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Hi! I'm sorry, but I was wondering if you could do a Jackrabbit club x reader little drabble thing abt reader having her period? If not, I completely get it! I was just curious. I love the ones you have out so far, and I can't wait for more!
no problem at all lovey!! (if you've already requested this I've been working on it, it's all good)
Cramps | The Jackrabbit Club
Pairing: Brendon Park x f!reader, Jack Abbot x f!reader
Prev | Masterlist | Next
CW: fluff, sick reader, cramps, bad periods
It always starts in the morning, like your body just builds towards it all night, lulling you into a false sense of security before you're groggily stumbling into the bathroom and it just...drops.
Suddenly the nausea and general ache within your bones makes sense. You've been more tired than usual, more snappy, less eager to eat and exercise. This is definitely why.
It used to take at least two of those placebo pills to kick start your period, but when it does, it floods with a vengeance. Luckily, the pain doesn't start right away. No, it gives you about half an hour, thank fuck.
You put on a pad, one of the big ones and finally emerge into the living room to a deliciously shirtless Brendon (this time), scrub pants hanging low on his hips as if he got dressed with the sole intention of teasing you.
He smiles softly, definitely aware of your body in a way that makes you remember you've got people who know you just as deeply as you know yourself.
You let your emotions lead you then, slipping into his warm embrace comfortably and accepting the smoothie he's made, green as all hell from the spinach he added. Iron, duh.
You sip comfortably, enjoying the coolness settling in your stomach before you become a tea drinking fiend for the next three days.
He's so warm and inviting you don't even notice how much you've burrowed yourself into his side, pressing your abdomen to his thigh in an attempt to keep the cramps at bay.
He doesn't comment on it, only pulls you closer as he finishes packing his lunchbox.
"I already called Dana. Jack should be home with chocolates and those ginger chews you like in a bit."
You hum in response, the pain starting to bloom. He notices your discomfort and hands you a pill that you take with no hesitation. You used to feel bad about needing to take pain meds to deal with your cramps—no more.
He texts the time to Jack who will most likely be taking care of you all day.
Your stomach flutters with a different kind of warmth then. You've never been taken care of this easily before. They don't make it a big deal, don't fuss, don't shove it in your face so you'll give them anything in return.
It's just how things are.
"Thank you, Bren." You beam up at him, all wide eyed and content.
He doesn't question it, doesn't tell you not to thank him for it, that this is the bare minimum you deserve.
Instead, he returns your smile, a drastic contrast from the person you know he is with anyone and everyone he doesn't care this deeply for.
"Always, bunny."
You giggle, lifting onto your tiptoes to kiss him all pillowy and soft. He forgets what he's doing and gives you his full attention then, thick arms wrapping around your waist, strong body pressed firmly against yours, his mouth responding delicately.
"I'll see you tonight, okay?" he murmurs against your lips.
"Okay."
"I love you bunny."
"Love you too great white."
That makes him chuckle against your lips, one more peck before he reluctantly steps away from you, puts on his top, gathers his things and leaves.
You slink back into bed as the pain becomes unbearable, the medicine not yet taking effect. You're stuck in that awful in between space, asleep but also awake, when a body slides into bed behind you, pulling you into them.
You hum contently, tangling your arms with Jack's as he settles, the heat that lingers on his skin from the shower lulling you to sleep once more as his lips pepper kisses down your neck.
dividers by @/robinavitchslut
all images taken from pinterest
no pressure at all and absolutely no worries if not but it was on my mind today so i gotta ask😛
is there anything for jackrabbit in the works? i miss them fiercely !!
hiiiii YES!!
I have a few requests that I'm working on. the past couple of months have been weird and my brain got stuck on a lot of details that hindered my ability to keep writing for them (timelines and restrictions around specific requests having to go out first in order to work on the others), it doesn't matter anymore
Pairing: Titus Danforth x f!reader and Ursula x f!reader
Words: 3k
CW: explicit sexual content, nsfw, 18+, mdni
Tags/warnings: the Danforth's being weird af, power imbalance, escort!reader, Ursula being controlling, Titus being a perv, smoking, sex work, voyeurism (both Titus and Ursula watch the other with you), oral (m and f receiving), lowkey D/s dynamics, dom!mommy!Ursula, sub!reader and a little inkling of sub!Titus (you'll get it when you read it), impulse control, dry humping, teasing, reader is a little mean, unprotected piv sex, breeding kink (duh)
Summary: In which Ursula hires you for the week to...satisfy her and Titus becomes obsessed with having you too.
a/n: fair warning, this one's...not for everyone.
Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND OR TO USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI. FUCK AI.
Titus has never considered himself a patient man.
In fact, he's the complete opposite of it. Proudly so.
He's never had to want for anything, for anyone. He wants something? He buys it. He wants someone? He gets them.
He's used to taking.
It's easy, straightforward, especially when he has the funds for it.
But as he stares across the room at you, engaged in conversation with his father, body hidden away in a very conservative cocktail dress, he's certain if he holds himself back any longer he's going to burst.
Unfortunately for him, Ursula made sure to stake her claim the second you arrived at the Lodge and graced him with your dazzling smile for the first time.
Titus was certain he'd seen all the beauty the world has to over. It belongs to him, actually.
But there's something about you that he can't quite figure out, something that grabbed a hold of him and refused to let go, to let him breathe.
You're here for her.
You are...off limits.
This time, he can't just take.
If he wants you, he's going to have to beg.
The first time he accidentally runs into you after you've arrived, you're in the guest room unpacking. You have a habit of leaving doors ajar, just open enough for him to be able to peek through.
And he does. He's not about to miss any opportunity to ogle.
With your suitcase open on the bed, you pull out countless pieces of lingerie, all varying shades of red, Ursula (and his) favorite color.
His sister calls you from the ensuite bathroom and you quickly follow her voice, leaving the lacy, see through pieces on the bed.
He doesn't even think, he just does, feet moving before he can even think to stop.
Not that he would anyway.
He begins to inspect your panties, one by one. He barely tries to fight the urge to bring them up to his nose, ultimately inhaling the scent of your detergent and the lingering smell of you.
He can hear your giggles filling the room with a lightness he's never felt in his life, his chest fluttering at the sound.
He understands why his sister likes to keep you around now.
It's only when your laughter turns into a throaty moan that he snaps out of it.
He shouldn't...he should leave—
"Master Titus?" Saved by the bell. "Lunch is served."
He adjusts his pants enough to be presentable and tucks your panties into his back pocket expertly as he turns to face Pernilla.
"Best give them a minute."
And with that he leaves.
The second time he has the misfortune of accidentally running into you, he's been tasked by his father to grab his sister for a quick meeting before dinner.
Thinking you'd be in your own room getting ready, he doesn't think to check before he swings open his sister's door.
His heart does a leap in his chest at the sight.
There you are, dotingly, in between his sister's thighs, putting those gorgeous lips to good use as you eat her out.
You're completely naked while Ursula remains in her silk nightgown. Titus cannot stop his wandering eyes, hungry gaze raking across your entire body.
You look so soft, so plump — he wants nothing more than to mark you up, leave bruises he knows will take their sweet time healing so he can marvel at the painting he has created.
Ursula's hands are tightly coiled around your hair, fingers massaging your scalp, encouragingly, as press closer into her.
The two of you are so into it that neither notice he's standing at the threshold.
You do something with your tongue he can't see since Ursula's leg is in the way but the woman wails in response and you shiver, giddy at the praise.
He quickly steps outside, closing the door again before he knocks, loudly.
"Yes?" Ursula yells in response, seemingly calm and composed.
"Father would like a word."
"Now?"
He thinks for a second, jealousy bubbling in his chest. "Yes, now."
Ursula huffs and Titus beams.
A long second later, Ursula slams open the door, heavy robe around her frame, clearly pissed off at her father's terrible timing.
Titus smirks to himself, trying to play it cool as he watches his sister round the corner before his hungry gaze snaps to you.
You're sitting on the bed, trying to cover yourself with your hands as you struggle to steady your breathing.
His sister truly is cruel, leaving you alone in this heightened headspace.
His hands close into tight fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms as he has to practically restrain himself from taking you over his shoulder and kidnapping you to his room.
Instead, he stalks towards you, trying his best to exude a dominant yet protective aura so you won't run away.
Big doe eyes follow his every move as he grabs a hold of the throw blanket at the foot of the king sized bed and gently drapes it over your shoulders.
Up close he can see the wetness glistening over your lips and chin, the way your entire body is flushed crimson in desire and not embarrassment.
His eyes keep yours hostage as he grunts towards your hands to grab a hold of the fabric.
Your fingers brush his, perfectly soft and warm against his rough and cold ones.
Fuck, you are definitely trying to kill him.
The second you're covered, he steps back, dropping to his knees in front of the bed.
Your brow scrunches quizzically and he swallows a moan in response.
You're so beautiful, so innocent, so perfect.
He begins to mimic your breathing, slow and steady, grounding, and you finally understand.
You hum contently and shift on the bed to get more comfortable.
He stays with you for a long time, until your eyes are no longer glazed, until your hands are finally steady, until you smile shyly at him and turn to lie down on the comforter beneath you.
"You should rest, little dove," he coos and you beam. "She'll be gone a while."
You manage a nod, eyelids becoming heavy. The last thing you remember is Titus staring at you, his watchful gaze a comfort as you fall asleep in such a strange house.
The third time he sees you he's accepted his fate.
Their father has just retired to bed and you excused yourself oh so respectfully to go change for a night cap, finally leaving him and Ursula alone.
Titus pulls out his mother's cigar box and preps two Cubans for him and Ursula, expert hands making quick work of the process.
It's Ursula who lights up first, a peace offering so he can sweeten her up before the words practically spill from his lips.
"I want her."
Ursula exhales smoke directly into Titus's face.
"No."
Titus's face contorts into a pout, pathetic and spoiled.
"But—"
"She's mine," she cuts.
Titus is about to whine some more when the door opens again and you step inside.
Both their gazes snap up to yours. The conservativeness is completely gone as you don a pretty babydoll dress that leaves nothing to the imagination.
"Hi," you smile shyly, bare feet shifting as you watch them take you in like two ravenous wolves that want nothing more than to devour you whole.
"C'mere bunny."
The second that Ursula beckons you over, you move, eager and confident.
Titus watches you intensely as he takes another drag of his cigar, slow and obscenely sensual.
It's when he exhales that you audibly whimper, loud enough for Ursula to feel the air shift as you settle on her lap.
The woman laughs under you and you instantly bring your attention back to her.
"Oh you are spoiled, bunny," she mocks. "I gave you clear instructions, do I have to show you just how disappointed I am in you?"
"N-no, no I'm sorry," you whimper. "I didn't mean it—"
"Did he touch you while I was gone earlier?"
"No!"
Titus's heart constricts at your sharpness.
"Good," Ursula kisses just below your ear. "'Cause he wants you."
Your pussy clenches at her words and the older woman can feel it over her pants.
"Ursula—"
"What, little brother?" she snaps. "Because if you don't want her anymore—"
Titus lets out a sharp breath.
He hates this, hates how easy it is for Ursula to rile him up.
"I do." It's barely a whisper but loud enough to make you go still in Ursula's embrace.
You catch his gaze then, pained and sorrowful — pathetic.
You giggle, just enough to be cruel and Titus's mouth hangs open in response.
"He's so needy, mommy," you murmur, pitiful.
Titus Chester Danforth has never been pitied in his life.
A fire ignites in him, sharp and cold, he needs to wipe that stupid smirk off your face.
He's about to leap out of his seat, the air in the room shifting like an omen to an oncoming storm.
Ursula senses it, reacts before he even can.
"Would you like to do something about it?"
You bite your lip, mischievous, and nod.
"Well, what would I get in return?"
Your cheeks blush crimson at whatever thought comes into your head. You hide your face in your hands and she immediately pulls them off, cigar left on the glass ashtray before it burns your skin.
"Tell mommy what you'll give her, bunny."
Titus has been rendered paralyzed as he watches you lean in and whisper something in his sister's ear.
He can barely breathe, can barely think as the possibility of having you is actually becoming a reality.
All he can do is feel the thundering against his chest, the pain against his crotch from the absurd amounts of layers of clothing he's wearing, and the sudden, sweet realization that you want him too.
Whatever you say to Ursula seems to do the trick as she gives your ass a little slap, pushing you off her towards Titus.
You step up to him, shyly, as if you're trying to convince yourself that you're this perfect little angel and not the conniving devil he knows you are.
Titus puts down his cigar, his eyes searing into yours. He's about to pounce when his sister picks up her own cigar and lights it back up.
"You can have her, little brother," she consents. "But you can't touch her."
He audibly groans, a child throwing a tantrum, and you giggle freely now.
You settle between his open thighs, assessing him like you're mentally mapping your plan of attack.
He does the same, but he instead does recon, taking in every single inch of your body.
The babydoll is deep crimson, made of flimsy tulle and lace. There's a matching bra perfectly holding up your beautifully round breasts. But when his eyes wander lower—
"No panties?"
You shrug. "Someone took them."
He blushes at the comment. You knew. You little vixen.
You finally move, gently grabbing his left hand and placing it over the chair's arm rest. You repeat the motion with his right hand as Ursula hums her approval beside you.
Titus wastes no time closing his fists around the velvet lined maple wood until his knuckles turn white.
You smile, satisfied at his reaction, and only then do you bend down, settling on your knees in front of him.
Looking down at you from this angle is definitely messing with his head. You look so beautiful, so perfect, all he wants to do is push you against his raging erection.
But he can't.
He needs to behave.
When he doesn't lose it, you reward him by nuzzling your nose against his crotch, inhaling deeply as you place a soft kiss to the tent that has formed in his pants.
He lets out the most pathetic whimper, causing Ursula to laugh meanly.
"Mommy no!" you sound so small, so fragile as you chide her, effectively putting her in her place.
"'m sorry bunny," she settles back into silence. "I'll behave, promise."
"Thank you."
You look back up at Titus through your lashes and find him looking down at you with what you can only describe as genuine gratitude.
You reward him with a comforting smile, hands softly grazing up his thigh towards his belt.
You take your time undoing it, pulling it out from the loops and throwing it aside, enjoying how he flinches as the metal skids against the cold marble under your knees.
His zipper is much quicker work. You're no longer patient in your teasing. You're hungry now.
It's when you pull down his boxers, just enough for his cock to finally breathe.
He's painfully stiff, tip bouncing off his stomach causing him to wince. You hum at his discomfort, eyes glued to his purpling tip like a psychopath.
Titus's chest flutters. He's never felt this way about someone before, has never had his own darkness reflected back at him, mostly because darkness doesn't have any light, if anything it sucks—
"Jesus fucking Christ," Titus hisses as your lips wrap around him.
"Careful, brother," Ursula teases. "Mr. Le Bail might get jealous."
You hum around him, his abdomen contracting as your tongue swipes over the opening in his tip, eagerly lapping up every drop that has leaked from him.
You start to move down, the back of your throat relaxing around him, taking further down your throat.
He can’t help but stare at you, eyes searing through your skull in what he can only think to be encouragement and devotion.
It’s only when Ursula snaps her tongue that you pull all the way back, finally breathing in, spit dripping from the corners of your mouth down your chin and onto the tops of your breasts.
“He might not last long, bunny.”
You nod, quickly getting to your feet and straddling his thick thighs.
Titus pants desperately beneath you as you bring your hand between your bodies and line him up with your entrance, perfectly wet and lubricated from your spit and his own fluids.
You slowly sink down enough to run his tip through your folds, adding even more slick into the mix.
He groans, eyes glued to the space between your thighs.
You watch him, practically salivating, as you give him exactly what he wants.
You sink down, his thickness splitting you open in a way that perfectly fills you up.
Once you finally settle all the way down, Titus lets out a guttural moan, his fists somehow tightening their grip so much the pain causes a tear to slip past his carefully maintained tough exterior.
You hum again, pitying, only this time he doesn’t feel the blow to his ego.
No, this time he understands you’re doing it because you care.
His theory is further solidified as you lean forward, your tongue gently licking up his cheek to lap up the salty streak.
Your lips press to his cheekbone in a fleeting kiss and he shudders beneath you.
This is what you want. For him to lose control, how him to take what’s his because you belong to him too.
His hips buck upwards, jolting you out of your perceived power over him.
Sure, he may not be able to touch you, but he’d rather be damned than to be rendered nothing more than a whiny toy.
Your hands cling to his shoulders instantly, nails digging into the thickness of his wool coat.
Your moans and whines fill the room as he pistons in and out of you, making good use of just how wet you’ve made the two of you.
Your cheeks are flushed crimson, your body already shivering and quivering, but it’s not enough.
"Mommy—" you whine, desperate. "Need him...to...touch me...please."
Titus turns to Ursula, brows scrunched in agony, pleading.
Her eyes sparkle at the pathetic display before her.
She sighs, anything for you.
"Go ahead."
The second the words process through Titus's mind he becomes ravenous. His hands shoot from the armrests, pressing you even tighter against his clothed chest, as one digs itself into your hip and the other snakes around your neck.
He takes the command as opportunity and wastes no time slamming his lips against yours. You shriek at the intensity but your sounds of protest get swallowed up by his eager mouth, his tongue breaking through your lips to enter as if it's his right.
You become nothing more than a breathing dolly as he continues his relentless thrusting.
"If you don't make her cum first, I won't let you have her again."
Titus growls into your mouth, slowing down his pace but making sure to sheathe himself as far as he can with each thrust.
You’re no longer sharp enough to think, let alone torture him. You’re putty in his hands. His perfect little dove. His, his, his—
"What will you give her?" he grunts in your ear, just for you to hear.
You smirk against his, biting down on his earlobe before you press your mouth over it.
"A baby."
That does him in.
He impales you on his cock, one hand snaking between your bodies to pinch your clit, to force you to come around him as he fills you up with his seed.
You shriek, sparks bursting through you as your core erupts in a tidal wave of pleasure.
You slump down against him, burrowing your nose in his neck. He holds you tightly, possessive and demanding.
"You're gonna look so beautiful all round and swollen, baby" Ursula coos and you clench around Titus, forcing the man to let out a deep groan.
Ursula chuckles at her brother's reaction. You're truly going to milk him for all he's worth.
Because that's all he is to you in that moment.
And to get to do that as much as he needs for it to take?
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.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Pairing: Titus Danforth x f!reader (and some Ursula x reader)
Words: 10.6k
CW: explicit sexual content, nsfw, 18+, mdni
Tags/warnings: the Danforth's being weird af, lowkey faux step siblings, ownership, dark power dynamics, abuse of power, inappropriate thoughts, physical and mental abuse (not by Titus), past romance, lots of angst, lots of anger and rage, yearning, murder, psychopathic tendencies, control, blood play, unprotected piv sex, breeding kink, being turned on by murder, these two are fucked up freaks, marking, biting, rawr
Summary: Defying the will of Mr. Danforth senior has you thrust into a dangerous game, one that Titus is more than happy to intervene in.
a/n: I'm not sorry
Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND OR TO USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI. FUCK AI.
Titus
They had gathered for his father’s 90th birthday. The old sack was close to dying, finally, so he had been adamant to cash in on just as many promises, I-owe-yous and revenge plots that seemingly fell through the cracks over the years.
Luckily for him, his tenacious sister Ursula had taken care of all the planning, making sure that the weeklong celebration would be the goriest, gnarliest, most satisfactory of his life. Even Titus had promised to be on his best behavior, and even though that meant little, it would help them get through it gracefully at the least.
Their estate had started buzzing with people as early as nine in the morning. It somehow felt inhuman, ungodly, for so many people to be parading themselves up the driveway in their summer best, fake laughter and polite conversation filling up the breathable air with tension and distrust.
It was no secret the other families didn’t respect them. They didn’t have to, it had always been enough for them to be feared. That’s how they maintained their power. How they kept everyone pliable and loyal. But it was at these gatherings that it became unbearable for Titus to deal with the phoniness.
He could smell the discomfort on them. Would catch the slightest flinch, the tension in their bodies, the disdain hidden behind turbulent eyes. They though they were so clever, locked like vaults, but the truth was that Titus always knew.
It took everything in him to remain stoic. This was a celebration for fuck’s sake, why was no one acting like it? Why were they all cowardly and—
“Oh ma petit fille!” His father’s voice broke through Titus’s daydream. He’d gotten as far as ripping Mr. Kipling’s throat out with his pick axe, the mere thought of his warm blood bathing him the first comfort he’d felt all day.
That was until his gaze focused on the person who had elated his father with her presence this much.
His heart nearly stopped on its own, his brain desperately urging it to keep pumping, to not let him show even an ounce of distress, but it was near impossible. His sister caught onto him almost instantly and smirked lightly under her breath, stepping back so that her father could push himself forward to meet you.
“C’est moi, papa,” you replied in your perfect French as you crouched down to plant two kisses on either cheek, causing the old man to blush lightly.
Disgusting. Titus had his gripes with his father, that much was obvious, but this, this display of affection towards you always made him remember just why he wanted the old man dead and buried.
He wasn’t your biological father, Titus had made sure of it. For a long time neither him or Ursula were fully convinced. The way the old man had doted on you was…concerning to say the least. Ursula loved you, but the mere possibility of having to fight with you for their inheritance made her spiral to the point that he had ordered a DNA test.
He would be lying if he didn’t have ulterior motives at play. You simply could not be his sister too. You were already half his age, the kid he saw grow up, cared for, nurtured and — maybe it would’ve been easier if you were related. At least all those urges would finally have to be put down to rest and he would be able to move on with his fucking life.
But an even more fucked up part of him couldn’t help but celebrate when the test came back negative. No relation whatsoever. Fair game for him to do whatever he wanted. That was if his father didn’t have anything to do with it, and unfortunately for Titus, the old man did.
“Ça va?” His father held your hands in his tightly as you answered. Last Titus knew you were in…Florence? God knows, his father was cryptically vague every time Ursula brought you up. Oh she’s in France, she’s in Tokyo, she’s…anywhere but here.
For the first few years it felt like punishment, as though the old man was doing everything in his power to keep you as far away from Titus as humanly possible. He’d even been foolish enough to try to find you one summer, had flown himself halfway across the world but by the time he’d made it to the small chalet in Switzerland, his father had informed them that you had decided to surprise him for the holidays instead.
He’d almost laid waste to the entire village that night, the bloodshed something that he’d been slightly ashamed to admit to as his family’s attorneys worked overtime to make sure no one ever knew what had truly gone down. A “freak accident” was all that got reported, not that Titus concerned himself with things like that.
“Ursula, my darling, I will take her inside to get settled, please tell our guests that I will be with them after for lunch.”
He didn’t even get to say hello to you, only managed to catch your eye and soft smile as you walked past him. You still smelled the same. Like pears and soft linens and summer. He caught himself closing his eyes, inhaling your scent before he could stop himself and it took him a long second to regain his composure.
Ursula cleared her throat. Behave.
But whatever promises he had made to his sister were no longer valid. Not when you were now involved.
He was practically buzzing with excitement. So much so that he could not be bothered engaging in meaningless conversation with the remaining families, almost brazenly rejecting every single advance from their daughters and some of their sons. He didn’t realize that he too was playing a role this weekend, one that he’d been able to dodge thus far.
But not again.
By the time lunch was served in the outdoor courtyard, you were nowhere to be found.
Titus lingered in wings, always away from the group as he nursed his first glass of scotch. He waited, impatiently, until Ursula brought their father out onto the patio. The second he saw the old man, without you finally, he slyly stepped back into the house to go find you.
Their family estate was enormous. So much so that they had to move around in golf carts if they wanted to get anywhere at a decent enough time. The main house was no different. It was regal in a way that would easily spook anyone who didn’t have intimate knowledge of the family and their ways of life.
Titus never remembered you being intimidated by it. If anything, you had always felt like you belonged. You’d moved in after his mother passed away, the daughter of their newest housekeeper. He’d met you only once as a child, a simple introduction that he didn’t care about as he was much more interested in getting his dick wet and terrorizing every single girl that looked his way.
No, it was only after you’d graduated from the posh boarding school his father had shipped you off to and had been allowed to come back to the estate for the summer that he really paid attention.
He had been an asshole then. You were freshly eighteen, had your entire life ahead of you, and if it hadn’t been for Ursula’s warnings and his own father’s protection, he would’ve used his power over you to claim you as his own.
Now he was thankful that had never happened.
Instead the two of you had become friends. Well, as friendly as Titus let anyone get.
You’d gotten comfortable as part of their lives. Riding with Ursula, learning how to fence with her private instructor, and even helping out with the chores of the house when their father wasn’t looking. He would not have you lift a finger, not after…well, not after their proclivities had cost your mother her life.
They’d given you everything. And in return — Titus didn’t even want to let the thoughts he was having get confirmed into reality. He knew his family, knew what they were capable of, and he simply could not allow himself to even think what disgusting and depraved things his father could possibly be asking from you.
He practically skipped up the stairs towards your room, two at a time, as he ventured into the sealed off wing of the house, one that he had frequented enough over the past few years.
Everyone on staff knew about it, they’d caught him in your room plenty of times not to know. But they were all loyal, all rooting for him to finally get the girl, get you, so they had never told his father about what they had found him doing.
Their staff were not paid to have opinions, but they certainly had eyes. To say that he’d had to replace your entire underwear drawer countless times would be a understatement. They had no idea how Titus did it, but the mess, the stickiness would get so severe at times that the only thing he could do to fix it was to simply buy everything brand new and pretend like it had always been that pristine.
The door was closed, like it usually was. His heart hammered against his chest, causing his ears to clog up. He shifted his weight from the balls of his feet to the front, desperate to not make a single noise as he pressed his ear to your door, eager for even a morsel of sound to indicate you were in your room.
He couldn’t wait any longer. Could barely contain himself. He knew this would most likely be his one chance to strike. If his father would not let him fight for you, he would take you by force, not that you would object anyway, he knew the second his hands grabbed a hold of you, any reservation left behind by the poisonous words of his father would disappear and you would be his.
His to claim, finally.
The door swung open then and he practically jumped out of his skin.
It wasn’t you. It was Alina, one of the cleaning staff.
She tried her best to maintain a plain expression but he could tell she wanted to smirk brightly at his childish display of emotions.
Fuck.
Titus stepped away to let her through, cleared his throat and straightened himself back up, smoothing down his jacket and pocketing his sunglasses before he…he should’ve turned to leave, should’ve known where you’d be hiding if it wasn’t your room. But curiosity would always win over with him.
Your suitcase was wide open on the bed, as if you’d started unpacking and something pulled you away to a much more interesting task.
It had always been like this for you. You drifted from one thing to the next without a care in the world, always following curiosity like an itch you needed to scratch instantly and would leave behind the second it no longer satisfied you.
How you’d managed to get through undergrad and a masters program had been beyond him. But there they were, your two degrees hanging on the wall beside countless pictures and tokens of your years living in the estate.
He loved the polaroid pictures you had taken of him and Ursula the summer before you left. His sister had been dating some venture capitalist from Italy and you had spent the majority of your time practicing your Italian with him while they lounged by the pool.
He’d almost killed him right then and there for taking up so much of your time. He wanted your attention on him instead, craved it desperately, but he didn’t speak any other languages, didn’t have a way with words like you both seemed to, didn’t know how he could communicate so much longing in a way that would not scare you away from him.
So he stayed quiet, like he usually did, and instead tried to show you through his actions.
He’d been unbelievably gentle, fleeting touches to the back of your neck to guide you in and out of rooms, a subtle hand under your knee to help you on and off the saddle, a gentle graze of your cheek with his thumb as you cried when the house erupted in violent screams and bloodthirstiness.
The Italian had been unfortunate in his wedding night game choice. It was sad, Titus had actually grown to tolerate him. But the second he understood what was really happening and the type of family he had married into, the idiot had ran straight to you, to “save you”.
Titus had disregarded the head start the second he heard you scream. He would pay the price later, rules be damned. He bolted up the stairs to this very room and found you on the floor, the man practically berating you as he called you every name in the book. He tried to explain that he was just trying to help you escape his fate, but Titus didn’t even register his words as he only saw your nightgown torn, your cheeks stained with tears and scratches tainting your soft skin.
He didn’t even think about it, only registering what he’d done when your sobs filled the room for a different reason this time.
The sad sack of an excuse was lying on you, lifeless, blood gushing from the impaled pick axe on his cranium, covering you completely in crimson.
If it had been any other circumstance, Titus would not have hesitated in devouring you whole, his tongue masterfully licking up any and every drop off your skin in penance for getting you dirty.
