Simon hovers above you, his soft eyes burning against your skin, scanning your face to watch for signs of discomfort as his fingers work your pussy. You moan softly when his digits curl inside you, hitting a spot you didnât even know was there, his thumb circling your clit at the same pace his thick fingers slide in and out of you.
You cover your mouth, embarrassed by the fact that he can feel how wet you are for him despite how inexperienced you are, but he quickly pulls against your wrist, softly placing your hand on his chest instead. Your fingers curl against his skin, nails digging in ever so slightly, all while your body reacts by lifting your hips, squirming around underneath him, begging him for something youâve never even had.
âDonât hide from me lovie,â he whispers, voice low and rough around the edges, desire evident regardless of how slow he has to be with you.
You nod, gazing up at him, allowing yourself to feel the way he pleasures you. His calloused fingers slide through your walls, rubbing you inside and outside with his thumb on your sensitive bundle of nerves. All of it is new to you, every single last feeling he is pulling out of you is something you have never experienced.
When he pulls his fingers out, you whimper from the loss of friction, but he quickly takes your mind off of that by sliding his cock through your folds. His head leaks precum against your pussy, and he smears it against your clit before slapping it against you gently. Your body jerks from the feeling, a whine ripping from your throat from the harsh contact somewhere so sensitive, but you wish he will do it again.
Once Simon feels as though you are ready, he notches his tip at your entrance, and your eyes begin to water just from the slight burn. He rests his elbows on either side of your head, digging into the mattress where his arms cage your head in, and he places a feather light kiss to your soft, swollen lips.
He pushes in slowly, and when you cry out, he kisses you harder, swallowing the sounds of pain that have yet to turn into pleasure as if he canât bear to hear you like this. Pulling away, he stills inside you with only the tip in, rocking ever so slightly without pushing anymore in. Your walls stretch around him, tightly wrapped around his length, slick coating him to make it easier.
âItâs okay. Youâre okay⊠youâre doing so good,â he praises, waiting for your body to adjust, for you to tell him youâre ready for more.
When you nod your head, he pushes in some more, but your body is so tense he can barely sink another inch into you. His thumb quickly finds your clit, and he rubs slow, tight circles on the sensitive bundle of nerves to ease your body into relaxation. You moan louder for him, your body giving in to the pleasure racing through every last inch of you, and your walls relax around him, allowing him to sink the rest of the way in.
Tears well up in your eyes when he stops, fully buried inside of you with his tip leaking precum against your cervix, and he kisses you with the utmost passion. He takes away the pain of your first time, rocking into you slowly, barely pulling out before pushing in again. Your walls mold to him, the burn and stretch from his impossibly large length turning into the most blissful feeling the longer he works your muscles.
"So good for me⊠you feel so good for me," he praises, resting his forehead against yours, letting your warm breath mingle with his from the proximity.
He pulls out further now, the delicious feeling of his length inside of you consuming everything you know. He takes you slowly, the veins and ridges of his cock sliding through your walls, filling you up to the brim, leaving no space inside of you empty for long.
You moan out from the sensations running through you. Your nipples drag against his chest, your cheeks are wet from tears due to the previous pain, your mouth hangs open from the overwhelming feeling of being so close to the man you love. You whimper and whine, you cry and beg for more, for so much more.
"Goddamit- you're so tight lovie," he curses, your walls wrapped so tightly around him, and he tries his hardest to hold back his release from happening too early.
Arching your back from the mattress, your chest presses against his, and the warmth of his skin floods your body. Your hips meet his every thrust, your body begs for more without you having to say a word, and he meets you there in every way. His fingers find your clit, and he rubs the sensitive bundle of nerves with tight, quick circles. His pace picks up as he begins to pound into you, pulling out until only the tip remains before sinking back in and knocking against your cervix.
It isn't until he slides a pillow under your hips that you truly feel the pleasure he can give you. He thrusts in hard, hitting your sweet spot with precision, and stars burst in your eyes when your lids shut tight.
"F-fuck Si," you cry out, your hands curling around his biceps where your nails dig into his rough skin and you listen to him grunt out from the pleasurable pain of you.
He keeps hitting that same spot, over and over again, devouring the way your body writhes beneath him, knowing he is the first person to ever make you feel this way. Heat pools in your lower belly, unfamiliar and scary, and as it sits there like a coiled spring ready to snap at any given moment, you try to warn him.
"Simon⊠p-please it feels weird," you whisper, pulling his body closer to yours, unable to control the feeling building inside of you as he continues to please your body.
His thrusts slow, his fingers on your clit matching the same pace, and he moves his mouth to suck in a nipple. It peaks between his teeth, and he sucks, bites, licks against the sensitive bud until you're writhing again despite the slow pace. He builds up your orgasm, knowing what it is even if you don't, and he reassures you the best way he can.
"Just let it happen lovie," he says, slowly picking up his pace again, angling his hips to hit that sweet spot buried so deep inside of you.
The feeling builds again, undeniable and intense, and before you can protest, his lips find yours and he swallows the words right out of your mouth. He thrusts into you fast, deep, hard, anything to push you over the edge that your body so desperately craves. Your walls tighten around him, pulsing and clenching with need, your body becomes rigid and your muscles draw taut.
Cum gushes from your entrance, soaking his length in your pleasure, leaving rings of cream around his base as he continues to fuck you through your peak. You squirm beneath him, the feeling so foreign and addicting, and you give your body to him, knowing he can take care of you in every single way it demands.
"That's it⊠you did so good for me," he whispers, placing kisses along your jaw, moving down the length of your neck where he finds the spot on your soft, salty skin that makes you weak.
His hips roll against yours, his release inevitable as he chases it, and with a guttural groan and a few more thrusts, he's burying himself to the hilt. Long, thick ropes of warm cum flood your pussy, spurting out with each pulse of his cock, coating your walls in everything he has to give. He pumps himself in and out, slow with unsteady movements and jerky hips, until your pussy drains every last drop of his seed.
Simon collapses on top of you, his body warm and sweaty against your own, and you wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist to pull him even closer. He stays inside you until his cock softens and your body grows exhausted, and then he pulls out and cleans up the mess with his tongue, promising you that he will have you squirming on his face as soon as he can catch his breath.
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simon riley fucking you for the first time knowing he shouldnât. itâs forbidden. itâs wrong. youâre the captainâs daughter.
he has you sat on the table, your shirt hiked up, his pants shoved down. his cock is still bottoming out, groaning in your ear, when you both hear priceâs heavy footfalls echoing down the hall as he calls out for his daughter⊠for you.
being the new, shy tech for the 141 introduced by laswell, and the boys are already trying to tease you. (18+)
youâre playing a game of truth or dare, taking shots and laughing and trying to relax even though the pub is so loud. itâs a saturday, thereâs a footie game on, and youâre just trying to get to know them better.
well, johnny and gaz dare you to ask ghost out. the big brute thatâs standing like an awkward statue ordering more drinks at the bar. and there you go, swaying on fawn legs, poking ghost gently in his meaty arm. the boys watch as ghost has to bend down to hear you over the noise, and you stand on your toes, putting your hands on his shoulder and murmuring in his ear.
you disappear with that big giant manâs arm around your waist, and when you come back to the table about twenty minutes later, youâre giggly and a little sweaty and stumbling just a little more. johnny leans over the table, confused.
âwhat happened? what did he say?â
âhuh?â you raise a brow.
âwhat did he say? when ye asked him out?â
âohâŠâ you go warm all over, pressing the backs of your hands to your cheeks. âis thatâŠis that what you meant? i couldnât hear you!â
âwhat?â
the booth rattles when ghost sits his weight down right beside you, big fingers wrapping around the nape of your neck and curling you up so he can press his forehead to yours. the eye contact is intense, and you break out into another fit of giggles as you stare right back at him.
big, scary bear. adorable giant.
you turn back to johnny, shrugging your shoulders.
âi thoughtâŠi thought you said to ask him to eat me out.â
â§âËâàŒâ§âË. jack abbot x kindergarten teacher!reader
â jack abbot who comes into his wife's kindergarten class every year on careers day to tell the kids all about being a doctor
â jack abbot who keeps all of the drawings the students make for him
â jack abbot who is always called for paediatric cases because he spends so much time in his wife's class, and knows what to talk to the kids about to keep them distracted
â jack abbot who remembers the names of all his wife's students and remembers everything she tells him about them
â jack abbot who sits quietly on saturday mornings and reads medical journals while his wife marks her students work
â jack abbot who helps out with all the school fairs and performances, he even goes on all their fields trips (for practicality of course, he can be a first aider if needed, not because he secretly loves the trips to the aquarium)
â jack abbot who helps decorate her classroom every summer (and for halloween and christmas)
â jack abbot who always buys his wife two bouquets of flowers, one for the dining table and one for her desk in her classroom
â§âËâàŒâ§âË. jack abbot x kindergarten teacher!reader
â jack abbot who comes into his wife's kindergarten class every year on careers day to tell the kids all about being a doctor
â jack abbot who keeps all of the drawings the students make for him
â jack abbot who is always called for paediatric cases because he spends so much time in his wife's class, and knows what to talk to the kids about to keep them distracted
â jack abbot who remembers the names of all his wife's students and remembers everything she tells him about them
â jack abbot who sits quietly on saturday mornings and reads medical journals while his wife marks her students work
â jack abbot who helps out with all the school fairs and performances, he even goes on all their fields trips (for practicality of course, he can be a first aider if needed, not because he secretly loves the trips to the aquarium)
â jack abbot who helps decorate her classroom every summer (and for halloween and christmas)
â jack abbot who always buys his wife two bouquets of flowers, one for the dining table and one for her desk in her classroom
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
Summary: Jack Abbot is your best friend in the entire world, until one day he isn't.
Warnings: cursing, use of pet names, age gap (approximately 20 years), quite a bit of discussion of Jack's prosthetic/residual limb. SMUT, oral (F receiving), unprotected sex (P in V), multiple orgasms, squirting.
Having a best friend is totally normal. Having a best friend that's older than you--also normal. Having an opposite gender best friend that's technically old enough to be your father--perhaps a little out of the ordinary.
But that didn't stop you from befriending Jack Abbot the second you met him on your first day as an intern at PTMC. Technically, you befriended nearly every single person you met--something about that bubbly personality of yours made it impossible to resist.
Jack would know better than most. After all, he tried to resist your charms. He lasted about an hour and a half before you'd managed to pull him into your orbit on a permanent basis.
Fast forward four years and he was now your closest confidant, your staunchest supporter, and your absolute all-time favorite human being. If someone asked him what he thought of you, he'd spend 20 minutes talking about how brilliant, competent, kind, beautiful--every positive adjective under the sun--you were.
You'd been asked countless times why you'd selected a man almost 20 years your senior as your best friend and your response never changed, "He sees my flaws and doesn't run". To be fair, Jack would never acknowledge you had any flaws to begin with, but the deeper meaning remained true--he loved the darkest parts of you no matter what. That's what friends do.
As far as you were concerned, your friendship with Jack was just like any other--the only difference was his age. Neither of you gave a damn, so it was never really a topic of conversation or concern.
Other people, however, loved to comment on it. Especially when you went out together. The initial assumption was always that he was your dad, but once that was dispelled the automatic next conclusion was that he was a creepy old sugar daddy. While he did often pay when you went out, there was certainly no arrangement--caring for people was simply Jack's love language.
He'd buy you drinks without a second thought, pay for meals regardless of how expensive, and buy you gifts when he saw something that made him think of you--it was just his way.
There was obviously nothing going on romantically between the two of you, as evidenced by the number of suitors you managed to date in all the free time you definitely didn't have.
You were more likely to swipe right than left these days, as you were convinced there had to be someone for you out there. You'd told Jack you had to take a chance on some of these guys or you'd end up dying alone. He'd been hilariously offended at the implication--as if he would ever allow you to die alone. You were best friends, after all.
It wasn't uncommon for you to waltz into the Pitt still wearing whatever outfit you'd chosen for a date, but it was extremely uncommon for you to have anything positive to say about the date itself. Everyone wanted to hear the updates as if they were living vicariously through you. Even some of the day shift staff would hang around to get the latest scoop.
"He spent an hour talking about his sneaker collection. An entire hour," you whined to Trinity as you tossed your bag into your locker.
"And you wonder why I like women..."
You rolled your eyes. "Because you were born that way?"
She laughed as she tugged her backpack over her shoulders. "That and men are so weird."
"All men?" Jack joked as he appeared beside you.
"All the ones I've gone on dates with in the past month," you confirmed with a wry chuckle.
"Honey, you've got the worst taste in men I've ever seen." He shot you a playful wink. "You can do way better than those apps."
"You try meeting someone these days outside of an app," you grumbled. "It's literally the only option."
Jack laughed and leaned forward conspiratorially. "You know I'm single too right? I've gotta suffer those apps just like you do."
"Jack Abbot you're about as likely to be on a dating app as Robby is to get married."
Jack laughed even harder, shaking his head ruefully. "You've got me there. I didn't even really know how it worked until you showed me."
"Well you are 140 years old," Trinity mumbled under her breath.
"But I'm not deaf," he sassed with a wink.
"If you're gonna flirt at least do it in front of Garcia. Maybe you'll make her jealous."
They both glared at you, but the expressions held no real malice.
You grinned ear to ear and grabbed your scrubs. "I'm gonna go change, then we can revel in the brilliant chaos of the nightshift, my beloved comrade in arms."
Jack matched your grin and Trinity just shook her head. "You guys are so weird."
"That's why we're on the nightshift, kid."
"Yeah, yeah. The rest of us want some semblance of a normal life."
"Why do that when you could experience the wilds of the night?" Jack joked, stretching his arms out to gesture around him. "This is where the fun's at." He backed up towards the nurse's station, grin never faltering.
Trinity just shook her head again with a chuckle. "Weirdos."
When you came back out dressed in your scrubs, you found Jack leaning against the nurse's station chatting with Lena.
"So how bad was this one, sweetheart?" Lena asked sweetly as you approached.
"I think I said a grand total of six words the entire date. The rest was him talking about the merits of Nike versus Adidas sneakers."
Jack wrinkled his nose and Lena chuckled with a shake of her head. "How do you manage to find so many strange men?"
"Honestly, I think it's a gift," you grumbled with a shrug.
"Or a curse," Jack muttered under his breath.
You smacked his chest affectionately. "Hey!"
"Ow. Rude."
Lena rolled her eyes at your antics. "Okay, both of you get to work before Shen comes over here and regales us with his latest story."
"Aren't you in charge?" you joked, elbowing Jack in the side.
"Yeah--you can't tell me what to do."
Lena raised a brow, a small smirk on her lips.
Jack stood up straight and saluted her. "Yes, ma'am."
You shot Lena a wink and she shook her head at you, but her smile widened. God you loved the nightshift.
A few hours later, you and Ellis were chatting instead of catching up on your charting.
"Maybe we should go out on our next night off," Ellis suggested.
"To a bar?"
"Yes, a bar."
You groaned. "I hate picking up men in bars."
She shrugged. "Pick up a woman instead."
"I'm starting to think you and Trinity are trying to convert me."
Her lips spread into a grin. "I'm just saying, if you ever wanna try something new..."
You laughed loudly enough to draw Jack's attention from the other side of the room. He smiled when his gaze landed on you, affectionate evident to anyone who cared to look.
"I promise you'll be the first to know." You shot her a wink as you stood up. "And maybe we should go out. We can drag Jack with us. I'm sure he needs to get laid too."
"Ew. I so do not need to think about our boss getting laid."
"Why not? He's a human man, Parker. He's got needs." Your teasing voice didn't stop the look of disgust from crossing Ellis's face.
"And I repeat: ew."
"What're we 'ew-ing'?" Jack asked from behind you.
"Parker suggested we go out to a bar--have a little fun, pick up some guys or gals." You shrugged. "I simply said you should come too because you need to get laid."
A look of pure shock crossed Jack's face for a split second before he burst out laughing. "Jesus, sweetheart."
"What? I'm just saying. It's been ages."
"I don't think Ellis wanted to know that."
"I truly did not."
"There's nothing to be ashamed of! We all have needs," you insisted.
"I'm not ashamed."
"You're just so...old fashioned about it. We can talk about sex without it being awkward."
Jack groaned loudly and ran his hand through his hair. "Just because you're comfortable talking about your escapades doesn't mean we are."
"Escapades?" You gave a mock gasp. "You're making it sound like I'm out whoring around."
"I so did not say that!"
You grinned and gave his arm an affectionate squeeze. "I'm kidding. You've heard all my failed date stories. I haven't even seen a man's penis outside of a medical context or an unsolicited dick pick in over a year."
Ellis's jaw dropped. "A year?!"
You shot her a glare. "Yes, Parker. A year. I'm a celibate monk. It's my new thing."
"Girl. You need to get properly dicked down."
"Jesus," Jack muttered, a light dusting of pink gracing his cheeks.
"You know," you leaned forward conspiratorially. "I've never even come during sex. Not once."
"Okaaaaaay," Jack muttered. "And that's my cue."
"You're no fun!" you called after him.
Laughter echoed from behind him as he walked away, a strange feeling settling in his chest. You'd talked about your dates, your exes, even sex with Jack a hundred times, but lately he's begun to feel differently about it.
He couldn't identify exactly when the shift started to happen, but the last month or two had been different for him. Two months ago, after a night out with you, he'd come home and stared at himself in the mirror for a long time. Longer than he'd done in years.
He'd made a realization that night. One he hadn't been sure he'd ever reach. It had been weeks since he'd thought about his wife, months since he'd missed her so much it hurt. He would always love her, but it no longer hurt to think about her. He didn't feel lost. He didn't feel broken. He didn't fall apart on her birthday or their anniversary. Somehow, some way, his heart had healed.
He'd looked down at the wedding band on his finger--the one he'd never taken off. For the first time since she passed away, he slid the ring from his finger. He stared at his left hand in silence, processing what it meant. He'd placed the ring in a box in his safe and locked it. It felt like he was closing one chapter of his life and finally allowing himself to step into a new one.
You'd noticed the very next day.
"Jackie, where's your ring?"
He glanced down at his hand. "I took it off."
"Yes...I can see that. But why?"
"I think it's time for me to move forward with my life."
You'd wrapped him in a tight hug and pulled him close, somehow knowing he needed that hug--needed to feel the closeness of another human being. Neither of you had really discussed it since, but he finally felt like he was ready to date--to meet someone new.
Sometimes, when he laid awake unable to sleep, he'd let his mind wander. Let it explore possibilities he'd never acknowledge outside the four walls of his bedroom.
He'd imagine building a life with someone new. He'd picture meeting someone, letting himself fall in love all over again. What he would never admit, never acknowledge, was in those moments, in the darkness of his room, he always pictured you.
You were the woman he imagined building a life with. The one he wanted to fall asleep wrapped around, the one he sometimes dreamed of marrying. On his worst days, he'd even let himself picture having a family--kids--with you.
He would never tell you. Never even admit it to himself in his waking hours. You were his best friend--he couldn't break your trust by falling in love with you.
But it was getting harder and harder to ignore. Like today. When you made jokes about your love life and Jack couldn't help but think to himself that he would treat you right. Or when you joked about not getting laid and all he could think about was worshipping your body--pulling orgasm after orgasm from you until you were a satiated mess beneath him.
He hated himself for thinking those things. Each time the thought crossed his mind, he felt like he was betraying you. You were friends and that's why you shared things with him. He had no right to imagine anything with you, but he couldn't bring himself to create distance between you either. You were his best friend as much as he was yours.
He let out a groan as he sunk into a chair beside Lena.
"Leg bothering you?" she asked gently.
"Just tired."
The look on her face made it clear she didn't believe him, but she made no further comment. If he wanted to open up, he would.
"Maybe I'm just getting old," he muttered.
She chuckled dryly. "You and me both."
And there it was. The other thing he hated himself for. He was old enough to be your father, yet here he was fantasizing about you. He wasn't sure if it was better or worse that it wasn't just sex he dreamed about--but of actually being with you. It was enough to make him wanna put his head through a wall.
Being friends was perfectly acceptable. Perfectly normal. Perfectly reasonable. Wanting you, on the other hand--loving you--was not. He didn't wanna be one of those creepy men that liked younger women for whatever pervy reason their deranged brains came up with. He sure as shit didn't want you to be uncomfortable and he would rather die than lose your friendship.
The first four years had been easy. The thought of crossing a line had never occurred to him. Friendship was all he wanted from you--and it's all you wanted from him. The last two months, however, had been hell. He spent every waking moment wishing you were his, and every sleepless day dreaming of you.
So if you told him you wanted to go to a bar and find some random dude to hook up with, he'd go with you. He'd make sure whoever you went home with wasn't a total creep and he'd support you in whatever way you needed--even if it killed him.
"Jackie, can I borrow you for a second?"
He looked up, meeting your slightly nervous expression. "Sure, sweetheart. Everything okay?"
"I need your opinion on this patient, please."
He suppressed another groan as he stood up and followed after you, listening as you described the patient's symptoms. Back to work he went.
**********
"Okay, how 'bout this one?" You came out of your closet in yet another dress option you were modeling for Ellis and Santos.
"Maybe something a little sluttier?" Ellis suggested. "We are trying to attract a man here."
"What's wrong with this one?" you whined, looking down at the black dress.
"It's boring," Trinity groaned. "Let me look."
She jumped up and dove into your closet, digging through the dress options until she found one she liked. "Put this one on."
You paled slightly at the dress she held up. You'd bought it on a whim, but never wore it. It was short--like whole ass gonna hang out if you bend over short--and extremely low cut. It was a deep burgundy color that looked gorgeous on you, but it made you insanely nervous to wear it in public.
"I can't wear that."
She frowned. "Why'd you buy it then?"
"I thought it looked hot in the store!"
"It looks hot from here too," Parker commented with a grin.
You shot her a glare over your shoulder.
"Just try it on. If you hate it, you don't have to wear it," Trinity insisted.
You groaned as you grabbed it from her. "Fine."
You stepped into the closet and pulled the dress on. It was just as short as you remembered, but you'd forgotten how perfectly it hugged your curves. You stared at yourself in the mirror for a moment, admiring how good your body looked in the dress.
"You coming out or did you get lost in there?" Parker called.
You rolled your eyes before stepping out. Both women fell completely silent as they stared at you. You chewed on your bottom lip nervously as you waited for one of them to speak.
"Fucking christ," Trinity swore under her breath.
"You're good," Parker commented, sticking out her fist for Trinity to bump.
"Damn right I am."
"So...this is the one?" you asked.
"Obviously."
"Clearly."
"It's not too much?"
"I'd argue it's too little," Parker teased.
Trinity smacked her arm. "She's self-conscious."
Parker stood up and crossed the room. "You look gorgeous, okay?" She gave you a hug. "Now let's go find you a man."
"Is Jack meeting us there?" Trinity asked.
You shook your head. "He's picking us up. He's the DD tonight."
"Bless him," she muttered.
You grabbed your phone to see if he'd texted you. Unsurprisingly, you had an alert for a text from him.
Jackie: I'll be there in 10 minutes, sweetheart.
You: See you soon! <3
The three of you were waiting in the lobby when you heard the rumble of Jack's truck as he pulled up in front of the apartment complex. You straightened your dress, suddenly feeling incredibly nervous for Jack to see you. What if he thought the dress was too slutty? Would he judge you? Say something about it?
You couldn't quite put your finger on why the thought of him hating the dress bothered you so much, but you tried to push the concern away.
"You alright?" Parker asked.
"Mhmm."
"Hey." She turned you toward her. "You look beautiful, okay? Take a deep breath."
You breathed with her, relaxing as you did.
"Excellent. Now let's go give Jack a heart attack."
You groaned, but both girls laughed. You shook your head at their antics as you followed them into the parking lot.
Unsurprisingly, Jack was standing outside his truck, waiting on the three of you. He was always such a gentleman--he never let you (or any woman for that matter) open the car door.
He opened the rear passenger door for Santos and Ellis to climb in before turning back in your direction. As soon as he did, his entire body went rigid.
You swallowed thickly as you watched him take in your appearance. His gaze traced down and back up your body, but he didn't make you feel uncomfortable. Instead you felt a surprising heat settle low in your abdomen--a heat you hadn't felt in a long time.
"You look..."
You bit your lip as you waited for him to find the adjective he wanted.
"Stunning," he breathed.
A dark blush crept into your cheeks. "Thanks, Jackie. You look handsome as always."
He rolled his eyes fondly, opened the passenger door, and helped you inside.
You hadn't been lying. He did look good. He always looked good, but you especially liked him dressed down. He was wearing dark jeans, a slightly too-tight black t-shirt, and boots. A simple outfit, but on him it might as well have been couture.
You sometimes joked about the woes of having a hot best friend. You always told him you'd have to beat the ladies back with a stick, even when he was still wearing his wedding ring.
"How much trouble are you three planning on getting into tonight?" Jack asked as he started the truck.
"That depends," Trinity answered.
"On?"
"How quickly we find (Y/N) a suitable lover for the night."
"Oh my god," you muttered under your breath.
Jack laughed loudly. "Jesus, Santos."
"What? We established that was the goal for tonight!"
"Maybe we don't word it quite like that in front of Jack," Ellis chided with a small grin.
"Thank you, Ellis. Decorum." Jack's voice was light and teasing, but you swore you heard a little undercurrent of strain.
"Decorum? Really? Sounds like we need to get you laid too."
"Fucking hell," he muttered with a laugh. "Were you pregaming, kid?"
Santos grinned wickedly. "You bet your ass I was."
"I'm so glad you're not on the nightshift." He shot you a wink and you smiled in return.
That smile stole his heart for the thousandth time. It was his all-time favorite look of yours. He'd kill to see it every day for the rest of his life.
When you arrived, the four of you immediately gathered at the bar, ready to get some liquid courage--or maybe that was just for you. You ordered a drink and dug into your small bag for your credit card to open a tab.
Before you could even get it out, Jack was sliding his card across the bar. "I've got it, sweetheart."
"I was gonna start a tab."
"And?"
"Well, I don't know how much I'm going to drink."
He gave you an odd look then turned back to the bartender. "Put all her drinks on my card for the night."
"Jack--"
"Don't complain about free drinks," Trinity muttered from your other side.
You sighed. "Fine, but I'm only having two drinks."
"Suit yourself," Ellis said with a smile. "I plan on having at least four."
Jack got himself a water and leaned back against the bar so he could look around. You were holding your small bag in front of you, hands fiddling with the strap nervously. "Gimme your bag, sweetheart. I'll hold onto it for you."
"You sure?"
He held out his hand in response and you handed him the bag. Neither Ellis or Santos had brought one, but Santos did slip off her jacket and hand it to Jack.
"Go dance and have fun, ladies. I'll be over here if you need me."
Ellis and Santos made their way to the dance floor without argument. You, however, turned to face him, concern etched on your pretty face. "Is your leg hurting?"
Jack hated how well you knew him sometimes. "It's a little sore, but I'm alright." Just one more thing he wished were different. One more reason he wasn't good enough for you.
You stepped toward him, hand coming to rest on his forearm. "Jackie..."
"I'm fine, sweetheart," he assured you softly, placing a hand on top of yours and squeezing it. "Go have fun."
"I want you to have fun too."
"I'm here with you. What could be more fun than that?"
You huffed a laugh and rolled your eyes. "Cheesy as hell."
He merely grinned and waved you off. "Go on. Santos looks like she's two seconds from stomping over here to get you."
You looked over your shoulder and both women waved at you enthusiastically. "Alright...if you're sure?"
"Very. Go."
You gave him one last look, expression soft but unreadable. Then you were walking away and it took all of his self-control to not stare at the sway of your hips as you crossed the room.
The same could not be said for most of the other men in the bar. Several were eyeing you like you were prey--and they were apex predators. Jack didn't like the way their eyes on you made him feel, but he pushed the feeling down deep.
He told himself you were a big girl and you could take care of yourself, even if all he wanted to do was take care of you himself. His protective instincts had always flared up when you were around, but lately they'd risen to a new level of intensity.
It drove him crazy watching one guy after another approach you, but you turned each one away. Some of them took it well, others looked more than a little annoyed. Ellis and Santos never strayed too far from you, and Jack felt confident they would defend you if you needed it.
About 30 minutes later, you made your way back toward the bar, assumedly to get another drink, but to Jack's surprise, you eased your way to him.
"Having fun, sweetheart?"
You shrugged. "It's not as fun without you."
He chuckled in an attempt to cover the tightening in his chest. "I'm not a very good dancer on the best of days anyway."
"Maybe not, but your presence is always a welcome one."
"You've had plenty of potential dance partners come up to you," he teased softly.
"Yeah, but none of them are--" You bit your lip, stopping yourself mid-sentence. You'd been about to say 'none of them are you' when your brain caught up with your damn mouth. You'd had one drink--what the hell had gotten into you?
Jack raised an inquisitive eyebrow, but you waved him off. "I'm gonna get another drink."
"Use my card!" he called as you stalked off toward the bartender.
Jack wondered what you'd been about to say when you cut yourself off. He knew what he wanted you to say, but odds were not in his favor. You were probably just not interested in any of the men who'd approached you thus far, and that was just fine. Hell, a big part of him hoped none of them interested you. Ever.
As the night went on, you had a couple more drinks, but you were still mostly sober. Certainly too tipsy to drive, but not too intoxicated to make decisions.
At some point, you'd lost track of Ellis, but you weren't worried. If anyone could take care of themselves, it was her. Trinity was still close by, but you could tell she was a little off.
"Trin? You okay?"
"I texted Garcia."
You groaned. "We talked about this--"
"I know! I know. I just--I miss her."
Before you could say anything, her phone lit up. You knew by her facial expression exactly who it was.
"She's asking me to come over."
"Trinity..."
"I won't go if you don't want me to leave."
Honestly, you didn't want her to go, but that was more for her own heart than any needs of yours. But you couldn't bring yourself to tell her to stay. "Do you wanna go?"
She shifted on her feet--an answer in and of itself.
"Alright, fine. Go."
"Are you sure?"
"Go before I change my mind." You gave her a tight hug. "Be safe and text me when you get there."
"I will."
You watched her make her way through the growing crowd. You still had no idea where Parker was and you could no longer see Jack sitting at the bar. You decided to start in the direction you'd last seen him when someone bumped into you from the side.
"Oh god, I'm so sorry!"
You looked up at the man who'd run into you, jaw slackening slightly as you took him in. He was tall, incredibly handsome, and quite fit. You were sure your body should be responding to his attractiveness, but you felt nothing. No heat. No desire. Nada.
"That's alright," you said with a smile. "It's crowded."
He smiled back at you. "Yeah, a bit." He stuck out his hand for you to shake. "I'm Tyler."
You took it and offered your name.
"Could I buy you a drink?"
You debated it for a moment before deciding it couldn't hurt. "Sure."
His smile widened and he gestured for you to walk with him to the bar. He ordered himself a drink and then one for you. While the bartender made them, he turned his body toward you and began asking questions.
"You here with anyone?"
"Yeah, a couple of my friends." You glanced around. "They're somewhere in here."
He nodded. "Celebrating anything or just out for fun?"
"Just fun."
"It's my friend's birthday, but he's making out in a booth with some chick he met, so we've all kind of dispersed."
You chuckled, feeling slightly annoyed with yourself. The whole point of tonight was to get laid, and a perfectly attractive man was buying you a drink and chatting you up, but you felt absolutely nothing. Not even the hint of attraction.
"I saw you dancing earlier," he commented. "You've got moves."
You let out a genuine laugh. "Now you're just full of shit."
He laughed too. "I'm serious!"
You rolled your eyes with a smile. Your lips parted to make another joke, but out of the corner of your eye, you saw a flash of gray curls across the room. You felt your chest tighten as your head swung in that direction, instinctively drawn to him.
Your eyes landed on Jack as he was leaving the bathroom, weaving his way through the crowd back to his spot at the bar. You noted the slight limp in his step and your whole body ached for him. You hated seeing him in pain--you'd do anything to ease it. Anything.
Unbeknownst to you, your drink had arrived behind you, and Tyler was still chattering away. But from across the room, Jack's hazel eyes met yours and you felt your body awaken for the second time tonight. You inhaled sharply as his keen gaze swept over your face before he offered you a tight smile. You returned the expression, silently confirming you were okay.
"Your drink, madam."
You turned your attention back to Tyler and smiled as you took the drink from his hand. "Thank you."
You lifted the glass toward your lips, only to stop when you heard a sharp voice yell, "Don't drink that!"
A girl you didn't know appeared beside you and snatched the drink right out of your hand. You gasped in surprise. "Sorry?"
"He put something in your drink," she said with absolute certainty. "I saw him."
You looked up at Tyler and knew without a doubt the girl was correct. He looked angry, but beneath it was a shred of guilt you could just barely make out.
You took the drink back from the girl's hand and splashed it directly into Tyler's face. "Sick fuck," you snapped.
Tyler lunged at you, but a guy behind him pulled him back. The commotion got the bouncer's attention as well as Jack's, both of which moved toward your location with surprising haste.
The bouncer grabbed ahold of Tyler and pulled him away just as Jack reached your side. "Sweetheart--you okay?"
"Yeah, yeah I'm fine." You looked toward the girl who'd saved you. "Thanks for that. Seriously."
She gave you a small smile. "Happy to help." She eyed Jack warily. "You know him?"
For the first time in a while, a genuine smile spread across your lips. "Yeah. I'm safe with him."
She nodded and gave you a squeeze on the arm. "Stay safe."
"Thanks. You too." You watched as she walked off to rejoin her friends.
"What the hell happened?" Jack asked, bringing your attention back to him.
"Can you take me home?"
He looked slightly startled. "Of course." He flagged down the bartender. "Let me close out and we can go. Grab the girls, okay?"
"Trin left to go meet up with Garcia. I don't know where Parker is."
"She's over there." He gestured off to the left past the dance floor. "She was making out with some girl the last I saw."
"Okay, let me see if she's still over there."
Jack nodded and watched you weave through the crowd. His adrenaline had spiked when he heard the girl yell and again when he saw you splash your drink in some guy's face. He knew you were okay--but he still couldn't quite get his heart rate to return to normal.
You saw Ellis sitting in a booth, chatting with a very pretty woman. "Hey, Parker, Jackie and I are gonna head out. Do you wanna come?"
She turned to you and offered a warm smile. "I'm alright, (Y/N/N)."
You nodded. "Text me when you get home. Trin went to Garcia's."
She groaned and shook her head. "Of course she did." She stood up and gave you a tight hug. "Love you, be safe."
"I'll be with Jack." As you said it, you realized it was true--Jack was safe. More than that, Jack was your safe space, the place you went when the world felt unbearable. He'd protect you with his life--you wouldn't even have to ask. No one had ever made you feel as protected as Jack did.
A surge of heat blossomed in your stomach and you finally acknowledged the feeling for what it was--desire. You wanted Jack Abbot. Badly.
Parker was watching your face as realization sunk into you. "If you're done being an idiot, I suggest you go and get your man."
Your jaw dropped. "What?"
"Oh please. The two of you have been running circles around each other for months. It's high time one of you makes a damn move."
"How the hell did you know I wanted him before I even knew?!" you asked incredulously.
She shrugged. "It was obvious to everyone but the two of you. Shen and I talk about it all the time. We both noticed when you two stopped being best friends and became something more--even if neither of you knew it."
You were shocked straight down to your core. Absolutely floored. How did you have no idea you wanted him when everyone else could see it? "I-I have to go."
She laughed and gave you another hug. "Yeah I know. Get moving."
You squeezed her tightly before turning and practically bolting back in Jack's direction. How could you have been so stupid? So blind? Everything you'd ever wanted had been right in front of you.
You were so in your head you didn't even notice he was physically in front of you until you ran directly into his strong chest.
"Woah, easy there sweetheart." His hands gripped your arms to steady you.
"Can we go? Please?"
"Yeah, c'mon." He edged his body ahead of you to make a pathway to the door.
You followed along behind him, thinking about how incredible this man was. All the small things he'd done for you over the years, all the ways he made you feel understood, all the times he'd been there when you needed him.
You couldn't identify the exact moment things had changed for you, but tonight had been eye-opening. You didn't even know when you'd fallen in love with him--all you knew was that you had.
"Sweetheart, are you sure you're alright?" Jack asked softly as he held the passenger door open for you.
You hadn't even realized you'd made it outside--too lost in your thoughts to register anything in the real world. "I'm good, Jackie. Really good."
He eyed you for a moment before nodding his acceptance. "C'mon pretty lady, get your behind in the truck."
You laughed, taking his outstretched hand as he helped you in. You inhaled deeply when he shut the door, taking in the scent that permeated the truck--his scent.
Jack climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine. "Seatbelt," he prodded gently.
"Oh!" You fastened it quickly, and he stared at you for a long moment before pulling out of the parking spot.
"Did you have too much to drink?"
"I had four drinks."
"You sure that's all?"
You shot him an amused glare. "Yes, Jack. I'm sure."
He chuckled, throwing his hands in the air in mock surrender. "You're acting strangely, that's all."
"Well I did almost get drugged."
"What?!"
"Yeah, the dude I tossed my drink on--he put something in it."
"Jesus Christ." He ran a hand over his face. "That's why that girl told you not to drink it."
"Yeah."
"Fuck." Jack's grip on the steering wheel tightened. "I shoulda been there."
"It's okay. Nothing actually happened."
"But it could've. If you'd gotten hurt--if that son of a bitch had done something to you..." he trailed off. "I-I don't know what I would've done."
Jack did know what he would have done. He knew exactly what he would have done. He would've broken his oath to do no harm, but he could guarantee that guy would've never hurt another girl again.
You reached out and placed a gentle hand on his arm, trying to soothe him. "I'm alright, Jackie. Nothing happened."
He glanced over at you and his heart ached with the need to hold you. He needed to feel it for himself--to know for sure you were okay. You were unharmed. You were safe.
"I'd do anything to protect you, you know," he murmured softly.
"I know."
The rest of the short ride to your apartment was silent. When he pulled into the parking lot, you decided to take the leap.
"Will you come up?"
Jack turned to you in surprise. "It's late--you sure you don't wanna go to bed?"
You shook your head. "Please?"
"'Course, sweetheart." He pulled into a parking spot and hopped out.
You knew better than to even try to get out before he opened your door. You'd made that mistake a grand total of one time early on in your friendship and you'd gotten an earful for it.
When the door opened, you slid out and adjusted your dress. "Thanks, Jackie."
He merely grunted quietly and shut the door. He walked beside you in silence, mind running a mile a minute as he tried to figure out what was happening in that pretty head of yours. He knew something was up, he just couldn't figure out what.
