kisses up to his jaw and you rub your thumb over the tip of his cock. He thrusts his hips into your palm to get closer to your hand as you move your face next to his ear to keep teasing him. You drag your fist down to the base of his shaft to force a loud gasp from his throat. “Or should I just keep using my hand?” you mock him while you stroke him again.

He tilts his head to the side to give you more room before you speak up. “Are you going to cum like this?” you whisper right next to his ear. Benjamin lets out a loud groan to stop your questions. He grabs your thigh to dig his fingers into your leg while he shoves his hips forward into your hand to force a faster pace. “F-fuck you... just use your mouth,” he demands while he glares at you. You smile at him because you got the answer you wanted. You slide your hand up his length one more time to torture him. “Stop talking and do it- ngh,” he curses when you squeeze his cock. You lean back from his face to look at his cock before you let go of his shaft to lower your head between his legs. Benjamin tilts his head back when you open your mouth over him to take the tip of his cock past your lips. He lets out a loud curse when your tongue slides against him. His fingers dig into your thigh while you take more of his length into your mouth.

“God... f-fuck,” he groans as he thrusts forward into your face. You move your lips further along his shaft to take more of his length into your mouth. You swirl your tongue around the head before you suck him deep. Benjamin thrusts his hips forward to chase your mouth while he moves his free hand to grab the strands of your hair. He throws his head back to take a loud breath before he curses out loud. “F-fuck yes... don’t stop,” he groans while his hips thrust toward your face. You keep your head lowered to give him what he wants. He guides your head with his fingers to control the pace. You reach your hand out to wrap your fingers around the base of his cock to stroke him while your mouth takes the rest of his length. Benjamin digs his other hand deeper into your thigh when you use your mouth and hand at the same time. You trace your tongue along the underside before you drag your mouth toward the tip.

He pushes forward from the couch to get deeper past your lips. “God... you feel so fucking good- hah,” he pants as he watches you take him. You stroke the bottom of his cock while your mouth slides over the tip. His breathing speeds up every time your lips move against him. You slide your mouth up his shaft to tease the tip with your tongue. Benjamin lets out a loud grunt before he tugs on your hair to guide your head back down to his cock. “Put it back in your mouth... f-fuck,” he demands while he glares at you. You sink your mouth all the way down to his base to give him what he asked for. He shoves his hips forward to bury himself deep in your throat. You gag around his cock, and you let out a muffled sound against his base while you take his full length. He holds your hair so you can’t move away from him. You suck his cock while you stroke his base with your hand.

Benjamin thrusts his hips forward every time you lower your head. He squeezes your leg because the feeling gets too intense. “Shit... mmf- yes... keep going- nghh,” he curses as he watches your mouth move over him. You circle your tongue around the head one more time before you move your lips back to the tip. He tilts his head back against the couch to catch his breath. You move your hand faster while you watch his face. Benjamin lifts his fingers from your thigh before he grabs your wrist. He pulls your arm away from him to remove your hand from his cock. He drops your arm to your side because he prefers your mouth on him right now. He stares down at your face while you kneel on the couch. “Keep your hands off... take it the right way- ahn,” he commands while he waits for you to obey. He thrusts his hips forward to get closer to your mouth. You open your lips to do exactly what he says. You suck the tip of his cock, but you refuse to take his full length.

You swirl your tongue around the head to tease him instead of going deep. Benjamin mutters a curse before his fingers twist into the strands of your hair. He thrusts his hips forward into your face without giving you time to adjust. He forces his cock down your throat to make you gag around his shaft. A muffled noise escapes you when he bottoms out past your lips. “F-fuck... I told you to take all of it,” he groans while he pushes your head down. He refuses to let you pull back from him. You pull your head back a few inches to glare up at his face. You reach out to plant both of your hands onto his covered thighs. You dig your nails into the fabric of his pants to push back against him. Benjamin keeps his hand tangled in your hair to guide your head up and down his cock. He forces a slower pace to keep himself from thrusting deep into your mouth again. “Yeah... look right at me while you do it- hngh,” he pants as he watches your eyes.

He bobs your head over his shaft while you swallow around his length every time he pushes you down. Your hands tighten on his thighs whenever his cock hits the back of your throat. He lets out a loud grunt when your lips wrap around his base. He uses his hand in your hair to make sure you take every single inch of him. “Keep your mouth wide for me... fuck,” he demands while he speeds up his movements. You let out another gagging sound when he forces his entire length past your lips again. He watches your mouth take his cock without looking away. His hips thrust forward into your face despite his efforts to hold himself back. “God... this feels so fucking amazing- mmf,” he groans as he keeps pumping your head. Benjamin keeps his hand tangled in your hair so you can’t pull away from him. He holds your head in place to stop bobbing you up and down because he wants to thrust his hips forward from the sofa instead.

He shoves his waist forward to do the work himself. He forces his length past your lips without waiting for you to adjust. “Take it all the way down- fuck,” he pants while he pushes right into your face. He thrusts his waist forward to bury his cock deep past your lips. He forces his full length down your throat every single time he shoves it in. You gag around his shaft when he reaches the very back of your throat. He pumps forward to force you to swallow every inch of him. “Ghk- Mmph-” you choke out while you take his length. You try to latch onto his covered thighs to dig your nails into his pants while he thrusts forward. He pulls his cock out to the tip before he shoves it straight down your throat again. He lets out a low groan while he fucks your mouth at a faster pace. He watches your face to see you take his entire length. “Swallow it all for me,” he tells you while looking down at you. His hips slap against your face while he speeds up his thrusts.