But his eyes finally found your own and he saw the worst sight he’d ever been privy to.
Fear.
He inched forward, hands out in surrender but you flinched back.
His heart broke.
He stood there for a long second, unsure on what to do, on how to fix this.
It wasn’t until Ursula rushed into the room and yelled at him to leave that he finally allowed himself to move.
Had his father not told you? Was this how you were finding out what kind of family they truly were? What kind of man he was?
He didn’t even have the time to explain himself as, by the following morning, you were gone.
God, you looked exactly the same. You’d obviously grown up significantly since the last time he truly saw you. Your hair was longer, wild and free, a stark contrast to the pristine Danforth image his father had tried to keep. He’d finally allowed you to stop lightening it too as it was now back to its natural dark brown. And your body? It finally made him understand why men would go off and fight in war — all so they could come back home to see how much the women they loved had changed in their time away.
Your body was curvy and plump in all the right places. No longer shy about the weight of your breasts or the way your waist accentuated your ass. You carried yourself with confidence and divinity. You were a vision, would’ve been written about by the ancient Greeks, would’ve easily had wars started for your honor if given the chance.
He glanced down at your suitcase, eager for something to steal to let you know he’d been there. But mostly in search for something he could use to deal with the tightness in his pants.
“There you are—”
He almost celebrated, almost thanked the universe for all its divine intervention until his lustful brain finally took a back seat and his faculties processed that the voice wasn’t yours.
He swallowed an annoyed groan as he turned to face the fresh, pink clad woman. He didn’t recognize her, didn’t care to honestly. She was just one of many, all equally as uninteresting, all desperate for his attention. All destined to never get it.
She took a step forward, into your room, into your private space. Titus’s jaw clenched instantly and she could tell something had shifted in the air. Her once glossy stare turned sharp, fight or flight causing her stomach to drop. She didn’t know why but she was suddenly feeling overwhelmingly exposed.
She swallowed thickly. “I’m sorry, Mr. Danforth, I—”
He didn’t let her finish, didn’t have the patience for it. It wasn’t the release he was searching for, but it would have to do, for now.
His hand wrapped itself around her neck and he squeezed, tightly. She struggled against him but he was stronger. Would always be stronger than these weak, whiny, desperate women that deemed themselves so worthy of breathing the same air as him — as you — that they would dare disrespect him, his family, his home, his future w—
Crack.
He barely got the chance to enjoy the way her body went limp, the familiar and comforting weight of lifelessness nothing more than an annoyance as he let his grip falter. Not even the thud of the body slamming against the carpeted floor brought him any satisfaction.
“Jesus fuck, Titus,” his sister’s shrill blended in with his boredom. “You promised—”
“I rescind my promise.”
And with that he finally allowed himself to leave your room, practically running away from his sister and what would most definitely be a chide later when everyone else had gone to sleep.
By the time he returned downstairs, the meal was over. He glanced over to the table, your seat still empty and his father not in the slightest bit concerned. He must’ve known where you were to be this calm. Who wasn’t calm at all were the Kiplings, both husband and wife whispering harshly as Titus noticed the empty seat that most likely belonged to their darling daughter beside them.
That almost made him content. He couldn’t help but smirk, putting his sunglasses back on and exiting onto the patio to pretend at the very least that he was his father’s prized son.
He’d tried to get information from his father all afternoon, but the old man was tight lipped and almost annoyingly cryptic about everything that left his mouth. It wasn’t until staff began ushering wives and children towards their respective lodgings for the week like prized cattle, and all the heads of the families retreated to the study that he caught a glimpse of you.
You’d changed out of your pale yellow dress, the one he was certain his father had made you wear as it resembled an eggshell white, a not subtle nod to your status within the family, and now wore a silky maroon gown, his favorite color on you.
His gaze followed your movements as you snuck into the kitchen, expertly avoiding every single person left in the house. But not him. You would never be able to dodge him.
He waited a second before he stood up from the leather loveseat he’d practically been bullied into by one of the heads. The man had been talking about his business, how well it had been doing the past two quarters and how his daughter was the sole heir to it all. A well endowed fortune for the Danforth’s to acquire.
He almost rolled his eyes as he stood up, making up some whatever excuse so he could leave this conversation. And he did, without so much as a care in the world. He didn’t need some dumb girl as his consolation prize, didn’t need a new “successful business” to add to his portfolio. He already had the world in the palm of his hand.
The only thing missing was you.
He didn’t enter the kitchen right away. No, he lingered again.
“¿Con qué te ayudo?”
“Mi amor, no te preocupes. Déjate consentir, es lo mínimo que podemos hacer por ti, por favor.”
“Marta—”
“Te vas a tener que acostumbrar, cariño,” he heard their head of staff chuckle lovingly yet, there was an air of sadness. “¿Ya se comenzaron a pelear?”
Titus’s Spanish was…good. Enough. But even that had him reeling.
Have they started fighting yet?
Oh his father was definitely a horrible man.
You were here for exactly the reason he suspected and his father hadn’t even given him the chance to fight him on it, to fight for it.
“¿Lo has visto?”
That’s what did him in. He couldn’t hold back any longer.
He pushed the door open, stoic. “¿Visto a quién?”
Both your gazes snapped to him. Marta’s cheeks blushed crimson as she excused herself from the kitchen and escaped as quickly as she possibly could while you offered him a smile, unrestrained yet tired and heavy.
“Your Spanish got better.”
“You’ve been away a long time.” He shrugged, hands clasped behind his back as if to physically restrain himself as he paced forward, closer and closer to you.
He caught your breathing picking up, how you instinctively began to play with your fingers, how you practically heaved with expectation and desire. It was subtle, but to him even the slightest twitch registered in his mind, filled his lungs with pride.
He almost smirked, almost, but then—
“Sir, not another step forward.”
He turned to the other side of the kitchen. A man, dressed in a polished suit, earpiece and most definitely a high caliber handgun strapped to the back of his pants, stood in the shadows.
“Oh yeah, did I forget to mention Duke? A gift from your father for the week.”
Titus fully chuckled then. He had been foolish to think the old man had no idea how he would react the second he realized you were their prized possession for his birthday.
He also knew right then and there that you could not speak freely, could not breathe without this neanderthal running to tell his father. This would definitely be reported the second you went to sleep and he tried to sneak through the secret passages into your room.
He finally accepted what the secret meeting being conducted upstairs had been about and his stomach burned.
“How many?” How many do I have to kill?
“God knows, well, no, your father’s handling it. They’ll ‘get a good look at me’ tomorrow for brunch and then they’ll decide. But they’ve begun conversations already.”
You were too calm. It honestly made his blood boil even more. Part of him couldn’t help but think that you wanted him to do something about it. He knew you couldn’t outwardly say it, couldn’t defy his father’s word in any way other than what you had already done a couple of summers ago, but the person that you had been beaten into was definitely not the person he remembered from back then.
You were like this now because of him and it broke his heart all over again.
“Do you want anything?” You asked him as you moved around the kitchen like you owned the place, because you did, you always had.
“What are you offering?”
“Sandwich?”
“Fine.”
He watched you, still like a statue, hands still locked behind his back. He didn’t dare move, didn’t dare test his luck, his status, his power. Not in front of you, not now when you were so broken he wanted nothing more than to take the last few years back and having had the balls to run away with you.
Duke almost leapt across the room as you stepped up to Titus, plate in each hand. He was so close he couldn’t help but lean in, slightly. You ushered him back to the kitchen island with nothing more than a twitch of your brow and he obeyed, walking in tandem with you until you were caged in by the ivory marble.
The ceramic plates echoed in the quiet kitchen but neither of you cared. It was a silent taunt, a test of boundaries and orders, and when Duke didn’t pounce, you sneakily handed Titus a note.
The man before you practically beamed, pocketing the piece of paper instantly as if nothing had really happened. The two of you ate in silence, uncomfortable and charged, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered because his mind was made up. And he would be damned if he didn’t start a war in your honor.
Titus didn’t want to leave you, but when his sister walked into the kitchen and told you that their father was expecting you, he had no choice but to let you go.
Unfortunately for him, it meant his sister was finally alone in a room with him. All anger and unbridled rage.
“Leave her alone while you still can,” she commanded but he knew she didn’t mean it.
“You knew.”
“Of course I knew, don’t be so naive little brother. What did you expect would happen?”
Titus didn’t answer.
“I was able to keep her away long enough but we both know she’s his final chance at an heir, at the continuation of our line.”
“She’s not his to sell—”
“She is! She’s not yours, not mine. She belongs to him and he will do with her whatever he pleases.” She took a step forward, pleading. “You had your chance and you blew it. Now you know how much it cost her.”
His entire body itched with distress. He needed to kill something. Needed to scratch until all he saw was red and all he could feel was your soft skin under his fingers again. He knew, fuck he knew how much he had cost you, but he hadn’t seen it until today.
“So get your shit together and snap out of it.”
Two years ago…two years ago he could’ve had it all. But he had been foolish, had gotten comfortable and believed that he had time.
Alone in the kitchen, he finally allowed himself to look at the note you left him.
Your father’s study, twenty-three.
He didn’t have time to process the words as he glanced down at his watch. That was five minutes ago. He rushed to the pantry, expertly pulling the hidden door open and running in the literal dark up the stairs.
You’d spent enough time hiding in the walls of the house to know them inside and out. You wanted him to bare witness to something, so much so that you had stated it as your first and only real communication with him in over two years.
He made sure to skillfully sprint up the stairs, sucking in his stomach to slide in between the panels and finally squeeze himself behind his father’s bookshelf. He slid the piece of cardboard you had left behind to eavesdrop to the side and pressed his eye through the hole.
You sat across from him, his father’s back to him as you both sat in your respective armchairs.
“I don’t know why you’re shocked, you knew how he’d react,” you spoke, composed and calm.
His father coughed in response. “I had hoped he’d be less foolish.”
“Hmmm.” You took a sip of your drink. “This is good.”
“Glad you like it,” the older man leaned forward. “I’ve chosen already.”
You nodded, so out of it you could barely contain your disdain.
His father slapped you then, too hard for a dying man to be able to do. You barely flinched, only tightened your grip on the glass, not daring to spill a single drop.
“Need I remind you of your place?”
You shook your head, pliable and submissive. Oh what Titus would give to have you in that state only comfortable and taken care of, loved.
“No sir.”
“Good,” he coughed again. “I don’t have time for your disobedience, not right now.”
“It’s not disobedience, sir,” you whispered. “I just thought they would…” you lost your courage for a second but then your gaze lifted and met Titus’s. You took a deep breath, tears falling from your eyes finally. “I thought they’d honor tradition and fight for it.”
Titus only grew angrier as he heard you call your hand in marriage nothing more than a thing, an object, something that could be bought and sold with no greater weight to it.
The old man laughed, cruelly. “Oh sweetheart, we both know why that’s never going to happen.”
“You should at least let them try—”
“He won’t try, he’ll win, and I can’t have that.”
“I’ll give you grandchildren,” you blurted out and it was as though all the air was sucked out of the room, Titus’s front tightening against his pants. “You’ll have your heir before you die.”
“I could have my heir whenever I wanted, with or without your consent,” the old man struggled to stand up but he still made the effort, towering over you with an infernal passion that even made Titus shiver. “I could have you carrying my offspring tonight if I really wanted to—”
“You couldn’t,” you replied, defiant, finally. Titus couldn’t help but feel his heart swell. “My mother was many things but she wasn’t stupid. The deal she made is still in effect. I would truly hate to see you explode before you have the chance to die a slow and painful death.”
That seemed to shut the old man up.
He sat back down, coughing more than normal. The door swung open and Duke rushed inside, his father’s nurse right behind him. They placed an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth which he removed for a second to tell you—
“Fine, my daughter, you’ll have your hunt.”
And with that you left the room.
Titus let you disappear back into your room to calm down. He needed to prepare, had to get ready for what would be the most important hunt of his entire life.
He practically salivated at the thought of what was to come, of the carnage and bloodshed he was about to be allowed to enact. All in the name of love, in the name of you.
“Sir,” his thoughts were cut short as the head of his security stepped into his room. “We’ve got a situation developing up in the northern boundary that needs your attention.”
He should’ve thought about it for two more seconds. Should’ve been more distrusting of anything and everything that was being said to him. But instead, he simply grunted in annoyance and followed the man onto their truck, setting off into the night.
Unbeknownst to him, dinner had been served back in the main house, all the families had been gathered as his father finally paraded you around for the other families to see.
From what Ursula told him later, every eligible male (and the old sad sacks that accompanied them) were practically drooling at you as you took your seat at the head of the table with them.
“My friends,” his father started. “It has been such a delight to have you all here with us this evening. I am thankful for your continued support and loyalty, it is only together that we can truly maintain our grip on this industry, on the world,” he tipped his glass towards you. “On our legacy.”
You finally smiled, a true smile, eyes searching for Titus around the table. But as you found nothing, your stomach dropped. Ursula noticed, concern laced on her features uncharacteristically.
The old man chuckled as your eyes met, only then did he continue his macabre speech.
“My beautiful daughter,” he pointed towards you. “Was supposed to be wed this year, but I believe I have an even better prize for you all tonight— whoever can bring me her head by dawn will get to choose one of my blood children to wed.”
Murmurs of excitement brought the night are ablaze, further feeding into the spectacle, into the grandioseness of the event. If the Danforth patriarch could give up the child he’d raised to be a part of his family, part of his blood and sacrifice her to their demonic leader all for a show of good grace and betterment of their clan, they too could let themselves be seduced by the call to make you bleed.
“We begin…” the clock struck midnight. “Now.”
You
You should’ve fucking known. Should’ve anticipated it. Should’ve at least considered it as a possibility.
You knew the old man wasn’t stupid. You knew he knew you weren’t stupid. This submissive act had fooled no one, if anything it had only made him angrier and he’d kept you alive out of spite, to play with his meal before he brutally murdered you and broke his son’s heart forever.
He could’ve let you wed three years ago. Should’ve allowed you to by honor and law. But he refused. He’d been so adamant in his punishment, so infuriated when he’d found out that he’d confined you to a prison of his own making. Isolated and alone. Destined to go through all the pain and sorrow alone. Forgotten.
Titus didn’t know. There was no way he did or else his father would not be alive still.
You wanted to tell him, were going to tell him so many times but each one got you a week in solitary confinement and after a year of living like that, you decided to stop trying.
By the second year, the trauma and pain had subsided. You had become soft and pliable, exactly what Mr. Danforth wanted. You were close to giving in, close to accepting the terms of your contract and agreeing to marry whatever dumb finance bro the old man had his sights set on for the good of the business, but then the letter arrived.
You had been holed up in their Spain estate, close to the factory and closer to where the old man kept his doctors. You didn’t know how or who slipped the first one through the crack in your door, but suddenly there it was.
You tried to rip the envelope with poise, not daring to cause a sound that wasn’t within your normal ones. You still didn’t know who you could trust, who was guarding your door, who could hear you through the microphones and cameras that they had certainly hidden throughout the room.
You waddled over to the balcony, where you knew you had a blind spot and pretended to look through the mail that had been delivered. This was normal for you, the smallest of privacies that Mr. Danforth allowed you to have since he knew everything that was being delivered to you.
Almost everything.
It was his handwriting, messy and imperfect, but his nonetheless.
He’s getting ready to move to back stateside. Things have gone down that he’s not happy with. His health is deteriorating. Play the part. Convince him to bring you home after you graduate. Have him marry you off here. Don’t forget.
Don’t forget. How could you? How could you ever forget the promises that were made? The confessions spilled through ragged breaths, tangled sheets and petit morts?
It was two summers ago.
You had somehow found yourself back at the estate after a private plane malfunction. You were stuck for 48 hours with nothing but your carryon luggage. No security, no fuss, no nothing. Just you, the eighteen people on staff and the entire grounds.
You’d spent the first day lounging, walking through the entirety of the grounds on foot and remembering just where everything was. You’d helped clean stables, feed the chickens, work on the laundry and even cooked up a feast with Marta for lunch.
You’d opened a few bottles of wine, who cared really, you would buy new ones. Could still use credit cards at that point, a simple joy.
You were hiding away in the staff’s quarters, still drinking with the younger maids as they recounted the last few years of drama that had gone down at the estate. Oh you had missed so much.
It was bittersweet. On one hand you were glad they could still find pockets of joy and lightness while working for the Danforth’s, but on the other, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of the atrocities they had to witness, a personal failing on your part to them.
But the even darker truth — you were all prisoners here. You were closer to them than you were to the Danforth’s, no matter how much they considered you family. You would never be family.
“Marta!”
The yelling brought you back to reality. Was that…?
With a scrunched brow you got up, body wobbly as you managed to make your way to the window.
It was indeed.
“I’ve never seen Titus Danforth yelling before.”
He seemed to become frozen as he looked up to see you, blinking a few times to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating.
For a second he didn’t know how to act, causing you to giggle.
“Marta’s busy right now, can I help you?”
He gulped. “Yes.”
With rosy cheeks and the confidence from good quality wine, you left the group behind and made your way down to meet him.
You had changed into comfortable jeans and a long sleeve to help with the sun. You were a mess, sweaty and dirty, not the vision that Titus claimed to have seen.
“Hi,” you greeted, suddenly very shy. He simply nodded his response, fighting every single urge he had to reach out and grab you. “Ugh this is ridiculous, Titus.”
And then you hugged him.
You were so warm, the smell of grapes a comfort that drew him in instantly, his arms wrapping themselves around you tightly as he practically squished you against his body. You hummed contently, head buried in the crook of his neck, soaking him all in. Meanwhile, his hands kneaded at your skin, unafraid and unashamed of just how much he was pushing that invisible boundary he’d set up five years prior.
“I missed you.” You murmured against his chest.
His grip tightened in response. He was never letting you go again that was certain.
After much convincing, he allowed you to detach yourself from him enough to open the main house back up. None of you had any idea he’d be in town but apparently Mr. Danforth had grounded everyone for some unknown reason and he was close enough to the estate that he decided to sleep in his own bed for a night.
You sat on his bed while he unpacked. You managed to pull a few anecdotes from his travels but he mostly let you talk. And that you did.
You filled his cold room with so much warmth, stories from your studies, your friends, the life you had built for yourself in Europe melting the ice that had began to build around his heart.
You were older now, had lived enough that it had changed you. You didn’t resent him for what had happened five years ago, didn’t blame him for any of it, weren’t scared of him. You held his gaze, made him smile and laugh, did your best to show him that whatever your feelings had been then, they were not the same now.
“I thought…” he started, losing momentum quickly.
You shifted on the bed, coming up to your knees as you shuffled to the edge, towards him. Your hands landed on his, encouraging, and he finally allowed himself to look into your eyes.
He was met with the most beautiful sight. Pupils blown, brows scrunched, pleading.
He couldn’t remember what he thought. It didn’t matter. None of it did.
He succumbed. He failed. He finally put down his weapon and accepted defeat.
He leaned in, his lips brushing yours too softly.
You wouldn’t have it.
You practically threw yourself on him, lips opening, hands landing on his shoulders to give you better leverage.
He groaned, possessive hands flying out to grab at you. The second he made contact, every reservation left behind disappeared.
Eager fingers dug into your plushness, grabbing handfuls of your ass and thigh as he pulled you into him. You moaned into the kiss and he somehow deepened it, his tongue devouring you, showing you just who you belonged to.
“Ti—”
A gasp flew out of your lips as he picked you up and slammed you down on the bed in one swift movement.
No talking, there would be plenty of time for that later. Now he needed to act.
He wasted no more time getting you naked, a flurry of pants and shorts being discarded until you were left in only the lacy pair of underwear you had picked out.
They weren’t…he’d never seen these before. He studied them for a second too long, the wear around the cups, the discoloration from years of use. You smirked, bringing his gaze right back up to your face. You looked…devious, in a way he’d never seen you before. Like you knew.
“Got them five years ago in Prague the second we landed,” you blushed, shame beautifully coming into the mix of your arousal. “To remember…”
His eyes sparkled at the realization. To remember how he’d killed—
Titus groaned, loudly, pressing his clothed chest back against your scantily clad one. The friction of his coat against your skin was divine, causing you to moan louder as his lips met yours once again.
He liked you before, his vision clouded by the desire to corrupt you, to take the good, gentle, angelic kid that he knew so well and transform her into a deranged psychopath like he was. But this version of you? Oh he loved it.
You were just as sick and twisted. He didn’t even have to try to persuade you into his darkness, it was as though you had been there all along, just waiting for him to realize it.
His teeth nipped at your lips, tugging enough to draw blood, to give him something to consume, something he could use to prove that you were alive, that he was alive. You returned the sentiment, biting down on his bottom lip and bringing him back down on you to mix in the iron flavor of the two of you.
His hips began to rut into you, deep and determined, his bulge already a tent against his thick pants.
“Ti please.”
He did not need to be told twice.
His hand snaked down between your bodies to hastily set his erection free from the confines of something as stupid and trivial as clothing, something he would never let you wear again.
You felt him smack against your clothed mound, thick and warm, and couldn’t help the ungodly moan that escaped your lips. He chuckled over you, one hand pulling your thong to the side, his fingers barely grazing your slick folds but enough to have him shivering.
You beamed at the reactions you could pull from him, how quickly and easily he came undone because of you.
His tip was inside of you in an instant, not gentle, not kind, nothing more than demanding and claiming. You’d been with other people before, that was no secret, at least you hoped it wasn’t because now, now you needed him to go rough.
Luckily for you, he felt the same way as his hips thrust into you instantly.
He was so hot. You were scalding. You could feel everything, ever vein, every ridge, every breath he took to steady himself so he didn’t blow his load immediately.
Oh this motherfucker was going to knock you up.
You clenched around him without meaning to.
“Oh?” He chuckled, his eyes searching for something within your own. You covered your face with your hands instinctively, the blush that had creeped up your cheeks telling. “Oh.”
With that he sheathed himself inside of you to the hilt, his hips digging into your own painfully so, determined to flush you out of your shame. After a second too long you yelped loudly, hands coming off your face to push against his chest.
He relented, pulling back enough to where it wasn’t uncomfortable anymore. He took your hands off his chest and up towards his mouth, softly kissing each one before he pulled out of you and slammed back in.
“Yes, I am, I will,” he murmured into your ear. “And you’re going to love it. So full of me, of us, you’ll beg me to keep you like that forever.”
You whined as he lifted your legs towards your chest, knees practically touching your shoulders. His thrusts were unhinged, the lewdness from wet, slapping sounds filled the room as the chorus of your moans urged him forward.
You were so close, so overwhelmed by him everywhere, his pinewood and leather scent, his silky sheets against your back. This felt right, finally, as though the entire puzzle had been unlocked with just one piece.
“Let go, angel,” he commanded. “Cum with me.”
And so you did. My god you did.
Heat erupted from your core like an avalanche, the pleasure having never felt this perfect before. What made it even better was feeling him, hips pressed against your entrance as he locked himself deep inside of you and came, hot and long, filling you up like his life depended on it. Because it did. This was everything that mattered now.
Your entire body jerked occasionally as you came down from your high. After what felt like too long, Titus finally let himself fall down on your chest and you ran your fingers through his scalp, nails gently scratching and he hummed in satisfaction.
You stayed like that for a long time. Nothing outside of this room mattered. There was nothing that could make you give a fuck about anything that wasn’t him.
“Marry me.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a fact.
“Titus—”
“No,” he raised himself back up to tower over you, causing you to shiver slightly. The toothy grin on the motherfucker was ridiculous and you loved it. “You will marry me and we will have a big, obnoxious family, and we’ll be happy, together, finally.”
You wanted to say yes. You should’ve said yes. But you didn’t. You hesitated.
“Why?” He sighed. “I can give you everything, anything, angel.”
“I already have everything.”
He shook his head. “You don’t. You could be free.”
“Free? With you?”
The way his face contorted into confusion and pain physically hurt you. But you knew, and he knew, that you were right.
You didn't have time to think about the past, not right now.
The second the old man began his countdown, you got up, poised and delicate, unafraid and calm. You smiled at Ursula, a silent plea she knew exactly what to do with, and excused yourself from the table.
One hundred seconds.
You walked into the house, aware of just how many eyes were on you.
Ten families had come to the celebration. Each one being around three people. There was no clarity on who could participate, only that they had to deliver you, preferably dead by dawn. Thirty people, well, twenty-nine after the early departure of Miss Kipling earlier in the day.
Watching Titus kill her had been a thrill then, a comfort now. If he had been at that dinner table too he would’ve wasted no time starting the clock early. He would not have held back, would’ve covered the entire lawn in crimson and you most certainly would be dead already.
The second you were out of view you ran.
That stupid silk dress had been a mistake. A mistake to think that you were safe. A mistake to think that you were home, especially when you knew what home meant for this family.
You kicked off your heels and practically rushed through your routine. You were supposed to go pheasant hunting with the other ladies in the morning so your outfit was thankfully already laid out for you.
You had to be quick, had to make it into the passages before you heard the gun go off, before you—
“They took him north,” Ursula’s voice cut through your panic, instantly putting you at ease. “You remember where he's stashed guns?”
You nodded, lacing up your boots at last. She stepped forward, looking down at you with an expression you could only describe as worry. It wasn’t just for you but for herself as well. You knew she’d tried desperately to find a match that would work but after three failed hunts, her resolve had been getting thin.
“Don’t worry, I won’t let them win.”
She nodded, her thumb ghosting over your lips for a second too long. “I know.”
And with that she was gone and you were alone again.
With one last breath, you opened the false wall behind your dresser and stepped into the house’s secret passageways.
The gun had gone off a second after, causing your heart to practically implode against your chest.
God, you hated hunting.
Every time Ursula invited you to her home you refused to play. It’s not that it appalled you, in all honesty it filled your body with a burning desire that made no logical sense. Instead, the pleasure you derived from them was found afterwards, when adrenaline was high and everyone seemed to be desperate for another form of release.
You would forever be thankful to Ursula for her guardianship, for the safe space to explore yourself, your sexuality, your desires. And since your father trusted her more than Titus to be the voice of reason, the “lead by example” child, he would let you free whenever she called on you. He didn’t need to know about the lewd nights of debauchery and how you always seemed to find yourself in her bed with whatever human toy she was messing around with at the time (if they survived the day that was).
Ursula empowered you where Titus tended to mold you, and that was the only reason why you managed to keep on a clear head as you slid into his room in search for his many weapons.
The light turned on suddenly.
“You’re exhaustingly predictable, you know that?”
Fucking Duke.
You turn to face him, leaning against Titus’s armoire, fingers softly searching for the gun you knew was taped to the side.
“And you’re pathetic if you think he’s gonna let you stake your claim on Ursula.”
“So you do remember me!” He chuckled darkly, slowly stalking his way across the room towards you. “I wasn’t sure since you seemed to be so out of it last time I saw you.”
You smirked, hand finally reaching the cold handle. “What can I say? I always remember someone who can’t make a lady cum.”
You definitely should not have said that, poking the tiger as it were, but you couldn’t help it. When he didn’t immediately pounce, you just kept going.
“Had to eat her out after you came too quickly,” a flash of shame in his eyes, emasculated. “So pathetic, actually.”
He pounced. You pulled out the gun, took off the safety and shot.
The bullet pierced his shoulder, but he did not stop.
Fuck.
His large hands wrapped around your own, pushing the gun into the air as you fired again. You were drawing too much attention, they were going to be on you soon enough. So you played dirty.
Your foot smacked him right between his legs, merciless. He instantly contracted in pain, hands letting go of yours and it took no time for you to aim the barrel between his eyes, pulling the trigger as if it were just another Friday night.
His body fell to the floor as the door burst open.
Back to running it was.
Before whoever had entered could see where you had gone, you were already on your way back downstairs. Maybe it was enough time to stall, to get down to the kitchen and slip out through the server’s entrance. You knew they always had a golf cart waiting, maybe you could figure it out.
You open the kitchen hatch slowly, peeking inside before actually rushing into the room because unlike everyone in this fucking family, you actually learned from your mistakes. With the coast clear, you slid into the eerily quiet room.
“Marta?” You whispered into the air.
Nothing.
Oh if something had happened to her—
“Mija—”
You still instantly, hiding behind the kitchen island. Your heart was racing already, adrenaline making you jumpy and jittery, and not in a good way. How Titus and Ursula got off on this feeling you’d never understand.
A set of keys slid across the marble floors towards you and you understood. You grabbed them, slowly rising to your feet as you started down the hall down to the cellar. While the property was connected through the gigantic gold course that ran between the resort and the lodge, underneath there was a collection of tunnels that did the same thing, a detail you had hoped no one knew about since most high ranking members did not concern themselves with the comings and goings of staff.