The moment the two of you crossed the threshold of your apartment, you turned to face him, eyes filled with an unreadable emotion. "I need to tell you something."
"Okay."
"Do-do you wanna sit down?"
He shook his head. "Just tell me, sweetheart."
For a long moment, you said nothing. A moment so long, he began to feel real fear. Did you somehow figure out how he felt about you? Were you mad at him? Was the friendship over? Was he about to lose the only thing in his life that truly mattered to him?
You had no idea he was panicking as you tried to find the right words to say. Everything that came into your mind sounded wrong. At some point, you realized it didn't matter what you said--you needed to just say something.
"I'm in love with you," you blurted, shocking Jack to his very core.
"You-you, uh-you're what?"
Panic settled deep in your chest and you wondered if you'd just made a terrible mistake. Had Ellis been wrong? Did Jack not feel the same way you did? Did you just blow up four years of friendship?
"I, um-I--"
Jack's body moved of its own volition, taking a step toward you. His brain caught up and the most intense surge of desire he'd ever felt swept through him. "Say it again."
Your lips parted in surprise, but you complied. "I'm in love with you."
Jack took another step, leaving less than six inches between you. He reached out and placed a steady hand on your hip, tugging you closer. "Say it again, baby," he whispered, sounding absolutely wrecked.
Your heart skipped a beat as your panic subsided. You reached up and cupped his face as you leaned into his toned body. "I'm crazy, madly, deeply in love with you."
There was no fanfare. No cheering. No fireworks. Just the purest of emotions easing something inside both of you--and tying you together forever.
He was the first to move, yanking you so close your body was flush against his. His lips dropped to yours in a hungry kiss, filled with years of affection turned to love. He kissed you like his very life depended on it--like he would cease to exist without the feeling of your lips on his.
You wrapped your arms around his neck as you leaned into the kiss, allowing him to deepen it with the softest groan. His hands were hot against your hip and back as he held you--it was a feeling you'd never stop craving.
Eventually, he was forced to break the kiss to breathe, but he didn't move away. "It's wrong. It's quite possibly insane. But I don't give a damn anymore. I'm fucking crazy about you, (Y/N/N). I'm so in love with you it hurts."
You lifted one hand to brush through his curls. "Jackie..."
"I couldn't tell you, baby. I couldn't--" He exhaled heavily. "It felt so wrong to love you like this, to need you the way I do."
"There's nothing wrong with this," you whispered.
"People will talk."
"Let them."
"You're still a resident."
"I don't give a damn. I've only got four months left."
"I'm old and broken--"
"You're not broken," you insisted. "And just because you're older than me doesn't mean you're old."
He rested his forehead against yours. "Are you sure you want this?"
"I've never been more certain of anything in my life."
"Baby, I need you to be a thousand percent sure. If we do this, I'm in it for the long haul. I don't do casual. I don't do no strings. I'm all in. If you want this, you get all of me."
You lowered your right hand to rest against his chest, feeling his heart thump beneath your palm. "I want everything with you, Jack."
He exhaled a shaky breath before pressing his lips to yours a second time. He loved kissing you. He loved feeling your body against his. He loved the soft sounds you made. He loved everything about you.
His hands slipped lower, cupping your ass slightly. "Jump f'me."
"Jackie--"
"I said jump."
His tone left no room for discussion, so you did as he asked. He caught you with surprising ease and you wrapped your legs around his waist. He carried you to your bedroom, ignoring the pain pulsing from his prosthetic. He'd be damned if he couldn't at least carry his girl to bed.
When he lowered you to your bed, you pulled him in with your legs, wedging him between them as you kissed him.
He groaned lowly as his hands traveled over your soft curves. "I fucking love your body."
You whimpered softly as your hands drifted under his shirt. "Wanna see yours."
He obligingly tugged his shirt off, allowing you an unobstructed view of his toned chest.
"Fucking hell, you're hot," you whispered.
He couldn't help but laugh at the awe in your voice. "So are you."
"Shhh. This is about you." You placed your hands on his chest and slowly caressed him, feeling every ridge, muscle, and divot on his torso. "I love your freckles. They're so pretty."
He was quiet as he let you explore, but he couldn't take his eyes off yours. You were observing his body with a reverence he hadn't experienced in a very long time. He was proud of the shape he was in, but when you looked at him like that? He felt like the sexiest man alive.
Your hands brushed against his shoulders before starting down his biceps, a soft sound of need escaping your lips. "I've always liked your arms," you admitted. "You're so strong."
He felt his cheeks darken as a wave of embarrassment hit him. "Well I don't know about all that--"
"You carried me. So shush."
He couldn't help the low chuckle that rumbled through his chest. "I love you."
You looked up at his face and smiled. "I love you too."
"Any chance I could see you now, pretty girl?"
You shifted slightly, head cocking to the side as you thought about it. "No. I haven't seen enough of you yet."
Your gaze immediately dropped to his pants, eyes widening when they landed on his very hard and very large erection straining against his jeans.
"Ho-ly fuuuuck..."
He laughed softly. "See something you like, sweetheart?"
"I'm about to," you muttered as you quickly undid his jeans and tugged them down. "Off. Take it all off."
He chuckled. "Yes ma'am."
He tugged his pants off first, then his boxer briefs. The moment his cock sprung up against his abdomen, your mouth began to water. It was the only thing you saw--the only thing that mattered to you in the moment.
It wasn't until you looked up to meet his heavy gaze that you realized he was nervous. "Baby? You okay?"
He nodded, but you weren't convinced.
"What's wrong?" He shifted slightly and you realized what it was. "Your leg?"
His cheeks darkened further, the red blush spreading down his neck. "I-I know it's not exactly attractive--"
"I love every part of you, Jack Abbot. Every part."
"I can't do as much as someone with both legs," he choked out. "I can't-I can't fuck you the way I want to."
You stood up then, bringing yourself a little closer to eye level with him. "I'm a doctor, Jack. You think I don't know that you come with some restrictions? Don't you dare think for one second I give a damn. I love you. I want you. I don't need tricks or theatrics. I just need you."
He melted against you, lips pressing up against yours in a desperate kiss of love and appreciation. He hadn't been with more than a couple women since his wife's death, and all of them had been one-night-stands. He didn't really care what they thought of him, not the way he cared about your opinion.
He didn't really know how badly he needed your affirmations until he heard them. His obsession with you only deepened in that moment, and his need for you increased tenfold. "Sweetheart, we gotta get this dress off. I need to see you."
You gripped the bottom hem of your dress and pulled it off over your head in one quick motion. You were incredibly thankful you'd worn a cute lace set--you had been hoping to get laid tonight after all.
Jack's eyes swept over the black lace covering your breasts with a barely concealed hunger. His eyes drifted lower, taking in the black lace covering your core and not much else. "Spin around f'me, baby."
You blushed slightly, but you obeyed, turning away from him.
"Slower."
Your body heeded the order immediately, even before your brain processed it fully. You could feel his heated gaze on you, even if you couldn't see him, and it made your skin prickle--you felt so incredibly alive.
"Can't believe you were hiding all this," he muttered to himself. "It's a shame to hide such perfection under clothes."
You couldn't help the little giggle that escaped at his compliment, a small smile firmly planted on your face as you turned back to face him again.
"Can I take this off?" he asked softly, running a calloused hand over the lace shielding you from his gaze.
You took your bottom lip into your mouth as you nodded, feeling slightly nervous for him to see all of you--completely and utterly bare.
He brushed his thumbs over your nipples through the lace, feeling them harden for him. "Use your words, pretty girl."
"Yes, Jack."
"Good girl," he murmured as he dipped his head down to mouth your nipples through the lace. His hands slipped behind your back to unhook your bra, letting your heavy breasts spill out as he dropped the garment to the floor.
"Christ have mercy." He cupped your breasts in his large hands, groaning at the feeling of their weight in his palms.
A soft gasp met his ears as he spun you around and pulled you firmly against him. His hands settled right back on your breasts as his lips pressed wet kisses into the curve of your neck.
"Jack--"
"What is it, baby?" he murmured against your skin, fingers rolling your nipples between them in an attempt to pull more of those sweet sounds from your lips. "What'dya need?"
You wiggled your ass back against him, feeling his cock press up against you--so close to where you wanted him, yet so far away. "More."
"Don't worry, sweetheart. I'm gonna give you more," he promised, lips never leaving your sensitive skin. "Just gotta be patient f'me."
You whined desperately, reaching behind you to thread your fingers into his hair. "Please Jackie."
"Patience, sweet girl. Let me take my time."
Every brush of his lips against your skin, every squeeze of his hands, and every subtle shift of his hips felt incredible--but it wasn't enough. The ache between your thighs, the pulsing need, was becoming unbearable.
"Jack, need you to touch me," you pleaded.
He chuckled lowly as his teeth grazed your shoulder. "I am touching you."
You whined again and gripped his hand in yours, trying to pull it down to where your soaked core yearned for his touch.
"Didn't I just tell you to be patient, sweetheart?"
"I can't," you whimpered. "Need you, Jackie. Waited so long. Please."
"Hmm," he hummed. "You have waited a long time...and you've been so good...maybe you do deserve a reward."
"I've been so good, Jack--so good. Please."
He chuckled. "Alright sweet thing. I've got you."
He nipped at your pulse point before laving his tongue over it to soothe the bite. His hand trailed lower, sliding down over the soaked lace.
"Fuck, baby," he groaned in your ear. "You're soaked."
You shifted your hips, desperately seeking friction against his hand.
"Uh-uh, don't move. Let me do the work."
His fingers pressed down on the lace, pushing it between your folds as he deftly sought your clit. The second he brushed against it, a jolt of pleasure shot through you, pulling a moan from deep in your throat.
Jack's cock throbbed painfully when he was pressed against you, that sweet little sound you made shooting right through him. "Shit."
His fingers dipped beneath the lace, pushing it to the side so he could feel your perfect pussy. He dragged his fingers through your wetness before slowly circling your clit--the pressure was too soft, too light. You tried to grind down on his hand, but he pulled it away with a soft 'tsk'.
"I promise I'll make you feel good, baby. Just let me." He kissed your neck as he dipped two of his fingers inside of you. "Jesus, you're tight."
You gasped at the intrusion, pulsating around his fingers as he stretched you out. "Jackieeeee. More."
"You want more? Hmm?"
You nodded rapidly.
"Tell me what you want."
"Faster."
He obliged, speeding up the thrusts of his fingers as he pressed firmly against your g-spot. Your legs began to shake, but he held you upright, keeping you pressed against his chest.
Jack placed open-mouth kisses everywhere he could reach, no longer able to keep his own need under control. "You gonna come for me? Gonna come all over my fingers?"
You squirmed in his hold, breathless moans and gasps the only sounds you could manage. Your nails dug into his forearm as you held on tightly, using him as support to remain standing.
"Go on," he murmured, thumb rubbing against your clit just the way you liked. "Let go f'me."
Your jaw dropped into an 'O' as the first pulse of your orgasm hit you. Your head fell back against his shoulder as he worked you through it, whispering sweetly into your ear.
"That's it, baby. I've got you."
His fingers only slowed as you started to come down from your high. You clawed at his arm and tried to squirm out of his grip, so he relented, pulling his fingers out of you and directly into his mouth.
You turned your head so you could watch him suck them clean, a little moan of enjoyment breaking from him as he licked them.
"Oh now I need more of that," he murmured. "C'mere."
He turned you around to face him and maneuvered you to sit on the edge of the bed. He gripped your underwear and tugged them off before dropping to his knees between your legs.
"Wait, Jack--no, your leg--"
The look he gave you silenced you instantly. "I'm fine, baby. I'm right where I wanna be."
"But--"
He silenced you by licking a fat stripe from the bottom of your pussy up to your clit. A moan escaped you as you tilted your head back in pleasure.
The position was uncomfortable for him, but it wasn't painful, so he pushed it aside and got to work eating your pussy like it was the one thing on earth he lived for.
"Oh my god, Jack." Your fingers tangled in his curls as your hips surged forward to meet his mouth.
He gave your hip a swat before laying a strong arm low across your lap to keep you in place.
The room filled with the sounds of him feasting on you--slurps, sucks, and muffled moans--mixed with the sounds of pure unadulterated pleasure escaping your open mouth.
Jack wanted to hear those sweet sounds for the rest of his life--he wanted to be the only one who ever heard them again. Those were his sounds, coming from his girl, from pleasure only he could give.
"Jack, please please--don't stop."
He groaned into you as he continued his ministrations. He had no intentions of stopping, certainly not now that he knew what you tasted like.
Your nails scraped against his scalp as your moans became louder and more frantic. He knew you were close, could feel it as certainly as if it were his own.
He wanted to beg you to come for him, to let him feel you, but he didn't dare stop.
"Oh god, oh god, ohh-ohh, Jack!"
His name was the last thing he heard before you tipped over the edge, pussy gushing juices into his waiting mouth, thick thighs wrapping around his head as he continued to lap up every drop you gave him.
"'s too much--" you whined, tugging on his hair as you tried to wriggle away from his mouth. "Jackieeeee."
He moaned into you, not wanting to leave his new favorite place. He only relented when you tugged so hard on his hair he worried you'd pull some out. He lifted his head and gazed up at you, a smug smirk settled firmly on his face.
"You taste fucking amazing, baby."
You released a breathy chuckle and shook your head.
"I would like to spend a few hours trapped between these pretty legs--but that can wait for another day."
Your eyes widened. "A few hours?"
He grinned wolfishly. "Sweetheart, I'd let you smother me with those perfect fucking thighs. I don't need oxygen--I just need you."
"You're insane," you whispered incredulously.
He pulled himself up with a groan of discomfort he tried to suppress. "Maybe a bit."
The pained sound had your expression softening instantly. "Baby--come up here and relax." You patted the bed beside you, urging him to join you.
He knew you were right and he was more than a little embarrassed by how quickly he collapsed onto the bed beside you. He watched in shock as you slid off the bed and placed a soft hand to his leg just above the prosthetic.
"Honey, what're you doing?"
"Let me take this off," you murmured sweetly. "Want you to be comfortable."
He felt the familiar embarrassment creeping up and filling his chest. No, no, no--you shouldn't have to do this--you shouldn't have to see him like this.
He reached down and grabbed your hand, stilling it before you could unfasten the socket. "Let's-let's just leave it on."
You cocked your head to the side, concern evident in your gaze. You knew it was uncomfortable, perhaps even painful, and he most certainly shouldn't be wearing it during sex.
You opened your mouth to say as much, but closed it when you caught the pained emotion in his hazel eyes. You realized there might not be anything you could say to convince him you didn't care--but you could show him.
You leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the hand covering yours before lifting it and giving it a firm squeeze. You held his hand in your non-dominant one and used the other to unfasten his prosthetic.
His entire body tensed and his breathing became labored as you slowly removed the prosthetic. You released his hand and took the residual limb into both of yours, leaning down to press a kiss just above the liner.
Tears filled his eyes as he watched you, unable to fully grasp what was happening.
You slowly removed the sock, followed by the liner, soft hands massaging his irritated skin as you went. You knew residual limbs could be extremely sensitive, so you were incredibly gentle. Each touch was feather light and achingly sweet.
It filled his heart with an unnamable emotion, making his chest ache with each gentle pass of your hands.
To his utter surprise, you lowered your head again and began to place the gentlest of kisses to what remained of his lower leg. You were so incredibly reverent, so gentle, it hurt to witness.
"Baby," he whispered hoarsely. "Baby, come up here."
You looked up at him, chest tightening at the sight of tears staining his cheeks. "Jackie..."
"Please," he begged. "I need to kiss you."
Your heart hammered in your chest as you ran your hands up his strong thighs, using them as leverage to stand up.
"C'mere." He pulled you into him and kissed you deeply.
This kiss was different from all the ones that had come before. He poured every ounce of love he had for you into the kiss, along with gratitude and appreciation for what you had just done.
For the first time in a long time, Jack Abbot felt whole.
"I need you," he murmured against your lips.
"You have me."
He knew it was true--knew it always would be--but right now, he needed the physical manifestation of your love. Needed it like he needed air to breathe.
He pulled away from you so he could move himself back onto the bed. Once he was comfortably situated against the headboard, he beckoned you toward him.
"C'mere sweet girl. Let me make love to you."
The smile that crossed your face was painfully soft, but he could see the hunger hidden beneath it.
You crawled across the bed before climbing onto his lap, straddling his hips and leaning down to kiss him.
He moaned into the kiss when you slid your wet folds up the length of his cock, mixing with the soft needy sound you made.
He felt your hand wrap around his cock, gripping it tightly as you lined him up with your entrance. He gasped into your mouth as you began to slowly lower yourself onto him, soft whimpers escaping your lips as your body stretched to accommodate his size.
"Holy fuck, you're tight," he groaned lowly once you were fully seated.
You shifted your hips, preparing to ride him, but his grip on you tightened.
"Wait--wait. Just-just give me a second."
"Are you okay?" you asked worriedly.
"I'm about to embarrass myself by coming too fast," he admitted. He groaned when your pussy clenched around him as you stifled a laugh. "It's not funny. You just feel so goddamn incredible."
"It's kinda funny," you teased.
He smacked your ass affectionately, but with a little bit of a warning. "For that, I'm getting two more out of you."
Your eyes widened dramatically, the look almost comical. "Jack, I-I've never--"
"Come during sex? Yeah, baby I know."
"I don't really think I can," you admitted quietly.
"Bullshit. You've just never had someone willing to try."
The dark blush that crept up your cheeks solidified his resolve.
"I'll fuck this pretty pussy until I pass out if that's what it takes to make you come," he growled.
"Jack," you gasped, eyes wide once more.
"It might take me a little time, but I'm gonna learn this perfect little body inside and out--I wanna know everything you like, and I'll give you everything you need."
You bit your lip as your heart skipped a beat. "I love you."
He grinned warmly. "I love you too, pretty girl. Now why don't you move those hips, hmm? Let's see how quickly I can make my girl come."
He tapped your hip affectionately for emphasis and you started to move. You lifted yourself up and down, finding the right rhythm for both of you.
Jack's head leaned back against the headboard, but he kept his eyes locked on you. He was gauging your enjoyment, learning what made you whimper and what made you cry out. He was determined to prove to you there was nothing wrong with you.
He pulled your torso forward slightly, changing the angle his cock entered you with each downward motion. Your face changed instantly, mouth dropping open in a gasp.
Your hands grasped for purchase on his chest as the most intense wave of pleasure you'd ever felt crashed through you. "Oh, fuck--Jack!"
"Yeah? Right there?"
"There--there, there, there," you cried out. "Pleasepleasepleaseplease."
He did what he could to thrust up and meet each of your downward thrusts, gritting his teeth at how tightly your pussy squeezed him and pulsed around him.
"I've got you, baby. Just let go, okay?"
"Feels s'good, Jackie," you whimpered.
"I know. You're doing so good f'me. Just breathe. Let it happen."
Your body started to shake and you began to lose your rhythm. Jack gripped your hips tightly and helped you keep up the pace.
"Oh god-oh god-oh god--Jack!" Your head dropped back in a silent cry as your pussy spasmed around him.
He kept the pace as steady as he could, prolonging your orgasm as long as possible.
"Jack--I-I can't--"
"You're alright, baby. I've got you."
You collapsed on his chest and he wrapped his arms tightly around you to hold you in place.
"Did so well for me." He rolled his hips. "So, so good."
You breathed heavily against his chest as you placed open-mouthed kisses to the column of his throat.
Jack's own orgasm was steadily approaching, but he was desperate to feel you come on his cock one more time. It very well may have been his favorite feeling in the world.
He rolled his hips up into you in a steady rhythm. He couldn't pound up into you the way he wanted, but he'd be damned if he didn't make you feel as good as he could.
"Can I try something, honey?" he whispered.
"Mhmm. Anything."
He chuckled softly, your trust in him warming something deep in his chest. He kissed the side of your head and rolled you over as best he could.
You giggled sweetly as you arranged yourself beneath him, allowing him to properly hover over you. He grabbed a pillow and wedged it under his leg, hoping to give himself some more stability.
He thrust back inside you and your legs wrapped around him instinctively, pulling him even farther into you.
"Fuck," he groaned, dropping his forehead to yours. "How're you even tighter like this?"
You blushed and tried to duck your head into his arm.
"Uh-uh, nope. Lemme see that beautiful face."
You turned back to him and he grinned, leaning in to kiss you sweetly.
"There she is."
He started to thrust into you properly, the pillow beneath his leg giving him the extra leverage he needed to keep up a proper pace.
"Tell me how it feels, baby," he begged softly.
"So good, Jack," you moaned. "You're so big."
His chest puffed out with pride, hips snapping forward with more speed and force. "Yeah? Filling up your perfect pussy better than anyone else, huh?"
"Yes!" Your back arched up into him, a desperate moan clawing its way out from deep in your chest.
"Yeah, you were made for me. Made to take my cock."
He glanced down to where your bodies met and his eyes widened slightly. He could see his cock bulging out in your lower belly with each thrust.
"Holy fuck, baby," he groaned. "You see that? My cock is so fuckin' deep."
He pressed down on your lower abdomen and you cried out as the feeling of fullness increased.
"Please, Jack!"
"Please, what baby? Tell me what you need."
"Touch me-touch me."
"Where, honey? Tell me where."
You whined, barely able to form a complete thought in your head, let alone a sentence. You grabbed his hand and shoved it between your thighs. "Please!"
Jack was so desperate to feel you come again he didn't make you say what you needed. He started to massage your clit rapidly as he continued to thrust into you.
"Don't-don't stop."
"Wouldn't dream of it, baby."
He was true to his word, hips never faltering, thumb moving against your clit with precision just the way you needed.
You felt the familiar tightening low in your belly, but it felt different this time--more intensity, more pressure. You suddenly weren't sure if you could have another orgasm--it felt wrong, like it was just too much.
"Jackie, I-I don't--"
"Don't what, sweetheart?"
"I-I can't."
"Come on baby, you can do it," he urged. "Just relax f'me. Let go."
"It's too-too much!"
"Shh, I've got you. Let me feel it, baby. C'mon."
Something about the way Jack coaxed you had you falling apart beneath him with a strangled cry of his name. He felt the warm gush of liquid splash against his abdomen and he realized with smug satisfaction that you'd just squirted.
"Oh fuck, yes, baby. That's it. So fucking good f'me," he praised as he chased his own high. "God, you're so fucking perfect. Gonna fill you up, baby. Make you mine."
"Yours," you whimpered breathlessly.
"Fuck," he groaned as his pace faltered and his hips began to stutter. "Gonna come--fuuuuuck."
One, two, three more thrusts was all it took for him to fall apart. Hot spurts of his cum painted your walls as he continued thrusting, desperate to keep as much of it inside you as possible.
As his high began to fade, he collapsed on top of you, whispering your name like a prayer into your bare chest.
Your brain took several minutes to fully process the intensity of the last several minutes, slowly coming back to yourself as his weight grounded you.
You felt warmer than usual between your legs--significantly wetter too. In fact, you were fairly certain you were lying in a puddle of liquid. That had certainly never happened before.
"Jackie."
"Hmmm?" he hummed against your skin.
"I--why am I so wet?"
Jack's responding chuckle reverberated through his chest and into yours. "That'd be because you squirted, my love."
"I-I what?!" Mortification slammed into you as your brain processed his words.
He could sense your embarrassment so he lifted himself up just enough to see your face. Your cheeks were burning and your head was tilted away from him. You looked like you were about ready to crawl into a hole and never come out.
"Hey. Hey, sweetheart. C'mon. Look at me."
You turned your head toward him, but your eyes didn't quite meet his.
"You went from never coming during sex, to having two orgasms and fucking squirting. Do you know how fucking proud that makes me feel? I did that. I made my girl squirt."
"Really?"
"Fuck yeah, baby. Now I've gotta make it my mission to get you to do it again."
Your blush deepened, but a little smile had softened your features. "You really think it's hot?"
"It's the sexiest fucking thing I've ever seen."
"Now you're just full of shit."
"Nope. I'd chop off my other leg to see it again."
"Jack Abbot!" You smacked his chest, but the laughter that bubbled up was undeniable.
"Not even kidding. This body of yours was made for me."
Your expression softened. "The feeling's mutual, Jackie."
He brushed the hair off your forehead and offered you the sweetest smile you'd ever seen. "I love you, baby."
"I love you too, Jack."
"What'dya say we get cleaned up, hmm? Take a nice shower and maybe get a snack?"
"That sounds nice."
"I'll help you change the sheets too."
You smacked him affectionately. "I hate you."
He grinned. "No you don't."
"You're right. Not even close."
He kissed you again and you lost yourself in the feeling of his lips against yours. You still had plenty of things to discuss, but they could wait. For now, all you needed was his arms around you and the knowledge that no matter what happened, you had each other.
Thank god you'd finally stopped calling it friends, and acknowledged the relationship for what it had become--love.
cw: filth!!, licking, sniffing, dry humping, nipple play(m!receiving), degradation, praise, body worship(m!receiving), breath play(f!receiving), scent kink!!, coming in pants, face humping, (2.7kw).
n/a: idk what came over me. based on this post!! u can read this as a piece from the my hot husband au/universe or a stand alone!! i just wrote this with their dynamic in mind lol! enjoy! < 3
"mhm, you didn't bathe after the hunt," you mumbled, fingers lifting maekar's tunic upwards impatiently, revealing his stomach, with that soft pudge of fat at the bottom that you loved. the one pinched by his breeches, making the soft flesh hang just a little over the band of his pants. "good. that's how i wanted you."
your husband only grumbled, rough hands trying to stop you from revealing more skin. still, you were determined, swatting every attempt away with a disgruntled sound, making maekar even more annoyed.
"have you no shame at all, woman?" he grouched, face pinched in irritation as you lifted the tunic until it pooled under his armpits, revealing his chest and belly in all its glory. "disrobing me and pawing at my flesh like i'm nothing but a toy to be played with when i'm exhausted from the bloody fuckingâ"
but you were barely listening to what your husband was saying, and frankly, in that moment, you had no qualms about paying mind to what came out of his mouth. all you cared about was how good he looked in that moment, leaning back against the pillows of your bed, still sweaty and dirty from the royal hunt he attended, looking every inch a man. all muscle and sinew and gods, the smatterings of fine silver hairs all over his chest and belly, and all the way lower on his navel, where a white trail of hair led right beneath the waistband of his breeches, to his cock.
you almost sighed thinking of it. you loved your husband's cock. it was one of the best things about him.
"you're exhausted," you parroted, humming as your soft hands continued to caress his stomach, pressing your fingers in, kneading at the skin like a cat, leisurely and appreciative, eliciting a displeased groan from your husband. "so sit back and indulge me for a few moments, dear husband."
maekar only scowled at you, the furrow between his brows deepening, lip curling in a snarl as he leaned forward, trying to loom, to intimidate in hopes you would cease pestering him. "don't dear husband me, you aggravating woman," he gritted, teeth barred, akin to a dragon before it unlatched its jaws to breathe fire and ash in anger. it made you warm under your chemise. you loved when your husband was all snappy and indignant.
you leaned forward, undeterred by his little intimidation tactic, noses almost brushing as you spoke, your tone soft and persuasive, as if beckoning a wild animal that might bite. "you were gone for so long, and i have been here, all alone, missing you like a limb," you lamented, distracting him from the way your fingers trailed along the waistband of his breeches now, prodding at the pudgy roll of fat there, loving the soft feel of it. "the least you could do is yield to my whims for a while."
aware that it wouldn't be enough to placate your husband, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his scarred cheek, leaving chaste, sweet kisses on the skin as you murmured. "you always look so good after a hunt, husband," you appeased, relentless in your pursuit of what you wanted, especially when it was something as delicious as touching maekar freely without him grumbling in your ear incessantly. "makes me want to devour you whole," your tone was on the precipe of resembling a purr, lips descending towards the strong line of his jaw and down his neck, nuzzling at the sweaty skin in delight.
as always, he tried to persist, even as you felt his skin warm and flush under your lips, making your mouth curl into a satisfied smile. you had him exactly where you wanted him, even if he was still resisting.
"you're being ridiculous," and oh, he was already panting softly, broad chest heaving along with the warm breaths that brushed your temple as you littered his ruddy-skinned throat in wet kisses. "pouncing on me like a cat in heat the second, ahâfuck," he cursed right when your tongue laved at his skin, tasting the remnants of the hunt. the sweat, the grime, the dirtâhim, musky and manly and oh so palatable. âstop. i reek of filth andââ
âand i love it,â you moaned against his throat, mouth parting to press openâmouthed kisses to the skin of his throat, tongue licking at every remnant of perspiration, catching it against your palate and savoring it like the finest arbor gold. âyou smell sâ good, husband, gods. i want to lick you all over.â
it always got like this. the more disheveled he returned, the more aroused you got. shame had deserted you moons ago, being absurdly vocal about how much you enjoyed when your husband was anything but presentable and pristine.
maekar made an aborted sound at your words, already flushed all the way to the tip of his ears, one rough hand moving to clasp the back of your nape and squeeze in hopes of deterring your assault on his senses, but it seemed in vain. the touch only spurred you, a soft sound resembling a purr rumbling against his throat as you continued to press your tongue to his skin, dipping it to taste the touch of grime gathered in the hollow of his throat.
âfilthy,â maekar snarled, fingers squeezing just so at your nape and pulling upwards, eliciting a disgruntled sound from you; a whine. your lips were slick with spit, cheeks flushed and eyes blown wide, hazy with heat and adoration, which only made the pressure of his hand increase, reprimanding you for how far gone you already looked. âyouâre a filthy, dirty woman, you know that?â he spat, tone brooking on a growl. âalways have been,â maekar continued, tightening his hold onto your nape, the pads of his fingers restricting your breath for just a moment, just enough to make you gasp, before he eased it. âgetting hot and bothered by your soiled husband like a degenerate,â his thumb brushed against your throat, where he gripped prior, the closest thing to quiet tenderness you could get in that moment, but it made warmth spread through you regardless.
âwhat of it?â you challenged, dipping your head back to his throat, nosing along the flushed skin, your soft fingers resuming their pawing along his belly, pressing and prodding at the pudgy flesh there, nails scraping along the trail of fine hairs leading below his waistband, making your husband hiss. âitâs your smell i crave, your taste,ââ another filthy lick, along the jut of his collarbones, before moving downwards towards his chest, where the smattering of hair was thicker, the smell of sweat and musk more pungent.
maekar tensed as soon as he felt your lips brush against one of his pecs, and you could feel the shiver that ran through him when the tip of your nose nudged a nipple, willing it to harden.
âdonât you fucking dareââ
you did it again, nosing at the pebbling bud once, twice. then, you licked it, slow and wet, circling the nipple with the tip of your tongue, flicking teasingly.
a garbled moan punched out of maekarâs chest, his hold on your nape tightening anew, his other hand fisting the sheets under him, whiteâknuckled and trembling with restraint. you could tell he wanted to shove you away, to haul you as far as possible from his body so he wouldnât be able to feel all this, to have to succumb to your whims and depravity. but you also knew he liked it. craved your attention like poison in his veins. hated that he needed it. snarled and snapped his jaws while being halfâhard already beneath his breeches, blushing from the tips of his ears to where your mouth was currently busied, lips parting to suckle noisily at his nipple, drawing out another restrained, delicious grunt from your husband.
âlook at you,â he managed to bite out through gritted teeth, broad chest heaving under your mouth, voice thinner, breathier. âlicking and sucking like a common whore,ââ
but you didnât let him finish, letting your teeth scrape against the bud, nipping at it enough to sting, halting his crude words, making him curse, back arching, pushing his chest more into your awaiting mouth. it was a reprimand, but also a sick, twisted pleasure. seeing your husband bucking and snarling under your lips and tongue was a sight you could never get tired of, much like right now, as you laved one last lick to his wet, swollen nipple, before nosing between his pecs through the fine hairs there, inhaling the scent of him like a woman possessed.
âhow would you know what common whores do, mhm, husband?â you murmured, nuzzling along the underside of his pecs, letting your lips press against the skin in damp kisses as you descended towards his stomach, fingers still trailing along the hairs leading towards his navel. âhave you been indulging without my knowledge?â
each question was a taunt, like dangling a hunk of meat under a dragonâs nose, waiting for it to bite. and you loved nothing more than to taunt your dragon until he bit, until you could feel his teeth sink in, metaphorically or not.
and he always bit.
âyou think i would debase myself with some pleasure house wench?â he snarled, violet eyes glinting with something close to offense, which made you preen quietly, warmth spreading through your chest like drizzled honey.
as you nosed along his stomach, you couldnât help but breathe him in again, mouth parting in soft pants as your eyes fluttered, the musk of him stronger the closer you got to the Vâshape of his hips. âi would hope you wouldnât, dear husband,â you mouthed along his belly, tongue poking out to lick at the skin, tasting him again. âi would be thoroughly scorned if you so dared,â another lap of your tongue, slow and filthy, this time along the trail of hair near the waistband of his breeches, feeling a slight tickle onto your palate.
but, gods, the scent. the taste of him.
musky and sweaty and man.
it drove you wild, lips pressing to that tempting silver line, open-mouthed and slow, savoring him on your tongue again and again, as if you couldnât get enough.
a groan slipped unbidden from maekarâs mouth, fingers tightening at your nape, as if remembering he still had a hold on you, blunt nails biting at the skin light enough to make you shiver as he pressed with firmness, as if scruffing a cat. âdonât need some perfumed, wanton wench when i have my hands full with you,â he panted, eyes trained on you, almost unblinking, having watched you the entire time, despite his protests. lavender hues halfâlidded, glinting, part anger, part heat, eyeing you like a predator stalking prey.
his words made you purr against his skin, a satisfied sound, your fingers moving to tug slightly at his waistband, revealing more of his navel to you to lick and kiss. âgood,â you murmured into his skin, dipping to nose at the cincture of his pants, and lower, nuzzling against his crotch, where you could feel him hard and throbbing already.
âwoman, youââ but his protest dissolved into a shuddering moan as you rubbed your cheek against his clothed cock insistently, eyes fluttering, gaze holding his, molten and smoldering with heated affection. the friction was delicious, and it only made more bitten off pleasured sounds fall from his lips, broad chest heaving, splotched red from how hard he was blushing, skin ruddy and flushed. he looked good enough to eat. and maybe later, you intended to do just that.
the scent of him was strongest there, musk so strong it made you dizzy with want, lips parting to mouth at his crotch, feeling his cock throb beneath the cloth, only spurring you on. âsmell sâ good,â you mumbled as you continued to map the hard ridge of his arousal with your mouth, tongue laving at the material, wetting it with your spit, making the outline of his cock even more visible. âtaste sâ good, husband.â
âgods, fuckââ came from above you, the grip at your nape firming, pressing down, almost smushing your face into his crotch, but you couldnât be happier to succumb to maekarâs guidance, feeling his hips twitch upwards, rutting weakly against your face.
it made you moan, the action so debauched, so depraved, making you nose along his clothed cock in time with the clumsy grinding of his hips against your face, the scent of him thickening, clogging your senses and coating the back of your throat from how greedily you inhaled.
âcâcanât believe youâre, shitââ he could barely get his words out, too impaired by the way you looked, the blissful look on your face as he humped against it. âcanât believe youâre getting off on this, you wanton woman,â maekar continued, his hips picking up the pace, forcing you slightly more against his clothed cock, grinding against your cheek, the corner of your mouth, your nose; anything he could, the pleasure tingling down his spine way too rapid for his taste. âmouthing at me like a filthy animal, letting me humpâfuck.â
you could tell he was getting close, the thought satisfying you more than you could tell. seeing your husband so unraveled by this alone, hips grinding against your face, hand holding you down for more delicious friction, chasing more but not being able to get it. a delicious torture that was way too exquisite not to witness.
âmhm,â you hummed against his crotch, rubbing your cheek harder against his clothed cock, feeling it throb incessantly, the smell of him more pungent, the precum leaking steadily through his breeches and staining your cheek. ânot my fault my husband left me unattended for so long,â you lamented, fluttering your lashes, continuing to rub against him. âiâve been so lonely,â the words were mouthed against him, breath warm against his crotch, pushing him closer and closer to the edge.
âalways so fuckinâ demanding,â he groaned, long and suffering, humping against your face with more fervor, so close to his peak, face and throat flushed and splotchy, hand firm against your nape as he pushed your face deeper into his crotch. ânânever satisfied, ah, fuck, fuck, wifeâ,â
wife. the word strained and close to a whine as he lost control, rutting against your plush cheek once, twice, before he came with a pained groan, as if someone clawed the sound from deep in his chest, his spent dirtying his breeches, wetting the fabric against your cheek.
his chest was heaving, mouth parted wide as he tried to catch his breath, his grip still firm, but trembling against your nape, his thumb now brushing along the side of your throat, just like before, as if rewarding you silently, thanking you for letting him use you like this.
it made you smile and you nuzzled into his now damp crotch, the smell of him more powerful than ever, making you moan against the cloth. the sound seemed to bring maekar back from his post coital bliss, his violet eyes blinking down at you, hazy but attentive.
âlick it,â he breathed out, voice strained and heaving still, the fingers at your nape guiding you towards where his cum stained his breeches most, a wet patch visible where the head of his now softening cock was under the cloth. âcanât let good spend go to waste, wife.â
you only hesitated for a heartbeat, mind not wrapping around his words for a moment, before you moaned, mouth parting eagerly, tongue pressing to the damp material and licking, feeling the taste of him invade your palette. âyes, yes,â you sighed, overly pleased, too preoccupied and greedy, lips wrapping around the wet spot and suckling it into your mouth, the essence exploding onto your tongue.
âfucking filthy womanâ,â maekar cursed, the sight of his wife, so desperate and eager, making him equal parts flustered and astounded.
you knew the night was going to be a long one when you felt a twitch under your tongue, your husbandâs cock throbbing back to life, making your lips curl.
Youâd been with the 141 long enough that the team felt like homeâPriceâs cigars, Soapâs endless jokes, Gazâs easy laugh, and Ghost⊠well, Ghost was Ghost. Silent, broad-shouldered, always layered in black long sleeves and that damn mask. Youâd never seen an inch of skin. Not once.
Well, until today.
Youâd caught him in the gym, sleeves pushed up while he wiped down equipment. And oh GodâInk. A full sleeve on his left armâdark, intricate, covered from wrist to bicepâmaybe even higherâ in sharp lines and shadows. Skulls, barbed wire, something that looked like a grim reaper. It suited him perfectly, and the sight hit you low in the gut.