He trembles under your hands because he gets closer to cumming. He shoves his cock deeper down your throat to make your eyes water. You choke around his shaft while you struggle to swallow his full length. He tightens his fingers in your hair to make sure you take all of it. “Shit... I’m so fucking close-” he curses while his knees start to shake. Benjamin thrusts his hips forward to shove his cock as deep as it can go. He forces his full length down your throat to make you choke. His fingers twist tighter into your hair when his shaft buries inside your mouth. “Fuck... don’t move,” he groans while his hips push forward. You gag when he reaches the back of your throat. He shoves forward to make sure you take every inch of him. He lets out a loud grunt when he shoots his cum down your throat. His load fills your mouth until it starts to spill down your chin. “Mmmph- hkkh!” you choke around his cock while he pumps into you.

He twitches inside your mouth while he empties his shaft completely. You swallow as much as you can to handle the amount he forces out. He keeps his hand tangled in your hair, so you have to take every drop. He takes a fast breath before he pushes your head away from his crotch. He lets go of your hair to slump back against the couch so you can breathe. His cock twitches with a few drops of cum right at the tip. “Haaah... shit- you took all of it,” he pants while he looks down at your face. You move away from his thighs to lean back against the sofa. He spreads his legs a bit wider on the furniture while he catches his breath. He rests his head against the backrest to watch you recover. You let out a cough to clear your throat. You wipe the spit and cum from your chin before you glare at his face. You shoot him an angry look because he made you choke on it. “A-asshole- you didn’t even warn me,” you spit out while you catch your breath.

He chuckles a little bit while he watches you wipe your mouth. He reaches out to rub a drop of spit from the corner of your lips. “You handled it perfectly,” he says while he traces your jawline. You reach out to grab the front of his shirt to drag his face closer to yours without giving him a chance to back away. He doesn’t fight you because he wants to hear what you have to say. You lean in to brush your lips right next to his ear. “I know exactly how good I took it,” you whisper while you breathe against his neck. He tilts his head to give you more room to speak. You change your tone to bring up the job he messed up today. You remind him that he disappointed you when he failed to kill Karen. His jaw clenches the second you mention Karen and ruins his good mood. “It’s a damn shame you let that bitch live,” you mock him right next to his ear. He turns his face to look at you with an annoyed expression while you smirk back at him to show you aren’t intimidated at all. You tap your fingers against his chest to make your point clear. You glare up at him to show you’re serious about the job.

He watches your eyes while you tell him what to do next. “You need to fix your mistake before I lose my patience,” you demand as you dig your nails into his shirt. He lets out a hard breath through his nose while he listens to every single word you tell him. You drag your eyes down to his twitching cock before you look back up at his face. You promise him a much better reward if he actually finishes the job this time. “Bring me her head, and I’ll let you fuck my cunt,” you whisper while you trace his jawline. He chuckles because he likes the way you threaten him. “You drive a really hard bargain,” he pants as he imagines it. “I’ll get it done if you promise me that,” he tells you while he leans his forehead against yours. “Do we have a deal?” you ask him after you move your head back a little bit to look right into his eyes. You watch his face because you know he will never turn down an offer like that. He nods to agree while he rests his hands on your waist. “Consider her dead,” he promises before he leans forward to kiss you.

⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀ twenty-twenty-six © addie / musingsofheaven.

⠀⠀⠀

Shame. Survival. Pleasure.

Fickle, that is what the hope that nestled deep in your heart has become.

Since the overthrow of the Greens, your family scattered — Aegon, now proclaimed Usurper, ran to whichever godforsaken corner a rat such as he could, your husband Aemond had ridden out Vhagar the same morn you were captured and failed to return. And your mother, in a frantic attempt to save Helaena, fled with the innocent queen.

The shame that now shackles you is strong, stronger than the actual shackles that bound you when you were taken prisoner. Remnants of the day of and after your capture pass through your mind:

How you were dragged through the keep like a stray hound, your royal dress tearing and catching each imperfection on once-perfect castle floors. When a guard took your prayer beads, they tore, the marbles chattering like water droplets. It reminded you of the heaving of tides, the severing of families, and the breakage of promises.

What awaits you now is survival. You pleaded with the guards that stood by your small chambers, "Have I ever wronged you?" "Was I ever unkind to you?" but it was as if speaking to ghosts. When maids brought supper, your knees gave way and scraped against harsh ground as you crawled to each one who brought the meal. Your weak hands grasped at the maid's skirt like a thirsty man grasping at the well bucket.

More often than not, the uncomfortable soul's breath would hitch as she pushed your hands off of herself and fled, leaving you alone once more.

You were more in your thoughts now, given they were the only thing you had left between these four pitiful walls, which often led you back to your days spent in the Great Sept of Baelor. Growing up, you visited it daily, usually early on, garnering courage from the skies to face whatever new misery the day had brought.

You would always pass by your twin brother, Aemond, who would wake with dawn to spar or ride his great dragon, Vhagar. You'd greet one another, perhaps even ride your dragons together if time allowed. But then, your mother announced that you two were to wed, and all the fragile peace you two had built was shattered.

You knew Aemond wouldn't complain; he'd never betrayed duty, but his withdrawal was enough of a complaint. Gone were the affable greetings and pleasant takes to the sky, and the brother you once knew and trusted most became a stranger because of one vow forced by obligation.

So even before you were taken captive, the Sept lost its allure, knowing you'd have to cross paths with your uncaring brother-husband to reach it.

Now, morn has become your only source of comfort — it reminds you of the warmth that spilled through the great windows of the holy space each new day when you knelt for prayer, minus Aemond's unacknowledgement. There was hope, after all; the sun rose and shone for all, reaching wherever and whomever it could, if only you'd known so before following duty so blindly.