Unfortunately for you, that did not seem to be the case tonight as you felt a body slam into yours from behind before you even made it down the stairs.
You groaned in pain, gun falling from your grip towards a dark corner in the room.
You couldn’t tell who it was, who kept holding you down against the scratchy stone floor, who pressed their knee into your sternum, who cradled your head in their hands and squeezed.
All you knew was that you were not going to go down without a fight.
You scratched, you squirmed, you thrashed — your body wasn’t yours, it was wild and unrestrained. Your nail managed to stab right into their neck, right next to their carotid, enough for them to stumble backwards but not enough to incapacitate. But it didn’t matter. You just kept going.
It was only when you felt a gush of warmth dripping on your skin from above that you stopped, swiftly standing up and making a run for the cart. You got on and sped off into the night, not caring to stick around to see if they would make it or not.
You wiped as much blood off you as you could, following the directions you knew in your bones to the north side of the compound. You needed to let him know, needed to get in touch with him.
Desperate hands searched the glove compartment. There had to be something you could use. And luckily, there was, a fucking walkie.
You hastily turned it on, not caring if the sound might attract unwanted attention.
Channel 7 was alive as the guards kept each other appraised of what was happening throughout. Most families were still at the lodge, good. They had locked down every exit, also good. And then—
“Anyone got eyes on Mr. Danforth?”
“Still negative, sir. He heard the gunshots and bolted. My two guys are still crit.”
A broad smile adorned your lips. Good, he was definitely not going to stop now, especially if Ursula got to tell him what was happening.
“Be glad they’re still alive, Parker,” it was him. “Your men get in my way again and they won’t be so lucky.”
Fuck you almost cried tears of joy.
So you changed course.
You pressed the talk button twice then waited for nine seconds before you pressed it again, quickly switching to channel two.
Your heartbeat was all you could hear for what felt like a small eternity before the decide on your lap came alive.
“Angel?”
You let out a disheveled sob at the sound of his voice and you could hear him inhale sharply on the other end.
“Ti—”
“Are you safe?”
“Almost.”
“Good,” he cooed. “You know where to go?”
“I do now.”
“Good girl,” he sighed in relief. “I’ll come find you once it’s done.”
“Leave it on,” the words slipped past your lips before you can stop them. “I wanna listen.”
The groan that erupted from his chest was feral.
“Anything for my bride.”
For the next hour, the only comfort was hearing the strained groans and screams from every single person Titus came across.
He unfortunately couldn’t kill them given the stupid rules, but he could make them hurt.
His father had been vague with his own rules for this challenge, and with that came a lot of room to get creative. No one would miss a few fingers, no one would question a few broken bones or ripped out hair. The human body would heal. But his pride, his rightful status as the head of this family required bloodshed, penance from his flock.
You were uncomfortably wet, your underwear soaked through as you made it into the little chapel on the property. In no normal world should Titus’s actions turned you on so much, but in the one you’d been groomed to take part of, every plea for mercy, every grunt, every scream, every breath that came out of him only aided in getting you ready for him.
You wasted no time slipping out of your pants, of your shirt, of every ounce of clothes that made you feel like you were being held prisoner. They had all been chosen by his father, by the system that he had wanted to keep you under. But what laid underneath, that worn lace that hugged your curves — that was all yours, all his.
You laid down on the table behind the altar, your fingers quickly found your soaked folds, eagerly smearing your wetness all over your slit as you began touching yourself. You pressed down on the call button and let out a strangled moan at the contact and Titus instantly stilled on the other side of the call.
“Are you touching yourself, angel?”
You held the button pressed again, moaned louder, encouraging, demanding.
“You’re playing with fire, little girl.”
“I’m just playing with you, over.”
The walkie came to life.
“If you don’t stop touching what’s mine there will be consequences.”
“I still belong to me, Ti,” you teased. “At least until sunrise.”
The door slammed open and you didn’t even flinch, only tossing the walkie to the side as he stalked forward.
You sat up from your hiding place, darkened eyes devouring him whole.
He was dripping, entire body covered in blood. The thick wool of his coat was soaked through, the substance seeping through and onto his button down as he made swift work of the buttons holding him captive.
“Well, good for you, I don’t give a fuck what you think.”
You smiled up at him, opening your legs as he wasted no time squishing your body under his. His mouth found yours instantly, one hand holding your jaw hostage as his tongue rammed inside of yours.
You were all his, finally, completely at his mercy, perfect, angelic, faintly smelling of iron and dirt and—
His eyes gave you a quick once over, noticing the bruising on your neck, the scratches on your cheek, the dirt in your hair.
“Angel—”
His voice was too soft and you hated it.
“Shut up and make me yours,” you demanded. “Again.”
That was all he needed to let himself go.
Possessive hands dug into your hips, his own pressing forward, his crotch rutting against your own. The stiffness of his clothes against the lace over your mound made you moan loudly. He rolled his hips again and again and again until your clit was swollen and raw. Your own hands tried to get his zipper undone but he was having none of it.
He bit down on your chest, right above your heart, and you stilled your movements instantly, body spasming as your orgasm took you by surprise. He chuckled darkly, the vibrations only prolonging the sensations.
When you were finally able to see straight again, he removed himself from your chest, his teeth perfectly imprinted on your skin, now purpling and bleeding slightly. Only then did he undo his pants, letting them pool at his feet as he set his erection free.
Satan, you’d missed him.
He swiftly flipped you on your stomach, pulling your ass up to where he needed you before he buried himself inside to the hilt.
You screamed, already so full of him that you didn’t know what to do with yourself
And then he started moving and you lost all sense of self.
There was no you anymore. It was only him and the two of you, your role as his bride, his wife, the mother of his children, his.
He was ruthless and insatiable, didn’t care about your discomfort as he pistoned in and out of you in a feverish haze of desire and the need to claim. Titus had always been entitled to everything he had in his life, but you were not just something that he was owed, that he owned, no, you were everything to him.
He slowed down when he felt you getting close, his hand snaking in between your legs to rub your clit slowly, coaxing another orgasm from you. Only this time it wasn’t rough, it wasn’t demanding, it was loving and kind and soft.
You let yourself go, walls tightening around his impressively stiff length as he continued his slow movements all the way through. The tears started spilling after that, hot and unstoppable.
It was only when a sob erupted from your throat that he slipped out of you, flipping you on your back once again so he could bury himself inside of you, holding you tightly against him, his lips quickly meeting yours once more.
He knew you were a very sentimental person. You’d always cried on your birthday, always felt the need to pick up every stray you encountered, made sure that everyone in your life knew how loved and cherished they were.
His tongue licked up your face, cleaning up the wetness that had gathered. They tasted salty, like victory and success, like sticking it to his father and finally feeling like he was wanted by someone who didn’t have to accept him just because they were tied by an invisible blood bond.
It was only when your grip on his arms tightened that he started moving again. Slow, steady, knowing fully well that you were ovulating, because he knew, he always knew.
“You told him you’d give him grandchildren before he died,” he groaned in your ear, causing a shiver to run through your body. He chuckled, satisfied with your response. “Which means you better pray I get you pregnant tonight or else he will definitely not live long enough to satisfy your promise.”
You moaned as you felt his tip reach your cervix.
“Guess you’ll have to fill me up until it takes—”
His hips snap, painfully so, and you can only chuckle in response.
“Oh I intend to,” his lips ghost over yours. “My wife.”
The coil snaps then and you’re both coming undone.
You can’t help but wrap your legs around him tightly, hands scratching across his clothed back as his own leave bruises on your hips, pulling you so tight against him the pain snaps up again, mixing so beautifully with the pleasure you’re certain he’d be successful.
By the time he’s done you’re leaking but he doesn’t move, doesn’t dare detach himself from you. He’s gonna keep you there, stuck beneath him until the night is through, until he can put a giant rock on your finger and show you off to all the pathetic people who dared to think they could harm you.
He leaned down again, soft lips meeting yours in a silent promise, a possessive remark.
“My husband.”
He hummed, then, finally at peace. “My wife.”
a/n: I've been writing this since January and I have finally been able to finish it. God I love Titus so much, send me requests for him please!!
TATI, YOUR MIND!!!!! OMG! YOUR MIND!
There was so much going on here and it all was so captivating and well written! I could've read another 10K + of this, especially your world building and lore here with all the different dynamics!
But I am half asleep and speechless! What a great read! You are a gift to us all and I could've kept reading and reading, you really know how to capture Titus's rougher, more unhinged side and I think you did that so well here but also incorporating some gentleness in with reader.
"i'm a sad shell of a woman and i've got maggots for brains"
michael robinavitch x fem! resident! reader
summary: you've spent most of your life thinking you're weird and hard to know. so much it's started to feel like fact. robby doesn't agree. you love too much, think too much and robby knows exactly how to carry it. after an impossible shift, your walk home get interrupted... for the better.
tags/warnings/tropes:no use of y/n, reader definitely doesn't use kind words about herself, no aesthetic descriptions of reader, reader sees herself as a "weird girl", descriptions of loneliness, but they kiss!, patient death, child patient death (nothing in detail!), a car accident is discussed, reader is VERY in her own head, robby is like an emotional soft dom... if that makes sense - SFW though!, vague descriptions of depersonalization, robby is a soft hearted guy because I said so., more descriptions than dialogue oops, emotional hurt comfort,
wc: 6.1k
a/n: hi friends!!! its taken me so long to get this one published after my first fic. forgive me!!! this is my first time writing for robby so i hope his characterization comes across well. i am a robby stan so hopefully that shows! im working on an abbot fit right now too so stay tuned! also pondering a John Carter fic if anyones interested. k happy reading. hugs and kisses!! <3
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You were weird.
That wasn't new; you always had been.
The sense of perpetual oddness that people tended to tiptoe around. Not everyone; some people were drawn into your orbit based on that alone. The way you'd laugh at someone's joke when you noticed no one else was, but would somehow slip yourself back into the shadows. Or, how your voice was just a decibel below everyone else's, easily talked over and interrupted.
In some cases, you were sure that it had something to do with it. That they were drawn to your oddness because they had a desire to fix it, fix you. If not to fix it, then at least use it to their advantage. Someone kind and malleable that'd smile and nod as they shoved their problems onto.
In defense of your hospital colleagues, most of them were kind to you. Some you'd even call friends. They'd look to you during traumas for an opinion they valued and then ask you to join them on whatever outing they had planned after work. They'd ask even if they didn't expect you to say yes, which you often didn't.
Every once in a while, like clockwork, you'd force yourself to join. For the sake of team building, you'd tell yourself. Really, you wanted to belong somewhere. To be understood, quietly and gently.
You knew you couldn't blame people for not feeling things at the same intensity you did. That was one of life's many curses for someone like you. Someone who lived with an open heart that trickled metaphorical blood, staining everyone you met with love. But, an open heart that never gets filled empties quickly.
The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. Yet, every time you went, you had some kind of hope that you'd magically feel different. That you'd blink and suddenly people would see you.
Because every time you looked in the mirror, you were convinced what you saw was different. You saw your own reflection, the pores on your skin, and the rise and fall of your chest. You were real, alive. But when others looked at you, all you could imagine they saw was a shadow. Amorphous, dark, confusing. Something tangled in the wires of your thoughts you were sure they could read if they squinted enough.
At the very least, the feelings subsided during work. A small mercy through the blood and chaos you deal with every day. When you were in trauma, your voice had to carry; it had to boom. You couldn't afford to be pushed aside. When you were gloved up, people listened. Every night as you fought sleep, you pondered if that was better or worse.
If there was ever a quiet moment between the workload, and the feelings started clawing their way out of your chest, an incoming trauma would force them back down, letting them settle there and no doubt finding a way to eat at your liver.
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So, your gaze disassociated further, eyes locked onto the computer screen in front of you. Your head blared that you should be comprehending the words on screen, not letting them get lost in the swirl of thought. You were relieved to hear Dana's voice echo around the nurses' station before you accidentally suffocated.
"MVA rolling in, ETA 2 minutes out."
"How many we gettin'? You hopped out of your chair, grabbing sterile gloves from the rack as you passed.
"Three minor, two major. But, who knows if it'll stay that way." Dana gives an exasperated sigh from behind the desk.
"What do we got?" Robby asks, winding up beside you on his seemingly never-ending circling of the hospital floor.
"Car crash." You say simply. Never leave much room for filler words when you speak. Especially not once you find yourself in trauma mode. Already heading towards the ambulance bay, Robby falls into step with you.
You liked having Robby as a boss, actually. Being his resident was the one steady thing you had. At the beginning of every day, you could expect him to already be there. Chart in one hand and that thermos of coffee he always had in the other. Whatever chaos happened in between was the hard part. Whatever horrors you both saw that day and whatever ways your brain decided to attack you during the quiet moments. But then the end of the day came around, and you could expect a pat on the shoulder from Robby's hand, strong and steady like he didn't just live through the same disastrous day you did.
Robby didn't always say much. Especially not standing in the ambulance bay like this, mentally trying to come up with any sort of a game plan without seeing what damage has been done.
But, he always had this way of his eyes saying more than his words could. You weren't sure if he was aware of it. Like a language he didn't even know he could speak.
Everything about him was contradicted in his eyes. Not only his anatomy, but how dark they were, deep-set with age, but unexplainably soft in expression.
Whenever he'd look at you with those eyes and a tiny tilt of his head, you knew what he was asking in that language only he was fluent in, but you'd somehow manage to pick up.
Are you okay?
With a nod of your head and a hollow smile, he didn't press further, but you saw the unbelieving squint in his eyes once again.
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These people were going to die.
There was no way around it. They were in your care, and they were going to die.
An accident. One that could've happened to anyone. A speeding car, a car that ran a red light, and a minivan passing through an intersection at the wrong time that got T-boned. The fact was left completely up to fate that they were in the left lane, so the right side of the car took the brunt of the impact. Father, who chose to drive, and his daughter, who chose that side of the car today.
That's the part that never made sense to you. How did accidents get decided? Was it fate? Was it religion? Was it punishment of some kind, or was it predetermination? Were you always going to end up here no matter what kind of life you lived? If that was true, how was that fair?
A father and daughter were completely helpless to anything modern medicine could do. His wife and second child were in the adjoining room beside you, their comparable injuries so mundane it really was unfair. They were even alert enough when brought by ambulance for you to hear the wailing and screaming. The wife got a chance to say whatever words she could to her husband and daughter while they wheeled them in together. The other two lost their chance to say anything else once that car hit them. Unfair
With Langdon gone, leaving Robby down a resident, he had to up your workload. Putting you as lead on two of the major traumas tonight. He didn't like it, putting more on you. But you were capable and reliable.
If those were the two words someone thought up when it came to you, you'd take it. It was the typical thought everyone seemed to have about you. Only what you're capable of, how you perform at work, and nothing else. Nothing about you. But, at the very least, you took up occupancy in someone's brain enough to be thought of. You didn't have a clue at the reverence the other doctors held for you, Robby included. Maybe most of all.
Santos did what she could with the father as you ran between both rooms at the sound of someone yelling for you or the beeping of a monitor that sometimes jolted you awake in nightmares.
You yell for Santos to page surgery, even though you know it would be an anomaly for these two people to make it long enough to become emergency surgery candidates. You can't even get a sentence out to Garcia's voice on the other end before you hear the beeping from the other room.
"If he crashes, shock and come get me! And get surgery down here!" You yell over your shoulder at the nurses and doctors in the father's room with you.
Shouldering your way into the daughter's trauma room, it's a worse sight than before. Javadi and Whitaker were exhausting themselves with the daughter. Beads of sweat are already forming on Whitaker's forehead from the extensive CPR.
Over his shoulder, McKay shakes her head at you just once. Enough to tell you there's nothing to do.
"Alright," You shake your head out once, feeling it clear the mental debris there. "Intubate. Then we're gonna ventilate that way." A nurse scurries off to grab the items required the moment you ask. "Whitaker, tap out."
You physically tug his arm off and straddle the bed before beginning compressions yourself. Whitaker's hands go to his knees immediately as a small bead of sweat falls onto the floor already dirtied with blood.
"She's had three rounds of Epi already." Someone calls out, voice mixing in with all the other stats being shouted.
Hair slips loose from your clamp as you continue with the compressions, the motion rattling the girl's body and your own in different ways. You blow it from your eyes as best as you can to see the screen. Agonal rhythm is still, and no positive change in blood pressure. Not to mention the blood loss. Focusing completely on compressions, you can't let yourself get lost in the image you see. So much life-saving work has already been done that it's left her looking half-machine.
"She's crashing!"
You think the voice belongs to Whitaker, but don't look up.
Your hands stop compressions for the short second after you say "clear", immediately back to work, the stats showing no changes. After the third shock, the sweat is stinging your eyes as it travels down your face in streaks.
"Again!" You yell. You put your arms up and yell clear, but you're not even sure how you managed it since your arms are completely unfeeling besides the vibrations coursing through them.
You recognize the change in sound that follows the fourth shock. It's the same one that plays in your ears when you're finally alone and able to crumble. The same one you somehow manage to hear in the hospital bathroom when you lock the door with tunnel vision setting in. The specific flatline that people don't come back from.
"Asystole."
The room was still for the first time since the young girl was brought in. That's the worst kind of sound you can hear in a hospital room. Maelstrom means there's still hope, but stillness means there's nothing left. Another person gone and another piece of yourself you're sure you won't get back.
"Call it, and I'll notify the family." You say somberly, not sticking around to hear anyone offer to take that burden off you. This should be your cross to bear.
Maybe you should've been a better doctor.
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"He's not an ECMO candidate." You hear Robby saying in the vague direction of the nurses and doctors from where he stands near the front of the room. The monitor is screaming, and the rhythm is showing asystole. A father's and daughter's hearts both giving out within minutes of each other, nothing but a wall apart.
"Time of death 20:14."
Your legs get that same burning feeling your arms have, but they haven't been strained at all. It seems like the sole act of holding yourself upright is starting to become too much for them. The stillness and quietness are setting in again, and your body is taking notice.
Robby gestured with a nod of his chin to the room next door. All you can do is shake your head in response. You see the pain flash through his eyes, mirroring your own. You look away quickly, choosing the floor as your target, afraid that his eyes will somehow betray you for the first time and turn cruel.
"Let's all take a moment of silence." Robby's commanding voice comes out in the somber tone it takes on during times like these. "Remember this man for who he was, a husband, father, a son to someone." A few people clasp their hands as everyone's heads bow.
Robby's head tilts again just a bit as he looks at you, stuck in place, eyes still on the floor. His heart clenched in his chest in a way it often didn't do anymore. The way you have this tendency to cower in on yourself. It's like he can physically see some kind of force pushing you down, making your shoulders hunch.
Believing you're to blame somehow sits easier in your chest. Sometimes that hatred soothed the stabbing in your chest. Yeah, it was sick and unhealthy, you knew all that. But you were in no place these days to sit down and fix it.
You had all the words, the trite sayings that'd been said to you by multiple people over the years. You even had a little stack of papers from professionals with a written list of what to do and say when you felt like the world was resting entirely on your shoulders. You are not in control of other people's feelings and bullshit like that.
But, as it was Atlas's punishment to hold up the heavens alone, so it seems it should be yours.
You can't take standing in the room a minute more; not only are you facing the failure of this body on the table, but behind you, just a door away, is the daughter with the same fate. And both of them should've survived. Whether it was because you should've been a better doctor or just that fate's a cruel bastard doesn't matter. Either way, it's unfair.
"I'm going to go notify the family."
A hand clamps down on you before you're even halfway down the hallway. The shuffle of his boots on the vinyl gave him away before you even had to turn around. His taller frame should feel daunting in this little hallway, especially with the way his fingers are curled around your forearm but it doesn't.
You're pretty sure you can feel your own heartbeat under the spots where every one of his fingers is. But, as a doctor, you know that's just not possible.
"I sent McKay to speak to the family." His words feel like they reverberate in your skull even though he's speaking softly to you.
Instead of answering right away, your eyes just focus on the hand he still has on your arm. This is the oddness that usually made people turn away from you. The long silences during what should've been conversations, the way you'd hone in on one specific thing and stare sometimes. That could be unnerving to people who didn't know you enough. But Robby? He knew you.
So, instead of speaking again and scaring you out of whatever small hole inside you've just crawled into, he just squeezes your arm. Carefully, barely a flex of any muscles. But, similar to what you'd done for him in the times you'd found him in a similar state. Silent but there.
"No." You say, finally shaking out your head and finding his eyes. The glasses made his eyes look bigger, amplifying every emotion he had in them. "I should. I was the one…" Your voice trails off, unsure even which word was going to come next. Doctor or Reaper?
"I sent McKay." He says with finality this time. "Why don't you head out early. There's less than an hour anyway."
Once again, your silence drags on, taking up the entire hallway.
"I have some charts I need to finish up." Gesturing vaguely with your thumb back towards the hospital floor.
"Charts can wait until tomorrow."
"I know. But, I'd just rather not have it on my mind." That was almost a laughable excuse. Charts would be lowest on the totem pole of worry. No doubt they'd be there, floating around like everything else, but not enough to matter. "I'll help Abbot with the handoff too. Thanks, though."
"Okay."
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The wires in your head were tightening. Every thought stretched into a thin line and managed to tangle itself together. The cacophony of sounds blaring through your head defied any medical logic. But, even that was more tolerable than the images of people you failed to save burned behind your eyelids.
Charts
You reminded yourself, blinking the thoughts away and forcing your eyes to focus. The chatter of everyone around you actually served as a nice buffer for a while until you felt the same hand on you once more.
Your shoulder instantly unraveled the built-up tension inside, dropping from where it felt like they were hiked up to your ears. Your night was back on track, finally. Robby's hand on your shoulder and some empty words of, "Get some good rest tonight."
"We're heading across the street to unwind, maybe have a few beers. Why don't you join us tonight?"
Great. It already sucked enough rejecting your colleagues' offers, but now you're going to have to reject your attending.
That emptiness in your chest begged you to say yes. But this time it burned differently. Something inside you that you couldn't trace to a specific place was begging for more time with Robby.
Your heart dropped. Usually, you could figure out what was hurting you, where it was metastasizing. But this? This was entirely different.
"Not tonight. I have some more stuff I wanna get done here."
"You sure?" Donnie popped up behind Robby, six-pack already tucked under his arm. The invitation was real and open. He wanted you there, like you weren't some nuance that would wreck someone's night. "We might even manage to get Javadi drunk!"
A smile actually graces your lips, small and fleeting. Man, Robby hates how his eyes lock onto it immediately. He glances away quickly, scuffing his foot across the floor quietly at the fact that he wasn't the one who got it out of you.
"I'm okay. Kinda tired anyways." You pull your shoulder up into a shrug. "Thanks, though."
"Can I talk to you before I head out?"
Robby waves Donnie along, shouting something about being there in a second, as he lingers by your desk.
"Me?" You point to yourself. Idiot. Of course, he means you. Who else could he possibly be speaking to? "I mean, yeah. What's up?"
Your head starts working so fast that, for all you know, there may be a hole burning through you somewhere. Were you in trouble? Anything but that, please.
As he guides you down the hallway, his hand barely hovering just over the small of your back, like he was afraid to push you too hard. That, or he was so unsettled by you that he didn't want to touch you right now. Either way, the gesture felt more humiliating than if he were to drag you down the hall by the ear.
Was he going to go through a checklist, point by point, of everything you did wrong with that poor father and daughter? Okay, that probably wasn't it, but still.
The sound of the door clicking shut felt like it reached the volume of a gunshot, every nerve in your body was screaming at you to somehow fix whatever you've done wrong.
"You're not in trouble." He says the second he turns enough to see your face. He bends his knees just a little bit to get closer to your level as he speaks. Like he was making himself a little smaller for you.
Oh. So, your emotions must be showing on your face, clear as day.
"I just wanted to check in before I left… Do you have anyone to talk to after days like this?"
You want to burst into flames where you're standing. Either bile or humiliation climbs up your throat as you stare back at him unblinking. Was your loneliness that palpable?
"Yeah." You shake your head no before course-correcting it to an up-and-down nod. The single word burns your lips as it passes through, a punishment for lying, you'd assume.
Robby doesn't crowd you or reach out to pat you on the shoulder again; he just stands there with that slight bend in his knees, his eyes not leaving your crumbling face. His eyes narrow just slightly, but stay impossibly soft.
"You sure?"
"Yeah. I'm sure."
You feel so small right now. Not like you're prey caught in front of a predator. No. Robby could never be a vulture like that. Not when he's looking at you like this. Small, like somehow all the strings that make you up, make you appear human on the outside, have given way at once. Now, all that's left of you is a tangled mess of twine on the floor.
"I should really get back to work." You say, brushing past him before he could interject. Whatever pieces of yourself you couldn't manage to pick back up stay there in that room with him. More of yourself is lost tonight.
ــــــــــﮩ٨ـ
A single chill racks through you as the wind seeps in through your unzipped jacket. But the most important matter at hand is getting your headphones untangled. Once those are in, everything will be fine.
Your phone shows 12:24 as you plug in your cable. No calls, no texts, one alert from iCloud that you don't have storage space anymore. Great.
Spotify picks something old and slow as you cross the street, zipping your jacket up to rest over your mouth, the zipper ice cold as it bumps your nose with each step.
The song crescendos in your ears as the vague silhouette of a man comes into view, barely illuminated by a streetlight that the city needs to change. He's slumped against the back of the park bench that's become a landmark for you to pass on your walk. The short hair, big hoodie, and bad posture could only belong to one person.
Part of you considers turning around, taking a different way home, but another part of you, same as before, begs you to move. Your feet make the choice before you do.
"Dr. Robby?" You say quietly as you take the headphones out. Tony Bennet, whom you've just identified, is now singing into the night through the dangling headphones.
"Hey." It's all he says for a moment. He doesn't seem shocked by your presence, like he knew you'd stumble upon him eventually. Hoped maybe. "Everyone headed out pretty early." He tries to explain why he's still sitting on this park bench two hours after a casual after-work meet-up that probably only lasted half an hour max.
You nod, no words finding their way out. Lips pulled into a thin line. But, instead of your feet forcing you to leave, they kick at the dirt idly. Why won't you leave? And more importantly, where the hell is this feeling coming from?!
He kicks at the half-empty six-pack with his foot. "Want one?"
"I'm really not a big drinker."
He bends over toward his backpack, resting against the park bench. His hands dig for a second, the sound of a Ziploc being opening sounds before he retrieves what he was searching for.
"I have an apple."
You stare at the red apple in his hand for a second, then back to him, completely earnest in his offer. Just anything to keep you here a little longer.
"Yeah, okay." You say quietly.
He rubs the apple along the sleeve of his hoodie, haphazardly cleaning it before tossing it to you. The bench barely makes a creak as he shifts over. No big fanfare, just a now-open spot beside him.
"Sit."
You keep enough distance between you two as you scoot onto the bench. A little wary, like somehow you were going to break something or scare him. You take a careful bite into the apple, your stomach twisting as you do, far more hungry than you'd realize. Yeah. Hunger. That had to be all this feeling was! That's why your stomach is in knots.
"Thanks." You say through a bite of an apple. "What are you still doing out here?"
He sipped his open beer before he answered. Staring ahead at the treeline, trying to plan out his next words before he spoke. He had no interest in scaring you off now that he got you to stay. Like a stray that finally butted it's head against his hand after months of letting them adjust.
He didn't want to admit that he stayed out here for two hours in the hopes that you'd turn up eventually. That he's been worried about you. That he worries about you more than the rest of his residents, and worst of all, that whenever you let him get close enough, you have a way of making him feel an assortment of things that he thought he lost the ability for.
"Didn't feel like facing my couch." Is the final casual sentence he lands on.
"Yeah." You nod back, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.
The silence takes over the two of you for a bit, and neither of you rectifies it. It was comfortable. For the first time you can remember, your silence didn't feel like it was imposing on anyone. You didn't feel like the weird girl in the back of the class getting laughed at or told to "speak up".
"How were the mom and son?" You ask. The images of the way you failed them flashing through your head. You give a tiny shake of your head to rid the thoughts. Robby doesn't comment on it.
"Medically, they're gonna be fine. Emotionally, it'll take a while. But, they'll figure it out."
You make a sad sound of agreement, poking at the apple with the end of one of your nails.
"Why do you think it happened?" You ask, offering up no more information on the question.
"Guy ran a red."
"No. Not like that." You say, spinning the apple in your hand. "Why does anything like that happen? Is it God? Just the way life goes sometimes?"