You couldnât stop staring. When he noticed, he tilted his head, that masked stare pinning you.
âSomething wrong, love?â
You swallowed. âYour arm. I didnât know you had any tattoos. Theyâre⊠really fucking cool.â
Ghost paused. âYou want a closer look?â His voice dropped, low and rough, a warning but.. you didnât catch it. âMight not be able to unsee it.â
You nodded without hesitation. âYeah. I want to see.â
You not catching that warning was more blessing than curseâ now youâre in his quarters, door locked, the only light a sad lamp casting shadows across the room. Your back is pressed to his chest, legs spread over his thighs as he fucks up into you from behindâslow, deep, relentless. The thick, tattooed arm hooked around you, and heâs got three fingers shoved deep in your mouth, stretching your lips, pressing down on your tongue, keeping you quiet.
You can see every inch of the ink.
The sleeve is even more detailed up closeâblack and gray, textured, the designs shifting with every flex of his forearm as he works his fingers in and out of your mouth in time with his cock. Saliva slicks his fingers, dripping down your chin, but you donât care. You moan around them, eyes locked on the tattoos, on the way his muscles move, on how hot the contrast is between the deadly ink and the way heâs using that hand to keep you quiet and full.
âFuckinâ asked if you were sure..â he growls against your ear, accent thick, breath hot through the mask he wonât remove. âNow look at you. Mouth stuffed with my fingers, cunt clenching every time you see somethinâ new. Dirty girl.â
He thrusts harder, hips snapping up, the wet sounds were obscene. His tattooed arm stays exactly where you can see itâfingers hooked in your cheek, thumb brushing your lower lip as he makes you take them deeper. You gag softly and he chuckles, low and dark, never slowing.
âThatâs it. Keep your eyes on it while I ruin you.â
Your hands grip his forearm, fingers tracing the lines of the tattoos as your orgasm builds fast and sharp. Ghost doesnât let upâhe fucks you through it, fingers muffling your cries, the full sleeve on display just for you like he promised.
When he finally pulls his fingers free, strings of spit connecting them to your lips, he drags the wet digits down your throat, over your chest, and presses the tattooed palm flat against your stomach so you can feel every inch of him still buried inside.
âNext time..â he murmurs, voice wrecked, âyouâll trace every line while Iâm balls deep. Yeah?â
summary: the new nurse in the pitt has caught jacks attention.
content: fluff, hurt/comfort, yearning, protective jack, age gap, miscommunication, slow burn, he snaps at you, descriptions of reader injury/blood, mentions of abuse (patient)
wc: 10.5k
note: this is my first fic, enjoy :))
masterlists
You desperately wanted to make a good first impression on your first shift at PTMC.Â
The universe had a different idea, with your plan actively unravelling.Â
Youâre new to Pittsburgh, and unfamiliar with the notorious unreliability of the public transport system, causing you to be 45 minutes late and frantically running from the nearest bus stop into the emergency department.
This is your worst nightmare. You picture everyone looking at you as you walk in, silently judging. Hating the feeling of eyes on you. Youâre definitely flushed red in the face, your bag being packed to the brim with items you certainly do not need weighing you down, cursing yourself for packing so heavy.
While running through the entrance of the ER, youâre barely looking where youâre going and end up colliding with a chest, solid and unmoving you almost mistake him for a wall. You stumble a little, losing your footing and almost fall backwards over your own feet.
Warm hands on your shoulder steady you, preventing the horrific embarrassment.
âOh fuck, Iâm so sorryâ I didnât even see you,â your voice is frantic and apologetic, worried youâve already made an enemy and you hadnât even started your shift.Â
A deep, gravelly voice cuts through to you, grounding your panicked state.
âHey, kidâ easy, easy. Youâre okay.â His voice is instantly calming. âYou our new nurse?â he asks gently, while his hands slip to your arms, fully stabilising you.Â
You settle down quickly, gathering yourself and finally looking up at him, nodding after a while realising he asked you a question.Â
Heâs incredibly attractive.
The first thing that you notice about him is how big he is. Heâs taller than you and so broad, forming a literal wall between you and the ER in this moment, no wonder you crashed into him. He stands so close to you that you have to lift your head to look up at him as he towers over you with a gentle, concerned look. Butterflies twist in your stomach.
You swallow thickly, nerves returning as you realise you probably fucked this impression up by remaining silent and gawking at this man.Â
Collecting yourself, âUhâ yes! Thatâs meââ you stumble over your words internally cringing, âIâm so sorry about being late, it won't happen again.â
He chuckles quietly, finding your flustered state incredibly cute, and extends a hand to you.Â
You notice the size of his arms, his veins, his handsâ oh, youâve got to stop thinking like this. Youâre so fucked.Â
âDr. Abbot, nice to meet ya, kid.â His voice is low and gravelly, stirring your stomach. âBut donât let it happen again.â His voice is firm, making your insides flip and guilt rises within you.
âNo, no of course not. I promise. Iâll be 45 minutes early every day!â Your voice is laced with guilt and you avoid his eyes, whilst shaking his hand, feeling like youâve already failed before starting.
âJesus, kid, breathe.â He chuckles, mouth twitching in amusement. âYouâre apologising like you hit me with your car.â He soothes, smirking a little at how easily his teasing had gotten to you.Â
He watches your face fall in relief, and you let out a small, shy laugh. Still holding onto your hand a second longer, it's hard for him not to notice how incredibly soft your hands are in his, how untouched by cruelty, unlike his rough, calloused hands. Something protective stirs in Jack, confusing him, but a drive to keep you safe, keep you soft takes root in him. He needs to ensure this place doesnât ruin you, doesnât cause you to burn out like he's seen time-and-time again with nurses and doctors.Â
âIâm really not usually this much of a disasterâ well, most of the time.â You laugh shakily.
You notice his intense stare, like heâs studying you, makes you squirm under his gaze. Your eyes flick down where your hands are still joined, you notice the sheer size difference, how his hand completely engulfs yours. You go to pull away, when he brings a second hand to cup your hand, completely engulfing it, before he pulls away entirely. Your breath hitches, trying to stave off any completely inappropriate thoughts,
Dr. Abbot tilts his head towards central, signalling to meet him there once youâre settled.
âOhâ and, kid?â He drawls, eying your bag as you head towards the lockers.
âWe do have supplies here, I promise.â he teases, but his voice is soft and amused, referring to your massively overpacked bag, watching heat flood your face and you nod, completely embarrassed.Â
Jack watches you scuttle away, shaking his head and chuckling to himself, but his mind is elsewhere, how you were looking at him so shyly, your wide doe eyes ingrained in his mind. Imagining your eyes after kissing you, those eyes looking up at him whenâ Fuck. This is so unlike him.
Approaching central, he sees Lena and Shen talking in hushed voices. He chooses not to entertain their shenanigans, just crossing his arms and staring up at the patient board, but he catches Lenaâs fierce stare in his periphery, alongside Shenâs smirk.
âStay away from my nurses, Abbot. Sheâs clearly a good kid.â She scolds, her tone firm and motherly. He can feel her eyes shooting daggers at him.Â
Jack doesnât look away from the board, smirking a little.
âI donât know what youâre talking about.â His voice is low and equally amused, shaking his head gently. âJust being friendly.â
Shen scoffs, âYeah? Friendly? You look like you wanted to eat her.â
Jack tenses a little going to defend himself before Lenaâs sweet voice interrupts him. She walks past Jack making her way towards you where you had emerged from the lockers and placing a protective hand on your shoulder.
âThere ya are, honey. Iâm Lena, your charge nurse. Câmon, let us give ya a tour, get a lay of the land, yeah?â
During the tour, you notice Abbot seems to never stray too far from you. Always directly behind you, his hand hovering over the small of your back whenever the halls get crowded, ready to move you if needed.
Surely it's just friendly, you tell yourself.
You hope otherwise.
âââââââ
True to your words, youâre never late again.Â
Always early to every shift, settled down and working by the time Jack clocks in. But he notices since youâre starting to be early, you get closer and closer with Robby, and it wouldnât bother him, if youâd at least show the same fondness for him.
Every shift, you avoid interacting with Dr. Abbot at all. You tell yourself it's necessary, you canât let yourself fall for an attending, despite how flustered, frankly, just warm all over, he makes you feel. You love watching him work, his competency and confidence as he works allures you. Especially in trauma cases, when he barks orders to his residents, you imagine him telling you what to do, when to do it, how to do it, guiding you.
However, during a particular trauma, you were meant to be in the background, watching and learning. But you couldnât stop watching Abbotâs hands work with such fine precision, the way they flex, the veins popping out. You get lost in your head staring at how big they are, how theyâd feel cupping your face, your neck, inside youâ
Thatâs when you decided, for your own well being, but most importantly your work, you couldnât be around him.
From then on, if you needed anything, you went to anyone and everyone, to avoid speaking to Abbot. Even if he was right there, and asking if you needed anything, youâd go quiet, and your quiet, meek voice dismisses him, âOh, uh, Iâm okay, thank you.â Before you turn and scuttle off in the complete opposite direction, towards Shen.
It bugs him.
How you avoid him, how easily you laugh and joke with Robby, or how you always go to Shen for questions or help.
Jack watches right now, as you laugh freely with Robby, gazing up at him as if youâre hanging on to every word. Gazing at him like he hung the moon. He feels an ugly feeling crawling up his throat, and doesn't want to admit jealousy. Heâs not jealous. Heâs not. He simply wishes you'd talk to him, with those wide, round doe eyes, smiling shyly and getting you to fall apart with the simplest of words and touches.Â
Heâs so lost in his own head, he doesnât notice Robby walking by ready to leave for the day.
âYou got a good one there, brother, might steal her from the dark side if youâre not careful.â Robby jokes in passing, leaving Jack completely stunned. His eye twitches and his breath stops.
No.
His gaze flickers up to you across the ER, your sweet laugh cutting through the air.
Youâre his.
âââââââ
Admittedly, youâre making it very hard to make you his.
Youâre almost too polite with him. A small, âgood evening,â greeting when he comes in, a simple, âsee you tomorrow, boss,â whenever you head out. Youâre impossible to get time alone with.
Every time he catches you walking down the hall, jogging to catch up to you, asking you how your night is, you get all quiet. You donât even look at him beyond a polite glance, your smile is tight and professional. Nodding before dipping into the closest room to get away.
He sighs, thinking you could be so focused on your work you may not want to entertain small talk. But he knows thatâs not it, seeing how you laugh every time Shen or Ellis make jokes as you walk with them in the hallway.
So he tries to talk to you when youâre not as busy, just charting.
Jackâs leaning against the counter at central, pretending to be looking at the patient board, but his eyes keep drifting over to you, thinking of ways to get you to talk to him.Â
He watches the way you pout while charting, your brows pulled tight in concentration, and has the sudden urge to smooth the crease between them with his thumb. He wants to gently scold you for mindlessly chewing at the tip of your pen whilst you work, to take his hand and brush the hair covering your face behind your earâ
His body takes him over to your desk before his mind catches up with him, a seemingly magnetic pull driving him to your side.
He slots himself beside you, a hand over the back of your chair, leaning down to look at your screen.Â
âOhâ Dr. Abbot!â you startle, being caught off guard.Â
Your mouth dries and your heart rate ticks like a rabbit, having him so close. His face is so close to yours, you donât turn your head, you canât. You can hear his breathing, can smell his cologne at this distance. Your mind reels.
He can smell you too. Caramel and vanilla.
The proximity alone has your stomach flipping, his hand behind you becoming an oddly domestic, claiming gesture. Placing a hand on your back, his voice is gentle, low when he speaks.
âThis is good stuff, kid, keep it up.â
His praise sends a jolt down your spine and your face reddens instantly. He can feel you twitch under his hand.
You dip your head, hiding your red face and mumble a quick, breathless, âUhâ thank you, Dr. Abbot.â
He watches you fidget, uncomfortable from the praise. Laughing quietly, before removing his hand.Â
Youâre so shy. Shy with him. Oh.
But then you flee, almost running in the opposite direction, and his mind reels. Maybe heâs read this all wrong.
âââââââ
He concludes after a few more nights of avoidance that maybe you just want nothing to do with him at all.Â
He keeps his distance, returning your polite greetings, but he hates it. The night shift is supposed to flow, be light and less stressful. Jack's spent so long cultivating an environment where people feel free to laugh, ask questions, not be afraid of getting things wrong.
Now youâre here and heâs all confused. He wants you to enter the stream but it feels like wading against a river trying to figure out what to do differently for you.
He decides to just ask. He approaches you during your break one night.
Youâre sat in the break room scrolling mindlessly whilst poking at your food.Â
His quiet, tired voice cuts through.Â
âSâalright if I join ya?â
Youâd been too tired, too into your phone you hadnât noticed him come in. Nodding fervently you allow him to sit opposite you, his tone of voice sounding different than it does most nights, almost resigned. You actually look at him properly, concerned.
âListen, kid. I just wanna apologise if Iâve ever done anything to make ya uncomfortable, yeah?â His eyes meet yours, intense and serious.
You pause.Â
Uncomfortable?
Fuck.Â
You were avoiding him so much he thought you didn't like him, made you uncomfortable. Your eyes widen in panic, head shaking rapidly putting your phone and fork down immediately.
âNo, god, no. Youâve neverâ thatâs not itââ Stop rambling, you tell yourself. Swallowing, taking a deep breath, you realise you need to get over yourself. âMâsorry for the way Iâve been acting. It's not you.â Your voice is quiet, avoiding his eyes.
He tilts his head down to try and meet yours again, concern on his face. His voice is so soft, when he says,
âYou sure, kid? You can tell meââ
You shake your head again, cutting him off.
âYou make me nervous.â You blurt out in one panicked breath. You squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment and literally bring your head to the table, groaning.Â
Abbot lets out a quiet chuckle, amused.
âHoney, hey, look at me.â He coaxes trying to get you to stop wallowing in embarrassment. âPlease?âÂ
You lift your head slightly, hands covering your face, peeking at him through your fingers. Heâs smiling, like this is funny to him, like you didnât completely ruin everythingâ
âSâokay.â His expression softens, voice gentler now. âYou never gotta be nervous around me, you hear me?â
Oh.
He misunderstood, thinking you mean nervous of his authority. You can work with that, you havenât entirely humiliated yourself.
Your hands drop from your face, blush still evident on your cheeks and a shy smile creeps up. You nod in affirmation to his words letting out a deep breath.
âI want you to come to me as well, for anything. Not just Shen, Lena, or Robby. Me.â His inflection on Robbyâs name confuses you and makes you giggle a little.
The sound awakens something within Jack, without thinking, he leans over placing a hand over yours where it rests on the table.
âI mean it. Anything.â
âââââââ
He notices how you donât run from him anymore, donât push him away, let him exist within your space.Â
Youâre still nervous most of the time, but you push it away, and heâs proud. He wants you to come out of your shell with him.
One evening, Lena calls you into North 7 for a debridement, knowing how much you love mindless, repetitive tasks. It unwinds your brain, picking out thousands of tiny pieces of gravel and debris from a patient's leg, letting you let go and not have to worry about doing something wrong.
Youâre about halfway through, the only thing heard in the room is the slow hum of the patient's monitor, and Lena tidying up a cart nearby, when you hear the door open.
You frown, not enjoying having been disturbed and the loud, chaos sound of the ER filters through the door. You keep your attention laser focused onto the patient, until you hear his familiar, gentle voice, checking in.
âAll good in here?âÂ
You hesitate, stopping your motions for the first time since you started, before lifting your head up and looking at Dr. Abbot, leaning against the doorframe. Your breath hitches as you make eye contact, his focus entirely on you, not the patient. His head is tilted, and his eye contact is intense, making you nervous.
Lena scoffs to herself. Checking in, my ass.Â
âMhm.â Your sweet voice hums in affirmation, the only thing you can manage to verbalise at the moment.
Lena pauses from tidying up the cart, turning raising an eyebrow at you, oh god not you too.
âGood. Can always count on ya to keep things moving smoothly, canât I, sweetheart?â His voice is sweet, almost cooing.
Youâre starstruck. Sweetheart.Â
You blink, unable to respond, but heâs already leaving with a smug, self-assured smile like he accomplished his goal. You swallow, unable to stop the smile spreading on your face, ducking your head to hide your flushed, red face from Lena.
Walking down the hall, he recalls how much the praise got to you when he complimented your charting, and watching you now?Â
The knowledge that praise gets to you so much?
Wrecks him.Â
He feels a sense of power, knowing how much he can get you to fall apart from a few words.
âââââââ
The closer he gets, the more he observes your interactions with everyone else. Youâre just as shy and nervous with everyone too. A quiet little thing.
During shift change over one morning, a few night shift and day shift nurses and doctors are gathered gossiping about a particularly rowdy patient you had that night.Â
Youâre off to the side, included, but just about. He notices that's always the position you take, included just enough, but never in the centre, never leading, and never actively involved. He thinks maybe you just like to listen, observe, feeling more comfortable for you like that knowing how shy you are.
He frowns, because the rowdy patient theyâre on about? You were the only nurse working with him. He wasnât dangerous by any means, he was strapped to the bed. Jack would never let you in a room with a patient thatâs a danger to your safety.Â
But the group were already feeding the rumour mill, exaggerating the patients words and actions. He watches you from the corner of his eye where heâs leaning against the counter with a pen in hand, stopping his writing to watch.Â
He wants you to speak up, correct them, and join in.
He watches your eyes dart around the group, you lick your lips, breathing becoming shallower. Youâre assessing for the right time to jump in. Youâre so nervous to speak up, his heart aches.
And when you try? Youâre so quiet, no one even noticed. Immediately you were cut off.
He watches you blink, swallowing in embarrassment before collecting yourself as if you hadnât even spoken, smiling along.Â
His heart breaks.
Youâre used to this, being spoken over always happens, youâre just too quiet sometimes, better at one-on-one interactions, not groups. Though youâre a little stung, you push it away, familiar with the feeling. Sighing, you slip into your coat before silently taking your leave.Â
Just before you can head through the exit doors, he catches up with you.
âHold up, kid.â You hear him jogging slowly behind you.Â
You turn, smiling at him, he can see the tiredness and hurt in your eyes even if youâre trying to hide it.
âYou leaving without saying goodbye?â he teases lightly, his expression incredibly soft.
You dip your head shyly,Â
âDidnât think anyone would notice.â You mumble, trying to laugh it off.
His brows scrunch, a displeased look on his face, almost offended.
âI notice.â
His words are so final, so real. You just stare at him with a vulnerable expression. His words heal something deep, knowing someone cares about your presence. Youâre speechless.
He places a hand on your back guiding you outside, noticing your hesitance.
âCâmon. Let me walk ya to your bus stop, you can tell me about the rowdy patient, yeah?âÂ
You nod shyly, trying not to let your eyes well up from his care. Itâs a short distance, the sky brightening as you both walk. Heâs silent and attentive, actively listening to every word you tell him, like theyâre the most important words ever.
When you reach the stop you turn to thank him, but before you can he speaks first.
âHey. Mâproud of ya, for speaking up in there.â
You give him a little confused look shaking your head.Â
âIt didnât really feel like I did.â You laugh awkwardly, embarrassed to revisit the moment knowing he was watching.
âYou did. Iâll always listen, whatever you wanna talk about, yeah?â Your chest tightens painfully at the sincerity in his voice. You can only nod, suddenly too affected to trust your own voice.
âGânight, sweetheartâ He drapes an arm around your shoulder squeezing you before letting you board.
On the way home, your head mulls over his words, settling on one detail.
Heâs proud.
âââââââ
Being around Abbot so much recently is fucking with you, to say the least.Â
His constant praise at your actions, you begin expecting and waiting for it. Every time heâs within your vicinity, you wait for his gentle but ragged voice ushering praise.
âGood catch, sweetheart.â
âDonât know what Iâd do without ya.â
âJesus, you really make my life easier, yâknow that?â
And he always delivers.Â
Aside from the praise, heâs incredibly attentive and observant, knowing what you need exactly when you need it. Encouraging breaks any time he sees you get overwhelmed during the night, telling you to drink water, take a breather.Â
But heâs also so patient with you, like no one's ever been. With him, you begin to unlearn your fear of being judged for saying the wrong thing, acting the wrong way, because he never judges.Â
Tonight is no different.
Youâre in central 7 with Dr. Ellis, with a very panicked, frantic mother and her daughter. Her child is only around 6 years old, clearly withdrawn and quiet. Her mother explains to Dr. Ellis how sheâd been bathing her daughter that evening, when she found a large bruise on the daughterâs back and legs, suspecting her husbandâs abusing her.
You immediately make eye contact with Ellis, silently signalling that youâll call Kiara, the hospital social worker. But before you can step out to do so, a large, loud and drunk man barges through the door, angry.Â
Heâs unsteady on his feet, eyes directly narrowing onto his wife, before pushing past you and immediately going to yell at her.
âYou bitch! You have NO right bringing our daughter here without my permissionââ He yells spit flying out of his mouth, alcohol clearly on his breath
âSirââ Ellis tries to calm him down, placing a hand on his shoulder which he shrugs off.Â
âNo!â He shrugs her off
âYour permission?â The mother yells back, cutting him off in disbelief. âYouâre laying your fucking hands on my kid and you think Iâm gonna let you be near her?â Sheâs defensive, shrill, adrenaline thrumming through her.
The yelling gets to you admittedly, youâre never good whenever patients of their families raise their voices. They carry on, Ellis begging for them to keep it civil or he will be removed by security
The door opens swiftly with Dr. Abbot and a night shift security guard filtering through to de-escalate.Â
Drowning it all out, trying to not let it affect you, you turn your attention to the little girl on the bed, all hunched up scared of her parents yelling. You turn her towards you telling her to focus on you. You just try to distract her in any way possible, asking her questions about school, her friends, her hobbies. It works a little, her tiny voice whispering over her parents yells.
The father is finally removed, and the air to the room returns, silence taking over.Â
âItâs alright, youâre okay.â You comfort the girl placing a comforting hand on her shoulder, testing it beforehand to see if she pulls away.
Jack turns to you then, really looking at you. The way youâre so gentle with the girl, how your focus was on her comfort during her parents screaming match. God, he admires you. But he also picks up on your tense shoulders, the way your breathing is unsettled, your face is tighter than normal.
You step back once the mother sits by the daughterâs side comforting her, you don't realise you walk back into Jackâs hand, which now rests on the small of your back. He leans closer to you dipping down to speak into your ear,
âGo take a breather, yeah?â His voice is soft, gentle.
You look up at him to convince him youâre fine, you donât need a break. But the look in his eyes is stern, pleading: do not fight me on this.Â
âââ
Jack finds you around 5 minutes later in the stairwell, you seem to just be sitting there lost in your own head.
He approaches slowly, groaning as he sits next to you on the stairs, your shoulders touching. He speaks first,
âYou did really well there â with the girl.â He nudges your leg with his as he praises you, trying to cheer you up. You can tell heâs looking at you from the corner of your eye but you keep your eyes on your lap. Pedes cases always got to you.
âShe shouldnât have had to hear that.â Your voice is quiet, unsteady. Swallowing down the lump in your throat, but the tears build in your eyes anyways. You dip your head down further trying to hide.
âHey, sweetheart.â His voice softens, his hand settling on your knee. âTalk to me?â His voice is begging.
You lift your head to look at him, drying your eyes. âItâs stupid, really.â You shake your head quickly, trying to laugh through it. âI just donât handle yelling very well.â
âYeah. I thought so, honey.â His thumb rubs back and forth over your knee, comforting you. âThatâs not on you.â His voice is gentler now.
âI feel ridiculous.â You wipe quickly under your eyes. âI should be able to handle it better by now.â Insecurity laces your words at breaking down like this in front of an attending.
âNo.â His response is immediate, firm but gentle. âDonât start thinkinâ the answer is makinâ yourself colder.â He aches at the prospect of you removing the brightest parts of yourself, to dim your light to handle the harshness of the world. Absolutely not. He wants to shield you, be the barrier between people's cruelty and your soft, gentle heart.
Your shiny eyes meet his, vulnerability flashing through them. Without even thinking he brings his thumb to brush a stray tear from your cheek. He watches your eyes flutter close and your breath hitching at the gesture, his heart leaping.
âTake as much time as ya need. Come find me at the end of the day, Iâll take you home, yeah?â His voice grumbles, sending a jolt through you.
Your eyes open ready to protest, you canât possible accept a ride from him, thats asking too muchâ
âAh, ah, Iâm not taking no for an answer.â He smirks before standing and heading back out to the ER.
âââ
Before your shift ended that same day, you had asked Lena to show you how to work the medicine cabinet as youâd had trouble returning a vial earlier in your shift.
The day shift starts to filter through whilst Lena is describing the steps to take, making you distracted.
You see Dr. Abbot in your periphery down the hall, talking to another nurse, one you had never seen before, most likely on the day shift.
Sheâs gorgeous.
She stands tall, confident and makes him laugh. Nothing like you.Â
Your heart aches, as you stare unapologetically, completely drowning out Lenaâs voice. You watch as he also dips his head to catch her eyes, how he touches her arm, how charming he is.
It feels like your heart gave out and fell into an endless pit. Eyes flickering away slowly, realising your hope that the way he treated you was special, is just his charm. His naturally flirtatious personality.
God youâre so stupid.
Lena sighs, shaking her head before closing the cabinet and turning to you, sensing your distraction and sadness.
âHun, you donât wanna go down that route.â Her voice is firm, but motherly. Like sheâs truly trying to protect you, not wanting you to get hurt.
Your head snaps over to her wide eyed and panicked having been caught.
âOhâ no itâs not like that.â you laugh awkwardly, embarrassed but your excuse is weak and she sees through it instantly. Placing a hand on your back and directing you away from the hallway before you get in your head any longer.
âTrust me, hun. Iâve been around long enough to know, men like him donât realise the effect they have on girls like you.â
Your brows furrow at her words, girls like me? You reach the lockers before she hits the final blow.
âYouâre young, go on dates. Donât pine over old men like him, youâll only get hurt.â
She walks off, leaving you speechless. You gather your things, mulling over her words. Is she right? Have you been misreading everything, pining over a man whoâs naturally charming and kind to everyone?Â
Youâd completely forgotten Dr. Abbots offer to take you home by the time youâre walking out of the doors. Your mind is only repeating her words and reevaluating all of Abbotâs actions towards you, trying to search for when youâd started to misinterpret things.
Jack frowns watching your hunched up form walking out of the ER from where he stands and talks to Ruby. He excuses himself from the conversation, trying to catch up with you before you leave, but youâre already down the street by the time heâs at the door.
âââââââ
Just as he thought he was making progress, the rug is pulled from under him, and youâre colder than ever.Â
Youâre distant with everyone, clipped greetings and polite words the only things you mutter during your shifts. He watches how you avoid groups, but more importantly, how much harder youâve been working.
Youâve doubled your workload, trying to forget your feelings by distracting yourself. Always with a patient, never sitting down and charting, avoiding your colleagues asking you whatâs wrong. Or, avoiding where Dr. Abbot could find you and make you fall for him all over again.Â
He notices how youâre no longer early to your shifts, just right on time, jumping straight into cases. Whenever he tries to coax you into slowing down and taking breaks, you brush him off, refusing to admit you need them. But he notices the bags under your eyes, youâre pushing yourself too much and he hates it, he canât help and itâs hurting him.
But he also notices how late you stay. As you no longer chart during the day, you spend 3 to 4 hours overtime during the day shift charting. Robby allows it, sensing something going on with you but doesnât want to overstep. Occasionally, you ask to work doubles, staying to around 1-3pm during the day shifts. Itâs completely wrecking your body, but you donât want to think about anything else except work.
One evening, during shift change before you got to work, Robby pulls Jack aside.
âHey, brother, I gotta ask.â Robby glances over his shoulder towards the door, checking you hadnât arrived yet, before lowering his voice. âSomethinâ going on with her lately?â
Jackâs brows furrow instantly, worry clenching at his heart. âWhy?â
âSheâs running herself into the ground, to put it mildly.â Robby sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. âSheâs working through till the afternoon, then coming back to do it all again at night. Girl canât be getting more than a couple hours of sleep.â His expression tightens. âMâworried about her.â
Jack goes still, his stomach dropping.
He noticed, of course he noticed. He just hadnât realised how bad itâd gotten.
His jaw tightens, hand dragging tiredly across it as he sighs.
âFuck.â The word leaves him quietly.
âIâll talk to her.â
âââ
Later that night, Jack came to find you during a particularly quiet lull around 11pm. He assumes youâd be with a patient, checking with Lena before heading towards south 16. Heâs rehearsing his speech to you, over and over.
When he approaches the room, his body stops. He hears you laugh. Itâs beautiful, and he doesnât realise how much it hurt him not hearing you laugh recently.
Rounding the corner he sees you through the glass stitching up a manâs forehead, and youâre blushing. You have that bashed, shy smile as you work, the type that was reserved for Jack. You're standing close to the man from where he sits on the edge of the bed, and heâs looking up at you with desire in his eyes, clearly flirting with you. Â
He shouldnât feel jealous, but he does, insecurity clawing at his heart. The man youâre stitching up, heâs definitely closer in age to you than Jack is. He hates the way that fact digs under his skin, the sudden awareness of the years between you two. Youâre still soft, bright, and untouched by the world in ways he hasnât been for too long. He canât take his eyes off the easy smile you give the man, bitterness twisting low in his chest.
He knows he should leave, but he canât bring himself to move. Which is why when you turn, putting down the sutures, you see him outside watching you, and your body stills. He watches your face fall, and it hurts him how youâre no longer happy to be around him.
Jack sighs ready to turn and leave, but you excuse yourself from your patient and head outside to catch him.
âHeyââ Your voice is gentle and cautious, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear nervously at Abbotâs expression. âDid you need something?âÂ
Jackâs jaw tightens as he hears your voice, trying to steady himself. This is the first time youâve chosen to speak to him in ages, and he hates how relieved and conflicted he is right now.Â
His eyes flicker behind you, to the man in the room sprawled out on the bed scrolling through his phone, and his chest tightens. Possessiveness and insecurity battle within his heart, and he doesnât even think when he blurts out a cold comment to you.
âDidnât realise we were entertaininâ patients now.â His voice is clipped, and he regrets it as soon as he says it.
He watches your face fall. Fuck.Â
Your head shakes rapidly, apologetically.Â
âI-Iâm sorryââ Your voice is meek, he canât bear that he caused this.
âJust donât let it happen again.â Jackâs voice is firm, as he walks off. He needs to leave, clearly not in his right mind, heâs hurting you and heâs completely out of line.
âââ
The way he spoke to you eats him all night, distracting him. Heâs completely unfocused during cases, Shen telling him to take a breather during a trauma, get his head right. How is he supposed to make sure youâre okay if heâs also driving you away.
He decides to start small. Around 1am he watches you exit a patient's room, pausing outside leaning against the wall. He can tell youâre exhausted by the way you hold yourself.
He slows as he approaches you, wanting to get you to slow down, take a break. Up close he can see the way your shoulders sag like the weight of the wall is the only thing keeping you together, your undereyes heavy with exhaustion. He canât remember the last time you sat down.
âHeyâ hold up.â His tone is softer, contrasting the way he spoke to you earlier. âYou eaten yet?
Your eyes flick towards him briefly, before looking away again.Â
âMâfine.â Youâre short, a little dismissive.
Jack nods awkwardly, he knows he doesnât deserve your kindness right now.
âItâs quiet, you should take your breakââ He tries but you cut him off.
âI said Iâm okay.â Though your tone has little real bite behind it, itâs still harsher than heâs ever heard it.Â
He stills, letting out a deep sigh. The silence between you both hangs in the air thickly. You wonât look at him.
Jack nods, accepting his defeat watching you walk off.Â
What he doesnât see is the guilt flooding your face.
âââ
You need to apologise. Heâs your attending and it was extremely unprofessional of you, a nurse, to speak to him that way. Guilt is clawing at your throat and you canât get rid of it.
You decide that after you finish organising the supply room with Lena, youâll find him. Explain yourself.Â
Youâre standing on a stepping stool as Lena passes you supplies to restock the shelves with.
âThat guyâ from earlier? He was a real hottie, hun.â She says while passing you a box of nitrile gloves. Your face scrunches in amusement as you let out a breathy laugh
âThat guy who got his head smashed with a beer bottle? Yeah, right. Like I need that kind of trouble in my life right now.â You joke back with Lena about the flirty guy.
âCâmon, youâre young. Live a little! Heâs insanely hot, god knows if I was 20 years younger Iâd jump his bonesââ you cut her off with a real, chesty laugh.
âLena! Youâre married!â You turn towards her with a wide smile.Â
âI can appreciate beauty when I see it, hun.â She smirks before continuing. âWhatâs the harm? Heâs still here isnât he? Go get his number, go on dates, have mind blowing sexâ just do something to get you outta this slump, yâhear me?âÂ
You sigh whilst organising the top shelf. You donât want that guy. You want Abbot.Â
What you didnât realise was Jack was walking past and heard snippets of the conversation, well, particularly Lenaâs grand speech about having mind-blowing sex with the man. He falters in his steps, realising who sheâs talking to, who sheâs talking about. The ugly, possessive feeling rears within him again. He peeks through the door, watching your face. Youâre smiling, like youâre considering it. He canât handle it. He storms off, childishly slamming the door of the next room he enters, blaming it on the draft.
You jolt at the sudden noise and frown before continuing. âI dunno, Lena.â Your voice is almost sad. âHeâs not who I want.â
âYouâre still hung up on him, arenât you, honey?â Her voice is soft, pitying. She watches your sad smile when you nod in affirmation. âMâsorry, hun. Itâll pass, I promise.â
You donât want it to pass.Â
âââ
You canât seem to find Abbot for the rest of the night, until a trauma comes in around 5:30am forcing you both into the room together.
The EMTs roll the patient in on a gurney as you jog over to Trauma 1, reading off his vitals. Fuck, itâs a kid.
âPediatric MVC, eight-year-old male, unrestrained passenger. Vehicle rolled twice after being T-boned at a high speed. Drunk driver.â The EMT scoffs.
You begin to glove up as you walk alongside the stretcher, Jack on the other side, his eyes land on you as he actively listens to the EMT, his gaze feels as if he was assessing you.Â
âInitial GCS was 10 on scene, refrained from intubation. BP 80/52, heart rate 145, satting 92 percent on non-rebreather.â
You watch Abbot nod, cutting through the patient's clothes as Ellis and Shen check current vitals and assess internal injuries. You end up stationed directly behind him, ready to hand him what he needs. But him in action is making you nervous, like he doesnât want you here.
The EMT cuts in. âFather pronounced dead on scene, mother inbound, no obvious injuries.âÂ
âDecreased breath sounds on the left side, significant bruising across the abdomen and chest. Patient increasingly lethargic.â Abbot begins his assessment. But is being drowned out by an increasingly loud scream from the floor outside the room, his mother arriving.Â
She rushes to the doors, doctors encourage her to wait outside but she barges in regardless. Her sobs and yells for the doctors to save her son cut through the room, loud and distracting. You take a deep breath at the sound trying to focus, remain unaffected by the scene, present.
Abbotâs jaw tightens as the room erupts around him. The motherâs wailing to his right, monitors beeping rapidly as the boy gets worse, the blood coating his gloves as he presses harder against the kidâs abdomen.
âPressureâs dropping.â
âBP 78/40.â
âWeâre losing him, Abbot.â
Fuck. Each sound and sensation cramming for dominance within his skull, overriding his focus.
And then he glances behind at you, where the station is set up ready for you to hand him things. But youâre spaced out, wide-eyed and pale, clearly overwhelmed by the sounds of the boy crying in pain and grief for his father, the motherâs wailing. Jackâs chest twitches violently. One thing at a time. Save the boy.
âGet her out!â He yells across the room, his voice loud and booming, a couple nurses urge for the mother to wait outside.
But he canât focus with you standing there looking wrecked, your hands shaking. His focus should be on the boy, not you.
âGauze.â He commands, a hand outstretched towards you.
Nothing.
The gauze finally hits his hand, a few seconds delayed.
His pulse spikes, the room suddenly feeling too loud. Your presence pressing against the back of his skull.
He snaps.
âI canât afford hesitation right now.â Jackâs voice cuts sharply across the room, eyes snapping to yours. âIf you canât keep up, leave.âÂ
You feel like youâve stopped breathing. The room goes painfully quiet, heat rushing to your face instantly at the humiliation.
Your chest feels like itâs caving, shame burning beneath your skin. You swallow hard, blinking rapidly, staving off tears.
You nod once, unable to trust your voice, before stripping off your gloves with trembling fingers backing away from the table.
Another nurse takes over flawlessly, the room continuing like normal around you. You exit the room, tears burning your eyes and threatening to fall.
Lena sees your shaken state from across the room, beginning to make her way over to you. But you duck, scuttling away to lock yourself in the toilet. Needing to break down in private.
You sink against the wall, sliding down until your head rests on your knees.
You know heâs right, you shouldnât have hesitated. Your throat tightens.
The boy couldâve died because you froze. He still might. For what? Because Abbot didnât want you near him anymore? Because the sounds of the boysâ mother screaming cracked something open inside of you?
Abbotâs words replay over and over in your head as self-punishment, as you sob into your hands.
 âââ
Jack regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth.Â
He watches your face crumple in devastation and it almost knocks the breath from his lungs.
Your teary eyes flicker away, avoiding his fiery gaze. He hates that heâs the one who put those tears there, made you cry. He never wants to be the reason for your pain.Â
He watches you nod, so meekly it hurts his heart, the tremble in your hands when you pull off your gloves. Every instinct in him screams to go after you. He canât. He turns back to the table, continuing to work on the boy even more distracted than he was before.
âââ
You manage to gather yourself not long after, exiting the bathroom and ignoring Lenaâs concerned looks, just searching for a simple case to get your mind off what happened. You can hear the chaos continuing in Trauma 1, still working on the boy.
Lena assigns you to a wound debridement, a simple task to recalibrate and gather your thoughts.Â
You set up your tool table beside you, and youâre lucky your patient isnât a chatty one. His arm rests on the bed, skin burnt red and white.Â
Youâre utterly exhausted, emotionally spent. Too in your own head to notice how cramped your fingers get around the scalpel.
You try to reposition your grip, but the blade unexpectedly slips from your grasp, falling and slicing a clean gash from your hand down your arm. Pain slices hot and immediate.Â
âShitââ
The scalpel clatters into the tray as blood begins to well. Your vision blurs for half a second, before you jerk back sharply, hissing from the sudden pain
âOh shit you okay, lady?â You hear the patient ask, but youâre already halfway out the room, asking Matteo to finish your case before entering an empty room to sort yourself out.