Another day has passed—the fifth of your captivity, the last of the sun's rays setting behind the scenery. The door cracked open. Without another thought, you knelt, a recurrence now, your hands reaching for worn skirt fabric of a maid's dress, only to grasp hard, cold leather.

“So passionate about a simple meal? Did the maids forget to feed the little dove?”

Despite every instinct warning you, your eyes shot up, light violet meeting dark violet that belonged to none other than a man you least expected to see: Prince Daemon Targaryen. Your hands retracted as if burned, the jumpy reaction making Daemon's smirk more prominent as he knelt in front of you, setting the silver tray aside with a defeating clank.

"Did I surprise you, princess?"

Your throat works to answer, but all that comes out is a broken breath of a word Daemon doesn't catch. Your silver hair sways along as you muster a meek nod. His hand moves from his thigh, its back nearing your bleak face.

A small flinch happens when the coldness of his knuckles and rings grazes your cheek. Your eyes flicker as they take in the man in front of them. It was unmistakably your uncle, in all his Targaryen glory, stroking your cheek as if he wasn't one of the reasons your whole life collapsed around you.

"Uncle..."

Daemon tsked softly, pale lips pressing into a thin line as you addressed him as uncle, trying to find your voice and ask for answers or plead for mercy, whichever came first. "I prefer my name on your lips...amongst other things."

Before you could ask what he meant by the latter, not that you believed he'd elaborate—he showed you. His lips enclosed around your smaller ones passionately.

A breath tore from your mouth, traveling into his rough, eager one.

What should've felt wrong, what should've felt like a great dragon piercing its claws into the skin of a bystander sheep — didn't feel so cruel at all.

In all the loneliness, the abandonment, and feelings of being too unworthy to save, Daemon's lips felt like sunlight breaking through the clouds, destroying doubt and replacing it with something much more unstable and complicated.

Your hands tremble as they clench around his half-buttoned tunic, grasping the thin material tightly as Daemon's strong hand moves from your cheek to the back of your neck, reeling you closer.

He angled your face, molding your lips together more efficiently as a quiet hum left his throat. His free hand wrapped around your lower back, pulling your body to rest against his.

"We shouldn't—" You push, but all the beast in him feels is false resistance, abandonment wrapped in property — carried by a soul deserving of better.

"Let me be here for you. For a night, a fortnight, as long as you need me."

The steadiness of his voice made you falter. This was wrong in many ways. You were married, and a woman of faith — he was married as well. Whatever was happening shouldn't. But his words...they were like honey.

So even if it was all poison — as long as it was hidden in honey, you'd take it.

You let him pick you up without another word, your back nestling against the hard mattress of the bed. Daemon's lips find the column of your neck, making you gasp and arch into him. A flame of desire lit in the pit of your stomach.

Pleasure was nothing but a fairytale to you. Your mother explained to you what sex was before you were wedded to Aemond. But she made one thing clear: this was duty. Duty you had to fulfill, just as she had hers, and the rest of the world theirs.

But now, as your body was burning for a man it shouldn't — like a match lighting against rough surface — you realized how little duty truly mattered.

You dutifully married Aemond. Dutifully read your scrolls and clasped hands to the seven-pointed star — but none of it saved you. You were betrayed and captured; regardless of it all. And you were now being touched by the one man you never imagined touching you.

Daemon's hand uncurled from your waist, moving to your bare legs as your shift gave way to the prince's exploration. You eagerly wiggle your hips as he pulls the white linen down your legs. Your heart lurches in your chest as he spreads you shamelessly, deep eyes taking in every inch of you, like worshipping you with them alone.

"Does my little dove wish to continue, or shall we—"

"Please! Please continue...Take me. I'm yours to take."

The desperation in your voice makes Daemon pause. He looks up at your panicked expression.

"Don't panic. I meant to say, shall we take it slower..."

His free hand moves to cup one of your flushed cheeks, thumb gently moving along warm skin; a man of his stature is comforting his niece as if it were second nature.

"As for the other, you may give me your body,"— he begins calmly. "whenever and however much you please. But you are far from mine. You stay your own person; free to order me to stop at any moment — and I will." His words should've reassured you, made the guilt less — that this was comfort you desperately needed and would later be forgiven for with enough prayer — but no.

You didn't want to pray, not now, not anytime soon — and certainly not for this. Not against this man who seemed to care for you in his own way — in ways no one else had before. You want this, you want him, and for every sinful touch of his to be engraved into your soft skin like a brand.

You shake your head, knuckles whitening as your grasp firms. "I need to be yours, Daemon. Make me yours. I do not care if it'll only be for ten minutes and if I'll burn for it eternally."

Daemon's carefulness evaporates like smoke.

Your head falls back as his long index and middle finger enter your cunt with an ease you've never felt with Aemond. A soft squelch followed his entry, making him close his eyes and take a sharp breath. Your eyes opened slightly, a small whimper leaving your lips as he completely retrieved his fingers, only to bring them to his mouth and wrap his tongue around them — watching you watch him enjoy your essence.

The queen dowager's words ring through your mind like stone dropping in a hollow well: duty, life is but a duty to fulfill. All you ever did was think of duty, and it never thought back of you — perhaps that is why abandoning it never felt sweeter.

Your thighs shut in a quiet ache as your violet gaze went over the older man lapping at his own fingers to taste you. Of all the women he chose to taste, of all the women he could've comforted — it had been you. Feeling chosen was better tenfold than damned duty. A soft sigh of relief left your lips as he parted your thighs once more, fingers re-entered you, gently pleasuring you through the softening resistance. His lips found yours again, and his fingers curled as they reached you furthest, pulling another soft sound from you.