Robby hesitates with an answer. He probably had less of an idea than you did. But it wasn't lost on him the way this was eating away at you. Maybe you actually did need an answer. One from him specifically. You trusted him to teach you medicine. Why couldn't he answer this for you? Surely this was easier than explaining how to put in a chest tube.
"I don't really think I'm the one to ask." He laughs, but the sound is hollow and gruff. "I think it depends on what you believe in."
"What do you believe?"
"I don't know on days like today." He shrugs with his hands in his hoodie pockets. The tension in his shoulders is even more obvious.
He turns his body towards you on the small park bench, uncrossing his legs so he doesn't crowd you.
"But what I do know is that you did really well today."
Your eyes shoot up quickly. He must be mistaken. You? Who lost the only two patients you were supposed to handle? You search his eyes quickly for any signs of deception, but there are none there. No, what looks back at you is earnest.
You have to peel your eyes away immediately. The lump in your throat forms so quickly you're afraid the look he's giving you might actually kill you. How is he not looking through you? He's looking like you're not some figment of imagination that accidentally stumbled onto this plane of reality.
"I don't see it that way." You clear your throat after your voice cracks on the second word.
His eyebrows knit together, getting lost behind the rim of his glasses as his eyes soften, barely adjusting them with two fingers. That little sideways frown on your stone face showed him how much guilt you held for yourself.
"You know that's not true."
You pull your legs up on the park bench with you, tucking your knees against your chest and wrapping your arms around them. Not to hide or cry into, but just to have another barrier to the world. Like an animal protecting their soft points.
"Isn't it? You trusted me with half that MVA, and my half died."
The words have harshness behind them. Like you were talking about the wrongdoings of someone you hated.
There was the same feeling creeping up Robby's neck. The one he gets when the anger you have for yourself seeps into your words, the pain he feels for you, like he was divinely sent to care for you, and you won't let him. Or, he won't let himself.
"They didn't have a chance. You did better than anyone else could've."
What was he trying to do to you, seriously? Tears burned at the back of your eyes, but there was nothing you wanted to do less than cry in front of your attending. Especially not one that's the only person you've ever come across that's made you feel something that, for the first time, was even lost to you.
"I've been training residents for a long time, and you're one of the best I've ever had."
He saw the way your eyes were glassy and half lidded with exhaustion. The kind you always carried but worsened after days like today. The adrenaline had left your veins a long time ago and left nothing but guilt in its wake.
"Thanks- uh, thank you." Is all you can get out without your voice betraying you even further. Blinking in rapid succession for a few seconds, angling your head away so he couldn't see the sheen of tears covering them.
There you were, cheek pressed against your knee as you rested your head, your body slowly and against your will relaxing in his presence. The worst part was that you didn't even look sad, necessarily. You just look faded, like pieces of you were being carved away every day. Robby recognized this pain.
He collapsed in on himself the same way every night. At home, if he was lucky, in some tucked-away corner of the ED, if Adamson's presence loomed too heavily. But right now, he saw you armorless.
"I should probably go." You said once your voice felt solid enough coming out.
Now, it was his turn to let silence stretch on. The kind of quiet that forms around two people feeling adjacent things that they don't have names for yet. Maybe Robby knew long ago, but this feeling was new to you and confusing, not to mention terrifying.
His eyes found yours over the rim of his glasses, and for a second, he didn't look burdened. Like he'd let all of his reservations go. Maybe that was the natural order of things. One person could be so petrified of their own feelings that they give the other a new sense of self.
"Not if you don't want to."
"Do you want me to?" Your voice comes out uneven.
You had no idea how he saw you. The fact that you'd even have to ask. Like he hadn't been half begging for you to just be near him all night. He had more respect for you than you could ever fathom. How you acted as a doctor, how you poured life into everybody else. You were extraordinary to him, and yet you acted like you were nothing.
"No, I don't." He had to force the words out, not because they weren't true, but because they were hard for him to say, to admit.
Robby’s emotions had been stuffed down for so long that he wasn't even sure they were there anymore. But, for you, he'd work at them, chip away at whatever he had to.
Looking at you right now, he felt a pull like he never had before. Like everything awful that had happened, happened so that you could be sitting right here.
You couldn't fathom what was happening in your body. But maybe it wasn't bad?
Yes, you couldn't identify what part of the body these feelings were sitting in. One of the stupid things you tried to train yourself to do when "complicated feelings" arose, as your old therapist called them.
But, maybe the reason you couldn't trace them was because it was everywhere. Like your skin was prickling. But this didn't feel the same, not the feeling you had when you'd lay in bed hollow and alone, and certainly not the feeling you'd get when you lock yourself in the bathroom, with a hand over your mouth sobbing.
Was this actually good?
His hand lifted slowly, just enough to land on the spot between your collar and jaw. His thumb barely brushed across your jawbone. His touch was so careful, not grabbing at you or rushing you, just there. Feeling you under his hands, rough from work. You were almost shocked when his hand didn't go through you. You were here, real, and he was touching you.
"You okay with this?" He asked quietly, bringing his hand up just enough to wipe a stray hair away from your temple. He was giving you the chance to retreat if you wanted to.
But if not, he had no issues taking this weight off your shoulders and guiding you tonight.
"Yeah." You say, nodding, turning your head into his touch just barely. Maybe unconsciously even, just needing it to stay.
Robby felt your stillness when he kissed you. You panicked. You saw him going in for the kiss and even leaned in yourself. But now? All those thoughts swirled in your head again. Not to mention the newest one blaring about how he must be hating you right now for messing up this kiss. Your hand on his shoulder, perched awkwardly, trembled against him just a little.
"Hey," Robby said, pulling back enough to speak, your foreheads almost touching. "I got you."
Those words undid you completely.
When you finally met his lips again, your kiss wasn't aggressive or with years of pent-up tension behind it. It was careful and tentative. It felt like you were testing to make sure this was real. His lips softened against yours, following whatever pace you set. He has a firm, guiding hand on your back, anchoring you here. He traces his fingers up and down your spine slowly over your scrubs. All of his motions give you some kind of security in this moment. That he's here, he's got you, that for once it's okay to rest.
His thumb strokes small circles on your cheekbone. A quiet kind of tenderness that Robby can't remember the last time he showed anyone.
With little confidence in your movement, you brought a careful hand up to his face, letting one of your fingers barely trace over his beard. He exhaled through his nose, a quiet breathy sound.
His own hand leaves your back and covers the one on his face, intertwining your fingers together, keeping you there. A silent, that's good.
Your touch was so soft. The tips of your fingers tracing over his beard, the grays peppering throughout it giving it a new kind of coarseness. The way you drew him in closer, like the feeling of the beard, of the age it showed, the stability was something of deep reverence to you.
You were wrecking him.
His lips slowed against yours again. He didn't want to deepen the kiss or devolve into hunger right now. He wanted you to know he was there. That he had you. You were here, you were safe, and he wanted you. Two people who could understand the weight the other one carried without words.
Pulling back from the kiss felt torturous, but you had to. You couldn't bring yourself to pull your hand away yet, loving the way every part of his face felt under your fingertips. He couldn't help lean into it, taking a ragged breath like a man starved for tenderness.
"Still with me?" He asks.
And the smile on your face was one of the best things he'd ever seen. Not the polite one you'd give to patients, or the fake one you gave while fighting your way out of tough conversations. No, this was real. Your eyes crinkled around the edges, even. Because someone had chosen you.
"Yeah."
Your heart is hammering in your chest so rhythmically it sounds like knocking. Like it was physically pounding against your skin to be let out. Because, for the first time in a long, long time, it had the strength too.
It was emptied out for so long, a slow tear that leaked until nothing was left, and now Michael Robinavitch, like the great doctor he was, was stitching it back together with steady hands.
After a bad fall lands her in the ER, she comes face-to-face with the ex who shattered her self-worth during the darkest part of his addiction. But this time, she’s not alone—and when Park the Shark steps in, protective and unexpectedly soft, she finally gets to see what care without cruelty looks like.
Smutty Blurb by @titus-danforth
Orthopedic surgeon Dr. Park “the Shark” didn’t earn his nickname by being nice and friendly- he’s an asshole and for good reason but to you? 🔥
Casual Secret by @amnatreal
Five POVs discovering a new side to Park The Shark + one very revealing incident.
Ride or Die by @bullet-prooflove
(part of a series) You wake up to the sound of an angry blender after Brendon discovers what happened with Rowena.
Brendon’s Pregnant Wife Blurb by @starlord-s
Park Defends You by @rr-after-dark
Park’s Secret Wife by @totallynotashieldagent
Attack of the Baby Shark by @imaginesofwonder
A routine ER shift takes a sharp turn when fear sends you rushing to Brendon, and he drops everything the moment he hears your voice
Bendon’s Wife in the ER by @almostabsent
Lured by the Light by @redsakura101
Brendon never anticipated falling so effortlessly in love. But with you. With all the consideration and care that you hold for him. How could he do anything but love you.
The Kind of Fate that Hurts by @thelightofday
an accident with a familiar, brooding ortho surgeon has you exploring an unlikely connection 🔥
Sugar Talking SMAU Series by @/thelightofday
it’s a mystery to most— the way park “the shark” is only truly kind to one ED resident. the only one he brings coffee to. doesn’t glare at or mutter snide comments toward. the only one he tolerates. little miss sunshine, who unlike her colleagues, doesn’t shy away from the intimidating ortho surgeon. never hesitates to put him in his place, actually. and he’s… starting to like it?
Brendon Park Says Please by @f1amejob
Shark Off Duty by @imaginesofwonder
A casual lunch accidentally reveals a secret you never mentioned. You're married to Dr. Park, leaving your coworkers completely shocked.
Brendon Park x Single Mom by @tumbleweedstillhaspanic
One Fish Two Fish by @f1amejob
it wasn’t a question of reasoning but rather a an echo of his request. a clarification to make sure she heard him right. robby nodded. tight lipped as he swiveled his head to the side. “yes.” but the way the word was said made it seem like he was second guessing. robby looked to baby jane doe and then to samira. exhaling through his nose and nodding without saying anything. his hand wiped across his face. “yes, get peds in.” and left.
When Brendon is knee deep in surgery and one of his nieces comes into the ER, Brendon has no choice but to call you for backup. Only problem is, you’ve never met his nieces before.
Off the Deep End by @yournamesnob
Your dynamic with Brendon is easy, comfortable, until one night everything changes and you're forced to deal with your feelings for each other.
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You show up to the PTMC’s emergency department with an injury. Unlucky for you, your boyfriend happens to have sharp teeth that decided to sink into your skin the night before.
tags/warnings: mentions of sex, cursing, brief medical talk, reader has EDS but it’s mentioned once and not pivotal, I think that’s it.
_
You were fucked. In both the literal and metaphorical sense of the word. Last night, Brendon had drove you so far into the mattress that you thought the bed frame was going to break. His sweet words contrasted with the sharp ache that his teeth would bring, clamping down on whatever skin he could find. Your poor chest absolutely littered with bruises and indents of his teeth. Not that you were complaining about that fucked. You’d never admit it but you might’ve even begged for it.
No, the fucked you were dreading was the fact that you’d managed to dislocate your collarbone and most likely your ribs, too. Every time you tried to take a deep breath the stabbing pain would nearly double you over. Your left arm was out of commission, tingling pain shooting down it with every shift. Normally, you’d tough out the pain, used to the occasional dislocations and subluxations.
This time wasn’t like that. This pain was radiating in a way you weren’t used to and you couldn’t say with confidence which way your collarbone went. Knowing if it went posterior it could rupture an artery, you decided to err on the side of caution. Which means you’ve been sitting in the ER’s waiting room for the last hour.
Langdon is the one who calls you back, still stuck working chairs at Robby’s orders. The PTMC staff knew you. The numerous times you’d show up with lunch for Brendon, the occasional times you’d stop in with an injury of your own, various work events. Everyone got along with you well, much more than with your predator of a boyfriend. Jokes that weren’t actually jokes but comments disguised behind a laugh would often flow about how Park the Shark ended up with you.
That being said, you knew someone definitely bumped you up in line. You weren’t going to complain though. The pain was bad enough that you just wanted to go home and pass out in bed the second this was over.
Frank smiles at you, genuinely happy to see you. “Hey Shark Bait, what’re you doing here?” The nickname manages to bring a small smile to your face. The shift in Frank’s tells you it resembles more of a grimace, though.
“Fucked up my collarbone, probably a couple ribs too.” You groan as you settle down on the exam chair.
His fingers gently probe over your shirt. Running as light as possible down the side of your ribs, clearly sensing the pain in your face the second he applies pressure. “Yeah, definitely feel some things outta place there. Let’s get you sent back for some imaging. I’ll page Park.”
Your only acknowledgement is a small nod and thumbs up. Within minutes, Perlah’s at your side and walking beside you as you slowly make your way to exam 8.
The curtain is pulled back abruptly and the sight of Robby comes into view, his hands furiously rubbing sanitizer over themselves. “Heard we had a VIP in the ER, figured I should come take care of it myself.” He jokes, eyes focused on reviewing your chart.
“Aw, Abbot not in yet?” You tease. Robby shoots you a raised brow over his glasses with a sharp glare and you chuckle. The movement sends a shock of pain through your entire left side, causing your lungs to constrict. It’s another 10 seconds before you’re able to take a semi-full breath again.
Robby’s face falls into sympathy, “Want anything for the pain?”
“S’alright. I’ve gotta drive home. Besides, you know it doesn’t do much for me anyways.” Nodding solemnly, Robby moves to your side.
“You mind if I have some students sit in with us? Not every day we get a hypermobile Ehlers Danlos patient in here. No one better to teach ‘em than you.” His hands are carefully starting to feel down your left arm, checking for a pulse and nerve reactions. You look up and see the med students already standing there.
Javadi you know well enough. Some new students, Ogilvie and Kwon, you’re pretty sure. Behind them Santos and Whitaker are walking past the nurses station and when Santos sees you, she quickly pivots and pulls Whitaker with her.
“What did we do to deserve fresh bait in here?” Santos jokes.
You shift awkwardly, face flushing and throat suddenly dry. It makes a grating sound when you clear it and speak lowly to Robby, “Could this maybe not be a teaching moment?”
It took a good three hours of gaslighting yourself before you let yourself believe maybe, you should get medical attention. Another two after that to finally accept yes, I should get this checked out just to be safe. The hickeys and bruises from last night were impossible to hide. The second closest ER would’ve taken another half hour to get to and you’re pretty sure it wasn’t wise to drive in your current state as is.
The last thing you wanted was half of the PTMC’s emergency department staff to see the evidence of your latest fuck with one of their surgeons who regularly does orthopedic consults. Robby alone would be bad enough.
Robby’s face scrunches in confusion but he immediately complies, nodding. “Yeah, yeah that’s fine. Let me go get Dana to sit in.”
Turning, he ushers the small crowd that started forming out of the room and ducks his head into the hallway to call for Dana. She walks in a few moments later and closes the curtain behind her and sighs when she looks at you. “What’s going on, hun?”
“Oh you know. Think I dislocated a couple things trying to walk and chew gum at the same time.” She grants you a small laugh and comes over beside you, hand hovering over your shirt.
“Need a hand with this?” Nodding you lean back a bit to give her a better angle to help reach for the hem. “Got anything underneath? Should I grab you a gown?”
“No I’ve got something on, thanks. Besides, not like y’all haven’t seen tits before.”
Dana huffs a true laugh out at that, “More than I’d like to sometimes, kid.”
Robby’s keeping his head down as he pulls on his gloves. Despite the fact he’s about to be touching your exposed chest he still wants to give you a sense of privacy. When the shirt starts to come up over your stomach you startle.
“Uhm-”
Dana halts her movements, shirt held in place. Robby looks up then, trying to see what went wrong.
“Listen, just, please don’t say anything. Okay?”
Robby’s brows shoot up, confused by what you could mean as you let Dana slide the shirt the rest of the way off. From her place slightly behind you, she doesn’t have the same view as Robby.
Robby who takes in the sight in front of him and mutters out, “Fuckin’- what the hell?” Voice full of concern and disbelief.
Dana comes around to see what Robby’s reacting to and instead of shock gracing her face, it hardens. After a moment she tilts her head down to force you to meet her eyes. “Park do this to you?”
You say nothing, just place your head in your right hand with a pathetic whimper of embarrassment. The sound must’ve come across wounded because Dana pushes on, “Someone you love shouldn’t do that to you, sweetie. We can help.”
Robby finally finds his voice. “There is zero tolerance for domestic assault in this hospital. We have people in the building right now who can handle this in minutes.”
Your head shoots up, “No! God, no, it’s not what it looks like.” You try and explain, but how the hell do you explain the situation without telling your dirty, kinky secrets to your partner’s coworkers.
“It looks like someone’s been hurting you.” Robby says flatly.
“I wanted it.” Dana’s brows shoot up at that. You struggle for the words to continue.
“Listen we,” you sigh, “Brendon and I are-”. Your voice breaks off in an insanity fueled laugh, “I mean have you seen him?”
Robby is clearly not following what you’re saying.
“Neither of us are exactly, gentle lovers. Last night was just a little intense. It wasn’t anything I didn’t want though, I asked for it.” You explain. Voice speeding up as you ramble, “Please don’t think Brendon would ever hurt me like that. Fuck no. He’s the most caring, loving man I’ve ever met. Really.”
Dana just started shaking her head with a small laugh, smirk tugging on her lips. “Alright then. Whatever floats your boat.”
Robby still looks like he’s trying to compute the information he’s gained in the last forty seconds. Dana starts attaching leads to you to get a vitals check and by the time she’s done, Robby is still just standing there.
“Dr. Robby! Would you please assess our patient?” As if broken from a trance, Robby’s eyes meet yours and quickly flit to Dana.
“Yes, of course.”
Robby is barely looking at the injury for three minutes when the curtain is dragged open. The space wide enough to expose you to the nurse’s station, leaving your secret vulnerable to anyone nearby. Well, at least it would be if it weren’t for the 6’2”, hulking man standing in its gap.
The same man whose teeth had sunken into your flesh over and over and over again last night, making you cry out noises you didn’t even know you were capable of. His eyes dark as he drank down every sound were now filled with concern.
“What happened?” He’s quickly closing the curtain behind him, not a single inch of your skin being exposed to the curious and prying eyes of a certain pair of nurses with an R2 behind them. His tone is sharp, quick and to the point. Like it always is whenever he’s worried about you.
“Nothing, baby. I’m fine I promise. I just wanted to be safe and get it checked out.” You try and soothe him, his hands immediately coming to rest over your collarbone.
The warmth of his skin is the only thing you feel, or maybe it’s the only thing you let yourself focus on. “When did this happen?”
You quickly drop eye contact with him. “Early this morning. ‘Bout an hour or so after you left.”
“Sweetheart, I left at 5am this morning. It’s past 1pm.” His hand finds your chin, making you look at him. All you give him is a small smile.
“Oops?”
“Why didn’t you call me.” He removes his hands, done with his assessment.
“I didn’t want to worry you. Figured it would go away within a few hours, but it just kept getting worse.”
“The clavicle dislocation is anterior. I want to get an x-ray on the ribs just to be safe but I think it’s just pinching a nerve this time.” Brendon explains, looking over at Robby who nods and places the order.
Brendon sits down on the bed next to you, hand stroking over your cheek lovingly. “We’re done here.” He doesn’t even glance over his shoulder towards the other people in the room as he dismisses them.
“I’ll be back to take her up for imaging myself.” Dana calls as she and Robby slide out from the curtain.
“I’m so getting you back for this later.” You tell Brendon and he only smirks as he lets his eyes fall to appreciate his handiwork.
“I hope you do.”
_
“Looks like Shark was a more accurate nickname than we thought, huh, Robinavitch?”
Robby doesn’t dignify Dana with a response.
He’d like a moment of silence to try and remove the intricate knowledge of his coworker’s sex life from his mind.
clearly I really liked this idea as I wrote this in less than two hours :) shoutout to anon🦷 for this!!!
Tags/warnings: f!reader, age gap (reader is 24, Brendon is mid-late 30s), inappropriate boss/employee relationship, high key perv!brendon, daddy kink, masturbation (m and f), fingering, hand job, angst, car crash, injury, comfort, fight/confessing feelings, dry humping, lil somno, oral (f receiving), protected piv sex
Summary: Your dynamic with Brendon is easy, comfortable, until one night everything changes and you're forced to deal with your feelings for each other.
a/n: something to get me out of this writing slump dear god
Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND, USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI OR USE AI TO TRANSLATE MY WORK. FUCK AI.
"Daddy!"
The shrill of childish excitement lights up the surgery department in an instant, eyes and ears cutting through the sterile floor towards the sound, eager for a reaction from someone, anyone.
It's even more satisfying when Brendon Park, the Shark of orthopedics, stops mid sentence, turning swiftly to the sound, his blank expression curling into a gentle smile as he bends down to pick up the three year old in his gigantic arms.
"What're you doing here, guppy?" he teases. Brendon Park jokes, and glances get thrown between residents, interns and nurses alike.
Ah gossip, the great equalizer.
"Wanted to see you."
The little girl manhandles him, pulling and squeezing his cheeks like he's not a great white but rather a pliable flounder, reducing him to nothing more than a sucker for his kid.
"Oh yeah, where's—?"
"Jesus trouble, how do you run so fast?"
The way Brendon Park lights up for the second time practically blinds everyone. Oh this is definitely making the rumor mill rounds today. So long boring ten hour surgery to come.
"I didn't run!" the child huffs. "I ski...skiddered."
"Skipped?" Brendon looks to you for confirmation.
You roll your eyes at her antics, nodding your head towards her father, gracing him with a smile that makes everyone understand exactly why their big, mean, scary boss is acting the way he is.
The floor returns to its normal shuffle after that, one more second of inaction and the Shark would've definitely snapped.
"Hey," Brendon greets you, a little reserved, definitely surgical in nature.
"Hey Mr. Park," you beam and he instantly stills.
"How many times do I have to tell you," he starts to chide. "At least call me doctor Park."
You sigh out a laugh at that, rolling your eyes playfully as you instinctively step closer. He can smell the faint sweetness of your perfume, the spilled apple sauce on your shirt, the hint of laundry detergent on your fingers.
"I'm glad we caught you," you tell him. "We didn't know if you'd started on time today."
"Just about to go in."
You nod, clinical, like you're absorbing information and processing how you're going to get out of his hair in the next twenty seconds.
"Gotcha, well, you got what you wanted trouble," you hum, moving to grab the child in his arms.
She knows what's coming and so she throws herself onto her dad, tiny hands fisting the purple scrubs, cheek pressed tightly over his chest.
"No! I wanna stay with daddy."
Brendon opens his mouth to speak, to defuse the situation before the guilt eats him alive. But you're no sucker, unlike him.
"Really?" you frown. "You wanna stay with your daddy while he does his surgery instead of going to the park to get ice cream with me?"
In all honesty, he stopped listening to you the second the word daddy left your lips. He's certain his kid can feel his heart beating uncomfortably fast, rattling against this ribcage and threatening to burst out of his chest.
All he registers is the toddler flinging herself out of his loose embrace, almost face planting against the sterile floors and practically buzzing with excitement.
"Brendon?" you turn to him, smile turning into a frown quickly.
He springs back into reality when your hand lands over his forearm, light and grounding, like an anchor he didn't know he needed.
"Yeah, yeah," he responds, pretends, shifts out of your touch like he's already late for something that isn't even remotely time for. "I'll see you for dinner, okay guppy?"
But she doesn't care anymore.
"Okay! Bye dad."
Instead, she grabs your hand, demanding and pushy, and pulls you down the hall.
"Bye doctor Park," you tease. "See you later."
And just like that, calm and cold return to the surgery department, and Brendon Park snaps back into the sharpness that defines him.
It's late by the time he makes it home.
Too late, too tired, too...everything.
He sneaks into his own home like a teenager, light steps, a soft touch as he turns the key, even takes off his shoes by the door before he even makes it into the house.
It's not the first time either, not gonna be the last.
He shouldn't feel bad, this is what he pays you the big bucks for at the end of the day.
It's when he peeks into his daughter's room, catching the two of you snuggled together in her tiny bed, butterfly printed comforter covering her and not you, a book forgotten, Mr. Stuffles the rabbit on the floor that it hits him.
Hard.
He'd been miserable that first year after his girlfriend left him. They'd been planning a wedding, the baby being just another blessing in the string of goodness that they had been experiencing.
At least it had been to him.
It took her a year to leave, to finally crack under the pressure and run away. He didn't know how to be a dad alone, much less navigate co-parenting with the woman who had torn his heart out of his chest with her bare hands.
If it hadn't been for his mother, sisters and brothers, Brendon would not have made it through it.
But even they could only get him so far. He needed to go back to work, needed to find something to keep him going, needed...help. Professional help.
And that's when he'd found you.
Frank Langdon's occasional babysitter, full time student looking for a summer job while you got yourself situated for your master's program.
The little guppy was two at that point and Brendon simply couldn't be there for her all the time. So he poached you away from the ED doctor.
To say the dynamic had started out a little toxic would be...an understatement.
Once Brendon returned to the OR with full force, he fell hard into it, into the love and thrill and control that he could exert over his patients, his work, his process.
All the control he'd lost, the scared man that he had become—frantic and powerless—disappeared the second he got back in those scrubs.
And so did the loving and caring father that had put his kid first.
You ripped him a new one about eight days after first meeting him, a night like this, one where he came back home buzzing from a procedure well done, pupils dilated and ego through the roof.
She was young enough to not remember then, but she was definitely old enough to hold onto broken promises now, and that is what tugged at his heartstrings.
Now, tea parties and recitals were just as, if not more important than getting to do a risky procedure no one at PTMC had done before.
Of course, this time around he'd texted, let you know there had been a complication with the surgery. The shaky intern typing out the message practically stopped breathing every time Brendon asked him to erase everything and start from scratch.
They all thought it was cute how he wanted it to be perfect and gentle for his daughter, but the truth is, he needed it to be for you.
Brendon steps into the room softly, bending down to pick up the stuffy and placing it in between his kid's arms before he closes the picture book and sets it on the nightstand.
Neither of you startle at the movement, the soft glow from the salt lamp casting shadows that you knew were never meant to harm you.
It's only when Brendon places a hand over your shoulder, squeezing gently that you blink awake.
"Hi," you whisper, barely turning back to look at him.
"Hi," he smiles softly. "Are you comfy?"
You scoff out a laugh, soft enough not to wake up the kid but loud enough to make his smile grow twice the size.
"Let's get you to bed then," he places a hand under your neck then, pushing you up by supporting your back with his forearm while you tangle your hands around his other arm and pulling yourself into a sitting position.
Certain you're awake enough not to topple over, he leans over you and places a kiss to his kid's temple, watching her nose scrunch ever so slightly before settling back into comfortable sleep.
You smirk at his antics, using his body as leverage to get up to your feet, hands clumsily digging into the muscles of his back.
He groans lightly, old man that he is, and quickly retaliates, holding onto you so that you'll hoist him up with you.
"So heavy," you joke, straining to keep the two of you upright.
Brendon shrugs. "Just full of love."
"Booo," you chuckle, making your way out of her room, Brendon's hands over your shoulders to steady you. "There's leftovers in the microwave if you want them."
He hums in acknowledgment, letting you go as you make it out to the hallway.
"Eat, then shower?" he asks you.
"I'll take advantage then."
He nods. "Yours is still busted?"
"Yeah, guy said earliest he could come is next week."
"Damn plumbers."
"Indeed."
He stares at you for a long second after the conversation settles.
He's...comfortable. Too comfortable with you.
The past year has been a whirlwind. One summer quickly turning into you deferring your master's program so you could finish out the year with them. Then one semester turned into two, into you moving in, into...this.
Don't get him wrong, Brendon knows where the two of you stand. It's not necessarily healthy, but it's innocent, it's professional, it's...just a pathetic crush, nothing more. A fantasy he'll never allow himself to indulge in.
And yet, he cannot stop himself every time his eyes fall on your lips, the plumpness calling to him, beckoning him forward, demanding attention, truth.
"Goodnight then," he manages, rough and exhausted, desperate yet...not enough. Never enough.
You smile dopily at him. "Goodnight Brendon."
It's his own fault really, he should've knocked. But it's his house for fuck's sake, why should he?
So that's how he gets a complete eyeful of you taking a shower the next morning.
He got a late start which meant making breakfast, taking his guppy to school and then going to the gym, all before nine.