âGod fucking damn it, piece of shitââ You curse violently, voice breaking, trying to hold back tears yet again, whilst setting up the equipment you need to clean your cut.
Your heart beats violently, embarrassed at fucking up yet another thing. Abbot cannot know, he cannot have another thing to chew you out over.
Youâre not that lucky.
âHey, listen, I wanted to say thatâ what the fuck?â Jackâs voice is shocked when he glances down at your bleeding arm from where he stands at the door.
Your head whips around immediately, eyes wide and panicked but you donât speak or move. Fear wraps around your heart knowing youâre going to get scolded for being distracted, getting yourself hurt, or creating unnecessary paperwork for the hospital.
The sight of your bleeding arm disturbs him. But what hurts more is the way you look at him, wrecked and terrified, like a child that just got caught for doing something wrong, more worried about his reaction than the fact youâre hurt. He shakes his head stepping inside fully making his way to you.
âSit.â He commands, his voice tight, clipped.
Your breath hitches at his tone, interpreting it as annoyance for having to deal with this, but you do as he says, not wanting to make things worse.
âYou donât have toââ You attempt to say youâre fine, you donât need help, itâs a small cut. But when you look into his eyes, you pause, thereâs something softer behind them, concern.Â
âYeah. I do.â His voice is gentle and strained like it pains him youâre trying to hide your hurt.
You watch his face as he washes out your cut and stops the bleeding. You canât read him. He avoids your eyes, focusing solely on your injury, you watch as he clenches his jaw and swallows.
He canât look into your eyes again, the broken teary look youâre adorning right now would completely break him. He feels your pulse thrumming from where he holds your wrist, shaky breaths like youâre trying not to cry in front of him.
âThisâll stingââ He warns gently before bringing a cold disinfectant wipe to your cut. He cleans it so gently, so carefully, you realise how much youâve missed him. His touch, his care, his smell.
You hiss slightly at the alcohol stinging, and he quickly retracts, gaze flicking to meet yours worried.
âIâve got you.â He coos, rubbing a thumb back and forth against your hand, avoiding your injury. âYouâre alright, sweetheart.â
His soft tone breaks the flood gate, tears flowing freely and you sob. Hard.
âMâso sorry.â Your voice breaks, blurting out apologies, as you try to catch your breath. âIâm sorry, pleaseââ
His heart shatters at the sound, immediately setting the wipes down and cupping your face.
âHeyâ No. No, honey. Donât.â His warm hands ground you, wiping the tears as they fall. He canât stand the sight of you falling apart in front of him.
You shake your head. âI keep fucking upââ you whisper brokenly, your expression apologetic.
âGod, câmere.â He coos bringing your head to his chest rubbing his hand on your back. âYou got nothinâ to apologise for, yâhear me?Â
His chest aches at your cries, knowing he led you to this, knowing he hurt such a sweet girl. His sweet girl.Â
âI shoulda never yelled at ya, it werenât right.â His voice vibrates through your body against him, sniffling into his chest. âYou get that? You did nothing wrong, baby.â
Baby.
He pulls back cupping your face again, eyes intense and searching. Searching for something in your eyes that tells him you understand him, that you know you didnât do anything wrong.
âIs heâ is the kidââ You choke out, genuinely terrified that your slip-up had cost the kid his life, and had cost the mother losing both loves of her lives on the same night.
Jack shakes his head quickly, dismissing your worry. âHeâs good, heâs stable. Dontcha worry about that. I let shit get to me, yeah? Not on you.â
You sniffle, breathing jagged as you settle down. The kid will be okay. Abbot isnât mad at you. His hand lifts from your cheek to smooth down your hair on your forehead, tucking it backwards. Looking at you like you're precious.Â
Unexpectedly, he brings his forehead to rest on yours, whispering:
âI never wanna make you feel like that.â His voice wavers slightly, but you notice. âNever again.â
You stop breathing at his proximity. Realisation crashing down at how stupid youâd been to avoid him all this time, to let insecurity overrun your thoughts. His lips are so close to yours.
âJackââ You practically whimper his name.Â
His breath hitches, searching your eyes before leaning in slowly.Â
He presses a small kiss to the corner of your mouth, testing.
Instinctively, you turn your head towards his lips.
You both pause, staring at each other and breathing heavily. He watches as you dart your tongue out, licking your lips nervously, and he breaks.
He crashes his lips to yours.
Itâs hungry, full of apology, and devotion. He brings a hand to cup the back of your head, deepening the kiss. Electric sparks fly down your spine, your mind turning to mush. The emotional toll of the day mixing with the high of finally kissing Jack, you melt.Â
He finally pulls away, after needing to catch his breath, not because he wants to stop kissing you. Heâd kiss you for the rest of the night, if he could.Â
He takes in your flushed state, catching your breath and looking at him with so much trust. Your red cheeks, dazed and glossy eyes, and plump red lips and he lets a sound akin to a growl out. The look wrecks him.Â
He shakes his head, pressing a short, quick kiss to your hair before physically stepping back before going too far with you.Â
âI didnâtâ I convinced myself you didnât want me like that.â Your whisper breaks the silence. âI couldnât be around you, it hurt too much.âÂ
Oh.Â
He swallows the lump in his throat before nodding. He understands. Why you avoided him all this time, you must have been going crazy. Hell, youâd affected him so much tonight he snapped. He canât imagine what living like that for so long would do to you.
âYou donât gotta explain, sweetheart.â He brings the chair to sit in front of you on the bed, and he takes your hands in his, bringing a small kiss to your knuckles. âBut you scared me, doll. You gotta take care of yourself.âÂ
Your gaze flickers downwards a little embarrassed, nodding
He turns your injured hand over in his, nodding his head towards it before gently asking.
âHowâd this happen?â He refocuses on cleaning and assessing if itâs deep enough for a bandage or stitches.Â
âWasnâtââ You pause, recalling how he scolded you last time for being distracted, shaking off your fear, you continue. âWasnât paying attention, cutting off patients' dead skin. Hand cramped nâ tried to fix it, blade slipped.â
He takes in a deep breath hearing your shaky explanation.Â
âWhy didnât ya tell someone, hmm?â He speaks softly, his attention focused on placing small little butterfly bandages along the cut.
You shrug. âWasnât thinking straight. Was overwhelmed, on the verge of crying again. Just needed to be alone.âÂ
Crying, again. He hates the recollection that he made you cry that night. That after you had left the trauma room, youâd broken down alone.
He places the last bandage on, setting down the equipment and turning to you once more, placing a hand on your thigh.
âYou always come to me when youâre hurting, yeah? I hate that I didnât know, baby. Hate you were hurt and you tried to deal with this alone.â He begs, squeezing your thigh.Â
He sighs in relief as he sees your small nod. âGood.âÂ
He places a small, gentle kiss over your cut. âThere we go, all fixed up, my sweet girl.âÂ
You flush red, a shy smile taking over your face before you can stop it, letting out a small laugh of disbelief.
âThere she is.â He coos at your smile.
âââââââ
After a few months of dating, Jack took a sabbatical, and asked you to go with him.
It was his way of an apology, for snapping at his sweet girl, taking you away from the place that youâd been running yourself into the ground for.
He didnât tell you much, just to pack your cutest dresses. You obeyed mindlessly, trusting him completely. Truthfully, he couldnât get enough of seeing you in sundresses after one particular picnic date where he couldnât keep his eyes off you, or hands. Needless to say, the date ended early, with Jack driving you back to his place to tear off the sundress.
Youâre leaning against Jack in his truck as he drives through the country. He had specifically chosen to bring this truck due to its bench seats, needing a hand on you at all times.Â
The warm breeze filters through the truck windows, and you hum gently along to the faint country rock playing through the truck radio, Jack tapping his fingers against the wheel along with the beat.Â
Everything felt perfect, domestic, calm.
Until you get deeper into country backroads.Â
You frown the first time you drive by a small animal on the side of the road, clearly roadkill. It disturbs something in your stomach, seeing the bloody mangled animal alone. You try to push it down, focus on Jack, the trip.
Until you seem to keep passing more animals.Â
Deer.
Squirrels.
Rabbits.
Foxes.
Every animal seems to twist your heart more and more, saddening you so deeply, wishing you could protect the babies that died alone.Â
Jack, observant as he is, feels you go quiet against his shoulder. No longer humming or drumming your feet with the music, just looking straight ahead into the dashboard, stiff. Something had set his girl off. He brings his hand that rested on the gear stick onto your thigh, giving it a firm squeeze, checking in on you.Â
His hand is warm where it rests on your thigh, grounding, as he coos, âTalk to me, sweetheart.â He glances over briefly before looking back at the road. âWhatâs got my pretty girl all quiet, hmm?â he says, softly.
Your stomach flips, of course he notices. Heâs so in tune with your tells by now, you couldnât even hide it if you tried. You whine a little embarrassed, turning to hide your face into his side.Â
His heart aches at the small, sweet noise you make and his grip tightens protectively on your thigh. Sensing your shyness, his thumb starts rubbing back and forth on your leg.Â
âDonât hide from me, my sweet girl,â his voice is gentle and sweet, the tone he uses when he knows something is bothering you. Gentle fingers tip your chin upwards to meet his eyes momentarily, your stomach twisting as he brushes the hair behind your ear, a silent plea: tell me.
Hesitating, feeling shy and not wanting to ruin the trip you tell him, âItâs nothing, really, Itâs the animalsââ, your breath hitches as Jack drives by another dead deer on the side of the road. Your voice breaks before continuing, âIt hurtsâ, you whisper sadly whilst immediately ducking your head to not look out the window for too long, the scene disturbing you.
Oh. Realisation floods Jackâs face and his heart clenches, oh, his sweet, sensitive baby.Â
You hear Jack breathe out a small sigh, before dipping his head and placing a small gentle kiss to your forehead.
âYeah? Thatâs whatâs gotten my girl all upset?â his voice soothing and rubs his hand up and down your thigh in comfort. Your stomach twists at his sigh, unsure if heâs silently judging.
âThey might have had family or friends waiting for them!ââ your voice is whiny, desperate for him to understand as deeply as you do why youâre upset. You sniffle a little, trying not to let tears fall.Â
Jack blinks, trying not to laugh at his sensitive girl, knowing itâll upset you more. He doesnât mean to find it amusing, but your true devastation over deer and squirrels having family and friends, he canât help but let out a low chuckle.
âYouâre right baby, mâsure theyâre sat around the dinner table, waiting for âim to come home.â He teases gently a smirk playing at his lips.Â
âJaaaaack! Itâs not funny,â you pout petulantly, hurt. You shift away from his side, scooting over to the other side of the truck, feeling dismissed.Â
Jack shushes you quickly, grabbing you by your shoulders before you move away, hating the way you curl in on yourself so easily. He pulls you back into his side, coaxing an apology.Â
âMâsorry, baby, câmere.â Heâs still smirking a little, but knowing he may have teased too much in your sensitive state, he needs to calm you down.
You feel him pepper quick kisses to your forehead, whilst rubbing the back of your neck gently. Your body relaxes instantly at the touch.Â
You sniffle a little calming down, wrapping your arms around his middle.
âShh, baby, I know, I know.â He says, his voice softer now, before continuing. âI was so mean for teasing my delicate girl, yeah?â His inflection rises at the end of his question, like he was comforting a small kitten.
Sniffling, you nod at his comfort. âYou know I love how my sweet baby feels everything deeply.â he croons, and you feel him run his fingers at the nape of your neck into your hair, petting you.
âYou just keep your eyes on me, yeah? Focus on me for the rest of the trip.â He commands gently, shielding you away from the hurt of the world.
The low music continues to hum in the car, yours and Jackâs breathing matching as you sit quietly soaking the evening breeze.
Gravel crunches as you pull up to the cabin, you notice he doesnât make a move to exit the truck yet. You frown, worried, is something wrong? Before you can even ask him, Jack breaks the silence, with such a soft tone it's unexpected.
âSâwhy youâre my favourite nurse, babyâ. You falter, his words stirring something in your stomach, his praise making you shy. You feel him draping his arm around your waist and tugging you into his lap, straddling him.
Unable to avoid his intense eye contact, you duck your head shyly, quietly asking, âWhat is?â
For the life of you, you canât figure out what he means. He ducks his head following yours to look into your eyes, cupping your face.
His voice is low, serious, when he speaks. âYour sensitivity, compassion, empathy.âÂ
You swallow the lump in your throat, uneasy by the intensity of his praise. Tucking your head into his neck to hide your shyness, you quipâ âItâs not the sex?â
You hear him chuckle, the vibration running through your body.
âYou were my favourite before the sex smartassâ no, you have a big heart, biggest Iâve ever known, you care deeply.â You feel him guide your head out of his neck, needing to see your face, his thumbs brush against your cheeks as he watches your wide, doe eyes trying to accept the praise.
âPlenty of other nurses and doctors are empathetic.â You begin shyly, trying to brush the compliment off, uneasy by how seen he was making you feel. Always having been told your sensitivity is a curse, especially in this field, and itâll wear you down.Â
Jack immediately interjects, not enjoying how quick you are to self deprecate, diminish yourself.
âNot like you, baby.â His voice is stern, as are his hands gripping your face. Desperate for you to see yourself the way he does.Â
Those three simple words cut deep, your eyes watering from so much care. He wipes the tears before they fall and watches a shy smile tugging at your lips, hitting him like a punch to the chest.Â
âYou hear me, baby? Hmm?â he coos gently while pressing a kiss against your temple. You nod in his hold, cheeks flushed from receiving so much affection, never having been treated so carefully before.
âYouâre mâfavourite attending.â You mumble shyly fidgeting with your hands in your lap.
Jack laughs deeply, he knows, of course he knows. He just hadnât expected that to be what you said. He finds your tone so cute, like you're too shy to admit it.
âOh yeah? Sânot Robby?â He teases, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear, laughing again at your scrunched up face, like the idea is ridiculous to you.
âI know, sweetheart.â He calms you, presses a final, soft kiss to your temple and brings you closer to his embrace.
Outside, the sun sets as crickets chirp around you, the air gets cooler but neither of you rushes to leave the car yet, this moment meaning something so deep to the both of you.
â
Jack is setting down the last of the bags in the bedroom when he hears you yelp from the bathroom. Before he can even ask if youâre okay, you call out for him, your voice startled and afraid.
âJack!â
His heart jumps, and his mind immediately rushes to the worst idea, that youâre hurt somehow.Â
Jack runs to the bathroom panicked, âBaby, whatâsââ he calls out in fear, until he enters the room, and pauses, blinking.Â
Youâre crouching on the toilet seat like the floor is lava, with one shoe off, in your hand, looking around the floor terrified. You meet his eyes, genuine fear behind them,
âI swear, it's taunting me! It looked me right in the eyes!â you whisper urgently pointing at the small bug in the corner of the room.
Jack laughs for real this time, tilting his head affectionately, âbaby, what are you doing?â
You screech as you watch the tiny dark bug scuttle along the bathroom floor and chuck your shoe at it, completely missing it.
âPleaseâ kill it, quick!â you beg himÂ
He smirks at you from where he leans against the bathroom door frame, crossing his arms, and taunts you, âWhat if his family is waiting for him to come home, hmm?â
You groan as Jack points out your hypocrisy, squealing again as you watch it come towards you. âJack, I swear to godââ
He hangs his head in, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face before he walks over and stomps on it. He picks you up into his arms and mumbles into your hair.
âYeah, youâre not lasting ten minutes out here, sweetheart.â
âKnow I wanna beat it, wanna beat it bad
Oh, everyone looks happy in a photograph
I've crossed the county line, I cannot go back
I'm always on my own.â
-All Them Horses, Noah Kahan
summary: your family is in town for the annual âparents berating their kids for their decisionsâ get together. jack overhears you talking about how much easier it would be if you had a boyfriend to shove in their face, and offers his services. No strings attached, of course.
wc: 15.7k (steak is too juicy lobster is too buttery)
tags/tropes: jack falls first and harder, reader is an eldest daughter (but not the eldest child) to a large judgmental family who are constantly disappointed in her, jack pretty much uses the fake dating as a chance to show reader what a good boyfriend he COULD be to her if she let herself have nice things, jack 'i'll pay for it' abbot, jack is YEARNING in this one, a teeny bit of mean dom jack as a treat
a/n: how are we all feeling about the latest noah kahan album. Doors is great. i do NOT repeat timestamp 2:14-2:21 of All Them Horses. iâm normal and can be trusted with noah kahanâs discography. this fic was supposed to be crossposted on ao3 at the time of post but ao3 crashed and i lost all of my tagging and uploading process so im saving that. for later. when it is POSTED it will be linked below :)
acknowledgements: thank you @wesandresons for the amazing gif and @saradika-graphics, @chrisssiren, and @uzmacchiato for the dividers! and thank you @leeknowpegger for your work in keeping up morale and being deranged with me
masterlist
âYour familyâs in town?â
Youâre at the nurses station, tucked into a corner with your head in your hands while Shen, of course, drinks what has to be his third Dunkin coffee of the day. Where heâs getting them is one of the worldâs strangest unsolved mysteries.Â
You canât see his face, on account of the heels of your hands being pressed into your eyes so hard stars are bursting and swirling behind your eyelids, but you can hear the grimace in his tone.Â
âYeah. I moved out here to get away from them, but they decided to host the annual family dinner circuit here in Pittsburgh instead. My mom always complains about how itâs such a huge imposition to have the entire family fly out, but I never asked to do it and offered to just fly to them on multiple occasions. Apparently, my work schedule is too hard to work around.â
âDinner circuit?â
You wave a hand. âItâs actually a lunch circuit now, since I work nights. Basically, for every single day that theyâre here everybody has to attend a lunch, no matter what. Most of the time theyâre at different restaurants, but sometimes my mom demands to have them at my place.â
âYikes,â The attending says, sipping on the last bits of his coffee, âAnd the whole successful doctor thing doesnât work on them? It got my parents off my back.â
You shake your head. âIâm the only doctor in the family, but they thought I shouldâve been a hospitalist or go into general surgery.â
The sound of ice being shaken in a plastic cup rings in your ears. âThereâs money in emergency medicine. Eventually.âÂ
âThereâs money in all medicine eventually,â You groan, lifting your head and leaning against the wall, blinking dazedly up at the flickering fluorescent lights. âIâm sure if I'd picked general surgery they wouldâve found a problem with that too.â
âSo your fucked, basically.â
Your eyes slip shut again. âYep. Anything short of showing up with a rich boyfriend and a promise of grandkids on the way wonât get my mom off my back.â
Shen clasps you on the shoulder. âBest of luck with that. Youâre the only intern the night shift has got, so weâd rather you donât off yourself via poisoned wine.âÂ
âI wouldnât do poison. Iâd choke on bread so theyâd have to live with the guilt of not being able to save me.â
âJesus fuck, man. I mean, clearly, they suck, but thatâs brutal.â
You shrug. âNot as brutal as my mom not coming to my med school graduation.â
He gapes. âWhat reason could she have possibly had for not showing up?â
âI told her at dinner the night before that I was going into emergency medicine.â
âThatâsâŠâ Shen trails off, flabbergasted, ââŠWow. Now I'm worried youâre going to kill one of them.â
âWay too much effort. They arenât worth the jail time.â
The attending tosses his now empty coffee in a nearby trash can. âWell, if you snap and kill them all in a fit of extremely valid rage, please donât call me. I canât afford to be implicated.â
âYou saying I canât hide a body myself?â
âIâm saying I canât hide a body.â
âWhoâs hiding bodies?â Jack says, sidling up to the two of you with a tablet and a chart open in his hand.Â
Shen jams a thumb in your direction. âSheâs killing her parents later today.âÂ
You roll your eyes. âIâm not. Honestly, so long as I agree with whatever my mom says and donât bring up any trigger topics, Iâll be fine.â
Jack snorts. âYouâre describing being held hostage by someone mentally unstable.â
âDr. Intern?â Ellis interrupts, using the stupid nickname Santos picked for you when she found out youâre the only PGY1 on the night shift, âThereâs a woman in the lobby here to see you. Says sheâs your mom.â
Your stomach drops to your feet and your heart seizes in your chest. âItâs six in the morning. Oh my god. Oh my god.â
Someone behind you says âHoly shit,â but youâre already gone. As youâre speed walking you whip out your phone, checking the dates of their flights that youâd only had a chance to skim andâ fuck. They got in an hour ago. Why the fuck would she stop here? At the PTMC?
You practically slam the doors open and make eye contact with your mom across the crowded lobby.Â
âMom?âÂ
âThere you are sweetie. I was trying to explain that thereâs nothing wrong with me and I was here to see you, but they wouldnât let me. Something about a security issue?â
âItâs not safe. Weâve had incidents in the pastââ
She waves a hand, dismissing you. âIâm your mother. Honestly, I wouldnât have had to come down here if youâd just respond to my texts.âÂ
âIâve told you mom, Iâm really busy here and I donât get very much time to look at my phoneââ
âYour brothers take the time out of their busy schedules to text me back,â She sighs, then continues on, âDid you get time off this week for dinner?â
You frown. âI thought we were having lunch.â
âWell, I figured since weâre all making it easier for your work schedule to come to you, you could manage to take a few days off for your family. But if we need to make an extra effortââ
âItâs fine, mom,â You tell her with a gritted-toothed smile, âI can make something work. Can you just send me the dates again?â
âItâs this Friday and Saturday.â
Before you can even open your mouth to respond, a large, warm hand settles on your shoulder. Accompanied by the hand is a steadying one on your lower back, a familiar, rich scent and a low voice.Â
âCan I help you, maâam?âÂ
Jack.Â
Jack fucking Abbot.Â
Hottest man in the ED. Probably in the world.
Your mom blinks, clearly caught off guard, before regaining her judgy senses and narrowing her eyes at him.Â
âIâm trying to have a conversation with my daughter. Donât tell me youâre security.â
You know for a fact that Jack has his stethoscope around his neck and his keycard in his scrub pocket that says âDOCTORâ on it, so your momâs just being bitchy. Figures.Â
Jackâs hand in your shoulder gives you a tiny, reassuring squeeze before he speaks.Â
âIâm Dr. Abbot,â He sticks out a hand for her to shake, the one that was on your shoulder, âIâm an attending here at the ED.â
And my boss, you mentally add. Your mom probably hears it anyway.Â
âYou work with my daughter?â
âYes maâam. Sheâs the most promising intern we have here on the night shift.â
Your lips twitch at his words. Heâs joking. Testing your motherâ youâre the only PGY1 on the night shift. If your mom remembers that, sheâll pick up on his joke.Â
She doesnât. She purses her lips for a moment before giving him one of her big, fake smiles.Â
âWell thatâs good to hear. Weâre very proud of her.â
Proud of the money I send home, maybe.Â
âIf youâll excuse us, I need her working on patients.â
âOh yes, of course,â Your mom gushes, clearly already charmed by Jack. He has that effect on people. âI didnât realize she was so important and busy here.â
You would if youâd ever let me talk about work before interrupting me and telling me what I should be doing better.Â
Jackâs thumb makes tiny sweeping motions on your lower back, little tingling motions that distract you enough to unclench your jaw and relax your shoulders.Â
âIâll text you as soon as I can, okay mom?â
Your mom sweeps you into a hug, a rare show of affection. Putting on a show for Jack, more than likely.Â
âNo rush. Whenever you get the chance, sweetheart.â
Jack gives her a parting nod, but you wait until your momâs turned around and walking out of the lobby before allowing Jack to steer you back inside.Â
The second the doors close behind you and youâre enveloped in the sounds and smells of the heart of the PTMC, you shut your eyes and release a long exhale.Â
âI,â You start, âAm so sorry. I never thought sheâd show up here, I got the flight times mixed upââ
âHey,â Jackâs voice is low and steady, a much needed anchor. He uses the hand still on your lower back to turn you towards him, âNone of that was your fault. We deal with patients like that every day. It is not your job to keep your mother in line.â
âI know. I know. Still, Iâm sorry. She can be⊠difficult.â
He snorts. âUnderstatement of the year. But seriously. Donât worry about it. If I didnât want to get involved with her, I wouldnât have swooped in there.â
You huff a laugh. âMy hero. Iâm pretty sure if youâd introduced yourself as my boyfriend she wouldâve had an aneurysm. Or a heart attack.â
âAre those desired outcomes?â
âMostly.â
He slides his hands into his pockets and leans against the opposite wall. âMight be worth a shot, then.â
Itâs a very well kept secret that youâve harbored an embarrassing, âthink about him while youâre falling asleep at nightâ crush on Jack.Â
So naturally, your response is to laugh. Loudly. And semi-awkwardly. Because he has to be joking. Obviously.
âYeah, right,â You say, looking down at your feet because eye-contact has never been your forte and Jackâs gaze is too intense, âCould even take you to dinner with me. Maybe my dad would have a heart attack too. Really just wipe out the whole family.â
âYou could.â
âWipe out my entire family?â
âTake me to dinner with you.â
Jackâs body is relaxed and his tone is even. Not light and humor-filled. Thereâs no mischievous uptick to the corner of his lips. He looks like heâs serious.Â
âAre you joking?â
He canât really be serious. Heâs probably just fucking with you. He wouldnât actuallyâ
âNo.â
You run a hand over your hair. âYeah, sure, laugh it up, hahaââ
âIâll go to dinner with you. As your boyfriend.â
What. The. Fuck.Â
âNo.â You gape, incredulous.Â
âNo?â He raises an eyebrow.Â
âNo, I meanâ fuck. Dr. Abbotââ
âJack.âÂ
You purse your lips. âJack. You canât just⊠pretend to be my boyfriend at a family lunch.â
âWhy not?â
âWhy not?â You sputter, âFor one, we hardly know each otherââ
âYouâve been working here for three months. Weâre hardly strangers.â
âYouâre my boss, your way older than me, youâreââ You cut yourself off before you can say something embarrassing like âyouâre ridiculously fucking hot and I havenât washed my socks in monthsâ, âIt wouldnât even be believable. How would we even have met?â
âIn the ED, obviously.â
âHow long have we been together?â
âMonth and a half.â
âWhy are we even dating?â
âBecause youâre a beautiful and intelligent woman, not to mention a good doctor.â
Your mouth goes dry, and your stomach does an entire gymnastics routine.Â
âHave you⊠thought about this?âÂ
He makes a noncommittal hum, tilts his head back a bit. âWould it work?â
âAre you rich?âÂ
Thereâs that devilish, pants dropping smile.Â
âIâm a senior attending on night shifts in an emergency department. Iâm comfortable.â
You worry your lip between your teeth. âI still canât⊠I appreciate the offer, but I canât subject you to my family. No one else should have to suffer through these lunches and dinners.â
âBut you do?â
âTheyâre my family.âÂ
Jack doesnât respond, but he doesnât move off the wall and walk away either. Distantly, you really hope a patient isnât coding somewhere.Â
You sigh. âWhy would you even offer, anyway?âÂ
âYou need help, and Iâm in a position to give it. Plus life has been kind of boring recently. My therapist told me to pick a new hobby that doesnât involve people dying or getting shot at.â
âSo you thought spending an evening being subjected to backhanded questions, comments, and not very subtle micro-aggressions was a good substitute?â
âBeats drinking beer in the park.â
You canât say yes. Itâs crazy. One, it would make your crush a million times worse and you might never recover on that fact alone, and two, when this inevitably blows up in your face, your family will never let you live it down and bring it up in literally every conversation for the rest of your life.Â
On the other hand, if it works, it will work. Your mom would probably get off your back for a while. You wouldnât be a complete and total disappointment. If it works, it would be a much needed win.Â
âSo. Weâve been dating for a month and a half?â
Jack nods, another smile playing at his lips. âI asked you out, of course.â
âFlowers?â
âNaturally.â
âYou pay?âÂ
âFor every meal.â
âWhatâs my favorite color?â
âNavy blue. Mine?âÂ
You roll your eyes. âBlack. What are we going to tell my mom when she pokes at the age gap?â
Someone rushes by, pager beeping, and you both wordlessly start moseying towards your respective patients.Â
âWill she really be that upset about it?â
âProbably not, but sheâll definitely ask about it. My dad will probably be angry, but heâs easier to placate than my mom is.â
Jack hums thoughtfully. âWhenâs the lunch today?â
âTwelve-thirty, at that Italian place that has that mussel dish.â
âHow about this,â He starts, apparently not needing anymore clarification on the location, âLets focus on finishing our shifts right now. Then go home, get some sleep, and Iâll pick you up at eleven so you can pick my brain for every detail that you want to make this work. Deal?â
Last chance to back out. Say hell no, this is a crazy idea, why would you even volunteer for it, I changed my mind.Â
âDeal.â
â
Holy fucking shit. Jack Abbot is your boyfriend.Â
Fake boyfriend. But for the next few hours, heâs as good as yours. Kind of.
In a way.Â
Youâre standing in front of your bathroom mirror, dressed in the outfit you picked out for the stupid lunch when your mom texted you the plane ticket details a month ago.
Neither your makeup nor your hair are cooperating and you really need them to because you have to be perfect, so you need your mascara and stop clumping and your hair to stop laying like that and you just donât want to fucking go.Â
Before frustration induced tears can ruin your half-done makeup, a knock sounds at the door.Â
You rush through your apartment, nearly cracking your skull open on the corner of the couch when you trip over a stray shoe.
Shit, heâs here and youâre not ready, god heâs going to be so upset you have to make him wait itâs so rudeâ
âHi!â You swing open the door and plaster what you hope is a cute-frazzled smile and not a panicked one. Itâs a thin line between the two, âIâm almost ready, Iâm so sorry, you can come in and sit down wherever, I promise I wonât take too long to finish up. Sorry.â
You turn, unable to bear the anger or frustration on his face and dart away (an old methodâ hiding and disappearing is much better for everyone in the long run) but a hand encircles your wrist before you can successfully escape.Â
âWoah, easy girl. Nobodyâs mad at you. We have time, remember?â
Your smile is definitely coming across as panicked.Â
Your nails wander and find a hangnail to pick at while you talk. âI know, but that was so weâd have time to plan and itâs rude to make you wait and I really need time to plan, but I canât get my makeup to look rightââ
Jack nudges you into the house and you cut yourself off with another apology. Right. Cause heâs just standing in the hallway and youâre rambling on like someone deranged. God. Why canât your brain just work? Get into gear? Actually function properly?
âFirst of all,â Jack starts, gently steering you towards your couch, âYou look beautiful.â
Why does he have to say these things? Has he no care for what heâs doing to your heart? Is he unaware that Simone Biles would be impressed with the flip routine your stomach is currently doing?Â
He places a throw pillow in your hands which were previously clenched in your lap. Itâs your favorite throw pillow, actually, because the texture is very soothing. You squeeze it and rub your fingers across the grain.Â
âSecondly, we donât have to do this if you donât want to. I can go home and go to bed and if you want, Iâll never bring it up again. Not even to Robby.â
You crack a wobbly smile. âNot even to Nurse Evans?â
âSheâd probably guess on her own, but I would never confirm her suspicions.âÂ
You tuck your feet under your legs, shrinking into the corner of your couch. âI couldnât even if I wanted to. I already texted my mom to add a person to the reservation, and if I show up without a plus one thereâll be hell to pay.â
âYou could swap me with someone else?â
âDo you think I would have agreed to let my boss be my fake boyfriend if I had someone else to bring?â
The corner thread of your throw pillow has begun unraveling, and your wandering fingers pull and tug at it erratically.Â
âIâm sorry. Iâm not usually this neurotic, I swear. My family brings out the worst in me.â
âI ainât judging, sweetheart,â Jack soothes, âBesides. Weâre ER doctors. Weâre all a little neurotic.â
Steadfastly avoiding his gaze (again, just a little too knowing, like he can see every insecurity youâre trying to hide) you stand on shaky legs and rush to the bathroom.Â
âIâll just. Finish up. Sorry again.â
âIâm gonna start a tally of unnecessary sorryâs. Youâre gonna owe me an hour of overtime for each one.â
Oddly enough, getting ready (the rest of the way) feels much more manageable and much less difficult with Jack nearby. He doesnât critique how long it takes you, the fact that you change earrings three times, or tell you that you look good enough and should just go.Â
He just hangs out in your living room, on the couch, practically oozing calm and nonchalance. The foolish, romance-starved part of you wants to cancel on your mom and spend the rest of the day curled up next to him on the couch, like a cat. Lazily dozing while Jack watches TV or something sounds like a much better way to spend your time after work than experiencing all five stages of grief over the course of one lunch. Repeatedly.Â
Finally ready, and with your sanity intact thanks to Jack, you pause by the kitchen and debate the merits of taking a shot to loosen your nerves. Unfortunately, your mom would undoubtedly somehow smell the alcohol on you and no doubt chew you out for a minimum of twenty minutes. Heaven forbid you make the event bearable.
Ever the kind host, you peek your head around the kitchen wall. âDo you want a shot, Jack?â
âYouâre aware that Iâm fifty?â
Right. That's probably an unhinged question.
âJust thought Iâd offer,â You say, meekly tucking the bottle back under the shelf, slightly embarrassed, âSometimes alcohol is the only way I can survive these things.â
Heâs leaned up against the couch, hands in his pockets when you exit the kitchen. âIt was very considerate, thank you. But I think the days of vodka and tequila shots are behind me. Iâm more of a whiskey man, anyways.â
âIâll keep that in mind when we end up at a bar afterwards to drink away memories of the lunch.â
Jack raises an eyebrow. âYou act like weâre going to be hung, drawn, and quartered after showing up.â
You worry your bottom lip between your teeth. âSorry. I just donât want you to be unprepared, because theyâre not always bad but when theyâre bad theyâre bad, you know? And I just donât want to scare you off, and ruin the day you could be spending sleeping, and I really am thankful, by the way, I just donâtââ
âDo you always ramble when youâre worried?â Jack interrupts, tilting his head to the side.
âUm. No? I donât know. I try not to. But like I said. My family brings out the worst in me.â
He searches your face for a moment, then taps the underside of your chin with a crooked finger, raising it slightly.Â
âWe got this, okay? Iâm not easy to scare. Combat med vet, remember? Plus, if it really gets that bad, Iâll fake a call from the hospital. Say there was some horrible accident and weâre being called in.â
âWonât my mom get wise when she never hears it on the news?â
Jack shrugs. âItâs the city. Something horrible is always happening here.â
He holds the front door open for you when youâve got your shoes on and purse ready, but as youâre sliding past him, he leans down, the angle of his jaw almost brushing the side of your neck, and breathes in deeply.Â
âYou smell good.âÂ
Fuck the gymnastics routine. Your stomach is going for Olympic Gold.Â
âOh,â You exhale, a shiver running up your spine and a pleasant tingling sparking where your skin barely brushed his, âUhâ Thanks. Vanilla and spice. I like layering scents.â
âItâs nice. Suits you.âÂ
You manage to squeak out another awkward âThanksâ before hastily locking the door, hoping he canât tell just how flustered he keeps making you. Judging by the smile playing at his lips, your hopes are in vain.Â
The car ride to the restaurant is longer than it should be, on account of Pittsburgh traffic, but the time goes by quickly as you pepper Jack with questions to prepare for the million and one that your mother will no doubt ask.Â
(âWhat should I say if she asks if weâve slept together?â
âDo you really, honestly, truly think your mother is going to bring up the topic of sex at the table, in a nice restaurant, with your entire family present?â
âFair point.â)
By the time you arrive, youâve picked and torn every single hangnail and loose cuticle around your fingers down to raw flesh and tiny dots of blood. Jack parks the car (parallel parks easily in one go, no repositioning needed, in downtown Pittsburgh. Itâs one of the hottest things youâve ever seen in your life) a good distance away from the restaurant, so that your family wouldnât be able to see you if you decided to flee to his car to escape them.Â
At least, thatâs what he says.Â
âI want you to hang onto the car keys, okay? If they get too much, you can sneak out through the kitchen and go to the car. Iâll meet you there.â
You canât help but smile at his efforts. âAnd what will you be doing while Iâm sneaking out?â
âSinging your praises, of course.â
Exhaustion from the shift you worked in what seems like a lifetime ago lines your limbs, but as you step out of the car (through the door Jack insists on opening for you âIn case theyâre still watching,â) and loop your arm through Jackâs, you feel⊠almost capable.Â
The lunch is going to suck. Thatâs a given. But Jack assured you heâs seen worse (âProbably done worse, sweetheart,â) and will not leave the lunch in a fit of rage and cause a scene. His arm is firm and solid âand fucking huge, how are his biceps that bigâ under your arm, and his presence is steadying.Â
As you cross the street and begin your final walk towards the building, he un-loops his arm from yours, but after you make a questioning noise in your throat, worried youâd be completely untethered (how pathetic to already be this reliant on a man, but thereâs no time to unpack that now) but instead he wraps his arm around your waist instead, drawing you to his side and effectively grounding you to his body.Â
The entire left side of your body lights up at the contact, and if this were your apartment, it would be very difficult to refrain from climbing him like a tree or doing something equally embarrassing, like plastering yourself to his side and begging him to never stop touching you.Â
Youâve almost managed to come off unaffected, but then he leans down, lips almost brushing your ear, and whispers:Â
âYouâve got this, baby. And if you donât, I do.â
Forget your family. Jack Abbot is going to be the death of you.Â
When you walk into the restaurant, hyper-aware of Jackâs grip on your body (your delusional mind has you thinking how⊠possessive the hand almost feels, if you ignore the fact that this is all fake) your family is waiting in the foyer, talking amongst themselves.Â
Your mother immediately zeroes in on you. âHoney, weâve talked about you being on time to these things. You canât be late to important familyââ
You watch in real time as your motherâs gaze finally flicks to Jack, and the shades of recognition, shock, almost disgust, and confusion before settling back into forced pleasantness.Â
Your father, however, looks downright murderous. Looks like the age gap isnât going down too well.Â
If Jack is at all nervous or put off by the several stares and outright glares from your family, he does not show it. He exudes cool confidence, the same unflappable energy he has during chaotic night shifts. The same calm that makes him so alluring to you in the first place.Â
He sticks out his hand for your mother to shake, a mirror of earlier that day in the PTMC lobby.Â
âI believe weâve met before, but Iâll introduce myself again. Iâm Dr. Jack Abbot.â
Your mother shakes his hand, but looks between the two of you like youâve just spilled wine on her Persian rug that she canât afford in the first place.Â
âYouâre my daughterâs plus one?â
Jack nods. âHer boyfriend, yes.â
Your brotherâs gape. Your dadâs glare intensifies. You want to kiss Jack.Â
âHoney,â Your mother says, gaze darting to you, âYou didnât sayââ
âI didnât want you to meet him at the hospital,â You tell her, hoping the lie doesnât come across as too rehearsed, since you did rehearse it several times with Jack in the car on the way over, âThe lobby of the hospital isnât the best place to introduce people. And we really did have patients to get back to.â
Your mother purses her lips. âWhy the last minute addition? If youâd told me that he was coming before today, it wouldâve been easier to make the reservation.â
Jack is quicker to respond than you. âThatâs my fault, actually. I didnât think I was going to be able to come, what with my shifts as a senior attending, but when we met in the lobby I understood how important it was to make the time.â
You have to try hard not to smile at Jackâs not-so-subtle flex. Senior attending.Â
âYes, well. My daughter doesnât always stress the importance of these things.âÂ
Jackâs grip on your waist tightens ever-so-slightly at the backhanded remark, and your motherâs gaze darts to the point of contact. But your father jerks his head towards the tables before she can say anything. âIâm starving.â
Everyone files in behind him, with you and Jack at the back of the line. Again, he leans down to whisper to you.Â
âHowâd I do?â
You elbow him in the side. âWeâll discuss your performance after this is over.â
âLooking forward to it.âÂ
The hostess leads everyone over to a large table near a window (your mother is particularly about seating) and everyone finds a seat. One of your brothers, either as a test or just to be a shit (your moneyâs on the latter) slides into the open seat next to you before Jack can.Â
To his credit, Jack doesnât cause a scene, but he doesnât back down either. He just stares at your idiot brother for awhile before finally asking:Â
âDo you really wanna do this right now?â
Your brother must sense that Jack Abbot is not a man to be fucked with (just a man you want to fuck), and scurries to his own seat, tail between his legs.Â
Once everyone is seated and the food is ordered (you donât bother ordering anything other than the salad; Jack orders the most expensive thing on their menu. Heâs never seemed like one to care for finery and expensive Italian restaurants where you practically have to order in Italian, but again, his unfazed demeanor makes him fit in anywhere) your family immediately begins peppering him with questions. Questions you knew theyâd ask and appropriately prepared him for.Â
âSo. Dr. Abbotââ
âJust Jack is fine.â
ââHow long have the two of you been dating?â
âA month and a half.â
âWhyâd you start dating?â
You take a generous gulp of your wine.Â
âBecause your daughter is an incredible woman and an even better doctor.â
âDo you think sheâs pretty?â One of your brothers chimes in.Â
Jack takes it in stride, despite that not being a question you prepared. âIâd have to be blind and stupid if I didnât.â
You feel hot from the tips of your ears down to your toes.Â
Thatâs going in the mental folder.Â
âHave you always wanted to be a doctor?â
âPretty much. Took a bit of a detour as a combat medic first, though.â
âWhyâd you leave?âÂ
âHonorably discharged after I lost my right leg. Below the knee amputation.â
You drain the rest of your glass and inconspicuously motion to the waiter for more wine.Â
The table is silent for the customary length of time after someone drops the âgot a limb chopped offâ bomb. Your family is clearly mildly uncomfortable, but Jack just keeps sipping his drink, his free hand drifting down and brushing the side of your thigh.