Your hips began to chase his hand, lifting off the rumpled sheets and meeting his deep thrusts. The fire in your gut started to expand, your brows furrowing as he scissored his fingers through your velvet walls.

"Beautiful. You are devastatingly beautiful, princess."

Your hips still at his word. Praise. You've never received it. Not sexual praise, not like this; when all you were doing was selfishly taking everything he gave you — and that alone was enough to earn praise, in Daemon Targaryen's book?

Your breath hitches as the fire in your stomach threatens to escape, ready to light the whole bed aflame. A jolt runs through your body as his thumb brushes along the hard pearl that Aemond never bothered with.

"That is it...let go, little dove. Don't think, just feel. Don't be afraid, I am here. Fall. I will catch you. Nyke tepagon ao ñuha udra."

The world narrows to this moment — you, Daemon and this chamber barely contain two dragons as their desires spill over. The fire finally spills out of your gut and onto his hand. Your back arches off the mattress, a loud, foreign sound of pleasure leaving your trembling lips.

(I give you my word.)

You collapse with a soft thud, chest having as his fingers leave your overstimulated cunt. Your eyelids feel heavy; the ceiling blurs at every slow blink. With great exertion, you lift yourself on your forearms. A small smile paints your lips, looking every bit undone as Daemon's mouth curves to mirror.

"Ñuha udra? What word? What kind of word does an uncle have to uphold towards his woeful niece?"

Daemon's hand finds your head, thick fingers slothing into silver strands as he guides your head forward, planting a deliberate, reverent kiss to your temple.

"A word far greater than you seem to be aware of."

For a second, your heart stops, eyes widening as his words register in your brain. They pierce your soul like a sword armor. You knew your uncle well; a man of calculated actions and measured words, meaning whatever came from Daemon Targaryen's mouth, he meant.

Before you can swim further into your thoughts, the sound of discarding leather brings you back to reality. Daemon had moved away from you and was now amidst pulling his doublet and smallclothes down simultaneously.

Your throat bobbed, tracking Daemon's form as he shamelessly threw his garments near the door. His cock swung between his muscular thighs as he settled onto the bed. You instinctively move away, making room for his towering frame.

He gently catches your wrist, bringing it to his mouth and planting a small kiss on your palm. He inhales softly, eyes opening to look at you through your fingers before quietly breaking the kiss.

"May I show you the length to which I'm ready to serve you?"

Like he already hadn't shown great length when his clothes were discarded.

"Show me, Daemon. Nyke jorepan ao."

Your hands move to his shoulders as he hovers over you, his long silver hair tickling your cheek. You nervously dig your nails into his shoulders as he guides his cock into your glistening hole.

(I beg you.)

He groans in your ear as he sheets himself inside you fully, a shudder running through your body as you feel the full length of his eagerness. He pulls out agonizingly slow, leaving only his reddened tip inside, before re-sheating — like a sword finding the perfect sheath.

The room soon fills with your sounds of pleasure and the wet sound of Daemon claiming you wholly. Your arms wrap around his neck, and his lips find yours for the third time this night. You can taste the remnants of wine on him; your hands curl into his soft locks as you pull him impossibly closer.

The flame of desire ignites in you once more, burning hotter than the first time. His piercing eyes dissect your figure: the flush on the apples of your cheeks, the sheen of sweat covering your trembling body, your breathing turning uneven— Daemon notices it all, and he's determined to make you feel ecstasy once more.

His hand moves to your stomach, making you look down. You notice the way your lower belly sloshes as he continues to penetrate you. When his palm gently presses to the movement, your whole body goes taut, before your second orgasm hits you like an angry dragon reaching fire, burning everything in its sight.

You bite his shoulder, hard, as your cunt flutters and spasms around his not-stopping cock. After a second, when your body begins to go pliant in his strong arms, Daemon lowers you onto the dampened sheets. Your tired orbs look on as he withdraws from you, a small crease appears between your brows,

"You may—"

"Not today, little dove."

"But I insist—"

Daemon's gaze hardens for a fraction, rough palm moving under your chin. He lifts your head with his thumb and index finger.

"Do you insist, or does your loneliness insist?"

His hand leaves your chin, moving along the side of your breast and stopping on your hip. Before a seed of doubt can form in your mind, he begins to move his hard cock against the outside of your stomach. You watch quietly; not even a minute later, his semen sprouts along your abdomen and ribs.

Your body subconsciously relaxes, and Daemon lies beside you, pulling you into his solid chest. He kisses your hair carefully, before murmuring into it,

"One day you will take my seed, and it will be because you begged for it, not insisted like it was a demand on my behalf."

All you can do is give one weak, final nod against his chest before sleep takes you. He leans forward, whispering into the silence,

"Rest, princess...I know how much you like waking with the sun."

©𝐃𝐄𝐖𝐘𝐏𝐎𝐔𝐓 ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

the car was new. well, not new but unfamiliar. it was a station wagon, reminiscent of what your dad had driven around in the ‘80s, you didn’t even know they still made those. the puppy’s new too, sprinting out of the open car door before the engine had even turned off, all floppy ears and wagging tail. so was the man chasing her, with muttered curse words and failed grabs with veiny arms. the stubble, you noted, was definitely new and you swallowed, hard. 

the only familiar part of the chaotic scene was the two kids, penny and tanner, dashing out of the car and onto the soccer pitch, joining nora, your daughter in a flurry of giggles. 

the weary man had wrangled the overexcited puppy onto the leash and although the animal was still nipping at his ankles, he was too busy scanning the crowd of parents. following his eyeline, you recognised the judgemental looks and whispers behind hands, you knew what it felt like to be the social pariah. however, when his gaze falls on you, you make a point to look neutral, no indication of welcoming. shamefully, you’d worked hard to climb the ranks to a somewhat average position, break away from the single mother stereotype. 

for better or worse, the man chooses to stand next to you, puppy jumping up wildly. 