Unfortunately for him, earbuds in, distracted as all hell, he completely misses all the warning signs, the closed door, the steam, your clothes on the floor, the music blaring from the speaker.
He's certain he's dead and this is both heaven and hell simultaneously when he finally dares to look up and—
Jesus fucking Christ.
He should look away, he needs to look away...but he physically can't, his hungry gaze taking in every inch of skin visible through the condensation of the glass shower.
If only he would've reacted a second earlier...
You turn in slow motion, your reaction catching up late. You yelp, hands coming up to wrap around your chest, only aiding in pushing your boobs up further.
He instantly snaps into action, blush taking over every inch of his face and neck as he curses out a long string of apologies, blood pumping through his heart and his...yeah, he needs to get the fuck out of there.
"I'm sorry, so sorry," he stumbles out of the bathroom ungracefully, fast enough that he doesn't catch your own reaction, the way your chest constricts, the way your legs rub together.
Brendon manages to hurriedly hide in the kitchen, heart hammering against his ribcage, eyes wide and mind absolutely running a million miles an hour.
He needs to forget he ever saw that, needs to erase it from his brain...but his stupid erection won't let him.
The tent in his pants becomes painful the second he gives it attention, the flimsy material of his work out shorts just not helping his case at all. He needs to take care of this, needs to stop being such a weirdo before you come out.
So he rushes into your bathroom, locks the door like a sane human being does, and pulls himself out of his boxers methodically.
This isn't pleasurable, no, not at all, never. This is necessity. Emotionless, cold and surgical. He spits on his hand, wrapping it around himself without much preamble, thinking of nothing, searching for only one thing, release.
But he looks down at himself and his brain betrays him.
Imagine her on her knees.
"Fuck no."
How beautiful does she look, skin wet, hair stuck to her neck, eyes wide, mouth open?
"Shut the fuck up."
Her mouth would be so hot, come on, Brendon, give into her—
"Go away."
And yet he groans, the mere thought of you knowing what he's doing two doors away, the way you pushed up your chest, the need to paint it—paint you—white with his spend—
He's biting down on his other hand quickly after as he cums loudly, making sure to aim for the toilet while does.
You're no longer in the shower when he comes back out, your movements confined to your room. He doesn't have the courage to seek you out, so instead he just showers in silence.
The two of you don't interact at all before he's making his way into work.
You left his food prepped on the dining room table, disappearing out of the house the second you did to run some errands.
The tinge of shame and embarrassment linger deep in his bones all throughout the day, following him around like an unwanted shadow.
How would he even start to apologize? You have to talk about it, there's just no other way around it, but...how could he ever tell you it was a mistake when a part of him wanted nothing more than for it to happen again—to get a better look?
Since he made it to work late, he leaves even later. As he makes his way into his home, the same stillness from the night before greets him, only this time, it's heavy, like a breath that's been held in too long.
He goes through his routine quietly, dropping his bag by the door, checking in on his kid before walking down the hallway towards his bedroom.
But before he can make it, something catches his attention.
A breath. A gasp. A moan.
He freezes in front of your closed door, body going rigid with goosebumps, head turning almost robotically as his senses sharpen.
Your light is still on, peeking through the bottom slit of the door. Not uncommon, you like staying up to wait for him before you go to sleep.
No, what catches his attention is the distant...humming.
He steps forward, tentatively pressing his ear to the wood. It's not just a humming, it's vibrations, soft and steady.
Another shaky breath escapes you, louder than you would've liked, and you readjust the toy.
A shiver passes through Brendon as realization hits.
His cock twitches painfully against his underwear. Fuck this cannot be happening right now.
His head falls against your door, stabilizing, grounding. He can't, he will not—
Another moan from you. You're close.
Whatever resolve Brendon has snaps as he pulls himself out of his pants, hot, heavy and leaking.
"Jesus fucking Christ," he whispers as he takes himself into his hand. He begins to pump quickly, the pace excruciating and borderline painful, but he doesn't care, he needs to—
"Brendon," you huff, a breathy moan curling around his name. "Please I'm—Motherfucker!" you curse through gritted teeth, the vibrations stopping abruptly.
Brendon's heart does a leap in his chest.
Oh my god.
He can feel how frustrated you are, can hear how you shift uncomfortably over your sheets, can practically taste how wet you are as you toss the toy with a thump on the mattress next to you.
And Brendon doesn't think. Can't think, can't process a logical thought to save his life as he lifts his unoccupied hand and—
Knocks.
Says your name in that soft, saccharine voice of his that he uses when his child is throwing a tantrum.
Oh how he wishes he could see your face pale in horror at the knowledge of your boss being on the other side of the door.
"Are you okay?" he keeps poking.
You swallow thickly, shame mixing with terror.
"Mhmm."
"Can I come in?"
A broken sound leaves your chest, unprompted and definitely surprising you just as much as it does him.
"Um...no?"
He says your name again, stern and fatherly. He hears you moving around frantically, hiding all evidence of what you were just doing.
"Okay."
"Okay." A Cheshire smile curls at his lips, a thrill of satisfaction coursing through him as he tucks himself into his pants, the outline of his still rock hard dick on full display.
It's now or never.
He opens the door. You never seem to lock it, fucking adorable.
He has to physically hold himself back from pouncing on you as his eyes land on your heated cheeks, on your slightly tussled hair, on how you're gripping your comforter to save your life.
He shoots you a calming smile, boyish and embarrassed, as he steps into your room and closes the door behind him. Locking it.
He hears you gulp loudly as you notice his final movement.
"How was your day?" you barely manage to ask, your throat hoarse, your breathing broken.
He settles down on the bed by your feet, close enough to make your heart beat out of your throat, far away enough that he won't overwhelm you entirely.
"Good, good," he sighs, one hand tentatively inching closer and closer to you. "Lot of injuries today."
"I bet."
He smirks, a huff of a laugh cutting through the tension in the room.
"Listen—" he starts, looking up at you before continuing. You choke on your own breath, body becoming a statue with shame. "I'm sorry, I should've realized you were in the shower. It was very inappropriate of me and it will not happen again."
You let out a shaky breath, settling into the false sense of security, choosing to believe that he definitely did not hear you...yeah.
Brendon has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop from grinning like an idiot. God, you're just so adorable.
You nod, shifting forward, closer to him. "It's okay, I know you didn't do it on purpose. It was just...weird I guess."
You laugh, awkwardly, because what a silly predicament the two of you have found yourselves in, clearly.
Brendon doesn't follow your lead, not at all. He just keeps watching you, eyes darkening as he leans into you as well, his hand finally coming up to grab ahold of your foot over the comforter.
He squeezes enough to punctuate the moment, the tension, the heat. Your gaze snaps towards his hand, towards him, towards—
Your eyes widen without your consent as they land on his crotch, on the straining in his scrubs, on his still practically throbbing erection.
"Brendon," you exhale, confusion and desire blending together excruciatingly.
He shivers over you, his grip tightening on you.
"Don't," he warns. "Don't start something you won't finish, sweetheart."
Your gaze meets his then. He looks like a caged animal, practically vibrating as he holds himself back.
Emboldened by your lust, by the pent up frustration left coiling in your lower stomach, you get up on your knees, letting the comforter fall around your waist, the slightest sliver of skin peeking through.
"Oh I intend to finish it," you whisper.
"Unlike your vibrator?"
That breaks the spell quickly, heat rushing up to your face, neck, back instantly.
"Oh my god, Brendon!" you smack his arm, falling back down on your heels.
He smiles dopily, his hand sliding up your thigh as your brain processes all this new information. Distracted, you don't even notice when he slides beneath the fabric. It's only when the backs of his fingers graze your dripping folds that your breathing hitches.
"Fuck, sweetheart," he groans. "You're so wet."
You whimper at the feather light contact, hips bucking towards his touch.
"Please," you're no longer thinking, finally. "I need...make me cum, Bren."
The smirk that adorns his face then, all self-righteous and proud, only gets you wetter.
"Is this what you need, baby?" he leans in, breath hot against your ear as he presses a kiss just below it. "Needed my fingers to get yourself to cum?"
You moan, hands coming up to grab a hold of him, nails digging into the toughness of his arms.
In response, Brendon presses his thumb over your clit, slowly moving the pad in torturous circles. You pull him closer, opening your legs so that he has better access.
"Tell me what you need," he commands. "Tell daddy how to make you feel good."
Oh your head is spinning. A tear falls down your cheek, frustration rocking you out of control.
"Need your fingers," you pant.
He grins against your skin. "You already have 'em."
You whine, patience wearing thin. Who would've ever thought, his good girl, so demanding.
"In me, please," you choke, swallowing the drool that has gathered in your mouth before continuing. "Please daddy."
It breaks him, his ring and middle finger thrusting into you in one swift movement as his thumb picks up the pace.
You instantly hide your face agains the crook of his neck, your breathy moan muffled against him as he hooks his fingers into you, curling them over and over again against you until your legs are shaking beneath him.
"That's it, baby, such a good girl for me."
You shiver against him, melting against his warmth.
"Help daddy out, baby, wanna—" he groans. "Wanna cum with you."
He slows down his movements, keeping you right on the edge between putty and alert.
You nod against him, timid hands grazing down his torso towards his pants. The second your hand slides under his waistband, a hiss escapes him, causing a shiver of praise to boost your ego.
You manage to pull him out, long and thick and hot and heavy against your palm, you can't help but salivate at the sight. You let your drool drip down on him, his hips jerking as the wetness lands over his sensitive tip.
You giggle, overly amused by his reactions, emboldened by how easy it is to tame the Shark with just a simple swipe of your hand over his leaking head.
"Fucking hell, baby," he groans, picking up his own pace in retaliation.
You pull back to look at him then, gazes locking in silent competition.
He looks completely disheveled, broken and almost...reverent. Gratification blooms in your stomach, your hand pumping his length in tandem with his own fingers inside of you, the pace causing the two of you to slowly start to unravel together.
Your mouth hangs open in a silent moan as your body clenches around him, so close to the edge, so, so, so perfect—
"Daddy," you warn. "I'm gonna—"
He grunts, grabbing your hand and pulling it back up to his tip, urging you to focus your efforts there.
It takes him no time to catch up to you, his own body tensing in anticipation.
"C'mon baby," he implores. "Let go for me, cum with me."
A choked moan ripples through you as the coil snaps. Your legs quake, your vision blurs from pleasure, your hand stills over him as you feel his own release take over.
It's overwhelming to say the least, his hot moans heavy in your ear, his spend spurting onto your hand, painting his scrubs and your delicate skin, his warmth...oh my god he's so everywhere.
You can't think straight. Can't breathe right. Can't—
You groan as he removes his hand from inside of you, wetness running down your inner thighs as he does. Pleasure clouds your brain as you watch him bring his hand up to his mouth, his tongue lapping up your release, humming contently at the sweet taste.
Hunger flares in your belly as you do the same, lifting your hand up towards your mouth and sucking down on the spot covered by his cum.
You can feel the moan that ripples through him, his body tensing up with lust once more as he watches you.
"Fuck sweetheart, who would've thought..." he smirks, leaning down to smash his lips with your own, mouth desperately seeking to combine your tastes into one sloppy, searing kiss.
You oblige instantly, opening up for him to take whatever he pleases.
He pushes you down onto the mattress, his imposing body slotting itself perfectly in between your open thighs.
He's about to join you on the bed when you break the kiss.
"Outside clothes," you grumble, sleepy and spent.
It tugs at his heartstrings, his mouth curling into a loving smile as he strips down to his boxers before slipping back into bed with you, pulling your body to nestle snugly against his.
"I'm sorry, baby," he kisses your temple, watching you settle into sleep beside him, completely oblivious to how he licks and cleans your skin before finally allowing himself to succumb to the darkness.
You're woken up by laughter.
Soft and airy, like a gust of wind rustling outside your window.
Your curtains are still drawn, only slivers of light peeking through into your room, the warmth from outside starting to become overwhelming as you toss the comforter aside.
You sit up with a start, memories from the night before crashing through you like a downpour.
You almost, almost could've pretended it had all been a dream. Almost, if not for the stickiness lingering between your thighs, for the Brendon sized dip in your mattress that he left behind.
It's impossible not to feel his lingering presence in your bed, the way the sheets molded to accommodate him, the way his woodsy scent mixed with hospital antiseptic lingers on the cotton.
Fuck!
You're so close to spiraling, to having your chest cave in from the pressure of guilt, but then you hear it again.
That laugh, like a tug, a spark, a lifeline.
School, you're supposed to up to help with drop-off today.
You're quick to dress, pulling on your sleep shorts, hastily forgoing underwear because you simply aren't thinking straight.
It's late, too late to be thinking instead of moving.
You burst into the kitchen, ready to hastily put together breakfast and Brendon's lunch when—
"Noooooo!" the toddler screams at you from her high chair. "Go back!”
You frown at her, moving slowly around the kitchen island to catch her dad, sweatpants low on his hips, topless for added effect, just finishing up at the stove.
Behind him, a plate with a mountain of pancakes, and beside it, a tray, decked out with cut fruit, a cup of coffee, scrambled eggs, bacon, even a cup with a little flower from the backyard.
He must see the flurry of emotions taking a hold of you, so he softens instantly.
"Morning," he steps forward slightly. "We were just coming to surprise you."
Your gaze snaps up to his, searching, panicked, overwhelmed and then...grateful.
Your cheeks heat up softly, not instantly, not rushed, just comfortable, safe, loved.
"I'm sorry bug," you lean over and plant a kiss on her head, unruly curls frizzy from sleep. "But now we can have breakfast together, yeah?"
She sighs, dramatically, before she turns to you, arms high up so that you'll pick her up.
You roll your eyes, obviously doing exactly what the princess wants.
You're about to walk out into the living room when you turn back to Brendon, the expression you manage to catch across his features just barely shy of adoration.
You've done this plenty of times before but it's never felt this...domestic. And you can't help how your stomach twists, how your heart blooms—you like this.
Breakfast continues on in that same way. Stolen glances, confusing feelings and an overly energetic toddler that get maple syrup over everything, especially her hair.
One rushed bath time later, you're putting her hair up into ponytail braids, her request, when his imposing frame slides up to lean against his daughter's open door, purple scrubs hugging his body deliciously.
"Ready to go, guppy?"
The kid nods, bashful, as she takes in the little hair clips in her hair, the beads from her ponytails.
"You look beautiful, trouble," you kiss her cheek and she responds by throwing herself around you, a hug so tight it melts you right into her.
"Thank you!"
"You're so welcome."
When she finally lets you go and runs towards her dad, you catch his stare through the mirror. It's...everything. Stormy, bright, hopeful, sorrowful, angry, pleading, you can't look away.
Later, he mouths. We'll talk.
You nod, shooting him a timid smile before he's being dragged out of the house.
Your brain is fuzzy for the next half hour, your movements slow and sluggish.
You focus on tidying up around the house, going through routine out of muscle memory. Cause the truth is, your mind is far away, stuck on the night before, on his lips, his fingers, his hot breath—
Jesus fuck you have got to get it together.
The postman comes through at the perfect time, envelopes snapping you out of inaction. You sort through them absentmindedly still—energy bill, invitation to the annual hospital gala, ortho research magazine, University of Pittsburg—
Your name.
His address.
Your heart constricts, your throat tightens.
Shaky fingers tear through the sticky adhesive, almost tearing the letter within its confines.
Rabid eyes scan the corporate jargon.
Final notice. Unable to push back start date another semester. Confirm attendance or forfeit spot. And then, a deadline.
Sink or swim.
Reality pounding at the door of your carefully crafted fantasy.
It all crumbles instantly.
You've grown attached, complacent, lost yourself as you found a new place, comfortable, easy, simple. You love your life, you love how easy it is to not have to think, to just do, to soak up the joy and the tantrums and the late nights and...
Him.
He's your fucking boss for crying out loud! He can't...he doesn't...you live in his house, you eat his food, you take care of his kid.
How can you take his money and be with him romantically?
You're taking advantage of him, this is so wrong, how could you ever do that to him? To them? To yourself?
But if you leave...if you leave you lose everything you've grown attached to, everything that makes up who you are now, everything—everyone—you love.
This isn't fair. This isn't how it's supposed to go. How could you have been so stupid to—
Your phone blares, a reminder alarm goes off, effectively cutting off your spiraling but only making you even more panicked.
You're late for pick up.
You don't remember much, just that you're driving a little more on edge than you usually are. The lunch traffic is easing down, luckily, but it's just a reminder that you're late.
The school calls, you tell them you're on your way.
He texts, you ignore it.
The green light turns red after you cross—
And it all goes dark.
You're so out of it that your name doesn't sound real.
There's overlapping voices, bright lights, too many hands touching your sweaty skin.
You try to push them off, try to close your eyes for them to be pulled open, try to complain but your throat is so dry nothing remotely close to words spill out.
You know where you are before the nurses have a chance to ease your discomfort.
You can't be here. Nope, not here, bad place to be cause he's here.
You try to get up the second they transfer you into a bed, even manage to sit before Langdon's hands are pulling you back down against the pillow.
"No, nope, none of that," he chides.
"Frank—" your voice sounds so broken it scares you.
"You're okay, let us take care of you," he stares deep into your eyes, his baby blues reminding you of the exact person you're desperate to avoid. "Please."
Before you can continue protesting, they drug you. Yeah, not their finest moment, not yours either. Lorazepam, just enough to calm you down, to finish their exam.
You're lucid, you think, just...softer. It's only then that your body comes back to you, the weight of your bones, the exhaustion in your muscles.
You don't complain again, only answer questions when they're asked.
You're fast tracked to CT, nothing abnormal though you definitely have a concussion. Your body is littered with little cuts and bruises from impact, apparently a motorcyclist who decided to accelerate to sixty without thinking twice. He's being treated at Westbridge so you'll know more later.
Now...now you're just a guilty, crying mess, injuries wrapped, IV almost done, waiting for an ortho consult because everyone in the ED knows you.
But he's not here yet.
It's been hours and he hasn't shown his face.
Logically, you know why.
He had to go pick her up when you didn't know. He had to call out of work because you weren't reliable, he had to—
The curtain is drawn and a child's voice says your name.
You can't help but burst into tears again, desperately trying to hide away, to brace yourself for the impact that follows her around.
But it only makes her more afraid, more distressed, and it breaks your heart.
With your eyes shut, tears streaking down your face, you don't see him, but you hear him.
Hear how he steps into the room, how he refrains from speaking your name, how he pulls the curtain closed again, how he picks up his kid and settles down on the stool beside your bed.
And then you feel tiny, cold hands press over your cheeks, gently poking at you until you break, calling out your name over and over and over until he says it.
Low and soft, pleading.
You open your eyes, a fresh waterfall dripping onto her fingers, causing her to recoil adorably.
"Yucky," she shivers, wiping your tears on her father's shirt.
That gets a laugh out of you.
"There she is," Brendon's voice is heavy, like the emotional weight has solidified into his body and is crushing over his chest.
You finally look up at him then, relinquishing your fears and staring directly into the place you know is both salvation and ruin.
"Well hello baby shark," Dana's signature snark breaks the moment. "Y'wanna come with me and let the boring grownups talk? I got apple sauce and crayons."
Wow she's so easy to lure away it's a wonder she's still in one piece. Well...who wouldn't be, with a dad like that and a nanny who would kill anyone that even thought about breathing near her with wrong intentions.
She winks at you and shoots a stern look at Brendon before leaving the two of you alone.
He doesn't even let the room settle before he's pouncing, lips on yours simply to prove to himself that you're alive, that you're breathing, that you're still here.
You can't stop crying, can't stop shaking, can't—
He shushes you gently, warm hands cupping your cheeks and wiping away the wetness as it falls.
You choke out a half-hearted laugh. "Not yucky?"
He smiles against your mouth, kissing you one last time before he pulls back to look at you.
"I was so worried," the confession is a mere whisper but it hangs thick in the room, suspended in a web of all the things you've both left unsaid. "When Dana called—" he chokes on a breath. "Fuck, sweetheart I almost—I couldn't think, couldn't breathe, I was resetting someone's fucking shoulder and..." he chuckles at the memory. "Almost made it worse."
"The great Brendon Park, almost ruined by one phone call," you try to joke, try to lighten the mood but...it's impossible. The way he stares at you, his gaze searing, his hands holding onto you as if he's afraid if he lets go you'll disappear—"Brendon."
"I know," he murmurs. "I'm sorry, we should've—I should've—"
You shake your head as much as the concussion will allow, your hands coming up to lace with his own.
"It's my fault," you sob. "I wasn't thinking—I...I got scared."
His brow furrows but he doesn't prod, doesn't force you to speak. He just waits, patiently, like you've seen him do plenty times before with a snotty, emotionally confused toddler.
So you take a steadying breath, grab his hand tighter, and tell him everything. The letter, your panic attack, your uncertainty, your fears, your...hopefulness.
It doesn't matter that your brain doesn't feel comfortable baring your soul to him, your heart does. With each word, the clutches of doubt and panic ease off, your grip lightening until you're unashamedly fiddling with his fingers, tracing lazy patterns over his skin like he...like he belongs to you.
He sits with your confession for a while, a few seconds turning into a few minutes but he doesn't pull away, doesn't make you feel unwanted. So you don't panic either, you just trace his nails with your fingers over and over and over agains until—
He lifts your hand up to his mouth and places a soft kiss onto your knuckles.
"What do you wanna do, baby?"
Baby, like it's simple. Baby, like it's normal. Baby, like you're his.
You search his eyes for malice, for a truth that you desperately need to push on him so that you can focus on a broken heart and not the overwhelming reality of choice, of making it work.
But all you find is patience, kindness, openness.
Fucking girl dad ortho bros that are emotionally intelligent—they're the worst.
You sigh, honest and raw. "I don't know. I just don't want to lose you."
He hums in understanding, rolling closer to the bed.
"I don't want to lose you either," he states, unflinching. "We can take this however you need, you can still live with us, you can..."
He trails off as he notices the hesitancy in your eyes.
"You don't want that?"
He doesn't say it maliciously, but it still sucker punches you all the same.
"I don't know...what about trouble? She's young but she's not stupid. I don't...I don't want her to think that I'm...that I don't love her because it's not the same—"
"She's a smart kid, she'll understand," he's too quick to catch your lie. "Now if you're afraid of things changing..." he catches your guilt flash through your eyes. "Then that's okay. We can go slow. We don't have to figure it all out right now."
You nod, accepting the easy way out.
One step at a time.
You can live with that.
Recovery is...boring as all hell.
The motorcycle guy lived, your insurance companies settled out of court, nothing to worry about according to Brendon who's been fussing over you for the past five days.
He's taken a temporary leave to nurse you back to health and "take care of his girls" as he put it, settling some stupid bet that the surgery department started a few days ago.
The little bug is practically glued to you, helping out her dad in whatever way she can, which isn't much, but it's always appreciated. She's even started reading you bedtime stories, but in truth she's just making things up as she points to the pictures.
At night, when she finally knocks herself out, Brendon settles into bed next to you, those first couple of days unable to get you into bed with him but finally, after much groaning and moaning, claiming he needed the extra room from his king for his back—which is a fucking lie since he always just sleeps tangled around you—he finally comes out victorious.
It's a Saturday when it happens.
No school, no early alarms, no nothing except his steady breathing, his safe embrace keeping you flush against his front, your leg straddled over his hip so that he can pull you in closer—
It's his own damn fault honestly.
You blink awake as a hardness pressed against your front. His heat pulls you in, your sleepy brain not thinking anything other than closer, warmer...so you roll your hips and a jolt of pleasure courses through you.
You're suddenly extremely aware of everything, frustration rearing its ugly head as memories flash from that night again.
You haven't touched yourself since then. Haven't wanted or been able to. But now, this morning you're just...very aware of how much you need it.
You roll your hips again, hoping to wake him up and have him take care of you. You can feel how much he needs it too, how much his body craves yours. If you can just—
"Baby," he groans against your temple, grip on you tightening, pulling you further into him. "What're you doing?"
You huff, desperate, sliding a hand in between your bodies and accidentally on purpose raking your nails along his length.
He hisses against your skin, question answered instantly as his eyes snap open.
"Oh sweetheart," he coos, merciful it seems. "Did you wake up needy, baby? Need me to take care of you?"
You nod, pathetically honestly, but you can’t care less.
He's got you sprawled under him in the blink of an eye, his mouth connecting with yours in a searing kiss before his lips begin to trail a path downward.
You're doing much better today. The cuts have scabbed over, the bruises are starting to fade from purple to brown, movement doesn't make you dizzy, if anything, it makes you just the right amount of lightheaded.
You feel his touch everywhere. Feather light grazes over your abdomen, nails raking up towards your breasts under his obnoxiously soft cotton t-shirt.
He removes his mouth off you so he can pull the shirt off your body, the offending fabric getting tossed to the side as his mouth latches onto your nipple.
You arch into his mouth, strangled moans escaping before his hand comes up to slide his fingers inside. He presses them against your tongue and you instantly suck on them as he too continues his assault.
When he's finally satisfied, he trails lower, hot tongue licking down your stomach until he reaches your pubic bone. His hand slips out from between your lips so he can hold your legs open for him before settling his mouth over your panties, taking a deep breath in and relishing in the way your breathing hitches.
Fuck he's so beautiful like this.
"Thank you baby," he grins against you. Fuck did you say that out loud?
He doesn't let you think on it as his mouth opens up, wide and predatory, and bites down on your mound, his tongue pressing against your clothed clit, working it through the fabric.
"Bren—please, I need—" you pant, already delirious.
"What do you need baby, tell daddy what you need."
Your head spins, heat blooms everywhere.
"Your mouth," you try, hoarse and needy. "Need your mouth."
He doesn't force you to beg, it's not the time for that. Instead, he shows you mercy, pulling your underwear to the side and diving right in.
His tongue is ravenous, licking a powerful stripe from your entrance up to your clit, groaning against your folds at the gathered wetness.
"So fucking good," he mumbles into your skin before his puffy lips latch onto your clit. He sucks and licks and pulls and tugs, all the while your body thrusts into his mouth. You almost hit him before his grip on your thighs tightens and he reminds you swiftly that he's much stronger than you.
You bite down on your tongue, hard enough to feel the sting, the faintness of copper lacing your taste buds. You know you have to be quiet but fuck do you want to scream.
"Bren fuck oh my god," you whimper, your hands threading through his soft waves, the lack of gel sending another shiver down your spine. No one else gets to see him like this.
He bites down on your clit then, pulling slightly before he slides down again, his nose perfectly hitting your bundle of nerves as his tongue and mouth fuck your entrance.
He feels you cumming before you even know what's happening, the coil in your abdomen snapping without even giving you a heads up. Your hands come up to muffle your screams while your body rocks, a tidal wave crashing through you as he does his best to hold you down, to work you through it.
He's gentle, diligent, devout almost as his mouth continues to kiss and lick and suck until you twitch from overstimulation. Only then does he detach himself from you, the bottom half of his face glistening with your release.
You look at him with the most gleeful expression, so proud of yourself, of his smugness.
He settles in between your legs again, pulling them tight around his waist, just reveling in being able to hold you against his naked front.
You're so blissed out, grateful and happy, planting your lips over every inch of skin he'll let you. But you're greedy now, you need more, want more.
You press your front against the bulge in his sweats and he hisses.
"We don't have to—"
"I want to," you kiss him again, your lingering taste euphoric. "Please."
You don't need to tell him twice. He rolls over towards his bedside table instantly, pulling out a silver wrapper and discarding his pants in what feels like seconds.
You can't help but giggle, the boyish smile on his lips and the way his cheeks tinge pink quickly sending you into overdrive.
You need this man inside of you right now.
You watch in awe as he tears the wrapper with his teeth, rolling on the slick condom over his impressive length.
Yeah, he's perfect, and he's yours, there's not a shred of doubt in your mind. You don't know how everything will fall into place but you don't have to, because you'll figure it out together.
He settles in between your thighs again, his chest pressing down against yours, desperate to be as close to you as possible before he lines himself up with your entrance and slowly thrusts himself inside.
You're wet enough that with the lube, he slides right in, your ass flush with his thighs in a dizzying, all consuming instant. He's perfectly snug, fitting so perfectly inside of you that neither of you can help the moan of satisfaction that spills.
It quickly turns into a fit of laughter, easy and shy, like you're both making love instead of having sex. And that just feels right.
He kisses you softly, tentatively, letting you get used to him before he begins to move. But you're impatient, your hips rolling on their own as you seek some friction.
He groans into your mouth. "Fuck baby, trying to kill me."