Your dad clears his throat. Here we go. Home stretch. Final questions before weâre in the clear.Â
âMr. Abbotââ
âEither Doctor or Jack works.âÂ
Ooo. There was some bite in that one.Â
Your Dad frowns. He does not like to be interrupted or corrected. Youâve been on the receiving end of far too many hour long lectures (read: berating and borderline verbal abuse) to know better.Â
But Jack isnât his daughter. Jack is pretty much his equal. Actually, the fact that Jack not only served but is now a doctor places him above your father, by social conventions.Â
This no doubt infuriates your father. Heâs always hated it when he couldnât tear somebody down to his level. A true coward.Â
âJack,â Your dad continues, a trademarked forced smile to save face, âYouâre a smart man, yeah? Havenât you ever considered the age difference between the two of you might be a little much?âÂ
Yikes. Questioning Jackâs competency is not the way to go. Jack is very competent. And smart. And capable. Itâs really hot.Â
Your fake-boyfriend just reaches over and grasps your hand, over the table, and looks at you with such devotion in his eyes that you forget how to breathe.Â
âWar doesnât really lend to longevity. Iâve learned to hold on tight to things I care about.âÂ
For a moment, it doesnât feel fake. Thereâs raw, punched emotion in his voice, and his thumb rubs your hand gently. Like he really does care that much. Like he wants to hold on.Â
But then your brother fake-gags and your fake boyfriend looks away with that, heâs passed the tests, and the conversation moves onto to different topics. Jack laughs at all the right moments, doesnât bring up any argument-starting topics, doesnât rise to bait when itâs thrown his way.Â
Heâs perfect.Â
Eventually lunch is drawn to a polite close. You have one last glass of wine while Jack settles the bill. Himself. With one card. He doesnât even look.Â
Your mom sends a smirk your way after he waves off your fatherâs attempt at splitting the bill or offering to pay. Itâs probably the third time sheâs actually looked at you for the entire duration of the lunch, but since itâs positive, youâll let it slide.Â
Pretty soon bags are grabbed, hands are shook, and Jackâs hand magically finds its way back to your lower back and youâre being (very gently) escorted out of the restaurant and to the car.Â
âWow,â You breathe as you slide into the passenger seat of his car. âI think thatâs the smoothest a lunch with my family has ever gone in my entire life. Youâre really good at this.â
Jack doesnât respond though. Doesnât make any kind of noise that he heard you. His hands are nearly white knuckled on the steering wheel and heâs staring straight ahead.Â
âJack?âÂ
âThey didnât even talk to you.â
You blink.Â
âWhat?â
âYour family never tried to include you in the conversation. Didnât even ask you any questions.â
You snort. âTrust me, itâs better that way.â
He hasnât started the car yet, just keeps staring off into the middle ground. He canât be old enough to start doing a thousand yard stare already, right?
âYou ordered a salad.â He says, a very prominent frown on his lips.Â
âSo? It wasnât too expensive, was it? I swear, if I knew you were gonna pay for the whole bill I wouldâve looked at something cheaper, I donât know why salads are so expensiveââ
âPlease donât apologize for ordering a salad,â Jack says, voice pained, âEspecially because I know you hate salads.â
Oh.Â
âHow do you know that?â
âI overheard you talking to Dr. King that time you two were discussing the merits of Olive Garden. You said the salad there was the only kind you like, because of the dressing and the pepperoncinis.â
Your cheeks heat. âI never said I hated all salads. I said I like that one in particular.â
âYou hardly ate anything during lunch.â
âMy family tends to have that effect on my appetite.â
Jack does not look placated. He doesnât take the out that your little joke provides. Doesn't so much as huff. He looks upset. Distressed.Â
Something about what he said goes ding! in your mind.
ââŠMel and I had that conversation like, last month. You seriously remembered that?âÂ
He frowns harder, like the answer to your partly rhetorical question should be obvious.
(Itâs not. Why would he remember that conversation? Why would he care at all?)
âOf course I remember.âÂ
There isnât much to say after that. Youâre not really sure what in particular has upset Jack, what possibly blunder or error youâve made to incur him going completely monosyllabic and frowny. Ever eager to appease, you refrain from any attempts to cajole him, make conversation, breathe too loudly, or make any kind of indication that youâre still present.Â
The tension in the car is thick and uncomfortable. It prickles at your skin and the hairs on the back of your neck, but the only thing you dare to do is scroll through Pinterest, only looking at the safest, basic boards in case Jack glances over (he doesnât.)
But then he does glance over. He just doesnât look at your phone.Â
Jack just keeps looking at you.Â
Heâll look over, eyes darting over your face like heâs looking for something, and then heâll look away. Over and over for almost the entire course of the drive. He only stops when you accidentally time your staring (monitoring) of him wrong and make eye contact.Â
He parks by your place (he once again sexily parallel parks with ease) and then puts the car in park. And then he starts talking.Â
âYouâre so much more than them.âÂ
Jack has the heat on, but the air in the car suddenly feels cold.Â
âWhat?â
âYour family,â Jack clarifies, like that was the confusing part âYour parents. I hated watching you⊠disappear like that. You deserve better than that. You are better than that.âÂ
You try to swallow, almost choking on the sudden lump in your throat.Â
âListen,â You start, unaware of how to even begin processing what he said, let alone formulating the best response because your brain is just flashing abort! Abort! Abort! in big neon letters,, âThank you for today. I really appreciate it. But if this is all just too much, I can handle things from here. Really. I can say that someone called out and you had to cover shiftsââ
âNo.â
Jack says it with such vehemence, bordering on vitriol, that it startles you, and you flinch backwards ever so slightly.Â
An old habit.Â
Something flashes across his face âgone before you can decipher itâ and he noticeably forces himself calmer. Â
âI wouldnât be able to live with myself if I let you go alone again. Ever.âÂ
Your brain starts short-circuiting at his words. âI really canât ask you toââ
âItâs a good thing youâre not asking me then.âÂ
âJackââ
âPlease.â
Youâre stunned silent at the rawness in his toneâ the pain.Â
He said please. He said it like he was begging. He is begging.Â
âI donât know how you do it,â He continues, jaw working, âI can see it on you, plain as day. How you hate what they do, how it makes you hurt. But you keep going.â
You shrug uselessly. âIs there another option?âÂ
Jack reaches out for you, then falters, like he thought better. A tiny part of you wishes heâd followed through; bridged the yawning gap between the two of you thatâs made up of the center console in his car, a couple decades, and your own unwillingness to try at vulnerability.Â
âIâll walk you to your door.âÂ
The walk to your door is a stark contrast to the walk to the restaurant. Thereâs no mischief on his face now, only a mask of stony distress.Â
At the doorway to your apartment building, you pause. It seems customary. Appropriate. Necessary.
Really, you just want to look at Jack some more. Try to puzzle out why the lunch that felt like it went so well made him so upset. Where youâre getting signals wrong and crossing wires. Why success to you is failure to him.Â
(As an ED resident, youâve seen child abuse cases. Youâve seen foster care children littered with cigarette burns and criss-crossing scars of broken bottles and the corners of coffee tables and haunted eyes. Â
You know your family isnât great. But there arenât any cigarette burns or glass scars or eyes that track fast movement.)
You have this burning inclination to apologize to Jack. Logically, you know you havenât done something wrong, but you feel like you have because heâs upset so maybe you can make it better?Â
âYou have that look on your face.â
You frown. âWhat look?âÂ
âThe âIâm gonna apologize for something stupidâ look.â
âI wasnât going to.â
âYou were thinking about it,â Jack ducks down, catches your eyes, âHey, listen to me. You cannot fix what I am upset about. It is not your job. My mood is not your responsibility.âÂ
âItâs freaky when you do that.â
âDo what?â
âYou always know what Iâm thinking.â
Jack just huffs; shoves his hands in his pockets.Â
Emboldened by his reassurance, you ask: âWhy are you upset?âÂ
âBecause your family treats you like shit, and I want to fix it, but I canât.âÂ
âOh.âÂ
Itâs not that bad. It canât be that bad. Youâve seen bad. This isnât it. Itâs hard, but itâs not bad.Â
He stays quiet, seemingly sensing the inner turmoil his words have sparked. That, or he really is that good at reading you.Â
Jack nods towards your door. âWe can talk later. Get some sleep. We both have shifts tonight.â
Right. Yeah. All of these events roughly occurred over the course of six hours. Time makes sense.Â
Despite the fact that you are exhausted and desperately need to sleep if you have any chance of surviving your âquickly approachingâ shift, you linger.Â
âHow am I supposed to repay you for all of this?âÂ
The question thatâs been burning a hole in your pocket since he said Iâll do it.Â
He just shakes his head. Like itâs simple. Easy. âThis isnât something I want repayment for. Now go. Youâre no good to me as a zombie.âÂ
âIâll just have some of Shenâs Dunkin.â
âHe doesnât share that shit. Besides, heâs off tomorrow.â
âMaybe Iâllââ
âSleep,â He points at your door, âNow.âÂ
You smile at his insistence. Heâs sort of like cold coffee with sugar. Seems all bitter but then you get a bit of that sweet crunch, so it balances out. He balances out.Â
Sometimes it feels like he balances you out.Â
âGoodnight.â
He gives you a little smile of his own.Â
âGoodnight.â
â
Jack Abbot does not take his own advice. Mostly because he knows if he doesnât talk about what happened during that lunch from hell, heâs going to do something that will end in him being thrown in prison and having his medical license revoked. More importantly, if that happens, he wonât be around to take care of you.Â
So instead he collapses on his couch, works his prosthetic off to give his stump a needed break, and dials the number at the top of his favorites in his contact list.Â
âThis really isnât a good timeââ
âRobby,â Jack starts, âThey didnât even fucking talk to her.âÂ
âJesus, okay. Whitaker! Cover for me a sec, will you? I gotta deal with this.â
âThey justâŠâ Jack continues, genuinely at a loss for words. His vocabulary feels woefully unequipped to relay the depth of anger he feels about the events of the lunch, ââŠIgnored her. They talked over her, didnât ask her questions, hardly ever let her finish speaking when she did finally get a chance to speak, and threw jabs at her constantly. It was fucking awful.â
The background noise quiets over the phone, and Jack knows Robbyâs moved to either the break room or an empty patient room.Â
âShe fight back at all?â
âNo. Just⊠grinned and beared it. It was fuckinâ unsettling, man. Iâve seen her yell back at rude patients, watched her stand her ground to EMTâs who think they know better. It was like she hollowed herself out to sit at that table.âÂ
âChrist.â
âShe flinched away from me. Afterwards, in the car, when I raised my voice on accident.â
âFuck. Do you thinkââ
âI donât know. Maybe when she was younger. They donât live in state, so if they are, sheâs safe.âÂ
Jack scrubs a hand down his face. âGod. I donât know what to do, Robby. It doesnât seem like sheâs got⊠anybody. She didnât even understand why I was upset. She doesnât get why that would be upsetting.âÂ
âSheâs friends with Mel and Santos, right?âÂ
âAnd Whitaker by extension, yeah. But those are recent friends. Iâve never heard her mention anybody from back home. No boyfriend or best friend or anything. Sheâs just been doing everything on her own.â
Jack can picture Robby nodding. âWeâve done our fair share of that.â
âYeah, and look where that got us. I canât just leave her here. Fuck, it was like watching someone kick a puppy, over and over.âÂ
âThat bad?âÂ
âYeah.âÂ
The line goes silent for a bit, both men stewing on the subject at hand.Â
âSheâs always had these habits. I thought they were just personality quirks, you know. I mean, weâre all fucked up, but watching it happenâŠâ
âItâs different.âÂ
âYou could say that,â Jack sighs, âShe soaks up praise like a fucking sponge. She looks surprised every time I do something nice for her. And she keeps trying to make me happy.â
âYou lost me on that last one.âÂ
âIt doesnât⊠Sheâs not doing it to make me happy, exactly. She just does everything she can to keep me from getting mad.âÂ
âIs there a difference?â
âThere is. Eager to please versus eager to appease.â
âAre you sure you want to get involved?â
âBit late for that.â
âYou could pull back.â
âFuck no, I canât. Then Iâd be kicking the puppy.â
âShe is a grown woman.â
âWho happens to look like a kicked puppy.â
He scrubs a hand down his face, groaning into the microphone.Â
âYou finally realize how ridiculous you sound?â
Jack grunts. âIâm not giving you the satisfaction of answering that.â
The line crackles with the staticky sound of Robby chuckling. âThatâs an answer in it of itself, and you know that.âÂ
He lets the line go quiet again, briefly debating just hanging up.Â
âI donât know, Robby. Itâs justâŠâ
âWorse than you expected?â
âYeah.â
âCome on. You knew that was a possibility. Has it put you off, at all?â
âFuck no.â
âExactly. Now please, go to bed so I can get back to saving lives? Whitaker is covering for me and heâs only gone through two pairs of scrubs so far today. Iâm not a betting man, but if I were, Iâd bet money that heâs moved onto his third during this conversation.âÂ
âI save lives too.â
âYou wonât save any if you fall asleep on the drive over and die.â
âI would never fall asleep behind the wheel.â
âThatâs what they all say.âÂ
Jack really does hang up after that, plugging his phone in and rushing through everything he needs to do before bed.Â
But even as exhaustion pulls his body down into deep, dreamless sleep, he canât stop thinking about that hollow look on your face. And he knows, even half-asleep, that he wonât be able to let it go.
â
The next night at work is weird, because nothing has changed, except now you know what the inside of Jackâs car looks like and how his voice sounded when he begged you to let him help.Â
Itâs jarring, to say the least. Unsteadying and mildly world-rocking if youâre being honest.Â
But gossip travels fast within the walls of the PTMC, so by the time night shift is halfway over, youâre convinced youâve heard every variation in existence of the same two questions:Â
âDid you and Jack go on a date yesterday?âÂ
And:Â
âWhatâs Jack like on a date?âÂ
The answer to the first question is complicated and embarrassing, so you donât answer it or any of itâs variants. The answer to the second question is not complicated but it does, however, stir some very complicated feelings, so you refrain from answering that one too. You just try to refrain from thinking about or seeing him in general.
Youâre not avoiding Jack, per se. Just keeping busy. With other stuff. Thatâs conveniently nowhere near him.Â
Ellis keeps shooting you entirely too knowing looks, Mckay, whoâs pulling a double, pats your shoulder and tells you sheâs there if you want to talk, Shen is absent as Jack said he would be, and Jack himself is acting like nothing happened and everything is normal and heâs never been to your apartment smelled your perfume.Â
(ââŠI like layering scents.â
âItâs nice. Suits you.â)
Itâs all too much.
Hence the avoiding.
You try to curb your own ridiculousness for the sake of your patients, but itâs oddly difficult. Youâve always been amazing at compartmentalizing. If your family gave you any kind of skill, itâs the ability to shove your feelings in a box, and then shove that box in a corner of your mind you wonât access consciously until you end up on public transportation with your headphones. You should be more than capable of gathering up all the loose feelings labeled âFor: Jack Abbotâ and tucking them all nice and neat in that little box and then shove it in a dark mental corner.Â
But you canât. And along with the flurry of Jack Abbot causing a hurricane in your head, thereâs a lesser storm that is the result of your family. More specifically, how they look to Jack.Â
All roads lead back to Rome. Or, in your case, to Jack.Â
You catch yourself during every spare moment or menial task that doesnât require 100% of your brain power analyzing every interaction he had with them. Everything they said, everything they did, and how Jack wouldâve taken it. And why. Because clearly, the act of dealing with them isnât the problem. The ease and finesse in which he did so crosses that off the list. So itâs something else.Â
Itâs how they treat you.Â
You understand, logically, that it would be upsetting, from his point of view. If you were in his place, youâd also probably be upset too.Â
But this feels different. Jackâs reaction is different. Jack is different.Â
Itâs just never really been something that anyone should be upset over. Your family are who they are. Not great, but not truly bad either. You deal with them sparingly. You donât even live in the same state anymore. Itâs not a big deal.Â
âWhy are you hiding from me in a supply closet?âÂ
You whirl around, a box of gloves clutched in your hands.
âIâm not hiding from you.â
Jack crosses his arms and leans against the doorway. âThis is the third time youâve been here in two hours.â
âSo? I just want to be⊠on top of things. Iâm a productive person.âÂ
âYou are,â He amends, âBut all of your productivity tonight has been pretty strictly nowhere near me. Funny how that works.â
You sigh, placing the gloves back on the rack. âThings are just⊠weird, okay? I donât know how youâre being so normal about all this?â
Your fingers wander and find a loose piece of skin on the edge of your cuticle, and you begin absent-mindedly picking at it.Â
You canât exactly disagree with him, right here, in the supply closet at the hospital. But you canât quite bring yourself to agree eitherâ because whether he acknowledges it or not, things have changed. Seeing him outside the hospital, perfectly placating your family into one of the most peaceful get-togethers youâve had in years isn't just nothing.Â
Itâs everything. And you, for one, canât just pretend that it didnât happen.Â
âHey,â He calls your name softly, âWhatâs on your mind? Whatâs bugging you?âÂ
âNothing.â
He snorts, pushing off the doorframe and shutting the door behind him, so itâs just the two of you alone. âLiar.â
He doesnât probe any further, just leans against the now closed door with his hands in his pockets, eyes flitting over you like theyâre looking for an answer. An answer youâre too hesitant to give.Â
âIâm just worried.âÂ
âYou? Worried? No.âÂ
You cut him a glare, âThereâs a very real chance that this could all go horribly awry, you know.â
âSure,â Jack dips his head, âBut thatâs not what youâre really worried about.â
âAnd how do you know that?â
âBecause that doesnât address the fact that youâre avoiding me.â
You sigh, scrubbing a hand across your face.Â
âWhy do you care?âÂ
The question thatâs been nagging at you since the beginning. The little itch in the back of your mind that you just canât seem to get rid of. The puzzle you canât figure out; the tune you canât place.Â
Youâre a logic driven person. You like knowing how things worksâ why they work. Why things do the things they do.Â
You like having the why. Having the why makes the world make sense.Â
Nothing about Jack Abbot makes sense.Â
âWhy do I care about what?â
âThis,â You gesture vaguely to the air, âMe. I donât buy that you just didnât have anything better to do or whatever it was you said. People donât just⊠do that. Youâre really ruining your life for an entire week for what? So I'm a little less uncomfortable? Me? At the end of the day, weâre just coworkers. I know how important your down time is for you, so I just donât get why youâre so okay with being miserable just for my sake. Iâm not that important. These stupid lunches arenât that important.âÂ
Itâs a stupid confession. Much too vulnerable for a supply closet and a man youâre harboring feelings for.Â
He doesnât respond right away. Hums, stares at his shoes for a bit. Re-adjusts so his prosthetic isnât taking so much weight.Â
âYou are important. Youâre important to me, to this hospital, to your patients. And for the record, I am not âruining my week.â If it was that easy for my week to be ruined, I never would have become a doctor, let alone joined the military.â
âBut why?âÂ
âJesus, you watched a lot of the science channel growing up, didnât you?âÂ
You snort. âGuilty as charged.âÂ
Now itâs his turn to sigh.Â
âYou⊠seem to have this misguided belief that caring is reciprocal in nature.â
You frown. âIt is.âÂ
âIt isnât. At least it shouldnât be, but I donât think anyone ever told you that.âÂ
You scoff. âSo this is about my family.âÂ
He shrugs. âAmongst other things.â
âTheyâre not that bad.â
âThey are.âÂ
âOther people have it worse.â
âItâs not a competition.âÂ
You resist the urge to throw your hands in the air. âWhy is this such a big deal to you?âÂ
âBecause itâs a big deal to you.âÂ
The air gets quiet and tense. Like the supply closet and all the medical supplies in it are holding their breath. If they were alive, if they were holding their breath, youâre convinced theyâd all be looking at you.Â
Itâs Jack who speaks first though.Â
âI can see it. You do everything yourself, get back up even when itâs hard. You look out for other people more than you look out for yourself. Youâre selfless and kind and I donât think very many people give that back to you.âÂ
A reflexive smile pulls at your lips, a habit you never quite managed to kick after years of people telling you âsmile, look grateful, stop looking so upset, thereâs nothing to cry about.â It feels awkward and clunky on your mouth but you donât know what else to do. Thereâs no pre-written protocol for something like this.
âI still donât really get it.â You murmur, more to yourself than to Jack.
Jack sends you a light grin. âWeâll work on it.âÂ
âWe will?âÂ
âSure,â He shrugs, âAlready started anyways.âÂ
âIf youâre sure.âÂ
âIâm sure,â He opens the door, âNow get back out there. And bring the gloves too.â
You roll your eyes but comply, snagging the box off the shelf where youâd left it and following him out.Â
The rest of your shift passes much smoother than before, even with the routine influx of patients as the time inches closer to morning. Jack doesnât hover, but doesnât pull the disappearing act that you (totally fairly) pulled on him either. He truly seems unfazed. Like it really, actually doesnât bother him.Â
Well. Correction. It does bother him, but not because itâs something heâs doing for you, the part that bothers him (apparently) is how all of this affects you. All this caring makes you feel like a deer in the headlights.
You recall something he said that night. Something that had made you shiverâ something that hit the nail right on the head.Â
âHey, listen to me. You cannot fix what I am upset about. It is not your job. My mood is not your responsibility.âÂ
He always seems to know exactly what to say to you. How to act, what to do, what specific worry youâre feeling and the best course of action to soothe it. Itâs great but itâs also difficult, because thereâs a part of you that wants to let him keep doing it, but then thereâs the part of you that bristles every time and wants to snap that youâre completely capable of doing things yourself.Â
That probably wouldnât even work. Heâd just say something infuriating and sexy, like âI know, but I want to do this for you.âÂ
He would. He totally would.Â
The thought is equal parts haunting and reassuring.Â
(And maybe, also, a little, kind of really sweet?)
â
The next two lunches go great. Jack is still freakishly incredible at charming your family. And, with his help, you actually manage to hold a (mostly) civil conversation with your parents for the first time in⊠years.Â
The lunches are fine, but the part youâve started looking forward to is the before and after. Before, Jack comes to pick you up, and sometimes he comes early and helps prepare (which mostly involves him either talking you off the ledge, pouring a shot or two, or assuring you that your makeup and outfit look great. Not fine, great) or just to hang out. The hanging out part is nice, because he never comes with any sort of expectation. Heâll sit on your couch and scroll through his phone and entertain all the inane chatter you like to get out of your system beforehand but never had an outlet for before.Â
The after is even more fun. You run through the highlights of the night and hate on all the annoying things your family said to you. This usually also involves stopping somewhere for food (only for you, Jackâs never hungry because he eats t=at the restaurants but youâre never allowed to order anything that isnât a salad) and then the two fo you fight over who pays. You always insist since youâre the only one actually eating any of the food, but then Jack usually takes your card, puts it in his pocket, and uses his own.Â
Itâs as frustrating as it is hot.Â
But for the most part, the lunches and your shifts at work have actually been pretty goodâ as good as night shifts in a trauma center can be, anyway. Jackâs presence is⊠steadying, even when heâs not physically there. Heâs always present in some wayâ whether itâs little reminders he leaves at your favorite spot for charting (he only uses blue sticky notes) or a real lunch left for you in the breakroom fridge (you werenât previously aware he actually knew how to cook, or that he knew how picky you are when it comes to what youâll actually eat for lunch and how often you get too busy to properly make something.) Sometimes heâs there in your head; in little things heâs told or taught you that you remember in the moment.Â
Itâs nice. To have someone be around. Someone you can relax with, joke withâ someone who hasnât looked down on you for the the way you turned out.Â
You were pretty ready to declare smooth sailing ahead, but then on the third lunch your mother shows up and is decidedly not in a good mood and the seas turn choppy and the boat smashes into the rocks below.Â
At least, two peach bellinis in, thatâs what it feels like.Â
âHonestly,â Your mother puffs, âI donât understand why making some simple appetizers could take so long. This is why I hate going to restaurants during lunch hours, the staff just gets so lazy. The menu is always better at dinner anyways.âÂ
You ignore the thinly veiled dig and instead choose to quietly drain the rest of your third peach bellini. They taste like juice and take a much needed edge (or two) of the evening. Lunch. What-fucking-ever.Â
Jack, ever aware of the best way to survive these functions (somehow) whilst keeping his sanity, remains silent as your mom huffs and puffs, seeming to understand that trying to placate her when she gets in these moods is a fruitless endeavor that only leads to your mom getting more upset and everyone else more annoyed.Â
You, made slightly optimistic by the wonderful powers of alcohol, attempt to put her in a better mood.Â
âI have the next three days off, mom. Weâll be able to do dinners instead.â
Your mother, however, only scoffs. âThatâs no good to anyone now. Weâve already spent half this week dealing with poor restaurant service. I mean, no respectable job would have such a ridiculous schedule."Â
âIâm a doctor, mom. It doesnât get more respectable than that.âÂ
Jack nudges your leg with his, either a silent laugh, show of support, or quiet question of your sanity. Maybe all three.Â
Another bellini appears in front of you, this one heavier on the alcohol than the last. Your server is getting a giant tip when this is all over.Â
âYou work in the emergency department, dear. Thatâs hardly stable, and stable is respectable,â Jack clears his throat, and your mother at least has the manners to look mildly sheepish, âNo offense, Jack.âÂ
He smiles thinly. âNone taken.âÂ
Conversation from there is stilted at best with even your brothers tip-toeing around your mother. No one wants to be the subject of a nitpicking lecture, even when the version she gives them is a slap on the wrist compared to what you endure.Â
So you keep drinking your belliniâs and they keep coming. After your fourth, you think you should maybe slow down a little, but then your dad starts grilling Jack about his life (again) and you decide that alcohol is, in fact, necessary.Â
âHave you ever been in a serious relationship before, Jack?âÂ
That one almost makes you ask the server for a shot of vodka, straight. Thatâs a question you ask a nineteen year-old pimple-faced boy, not a fucking fifty year old man.Â
âI have, yes. But, like most things in life, they were learning experiences. Iâve moved on.âÂ
Your dad snorts, then gestures to you. âYou could teach her a thing or two about moving on.âÂ
Your blood runs cold.Â
Jack sets his glass down. âAnd what do you mean by that?â
Itâs your mother who answers. Because one vulture circling your soon-to-be carcass wasnât enough.Â
âIâm surprised she hasnât told you. It was all she ever talked about for years. Sheâs had exactly one boyfriend before youâ what was his name honey?â
âChristopher,â You answer hollowly, stomach churning.Â
Your dad snaps his fingers. âThatâs it. It took ages for her to get her first boyfriend. We were fairly convinced it would never happen, but then one day she came home with Christopher. Whole family wanted to throw a partyâ finally found someone to put up with all that attitude!â
Your family laughs, but Jack doesnât.Â
âWhereâs the funny part, in all this?â
Your mother clears her throat, just a tad awkward. âWhen she broke up with him it was awful. She refused to leave her room for works, cried all the time. Honestly, I would have understood if he had broken up with her, but it was all her decision.âÂ
Your dad nods in agreement. âWe had to have a sit-down conversation with her about decisions and consequences before she finally stopped crying and hiding in her room. Christopher was such a nice boy, we hated to see him go.â
Jack opens his mouth, poised to fire something back and defend you, but you beat him to the punch.Â
âHe cheated on me with my best friend.âÂ
At that, your mother frowns. âThatâs not what Christopher said. You were in your teen angst era, remember? Always picking fights? He told your brother that you were so distant with him he didnât know you were still together.âÂ
âI wasnât distant, I was really busy. I was studying for the MCAT. He knew that. He knew how important medical school was to me.âÂ
Your brother rolls his eyes. âMed school was all you talked about. Itâs not like you were putting out.â
Your mother snaps her fingers once. âThat is inappropriate talk for public. You know better.âÂ
âCome on, mom. Itâs true. Everyone knowsââ
âSorry to interrupt,â Jack says, not at all sounding sorry, âBut the hospital just texted. Thereâs an emergency, and weâre needed, so we have to go.âÂ
Jack does not wait for your mother or father to excuse him. He just stands, offering you his hand. It turns out that you need it, because there is, apparently, such a thing as too many peach bellinis. Your mom sends you a pointed glare as you stumble once, after which you make a concerted effort to look more sober.Â
Neither you nor Jack bother saying proper goodbyes. Once he grabs your jacket and purse (and your vision stops swimming so much and youâre sure you can walk in a convincing approximation of a straight line) youâre both gone. You pass your server on the way out, who is slipped a very generous cash tip for the excellent bellini service.Â
By the time you get to the car, you realize that youâre about to have to save patient lives and you are very, extremely, drunk. There is no way you are capable of doing any life-saving at the moment.Â
âJack,â You mumble, fumbling with your seatbelt, âI think Iâm too drunk to go in. Did they say how serious the emergency was? Can I just get a banana bag?âÂ
âThere is no emergency,â He says calmly, batting your hands away and buckling you in properly, âI made it up. I figured youâd be okay with ducking out of there.âÂ
âOh. That was nice of you.âÂ
He clicks you in and gives you a wry grin. âTold you I would handle things.â
You nod, the movement exaggerated and lopsided. âI hate it when they bring up Christpher. They always take his side. Like, is there ever a situation where itâs okay to cheat on a girl with her best friend? I was studying for the MCAT. I didnât even wallow or break up with him when I found out. I waited until after I took the exam so I didnât fuck up my score.âÂ
âThatâs my girl.âÂ
âChristopher was an asshole. He was a real dickhead. The whole situation sucked. I lost the only two people who I thought cared about me at the same time. My family acted like I was the fucking anti-christ for being upset about it, too. It was fucking terrible. Iâm so glad I donât live with them anymore. I mean, I still love them, and I care about them, cause theyâre my family, but everything is just so much easier when theyâre not around.âÂ
âYouâre allowed to hate them, you know.âÂ
âI know,â You say, fiddling with a hangnail. âI know I probably should.âÂ
You sigh, tilting your head back against the headrest. âI always keep holding out hope, you know? That one day theyâll apologize, figure their shit out, care about me in a way that matters. I know itâs stupid.â
âItâs not stupid.âÂ
You frown. âItâs not? It kinda seems stupid. Youâd think by now I would know better.âÂ
âNo,â Jack eases the car out of the parking space, âWeâre biologically wired to love our families. Itâs the reason why they can fuck you up so bad. Your brain canât compute why the people who are supposed to love you above all else just⊠donât. Not in any of the right ways.âÂ
You blow air through your lips. âI think my parents fucked me up. I was so happy when I matched into the Pitt, because it was so far away. But then I got out here it just kind of hit me, all at once, that I was alone. My best friend was gone, my ex boyfriend sucked, and I was too busy in med school taking care of myself and my family to make any friends.â
Shit, that sounds so whiny. âBut it turns out it wasnât so bad. Now I've got Mell, and Santos, and Iâm pretty sure Iâm friends with Shen too. Mckay is nice too. I like her. Sheâs cool.âÂ
Jack huffs something that could be a laugh, and you turn to study him; the angles of his face awash in the glow of the red light youâre currently stopped at. From here, you can see the tiny bits of tension he carries in his faceâ a slight pinch in his brow, the tiniest downturn of his lips. Itâs the only evidence that heâs not as unaffected by your family as he pretends to be.
Then the light turns green, and his face isnât illuminated the same.Â
âAnd what about me?âÂ
Oh. Well. Thatâs a loaded question.
The alcohol emboldens you to answer honestly. âI donât know what to think about you.âÂ
âOh really?âÂ
âMmm. Nope.âÂ
âHow come?âÂ
"You're soââ You gesture vaguely, âConfusing. I canât figure you out. For a while there, I was pretty sure you hated me, but then you offered to help me with this and you keep saying you care so I think Iâm wrong.âÂ
âYou think youâre wrong?â
âStill canât figure you out.âÂ
âAnd how can I show you that I mean it?âÂ
Thatâs. Hmm.
âI donât know. I think what youâre doing is working,â You pause, debating the pros and cons of continuing to just say whatever the fuck you want before deciding youâre too tired to care, âIt helps that youâre really hot.âÂ
His lips twitch. âOh, does it now?âÂ
âMhm. Youâve got this whole⊠capable thing about you. Itâs hot. Competency is in.â
âIf you say so.âÂ
âI do say so. I feel like if I had a problem I could call you or something and you would fix it. Youâre soâŠâ
âCompetent?âÂ
âThatâs the word.â
If heâs at all irritated, annoyed, or otherwise put off by your stupid rambling, he didnât show it.Â
âYou should call me whenever you have a problem. Chances are, I can fix it.âÂ
âAre you like Bob the Builder?â
âIâm a doctor, so no.âÂ
âYouâre kind of like Bob the Builder.âÂ
âWhatever you say,â He pauses at an empty intersection before continuing on, âBefore I start heading towards your place, do you want to stop by mine? You didnât even get to eat your salad, and I have leftovers. You can say no.â
âAre you gonna be mad at me if I say no?âÂ
âNo.âÂ
âThen yes.âÂ
âYou sure? I wasnât lying.âÂ
âI know. But I like your cooking.â
You spend the drive to Jackâs continuing to ramble about nothing and everything, to which he entertains with a seemingly endless amount of patience. The only time he interrupts is to hand you a bottle of Gatorade he procured from his back seat. Apparently, he bought a few to keep in his car after the first lunch. âFor any alcohol excursions.âÂ
Itâs freaky how prepared he is for every situation.Â
When you arrive, he unbuckles your seatbelt for you (unbuckling is just as difficult as buckling when youâve had an unknown amount of peach bellinis) and helps you up the stairs to his apartment.Â
His gigantic apartment.Â
âWoah,â You mumble as you shuffle through the doorway, pulled along by your hand in Jacks, âI didnât know they made apartments this size.âÂ
âIts not that big.âÂ
âI think, like, four of my apartments could fit in here. Your living room is the size of my entire place.âÂ
You stumble once, heel catching on the little rug on the entry way, and heâs immediately motioning for you to sit on the little bench by the door and pats his thigh once. You clumsily raise your leg, barely managing to land your foot on the general area he gestures to. He pulls the first shoe off, then repeats with the second with an air of total calm. Like this is normal and he does this all the time for you. Like you regularly find yourself drunk in his apartment.
You decide to unpack the moment when youâre sober.Â
âOne, itâs not that big, and two, thatâs what you get for renting a studio apartment.â
âLike you could afford better when you were an intern.âÂ
He snorts, leading you to his couch and gesturing for you to sit. âIf you want to change clothes you can borrow some of mine.â
You chew on your lip. The outfits you choose to look nice for your mother are never exactly comfortable, and when else are you going to get the chance to privately live the scenario you fantasize about several times a week before falling asleep?
âOnly if you donât mind.âÂ
âI wouldn't have offered if I wasnât. Stay there.âÂ
Jackâs only gone for a few minutes before he reappears with a dark grey sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants in a slightly lighter shade. The sweatshirt is oversized and looks well worn, but the sweatpants are suspiciously new, close to your size, and look eerily similar to a pair you changed into after a shift a few weeks ago.