‘just ignore him.’ he says with a quick shake of his head, ‘apparently it’s just a phase.’ 

the puppy tilts it’s head as if to say this will definitely not be a phase. 

you nod politely but he merely takes it as signal to continue. 

‘it was supposed to be a surprise, you see?’ he clicks his tongue, ‘tanner was so insistent he’d take care of the poor animal.’ 

with a shake of your head, you reply wryly. ‘kids always say stuff like that, trick is not to give in.’ 

‘i’ll… remember that for next time.’ he laughs with a smirk, looking down at the puppy, who was now pushing it’s fluffy head against his shoes, begging for cuddles. 

you look down too, and your jaded heart melts at the adorable sight and with a nod from the man, you’re crouching down to pet him and the puppy immediately bumps his face into your hand, licking your fingers excitedly. 

it’s only when you stand back up, feeling weirdly warmed by the whole interaction that he introduces himself. 

‘i’m frank, by the way.’ he presses his hand to his chest, ‘frank langdon.’ 

you’re at a loss for words, trying to keep your expression polite whilst your brain fires at a million miles per minute. abby had talked at length about her husband, his time as a doctor, his time in rehab, his lack of time for his kids. by the end, you’d envisioned some sort of monster who was jacked up on pills and only appeared in the depths of nighttime. 

that is nothing like the fairly normal man stood beside you. he’s dressed a plain shirt that hugs his upper body, showing faint muscles and regular jeans that aren’t too baggy and aren’t too tight. his dark brown hair is flopping in his face slightly, obscuring his piercing blue eyes. his jawline is set but you’re drawn to the stubble covering it once again and the way his sturdy fingers stroke it as if it still needed some getting used to. 

your eyes betrayed you, widening impossibly as you made the connection. he’d never brought the kids to soccer practice before, he was no longer clean shaven and he had a demented puppy with him. abby had finally divorced him. 

thankfully, frank hadn’t seemed to take notice of your blatant shock so when you finally answered him, it was as casual as you could muster. 

‘oh! well it’s good to finally meet you.’ your smile is strained, not quite meeting your eyes as you try to quell your surprise. ‘i’ve heard so much about you!’ 

he seemed a little embarrassed by this, looking away slightly. ‘yeah… um… can’t’ve been good.’

you wave your hands rapidly, ‘no, no. trust me, all the moms here complain about their husbands, it’s standard.’ 

it’s a lie of course, and a bad one at that. there’s complaining about your husband not doing the dishes and there’s complaining about your husband almost losing his job for stealing painkillers. 

despite this, it seems to appease frank and he looks back at you with a soft expression. it’s real, almost too real and as you hold his warm gaze, you feel your heart rate slowly increase and the sound of a plastic ball being bounced across the grass and screaming children start to fade into the background. 

the moment is interrupted by three children running up to you. 

‘mom! mom! mommy! mom!’ came the repeated cry, you’d barely had time to swivel your head to look at nora.

you take a deep regulating breath, ‘yes, sweetheart?’ 

‘can i stay at tanner and penny’s new house? pleaseeee?’ she whined, making her eyes wide with a grin stretching across half her little face. 

‘well…’ you glance at frank’s kids, who were riling their new puppy up to no end and then to frank who was doing his best to keep it all under control. 

at your non reply, your daughter doubled down. ‘please, please, please, please, please, please.’ 

‘okay, okay!’ you hold your hands up in defeat, ‘i just have to ask their dad first.’ 

nora erupted into cheers and immediately dove into the throng of child and puppy at your feet. 

turning to frank with an apologetic face, you ask the question. ‘in case you hadn’t heard, nora wants to have a playdate at your house today.’ 

you’re half expecting him to say no, come up with some excuse about how there’s no space or he’s hardly unpacked but instead he brightens. 

‘oh sure! they’d love that. here…’ he fumbles around in his jean pocket to pull out his phone and you notice the friendship bracelets adorning his wrist, a children’s creation that makes your heart swell. ‘i’ll give you my number in case anything happens.’

you smile slightly, it’s the most considerate a dad has ever been around here. ‘great, thanks.’ you say as you type his digits into your phone. ‘does 6 sound good? i’ll give her dinner at home.’ 

‘6 is perfect.’ frank replies with a warm smile, and once again his gaze is lingering just a beat too long. 

you blink and look away first, ‘okay, nora. come say bye to your mom!’ you call. 

‘bye!’ she squeals into your legs, little arms wrapped around them in a hug. 

‘bye, honey. have fun.’ you whisper into her hair, pressing a kiss to her scalp before handing her her backpack. 