You smirk against his kiss, cocky for exactly three seconds before he meets your movement with a thrust of his hips. With the air getting knocked out of your lungs, he begins to move, slow and unhurried, all the way out before he thrusts right back to the hilt.
You hold onto him like your life depends on it, pressing further into his skin, his warmth, his safety. You can't get enough of him, of the excitement of tomorrow, of the need that comes from wanting nothing more than to be close to him.
"Such a good girl for me," he praises into your ear. "Letting me take care of you, only complaining a couple times."
You huff out a laugh, remembering the first time he'd helped you to the bathroom and then waited imposingly on the other side of the door until you were done. He's lucky he never tried to get in with you otherwise you would've hit him.
His thrusts pick up the pace in response.
"Let me take care of you, baby," he pleads then. "Whatever you decide, let me help you, please."
You blink back tears, nodding against his cheek, nails digging into his chiseled back.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," you moan. "Please daddy—"
You don't get to finish as he groans, hoisting your bottom half off the bed as his mercifulness finally snaps.
He fucks into you like he needs to show you just how much your words affect him. The bed rattles, the mattress squeaks awkwardly but neither of you cares. You need this, need each other.
"Come on, pretty girl," he pants. "Cum with me, cum with daddy."
You're just as affected as him, your second peak slowly but surely sneaking up on you again as he sneaks a hand in between your bodies, pressing the pad of his thumb over your clit.
You clench around him and he hisses, leaning down to capture your lips with his in a searing kiss as warmth floods you both. Your moans get tangled in between hungry tongues and teeth, your bodies vibrate against each other in bursts of pleasure and care and...love.
You're unsure how long you're stuck there, in between real life and whatever the fuck you're feeling, but finally when your body pushes him out of you, he rolls over and goes into the bathroom.
You watch him through hazy eyes as he cleans himself up, his adonis like body always such a sight to gaze upon. He blushes crimson when he catches you watching him, the apex predator reduced to a blubbering mess by just one simple look.
But it's not simple, and you both know that.
Pride swells up in your chest as he runs a wet towel in between your legs, leaning down to kiss you over and over again before he finally deigns the day worthy enough to begin, or rather, three soft knocks on his bedroom door startle you back into reality.
"Can we have ice cream for breakfast?"
You roll your eyes, sharing a glance with him that warms your heart.
Yeah, you're gonna be alright.
a/n: thank you to everyone that participated in the poll! hope this is to your satisfaction
dividers by @/enchanthings
HIM CALLING HIS DAUGHTER GUPPY IS SOO FUCKING CUTE WAHHHHH
"How many times do I have to tell you," he starts to chide. "At least call me doctor Park."
LOL not even first name, he’s gonna make sure she gets his title in there. He’s so funny
I cheered when she referred to him as daddy while trying to get his daughter to come with her🤩 i’m not even a huge proponent of daddy kink (not reallyyyyyyy my cup of tea but I’m not averse), but there are some scenarios where I think it’s just necessary in order to have maximum tension and torture the man. This is 100% that scenario🤩
But he looks down at himself and his brain betrays him.
Imagine her on her knees.
LIVINGGGGGGGGGGG🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩 park being beaten to shit by his intrusive thoughts of fucking his nanny HELLOOOOO NEW YORK
The (one sided unknowing) mutual masturbation😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😩😩😩😩🫦🫦🫦🫦Jesus fuck
Says your name in that soft, saccharine voice of his that he uses when his child is throwing a tantrum.
I can’t even begin to unpack this… the dynamic is so delicious FUCKKKK
Oh how he wishes he could see your face pale in horror at the knowledge of your boss being on the other side of the door.
Ehehhehehe he’s such a dick🤭
"Okay." A Cheshire smile curls at his lips, a thrill of satisfaction coursing through him as he tucks himself into his pants, the outline of his still rock hard dick on full display.
It's now or never.
Oh my god my heart fluttered🤭🤭🤭and something else too🫦
He shoots you a calming smile, boyish and embarrassed, as he steps into your room and closes the door behind him. Locking it.
IM GONNA PASS OUT!!!! YOURE KILLING IT WITH THIS TENSION HOLY FUCK
"Listen—" he starts, looking up at you before continuing. You choke on your own breath, body becoming a statue with shame. "I'm sorry, I should've realized you were in the shower. It was very inappropriate of me and it will not happen again."
Holy shit, the irony of him saying this while having come into her room for the sole purpose of trying to make something happen because he HEARD her vibrator😭😭😭he’s so evil and deliciousssssss!!! He was literally fucking his fist and ready to cum with her—without her knowing he was perving on her!!!!!!! And now he’s saying the textbook good guy apology, oh I’m losing my mind😩😩😩
I fucking cheered when she called him “Bren”🤩I had just been thinking about that being a sweet nickname for him and then she used it WOOOO
"Help daddy out, baby, wanna—" he groans. "Wanna cum with you."
Oh holy fuck😩now it’s fr mutual masturbation but like…to each other…
He grunts, grabbing your hand and pulling it back up to his tip, urging you to focus your efforts there.
THE ACTUAL PHYSICAL SENSATION I HAD WHEN SHE BURST OUT OF HER ROOM THINKING SHE WAS LATE ONLY FOR GUPPY TO BE DISTRAUGHT THAT SHE RUINED THE SURPRISE BREAKFAST IN BED BREN WAS MAKING HER AHHHHHHHHHHH MY HEARTTTTTTTTTTTTT!!!!!!!!!! THEYRE ALREADY SO DOMESTIC WAHHHHHHHHH😭😭😭 THATS MAMA FRRRR
This angst is amazing, I did not expect the car crash😩I thought the angst would center around the relationship dynamic but I’m eating this UP
At night, when she finally knocks herself out, Brendon settles into bed next to you, those first couple of days unable to get you into bed with him but finally, after much groaning and moaning, claiming he needed the extra room from his king for his back—which is a fucking lie since he always just sleeps tangled around you—he finally comes out victorious.
AWWWWWWWWW THE DOMESTICITY IS KILLING MEEEEEE
I’m fucking dizzyyyyyyyyy— her saying he’s beautiful between her legs and him grinning and saying “thank you, baby” OH MY GOD SOMEBODY SEDATE ME
He doesn't force you to beg, it's not the time for that. Instead, he shows you mercy, pulling your underwear to the side and diving right in.
Where’s my fainting chaise lounge???? I need my fainting chaise lounge!!!!!
part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | masterlist | ao3
rabbot x reader
summary: You’re Robby’s favorite reward. When his staff earns it, he doesn’t hesitate to offer you up. Your night does not turn out how you planned.
|| smut MDNI 18+, more poly discussions, possessiveness, subspace, dom/sub dynamics, pinv [with jack], pussy slapping, crying during sex, big sub drop!!!, intense orgasm, big emotions, jack learning how to dom, m!receiving oral, aftercare, robby is a capital C cuck ||
a/n: here is that second part for you! please please please heed the crying tag, this is a very intense chapter for reader.
wc: 11k
You were grateful it wasn't a far drive. It wasn't that the trip was an awkward one, but things still felt tense. You played with a frayed edge of your sweater, trying very hard not to look over at Brendon Park in the driver's seat.
You could understand that what you and Robby had looked odd from the outside. But there wasn't a world in which you could see yourself doing anything different. What Brendon wanted… wasn't something you could give.
It hurt to think it, to think about him one day understanding and maybe finding a cute nurse or fellow surgeon to fill that space for him. Someone who could ride in the exact passenger seat you were in now, in his sleek black BMW, where he'd pull her hand up to let his lips occasionally brush over her knuckles at a red light. Someone he could laugh with and kiss softly without either of them wondering if it would be the last time. Someone who wanted dinner dates and easy goodnights and the normal, steady forward motion of a relationship that made sense to everyone looking at it.
That version of you had died in the car accident years ago, it felt like.
The version who dated because dating meant marriage one day. A house with children's voices filled the halls. Parents to take care of, holidays to split. A future like felt like tempting something cruel by wanting too much of it.
By the time you pulled up to Robby's, you were nearly in tears again, but this time it had nothing to do with Brendon saying the wrong thing. It was your own spiraling thoughts, your own grief, your own stupid imagination handing him a life without you.
"Maybe you should just—" you began, one hand already on the door handle.
But Brendon was already getting out of the car.
Shit.
You jogged up behind him to catch up, but before you could reach for the door in hopes of sneaking in without being seen, the large oak door was pulling in.
Robby stood in the threshold, one hand still on the knob, his brows pulling together at the sight of the ortho surgeon in front of you.
"Hi, honey." he said stiffly.
Except he was looking at Park.
"Hi." you said, stopping just beside the ortho surgeon.
Robby's eyes moved over you, quick at first, then again a little slower. You didn't know what he was looking for. You wondered what he saw—glossy, red eyes, a swollen mouth, if your clothes were still askew. The whole assessment made your stomach turn, mostly because you knew you were failing some part of it without knowing.
"What do we have here?" Robby asked.
"Brendon was just dropping me—"
From somewhere behind him, you heard Jack call your name, the clacking of crutches against the wood floor, and then he appeared at Robby's shoulder, his expression changing almost immediately when he saw who was standing there.
Park looked at Jack, then at Robby, and his mouth pulled into a smile that made your entire body want to leave. He looked like his coined nickname. His teeth gleaming in the dark with a smile that was not really a smile at all.
"Well," he said with a dark chuckle. "Isn't this rich."
Your eyes flitted between the three of them—Robby and Jack were looking at him strangely now, both of them wearing different versions of the same hard expression. No one explained anything. No one even really moved. The three of them just looked at one another and somehow you understood there was a conversation happening that you were not part of, some silent thing passing over your head while you tried to figure it out.
Robby leaned one shoulder against the doorframe, almost casual if not for the look in his eyes.
“Surprised you stayed long enough to walk her to the door,” he said.
Park’s smile sharpened, quick with his retort. “Surprised you let her out of the house.”
Jack gave a quiet breath through his nose. “Christ. Do you rehearse that shit on the drive over?”
Park’s eyes slid to him. “Still here, Abbot?”
“Looks like it.”
“Must be nice. Robby always did like keeping a spare around.”
Jack’s mouth pulled to one side. “And you always did mistake being tolerated for being wanted.”
“Okay,” you said, cutting them off, trying to step forward. “I’m gonna go inside now.”
But Park's hand came up before you could move far. It wasn't rough or menacing in any way, hell—he'd put his hand on the back of your neck plenty of times before, it was a touch you usually liked. But tonight it felt different. Your breath caught, more from confusion than anything else. You looked back at him just as his thumb settled on the side of your throat.
Park looked down at you. "Where's my goodnight kiss?"
The silence after that was immediate and awful.
Your lips parted, but nothing came out. You looked at Robby before you could stop yourself, then at Jack, because you had no clue where the rules were right now. You didn't know what had changed in the time between leaving earlier and now as you stood under the porch light with Park's hands on you.
Your eyes stayed on Robby—his face had gone almost amused. Brows lifting faintly, mouth relaxed in a way that could've looked calm to anyone who didn't know better. But you did. You knew better. You knew the difference between calm and deadly quiet.
Jack, on the other hand, looked like he was battling his inner most thoughts of stepping over the threshold to start throwing right hooks.
Robby looked over at him, "What do you think, Jack? Think our guy deserves it?"
Jack's head turned slightly, eyes still fixed on Park.
You looked at him too, pulse jumping. There was a beat where you almost didn't understand what Robby had done—but then you did.
Jack was part of this now. Jack got a say. Robby was giving him the space to use it.
Jack's answer came without hesitation. "Absolutely fucking not."
"Oh." Park said, glancing between them with that look that made your blood rush cold. "Big man lets you make decisions for our girl now?"
"Our girl, huh?" Jack scoffed. "Not sure you get that privilege. Look at her, Park. The hell did you do?"
Park’s thumb soothed up and down your neck. You weren’t sure if it was tender there because of his touch or because of what you knew was true.
You sniffled, the emotions ready to boil up again. You felt stupid standing there in front of two men who’d had such a good conversation with you earlier, who’d trusted you to understand what this was, and you’d gone and done this.
It was just kissing, you told yourself. Relax.
But still. Whether it looked like more or not, it still felt like crossing a line now. You were certain the argument was still all over your face, the evidence of you and Park written into your rumpled hair, your swollen mouth, the way you could barely bring yourself to look at Robby or Jack.
Robby pushed off the doorway, reaching his hand out to you, "C'mon, honey. Inside."
Park's hand tightened on your neck for a moment, just a little squeeze, before you were moving forward and accepting Robby's hand in yours. His fingers closed around you gently, but there was no mistaking the way he pulled you toward him, out of Park's reach and into the house.
You turned to say goodnight to him, heart still up in your throat.
But the front door was already closing behind you with a heavy slam.
The three of you stood silently in the foyer. You could hear Park's receding footsteps, his car starting outside, the engine revving loudly before peeling from the curb. You waited until you couldn't hear the angry thrumming of it before you spoke again, breathing uneven.
"I had no clue he was going to be there." you whispered quickly.
Robby nodded, eyes down on the floor. His weight shifted back and forth between his feet. He looked sort of folded in on himself, one arm wrapped around his middle, the other bent up with his hand over his beard, rubbing the heel of his palm against his mouth.
Jack stood just beside him, looking between the two of you, his weight a little uneven where he leaned onto his crutches. His expression was still stormy, but somehow you knew it wasn't at you.
"What the hell happened?" he asked.
"Everything was fine—" you began, swallowing hard, "I was just hanging out with Jesse and Mel mostly, and Brendon just…showed up out of nowhere. He said he wanted to talk to me."
"Just to talk, huh?" Robby asked, a little humorous.
"I thought so." you said, your voice small.
Robby's eyes lifted to yours then, and your stomach tightened at whatever he saw on your face.
"How do you explain that then?" he asked, pointing.
Your hand came up immediately, fingers pressing to the side of your neck.
Your skin felt hot beneath your touch, tender too, but you still didn't understand. You only knew that both of them had seen something there outside. That Brendon had put his hand there.
Robby reached for you with one arm, careful but firm, drawing you closer by the shoulder. He turned you toward the mirror by the front door.
For one second, all you saw was yourself.
Your cardigan pulled crooked from the drive home. Your hair a little mussed from the party. Your eyes glossy and red. Your face a little peaky and strained.
But then your eyes drifted down, and your mouth parted in surprise.
"Oh, shit." you whispered, grimacing. You touched the column of your throat again, lighter this time, and the soreness answered under your fingertips. The whole night folded backward in your head at once—Brendon's mouth on you in the bathroom, sucking and nipping hard at your neck. How he'd made sure that they'd seen it when you were being passed over like a hostage negotiation on the porch.
Robby sighed, "So? What happened?"
You turned around and headed for the kitchen before you could answer, because standing in front of the mirror with both of them looking at your bruised throat made you want to crawl out of your skin. You padded across the house, kicking your shoes off somewhere near the edge of the hallway, then flinging your cardigan over the back of a kitchen chair as you made a straight line for the cabinets.
You filled it with water, took a few sips, then filled it again and stood there with one hand braced on the counter, trying to breathe like a person who was absolutely not about to get herself in even more trouble by explaining the trouble she was already in.
Robby and Jack followed you in after a moment. Jack took the barstool closest to the end of the counter, setting his crutches carefully against it, while Robby stayed standing at the side, both hands pressed into the cool granite.
"He said—he was just apologizing for last week." you said, looking at Jack, who was grinding down on his teeth hard enough that you could see the muscles tensing under his skin. "He said he missed me, and then—" you licked your lips, "he kissed me, and things kind of got heated…"
"Did you have sex with him?" Robby asked.
"No!" you said quickly, heat flashing up your face. "No. It was just kissing. He, um—we—"
You looked at Jack, then back at Robby, because there was no good direction to send your eyes.
Robby lifted his hands to his face, rubbing them hard up and down before hooking them behind his neck. His elbows flared out, his fingers squeezing at his own nape, and heels of his palms pressing into his cheeks for a second before he dropped his hands again and looked toward Jack.
"Jack, I need to hear all of this." Robby's voice was controlled with forced calm. "If it's something that's going to upset you, you can head home. Thanks for hanging here tonight. With me. But I don't want you to get—"
Jack shook his head, "No, it's okay. I want to be part of this. The good and the bad. Go ahead."
"Are you mad at me?" you asked, your voice so small it felt childish.
Jack hesitated, but then he reached across the counter, his hand wrapping gently around your wrist. His thumb pressed at the pulse there, so warm and steady, and his head tilted until you had no choice but to meet his eyes.
"No, sweetheart." he said. "I'm not mad at you. I'm pissed at Park for acting like a possessive asshole."
Robby let out a big, heavy breath, almost a groan, his head tipping back for a second before he looked down again.
"I'm gonna need to talk to him this week." he said. "Put an end to this bullshit he keeps pulling."
"I didn't stop him, though, it's my fault too—"
Jack's hand tightened a little around your wrist. "How did he know you were even there?" he asked. "Was he there from the start?"
"I think Frankie told him." You shook your head, trying to pull the whole night into order and failing. Your brain still felt a little fuzzy, but all the chaos of the evening had sobered you up quickly. "I don't know. That part was confusing. I'm sorry. I smoked a little with Jesse, and—"
"Did anything happen with Jesse?" Robby cut in.
You bit your lip. But nodded. "We kissed."
Robby's eyes stayed on you, big and brown and hurt in a way that made your chest cave in around itself.
"Our four weeks are up, Robby." you said, trying to hold onto that even as your voice wavered. "I'm allowed to kiss people."
He shut his eyes tightly.
"We should've discussed it first." he murmured.
You looked away, shaking your head. "No, see, this is the thing—you can't just change the rules whenever you think—"
"I'm not changing rules, honey." Robby's voice climbed despite the fact that he was clearly trying to keep it steady, his hands falling back to the counter as his eyes opened on you. "But you are doing things without talking to me first. Don't you understand how that feels?"
You looked over to Jack.
"Listen," Jack sighed, shaking his head and sitting back, "I'm new to this, sure, but I agree with Robby, sweetheart. We should've talked about it before you left. But that's partially on us. On me. I got carried away, we barely talked about what that looked like going forward, especially with the others."
Your stomach sank, even as his eyes softened at the look on your face. Your hands tightened around your glass of water, condensation making it sweat a little.
"Brendon was mad because he thinks I'm…" You went on, licking your dry lips. "He thinks you—Robby, I mean—he thinks you're keeping me in something. Or making me do things. I don't know. It's like he's always trying to save me from something."
Robby looked at you.
"Do you want him to?"
When you looked back at Robby, his face was so open, so plain with hurt, with expecting the answer he always feared.
"No," you said, your voice even for the first time since you got home. "No, I don't."
Robby's breath left him slowly.
You set the glass down and took one step toward him before you could overthink it. He met you halfway, arms wrapping around you from behind, turning you so your back to was his chest in a hold that was firm enough to make your eyes sting. You let your head fall back against him, your hands closing over his forearms, feeling the comforting shape of him around you.
"You should've at least texted me." he said in your ear. His voice had settled, the hurt soothed with touch. "That he was there… that you wanted to… I don't know."
You nodded your head. "It all happened so fast. I'm sorry."
His arms tightened. For a moment, he didn't answer, and you wondered if he couldn't yet. If the apology wasn't enough, if the hickey was still too bright under the kitchen light, if Jesse's and Park's name and the porch were all sitting too heavily between the three of you.
Then his lips brushed near your ear. "It's okay, honey." he said. "Do you want to tell me what else happened?"
Your eyes opened, and you looked over at Jack, who was watching the two of you from the barstool. He gave you a small nod, his expression still tense, but steadier now.
You breathed in. "We…went into the bathroom."
Robby didn't move behind you. "Okay."
"We…there was a lot of, like, heavy petting, grinding." You whispered, your face already going hot again, because there was no way to say any of this that didn't sound awful and embarrassing in your own mouth. "He…"
Jack sat forward a little. "What did he do?"
You covered your eyes with one hand. "Um. He…finished."
Robby stilled behind you.
"But you didn't—?"
"Clothes stayed on." you said quickly.
There was a pause.
When you looked through the slats of your eyes, Jack had his lips pressed together hard, mirth clouding his eyes as he looked over your shoulder.
"Don't—" you groaned, trying to bite back your own smile.
You felt Robby try not to laugh, his chest pressing harder against your back before the sound finally broke loose into your neck. "Damn."
"He came in his pants for you?" Jack asked, his voice already shaking with the laugh he was failing to hold back.
"Jack."
"I'm just asking for clarification."
"Poor guy." Robby said, a laugh still shaking his chest behind you.
"Stop…." you groaned, feeling bad for Brendon now that you'd said it. "Be nice."
"What?" His brows lifted, but there was finally some life in his face again, something warmer creeping in around the edges of his anger. "Not like he deserves any niceties after the shit he pulled."
"He was being an asshole." Robby agreed.
"Can we please not make fun of him too much?" you asked, softer now. as you wrapped your arms around where his pressed against your chest. "I know he was being shitty outside, but he was upset. And I feel bad."
"What a sweet girl you are, feeling bad for the Shark." Robby said, then kissed near your ear again, not quite your cheek, not quite your neck.
"Anything else?" he asked.
You breathed out, fingers curling lightly around his forearm.
"No," you said. "That's it."
Robby sighed behind you, his arms adjusting tighter around your shoulders, forearms still laid firm over your chest. Comforting, somehow, even with the weight of the night still sitting around all of you. He had every reason to be upset. To feel lied to, maybe, or left out, or undermined by the way Park had stood on his porch with his hand around your neck. You had been ready for a real argument when you walked in, half from what Park had turned the night into and half from how tightly wound you had become on the ride home.
"I do think some form of… retribution is in order, though." Robby said in your ear. His lips grazed the shell of it, and goosebumps rushed up your arms before you could pretend otherwise.
You licked your lips, eyes widening as you looked over at Jack's growing grin.
"Why don't you…" Robby began, pausing to kiss your earlobe, "go into the bedroom and strip for us."
Your breath caught.
"I'd like you waiting for us on the bed when we come in." His eyes moved to Jack then, and his voice changed a little, rougher. "What do you think, Jack? Fully nude? Or should we let her keep something on?"
Jack pressed his lips together, trying and failing to tame the smile on his face.
"I think I'd like to see what color she's got on, brother." His gaze came back to you. "Panties and bra only, sweetheart."
Robby's hand moved under your chin, turning your face just enough for him to see you. "Okay?"
You nodded, breath already coming quicker.
His thumb brushed along your chin, then over your lips, parting them as his eyes grew hungrier. "Words."
"Yes," you said. "Okay."
"Good girl."
Your thighs pressed together, and Robby's arms finally dropped from around you as he said: "Go on."
You started past him, trying for dignity and not getting very far before his hand cracked lightly against your ass.
You squealed, half scandalized and half laughing, and bolted toward the main bedroom before either of them could see just how badly your legs had begun to shake.
Only a few minutes later you were sitting on the bed, only your bralette and panties on.
You'd thought about changing into something cuter, something matching or just… sexier, but thought better of it. Robby would know, and then he might add onto whatever punishment he had in store. So it was just the little blue cheekies you'd worn that day and your black bralette. You reached up to adjust the one strap that twisted slightly after pulling off your shirt.
The men had made their way in eventually, Robby taking the armchair by the door, leather made and tucked into the corner. Jack walked in, smiling down at you as he made his way around the bed. You lifted your eyes to follow him, heart jumping a little when he slowed beside you. He reached out and cupped your jaw, thumb brushing along your cheek, not saying anything. Just looking at you for one long, warm moment before he readjusted his grip on the crutches and passed.
Once he settled against the cushions of the bed, you turned your head to look at Robby, who's eyes were narrowed, but you could see the smirk pulling his lips.
"Come over here." he said, patting his thigh. Your tongue slipped over your bottom lip before you could help it. Jack's attention followed you as you stood from the bed, and you let your hips swing a little on the walk over.
You went to go to Robby's side, where you usually draped across him for these sorts of things—over his knee—but his hand shot out, only to lay gently on your hip. He squeezed, and shook his head.
"Not today. Sit up and face him."
You looked over to Jack, then back at him, your eyes clouded by uncertainty.
Robby nodded, patting his thigh again, "C'mon now. Be a good girl."
The words worked, sending a rush of tingling heat through you. All you wanted to do was make him happy when your blood began to rush like this and he got that look in his eye. So you slowly lowered yourself onto his knee, facing the bed, facing Jack, and Robby's arms closed around you from behind, forearms crossing your middle as he pulled you back to his chest. The hair on his arms brushed your bare skin, his breath against your ear.
"Can you tell Jack what your safeword is, honey?"
You sucked in a breath, nodding, "Pickleback."
Jack grimaced. "Quite the choice. I prefer Yuengling."
You smiled.
"And," Robby continued, his lips close to your shoulder now, "when you can't talk?"
You lifted your hand and snapped twice.
Robby kissed your shoulder. "Very good. Now…do you know why I need to correct your behavior?"
"Yes." you breathed. Your blood had become loud in your ears, nerves scattering through your limbs, down your belly, between your legs. Jack's eyes were darkening as he watched you from the bed.
"Why is that, honey?"
You swallowed. "I—I didn't talk to you before…before Brendon."
"Before Brendon what?"
"Before he and I…um…"
Your eyes drifted before you could stop them.
Jack had settled back against the pillows, knees parted, one hand near his lap and the other stretched over the cushions. His shirt was a little rumpled where he'd thrown it off at the edge of the bed, his mouth twitching, but the look on his face had changed. Less gentle now, less amused. He looked comfortable there, almost cocky, watching you sit half-naked in Robby's lap while you tried to confess your sins.
His staring made your pupils dilate to drink him in. He looked so good, so tempting spread over your pillows like that.
Robby's hand went to your face, and his thumb and forefinger pinched your cheeks as he shook you only infinitesimally. "I'm talking to you, young lady. Before you and Brendon what?"
Your stomach flipped.
"Before we went into the bathroom."
His hand left your face and traveled down the front of you, so slow, making you feel every rough callous of his fingertips. They ventured your throat, your chest, slipping under the edge of your bralette and traced the sensitive flesh beneath before completely sliding into the cup to massage at your breast. He hummed in approval, your head lolling a little at the feeling of his hands on you.
"Did you have fun tonight, honey?" he asked, his voice low and hoarse.
You knew better than to lie. "Kind of."
Through your half-lidded eyes, you could still see Jack. His face was amused, still watching you, but his eyes had darkened. "Kind of?" he echoed.
You nodded. "I wish… I wish I had just come home." you hiccuped as Robby pinched your nipple under the fabric. Your hands went to his legs, gripping them tightly, nails digging in. A little sound slipped out as he switched to the other side, slipping his hand under the cotton covering you again.
"Why's that?" Robby whispered.
"He was… he was such an asshole after." you breathed out.
Jack's jaw ticked.
Robby's palm flattened over your breast, holding you there for a moment before sliding down your stomach. His other arm stayed locked around you, keeping your back to his chest when your body wanted to squirm.
"S'okay, honey." he said. "I'll talk to him."
Your eyes fluttered shut.
"No more Shark tonight." His lips touched the side of your head. "You're home. You're with us now."
You nodded. "I'm sorry—I'm sorry for tonight."
You meant it for both of them, and when you looked over, Jack's features had softened. Robby kissed your shoulder again, squeezing you against him a little harder.
"I know, honey. I know. It's okay. Gonna take care of you." His mouth brushed your skin. "But first—"
His hand slid down your belly and over your thigh, hooking your knee over his and opening you up before doing the same with the other. You gasped when your balance shifted, body falling back entirely into him, spread open on his lap with nowhere to hide.
He hummed, and you watched Jack as his teeth sunk into his bottom lip. His hand went to his jeans again, not resting this time but squeezing over the growing bulge there, the heel of his palm pressing down.
"Do you wanna tell her what we're gonna do, or do you want me to?" Robby asked.
Jack's head tilted, his eyes dark as they moved over you. "Robby's gonna make sure you remember to tell us when Dr. Park shows up next time, sweetheart." His voice had dropped rougher, the sound of it making your thighs squirm over Robby's. "And then you're gonna come over here, and I'm gonna have my turn with you."
You wondered if they could see your pulse through your skin, how hard it was beating, how every part of you had gone hot and embarrassed and eager all at once.
"Wha—what's my punishment?" you asked meekly.
"Let me show you." Robby murmured.
His hand moved from your thigh to the front of your panties, his fingers soothing over the damp cotton where your arousal had already started to soak the fabric. His long digits felt so good it was almost like relief as they rubbed over your covered mound.