He hands them to you. Neither of you mention the sweatpants. âYou can change in the bathroom. Door locks from the inside. Iâm gonna change too, and then Iâll heat up the food.âÂ
Jack shows you the bathroom (you donât bother unpacking why exactly he felt the need to tell you that the door locks and from the inside, thatâs for when youâre significantly more drunk than you are now and when youâre not in his fancy-ass apartment.)Â
Because heâs a man and men take approximately three seconds to change, heâs already in the kitchen setting stuff on the counter by the time you emerge from the bathroom. His countertops are solid granite, because the apartment is clearly expensive and heâs a man. Theyâre an inky black color with tiny flecks that sparkle when the light hits them just so.Â
âWhat are you doing?â Jack asks when he turns from the fridge to find you tilting your head this way and that.Â
âLooking at the sparkles.âÂ
âOookay. Do you want me to heat up the vodka pasta or the chicken?â
âYou made vodka pasta?âÂ
He shrugs. âYou said you liked it.âÂ
You slide into a seat at the kitchen island, a flush creeping up your neck. âThe pasta, please.âÂ
Suddenly exhausted now that youâre in soft, comfortable clothes that smell like Jack, you decide to just rest your head on your arms for a bit. And close your eyes. But youâre not going to fall asleep. Youâre not.Â
âDonât fall asleep. You need to eat something first.âÂ
âMâ not fallinâ asleep.âÂ
âMhm. Sure.âÂ
With great effort, you blink your eyes open and watch Jack while he heats up the pasta and prepares something else. A salad maybe?
âWhatâreâyouâ making?â
âJust a little salad. In case the pasta is too heavy for you.âÂ
âOh. How come?âÂ
âBecause I donât want you to throw up.âÂ
âI promise I wonât throw up on your furniture. I donât usually throw up when Iâm hungover.âÂ
âYou drink often?âÂ
âNo,â Your head lulls to the side, âIâm too busy. Iâm actually not-so-secretly very boring. I donât really like partying. I much prefer staying at home.âÂ
âThought you went to that thing with King and Santos?âÂ
âYeah, but that was âcause Trinity really wanted me to come and I felt bad and I didnât want her to think I was a boring, uptight bitch.âÂ
âI see.âÂ
âYeah. I kinda had fun, though. I wished you were there.â
âReally?âÂ
âYeah,â You sigh, probably a hint too dreamily, âMakes me feel better when youâre around.âÂ
âIâll keep that in mind.âÂ
He slides a little bowl with a light salad in it to you across the counter, and it's perfectly refreshing. Not at all heavy like the pasta ends up being.Â
âSorry I couldnât finish it,â You say, forcing down a yawn and resisting the urge to burrow into your arms and go to sleep right there, âI feel bad that you went through the trouble of making it and heating it up.âÂ
âIt wasnât that much effort. Besides, now you can just eat it for lunch tomorrow instead. Iâll send it home with you.âÂ
âMhm.â You hum, slowly inching your arms forward and down onto the counter, your head quickly following suit.Â
Jack chuckles, and you can hear the light step of his feet as he rounds the corner of the island and nudges you in the arm.Â
âCome on, sweetheart. You wanna get home to bed, donât you?â
âNo,â You shake your head, âI wanna sleep right here. Itâs comfortable.â
âIt wonât be when you wake up.â
You whine, curling away from him.Â
He just puffs another little laugh. âYou can either sleep in your bed, or my bed. You canât sleep on the kitchen island.â
âWhy not?â You finally lift your head, âAnd why is your bed an option?â
âOne,â He lifts up one finger in front of your face and slowly drags it back and forth, âBecause the kitchen island is not a bed. Two, Iâm not letting you sleep on the couch.â
âWhy? Is your couch uncomfortable?â
âNo,â He says, shuffling back over to where the leftovers are and tucking all the food away in the proper places, âItâs just not right to make a woman sleep on the couch.â
âI like sleeping on couches.â
He shoots you a look over his shoulder, âIâm sure you do. But youâre still a little drunk, and my bed is closer to the bathroom than the couch is.âÂ
You prop your head on your hand. âWho said Iâm even staying here tonight?â
Jack closes the fridge. âDo you want to? Because I donât care either way. We both have tomorrow off.â
âItâd be weird to wake up here.â
âWhy?â
âBecause youâre my boss.â
âAnd Iâm faking being your boyfriend so your parents get off your back. Pretty sure weâre past coworkers.âÂ
âWhat would we even do in the morning?âÂ
âSleep.â
âI donât want to kick you out of your bed. Iâll sleep on the couch.âÂ
âYouâre my guestââÂ
âYouâre already doing so much for me,â You blurt, stomach clenching, âIâ You know me. I can only handle so much. Let me do this one thing? Please?âÂ
Jack glowers for a bit, then sighs.Â
âOnly because you asked nicely and I believe in rewarding good behavior. And because I know my couch isnât uncomfortable. Iâll help you make it up.âÂ
Jackâs apartment is surprisingly tidy for the fact that a man lives in it (Christopherâs room at his parentâs house always looked like shit) and he pulls down a couple options for bedding. You go with the plain black sheet and its matching thick, fluffy comforter. He insists on making up the couch himself (despite the fact that the alcohol has mostly worn off by now) and even sets up a glass of water, a liquid IV packet, and a bucketâ âJust in case those belliniâs donât love you back.âÂ
The sight of it all is almost too much. Itâs just so much care. All of it. The fact that heâs helping out with you and your disaster of a family, the way that despite the horribleness of it all he hasnât judged you at all for how you deal with them. He refuses to let you drive yourself, always pays for every lunch for your entire family and the little snacks you get afterwards. Listens to you rant and he makes you food and gets you blankets andâ
âYou okay there?âÂ
âMhm,â You hum, âJust thinkinâ.âÂ
He leaves you be for a moment, busies himself with fixing your pillows and and tugging the comforter into its proper place.
Before you can talk yourself out of it, you turn, throwing your arms around Jackâs middle and burying your face in his chest.Â
âThank you,â You say, voice muffled by the fabric, âFor doing all of this. Thank you for looking out for me.âÂ
Jack is still for a second, just long enough for you to second guess initiating physical contact âa line you were previously too scared to crossâ but then his hands come up and it's so, immediately, remarkably over. Because youâre never ever going to draw that line again. You can never go back to your life without having this. Without having him.Â
Jackâs hands are big and deliciously warm as they slide up, around your waist, lingering to rub a few circles on the mid of your back before moving on. One arm stays, tightening around your waist and drawing you closer while his other glides further up, up, up, his callused palms sliding over the knob at the very base of your neck before his hand settles around your nape, fingers just barely brushing the edge of your hairline.Â
You barely manage to suppress a whine at how warm and incredible it feels to be fully enveloped by him. You never want him to let go. Goosebumps erupt everywhere he touches, little sparks of electricity lingering under your skin in his wake.
âI will always,â He presses the lightest of kisses to your temple, just a feathering of his lips, âLook out for you, baby. Iâm always gonna be right here.â
His arms tighten around you, drawing you inâ closer, closer, closer. Wrapped up in everything that is Jack you canât help but sag, going completely boneless in his grip and allowing yourself to just bask in him.Â
âYou smell good.â You mumble into his shirt, completely lost in the moment.Â
âDo I?â
âYeah. Good. Like man.âÂ
He chuckles, the sound vibrating pleasantly against your cheek. âThank you sweetheart.âÂ
âWhy do you call me sweetheart?âÂ
âBecause youâre a sweetheart.âÂ
âI am?âÂ
âDonât play dumb now,â He pulls back a little, just enough to get a good look at you, fingers curling in the fine hair at your nape and tugging down, angling your chin up so youâre forced to look at him, âYou know you are.âÂ
You shrug, eyes darting to the side, your cheeks flushing, âI donât know. I was just making sure.âÂ
âMhm.â He hums, tone almost mocking, fingers tightening around your hair just before the precipice of pain.
You stay like that for a few moments of charged silence. Jackâs eyes shamelessly rove over the planes of your face, mapping it out in his mind. He keeps his grip on your hair, not completely forcing eye contact but keeping your head firmly in place.Â
Itâs possessive. Bold. Probably too intimate for two people who (supposedly) are not actually dating
And you love it.Â
Jack only lets his hand (and your head) drop when your jaw opens in a splitting yawn.Â
âOkay,â He huffs, taking a step back, âTime for bed. Get going.âÂ
Embarrassment is the only thing keeping you from whining at the loss of contact and impending reality of sleeping on the couch alone. But you made your bed (figuratively) so now you have to lie in it.Â
The couch does look comfortable. Especially since Jack put all the blankets together.Â
He waits until youâve crawled under the comforter to bid you goodnight, followed by a parting reminder to âWake him up if you start aspirating on vomit.â Itâs a very Jack thing to say.Â
Youâre out almost the second Jack turns the lights off. You fall into deep, blissful sleep, dreaming of that final moment in the living room, your eyes boring into each other.Â
Except in the dream, you tilt your head up those last few inches, and kiss your fake boyfriend as hard as you can.Â
â
Generally, the annual lecture event ends with a massive blow out argument. Something dramatic and filled with expletives, after which your mother will refuse to answer any texts or calls you send before finally telling you thatâs sheâs sorry if (always if) something she said offended you, but talking to you is just so hard sometimes so she doesnât want to unless youâre ready to be more civil. By the time the two of you are on neutral terms again, itâs time for the next annual lunch circuit.Â
Youâre a mess of nerves in the hours before the last one. Like usual, your mom requested that the last dinner be held at your place. âSo it can feel like a real family dinner.â While you know that there isnât any saying no to your mother, you also know that there is no way youâre cramming your entire family in your tiny ass studio apartment. It happened once. It will not happen again.Â
You originally asked Jack during a last minute shift you both got called in to cover if he would help you move some of the furniture at your place to accommodate them, and then heâd gotten this incredulous look on his face and then told you to tell your mom that youâre having dinner at his place.Â
âJack,â Youâd gaped at him, âItâs fine. My apartment isnât that small, and you donât have to help move the furniture if you donât want to. I can ask Dennis to give me a hand instead. I really donât think you want to host my family.âÂ
âSweetheart, itâs just logic. Youâve seen my place.â
âOkay. No need to rub it in.âÂ
Heâd just rolled his eyes and pinned you with a firm look. âCome on. You know this is the best option. If your mom throws a fit, tell her I insisted and give her my number.âÂ
âDo you have a death wish?â You hiss, âThatâs asking for torture.âÂ
Jack had just shrugged. âWould having it at my place be easier for you?âÂ
â...Yes?âÂ
âThen weâll do it there. Youâre off in a bit, right?âÂ
Youâd nodded.Â
He fishes something small and shiny out of his pocket and tosses it to you. âThatâs my spare key. Iâll be here later than you, so just let yourself in if you want to get there earlier to start setting up. Iâll be home soon.âÂ
Robby shouted his name soon after and Jack was whisked away, leaving you standing in the middle of the ED, holding the fucking spare key to his apartment, gaping like a fish.Â
The line between real and fake has become so blurred youâre not sure if it ever was there to begin with.Â
Heâs started calling you sweetheart more and more oftenâ sometimes when no one's around. No familial audience to be persuaded into the romantic lie youâre selling. Is it still a lie if it doesnât feel like one anymore?
The question and accompanying feeling follows you all day. All throughout your harried dinner preparation. Even now, with a solid hour until your family is supposed to start showing up, you canât help but pace the length of Jackâs kitchen, heeled feet clicking on his floor. Jack himself is similarly dressed up, wearing a pair of dark jeans (âIâm not wearing slacks in my own home, and Iâm not old enough to start wearing khakis with everything.â) and a black button down shirt with the first two buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He makes a very nice view and under other circumstances you might take the opportunity to climb him like a tree. But alas. Anxiety.Â
âTake your shoes off if youâre going to pace. Youâre gonna give yourself blisters.âÂ
You ignore him, chewing on an already stinging cuticle.Â
âThings have been pretty good this far, right? Do you think sheâs just waiting until the very end to bring up some secret thing that sheâs upset about?â
Jack begins preparing the wine âyour mother only likes redâ for decanting. âI think if your mother were that upset about something she wouldnât be able to hide it.âÂ
âTrue. But what if?â
âIâm not going to help you spiral.âÂ
âWhy not?â You whine.Â
He looks at you with a heavy glare and points to the shoe tray at the door. âShoes. Off. You can put them back on when they get here.âÂ
You grumble under your breath the entire way but comply. Only because your feet were starting to hurt.Â
When your family finally does arrive, it ends up being annoyingly anti-climactic. You spend the entire time on the edge of your seat (literally and figuratively) waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for conversation to turn sour, arguments to erupt, someone to choke on a piece of lettuce and die despite professional intervention.Â
But the argument never starts, conversation remains what it usually is and becomes no worse (or better, unfortunately) and no one passes away due to unevenly chopped vegetables.Â
The torture is over fairly quickly. Most everyoneâs flight back home leaves early the next morning and your dad is paranoid about flight times.Â
Pretty soon itâs all just⊠over. They leave, your mother bickering with your father on the way out about something that probably doesnât matter, and then itâs just you and Jack and the entire scheme is just done. Finished. Just like that.Â
There won't be anymore knee's brushing under the table, no more shared glances and pecks to the cheek when you make a joke that actually lands. No more excuses just to sit and watch him under the guise of playing the adoring girlfriend. No more late night milkshakes.
You'll just go back to being coworkers-- People who pretend not to know each other intimately. Jack probably won't struggle with it. But to you, right now, the idea of just not having him anymore seems like a another wound, right over top all the others.
You don't want him to become another person who used to know you.
Youâve been staring at the closed door for upwards of five full minutes, clenching and unclenching your fists when Jack comes up next to you. He hands you the same clothes you wore the last time you were there and jerks his head in the direction of the bathroom. Â
âWhy donât you go and change, huh?â
Your lip wobbles a bit as you answer. âBut I want to help you clean up.âÂ
âYou can,â He soothes, âAfter you change.â
âButââ
âHey,â He interrupts, âNo. Youâve been stuck in those clothes for hours. Go change. Iâll wait for you.âÂ
Jack keeps his word. Heâs leaned up against the kitchen island when you emerge, rubbing at your ânow bare, having had the foresight to bring makeup wipes with youâ face.Â
He looks up when the door opens. âBetter?âÂ
âYeah. Thanks.âÂ
He just hums, heading back over to the kitchen table, stacking plates and cutlery. You follow in silence, and he thankfully doesnât push for conversation.Â
Cleaning up doesnât take long enough. Jack has a fancy dishwasher (and probably doesnât want to stay standing any more than he has to this late in the day) and there arenât any leftovers to pack up. Your brothers are bottomless pits when it comes to free food.Â
It canât just be over like this. It can't.
When everything is finished and there isn't anything left to do, Jack wordlessly leads you to the couch and puts something quiet and calm on the TV. The white noise washes over you as you attempt to get comfortable, but the knowledge that it's all over proves to be an itch under your skin that you just can't seem to squash.
âSo,â You say after the two of you are seated on opposite ends of the couch, âThatâs it then.âÂ
âSo it is.âÂ
âGuess I owe you big time, huh?âÂ
âIâve already told you I donât care about that.âÂ
âRight,â You look down at your lap, âYeah. Sorry.âÂ
You lapse into silence.Â
Jack sighs. âSweetheartââ
âWas it fake to you?â You blurt, jiggling your knee, still staring at your lap, âWere youâ did you mean it?â
It never felt fake. It never felt like pretending.Â
It felt real.
It felt like, for the first time in your life, things could be easy.
Maybe easy isn't the right word. But it life sure as hell didn't feel as hard.
When you look up, uncomfortable in his silence and hoping thereâs answers in his face, but instead of finding something like disappointment or irritation, heâs grinning.Â
âWhat do you think?âÂ
âI donât know.âÂ
He dips his head once. âYes you do. Youâre a smart girl, I think you can figure it out.âÂ
Your fingers are curled around the hem of his sweatshirt, white-knuckling the fabric as if to stabilize yourself. Like youâre liable to somehow float away if you donât dig your heels into the couch and hold on tight.Â
âWhat if Iâm wrong?âÂ
âYou wonât be.â
A scoff escapes your lips, âYou canât know for sure.âÂ
He taps his pointer finger on his leg in an unhurried rhythm.Â
âYou do.âÂ
Your stomach is rolling in a combination of leftover anxiety from the dinner that went better than it was supposed to and the weight of Jackâs gaze on you.Â
âI thinkâŠâ You pause, worry threatening to overwhelm you, and take a deep breath before continuing, âI think you might like me.âÂ
âYou think,â He drawls, âI might.âÂ
âI donât want to be wrong!â You cry.Â
Jack huffs, throwing his head back in a good-natured sigh.Â
âCome here.âÂ
You scoot further down the couch, sitting criss-cross right in front of him. This is not going the way you thought it would. You were almost certain youâd walk away shamed and embarrassed, forced to fake your death and flee the country out of the sheer humiliation of thinking your boss would actually have a crush on you.Â
Jack does love to prove you wrong.
âSoo,â You start, still hesitant, âYou do like me.âÂ
Jack props his head on his hand, his expression something youâre starting to recognize as fond. âYes.â
âMore than a little?âÂ
âYes.âÂ
âAnd you werenât faking anything. You were serious about theâ You know.âÂ
âUse your words.âÂ
âThe flirting.â You clarify, ears burning.Â
âAll correct,â He nods, âThough I would have said it differently.âÂ
You frown. âAnd how would you have put it?âÂ
âI would have said,â He reaches out, snagging your arm and tugging until you fall down onto his chest with a little oof, âThat you have a hard time believing things that are good, so I had to audition for my role. Like old-fashioned courting.âÂ
You want to be offended, but unfortunately, it did work.Â
You frown.Â
Wait.Â
âHave you known I liked you this whole time?âÂ
Jack snorts. âOverheard you talking to Whitaker about it during your second week.â
Heâs known since the second week?
âOh my god.âÂ
âDonât worry, I didnât tell anyone. Except Robby. Heâs been hoping you would figure it out for awhile now.â
âOh my god.â
âI thought it was cute,â He smoothes a hand over your hair, âYou were so much more nervous back then. Youâve come a long way.âÂ
You shift uncomfortably at the praise, but Jackâs having none of it. He wraps his arms around you, holding you in place.Â
âCan you take a compliment?âÂ
âNo.âÂ
He re-positions under you, getting more comfortable. âWeâll try again later.âÂ
âAm Iâ Can I stay here tonight then?âÂ
âOf course,â he murmurs, âMy one condition is that youâre not sleeping on the couch.â
âFine,â You sigh, long and drawn out, âI suppose we can share.âÂ
âHow kind of you to share my bed with me.âÂ
âI have been told Iâm kind.âÂ
You both smile, and everything just feels so right and so perfect that you can't help but lean up, clearing the last few inches, and pressing a hesitant, gentle kiss to his lips.Â
Itâs just like your dream.Â
Only this time, itâs real. And Jack is kissing you back.Â
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CW: minimally edited/reviewed, discussion of depression, explicit language, breakup so angsty but also lots of comfort, reader has hair, suggestive language/scenes so MDNI, making out (mwah!), like not smut but almost, reluctant(?) proximity
WC: 3.9k
A/N: this isn't meant to be a complete dunk on Robby because he deserves healing and happiness too but that doesn't excuse the way he treated his staff! This was lowk inspired by me being peeved that Noah Wyle refuses to give us a night shift season and said that its primarily mothers going to the ER at night and its "boring." My friend's husband who is a night shift ER doctor would beg to differ. Anyway! Hope you enjoy. Also thank you for 76 followers!!!
It shouldn't have been a shock to you, not really. You'd just never thought that Robby would do this to you. He knew that kicking you out when you had nowhere to go was cruel but he did it anyway. As a resident, you were making crumbs while under a crushing amount of medical school debt. Thatâs why you were sniffling in the stairwell; overwhelmed, upset, and scared. Maybe you could pull a Whitaker and live in the hospitalâŠ. what the fuck had your life come to?
Overcome with more emotion, a new wave of tears rolled down your cheeks. You tried, unsuccessfully, to sob silently but to no avail. You wished more than anything you could cry at home but you didn't even have one of those anymore. Suddenly, a door above you opened and heavy footsteps were headed your way. You quickly wiped away your tears and prayed to every deity possible to make it look like you hadnât just been crying. All too soon, you were peering up at Dr. Brendon Park, who had stopped moving the moment he saw you. Great. The least sympathetic person in the entire hospital walks in on this pitiful scene. He'd probably lose any respect he might have had for you just given the state you were in.
He stared down at you and slowly continued to approach. âWhat happened?â
You really didn't want to share the sordid details of your breakup with the Shark. Naturally, a fib fell from your lips. âNothing.... I just, um, I have really intense allergies.â
He stared at you, silent, not even entertaining your obvious lie. Anyone could tell youâd been crying your eyes out because your eyes were watery, red, and your whole face was puffy.
Much to your surprise, he lowered himself on the stairs to take a seat next to you. This time when he spoke, he used a softer voice and asked, âare you ok?â You really werenât expecting that. Which is how you found yourself sobbing again, but this time, into Parkâs chest, wetting his scrubs with tears and snot. Park absentmindedly rubbed your back while you were calming down. It was grounding and soothing -- it felt nice.
You both sat in silence for a little longer before you finally spoke up. You figured he deserved a little explanation since his scrubs were ruined for maybe the rest of his shift. Plus, he didn't have to comfort you. He could have just as easily ignored you and went on his merry way. You wouldn't have even held it against him.
You cleared your throat and with shaky breath, you explained, âRobby, uh, robby just broke up with me and told me to get my stuff out of his place by tomorrow night. It would be fine if I had a place to crash but Iâll figure it out. Iâm just⊠really fucking sad and mad at myself for letting this happen. I knew it was going to end soon, I just didn't think.... I'd hoped he wouldn't do something like this.â
You didnât see it, still buried in the warmth of Brendonâs chest but his jaw clenched at your admission. What stupid asshole breaks up with their girlfriend at work and kicks her out?
âIf youâre going to be mad at anyone, be mad at Robinavitch. Thatâs beyond fucked up.â
You werenât sure why but that made you laugh. Maybe it was mania setting in or the ridiculousness of the situation but it was suddenly very funny to you. Your laughter bubbled up out of you, uncontrollable and bright. You still couldn't see his face, but he was smiling a bit to himself at the sound, grateful you had a momentary reprieve in sadness to laugh.
Brendon started to stroke your hair as you laughed and asked, âwhatâs so funny?â
Turning your head to look up at him, you said, âI just never thought the Shark would be the one to comfort me.â
He gave the slightest smile and said, âhey, Iâm full of surprises.â Finally extricating yourself from him, you replied, "yeah, I guess so. Thanks by the way." Before you could start to get up, his warm hand gently wrapped around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.
"You can crash at mine if you'd like. I have a guest room."
You were sure your eyes were as wide as saucers. The Shark was offering his home to you? Were you dreaming?
"Yeah, that would be--," unable to help yourself, you asked him the obvious question, "why? Why would you offer your place, you don't know me very well and you're comforting me as I'm a wreck and I ruined your shirt--"
Brendon swiftly cut you off as he heard emotion rising in your voice again, threatening to bubble over. He looked you square in the eyes and said, "because that's what you need."
You were speechless. Who knew Park the Shark could be so kind? You rushed forward and slammed into his chest, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug.
"Thank you so much!" Before he could respond or even hug you back, your pager went off and you ran out of the stairwell and back to work.
After your shift from hell, Trinity, Javadi, and Whitaker all provided moral and physical support by helping you gather your things from Robby's. Luckily (or depressingly), all you had were clothes, toiletries, books, your laptop, a few trinkets, and a couple random kitchen items, which all fit in the back of Javadi's car with room to spare. At least Robby hadn't come home while you emptied his place of the evidence you ever existed in it. Needless to say, you were choking back tears all over again.
Once the car was packed, you stared at the outside of his house for maybe the last time. Reality sunk in again and your mind swirled with aching thoughts. It was an end of an era, of a relationship, of a life with someone you loved. How could it be taken away so quickly and without remorse or concern for you? Your friends must have noticed you were on the verge of tears because you were quickly wrapped in a bear hug from all three of them. It wasn't like you guys to not bicker and tease -- you must have been in a really bad spot to garner harmony and support from the group. Once more, you allowed yourself to let go, lose yourself in your sadness, and cried into the hug, shaking and exhausted.
With a teary smile, you pulled away and said, "let's go see the Shark's lair."
Javadi laughed and said, "yeah, I still can't believe he offered to let you stay with him."
"Me either. But beggars can't be choosers."
Trinity sent a smirk your way. "Oh please, I think if you had another option you'd still chose to stay with Park, what with the fuck-me-eyes you give him during consults."
Your mouth dropped open. "I do NOT give him fuck-me-eyes!" Trinity simply kept her smirk plastered to her face and muttered under her breath, "whatever you say."
Truthfully, you did find the surgeon attractive. Come on, you clearly had a thing for older men. But he was.... something else with his imposing stature, mean stare, and big fucking muscles. But until now, you hadn't really thought about it all too much. He was eye-candy, off-limits while you were in a relationship. But now, you found yourself very much not single.
Huffing, you pushed the absurd idea out of your mind. The man was offering a place to stay -- it was against so many morals to be sexualizing the poor guy. You'd respect him and his home and absolutely wouldn't think about him that way.
Yeah fucking right.
The first hours at Brendon's was... awkward to say the least. Neither of you were sure how to interact with the other or move in the now shared space. Currently, you were sitting on the guest bed, attempting to scrounge up some courage to go back downstairs. You couldn't stay in your bedroom forever, no matter how tempting hiding away was.
Before you could stop yourself, you got to your feet and made your way downstairs. The closer you got to the kitchen, the stronger a wonderful aroma of garlic and olive oil became. Brendon was preparing something, you weren't sure what, but it smelled fucking delicious. Your stomach grumbled, effectively announcing your presence to him.
Brendon turned, and much to your mortification, said, "I'd ask if you were hungry but I think I know the answer to that." You dropped his gaze in shyness, unable to figure out how to respond. You should be grateful, and of course you were, that he was allowing you to stay and offering you dinner after what was arguably one of the worst shifts of your life. You couldn't help but feel burdensome and once that was added to your already full plate of emotions, you weren't sure what to do with yourself.
Noticing your internal distress, Brendon's brows knitted together in concern. Setting the spatula down, he completely turned to face you. "Hey, I didn't mean anything by that --"
Before he could get further into an absolutely unnecessary apology, you interrupted him, saying, "no, no, please don't apologize. I just, I feel like such a burden right now and I don't know when I'll be able to get out of your hair and I just feel bad that you're letting me stay and now you're making dinner. I feel useless and burdensome I guess." Wow. You weren't expecting this radical honesty to pour out of you, but clearly, you couldn't help it. It had been a long day and it was simply too tiring to try to jump through the hoops of deciding what to share and what not to share.
"You're not a burden. I offered to let you stay and I'm offering food because I want to -- I don't do things I don't want to do. I'm a surgeon, I'm not hurting for cash." Blunt, but true. He owned a gorgeous brownstone that would have Architecture Digest salivating at the opportunity to film. Natural light poured into the kitchen and because the sun was setting, it bathed everything in a beautiful orange hue.
Feeling a bit more comfortable, you truly took in his place. It was impeccably clean (of course) and thoughtfully decorated. Brendon watched you take in your surroundings, oblivious to his assessing gaze and clear desire to know what you thought of it etched on his face.
You smiled as you spotted some family pictures on his wall. It was sort of odd to see him smiling in the picture since it was so different to his intense no-bullshit vibe at work. "Woah, you have a huge family." You turned to look at him and he had his back to you once more, back to stirring whatever was in the saucepan.
"Yeah. I'm grateful for them, especially my sisters."
You hummed in response, continuing to browse but very much filing that piece of information away. A man with sisters tended to be such a green flag. God, you were like a dog with a damn bone. Your relationship with Robby hadn't even been truly over for more than 10 hours and here you were, noticing Brendon. But if you were honest, your relationship with Robby had been dead for a long time. He'd stopped giving affection long ago and foolishly, you stayed, clinging to the tattered remnants of what used to make you happy. There was a part of you that couldn't help it: you were a lover girl through and through, even at times to your detriment. You knew that the relationship was on life support, you'd basically been his emotional punching bag, but still. you hoped for better. Like a fucking fool.
As you mentally chastised yourself and got lost in your relationship rumination, Park's voice cut through the air again. "The two of them actually designed my place."
"No kidding. Gosh, they're talented. You'll have to tell them my compliments to the chef."
He chuckled and said, "they know it too. They actually co-own an interior design business. I'm lucky they put this place together for me." Fondness and affection seeped through his voice, obvious and unhidden. In one fell swoop, Park had completely undone the idea you had of him in your head. You'd unfairly characterized him as an unfeeling ortho bro, which he clearly was not. Maybe it was better or easier for him to be intense at work. After all, a great deal of responsibility and expectations fell to him.
Wanting to broach the subject of your stay again, you said, "so about my staying here...." Park turned around and gave you his attention, which felt heavy and set your nerves on fire.
"Yes?" Oh. He really wasn't going to make this easy. Upon seeing you floundering, he expanded on his short response, "I need you to use words and ask what you want."
His command, the sureness of his tone, made your thighs clench together. Jesus fucking CHRIST get a hold of yourself. You hoped with every cell in your body he didn't clock that reaction.
"I just mean, I'm not sure how long it will take for me to find a place I can afford that is safe and close enough to the hospital. Of course if you need me out of here by a certain time, I'll go. I just wanted to know if you had a timeline."
"No. It takes how long it takes. And you don't need to rush. You should be in a nice, safe, convenient, and affordable apartment. Don't worry about how long it takes." You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding in. You felt relieved and reassured, which is honestly better than you felt even this morning, pre-breakup.
"Ok, soup's on. I made my grandma's minestrone." Brandon handed you a bowl full of steaming food and you knew it was going to hit so different just based on the smell and the family recipe of it all.
"I -- thank you." You were filled with emotion again and god, you wanted to stop crying in front of him and stop crying period, but he was just being so nice and caring. You knew you wanted to repay him somehow, eventually, but you didn't know what that would look like. No one had ever been so selfless and kind to you, especially someone who barely knew you.
You both tucked into your dinner and as expected, the minestrone was amazing. It was truly a comfort dish for you in this moment. Wanting to lighten the mood, mainly your mood, you said, "a surgeon, a cook, and a shoulder to cry on? What can't you do?"
He gave you a smile and replied, "like I said, I'm full of surprises." Now you knew that you would keep stumbling on these surprises, uncovering who he really was, transforming the way you saw Brendon Park.
After three weeks, you'd entered into a sort of routine with him, where you'd trade off chores. At first, Brendon vehemently protested, saying you were his guest and shouldnât have to help, which you met with your own claims against being a freeloader. Reluctantly, he started to let you help prepare meals and clean. But grocery shopping... well that was a dual task. It was sickeningly domestic and even more disgustingly, you'd come to enjoy it. It was a sacred time with Brendon, where he was relaxed and sometimes teasing, which you ate up and relished. You enjoyed it so much you didn't even think about how you'd never done this with Robby until you were in the cereal aisle and Brendon put in your honey-nut Cheerios without needing to confirm you wanted them. It dawned on you how strange it felt to be... noticed. That really sucked to realize because of all the people who should pay attention and remember things about you, you'd expect it to have been your boyfriend.
After that, you couldn't help but continue to compare living with Brendon vs Robby. With Robby, everyday tasks were never shared. You'd actually preferred it that way because it felt natural with him and it seemed efficient at the very least. But with Brendon, even if it wasn't your night to cook, you were in the kitchen, keeping him company. Sometimes you two didn't talk; you simply fell into a comfortable silence and rhythm. Of course, you weren't in a relationship with Brendon but it felt so much simpler and lighter than mundane tasks with Robby. You didn't feel like you were constantly trying to please him or gauge how he was reacting to something. No. Brendon was blunt, honest, and didnât like to play guessing games. It was incredibly refreshing.
At times, you felt guilty for how much you enjoyed staying with Brendon and seeing this unguarded, intimate version of him. The constant comparison between him and Robby didn't help either because no matter what it was, Brendon was always coming out on top. Fuck. This couldn't be healthy. You shouldn't want him, hell, you shouldn't even be thinking of him this way. Shame curled in your chest, sharp and demanding. You needed to get out of his house and fast.
As soon as you could, you opened your laptop to look at apartment listings while Brendon put away the groceries. You were spread out on the couch, pinching the bridge of your nose as you scrolled Zillow. So far, anything remotely in your price range was either in a questionable part of the city or too far from the hospital to be considered a reasonable commute. Park walked into the living room and sat next to your head, peering over you to look at the listings.
"Can't live there, that's where half the GSW victims come from."
Huffing, you complained, "I know, its hopeless to try to find a place on resident salary. I need to look into housing assistance or something."
Brendon hummed in response and you continued your efforts, in vain, to try to find an apartment. Absentmindedly, he started to play with your hair and it felt.... really fucking nice. You weren't sure when the two of you crossed the threshold to such comfortability but his casual touches and attention were more than welcome.
"I can ask my sisters if they know anything about that, they have a lot of connections with relators and landlords because of their business. And not slumlords, local landlords who are the most ideal form of landlord you can get."
You leaned your head back to look at him and said, "that would be really great, thank you so much."
Halfheartedly, you resumed your scrolling and he continued to play with your hair, which was making your heart beat out of your chest. Clearing his throat, he said, "you don't need to keep thanking me for everything."
Sitting up, you turned to face him on the couch. "I'll stop thanking you when you stop giving me reasons to be grateful."
Smirking he shot back, "is that a challenge for me to be an asshole?"
"Well, don't challenge my manners."
The air was charged with tension and now your heart was truly thumping in your chest so hard, you were convinced he could hear it. His beautiful blue eyes were sharp and alert but also two shades darker than normal. He licked his lips and your eyes hungrily tracked the movement. When you locked eyes again, you knew, god, you knew that he caught you.
"Wouldn't dream of it sweetheart."
When did you two get so close? You could practically feel his body heat radiating off of him. Your knees were touching and even that burned. You felt like a teenage girl again, like she was with her crush, alone for the first time. What's worse is that he seemed annoyingly, unfairly calm. He was relaxed into the couch, breathing completely normally. The only indication that he was affected were his eyes, which were now low and lidded.
You brought your hand to cup his jaw, feeling the stubble and savoring its friction against your skin. Your eyes traced his face, taking him in. To your delight, he had the faintest blush on his cheeks and you felt like the cat that got the cream. You felt like you were in a trance, a fog of desire that dictated what you did.
"I never thought I'd see the Shark blush."
Something dangerous flashed in his eyes at your teasing. You felt pretty pleased with yourself, rendering him into a blushing mess. Little did you know, you'd only have the upper hand for about two more seconds. Brendon nuzzled his face into your hand and kissed your wrist, pulling a gasp from you. Then he leaned ever so close to your face, lips brushing along your jaw, so, so, so close yet so achingly far from where you wanted them.
"Yeah? Well lucky you." He had the self-assured tone you'd heard from him so many times but now, it was making your thighs push together. Impatiently, you moved your head to finally capture his lips in a kiss. It started off gentle and exploratory, but soon enough, he had weaved a hand into the nape of your neck, pulling your head back to deepen the kiss with better access. You couldn't help it, you fucking moaned. He devoured the sound; devoured you. He was kissing the life out of you and you fucking loved it.
When you pulled away for some air, he chased your lips. Before he could reach you, you decided to climb into his lap. He groaned as your hips met his and placed his hands on your waist, squeezing you there oh so nicely. Your hands were everywhere, on his shoulders, then his chest, messing up his hair, and then gripping his biceps.
Neither of you knew how much time passed. You were lost in the moment, lost in him -- how he felt, smelled, and touched. You were no stranger to kissing, clearly, but... it was safe to say no one had kissed you like this before. You weren't sure if you could remember your name. The only thing you were sure of was that Brendon Park was taking you apart at the seams and you were only too happy to let him do so.
"Please, please, please..." You could hardly recognize your whiny voice and you weren't even sure what you were begging for.
"What, baby, what?" God, he was so sweet.
"I need you."
"You have me."
"No I need more of you."
At that, he cupped your jaw holding you away from him to look you in the eyes. "Are you sure?"
And because he always gifted you his honesty and bluntness, you knew you needed to return the favor. "I've never been more sure of anything. Yes."
"Fuck." It sounded like it was punched out of him, like he was in disbelief with what was happening. He gave you another sweet kiss and then he was pulling you up and leading you to his bedroom.
âA Chance in Hellâ - Dr. Brendon Park x Reader
Summary: You're the person who has to deal with the consequences of Brendon Park's actions, which means you're the only one willing to bite his head off. You want to strangle him; he wants to kiss your feet.
A/N: nobody needs a woman to yell at him like park the shark
Word Count: 6.2k
There is exactly one sound on earth known to make Emergency Department attending physicians with decades of experience under their belt run for the hills and cower under cover â and thatâs high heels.
Your high heels, specifically.
Itâs not a common sound in the emergency room or the hospital as a whole; most healthcare employees are in sneakers, clogs, or boots the entire time theyâre clocked in. But not you. Always dressed pristinely â today itâs high-waisted tailored slacks and a mock-neck sleeveless blouse, effortless and simple with legs that go on for miles and miles â you stalk through the hospital with a mission.