‘be good!’ comes your final cry as she tears off with penny and tanner towards frank’s car. 

as you trudged back to your own beat up sedan, you couldn’t help but stare at his contact open on your phone. even as you drove home, blasting music, you found yourself wishing that he’d call or even text. not that you wanted anything bad to happen to nora, far from it, you just wanted to hear his smooth voice again, read his words. 

this was wrong, you thought as the key turned in the lock and you came home to an empty house. you weren’t exactly abby’s friend but you were friendly, she was friendly and everyone knew what went down over the last couple of years between her and frank. 

and yet, you hadn’t been with someone since you’d given birth to nora, no time to balance a job, a kid and a man. nor did you have time for hookups either, lost track of how long it had been since you’d even had sex. 

you were just pent up, you concluded, you saw an attractive man out in the wild and didn’t know how to act. there was no way you could possibly be interested in your friend’s freshly ex husband. 

sitting down to watch tv to pass the endless hours, every channel was showing some sort of romance. whether it was cheesy romantic comedies or cringe reality dating shows, it didn’t matter. you were being haunted by your own conflicting feelings.

5:30 couldn’t come fast enough and you practically jumped in the car, surprised you didn’t get a speeding ticket as you pulled up outside frank’s address, your heart had skipped a beat when he’d texted it to you hours earlier. 

although you’d convinced yourself you couldn’t possibly be attracted to him, you did reapply your lipstick and check your mascara before getting out of the car. the house was modest, small in a series of ramshackle houses on a street just outside pittsburgh. he clearly wasn’t short of money, so the divorce must not have come as a surprise. 

even as you stood on his creaky wooden porch, you could hear the cacophony of chaos from behind the door. as you knocked, you heard shrill barking and the door opened just as golden fur dove at you only to be grabbed by the scruff of it’s neck and yanked back. 

‘sorry, sorry.’ frank mutters quickly as he shooed the poor creature away, ‘like i said, still a lot of training to go.’ 

you blink, bewildered. ‘no it’s fine, really.’ you smile politely, suddenly at a loss for words just from the sight of him. 

‘it’s um- nora!’ he shouts upstairs, ‘your mom’s here!’

there’s the sound of giggles and definitely no footsteps on the stairs. 

frank pulls a face and runs his fingers through his hair, ‘they might be a while, do you want to come in?’ he gestures behind him. 

before you can even think, you’re stepping past the threshold. 

‘sure, thanks.’ you smile. 

the interior is a mess, the furniture is simple, recent store items but it’s all draped in piles of laundry and children’s toys. everything has puppy height bites in it and you can barely see the living room rug, filled with torn up teddies. 

‘i apologise for the mess, my job doesn’t give me a whole lot of time for housekeeping.’ he shrugs, it’s an excuse but a genuine one. even so, nora didn’t make half as much mess as this. 

‘i understand, you’re a doctor right?’ comes your warm reply. 

he brightens, corner of his lips quirking up. ‘yeah. emergency medicine.’ 

‘brave.’ you say wryly. 

‘you said it not me.’ he joked as he opened the fridge door. ‘drink?’ 

you slide onto the dining table bench, flicking a transformers toy aside and adjust your outfit, which you admit was not your typical picking up your daughter get up but you couldn’t help yourself. 

‘well if you’re-’ you regret the words as soon as they came out of your mouth. 

his expressions hardens slightly, but it’s not directed at you, rather the portrayal of a million guilty memories. 

his response is blunt, ‘i don’t.’ 

‘right- of course-’ you say quickly, swallowing down your embarrassment. ‘me neither.’ 

frank doesn’t say any more and you don’t want to push so you’re now stuck in this agonising silence, sipping respective glasses of water. 

‘so-’ you both start at the same time, before he laughs and shakes his head. 

‘you go.’ he nods, earnest. 

you press your lips together, ‘it’s a nice house.’ you sidestep, not wanting to say what was actually on your mind when he was being so hospitable.

frank looked around, as if seeing it himself for the first time. ‘yeah… my parents helped me out a bit.’ 

‘that’s good.’ you reply, awkward and a little too fast and he eyes you slightly. 

with a sly smirk, he puts you on the spot. ‘why? what’s your house like then?’ 

almost choking on your water, ‘it’s not that much different if you must know. just a lot…’ your eyes twinkle with mischief as you add the last word, ‘cleaner.’ 

the laugh erupts from frank, a broad smile stretching across his face as he watches you with mock surprise. 

‘oh yeah? well i suppose you’ve got half the kids and…’ he tilts his head to the side, ‘what do you do? for work i mean.’ 

‘right. i’m a consultant, it’s boring, trust me.’ you shrug. 

‘so half the kids and half the hours then.’ frank jokes and you feel your cheeks grow hot. 

‘alright, alright.’ you shake your head, staring down into your glass. 

‘hey.’ he murmured quietly, ‘i was joking.’ 

‘i know.’ you retort but as you look up, you can see the way his piercing eyes had softened. 

his gaze was lingering again, that beat too long that made your breath quicken. you didn’t want to look away until your phone screen lit up and it jolted you out of the moment. 

‘shit is that the time already? it’s almost…’ 

frank was already standing, opening the fridge. ‘dinnertime?’ 

you move to follow immediately, ‘you don’t have to. i can take her home and feed her, honestly.’ 

he didn’t miss a beat, ‘stay. i want you to.’ 

his tone was gentle but authoritative, the words simple but they struck a chord anyway, your heart swelling as you leaned against the kitchen counter. 

‘god i can’t see why abby divorced you.’ you mutter under your breath, your tone is joking but his head snaps up regardless, he heard you. 

frank freezes, and you can see his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he processes what you just said. you can’t apologise, it’s too late, the words hanging in the air 

‘i messed up, bad.’ comes his stoic reply, though his voice was wavering. ‘i worked really hard to atone for what i did, but it wasn’t enough for her.’ 