You barely had time to understand the change in his touch before his palm lifted.
Smack!
You lurched, stomach pitching, your heart stopping, mouth opening into an—"Ah!"
Robby groaned behind you, his chest vibrating against your back as his arm locked tighter around your middle. He gave you half a breath to settle, then lifted his hand again and brought it down in the same place, the same pressure, the sting blooming hot through the fabric. This time, your surprised gasp turned into a moan.
Jack's smile pulled wide from the bed. "Is it really a punishment if she likes it, brother?"
"Oh, yes." Robby said, voice thick with amusement. "Yes, indeed."
His fingers hooked over your panties then, pulling them aside, and Jack let out a little groan at the sight of you. Wet. Eager. "Fuckkk…" he whispered, his hand tightening at his pants.
Robby's mouth came back to your ear, low enough that only you could hear him. "Go ahead and ask him, honey. Know you want to watch."
You swallowed, breathless, eyes fixed on Jack. "Jackie, I wanna see you play with yourself. Please."
Jack smiled wider at the nickname, "Happy to, sweetheart."
He unbuttoned his jeans slowly, watching your face while he pushed them down enough to free himself. His heavy cock settled in his hand, and your breath stopped short as you watched him stroking himself there on Robby's bed, the other hand gripping into the pillows harder behind him as his head tilted back for a moment, teeth tucking over his bottom lip.
Then his eyes came back to you.
"Again." he said, looking past you to Robby.
"Hold these open for me, honey," Robby said, bringing your hand down to your center.
Jesus Christ.
You brought your own hand down and hooked your fingers into your cotton panties, holding them aside the way he asked. Your whole body burning from the position, from the exposure, from the fact this was all because of a stupid hickey and a man with an ego.
Robby's hand made contact with your waiting pussy with an even louder, wet smack!
"Fuck!" you squealed. The pain was sharper without the cotton there to soften it, the sting spreading up through your belly and down your thighs into your toes. Your knees tried to close, your grip slipped, your back curling against Robby's chest as his other hand kept you held open for him at your knee.
"Good girl, good girl." Robby soothed, mouth grazing your hair. "C'mon now. A few more."
You whined as the sting settled into heat, your breath shaky while you forced your legs open again and fixed your grip on the ruined and soaked edge of your panties.
Smack, smack, smack!
Three in a row, each one landing wet and mean against you, had your head falling back, eyes rolling as the moan tore out of you. The sting stayed, bright and pulsing, your hips trying to run from it and rock into it at the same time.
Robby's breathing had gone rough behind you.
Jack cursed under his breath, hand moving faster over his cock, his eyes fixed between your legs like he couldn't look away.
Robby let his fingers slide up and down your sopping folds, sensitive to his touch, making you moan anyway.
"You're so wet, honey. How are you so wet from just a little smacking, hm? You enjoy your punishment?"
"God, yes."
"Ask for more then."
"Please," you whispered. "Please."
"Ask Jack like a good girl."
You opened your eyes, wet with the prickling of tears from the sting. His mouth was open, his fist pumping a little faster, his chest rising and falling under the strain.
"Please, Jack, please. Can I have more?"
"Fuck, yes, sweetheart." His voice was rough, almost breaking around the words. "Go on. Give her five more. Then she's mine."
You bit on your bottom lip, your eyebrows threading, body tensing as you waited for it.
When all five came at once in a speedy rhythm—smacksmacksmacksmacksmack!—you were mewling, crying out in pain and pleasure, shutting your thighs quickly. Robby's hand was still over your pussy, the press of his fingers relieving there as he growled into your ear.
"Gooood fucking girl, takin' it so well, honey. S'okay, s'okay, you've learned your lesson, huh?"
"Yes!" you squealed.
"Okay, okay, breeeeeathe, honey." His hand stayed between your legs, rubbing now, soothing over the ache he'd put there. "Just breathe. Can you look at me?"
You did so, peeking your eyes up at him. You'd kind of fallen down his lap as your body twitched and curled in from the pain, looking up at him from where your neck was cramped against his belly. You could feel, suddenly, the bulging tent in his pants against your shoulder.
His other hand came up to cup your face, his eyes sparkling with pride. "You did so good, honey. Why don't you go over to Jack and tell him how grateful you are for your punishment, hm?"
You nodded, trying to get up on shaky legs. As you stood, you heard a click of teeth from behind you.
Robby's eyes had darkened as he looked up at you from beneath his lashes. "Crawl."
You immediately obeyed, knowing that tone, and getting on your hands and knees.
"Jesus." you heard from the bed.
Your knees touched the carpet first, your palms following. The sting between your legs made every little movement feel too shaky. Your eyes locked onto Jack, who had slowed his hand around himself now, watching you with his mouth parted and his eyes blown wide.
You began crawling toward him.
Behind you, Robby shifted in the chair, and you heard the low sound of his zipper coming down. You knew he was watching the way your ass moved, the way your panties were askew and ruined, the way your thighs trembled each time you brought yourself closer to the bed.
Jack's hand had stopped completely by the time you reached him.
You crawled up between his open legs, smiling a little at the look on his face, at the way he seemed caught between reaching for you and waiting to see what you would do first.
"Hi, handsome," you murmured.
"Hey, sweetheart." he whispered, finally reaching out to pet your face with his free hand.
You leaned into it, eyes fluttering before you remembered what Robby had told you to do. Your hands settled on Jack's thighs, fingers curling into the fabric of his jeans as you looked up at him from between his knees.
"Thank you." you said softly.
"You're very welcome, sweetheart." he murmured, "What good manners you have."
You bit down on your lip, his warm look of pride and eagerness making your belly twist on itself. You looked down at his thick, throbbing length in his hand.
"Can I help you with that?" you asked cheekily.
He smiled wider, "Think we could work something out."
You glanced over your shoulder at Robby, only for Jack's hand to move to your chin, stopping you. "Eyes on me. Don't look at him."
"Listen to Jack, honey." you heard Robby say from the corner.
"Okay," you nodded, your smile gone, your heart leaping into your throat, "yes, Jack."
His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, and you opened for him, taking it into your mouth without being told. You sucked gently, tongue moving around him, letting your teeth graze his knuckle enough to make him groan. It was a noise you missed.
"Do you want me to suck your cock, Jack?" you asked, eyes wide as you kissed his thumb.
"That what you want, sweetheart?"
You nodded.
"Go on then." he said.
He laid back into the pillows, and you lowered yourself slowly between his legs, keeping your eyes up until your mouth met the thick head of him. The first taste of him made you moan, your hand curling around his base while the other settled on his thigh. Jack whimpered with you, his hips shifting beneath you when your tongue dragged along the underside.
"Oh, fuck." he breathed, head tipping back. "Oh my god."
You let yourself sink into it, mouth stretching around him, the weight of him heavy on your tongue. Your ass stayed lifted behind you, knees spread on the bed, and you could feel Robby watching from the chair without needing to look. It made you wetter, made you work your mouth slower at first, then greedier when Jack's fingers slid into your hair.
"She gets so fucking wet sucking dick, brother." Robby said from behind you.
Your hips wiggled in response, shameless and involuntary, though you couldn't answer with Jack's cock filling your mouth.
Jack laughed under his breath, gathering your hair in his fist and pulling it clear from your face as you bobbed over him.
"Hold her down." Robby said through what sounded like gritted teeth.
Jack's grip tightened in your hair, and he guided you lower.
You gagged almost immediately, his size too thick, too overwhelming—throat fluttering around him, your nails pressing into his thigh as your eyes watered. You were nowhere near taking all of him, not really, but the sound Jack made above you was enough to make your stomach twist hot and needy.
"Looks to me like you've got some learning to do." Jack said, voice rough from above. "Can you go any deeper, sweetheart? Hm? Or does Robby not teach you these things?"
"Fuck off." you heard from the chair.
Jack chuckled again, breathless, but eased his hand when you gagged again. You pulled back with a gasp, spit slick on your lips and chin, lungs dragging in air while your hand stayed wrapped around him.
You barely had time to recover before Jack was sitting up and kissing you.
His mouth came up hard against yours, open and hungry and wanting— pushing you back into the bed as his hand moved between your shoulder blades to deftly unclasp your bra. It was dragged off with clumsy urgency, tossed somewhere near the pillows, and then he was over you, chest pressing yours, hips heavy between your thighs while he kissed you deeper.
You moaned into his mouth, hands going into his hair, nails digging into his scalp as he settled against you. He felt so good, so warm, so oddly familiar already. The push of his tongue was welcome between your lips, your mouth wet where your spit had dribbled down your lips, his cock hard against your thigh while he kissed you like he'd been waiting all night to get you under him.
"You are so beautiful," he sighed when he unlatched his lips from yours, kissing down your chin, your jaw, onto your neck.
"No, you are." you said with a smile.
"Ha, ha," he chided.
"I mean it." you said, "I'm a lucky girl." you added.
"Think we're the lucky ones." you heard from behind, and you craned your neck to look back at him.
Robby was fisting his own long cock in his hand, but he smiled at you when you met his gaze. You licked your lips, watching his hand move up and down, his other hand coming down to cup his balls. "Look at Jack, honey. Keep your eyes on him like he said. Be a good listener."
Before he'd finished, your chin was being brought down to look not just at him but between your bodies. Jack's cock was lining up with your entrance, and your eyes widened, the memory of the last time rushing up to the forefront of your mind. How big he felt—how he filled you and stretched you like your whole body felt split in half.
"Ohhh god." you breathed, muscles tightening.
Jack looked up at you, then leaned down to press a long kiss to your mouth as he nudged closer, dragging his cock through your wet folds. Both of you moaned at the feeling, your hands clutching at his shoulders, and then he was notching himself at your core.
"Breathe, honey." Robby said from the corner. "Curl your toes if you have to. Let out a long breath."
You did as he said, curling your toes into the bedding, sucking in a long breath through your nose. When you let it out, Jack joined you with a groan and pushed inside.
Your arms and legs clamped around him immediately, fingers pawing at his shoulders, ankles digging into the backs of his thighs.
"Ohgodohgodohgod—"
"S'okay, s'okay," Jack was moaning, petting your hair, his mouth held open in a perfect 'o' and his brows threaded as he pushed further in.
You whimpered as your body adjusted around him, ducking your face into his neck when his weight settled over you. He was hot everywhere, chest to chest, his arms braced around you, his breath breaking against your hair while he worked himself in slow.
"God I missed you," he whispered into your ear, half choked. "Missed you so much sweetheart."
Your belly flipped a little at that, or maybe at the feeling of overwhelming fullness, or your nerves as you felt Robby's eyes on you from behind. Jack held there when he was finally inside you, hips flush, his body pinning yours in place while you shook around him.
"How's that feel, honey?" Robby asked. "How's that big dick feel inside you, huh? Talk to us."
You nodded, clinging to Jack while you forced your shallow breathing to settle, forced your muscles to loosen around him. Finally, you let your head fall back against the bed and turned your eyes toward Robby.
He looked more wrecked than he had a few minutes ago. Before, he had been sitting back, stroking himself slowly with that narrow concentration in his eyes, but now his gaze had gone heavy, his jaw slack, his big hand tightening around the base of his cock. The tip was flushed angry red, precome pearling at the slit while he held himself back.
You licked your lips, blinking slowly.
"He asked you a question, sweetheart," Jack murmured in your ear, nipping your delicate lobe, letting his tongue peek out to trace the shell.
Your skin lit up, your eyes threatened to roll.
"Feels sooo… mmm—ah!" you gasped when he pulled out an inch, "big!"
You had half a mind to glare at both of them when you heard a resounding chuckle through the room.
"And how's she feel, Jack?" Robby asked. "God, I wanna be inside you so bad right now, honey—fuckkk…"
"Oh, our sweet girl feels like goddamn heaven." Jack sighed, pulling his cock out by inches and slowly pushing back in.
Your head knocked back, chin tipping, mouth falling open around a mewling cry as he filled you again, the stretch of him dragging in and out of your cunt, making you feel every notch and vein of his length.
"Yeah, yeah," he sighed out. "I know, I know. Takin' it real slow, getting your little pussy adjusted, right, sweetheart?"
"M-more—" you sighed, legs tightening around him. "Want more."
Jack tipped his head toward Robby, and when you looked up, there was a smirk pulling at his mouth.
"What do ya say, brother?"
"Put her leg over your shoulder." Robby demanded from the corner, the words coming out rough. "Hug it close to your chest. You can—"
"Listen to him." Jack's eyes came back to you, amusement braided through the arousal in his voice, deep and husky as his mouth tilted. "Talkin' to me like I'm one of his residents."
He clicked his teeth and pulled back from where he had been laid over you. For a second, you thought he might do exactly what Robby said, but instead he leaned to grab one of the pillows, pushing it beneath your lower back and ass with a confidence that made your stomach jump.
"He thinks I don't know how you like being fucked." Jack murmured, hands sliding down your thighs, then back up to your hips. "Isn't that right?"
You gnawed at your lip, breath snagging when the shift changed the angle of him inside you. His cock pressed up against you differently now, fuller somehow, deeper without even moving much. Jack hoisted your hips, sheathing himself all the way inside again, and your gasp tore out of you before you could swallow it down.
"He thinks I don't know exactly what angle to make you tighten up real good around me," Jack said, "How to make you see stars, sweetheart."
You heard Robby's warning from the corner: "Abbot…"
"Don't worry," he said, flitting his darkened eyes over to the other attending, "I've done this before."
"You are such a —" you shook your head with a lazy smile, but Jack moved before you could finish.
His hips swung back, and he began fucking you in earnest now, and the words breaking apart in your throat—the new angle dragging you right back to the truck a month ago, to the cramped backseat and the way he had figured out your body with an almost infuriating ease, shifting you up until he found the spot that made your breath go stupid. He found it again now, much faster this time, his hips driving into you with the pillow lifting you up to meet him, your body taking him deeper with every thrust until your vision blurred at the edges.
"Oh fuck, Jack!" you squealed.
His cock pistoned in and out of you now, hard and slick, the sound of it obscene beneath your panting. Heat coiled fast in your belly, your muscles tightening before you were ready for it. Your legs widened around him, hands losing strength where they clung to his wrists, to the sheets, to whatever you could reach as his fingers clamped around your hips and held you in place.
"She's close." Robby said through gritted teeth.
Jack's mouth pulled, the crinkles of his eyes deepening. It was a look of both fondness and cockiness you couldn't take the time to distinguish because that swell in your hips had built up, your pussy constricting his cock, sucking him in.
"You wanna come, sweetheart?" he cooed from above you, hips still snapping into that perfect place. "Been a while, huh?"
You noddded, "Oh, yes, yes—"
Jack's forehead was dappling in sweat, his top teeth hooked over his bottom lip, eyes black and glazed as he watched you under him.
"Jesus, I might—oh god—" he stuttered, lungs catching, his brows pulled together tight. He reached between your bodies, and your eyes widened.
"No no no no—don't!" you shrieked, pleasure shocking up your spine before he had even touched you the way he meant to. "I'm gonna—I can't—I can't hold it—"
"Ask real nice now, honey." Robby moaned from behind you, breathless. "Ask Jack. Ask for it, and you can come. Beg."
"Pleaaaaase!" you moaned, nearly in tears, your brain lagging behind anything that wasn't the hot, overwhelming locking up of your muscles. Your body thrashed under Jack, heels digging into the bedding, hips trying to meet him and run from him at the same time while his cock kept kissing your womb, right at the perfect spot inside you, again and again and again.
His eyes stayed locked on your face.
"Please, what, sweetheart?" His voice shook now, almost whining with you, his own restraint starting to splinter. "C'mon. I'm so close. Gonna come in your sweet pussy if you just ask real nice."
"Please let me come, Jackie, please please please—" The words tore out of you, wet and desperate, your hands clawing uselessly at his shoulders. "I'll be so good, I promise. I'll be so good—I'm—"
He was nodding down at you, breathing hard through his mouth. "Okay, sweetheart. Come for me. Go on—"
"I'm sorry." you choked suddenly, the words coming from somewhere you hadn't meant to open. "I'm sorry for being bad."
Jack's face changed. Yours felt wet and hot now, too.
"Come for us, sweetheart." he said again, softer now, but his voice sounded further away.
"Jack—" you heard Robby say from the corner.
You didn't know what the warning meant. You could barely hear it over the sound of yourself, over the blood in your ears, over the horrible, perfect pressure building too fast to survive.
"Oh fuck—please!" you wailed.
"Go on, it's okay, it's okay, come for us sweetheart."
You realized at once it was tears that were spilling hot down your temples into your hair, over your cheeks. You tried to moan and sobbed instead.
Your body locked up on you, muscles clenching down hard around him. Your back arched so hard it pulled you nearly off the bed, eyes wide open even as your vision went white, as if the whole room had been struck by lightning. The wave that had been building in you for weeks finally crested and broke, but it didn't roll through you the way it usually did. It swallowed everything. Your stomach twisted, your thighs clamped around Jack's hips, your fingers curled so hard they cramped, and Jack's cock pushed in deep, so deep it felt like he hit the center of you and split the feeling open.
When you came back down to earth, everything felt so wrong.
Your vision had cleared, and above you was Jack, his mouth open and panting, his face caught somewhere between awe and panic. His eyes were so wide and unsure.
And you were crying.
Really, really crying. Harder than you had in a very long time.
Through the sobs, you could hear Robby saying something from the corner, but Jack was all you could see. His face shifted as he realized it was not stopping, that the sounds coming out of you were not pleasure anymore. He leaned back over you, mouth parted, hand cupping the side of your head too hard before he caught himself and loosened his grip, fingers dragging into your hair instead.
Their voices came in and out of your ears, fuzzy, but there.
"Shit—shit, shit, I'm sorry—what did I do?"
"Nothing, it's okay—" you heard Robby say. "You didn't do anything wrong—"
You couldn't talk, it was just their voices swirling around you.
"Sweetheart? What's going on?"
"Jack—"
"Sweet girl, look at me, look at me now."
"Abbot."
Jack's voice went quiet, his chin lifting to look at the other attending. He sucked in a deep, calming breath, even as yours felt lost in your chest, choking and wailing and lost in the room, caught somewhere behind your chest where every breath scraped on the way up through your lungs.
Your whole body still hadn’t stopped reacting, little tremors running through your thighs, your stomach, the muscles low in your belly clenching, leaving you open and spent and helpless beneath him while your mind kept trying to catch up to the fact that it was over, that you had come, that after a month of being held back from it, the thing your body had wanted so badly had finally broken over you and left nothing solid behind.
"Breathe," Robby said, "it's okay. This is called a drop, just talk to her."
"I'm sorry!" you sobbed, the words tearing out of you before you even knew what you were apologizing for, your hands curling uselessly in the blanket, unable to grip.
"It's okay, honey, it's okay, Jack has you."
"Listen to my voice, sweetheart." Jack said, his hands petting heavier and soothing now, the heel of his palm moving over your hairline, then your cheek, then back again. Though his breath was against your mouth, too fast for someone trying to calm you, and then you felt him swallow hard, felt the effort of him trying to force himself calm.
There was no one word for the rush of emotions that swept through you like a tidal wave. You didn't even have time to try and name one of them before another took over. Relief, euphoria, then anxiety and shame, and then back to a euphoric state so sharp it almost hurt.
Tears came quick and thick down your face, sliding into your ears, wetting the bedspread beneath you, your mouth open in a wail, your head thrown back into the covers while the ceiling blurred into blocks of light and shadow. You wanted to disappear, you wished your limbs didn't feel so heavy so you could cover your face. You felt mortified, you felt ashamed. You wanted to be held. You wanted to be alone. But you couldn't stand the idea of either of them leaving, couldn’t stand the thought of Jack lifting off of you or Robby stepping away from the room, even while every part of you felt too exposed, your legs still open, your skin too sensitive where the sheets touched it, your chest heaving against Jack’s.
"Robby, brother, maybe you—"
"It's alright—just keep talking to her."
You could feel Jack lean down, lips against your ear, could hear his soothing nothings even as you hiccuped and sobbed, your chest feeling tight, your throat scraping against the sound of your cries. It was too much and too overwhelming, the mattress under your back, Jack’s weight over you, the damp press of his mouth at your temple, Robby’s voice from the corner with that steadiness that made the room feel less like it was tilting as he spoke in hushed tones to his fellow attending.
"Sweetheart, can you hear me? Listen," Jack said into your ear, his arms coming around you tightly, holding you to his chest. He was still inside of you, your legs still fallen open. "You're okay, you're such a good girl. Listen to me."
You only had half a mind to listen, your eyes still glued to the ceiling, your body sunken deep into the bed like you could never find your way out. As if a pit had opened in the covers and you'd fallen down into it, their voices far, far away up above. They kept talking, but you could hardly make out the words at all, only soothing cander, Jack’s gentle breath against your skin, Robby’s lower voice, the sound of your own breathing coming in broken little pulls that didn’t feel like enough air to live on.
This drop was like none you'd had before. Usually it came after the sex entirely, sometimes even days later. But this—the during—it was too much. There was no little pause where your body understood the scene had changed. The pleasure had crested, shattered, and then opened straight into panic, with no seam between one feeling and the next. Your body still thought it was being asked for more, still fluttering around Jack, still shaking from the release, while your mind had gone soft and frightened and far away.
"Answer me, sweetheart." Jack whispered.
A choked sob came out of you, and you finally were able to form a word: "W-what?"
"I asked if you could hear me."
"Y-yes." you whispered, squeezing your eyes shut, gulping in air, their voices becoming a little clearer, Jack’s hand finally settling at the back of your head instead of moving everywhere at once.
"Have her hold onto you—" you could just barely hear Robby's voice from the corner.
"Put your arms around me, sweetheart." Jack said gently in your ear. "Like this," and he brought one arm from around you and lifted yours around his neck, his fingers so gentle as he rubbed the skin there.
"That's a good girl, other arm too," Jack said, repositioning his hand beneath you to lift the other around his neck, "That's it."
Robby's voice was muffled behind you, "There you go. Let her just breathe, then we can check in."
"Deep breath, sweet girl, c'mon now, breathe with me, I've got you, you're safe, you're doing so good."
You shakily let air depress out of you, inhaling again slowly, even if it was a little uneven. Your mind started to come back to you in pieces: the sheet bunched under your shoulder, Jack’s hair caught between your fingers, the warm weight of him, the damp place on his neck where a cold sweat had broken out. Fresh tears no longer fell from your face, only clinging to your lashes when you blinked.
"That's it, what a good listener. Just breathe—"
You felt the mattress dip, two hands up around your face, tilting it back. Robby's eyes found yours, leaning up above you. The light above made a sort of halo around his rumbled hair. Jack's face stayed in the crook of your neck, just whispering praise.
Robby's thumbs soothed across your temple, and he made a show of breathing in and out deeply above you. You matched his rhythm, in through the nose, out the mouth. Long, long breaths until they eventually evened out, until the tight pull in your chest loosened, until the room stopped slipping at the edges and you could see the crease between his brows, the careful set of his mouth, the way he was watching you for every little change.
"Okay," Robby said, leaning back a little, but still sitting on the bed.
Jack pulled away only enough to be able to look down at you, his worried eyes skating across your face, checking your mouth, your eyes, the wet tracks down your cheeks. He still held you around your body, but eased up on the tightness, bringing one hand up to your face to soothe it where Robby's were, his thumb brushing close to the corner of your mouth before dragging back over your cheek.
"I'm okay," you whispered out your next breath, "I'm sorry—"
Both men were shaking their heads before you even finished saying it. "Don't apologize," Jack said gently, leaning down to press a faint kiss to your parted lips, barely there, more breath than anything. "Nothing to be sorry for."
"I must've really—" you breathed in again, breath still a little hard to pull, your chest hitching before it settled, "Really scared you there. It's never…never been like that before."
"Been a long time since we had a drop like that," Robby agreed, his hand now petting the bowl of your skull, fingers moving through the hair at the crown of your head. He tilted his head to find your eyes when you looked up at him, his voice staying even, careful.
"Are you alright? We're going to stop now, okay?"
You breathed in, and the question moved through you slowly, too tender to answer from. Stop sounded like relief. But stop also sounded like this was all your fault. It sounded like Jack pulling away from you, like the room going too quiet and cold. You hadn't even realized your hands had found the back of Jack's hair, wrapping a curl around your index finger, fisting the locks with a weak little grip that made him glance down at your lips before his mouth pulled into a small smile. He looked shaken still, but there, staying right where you had pulled him.
"Okay…maybe just for a little? Can we… cuddle? Maybe watch something?" you finally answered.
"Of course we can." Robby said, and then looked at Jack, nodding.
Jack began to pull away, but the second his weight shifted, the adrenaline in your blood shot up again.
"No—no—no, I'm sorry—I'm sorry, I don't want to stop, please!" you begged.
He stopped immediately, one hand braced beside your head, his face lowering back toward yours. Though he had completely softened, he was still inside of you, and the closeness of him was the only thing keeping your panic from tearing wide open again.
Robby was there in an instant, his hand finding yours before you could curl it into the sheets. "Okay, why don't we do this?" he said, his voice low and close. "I'll hold your hand, and Jack is going to sit back. He's just going to sit on the pillows, honey. He just wants to get comfortable to watch something with us, okay? I'll be right here. I'll hold you."
Your chin was wobbling, and Jack began to pepper more kisses over your face, his mouth touching your cheek, your temple, the wet corner of your eye. "I'm right here, I'm right here, we're not mad at you, sweetheart. You're so special to us, our sweet girl. My sweetheart. I'm just sitting back, you can come with me."
You nodded, though fresh, quiet tears had begun to fall from your face. You felt so silly, so stupid. Crying because he would be apart from you—for what, a second?— crying because you ruined such a good time, something they were enjoying and you had to go and cry about it, had to make both of them stop and look at you with all that worry, had to make Jack’s hands shake when he was only trying to be good to you.
"You're our best girl," Robby cooed as if reading your mind, leaning down to kiss your face, still holding your hand like he promised while Jack slowly pulled away. The air felt cold without him, and you began to cry softly again, your thighs drawing together. Your free hand searched blindly until Jack caught it and brought your knuckles to his mouth before fulling sitting back. While one hand was held in Robby's, his other continued to pet at the crown of your head soothing you gently, whispering praise and kissing your face.
"Okay," Jack exhaled against the headboard, shifting up onto the pillows, one arm already opening for you. "C'mere, come cuddle me, sweetheart."
Robby lifted you into a seated position, keeping one hand at your back until you had your bearings. The room tipped for a second, your head still light from crying, the duvet half rumbled around your hips, and then you were climbing up the bed into Jack, koala-ing yourself to him, tucking yourself into the arm he held open. He lifted the covers around you so you could get warm, his arm snug around you as you fell into him, your cheek pressing against his chest, your fingers finding the fabric at his side and holding there. It felt good, just skin on skin like that.
Robby got up with a groan as his knees cracked, standing and heading for the door.
"Robby—" you croaked, your eyes widening in panic.
He was quick to come over and lean over the bed, fists holding him up so he could lower himself to you, pressing a kiss to your cheek bone. "I'm coming right back. Just getting you some water, honey. Stay here with Jack."
His dark eyes found Jack when he pulled away, something silent passing between them. Jack’s hand moved over your back slowly, answering it without words, and Robby nodded before he lifted himself from the bed and headed for the hallway.
You felt Jack's warm kiss to the top of your head, his hand rubbing soothing circles along your spine. You tucked in closer to him, your arm draped around his middle and cheek pressed to the bare warmth of his chest. Neither of you spoke for a long moment. The room had gone quiet enough that you could hear the soft drag of his palm over your back, the shift of the blanket where it was tucked around your shoulders, the faint sound of Robby opening a cabinet in the kitchen. Jack kept his mouth near your hair, kissing you there a few more times, and you held onto him tighter when your breathing stuttered again.
Robby was back soon, three glasses of water balanced between two hands, his steps careful so the rims didn’t knock together. He bent to hand one to Jack, and put the other two on the bedside table, beside the lamp and the little mess of tissues already pulled from the box for you. Jack brought his glass down to you, holding it until your hands found it, and you sat up just enough to sip lightly at the rim.
The cool water slipped down your throat, and you felt it all the way into your chest, cutting through the heat that had climbed into your blood. Your hands were still a little unsteady around the glass, so Jack kept his fingers near yours, ready to catch it without taking it from you.
It had been such a deep drop, deeper than you knew what to do with, but the room was starting to come back now: the weight of the covers over you, Jack’s arm behind your shoulders, Robby sitting down on the edge of the mattress again, the glass leaving a cold ring of damp against your palm. You felt yourself beginning to climb out of that far-away place finally, leaning into their closeness.