Robby spots you first, strolling in from the offices with eyeliner sharp enough to slice. As his eyes widen, he flips around, briefly touches Abbot and Park on their backs, and hisses, âFind cover, gentlemen. Itâs the Viper.â
Abbot breaks into a near run toward the closest open patient room he can find. While Robby scans the area for his hiding place, Park asks, âWhat the hellâs going on?â
Robby hustles in the opposite direction with a shrug. âEvery man for himself, Shark.â
Then a bright, clear, loud womanâs voice bowls down the ED like an oncoming storm. âDr. Park, just the man Iâve been looking for.â
Even Al-Hashimi claps him on the back and runs off with a whispered, âGood luck.â
You join him in the next second. In your heels, which arenât even that tall, youâre looking him square in the eyes. Smiling through lips coated in a deep maroon, you ask him, âHowâs the transfer to the ED treating you, doctor?â
Arms crossed over his chest, Brendon eyes you suspiciously. âAh, good, so far. I prefer trauma to ortho. The stakes are higher. Feels good at the end of the day. Accomplished.â
âGlad to hear it. I just need a couple minutes; I know youâre busy. Can we talk here or would you like to go to my office?â
Not noticing the way every single doctor and nurse is nervously glancing in your direction, Brendon mutters, âHereâs fine if itâs quick.â
âGreat!â You unlock your briefcase on the nurseâs station and remove a binder as thick as a textbook. Voice still sweet and teasing, you tut at him, âYouâve made yourself very difficult for me to find, Brendon Park.â
âIâm usually in surgery,â he replies, confused and suspicious. He vaguely recognizes you from somewhere, but he canât quite place it. Probably just flitting around the ED when heâs been here for consults, but itâs entirely possible youâre the hot woman on PTMCâs billboard over I-376. âWhatâs this about?â
You introduce yourself, shaking his massive hand with yours (blood red stiletto manicure and all), and explain, âIâm the Emergency Departmentâs Patient Advocate Supervisor.â
âAh,â Park sighs, eyes raking up and down your accentuated curves, âyouâre my new Kevin. He was a huge pain in my ass; I hope our relationship will be better.â
âNo, Kevin is a patient advocate and a damn good one, considering he had to deal with your mountain of issues; orthoâs equivalent of me is an idiot who lets the monkeys run the circus,â you correct with harsh eyes. All pretense of pleasantness gone. Brendon looks at you like youâre speaking Klingon, so you slow down your words like heâs a child and explain, âThe patient advocates give their evaluations to me. I analyze them and write reports on each and every doctor in the department.â
His brows furrow. âI thought that was Gloriaâs-â
âI donât work for the hospital,â you say, offended by the very idea. âHospital employees are beholden to the board and the bottom line. Iâm a medical malpractice lawyer that the hospital contracts from a private firm to whip their doctors into shape. I donât care about anything but how patients get treated while theyâre here in the ED. Iâm more than happy to testify against you in court, recommend probations and suspensions, advocate for salary cuts, or whatever else you might need to be a little more motivated to do your fucking job.â
He lets out a defensive half-chuckle sound, not quite believing the way youâre speaking to him when heâs used to nothing but deference from his coworkers. âI do my job just fine.â
You tap the thick binder and say, âThis is your disciplinary folder, Dr. Park. You cut up patients just fine â and thatâs an apt description, considering your outcomes arenât any better than the other surgeons you treat like imbeciles despite doing identical work to yours.â He scoffs and goes to argue, but you barrel ahead, âDonât ever interrupt me and donât ever try to correct me; I donât say things unless Iâm completely certain theyâre backed up by the data.â
With wide eyes, Brendon confirms, âThatâs my file?â
âYes. You have more patient complaints than any other surgeon in the hospital. I had to switch it from a folder because it has so many entries your previous PAS didnât go through, so now I have to deal with a two-year backlog. She didnât do her job of keeping you in line and I wonât be repeating her mistake. Your luck has run out; I expect you in my office at five this Friday for a comprehensive review of your existing file and every Friday after that until your performance improves.â
With his mind reeling, all Brendon can get out is, âAh, I usually head out early on Fridays. Do a long surgery in the morning and get home by three or four.â
âI know that; I have your schedule history.â With a pat to his shoulder, you smile and tell him, âI want you to spend every weekend from now on thinking about how fucking annoying it is that some bitch from legal wonât let you leave the hospital until seven â and remember that itâs your own fault for being an asshole to patients and itâll end as soon as you try to be nice and smile for once.â
Slack-jawed, Brendon just watches as you turn on your red-soled heels and head toward your next victim. After a couple of steps, though, you turn back toward him and add, âOh, and welcome to the Emergency Department. Iâm sure youâll fit right in.â
And all thatâs left of you is a waft of warm, citrusy perfume. Park leans against the nurseâs station and breathes out slowly as the other attendings gradually reappear. Baffled, he just shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair. âWhat the fuck?â
Robby slaps him on the back. âA good public reaming by the Viper is a rite of passage in the Pitt; you were bound to get your first one sometime. Youâre one of us now.â
Feeling dizzy and breathless, Brendon says softly but confidently, âIâm gonna marry that woman.â
Robby shakes his head and snorts out a laugh, âThatâs a fucked up thing to say.â
âNo, no, I can see it,â Jack cuts in, chuckling too. âYouâd have the tallest, smartest, meanest children around.â
âIâm serious,â Park insists. A smile threatens his lips. âGive me six months, boys, and Iâll have a ring on that finger.â
âNot a chance in hell,â Robby replies simply. âI heard she dumped her last boyfriend because he polished her shoes with the wrong rag. She doesnât want a man; she wants a whipping boy.â
Brendon looks between them both and sighs almost wistfully. âA girl like that? Iâd let her whip me any time she wanted to, especially if I ruined her $1,000 heels.â
Itâs Jackâs turn to laugh. Shaking his head as he grabs a new chart, he mutters, âSomething is deeply wrong with you, man.â
That evening, Park waits around your office for you to leave, hustling behind you when you stroll past in your stylish knee-length coat, ready to brave the autumn air. You see him in the corner of your eye and hold up a hand. âWhatever it is, it can wait until morning.â
âNo, no, I donât need anything,â he assures, quickening his pace to match step with your relentless one. âI think we got off on the wrong foot back there, Ms. Viper.â
You cut him a smirk. âBased on your file, I have a sneaking suspicion thatâs how things usually go for you.â
âWell, Iâd like to apologize for making your life so difficult over dinner and expensive wine.â
You stop in your tracks and turn around; he nearly barrels into you as he stops short. âAre you seriously asking me out on a date right now?â
âYeah, I absolutely am. Are you saying yes?â
âWow, you really do have all the social grace of a baboon.â With your hand on his chest, you give him the cruelest and most effortlessly dismissive laugh heâs ever heard, like heâs a snail by your foot and not an attractive, successful doctor. It makes him shiver. âYouâre punching above your weight class, Dr. Park.â
But he just gives you a hunky grin, undeterred. âI can bench almost twice what I weigh; how much bigger do I need to get to take you out?â
You chuckle and reply, âLift a thousand pounds with one hand.â
âNo problem; give me two days.â
Trying to push down how charming he is, you turn at the entrance to the parking garage and tell him simply, âIâll see you on Friday for your review.â
âPerfect.â He nods and, like itâs an assignment, confirms, âIâll be done by then for sure.â
Friday afternoon, right on time, Brendon knocks on your office door. He pushes it open when you call for him to and slips inside with the air of a child who knows heâs in trouble.
âSit,â you order, nodding to the chairs on the opposite side of your desk. He does so right away, clearly waiting to hear what you have to say instead of jumping into something himself. You set the contents of his disciplinary file on the desk and gesture to the piles. âWell, your reputation certainly precedes you, Dr. Park.â
He tries out a smirk to keep some semblance of confidence. âNot the first time Iâve heard that.â
You tilt your head and narrow your eyes. âBeen a bully your whole life, then?â
âI meant more that-â
âYeah, Iâm not stupid.â You show him each of the three piles of paperwork and explain, âSince you started in the ED, Iâve been sorting through the complaints against you. This tallest stack is complaints I can handle myself without your help or where your help would only make things worse.â
âWhat does that mean?â
You level him with a gaze so stern it makes him squirm. âOnes where the problem was your personality, basically.â
âBrutal.â
âLike you.â When he hears himself in your words, Brendon doesnât like it. For maybe the first time in his life, he questions his own behavior. So it sounds like an opportunity when you go on, âThis one is complaints that Iâll have to pass on to the review board if you refuse to help me resolve the problems.â
After pinching the bridge of his nose, he taps the smallest stack of two thick documents held together by binder clips. âAnd this one?â
You sigh and tell him, âThese two are going to the review board no matter what.â
âShit.â
âYeah, turns out that-â you show him the cover page of each complaint â-pressuring parents into high-risk surgeries for their child isnât very nice.â
âWell,â he bites back, still pushing up against his over-groomed ego, âbeing a good doctor isnât about being nice.â
âYouâre right.â You match his intensity. âItâs about effective patient care, which is impossible if your patients donât trust you.â
Gesturing like heâs trying to find the right words to grab, he argues, âThe kid wouldâve died without the surgery.â
You let out a harsh laugh. âAnd when you gave a blood transfusion to a Jehovahâs Witness?â
âThey came in unconscious and had no identification of their religious status.â He throws his hands up defensively. âCould not possibly be construed as misconduct.â
âClearly the complainant disagrees.â You sigh and lean back in your chair, fuse burning short at his constant belligerence. âLook, Brendon. Your surgical work is fine â good, even â but your bedside manner is nothing short of atrocious. You donât spend enough time getting informed consent, you donât listen to concerns, and you regularly exhibit disrespect to patients and other doctors. Now, I understand that surgeons receive more complaints than other specialties â less face time with patients, uncertainty about post-op results, all that. But you, doctor, are a true outlier among outliers. And if you want to keep your job at this hospital, then you need to cooperate with me in resolving these complaints.â
Your words hang heavy in the air for a minute. Brendon hates that you know exactly how to deliver a monologue that makes him feel like heâs in the time-out corner and absolutely deserves it. Thereâs never been a coworker â or a woman, frankly â whoâs put him in his place like this. Finally sounding on the border of humble, he asks, âWhat the hell am I supposed to do?â
âWhatever I say.â
âIn practical terms, please.â
You canât help but let out a laugh at his pouty tone. âYouâre going to take mornings off surgery for the next two weeks to meet with aggrieved former patients. You will listen, you will sincerely apologize, and you will agree with every single thing I say to convince them not to escalate.â
His eyes widen and he balks, âYou seriously expect me to not do surgery?â
âMy proposal has already been cleared by hospital administration and the meetings are scheduled. Iâll add them to your calendar.â
Reaching for anything to get out of what he imagines would be the worst thing on earth â trapped with a gorgeous, cruel woman who hates him and a jilted patient â Brendon mutters pathetically, âI thought we werenât supposed to apologize to patients for fuckups.â
âThatâs a myth and one that makes my life way more annoying on a regular basis.â You rifle through some papers on the cabinet behind your desk and hand him a pamphlet on malpractice, explaining, âPhysician apologies cannot be used to demonstrate guilt in a court of law and theyâre actually the number one reason patients agree to mediation and ultimately drop complaints.â
Brendon absently flips through the pamphlet, trying to resign himself to his fate. âWhat do I do, then?â
âCome to my office first thing in the morning,â you start, giving him a âdonât you dareâ look when he opens his mouth to crack a joke about that. âWear a light-colored button-down and your white coat. Mousse your hair instead of gelling it so itâs soft. Practice looking like a human being in the mirror.â
Once again, his expression turns to a mix of offense and dread, scoffing, âWhat, like Iâm a murderer trying to convince a jury Iâm not a psycho? The damn Menendez brothers in their pastel fucking sweaters?â
You canât help laughing at the irony. âBrendon, listen to yourself.â
He sighs heavily and runs his fingers through his end-of-day-loose hair. âChrist, I really am an asshole, arenât I?â
âAcceptance is the first step in recovery,â you lilt. Then you pick up a few of the files and say, âNow, letâs go over the meetings I have lined up for Monday morning. The more prepared you are for what theyâre going to say, the better we can handle it.â Watching him tentatively take the first file and read over it with furrowed brows, you go on, much softer, âI know everyone at the hospital thinks Iâm a bitch â and, to be fair, I am â but itâs only because I want your patients to have a good experience with you. When your patients view you as competent and trustworthy, theyâll return to you for care, theyâll follow instructions better, and ultimately your outcomes will improve. So just work with me here and weâll get this figured out.â
He nods slowly, guilt trickling into his veins as he actually reads over the details of the complaints for the first time. Patients who felt dismissed, who didnât understand his decisions, who ended up with post-op complications they didnât feel comfortable bringing up. After what feels like forever, his voice lowers and you see a flicker of humility in his eyes. âYeah, okay. I trust you. I donât-â He swallows hard, averts his eyes, and manages to admit, âI donât want to be the kind of doctor people avoid. I want to be better.â
You reach across the desk and give his forearm and small, affirming squeeze. When you smile at him earnestly for the first time, it makes his heart flutter a little too embarrassingly for him to acknowledge. âThatâs all I need to hear for us to work together.â
The two of you make it through reviewing the first weekâs-worth of low-level complaints by seven, going back and forth to understand his perspective, the patientâs, and the advocateâs. You hate to admit it, but when Brendon actually accepts that thereâs a problem and gets determined to fix it, heâsâŠgood. He cares. He has the work ethic of an ox and you can tell heâs the kind of man who needs to right his wrongs.
It doesnât hurt that most of the complaints against him have to do with him being hard-headed, not incompetent or malicious, usually bulldozing patients because heâs right and wants to do the best he can. Not like some of the ED doctors who have fewer complaints that are much more serious. You know he just needs to find the balance of that skill and confidence with communication and understanding. Heâll be the best of the hospital if he can do that.
Your watch beeps at seven, interrupting the flow of your conversation. You stand up first to make it clear that Brendonâs officially free, saying, âThank you for coming in and for your understanding. You can do this.â
As you collect your things and he does the same, he ensures, âSo weâre done for now?â
âYeah, we are. You can head out.â
âGreat.â He opens up your office door to let you walk through and says seriously, âLetâs circle back on that conversation we had earlier this week now that weâre off the clock. Would you like to go on a date with me?â
You laugh and shake your head. âYour biceps arenât looking any stronger since we last went over this; sure youâre ready to lift that thousand pounds for me?â
All cocky again, he whistles and muses, âSo you have noticed how big my arms are.â
You nudge him in the arm with your elbow as he falls into step next to you. âIâve noticed your scrub tops are a size too small, yes.â
âGod, you are far and away the most brutal, beautiful woman Iâve ever seen and I can tell youâd sucker punch a bear if it didnât mind its manners,â he absolutely swoons. While you try not to smile, he goes on, looking for all the world like heâs about to break into song, âIâm smitten over here. Iâll take you somewhere nice, dress up like a gentleman, the whole damn thing. What do you say?â
âI only date doctors with a patient satisfaction score in the double digits, Brendon.â
âGod, my name sounds so good in your mouth itâs like this is the first time Iâm hearing it. You can make the meanest insult sound like a song. What a gift.â While you laugh and push out of the hospitalâs front door toward the parking garages, he follows behind you like a puppy and goes on, âPlus, I know for a fact my patient satisfaction score is 51 because Robby was thrilled to have a doctor who scored lower than his 65. Iâm proud of that.â
With an eye roll, you remind him, âYou really shouldnât be.â
âAnd you really should go on a date with me. Iâd treat you so well; you have no idea,â he insists as you walk through the parking garage toward your reserved spot halfway down the first row. âIâd lick this garage floor right now if youâd let me open your car door for you.â
You stop next to a sexy little silver Miata and snicker, âIâll let you do that today, but only because I have my hands full.â Brendon immediately drops to his knees and bends toward the ground with his tongue out, making you shriek out a laugh and smack him with your purse. You cover your smile with your hand and chastise, âYouâre horrifying.â
âAnd youâre just a few more interactions from falling in love with me.â He stands up with a satisfied, goofy grin thatâs far too boyishly charming for his features and opens your car door, stepping back and gesturing with a flourish. âGet home safe, beautiful.â
You slide into the front seat, settle your belongings, and tell him, âIf you smile like that at your patients, you might actually have a chance with me, big guy.â
He salutes and promises, âIâll spend the whole weekend practicing for you.â
The whole ride home, you have to keep forcibly wiping the school-girl smile from your face. Youâre totally aware that Brendon Park can 1000% wear you down. Definitely not your usual type with his wolfish smile and domineering attitude, but gorgeous, broad, and just cocky enough to turn you on without intimidating you.
The problem is that his very existence is an annoyance to you. If you were going to date a doctor in the ED, it would be Abbot, who seems to actually give a shit about making your job easier and treating his patients like people and not puzzles. Shen is by far too happy and Al Hashimi is too sweet. Robby repulses you on a visceral level for more reasons than you can name.
But Brendon Park? Heâs a big question mark for you. All you know about him is from his file, which doesnât paint a particularly flattering picture. When he talks and smiles, though, you can sense a sweetness in him that he doesnât show often. Maybe that means he can open up and be better â but you doubt it.
That flicker of hope in your gut? You arenât sure whether to stoke it or blow it out.
You fully expect Brendon to drop his crusade to go out with you after a couple of rejections. He could have any girl he wanted with a snap of his fingers, youâre sure, so thereâs no way heâd keep going for someone as off-putting and crass as you. Especially after two full weeks of morning meetings that essentially consist of you bending him over and letting patients spank him red, youâd guessed that his interest would fizzle out into something more akin to begrudging tolerance.
But no.
Brendon Park is not a man easily dissuaded.
Every time you spend two hours on Friday afternoon verbally beating the shit out of him so heâll become a better doctor, he inevitably goes through the same routine.
âGo out with me, gorgeous, Iâm begging you,â he tries again. His latest addition to the song and dance is insisting on carrying your file box and briefcase out to your car because, quote, âyour manicure is too sexy to risk chipping.â Sticking right by your side, he swears, âIâll get on my knees right now if you just say yes.â
You meet his too-pretty blue eyes and insist, knowing itâs only about 40% true now, âNot in a million years.â
âNo problem,â he beams, âIâll wait a million and one just to sweep the floor in front of you so you donât get any scuffs on those designer shoes.â
âCute, but how about you start working on that list of calls for me instead? Give me an update the next time you see me.â
âOh, Iâm already on it,â he assures like a dog showing off a new trick and hoping for a cookie, âbut if it gets me another single solitary second breathing in that perfume of yours, Iâll go double time.â
You roll your eyes and ignore it â but youâre smiling, and thatâs enough for Brendon.
By the time you and Brendon are on the last week of his patient apology tour, your resolve is about as strong as a toothpick. Heâs bringing you coffee and pastries every single morning, just setting them on your desk without a word while the two of you prep. He always compliments not only what youâre wearing but the little details alongside it â your perfumeâs top notes, the shade of your lipstick, the way your earrings catch the light. With every ounce of his earnest affection, he can tell your resolve is wearing very, very thin, but itâs definitely still there. He can smell the blood in the water even if he isnât quite sure when or how to make the final strike.
Brendon figures out his plan of attack because of the wisdom of one Dana Evans.
Youâre working on the floor of the ED today because a nasty bug has taken out two of your patient advocates. In picking up their workload, you end up floating through Brendonâs peripheral vision all day. For everyone else, youâre the viper who might bite their neck at any turn. But, for Brendon, itâs like, well, the most beautiful woman heâs ever seen is just there for him to gaze at in between surgeries.
While going over plans with him and a few nurses, Garcia turns to him and offers, âOne of my friends wants me to set her up with a doctor and I said Iâd try. Park, youâre single, right? Sheâs funny, pretty, successful. Maybe a little nice for you, but you never know.â
Brendon smirks, glancing in your direction, and answers, âIâm single, but Iâm not available.â
Princess rolls her eyes and cuts in for the sake of the gossip: âWhat the hell does that mean, Shark?â
âIâve got a girl in mind,â he replies easily, voice smooth and cool as a saxophone. âGot a feeling sheâs finally gonna give me a shot soon.â
Garcia faux-gasps. âYouâre groveling for a girl? You know youâre, like, eight feet tall, buff, and rich, right?â
âAnd that means thereâs nothing sexier than a woman who needs to be courted.â
âEw.â
Absently listening to the exchange, Dana glances up at him over the rims of her glasses. âYouâre cock-blocking yourself with her, Park, you know that, right?â
Princess looks between Park and Dana, beyond nose, and presses, âWith who, exactly? This girl works at the hospital?â
âThe Viper,â Dana explains like thatâs not some top-shelf, high-value chisme. âHeâs been trying to get her to go out with him for weeks now. Itâs obvious.â
Garciaâs mouth falls open in horror. âYou like her?!â
âShut up,â Brendon hisses, nervous about the potential of you overhearing just a few feet over. He narrows in on Dana and demands, âWhat do you mean? Iâve never put more effort into trying to convince a girl to date me.â
âKid, she likes you already. She laughs at your bad jokes and she squeezes your arm like itâs a prize tenderloin sheâs thinking about buying. She wants to go out with you.â Staring him down from over her glasses, Dana explains, âBut you know whatâs not attractive? Being the reason she had to work overtime almost every day this month. You wanna go on a date with someone after you spend four hours defending them to angry patients and lawyers?
This isnât some playground back in the â90s when we tried to convince girls it was cute for a boy to pull her pigtails or tease her. A lady like that expects better for herself. Youâre clearing all these complaints for her, but, in the meantime, youâre collecting plenty of new ones. Bring her all the coffees and donuts you want, but until youâre a guy she can actually rely on to make her life better instead of worse, itâs a lost cause.â
âDamn, Evans.â Brendon lets out a long, slow breath, watching you talk with a patient using those soft eyes you donât give to anyone else. God, youâre so beautiful it aches. The harshness of you and the softness, too. With a sharp nod, plan solidifying in his mind, Brendon claps Dana on the shoulder and says, âHeard.â
After the very last patient from the backlog of Brendonâs complaint file leaves your office, you stretch your arms above your head, down the last of your coffee, and tell him, âCongratulations, Dr. Park. Youâre officially rid of me until you get a brand new complaint â so, Iâm guessing Iâll see you this afternoon?â
With a shit-eating grin, he muses, âOh, you havenât heard?â
You raise an eyebrow. âHeard what?â
Shrugging like itâs easy and obvious, he explains, âIâm not gonna get a single complaint this month.â
You bark out a sharp laugh and start preparing for your next meeting. âFor the first time in your career? Is that so?â
âYes, maâam,â he vows, almost somber in his conviction. âIâve got a brand new wave of motivation.â
You lean forward and balance your chin in your hands like youâre tuning in for a gossip session. âDo tell.â
âTurns out my bad behavior has a direct negative effect on the girl I like, so Iâve gotta shape up if I want to make her mine.â
Your heart flutters and you unintentionally bite your lower lip before catching yourself and admonishing your brain for responding to something soâŠsoâŠcharming. As he leans in your doorway, lingering instead of leaving, you ask, âAnd what do you think the odds are on that?â
âOh, theyâre astronomical.â Sounding positively wistful, he gazes at you affectionately and continues, âShe never gives me the time of day and she scares the shit out of me; itâs the most amazing thing that she still absolutely knocks my socks off. Iâve got no idea what the hellâs wrong with me when it comes to her.â
âYeah, me neither,â you giggle. Fuck, you didnât mean for it to come out as a giggle. Shaking your head and averting your eyes to your computer because the embarrassment of being caught feeling all flirty and cute is too much, you say, âGet back to the ED, Brendon; Iâve got my next meathead doctor in a few minutes.â
âNo problem, gorgeous, but Iâve gotta tell you one more thing, though.â
You look back at him, careful to keep your face together and not too wooed. âWhatâs that?â
He steps forward and leans over your desk, hands planted on the tabletop. His eyes bore into yours. âMy odds may not be good, but theyâre not zero. And that minuscule chance? That keeps me going. Youâve just gotta give me a single second and youâll fall in love for the rest of your life, I promise you that.â
A little breathless, you meet his baby blues. âDo you?â
âIâm gonna treat you so well and make your life so much easier; itâll be impossible not to fall for me.â Then, so confident it steals whateverâs left of your breath, he cups your cheek and says, âIâm gonna fix this whole departmentâs patient satisfaction scores starting with my own and then Iâm gonna learn how to shine your shoes just how you like. Iâd do nothing but sit in your closet with a dehumidifier to make sure the humidity for your leather heels is just right if thatâs what you wanted.â
You swallow hard as his touch stays on your face long after he withdraws his hand. âSounds a little scary.â
Brendon shrugs, smiles, and backs toward the door once more, always reluctant to leave you. âThen youâll just have to give me something else to do to make you happy. Let me change your oil; you donât even have to be there while I do it. Or I can mow your lawn, bring over my own push mower and everything to make sure I get the stripes just right how you want them. Iâll hand wash your floors with my toothbrush. Anything.â
You shake your head and sigh tenderly, âWhat am I gonna do with you, Brendon?â
âWhatever you want, whenever you want. Have I not made that clear enough?â Brendonâs eyes rake over you once more like heâs memorizing the sight of you to savor for the rest of the day. âMan, even when youâre rejecting me, youâre just about the loveliest thing Iâve ever set my eyes on. The things I would do for you if youâd even brush a hair off my shoulder.â
âThat would be the most action a manâs gotten from me in a very long time.â
âYeah? How long?â
âIâll see you later, Dr. Park.â
âSee you soon, Viper.â
Brendon makes absolutely zero attempts to ask you out for the next 30 days straight. Youâre honestly starting to believe he may have lost interest until he waltzes into your office at 5PM on a Friday, the last day of the month. He knocks dramatically on the door frame even though itâs propped open.
In the middle of collecting your things, you shrug on your jacket and sigh, âCan I help you with something, Dr. Park.â
Standing with his hands suspiciously bashfully behind his back, Brendon steps into the office and informs you seriously, âYou should sit down for this, gorgeous.â
You lean against your desk and nudge, âWhyâs that?â
âBecause,â he announces, voice grand like heâs about to call an auction, âyou, the Viper of the Emergency Department, are about to agree to go out with me, your humble subject, and, after your many rejections, I have to imagine thatâll be so shocking for you that you might pass out.â
With your stomach full of butterflies you canât deny, you hop up on your desk dramatically and gesture broadly like a queen for her jester. âAlright, Sharkie, go ahead.â
Brendonâs smile only grows at your teasing. He takes a deep breath and explains, âDana told me this morning that I had to check my mailbox because it had gotten too full. The whole time I worked in ortho, I think I checked my box maybe once. When you get served, they put the notice right in your hand, so why bother? But I go to the mailroom and sheâs right; my cubbyâs got a million fucking envelopes in it.â From behind his back, he hands you a stack of cards. âTheyâre from patients. My patients.â
He lets it hang as you inspect the papers heâs handed over. Like he said, theyâre all cards and theyâre all from patients. There are hand-drawn ones from kids with pictures of sharks, sentimental ones from old ladies, ones with shitty jokes from the convenience store. There have to be twenty of them here, each one telling a story of a doctor who truly made them feel seen and cared for.
The last of your resolve crumbles into dust.
Brendon steps forward, studying your expression carefully, and says softly, âTurns out that while Iâve just been trying to impress you, I actually became a better doctor for my patients. And a better man, I hope. So, first and foremost, I wanted to thank you for that.â
When he doesnât launch into another attempt to ask you out immediately, you let the silence linger for a moment. Thumbing through the cards, you make your mind up once and for all. You meet his baby blue eyes, let a small smile part your lips, and reply, âOkay.â
His eyebrows go up. âOkay?â
You nod and sigh out, âIâll go on a date with you.â
He fist pumps the air in a way so dorky and adorable you almost back out and lets out a dramatic whoop, âFuck, yes! Jesus, I really didnât think that would work.â
You roll your eyes at him even though itâs become physically impossible to suppress your delighted smile that matches his. âAlright, slugger, calm down. Iâm just a woman.â
Brendon shakes his head and scoffs, âAu contraire. You arenât âjustâ anything.â
âWell, regardless, you win.â You take a Post-It from your desk, scribble your phone numbers on it, and hand it over to him. âText me your address. Make me dinner tomorrow night.â
âMake you dinner? You know I could get us a table at any restaurant you wanted.â
You cross your arms over your chest and challenge, âAnd I want you to cook for me. Itâs the perfect test for a man.â
Staring down at your phone number in your swoopy handwriting like itâs made of diamonds, Brendon absently asks, âYeah? Whyâs that?â
âIt means one of the three things.â You explain seriously, âHe can already cook, which is a green flag. He can follow a recipe, which means heâs teachable, or he utterly fails and that means he can handle being humbled, which is sexy.â
âItâs sexy when a man gets humbled?â
âWhat exactly do you think has been going on between us?â
âHonestly, I havenât heard a single word since you agreed to date me.â
In lieu of my ko-fi, please consider donating to my mother's long-term dementia care fund.
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AO3 Link -- TW: omegaverse wildness, biting, blood, etc.
Your people are starving, and your clan's Alpha has asked you, their only remaining Omega, to give yourself up as a sacrifice to save them. So, you agree, and you are to be mated to one of the Alphas of Clan 141, praying that it is to any of them except Alpha Price. He is known to have a knot that is impossible to take, but when you finally meet him, you're not sure of what's possible anymore. Will you risk it all to be with him, even if his knot might kill you? One way to find outâŠ
The Old Way
You couldnât see the stars. The shroud that hung over your head was made from fine, black silk, and through its thin organza, you could barely make out the shape of the Watcher in front of you, much less the glittering galactic expanse overhead. You were wrapped like a gift, and if you wanted to save the lives of everyone youâd ever loved, you would remain cloaked in your darkness, hidden, waiting for your big moment. More than anything, you wanted to pull your veil away from your eyes just to see the familiar constellations again, to comfort yourself with their shapes, to make one last independent choice before all of your volition was stolen from you forever.Â
That wasnât the right word. You couldnât steal something that was given freely. You were not bound, and you were certainly not forced to wear the shadowed veil against your will. You had selected this path for yourself, and now you were living through the consequences of that decision.
As the only Omega in your clan â the first one born in seventy years â you were raised on the knowledge that you may one day be asked to give up your life for your clan. After the war, life was hard, and now that your people were stuck in a seemingly endless drought, it had become even more desperate. Your clan leader, Alpha Roan, had come to you six weeks ago with a terrible look in his eyes, a palpable guilt, still wearing his mourning collar for his long-lost mate, Omega Kiran, and he had asked you if you would be willing to undergo The Exchange.
His own wife had come to your clan through The Exchange, and although they had chosen to perform a private ceremony, you knew that it had been a challenge for her. Before she died, she had taught you much about your role, but you were still a youngling, and some things were just not for you to hear at such an age.Â
You thought about the years that had passed after the loss of your clanâs Omega. Alpha Roan had insisted on your education, and your training, but the idea that you would be asked to leave your clan through The Exchange was always a distant threat. But, now, here it was. You had been called by your Alpha to sacrifice yourself for their benefit; not in a marriage of love, but in a clan trade.Â
You had been asked by your Alpha to think about your choice. After he left you to ponder your choice, you sat down in your chambers surrounded by your Watchers, the women who had raised you, who had taught you to read, to write, to fight, and to charm. They looked at you with the same guilty, knowing eyes, and they asked you if you were prepared to make the sacrifice.Â
âYou do know what awaits you at the end of The Exchange, donât you, Omega?â Watcher Trinity had asked you quietly, holding your hands in her shaking fingers, the wrinkled skin of her knuckles folding and stretching over her thin bones.Â
You nodded, âYes, Watcher. I am to be given to a new Alpha.â
She had looked at you then, her eyes sharp and calculating, trying to figure out how she would ask her next question.  Â
âDo you know the way in which you will be given, Omega?âÂ
Her tone chilled your heart, sinking through your body like ice across a pond, freezing you in place. You waited. There was more that she needed to say, and you allowed her to explain.Â
And now that you knew the truth, you felt fully prepared to accept the terms of the agreement. You would deliver your people from their strife, and any pain, any shame, and any horror that you experienced from this point onward would be in service to your clan. You hoped that would be enough solace to sustain you. There was no shame in your sacrifice, you knew that. But, in your soul, you knew that knowing a thing and experiencing a thing were two vastly disparate sides of the same coin.Â
You informed your clan Alpha, holding your chin high,Â
âI accept the terms of The Exchange, Alpha Roan.â
âYour people are forever in your debt, Omega. Watchers,â he addressed your caregivers, âPlease make preparations in the old way of our clan.â
âThe old way, Alpha Roan?â Watcher Trinity had asked, her voice giving away her apprehension.
âYes, Watcher. We will follow the law, no matter how⊠upsetting it may be. Clan 141 is too powerful for us to take any undue risks. If they do not accept her, we may not survive their engagement.â
Even in your sheltered little academy, you had heard of Clan 141. Their clan was small, but it was deeply feared. If any other clan dared step out of line, the 141 were there to rain hellfire and destruction down on them until there was nothing left. They were not cruel, but they abided no violent acts in their territory, and any whisper of rekindling the war efforts or of superseding the peace treaty was dealt with swiftly and decisively.Â
Before the war, kings and presidents and generals had pulled the strings. Now that the world lay in ruins, the 141 was the only thing between your small clan and total destruction from larger, more aggressive packs. The 141 was the only reason your people still had other clans to trade with; they had made sure smaller communities had access to fair market costs for food and services, and no one dared to shun your merchants now that you were under their protective wing.Â
Your Watchers had done their best to ease you into your preparations. Clan 141 would be at the neutral ground in six weeks, and your team had tried to make every moment of that window meaningful in your training. They had started slowly, teaching you to stretch your untouched hole with your fingers, showing you diagrams and depictions of your own anatomy, warning you of the physical trial of taking an Alphaâs knot.Â
It was mortifying when you endured your first test. Watcher Gillar and Watcher Bhin had made you sit in front of a mirror and show them your progress. You were told to clench and release the muscles of your hole on command, fluttering it to prove its strength. Then, they had produced a carved, glass phallus, expecting you to practice on a smaller model before moving you up to a more advanced size.Â
You took it from their hands, looking at its curved, rigid shape with wide-eyed curiosity, trying to swallow your grief at being seen doing the unthinkable by people you considered to be your closest friends and caregivers. It almost made you regret your decision. But, your people needed you, so you rested the smooth tip of the phallus at the entrance of your hole and began to shove it inside of yourself.Â
This new feeling was overwriting your mind, so alien and yet so very comforting to you, confounding in its sensations yet overwhelming in its unique, bright pleasure.
It was a struggle, but you managed to slip it into your body almost down to the large, bulbous knot on the end. The sharp pain of being entered for the first time was not as terrible as you had feared, but when you pulled the phallic rod back out of you, it was cloudy with your slick and your blood.Â
âTry the knot, Omega. Your Alpha will be twice as large as this, at least. You do not want your first experience to be at the ceremony. I know that you will want to appear strong in front of the other clans.â Watcher Bhin encouraged you, holding you to her shoulder as she sat behind you, trying her best to comfort you through such a harrowing ordeal.Â
You put their practice cock back inside of you, slipping down further than you had, feeling the wide anatomy pressing against your entrance, but still unable to take the full knot inside. You pushed and pulled with your muscles, just like your Watchers had taught you, but it wouldnât budge. You were panting, sweating, and teetering on the edge of an embarrassing orgasm in front of your Watchers, and you gasped out, exasperated,Â
âI canât. I donât think I can do this, Watcher.â
âLay back, Omega. I will help you,â Watcher Gillar said softly, replacing your hand with hers at the base of the phallus.Â
You lay down on your back against your soft pillows, trying to avoid your Watchersâ pitying eyes. Then, you felt a cool gel being applied around the sore ring of your hole; something to ease the way since there was no true Alpha present to coax your slick from your glands. Watcher Bhin had held your hand in hers, gripping you tightly, letting you squeeze her through the pain, wiping away your tears as the glass bulb of the pretend knot began to split you, stretching your body before finally popping into place.
You Watchers had comforted you for a few minutes, but then you were told to begin your meditations.
With much difficulty, you sat up, feeling the heavy knot nestled against your walls. Then, Watcher Bhin handed you a firm pillow, and you understood that you must straddle it, and that it would push the knot against you. You were to train your body and your mind to accept it so that you would have the stamina to withstand the ceremony.Â
âDo not be afraid to listen to your body, Omega. We will return to help you remove it and recover. I will light some incense for you. Concentrate on your strength.â
You nodded, uncrossing your legs and settling yourself over the firm pillow, feeling the deep, sacral grind of the phallus as you set your weight against it. When you were left alone, you began your breathing techniques, but all the while, a flush was rushing across your skin, the shadow of a rising desire to come, and yet subtly different. Something whispered in your mind, and you wondered if you could call your slick down yourself, without an Alphaâs help.Â
So, you tried, rocking back and forth across the pillow, churning the knot within your core, feeling the rounded tip rubbing against your deepest parts. You removed your robes, letting the flush keep you warm, watching yourself in the tall mirror, meeting your own eyes.Â
It took only minutes before a true orgasm was upon you, but you tried to hold it at bay, searching through the sparkling, cracking fog of pleasure for the part of you that made you special. No Beta would survive a knotting; they never did, and it was a crime to even try. But, you were meant for it, and you knew that your Watchersâ training would not let you down. You breathed through the bliss, reaching out with your mind towards your slick, imagining it, visualizing your success, manifesting it deep within you.Â
When the Watchers found you later that night, they woke you with cool rags and worried faces,
âWhat happened, Omega? How did youâŠâ Watcher Gillar looked down at your bare legs to where the pillow sat under you, seeing a torrent of slick and milky come covering your skin and the silk of the bolster, confused by how you could produce it without an Alphaâs beckoning call. It was just not done, not even considered to be a possibility.Â
After that night, there was much chatter amongst the Watchers. They consulted old tomes, dusting off the pages in the library of your little academy where you trained far away from the rest of your village, kept up here in your tower like a Delphic oracle, buried like a treasure.Â
The training became more intense, and each practice phallus that your Watchers produced became harder and heavier, each bearing knots that were unfathomably large. You used your newfound power to face each of your challenges, less ashamed now to perform in front of your team, but knowing that the ceremony would be something else entirely.Â
You had asked about it one night as your Watchers were helping you bathe after a particularly difficult practice session,Â
âWill there truly be none absent from the ceremony, Watcher Trinity?â
âOnly the cubs and their mothers are forbidden from attending. Otherwise, all clan members are obligated to witness The Exchange. We will even invite Clan Farlight and Clan Seres to the feast as a token of goodwill. You know this, Omega,â her tone was a little impatient, wondering why you were asking such a basic question, âYour Alpha has asked for your ceremony to be conducted in the old way, according to the original scrolls.âÂ
âI am worried that I will dishonor you with my abilities. I cannot seem to take even these false knots without tears,â you repeated the old scripture, chanting it rote to your Watcher just as you used to do when you had started your adult training, âOmegas are vessels. They will silently submit. The ceremony will be still, honoring the sacrifice.â
Watcher Trinity knelt down beside your bath and made you look at her. Her eyes softened, and she told you,
âYes, that is what is written, but it is not that simple. You have already honored us with your sacrifice. We have no grain. We have skinny, milkless goats, and our well is nearly dry. When we feast after your ceremony, the full bellies of your people will mean so much more than any perceived weakness that you are reluctant to show.â She grabbed your hand out of the warm water, holding it in hers, âIf you need to cry, we will understand, and we will be comforting you from the crowd. Trust me, Omega.â
You tried to put it all out of your mind as you marched down the path, following behind your Watchers as they surrounded you, adorned in their own ceremonial garb. They had worn their armor and their long, red robes, carrying huge, black scythes like walking sticks, as was the custom of your clan. Your Alpha was walking in the front of your pack, guiding your clan to the meeting point. You could just see the white, canvas tops of the tents and yurts that had been constructed for the ceremony, meant to house hundreds of people for at least three days. Yours was the biggest, its adornment the most splendid. But that was little comfort to your frayed nerves.Â
You were miles from home at this point, missing the comfort of your room and your books, knowing that you would never return there, and that perhaps your new Alpha would not allow you to keep any of your belongings from your old life.Â
Youâd heard horror stories from some of the Betas in your clan, tales of Alphas who used their Omegas like slaves, keeping them clad in irons, surviving in dark dungeons only to be used to breed and to give their Alphas carnal pleasure.Â
While you were being prepared for this journey, a pair of Beta women had helped you paint your skin, drawing intricate symbols and prayers in gold flake, chittering about the ceremony and the feast without knowing what you had been through over the past six weeks.