‘i know i-’ you cut in, swallowing. 

he shakes his head, ‘and that’s okay. i’m just grateful she lets me see my kids.’ 

you sigh, following his sorrowful gaze upstairs, ‘frank i-’ 

he turns to look at you then, eyes hard but again, he’s not mad at you but rather himself. ‘i let a lot of people down, abby included and i’m not asking for forgiveness from anyone, i just want to prove that i can get better, be better.’ 

it was the most honest thing you’d heard about the whole situation and it made your heart ache. you couldn’t hate abby for how she felt, far from it but there was something in frank’s expression that meant you couldn’t help but feel sorry for him too, whether he wanted it or not. 

‘do you want a hug?’ comes your quiet sympathy. 

he doesn’t say anything so you step closer, arms enveloping him warmly. frank is broad, not outwardly muscular with bulging arms but his chest is rock solid, sinewy arms working their way around your waist. the hug stretches from seconds into minutes, neither of you want to pull away and his chin starts to rest atop your head. 

eventually, you step apart but his arms move to slide on top of yours, each of your hands gripping the others elbows. frank licks his lips and you think it’s going to happen, that he’ll lean in and- 

‘can you get the plates out of the cupboard, please? on the left above the microwave.’ he whispers, tone almost too casual and you nod, pulling away. 

you don’t notice how he watches you, ass bending over slightly to reach up and grab a stack of porcelain. 

as you start to lay the table, frank calls. ‘don’t worry about that, the kids can eat outside, it’s nice out. penny and tanner are always begging me to let them.’ 

your brow furrows, ‘you sure?’ 

he’s already piling fries on each plate, ‘yeah, i’m sure.’ 

doing your best to suppress your smile, you nod in agreement.

‘kids!’ frank bellows, ‘dinner!’ 

they all come barrelling down the stairs, crowding the kitchen like feral creatures, the puppy attempting to climb the counters to get to the chicken nuggets. 

‘come on, go eat outside please.’ he shooed them away. 

penny and tanner’s faces lit up before scrambling to open the backdoor and tumble into the fenced in grass, puppy running laps. nora hung back, holding her plate but looking at you expectantly. 

‘go on, honey. it’s okay, frank and i are having dinner too.’ comes your gentle confirmation and she brightens once more. 

‘sweet!’ she cheers before dashing out after them and plopping herself down with her plate. 

‘now…’ frank slides the door shut and the kitchen falls quiet again, a soft domestic quiet that you could certainly get used to. ‘where were we?’ 

you don’t miss the flirty undertones in his words, so your reply is equally salacious, ‘i believe we were about to have dinner… together.’ 

he smirks and sits down opposite you, fork stabbing a forlorn fry. ‘so, what’s your story?’ 

you tilt your head to the side, ‘oh i don’t have one.’ comes your quick, polite response. 

‘sure you don’t.’ frank retorts, staring at you so intently that you can’t avert your gaze. 

shrugging, you exhale. ‘i picked the wrong guy to be the father of my child.’ 

frank doesn’t push, but he doesn’t say anything either, just continuing to study you. 

‘he didn’t- he wasn’t… abusive like that.’ you shake your head quickly, focusing on cutting a chicken nugget into tinier and tinier bites. ‘he wasn’t ready, even though he told me it was what he wanted.’ 

‘so he ran? took off?’ frank prompted, though his words were barely audible. 

your neck snapped up then, ‘oh yeah, he was long gone before she was even born. ran off with the girl he’d been cheating on me with for the last nine months.’ your tone is wry, joking even but there’s an undercurrent of hurt that still lingers. 

he deflated slightly but his hand enclosed your own across the table.

‘i’m sorry.’ was all frank said but something inside you split open. 

‘it’s fine, he doesn’t deserve to know her anyway.’ you suck your teeth, gazing out the window at nora laughing with penny and tanner, that laugh where she snorts so loud it only makes her laugh harder and your eyes fill with tears all of a sudden. ‘although… sometimes i wonder if she knows what she doesn’t have, whether she misses having a father despite everything. i do my best to provide for her but- it’ll never be the same.’ 

he falls quiet, watching you watching her for what feels like an eternity. the tears are flowing now, irregular and small but there, so when frank finally does speak, the first thing he does is wipe a wobbling tear from your cheek with a calloused thumb. 

‘the fact that you think that tells me you’re better than two parents combined.’ he whispers sincerely, brow furrowing as he looks you over gently. 

‘you mean that?’ you whimper, it’s almost childish how your bottom lip starts to wobble. 

he seemed amused by that, ‘wouldn’t say it if i didn’t.’ 

swallowing down your tears, your answer is soft, broken. ‘thank you.’ 

maybe it was your heightened emotional state, or the childhood food in front of you both, but you found yourself leaning in. frank didn’t pull away and when your lips finally met, all your heartfelt confessions faded into the background. it was hard to get closer with the table in the way, but it didn’t matter, the kisses were rapid, barely time to breathe between lips crashing into each other. 

when you do break away, you giggle in embarrassment as frank’s whole face reddens, right to the tips of his ears. 

‘i’m sorry.’ frank grins as he repeats those two words, meaning so different from just a few moments ago. 

‘no you’re not.’ you retort with narrowed eyes and a chuckle. 

‘no i’m not.’ he concedes, grin only widening. 

his hand is still in yours, and now he turns it, so your palm is facing upwards. your fingers interlock with his own and you both just watch it, the connection forming between you. 

‘it’s been so long since i-’ you start, wide eyes finding his sure ones. 

‘i don’t care.’ frank shrugs, tone breathy and light. 

you press your lips together and slide out of your chair. ‘fuck it.’ 

frank follows you as you open the backdoor, curiosity written all over his expression. 

‘nora!’ you shout across the yard and her head swivels, ‘do you want to sleep over?’ 

she jumps up immediately, ‘yes please!’ 

none of the kids notice frank’s muscular arm snaking around your waist but you do. the unfamiliar warmth of his chest pressed against your back and his chin fitting perfectly into the crook of your shoulder. 

so?’ you whisper in his ear with raised eyebrows. 

frank shut the backdoor with ease, one handed so he didn’t have to be separated from you.  

sprinting up the stairs like children, you didn’t even make it to his bed before he was all over you. pressed up against the door, frank’s kisses were passionate and fast, hands roaming all over you. your hands slid down to his ass, resting there and your tongue prodded his bottom lip, encouraging him to go slow and savour this as his tongue slid over yours. 

as the kisses grow longer, stretching into minutes since you’d come up for air, your hands snake round from his ass to the zipper on his jeans, tugging it down and feeling the bulge hiding behind, spring forward. 

frank groans into your mouth, before pulling away to break for breathless panting. 

‘fuck.’ his face screws up as he tries to calm his body that’s thrumming with desire. 

without warning, he grips your hips and turns you around so your stomach is pressed against the door, back arched and he laughs deliciously. 

‘please… oh god.’ you whimper, grateful you wore your shortest and tightest skirt for the occasion. 

frank wastes no time in pulling it down over your ass till it falls to your ankles. you can hear the sound of his belt unbuckling and denim kicked across the floor. he plants his hands on either side of your head against the door frame and torturously starts to rub his clothed bulge against your clothed pussy. 

‘frank…’ you plead shakily, already aching with need. 

‘yeah? you want this?’ he growls, right in your ear and your whole body shivers. 

‘so bad. so- so bad.’ you reply with a sharp moan as he presses right against you. 

his fingers dip into your panty line, and the skin there comes up in goosebumps instantaneously, just from the briefest of touches. he slowly pulls them down to reveal your hungry pussy. 

‘holy…’ he breathes, running his finger along one of your folds teasingly, making you clench. 

‘frank!’ you gasp, as cold breeze hits your hole. 

‘okay… okay…’ he mutters, pulling down his own underwear. 

you feel his throbbing erection brush up against your cunt, but he doesn’t enter, not yet. the teasing is killing you and it’s hardly been that long. 

a large hand taps your inner thigh, ‘further apart, come on.’ 

you comply immediately, shuffling your legs out as far as they can go without you toppling over and that’s when his sensitive tip breaches you. 

it’s slow at first, barely inside before he’s pulling it out again, only to re-enter with an extra inch. your breath catches in your throat as he continues this game of in, out, in, out. 

‘for fuck’s sake!’ you groan, forehead slamming against the word. 

‘easy, i don’t want to hurt you.’ he mutters, kissing at your neck. 

‘i’ve pushed a whole child out of there, just fuck me already.’ you whine and frank’s startled by your forwardness. 

happy to oblige, he starts slamming into you like a mad man, balls slapping against your ass. frank’s hands are digging into your hips like he’s kneading dough, and you relish the thought of the bruises there in the morning. 

‘oh yes- yes- god-’ you moan, eyes rolling into the back of your head. 

‘we gotta be- ngh.. quiet.’ frank grunts as his dick slides in and out of your soaked hole. 

you can barely hear him over the sloppy sounds your pussy is making, it’s obscene the way the spongy walls grip every vein of his girth, even when the tip brushes that sweet spot inside you that makes you see stars. 

‘fuck- please- please!’ you gasp and cry, trying to grind into his dick but you're sandwiched between him and the door so it’s near impossible to move, apart from your shaking legs. 

‘i said-’ frank panted, ‘quiet.’ 

as he speaks, his fingers slide into your open mouth and you almost finish on the spot. the combination of his digits inside your drooling mouth, pressing against your teeth and tongue and his cock plunging in and out of your pussy is too much, too overwhelming in the best way. 

‘ugh- close-’ you garble and frank doesn’t even pause, increasing his pace. 

your orgasm comes just seconds later, crashing over you like a tidal wave. everything is blurry, except his hand in your face and his length buried somewhere deep in your cunt. you’re certain your juices are soaking the carpeted floor, spraying out and lining his dick like a sheath. garbled moans and sordid cries, it’s just as you’re coming down from your high that frank reaches his pinnacle. 

perhaps it was the sight of you, shaking and writhing that made his load squirt directly into your pussy, or perhaps it was the feeling of you drooling over his fingers and coating his dick in your cum. regardless, frank was now shuddering just as intensely as you, forced to lean his whole body weight on you just so he could stay upright. his moans are filthy, whispered directly into your ear along with broken variations of your name. 

eventually, frank removes his cock from inside you and it falls flaccid between his legs. swallowing, you right yourself and dust yourself off, licking your lips. 

‘go pee.’ he urges, pushing his floppy brown hair out of his face in a way that is utterly endearing. ‘i’ll give you one of my shirts to sleep in. 

he stayed true to his word. even though you contemplated what on earth you were doing as you sat on the toilet, the moment you slipped on his shirt, everything felt right. sliding into the warmed sheets beside him, frank’s arm fell over yours and you dozed off almost immediately, feeling a sense of safety you hadn’t realised you’d missed with all those years alone in bed. 

the next morning, nora’s too sleep deprived to realise you stayed over too, and penny and tanner are also too exhausted to notice their dad looks a lot more chipper this morning, not scolding the puppy as much, rather sneaking a lot more glances at you as you sip coffee in his shirt. 

you could bathe in the domesticity of it all, the kids amicably chatting mixed with puppy chowing down on food as background noise to you and frank washing up together, talking about everything and nothing and kissing between each dried dish.