âThis is the first time I will witness a ceremony done in the old way,â Beta Lilia said.Â
âDo you know which Alpha will claim you?â Liliaâs friend, Beta Tyran, asked you, not knowing how loaded her words were.
You shook your head; you didnât even know how many Alphas belonged to Clan 141. Lilia gushed about them for you, taking the conversation out of your hands,
âClan 141 has four Alphas! Can you imagine? I hear that they have an entire army of Omegas as well. Alpha Garrick is so handsome, and he has three gorgeous Omegas. They are almost too beautiful to look upon.. I saw him when I was at the central market once. He was leading a team, hunting the vagabonds who set fire to a farmerâs field, you remember when that happened? It was years ago now. He was so imposing. But, that other one was there, too.âÂ
She made a face that was strong enough to make you ask about it,
âWhich one?â
âThe Ghost, Alpha Riley. They say that no one has seen his face. He wears a terrifying skull mask. I heard from Yair that he has three Omegas as his guards, all masked as well. Yes! Guards! They have armor and weapons and huge, bulging muscles. Beautiful and lethal ââ
âDonât be ridiculous,â Beta Tyran interrupted, âNo one would give their Omegas weapons. No one would let their Omegas out in the public markets! Imagine the danger.â
Lilia shrugged, âYair said that these Omegas were the danger.âÂ
Then, you heard about Alpha MacTavish, a descendant from one of the ancient warlords, charming and fearsome. He kept two Omegas as his brides, always pregnant, but almost as fearsome as Alpha Rileyâs guards. Alpha MacTavish often expected them to travel with their Beta friends, to take their children up into the mountains, hunting and fishing and exploring outdoors. All sorts of stories about his large, loving family. You silently hoped you would be claimed by him. It would be nice to live amongst Omegas and their cubs.Â
âWhich one is their Apex Alpha? There must be one in a clan with so many Alphas,â you mused, asking the girls since you did not know much about Clan 141 yourself.
The Betas shared a look, and then Lilia shook her head,
âYou will not be claimed by him, Omega. Donât worry.â
âWhy?â You pried, using your influence to force her to tell you.
âHis name is Alpha Price, the leader of Clan 141. Heâs the deadliest man in the entire land, and heâs the one who destroyed Clan Konni.â
The weight of that news sank in, and the dramatic tone of her story had attracted other Betas and Watchers to gather around you to listen to her tale,Â
âAlpha Price has never claimed an Omega. They say that he had tried. He had found one of Alpha Garrickâs Omegas to be very pretty, but she tried to take his knot and failed, so Alpha Garrick took her under his protection instead.â
âFailed?â Watcher Bhin asked, shocked by the implication.Â
âMy sister was a medic who served with the Alliance in the most recent skirmish, and the 141 helped defeat the rebels who were killing members of Clan Darrah a few years ago. She said that she served under the doctor who had healed Alpha Garrickâs Omega. Said heâd never seen anything like it before in his life. She was so strong, and yetâŠâ
Liliaâs words hung heavy in the air, and all of the women looked at each other and then at you, suddenly feeling the weight of your sacrifice, ashamed at their earlier levity. Tyran shook her head and patted you on the arm,Â
âDonât worry. Alpha Price will not claim you. You have nothing to worry about.â
That night, painted gold and covered in your black silks, you sat in your tent and meditated while you waited for the other clans to arrive. Your mind kept wandering to Alpha Price and his lonely existence. Had he really injured an Omega during his claiming of her? How large must his knot have been to do so? It made you shudder to think about it, and yet deep inside of you, your core warmed from the thought. If he imprinted on youâŠ
But, imprinting was just a myth. Something only written in old texts as a footnote or a story. It was a part of the ritual of The Exchange, but it wasnât real.Â
âOmega,â Watcher Trinity interrupted your meditation and peeked her head into your tent, âIt is time to present The Cloth.â
Clan 141 was here, then.Â
The ritual of The Exchange began with The Shroud, which you were already wearing. Then, it was The Cloth. If all went well, it would then be The Meeting. And finally, The Ceremony.
The Cloth was a gift from the Omega to her new Alpha, a token of her affection and a chance for him to smell her scent for the first time. In ancient legends, this is when her true mate would imprint upon her, her Omegan scent bringing out his Alphic marks, dark spots or stripes across his neck and back, making him look like a big cat, ready to bite into her neck and claim her as his own.Â
She tried to shake herself out of that fantasy world. All she could hope was that one of their Alphas would be drawn to her scent enough to accept her. Her people were depending on her.
âHere is your cloth, Omega. I embroidered it myself. I hope that it honors you,â Watcher Trinity handed you a wooden box, carved and adorned with great care, and when you opened it, you found a red silk square of fabric, sewn with the sigils and symbols of your clan in fine gold thread. You smiled up at your Watcher and reached out to hold her in your arms,
âItâs perfect, Watcher. Thank you for caring for me.â
You were both fighting off tears when she finally pulled away. You hoped that your Alpha would at least let you say goodbye after the ceremony, even if you might never see her again.Â
Watcher Trinity and all of the other women left you alone again in your tent, giving you privacy to prepare The Cloth. You made yourself naked, and you began to rub the silk across your neck and glands, trying to soak your scent into the piece. Then, you wiped it between your legs, swiping up some of your wetness to coat the fabric. Usually, this would be enough. You could call your Watcher back into the tent and give her the box, and you would be done.Â
But, something in your heart told you to try to call out your slick. You listened to your instincts, and you began to rub the soft fabric against your folds, bringing your own pleasure to a warm, shining height. Just when you thought you might not be able to do it, that your nervousness would make it too difficult or that you might black out again from the effort, you felt something inside of you slip free. Then, your hole was flooded, the orgasm making your vision go blurry and form spots at the edges, your whole body convulsing from the strength of your pleasure, and you had to lay down just to try and stay awake through your gushing bliss.Â
You felt it coat the silk and your hand, a thick, milky slick, and your heart swelled with pride. You knew that a gift this special would sway the attention of at least one of their Alphas. You trusted in your skills and training that you were worthy of this ceremony and that your people would be saved.Â
Sitting up, you carefully opened the box and returned The Cloth to its resting place, soaked with your scent. You took time to clean yourself up, stuffing wet blankets into your laundry packs and hiding them away, remaking your nest before your Watcher would know what you had done. You werenât sure why you were keeping a secret from them, but you just felt like this was something between you and your Alpha. A promise, of sorts.Â
You replaced your black silks and veil over your otherwise unclothed body and called your Watchers. They entered your tent along with Alpha Roan.Â
His eyes widened as he approached you, taking the box from your hands. Quietly, as if knowing that this was an extremely private affair, he whispered to you,Â
âWhat have you done, little Omega?â
âI am doing what needs to be done, Alpha. Please, deliver my message to my new Master.â
You use of the ancient terminology caught your clan Alpha off guard, but you were glad of it. If this was to be done in the old way, then you would withstand it, but you would also do it your way. You were the Omega, here, and you were the reason your clan would survive this struggle. It was time you started acting like the heroine that you were. You would be your peopleâs strength, no matter the cost.
âVery well,â Alpha Roan sighed, closing the box, calling out to your team, âWatchers, bring your Omega to The Cloth ritual.â
You were guided to the path again, leaving your tent behind and walking towards the big, outdoor theater. It was a crude coliseum of sorts, a large circular pit lined with rows and rows of carved seating that was cut into the land. People had already begun to line the viewing platforms, each clan decorated in their traditional garb. You felt proud to see the stripe of red where your people sat, holding each othersâ hands and praying for your safe arrival.Â
You were not greeted with raucous applause but instead with reverent silence. Alpha Roan walked in front of your Watchers, and you were the last one into the theater, dressed only in your sheer shroud, trying your best not to feel self-conscious about the fact that - because of the firelight - everyone could see your naked, painted body through the veil, even though you were covered head to toe in the organza. In the tent, the lighting was low and kept you in darkness, hiding your body under the thin silk. But, not here in the theater. Your skin was illuminated by the torches, and you knew that even your friends and neighbors could now see your most private parts.Â
You made sure that your face did not give away your lingering shame.Â
Alpha Roan took center stage, and you saw the Alphas of Clan 141 for the first time.Â
Alpha MacTavish was standing between his two Omegas, and you mused that his oldest children must have stayed behind to care for his cubs. He was dressed in his Clanâs black gear, covered in armor like a gladiator, his head shaven into a mohawk, spiked and messy on the crown of his head. His body was huge and stocky, and the Omegas seated at his sides looked so tiny compared to his bulk. But, they were strong. Their bellies were round with the promise of future cubs, and their skin and hair glowed like the stars.Â
Alpha Garrick stood next to him, his Omegas seated together to his right, dressed in the finest robes you had ever seen. He clearly had a type, and you thought that they looked like triplets, all decorated in jewels and gold, riches youâd never even dreamt of. Their Alpha was every bit as handsome as the stories had promised. He had pouty, full lips that were curled in a snarky sort of smile, and his soft brown eyes exuded pure confidence. His hands were wide and powerful, resting on his curved blade that lay sheathed at his hip.Â
Alpha Riley was masked, as you had been told, as were his Omegas. They were not seated, and every bit of armor that was strapped to his hulking body was also strapped to them. They had glittering knives, bows, arrows, and slings, looking like they could win their own war by themselves. Their bodies were heavily muscled, and all four of them seemed as tall as Alpha MacTavish, standing proudly in leather boots.Â
Then, you saw Alpha Price. He was holding a large wooden stick, at least seven feet tall, with hundreds of notches sliced into the side. You wondered what he was keeping track of, and you shuddered to know. His beard was neatly trimmed, and his hair was cut high and tight on the sides. He was certainly bigger and better muscled than each of his men, but that was not what you noticed about him first. It was his eyes. They were piercingly blue, like glacial ice, and they were looking right at you. Hungry.Â
Something inside of your core tightened under his scrutiny, but Alpha Roanâs voice shook you from your trance,
âClan Arlos welcomes Clan 141 to The Exchange. We present you with our offering, an unmated Omega, 26 years of age, fully trained in the old ways of our people. She is our greatest gift, and we ask for your acceptance of our sacrifice.â
Alpha Roan held up the box with The Cloth inside for all to see. He set it on the large, marble altar in the middle of the stage and backed away from it, waiting for the other Alphas to take part in the ritual.Â
Alpha Price spoke, and your body nearly trembled at the sound of his deep, purring voice. You were more nervous than you thought, and you tried to breathe to manage yourself.Â
âWe will consider your honorable offering, Clan Arlos.â
With that, he slammed his huge stick against the stony ground and Alpha MacTavish stepped up to the altar. He opened the box, and along with the other Alphas in attendance, his body had a visceral reaction. His hands went to touch the cloth and he brought it to his nose, smelling your scent with a sort of wonder and amazement.Â
Then, to your great relief, he raised his hand, palm outward, as a show of his acceptance of your scent. If you accepted him as well, you would be mated.Â
But, the slamming sound of the stick shook you out of your celebrations. Alpha Price called up Alpha Garrick.Â
This was most unusual. Typically, only one Alpha had to agree. It wasnât like you had much choice in the matter. Even if Alpha MacTavishâs scent did not stir your heart, you would still submit to him as expected. This was not a marriage of love but of convenience.Â
MacTavish looked back over his shoulder at Price, just as shocked as you were. His Omegas looked even more taken aback, strangely offended that you would not automatically join them. But, Alpha MacTavish returned the cloth to the box and made room for Garrick, disappointed and visibly confused.Â
Alpha Garrick opened the box and buried his face against The Cloth, breathing in once, twice, and then tasting the fabric, right in front of everyone. It was his right, but it was a little audacious.Â
His palm went up, high in the air, and his Omegas smiled and held each otherâs hands, excited at your acceptance.Â
Another loud slam. Another rejection.Â
You may still end up with MacTavish or Garrick after negotiations, you remembered, but you were now wondering why Alpha Price had chosen to test you against all three of his men before making a decision. It was very odd. Alpha Roan looked greatly concerned.Â
Alpha Riley approached the altar, his gloved hands prying open the box, then, he lifted the bottom of his mask to reveal his mouth and nose. The slightest murmur of shock rippled through the crowd. He bent to smell your scent, and he raised his hand in the air, signaling his acceptance before replacing his mask. You thought you caught the hint of a smile just before his pale lips disappeared beneath the skull plate again.Â
Slam! The stick pounded against the floor.
All of Clan 141 turned to look at Alpha Price at once. Your heart stopped. Why would he⊠Why would Alpha Price want to undergo The Cloth ritual himself? He had no Omega. Surely, he wouldnât claim you now, not after what had happened. You watched Alpha Garrickâs Omegas. One of them stared at Alpha Price with wide, glossy eyes. You thought that it must be his prior candidate for a mate. She was afraid for you. They were all afraid.
All eyes were on Alpha Price as he approached the altar, and the entire theater was silent as he took The Cloth in his hands. He lay it out flat, in no rush, inspecting the wet stain that you had left for him, using his thumb to feel the fine, gold embroidery. Then, his eyes darted up to yours. He was the first one to look at you while he held The Cloth to his nose, that icy gaze making you tremble with anticipation.Â
You were so lost in his eyes that you didnât see what was stirring the crowd. There was a loud gasp and then an explosion of whispers. You looked around, trying to understand what was happening. Then, when he tucked The Cloth into his breast pocket, keeping you for himself, you saw it.Â
Long, red lines began to stain his skin like lightning. All of his veins tattooed themselves across his neck, and although his armor was covering his shoulders, you knew that the marks would be there as well.Â
Alpha Price had imprinted for you.Â
Then, he silenced the crowd by raising his right hand, palm up, staring at you the entire time.Â
You were whisked away, surrounded by your Watchers, hearing Alpha Roanâs voice behind you, sounding like protest, but you couldnât make out the words. Compared to the initial silence, the area erupted in a shattering din, clans shouting and yelling over each other, the drama from the ritual dividing the people.Â
You thought you would be taken back to your tent, but you were brought to a large lake about five hundred yards from the theater. It was quiet again. No one was allowed to follow you here, it seemed.Â
Watcher Trinity tried to explain in a rushed whisper, helping you climb into a boat and rowing you out to the middle of the lake,
âThere is a dispute for your claiming. Alpha Roan will negotiate new terms, and Clan 141 must decide who will be your Alpha. It will be alright, Omega. Itâll be alright.â
She sounded like she was trying to reassure herself more than you.
âWhat now?â
âBecause there is not just one Alpha who has claimed you, they will undergo a ritual called The Trial. It is a fight; a test of will. Whichever Alpha can win will be granted the right to appeal to you first. If you reject him, then you will be given a chance to hear the appeal from the second.â
âSo, it will be up to me, then?â
âYes. Alpha Price has put the choice in your hands. Very odd, and not in our custom, but we must honor his wishes. You will wait here for the winner.â
You looked around. You were now in the middle of the lake, and there was a platform lingering just below the water. It was a wide stone block, about three meters wide in each direction. Watcher Trinity helped you out of the boat and you stepped tentatively onto the platform.Â
âWill you wait with me?â You asked, feeling the uncertainty and fear finally get the better of you.Â
âNo, my Omega. I cannot. These waters are forbidden to Betas. Only Alphas and Omegas can touch it. Take this. It is your flare. If you are in trouble, if he tries to get to you, fire it high into the sky and we will rescue you. You can do this. I know you are strong. Wait patiently for your Alpha,â she paused, grabbing your hand, âI realize you are doing this for us, but please, follow your heart.â
âI will, Watcher.âÂ
So, you waited. You meditated, standing in an inch of cool lake water as you tried to commune with the land around you. And you waited some more. Hours passed until, finally, you saw torches. Your Watchers lined one side of the lake, and they greeted the newcomers. Then, you saw him. Alpha Price was being stripped down by your Watchers. They took his weapons from him, and then his clothes, making him naked on the shoreline. He craned his neck, trying to look for you in the lake, but it was dark and you were dressed in black.Â
You could see him just fine, though. His huge body was covered in short, curly hair, dense and dark against his skin. His muscles bulged and popped as he peeled away his layers of clothing. They left his undergarments on, little more than a linen loincloth. Then, you saw your Watchers attach a huge, metal collar around his neck. They clamped it together with a padlock in the back, and a huge chain was attached at the latch.Â
They bound his hands, chaining them together, and then loaded him into the boat. They rowed toward you with his back facing the platform, and as he got closer, you saw his imprint markings, red and raised like jagged scars across his neck and shoulders. Your scent had marked him permanently. The welts would go down, and the red would fade, but it would always be there, evidence of his imprinting.Â
The boat reached you, and he climbed out of it, sitting on the opposite side of the platform from you, just far enough to be out of range for your scent.Â
His eyes found yours again, staring at you through your veil, finding your gaze with a natural ease. He held a small box in his hands, and you thought you saw the phantom of a smile across his lips as you looked over his face.Â
The boat rowed to shore, dragging the long chain all the way back, and you were alone with him. It was quiet for a long while. You were just staring at each other, studying each other, trapped in a silent battle.Â
You looked down at his hands, noticing for the first time his cut, bloody knuckles, and he saw the worry cross over your eyes.
âTheyâre fine,â he said quietly, âMy men. If thatâs what you were wondering.â
âBut, you triumphed over them, clearly,â you replied, not trusting your own voice.Â
He chuckled a bit, sighing,Â
âI did.â
âYou fought for me, then.â
The laughing stopped, and he lifted his chin, proudly,Â
âI did.â
âAnd you are here for my acceptance.â
He didnât respond to your cue, but instead, he took the box in his hands and slid it across the platform, skittering it along the surface of the water, making little splashes as it landed in front of you.Â
You reached for it, opening it up to reveal a shining key.Â
âThrow it in the lake,â he commanded you, using his Alphaâs voice to bend your will.Â
It shocked you, and you were so close to obeying, but you stopped, cutting your eyes at him,
âWhat is this?â
âThrow. It. Omega.â
His voice seared through your blood, calling to you with old magic. You fought hard to keep your mind under your own control,Â
âStop! Stop it. Tell me what this is, Alpha.â
âIt unlocks my collar. Otherwise, if I make so much as a shift in your direction that they donât like,â his head turned to look back toward your watchers, âThey will pull me into the lake, and I will drown.â
âAnd if I unlock itâŠâ
âThen, you will be my mate,â his tone turned vitriolic then, âAnd you will die.â
You let his words sink in, your curiosity overcoming your fear,
âYou believe your knot cannot be taken.â
He spat back,Â
âMy belief is not ââ
âBut, itâs not up to you,â you interrupted him, âIs it?â
The shock that washed over his bright eyes filled you with a sort of sick satisfaction. You should be afraid of him, but your roles were reversed out here on this rock, and you were holding him under your command.Â
âToss that key, girl. MacTavish fought hard for you. Heâll care for you. Heâs a good man.â
âAre you a good man?â
âNo,â he growled, his eyes dropping to the water, examining the chains around his own hands, inspecting them for the bloodstains that he obviously thought should be there.Â
âI am here for my people, Alpha Price. I am not looking for a husband. I am a resource to be traded for other resources. My clan needs The Exchange. Our people are starving, and I ââ
âI would not let them starve,â Priceâs eyes shot back up, indignant that you would suggest that he would leave you and your clan without food or water.Â
You let yourself smile slightly, teasing him,Â
âSpoken like a good man.â
He twisted his lips over his teeth, but he stayed quiet. You continued to torment him,Â
âWhy did you raise your hand for me?â
He sighed, sitting forward, sloping his shoulders toward you,
âI couldnât help it. My AlphaâŠHeâŠâ He paused, searching for the words, âI could smell you through the box. I knew you from the moment I saw you walk through the arena. And when my men all raised their hands for you, I knew you would be accepted as our Clan Omega. You are mine in every way that matters. And I cannot have you.â
His voice was full of bitterness. You wanted to smell him. What were the chances that he was your true mate? One-sided imprinting was rare, but true mates were one in a million.Â
You stood, surprising him, and he jolted back, sitting up right. The chain around his wrists clattering. You looked over at the shoreline. Your Watchers held the long chain around his neck, heavy and sagging into the black water, ready to yank it tight if he lunged for you, if he fell prey to his Alphic instinct to breed you.Â
He watched you approach, seeing how the water rippled with every step you took, gazing upon the dripping silks that clung to your legs, devouring you with his eyes. You stopped in front of his crossed legs, Knowing that he could smell you now. Your pussy was shielded only with a few layers of silk, and you watched him flare his nose, sniffing you right in front of his face, blowing a slow exhale of air through his lips, making the organza billow between your legs.Â
âCan I smell your scent, Alpha?â You whispered, your voice slicing through the silence of the still lake.Â
His chains clattered as he twisted his head to look up at you, peeling his eyes away from your pretty pussy to meet your gaze. Then, he bent his head to one side, giving you his neck, showing you his scent gland, a sea of red stripes emanating from its center.Â
You bent over him, closing the gap, steadying yourself by laying a gentle hand on his huge shoulder. Then, you took a long pause and breathed him in. His scent swirled through your body, wrecking your other senses. It was only him. Alpha. Alpha. Alpha. Your Alpha. Your mate. Your true mate.Â
You felt the red marks of your imprint streak across your skin, and his eyes widened in shock as he saw them branch through your veins and across your gland just as his had done.Â
The click of a lock made his eyes flash back to you, and with that movement, his heavy collar tumbled into the lake, the drag of the chain singing as it scraped the side of the platform.Â
âWhat have you done, my Omega?â Price breathed.Â
It was the second time youâd been asked that question. Your response was still the same:
âI am doing what needs to be done, Master. I am giving myself to you, my true mate.â
The boats were in the water the moment the collar slipped from his neck. The Watchers were on you in moments, and Priceâs Beta soldiers were there to collect him. You watched as they rowed you two apart, taking you back to your camps to prepare for the ceremony.Â
Your Watchers were in a rush. There were only a few hours until sunrise. Your wet robes were switched out for red ones, and a red veil adorned your head. Underneath, you were rubbed and painted and sprayed with oils, until finally, Watcher Trinity came forward with a bowl of salve. She had made it herself, you could tell. She cared for you so deeply.Â
âI trust you, Omega. I know you know what youâre doing. But, please take this. It will help your muscles relax for him, and it will make it easier to bring on your natural defenses.â
She was being coy, avoiding using the word to refer to your slick, knowing that you had your own method of calling it forth using your special power. But, you took it from her anyway, and after you were left alone again to meditate, you used two fingers to massage it into your hole, feeling its effects begin to warm you, making your flesh supple and pliant.Â
A hand curled around your tent flap, pulling it open. Instead of your Watcher, you saw one of Garrickâs Omegas. It was her, the one who had failed to take your Alphaâs knot.
She stepped inside,
âMay I speak with you?â
You nodded, motioning for her to sit,
âYes, but Iâm afraid I already know what you are about to say.â
Her eyes widened,Â
âIf you know, then why have you accepted this? Alpha MacTavish was his second. He is not to your liking? His Omegas are kind and ââ
âNo, they were all to my liking. I am eager to join your pack in whichever way I can, but Alpha Price is my true mate.â
You showed her your skin from under the red silks, knowing she could not see them through the red of the veil. She gaped at them,Â
âYour⊠true mate? He could⊠This could kill you, Omega. I donât want to see you come to harm, and it would destroy him. I saw how he was after my accident. I nearly blamed myself for his deep sorrow.â
âI trust my training, Omega, and I am so grateful for your support, but he is my mate. What is meant to happen to me, will.â You stood with her, seeing your Watchers hovering just outside the tent, signaling them that you were ready to leave.Â
âThen, I trust you as well. The others are so excited to meet you. I wish you an easy path, and I hope your ceremony is just as you want it to be. After this, you will be our Clan Omega, and I will serve you until the end of my days.â
She kissed your cheek through your veil and left you to be delivered back to the altar.Â
For a long time, you had wondered if this final walk away from your pack would be a sad one. You expected every step to be filled with hesitation and fear. But, the only thing you felt was joy. Your mate awaited you at the end of this long path, and you were ready to submit to him. He was worthy of your strength, and he would help you deliver your people from danger. You would rule beside him, helping him use the 141 for good, eradicating the evil from your land.Â
The sunâs pink wash was rising out of the horizon line just as you reached the theater. The crowd was silent again, and you saw the pallor and shock painted on all of their faces. They were expecting a funeral instead of a feast. They had no idea why anyone would be so desperate as to sacrifice their only Omega to this Alpha, especially when it was not necessary. But, they didnât realize that you were no prisoner. You were no oneâs puppet. You were in charge, here, and your Alpha would breed you as you commanded him to.Â
Your Watchers led you to the altar, kissing your hands through the thin cloth as they passed you to take their seats near Clan Arlos, tears in their eyes and staining their cheeks, and finally, your clan Alpha approached you.
âAlpha Roan,â you greeted him.Â
âLittle Omega,â he smiled, kissing your hands just as your Watchers had done. He didnât need to, but it was his way of showing everyone that he trusted your choice, âI hope you know what you are doing.â
âI do,â you said, smiling at him through your red silk veil.Â
Then, Alpha Priceâs men came through the center of the theater, each of them bending to kiss your hands. But, instead of the back of your knuckles, they turned them over to kiss your palms, a sign that they would accept what you had to give them. Alpha Riley was first, and he lifted his mask to show you his mouth and chin, his kiss warm and tender against your skin. Then, Alpha Garrick knelt down, placing multiple kisses along your fingers and wrists, displaying his loyalty and respect. Finally, Alpha MacTavish knelt before you, daring to whisper to you as he kissed your palms,Â
âBrave lass.â
You used your thumb to pet his lip, acknowledging his trust in you.Â
Then, it was time for the Omegas to join you. They approached as a unit, not individually as their Alphas had done, and they helped you lay on the altar, guiding your body back onto the marble platform. They pulled at your silks, allowing the crowd to see your naked body, painted in fine brushes of intricate gold designs, of prayers and songs of your people, their symbols adorning you from neck to toe. Finally, they began to kiss you, licking and sucking at your mouth like lovers, showing their devotion to you as their clan Omega.Â
As they kissed you, your skin began to flush hot, your body somehow knowing what was about to happen to you. The Omegas felt your fire against their lips, and they pulled your legs apart, each of them bending to lick and suck at your flowerâs drooling petals, slurping and sucking up your creamy nectar. They were at your breasts, your neck, your belly, your hands and feet. You were overwhelmed with pleasure, shaking and trembling under their affection, yet moved by their deep loyalty. You knew you would be safe with them. They would care for you just as your clan had done.Â
Then, you heard the familiar slam of a longstaff. Your Alpha had arrived.Â
According to the ceremony, you were meant to be still and silent as a showing of your acceptance. If you moved or cried out in any way, you risked a clan war, as taking a mate without their consent was a dark offense. You had to prove to your people that you were here of your own free will, and even though you were feeling the static cling of apprehension beginning to worm its way into your chest, you tried to breathe through it, trusting your Alpha to lead you through this moment with his protective power.Â
Your legs were lowered to the stirrup-style rests that were carved just below the stone table, keeping your knees wide apart, allowing your pussy to drip openly, glistening with the beginnings of your slick. You calmed yourself as they left you alone, each of them kissing you softly once more to show their reverence.Â
Then, you heard the clatter of fallen armor. He was undressing, removing his warlordâs mantle and coming to you fully bare. You spotted him between the vee of your legs as he approached the dais, his imprint marks flushed a deep wine red, his body shining with the traditional oils, meant to give him another layer of aphrodisiacs, promoting his production of his seed, keeping his cock tall and hard.Â
But, you knew that your imprint on his gland would do more than all of their drugs combined. He would kill every last person in this arena to get to you at this point, and although you had consented to this joining, you were no longer controlling it. He would take you, no matter what.Â
Then, when he got close enough to your platform, you saw it. It was standing proudly against his thick, furry belly, dripping with precome and lubricants, glittering in the rising sun. His cock was immense. You had not practiced on one so large. And his knot was larger than your two fists pressed together. He was intact, and his foreskin was slipping down his flushed head, unable to contain the swelling glans. Your body threatened to quiver from your suspense, and you tried to move your mind into your meditative trance.Â
As he approached, he did not go straight for his position between your legs. Instead, he walked around the front of the marble platform and bent to look you in your eyes, leaning his head down for a deep, heady kiss. He fed you his tongue and suckled on yours, letting it writhe inside of his mouth, rubbing against his own probing muscle.
He pulled away to gaze upon you, his eyes soft and full of joy. You smiled up at him, watching as he enjoyed the rest of your body, caressing your breasts, admiring your paintings.Â
âDid my clan show you their loyalty, my Omega?â
âYes, Master,â you answered quietly.Â
âAre you prepared for me to show you mine?â
âYes, Master. I am,â you replied, giving him a brave face despite the absolute weapon that was slobbering for you against his belly. You wanted to taste it, but now was not the time.Â
He returned to the base of your platform, kneeling in front of your wet hole, bending to place his mouth against you. He began to suck, pulling your soft lips into his mouth like he was starving, lapping up the beginnings of your bodyâs fluids, moaning from the taste and the smell of your scent. You wanted to moan, you wanted to pin his head to your trembling quim, but you didnât dare move a muscle or make a single sound. Breathing in, breathing out, letting the sparks of an orgasm rush through you, bringing tears to your eyes from holding back so much pleasure.Â
Your Watcherâs salve was almost too effective. It had made you pliant, but now you were beyond sensitive, able to feel the pound of your own heartbeat through your hole, desperate for something to press inside of you. You needed his cock.Â
But, he did not give it to you. He just sucked and sucked and sucked, and his fingers began to rub along the entrance of your slippery hole, pressing down on your pussyâs walls, testing their strength. You fluttered for him, just like your Watchers had taught you, and you felt him stumble in his movements, shocked by your power.Â
He stood between your legs, his face and beard soaking from his meal, letting you drip off of his chin like a messy hound drinking from a river. Then, to test your resolve, he teased you with a little bit of meanness, stepping forward to let his cock lay along your body, measuring himself on the outside of you. He reached far beyond your navel, his lubed phallus warm and heavy, his knot resting in the softness of your folds, and you could feel him throbbing for you.Â
You didnât dare move, but you wanted to cradle his cock in your hands, to rub up and down his length, to feel the smoothness of his head and the firmness of his knot. But, you stayed stock still, showing the crowd that you would not waver. There was some soft chittering from the clans, the shock at his size obviously enough to break onlookers out of their respectful quiet.Â
Then, he began notching his head at the entrance of your pussy, letting the tip slide up and down your tight ring of muscles that guarded your entrance.     Â
âLast chance, Omega. Call it off. Cry out, and my own men will cut me down,â he bade you under his breath, having a hard time holding his words and sentences together, his voice shaking in his throat.Â
You looked up at him with closed lips, making a point to give him a soft smile as a response.Â
No deal.Â
You pulsed your muscles again, making your pussy lap up his sloppy precome like a little mouth, watching as he was torn apart by your action, no matter how minor.Â
So, without any other choice, he fed himself into you. It was a fearsome experience, at first. You werenât sure if you could actually handle him. But, you breathed through the stress, relaxing your body, finding that deep, secret place inside of you, making your slick drop down for him, flooding your hole to welcome him in.Â
The confusion that painted his face was so satisfying. He couldnât understand the sheer warmth and comfort he was experiencing. His cock was being sucked into you, deeper and deeper, and finally, you felt his knot.Â
He pulled all the way out of you, and sheathed himself all the way back in, always reaching to that one spot, just above his bulbous anchor, and then starting his process over again. Each time his cock fucked its way through your body, humping himself into you, creamy, milking noises filled the quiet, open-air arena. The whole ensemble could hear him invading your hole, the lurid slap of skin on skin loud and unashamed.Â
His phallus was large enough to rub against your most sensitive spot over and over, bullying it into producing more and more slick, making you come just by dragging his heavy cockhead over it, in and out, in and out, pounding into you with almost reckless need.Â
You came for him, and your body began to shiver from the overwhelming bliss, but you held your voice. You tried to still yourself, not wanting to show weakness, but there was nothing you could do. You were shattered by his cock, coming over and over again. It was an endless wave. You had no idea where one started and the other stopped.Â
You could taste blood in your mouth from biting the inside of your cheek. Still, you pushed through it, testing yourself with every push and pull of your body.Â
His huge hands pawed at your hips and breasts, squeezing you, watching your plump flesh jiggle with every cruel strike of his hips. Your Alpha took your own slick and began to rub it all over your skin, swirling it around your nipples, letting it smear across your belly from his palm. Then, he painted himself, taking it from your well-fucked hole and rubbing it across his scent gland, down his chest, matting his hair with your wetness.Â
Then, you felt his precome begin to pump out of him. You knew it had begun because this was when your slick was meant to wash through you, but there was no space for anything else. So, it began to pour out of you and over his knot. Every time he pushed it against your body, it threatened to slip into your hole, and you were filled with a twisted excitement, ready for it to be stuck inside of you, to churn and grind against your insides, to trap you in a blinding, rageful bliss. You nearly cried out from the heavy want you felt in your chest.Â
âYou ready for my knot, pretty Omega?â He growled, no longer speaking to you softly. There was no gentleness left within him.Â
He shoved you back across the dais, climbing up onto it with you, breaking every protocol by doing so, but knowing there wasnât a single other Alpha in attendance who would do anything about it unless you asked them to. But, he trusted you, lifting himself above you, bringing his face to your face, kissing you and beginning to lick your scent gland, making you see stars.Â
Would he really bite you right here in front of all these people while you were about to take his knot? It was beyond intimate. Not only was it private, but it was dangerous. It was when an Alpha was most vulnerable. The audacity of this man shook you to your core.Â
âBite me, Omega. Please take me. Claim me as yours, sweetheart. Show them that you are mine. My Omega.â
His voice was ragged and deep, a hoarse purr of commands, all of which you were happy to obey. You began to lick his neck, putting your mouth over his gland as you began to suck at the round swell of flesh. Then, just as you canted your hips, feeling his knot slip inside of you, shoving and burying itself within the tight sheath of your pussy, you used your muscles to yank him the rest of the way in, and you bit down on his neck, hard, your body seizing from a hard, ruthless orgasm. .Â
You heard the crack of his gland, and you felt him sink his fangs into yours, the pain and the pleasure mixing within you like a drug, his cock firing rope after rope of searing hot come into your belly, flooding your womb with his spend. He pulled his mouth away and stared into your eyes. His pupils were blown wide, his face full of disbelief,Â
âMy loveâŠâ
You kissed him, taking his lip into yours, suckling on it, trying to guide him back down from his tantric high. He was struggling above you, stuck deep inside of you, unable to stop himself from dumping heavy loads of his come into your body, his cock pulsing and throbbing with each burst of his cream.Â
He rested his head on your neck, returning his mouth to your gland, and every time he licked it, now, you felt your pussy twist around him, threatening to slam you with another orgasm. You licked him, too, hearing him cry out against your skin, feeling the mirror of your sensations, his heavy phallus jerking as you sucked on his broken gland.Â
Finally, he was able to rock back and forth, letting his knot slip out of you before popping it back inside, fucking you with it just like he did with his cock. He twisted his hips forward, driving into you with all of his strength, and then he would pull himself back out, the swell of his knot increasing with each thrust until, on the last thrust, he was finally trapped, unable to remove himself from your core.Â
Now, though, it was your turn. You began to use your muscles to push and pull him from the inside, fucking him like a sleeve of smooth, soaked warmth, jerking his shaft up and down with your insides.
âOh, fuckâŠâ He whispered, not expecting your skills to be so advanced, but you had trained hard for this moment. You werenât about to let it go to waste.Â
You moved him inside of you, letting his knot take the brunt of your efforts, squeezing it like a fruit, making sure all of his juice melted into your skin. You made him come like this again, using the salve that your Watcher had given to you as an advantage, knowing that the heightened sensitivity you felt was now being passed on to him. He filled you up, his knot plugging your hole, preventing any of his seed from leaking out, and your tummy was swollen from his load, round and full for everyone to see.Â
He sat up on his heels, looking down at you with his eyes full of adoration and wonder, watching your strong abdominals clench and twist as you used them to help you work inside of yourself, edging him over and over before pulling him down into the depths of another hard come with you.Â
His hands went to the bulge of fluid in your belly, most of it flooding into your womb, unable to escape anywhere else. Your Alpha caressed your skin, marveling at the fullness. Then, he looked down at your stretched hole, playing with your clitorus that had been forced out from under its hood due to the sheer size of his knot, all of your skin bowing around it and pulled tight.Â
Your Alpha forced you to come like this, milking him hard, trying not to make a sound but giving away your mind-bending pleasure with shaking, whimpering breaths.Â
âThatâs a good Omega. So full of my come.â
You smiled up at him, enjoying the full feeling of his come inside of you. But, you were losing your strength, and he could feel it. Alpha Price leaned over you again, grinding himself down into you and helping you reach one last orgasm, pulling himself along with you, squirting the last of his spend into your pussy. Then, he carefully twisted his cock out of you, watching the gush of his come coat the marble platform, dripping out of you and down the sides of the dais.Â
You were so empty and weak, but you were being lifted, cradled in his arms, and the whole arena burst into revelrous applause. The feast had begun, but not for you. You would be in your Alphaâs tent, and there you would remain until he bred you, making sure that you were laden with his cub, sharing food and drink with him in bed while you were stuck on his knot, traditionally until sunset when you would be presented to the clans as the new Apex Omega, destined to rule beside him forever.Â
âAre you done being quiet, my Omega?â
âYes, Master,â you whispered, nestling into his broad chest.Â
âGood,â he smiled, âI need to hear you scream for me.â
âAnd I need my Alpha to breed me. I need your knot again, Master. Donât pull it out.â
âIâm at your command, my love,â he smiled, planting a kiss on your temple, smearing his own salve across your swollen flesh, working his cock until he was hard again.Â
When you felt his knot for the second time, you knew you had made the right choice. Your people were safe, and so were you. You werenât sure if it was the high of your claiming or the truth that you felt in your heart, but you were eager to be dripping with his come every night. Trapped underneath your Alpha was right where you belonged, knotted and full of his love.Â
Seriously, send help. I was too ashamed to even reread it for typos. I'm so sorry.