Robby's arm came around you so that you were positioned between the two men, and you snuggled up closer to Jack, your leg hooking over his.
"Let's put on some of The Office, huh?" Robby murmured from behind you, "how's that sound?"
You nodded, "Good."
You saw the crinkles around Jack's eyes deepen as he gave you a small smile, leaning down to kiss your forehead once again. "I think Robby is feeling a little lonely, sweetheart, mind if he cuddles up too?"
"Yes, please," you said, turning your chin to look over your shoulder.
Robby grinned down at you, his other hand coming to rest on your hip as he leaned into the curve of your back. He kissed the crest of your shoulder before hooking his chin over it, eyes on the screen, scrolling through the list of episodes.
After a while, with the TV screen flashing blues and grays over the three of you, you had finally settled in, and your mind began to remind you of what had just happened.
"I'm sorry." you whispered into Jack's chest, because the words kept sitting there in your mouth, in your head, stirring around all useless and heavy and gnawing.
Robby's hand moved over your hip beneath the covers. "Honey."
"I know," you said, voice cracking. "I know you said it's okay, I just…"
Your throat tightened again before you could finish. You swallowed around the lump forming again, squeezing your eyes shut. Jack's arm tightened around you, and you felt the press of his mouth into the crown of your head.
"You're allowed to cry." Robby said from behind you, his voice low near your ear. "You don't have to stop yourself. It's okay that you cried earlier too. It's just release, honey."
Your face crumpled at that, embarrassed by how badly you needed permission for something already happening again.
"It'll feel good to cry a little." he murmured. "You had a big night. Your body doesn't know what to do with all of it yet."
You nodded, eyes squeezing shut as more tears slipped out. Jack's thumb moved over your upper arm slowly, while Robby's hand stayed warm as it snaked around your belly to pull you into him. There was no space where you weren't comforted, held, known. Neither of them rushed you. Neither of them tried to make you talk your way out of it.
"You did so good." Jack said quietly.
Your mouth trembled harder, and you pushed your face into his side to hide.
"I don't feel good." you admitted.
"S'the drop talking," Robby murmured, as if it wasn't meant for you, and then, his lips went to your ear, "You're the best girl, honey. You were so good, you listened to well, took those four weeks so well. You're just a little overwhelmed, huh? Lots of emotions."
You nodded.
Jack's cheek rested against the top of your head. "What do you need, sweetheart?"
You didn't know. You were not sure you could pull together an answer better than this, than the covers and their bodies around you and the distant smell of sex still in the room, Robby's warms arm around your belly and Jack's at your shoulders and his heartbeat against your cheek.
"This." you whispered finally.
Robby's hand squeezed you. "Then this is what you get."
Jack kissed your forehead again. "We're not going anywhere."
Somewhere between Jack's fingers moving gently through your hair and Robby's breathing going slow against your back, your eyes closed, and you fell asleep tucked between them.
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Most of the fics on here have smut so 18+, minors do not interact. I had so much fun doing these while I'm trying to get out of the writer's block that has plagued me for a month. Many of these fics are written by my beloved moots 🫶 Please show these incredibly talented writers some love!
My favourite series:
The Crush (stepdad!Jack Abbot x f!reader) | @ptolemaea444
Soft!Brendon Park doesn't want a one night stand (Brendon Park x reader) | @louloops
don't go wasting your emotions (Brendon Park x f!reader) | @ceijoh
My favourite one shots:
Are you coming on or what? (Jack Abbot x nightshift!sunshine!reader) | @whatif-ialreadydid
Eat out a girl in need (Brendon Park x reader) | @impactmintsfreshagain
Things a man provides (Jack Abbot x fem!reader) | @annsfics
joie de vivre (Jack Abbot x f!reader, Michael Robinavitch x f!reader) | @grimgasm
My moon, my man (Brendon Park x reader) | @seraphk1ss
It started out with a kiss (Brendon Park x reader) | @ceijoh
Everything Feels Right (Andrew Cody x reader) | @mast3rbait3r
Jealous!Robby wants you to himself (Michael Robinavitch x reader) | @louloops
My Man's In Touch With His Emotions! My Man Won't Touch Me With A 20 Foot Pole... (Michael Robinvitch x reader) | @ceriseangels
My Man's Forgotten His Devotion, Where's He Gone? God Only Knows... (Michael Robinavitch x reader) | @ceriseangels
Jealousy, Jealousy (Michael Robinavitch x fem!resident!reader) | @metal-armed-muse
Does your husband know? (Michael Robinavitch x reader) | @keytomylockhart
Hurt Forever (Michael Robinavitch x reader) | @bluetimeombre
Pussy inspection with Pope (Pope Cody x reader) | @groovyangelkisses
off the deep end (single dad!Brendon Park x nanny!reader) | @yournamesnob
Eat it for dinner (Michael Robinavitch x reader) | @bluetimeombre
Fishing with Bascolm (Bascolm x reader) | @groovyangelkisses
Sammy is the only one who can protect you (Sammy Bryant x reader) | @mast3rbait3r
Pour Yourself On Me (Michael Robinavitch x reader) | @robinavitchgf
More Than Anything (Sammy Bryant x reader) | @lostalioth
Let's Work It Out On The Remix (Michael Robby Robinavitch x reader x Frank Langdon) | @mariasont
finally hooking up with hot older neighbour!robby (Michael Robinavitch x reader) | @robinavitchslut
Loving You Is Cherry Pie (Michael Robinavitch x Summer Barbie!reader) | @ceriseangels
Unexpected Guest (step uncle!Jack Abbot x reader) | @shoniebalognie
sexy to someone (Jack Abbot x reader) | @keytomylockhart
God Complex (Brendon Park x reader) | @metal-armed-muse
lifesaver (lena's dad!pope x paramedic!reader) | @opulentpeony
My favourite blurbs/drabbles:
Tactical (Jack Abbot x reader) | @grimgasm
Fucking actor!Robby at a party (Michael Robinavitch x reader) | @robinavitchslut
Husband!Sammy (Sammy Bryant x reader) | @medusasfics
baby don't you know the walls are thin? (Jack Abbot x f!reader) | @grimgasm
Pope Cody x virgin!reader | @sugartalkingwrites
Mornings with Titus (Titus Danforth x reader) | @in-ky
best friends dad!jack abbot + 'like what you see?' + pervy old man fantasy drabble (Jack Abbot x reader) | @romantic-insomniac
Childhood bsf!Sammy Bryant (Sammy Bryant x reader) | @shoniebalognie
You make Robby get off without you having to do a thing (Pathetic!Robby x reader) | @robbyxabbot
walk 'em like a dog (Andrew "Pope" Cody x sweetheart!reader) | @80sfilmclub
Titus Danforth x Fem!reader oneshot she's a series now
Part 1 Part 1.5 Part 2
Summary You were the bride. The one being chased. You would do anything to stop running. Stop being hunted. Titus accepted your marriage proposal. Now it's time to take your place.
or
An alternate ending to the movie, where you don't immediately kill Titus, and try to make peace with your new life at his side.
W.C. 13.3k (bruh)
Tags Angst, smut, Dubcon (in the sense of like Stockholm syndrome and slight coercion), enemies to lovers, slow burn, mentions of blood and violence, attempted SA, implied murder, Titus being douchey, cuck if you squint, infidelity, oral sex (f and m receiving), unprotected sex, slight, breeding kink, no use of y/n for reader insert, the goat pit is mentioned but no one gets thrown in
Author's Note The whole prospect of a marriage to Titus was kinda giving me Persephone and Hades vibes, I think, and I hope I communicated that well. Like I said, I apparently can't just write smut, I have to build emotional depth (sue me). I almost feel like I could continue on with their relationship after this point, it would be so interesting to explore.
Slightly ooc because let’s be honest, Titus probably wouldn’t wait.
xoxo
"I do."
As soon as you said the words. The pit in your stomach calcified into something heavier. You were almost trembling too much to put the ring on.
Titus was overjoyed. As much as someone like him could be. And of course he was. With his twin dead, and you legally linked to him, he was on top of the world. Literally. There was no one in his way. Titus told you the moment the hunt started, that it would be he who got you. And he was right.
Blood was drawn from the goat. Sacrifices made. And you were pushed aside in the revelry. You didn't want to enjoy any of it. Not that you could have. You were an afterthought, swept away in the crowd of cultists and freaks, standing along the fringes by yourself while they all drank and celebrated.
Titus didn't spare you a second glance when you left for your room. He had what he wanted. And you knew that your nightmare was just beginning.
You’re in your room when there’s a knock on the door. You tighten the silk robe around your waist and answer, nearly shaking too much to hold the door handle.
"Hello Mrs. Danforth," a man in a white button up nods pleasantly at you. "I have been sent to tend to you."
"Ah- what do you mean?" you ask as he makes his way into your room, opening up the bag that he carried with him. Your mind reeled with the possibilities. Tend to you? Take care of you? Is he here to kill you?
As he unpacks his tools, you realize very quickly that they’re just medical supplies. Gauze, alcohol pads, needle and thread.
The man looks at you, and gestures to the bed. "Please, relax Mrs. Danforth. This won’t take but a moment."
The name still feels foreign to your ears. Mrs. Danforth. Your new title. It’s going to take a while to be able to wear that completely, without it feeling like a mask.
They had done some basic patchwork before the wedding. Bandages and gauze. Barely holding you together at the seams. Enough to make you presentable for the ceremony, that’s it.
But this is real medical care. You needed it. Every stitch, every swipe of a wound made you bite your tongue, holding back screams. But at least you’re being tended to, and you can only hope that you never have to endure this kind of pain again.
When he’s done, you stay laid out on the bed. He packs up his medical kit, collecting the bloodied rags and wiping away the surfaces, leaving no trace.
"Who-who sent you?" you ask.
"Mr. Danforth," he smiles at you. He said it so calmly, as if the answer was obvious.
He’s out of the room without another word.
You’re finally alone. Tears well in the corners of your eyes. Tears that you didn’t even realize you were holding in all night. Dawn breaks through the curtains, thin streaks of light fighting their way into the room. A new day, a new beginning. The start of the rest of your life.
You let out a shaky breath and sit up in the bed, running a hand through your hair. You extend your left hand in front of you, catching the light on your wedding ring.
You hear Ursula's voice in your ears.
I tried looking for the goodness in him. I found nothing.
We can control him, together.
Maybe she was right, there is no goodness in Titus. But maybe she was also right, that he could be- well, not controlled- but gently steered in the right direction.
Hades and Persephone. Death and his wife. Two sides of the same tarnished coin.
The door opens. No knock, of course not. He owns everything, including you, and he’s entitled to whatever he pleases. Whoever he pleases.
You rise to your feet immediately, wincing at the sudden movement and trying to bite back the discomfort.
"I see you're looking better. All stitched up?" Titus grasps his hands in front him. He looks pleased with himself.
"Yes," you say, giving no emotion away.
He twists the rings on his hand- both the wedding band and the family heirloom- and steps closer to you.
You flinch slightly, taking a half step back. It’s more reflex than anything, conditioned by multiple nights of being chased and hunted. Those hands, one ones innocently twisting at his wedding band, were around your neck not too long ago.
Titus notices. He takes a beat and nods. "I owe you my gratitude," he says.
There is something strange behind his eyes. The feral bloodlust from last night has faded into something almost human. "I obviously didn't know about the loophole," he continues. "Rather convenient."
"Yeah, convenient," you deadpan. "For you."
"We both win, right? You're still alive. I have what is rightfully mine." His fingers linger on the council ring. His priority.
"Are you here to consummate the marriage?" you spit, venom laced in your words.
"No," Titus shakes his head.
You allow yourself a breath of relief. A small victory in a night of horrors.
"When I have my way with you,” he mutters, voice low, “you'll be asking for it. Begging for more. And I won't touch you until then. You have my word."
The small victory was short-lived, obviously. This is a challenge. To see how long you can last.
"Then you'll be waiting for a very, very long time," your voice is even, though you’re almost visibly trembling.
"We'll see about that," he nods. Not a threat, just a fact.
There's something in the air between you two. Heavy, and almost tempting.
Without another word, he leaves you in your room to sleep by yourself. You let out the breath you were holding, and collapse onto the bed. Every cell in your body is begging for rest.
And you have your first full night’s sleep since before your first wedding.
When you wake, the sun is strong and high in the sky. It must be mid day by now. You have no idea how long you slept, but you feel like you’ve been hit by a train.
There’s a knock at your door. Who knows how long they’ve been waiting for you to gain consciousness.
"Come in," you grumble. You dig the heels of your hands into your eyes until you see white spots, trying to wake up fully.
A very perky young woman opens the door, stepping in with a stack of clothes.
“Mr. Danforth would like you to come down for a meal before you depart,” she says, her tone much too light and airy for the setting.
“Depart?” you ask, yawning. Just the simple act causes you to wince, your body still aching and sore. “Where are we going?”
“Home,” she smiles.
It’s unsettling, how pleasant everyone here is. Don’t they know what just happened? What you’ve been through?
Titus clearly has terrible taste in clothing. You realize this when you put on the clothes he has chosen for you. Just bleak, drab, business casual. You wince a little when buttoning the pants, your stitches crying out for sympathy.
When you go downstairs, Titus is nowhere to be seen. You’re quietly grateful for the opportunity to eat in peace. Again, your first full meal since your first wedding. You don’t realize how weak you’d become until your belly is full again and your senses are renewed.
A dark escalade pulls up to the front, and you are ushered out the door. Titus is standing outside, talking with the driver. He spares you a sideways glance before climbing into the back seat. You sit next to him, staring out the window the entire time.
“I’ll have your belongings brought to the house,” Titus says as the car peels away, still not looking directly at you.
“I don’t have many,” you say.
Which is true. The clothes in your dresser. Your favorite books. And the necklace that your mother left you before she died. You were cursing yourself for not bringing it with you. But then, how could you have known that a weekend wedding getaway would morph into this?
Otherwise, there wasn’t much to want.
“Somehow, that doesn’t shock me.” Titus replies.
You glance at him sideways, and his smug attitude makes you seethe. After everything you’ve been through this week, you should feel relieved that you’re still alive. And yet, you’re chained to this man.
You won’t feel any relief until you’re free from him.
The house in Newport is not a house. It’s a sprawling estate, of course. Inherited by Titus after his father’s death, the house’s upkeep is its own operation. There’s more people working on the property than were on staff at your last job. Every need is taken care of, so that the Danforths don’t have to lift a finger.
Titus has probably never had to work for anything in his life. And now, you’re going to make him work for your favor.
“Someone will show you to your room,” Titus says as the front doors open for you. Again, never lifting a finger, these Danforths.
“What am I supposed to do here all day?” you ask, looking up at the foyer with curiosity. It’s grand and heavily decorated, paintings and lavish accents touching every corner of the space.
“I don’t care,” Titus replies, voice flat, already walking down one of the hallways.
“I’m just supposed to stay locked up in here?” you call after him, tone incredulous.
Titus stops dead. He turns on his heels and stalks back to you.
Your chest tightens, the image of Titus running after you replaying in your head.
“Upset with the lodgings, darling?” he says, voice low. “Remember, a golden cage is far more preferable to a goat pit.”
You chew on the inside of your cheek, trying to settle the emotions building in your chest.
“Now,” Titus continues. “Anything you should desire can be taken care of. Want to try horseback riding? Go to the stables. Want to rot your fucking brain all day? The theater room is on the first floor. Go online shopping. Do whatever you want. I don’t. Fucking. Care.” The last sentence is emphasised, his eyes boring into yours.
“Whatever I want,” you reply, eyes narrow, “except leave.”
Titus relaxes slightly, a smile forming that doesn’t reach the rest of his face. “Now you’re getting it. I knew you had some sense.”
He wraps a firm hand around the back of your neck. Your breath stills and eyes widen, just barely, worried that something in him snapped. That volatile temper of his has decided to just kill you right there.
But he brings you closer and presses a kiss to the top of your head.
Without another word, you watch him walk away. This time, keeping your mouth shut.
It occurs to you that he could, actually, kill you at any time. Decide you’re not worth the trouble anymore. All of this would have been for nothing if you still end up dead by the end of it. And then Titus will have gotten everything he wanted, like he always has.
It’s time to make yourself more valuable.
-
The forest on the edge of the property is secluded, just like you want it. You needed somewhere to practice without the prying eyes of the staff. You line up the shot, taking a deep breath. Almost ready, when you hear a branch snap behind you.
Your arms fall to your sides, head turning to the sound. The tightness in your chest does not ease when you see Titus walk towards you. The only thing keeping you calm is that this time, you’re armed. Just in case.
“When they told me you were out here,” Titus stops just a few feet from you, “I thought I misheard.”
“Nope,” you say, turning your attention back to your practice.
“Of all of the hobbies you could have chosen, and I do mean all of them,” he walks closer, stepping around a fallen branch, “should I be worried that this is what you picked?”
You take a deep breath, fingers light on the blade. You bring the knife behind your head, other arm outstretched in front of you, finding your target. After steadying yourself, you launch the knife. It sinks into the tree. Not into the target, but also not on the forest floor. You take the victory.
“I don’t know,” you turn to him, wiping your hands on your pants. “Should you be?”
“What’s the matter, nothing good on the television?” he asks.
“Don’t you have some small children to bring to tears or something?” you reply.
“Where did you even get the knives?”
You walk by Titus, jutting your chin out. “Like you said, I can get anything I want here.”
After collecting the knives from the bark, you find your starting point again, with every intention of practicing as if Titus isn’t standing there, watching you.
“You’re choking it,” Titus says.
You glare at him. “Excuse me?”
“The blade.” Titus approaches you and takes your wrist in his hand, turning it over in his grip. You have the knife in your grasp, fingers gently wrapped around the base of the blade. He gently slides the blade down, so that your fingers are resting at the tip.
“You have more leverage this way,” he says, voice low.
Without explaining further, Titus moves his hands to your hips. You still, just barely, breath hitching in your throat. Based on the way his eyebrow lifts, and the corner of his mouth twitches, Titus notices.
He gently positions you, moving your hips so that you are facing him straight on, perpendicular to your target. You wait for his hands to fall away, but they linger just a little bit longer. You can feel his fingers twitch lightly against your hips.
“You will push through with this back leg,” he taps your thigh.
You watch his hands, eyes narrow.
“Now,” he murmurs. The hairs on the back of your neck stand. “Try again.”
Titus brings his hands behind his back and takes a few steps back. He nods, waiting for you to make your move.
You don’t hide the disdain in your face, but square up anyway. Blade behind your head, other hand out towards your target. One deep breath in, and out, and let the knife fly.
It lands right on the target. Not the center, but closer than you’ve been all afternoon.
Titus flashes you a smug grin. “Good,” he nods, and you hate the way the word runs through you. “Maybe now you’ll be able to hit a sleeping elephant.”
“Fuck you,” you spit, readying your next blade.
You throw again, remembering what Titus said, and hit closer to the center of the target. Titus’s smug grin permeates your periphery. You roll your eyes.
“Alright, time to come inside,” Titus extends a hand.
“I’m not a dog,” you spit.
“No, and you’re not a child either. You’re going to come with me. Now.” His tone is flat, and his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. Unsettling as always.
You collect your knives and walk by Titus, leaving his extended hand hanging in the air.
Titus directs you to your bedroom, keeping a respectable distance as you make your way through the halls. Even after moving to your permanent residence, he doesn’t have you to sleep in the same bed as him. Chivalrous, maybe. More likely, though, his clear disdain for you would ruin his sound sleep.
When you open the door, you realize why he brought you back in.
Your belongings have been delivered. Four boxes, stacked neatly on the floor, with your name printed on the front. Your entire life, reduced to this. You would be ashamed, but you worked for everything in those boxes. It’s all yours.
“Your apartment has been paid off. Furniture sold, and personal effects packed,” Titus walks in behind you. “I’m not sure how you managed to live in such a tiny hovel, though,” he adds, nearly under his breath.
You glare at him, unamused.
“Anyway,” Titus clears his throat, “Let me know if anything is missing.”
“Okay,” you approach the boxes, gently kneeling on the ground to open them.
Old concert shirts, a few pictures, and some well loved novels. You pick up your worn and very annotated copy of The Portrait of Dorian Gray, grateful that it made the trip.
You move to the second box. Then the third. And the fourth. Your movements become more haphazard with each box, hope fading fast. You check the excess packing material, thinking it must be hidden somewhere. Not missing, though. It can’t be.
“It’s not here,” you mutter. Not wanting to believe it, you rifle through the boxes again.
“What is it?” Titus asks, stepping up behind you.
“My necklace. The- the heart pendant. It’s not here,” your voice is rising.
Titus looks at your possessions with near disgust. “I can buy you another necklace-”
“No,” you cut him off, tone harsh. You turn to him and try to decide how much you’re willing to share with Titus. “It was my mother’s.”
For the first time, something softens behind Titus’s eyes. You almost don’t notice it, but there is definitely something different in his expression. Something like empathy, if that’s even possible for him.
“I- I understand,” he nods, tone noticeably softer. “I’ll send someone out to see if it was missed.”
You sit on your bed, arms wrapped around your stomach. “She was a single mom, and tried to give me the world. It was the only thing of value she had to her name. When she died-” your voice catches in your throat. You look up at Titus. His hands are heavy at his sides, clearly not sure what to do at this moment.
“When she died,” you continue, “it was the only thing I had left of her.”
There’s a heavy silence, a lengthy pause. You retreat into yourself, any bravado you had cut short. Any quips you may have for Titus die on your tongue.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Titus nods and folds his hands behind his back.
He leaves you alone in your room, your whole life reduced to four measly boxes and a broken heart.
-
Titus decides to throw a dinner party. He says it’s to honor the new marriage, and to celebrate the Danforths remaining at the high seat of the council. But this is clearly just a way for the wealthy to live in their wealth. Spending money just to spend. Luxury for luxury’s sake.
Your outfit was chosen by him, of course. You half expected it to be some tacky, gaudy display of horrendous opulence. It’s not like he has proven to have exceptional taste.
But the dress is surprisingly lovely. Lush, deep blood red fabric hugs every curve from your breasts to your hips, then drips down to the floor. Off the shoulder straps leave your collar bone exposed. With minimal beading, it’s much more subdued than you would have expected from him. Not that his wardrobe is particularly flashy, but these events have a way of bringing the tackiness out of people.
The maids finish preparing, leaving you at the vanity, staring at yourself in the mirror. You look beautiful. And you can feel your will starting to erode. You hate how much you like this gown on you. You hate how perfectly your hair is pinned. You hate how your skin is glowing, how well this life fits on you, like the ring on your finger.
Titus enters the room without knocking. The vest he’s wearing has an ornate pattern on it, blood red, matching your gown.
“You look beautiful,” he says.
“Way to compliment yourself,” you roll your eyes, “since you’re the one that picked this out.”
“The dress is nice,” Titus says, standing behind you now, hands behind his back. “You look beautiful. Now, close your eyes.”
“Why,” you glare at him through the mirror.
“Just do it,” he squints at you, patience thinning.
You stare at him for a moment, but he’s unmoving. Finally, you relent.
“You aren’t particularly trusting,” Titus says, voice low. “Then again, neither am I.”
“I wonder why,” you mutter, eyes still closed.
You feel a chain drop down around your neck, and his fingers clasp it behind you. You can only imagine what kind of garish jewels Titus has picked out for you. Without waiting for him to release you, your eyes open, and your gaze falls immediately on the necklace.
Your mother’s necklace.
A thin, gold chain and heart pendant, etched with an ornate design. Simple, but beautiful. You thought you’d never see it again.
Tears well in your eyes. You blink them away quickly, careful not to ruin your makeup, or let on how moved you are by this gesture.
“How-” you start, but you bite your tongue.
“The servant who collected your things tried to pawn it. Idiot. He has been killed for his treachery." Titus says those words so plainly, and even smiles at you. Like taking a life is as mundane as taking out the trash.
Your painted fingers move to the pendant, touching it gently, making sure this is real. There is a pang of guilt at the thought of someone dying for this. But you think about what you would have done just to get it back, and suddenly your disdain doesn’t feel as strong.
You look at Titus through the mirror. “Thank you.”
The corner of his mouth twitches, but the rest of his face remains unchanged. Something flashes behind his eyes. Not smugness, but maybe pride.
“Our guests will be arriving soon. Be sure you are in the foyer to receive them.”
And he leaves as quickly as he entered.
Dinner is a chore, to say the least. These people, having no real lives or ambitions, have no personalities and no interesting things to say. They comment on the state of the world- which, seeing how far removed they are from it, leads to very shallow discussion.
You remain silent, picking at the courses set in front of you. Any appetite you had vanished the moment you were seated and were forced into such mindless discussion.
Titus sits at the head of the table, and you at the other end. Every so often, he steals glances at you, and the necklace. But he otherwise does not acknowledge you or your presence at the table.
Somewhere near the end of the meal, you feel something nudge your leg.
The cousin seated next to you, Jonathan or something, catches your attention. What you thought was a mistake proves to be very intentional when he drops his hand under the table, resting right on your thigh. His gaze is heavy, daring you to make a sound.
“Titus lucked out with you, didn’t he?” Jonathan’s voice is low, lost in the many conversations happening around the table.
Your entire body goes stiff, unable to decide on what to do. Nothing in your brain materializes on your tongue, and for once, you are stunned into silence. The sheer audacity required to hit on you at a dinner party in your own house, when your psychotic husband is on the other end of the table.
“That is not a good idea.” Your words are weak, but it’s all you can think to say.
Jonathan gives your leg a rough squeeze. “Titus is all talk. We both know he’s not man enough to do what needs to be done,” his eyes drag over you, lingering over your chest and the deep breaths you’re taking.
You look down the table at Titus, who doesn’t seem to have noticed. He’s locked in a conversation about who knows what. Oblivious to the disrespect happening right under his nose.
Jonathan removes his hand and settles back in his chair, continuing on as though nothing happened. Your breath finally returns to you. Stupidly, you think that is the end of it.
When the dinner party winds down, and the men gather in the drawing room for scotch and cigars, you excuse yourself.
“I’m going to bed,” you murmur in Titus’s ear before slipping away. He gives a silent nod in understanding.
In your room, you start by taking down your hair and removing your accessories. Your fingers once again linger on the necklace. Your heart squeezes in your chest, thinking of your mother, what she gave up for you. And how much you wish she was here to guide you. The necklace stays on.
There’s a knock on the door. Instantly, you know it’s not Titus.
He doesn’t knock.
“Come in,” you say, thinking it’s one of the maids sent to help you undress.
The door creaks open, and Jonathan saunters in. He’s holding two glasses of wine in his hand.
“I figure we pick up where we left off, what say you?” He sets the glasses down on a nearby table.
“I say you should leave,” you say, backing away slowly.
Jonathan loosens the tie around his neck.
“You’re a woman with needs,” he says, stepping closer. It doesn’t take many strides for him to cross the room. “I’m sure you understand that a man has needs as well.”
His gaze appraises you again, dragging over your figure and practically licking his lips.
“He will kill you,” you spit.
“He won’t,” Jonathan shakes his head. “Because you won’t say anything, will you?”
Your back finds the wall, trapping you. Jonathan reaches out and tucks some hair behind your ear. “Pretty little wife,” he murmurs. “Pretty little trophy.”
Jonathan bends down and plants a kiss to your collar bone. Testing, to see how you’ll react. He looks up at you, searching for signs of betrayal.
“Don’t,” you say, voice small. Your hands find his shoulders, and you start to push back.
When you do, fury flashes in Jonathan’s eyes. This is no longer a game. At least, no longer a fun one. He captures your wrists in one hand and pins your arms above your head.
“You’re going to take this like a good little whore,” he spits.
His other hand palms your breast roughly.
“I’ll scream,” you bite.
“I’m family,” Jonathan’s eyes are dark, “you’re just some gold-digging slut. We’ll see what happens. Who is believed.”
“Jonathan,” a voice cuts through the air. Angry, uneasy.
Never in your life have you been relieved to hear it. Until now.
Jonathan goes still. He releases you from his grip, and smooths the fabric of his shirt before turning.
“I was wondering where you went off to. Only to find you groping my wife.” The words are venomous.
“Titus,” Jonathan nods. “Your wife has quite the insatiable appetite, doesn’t she?”
Jonathan’s voice is light, almost jovial. But there’s a tremble in it, and you can see the panic in his eyes. He clearly wasn’t expecting to actually have to answer for this. “She asked me up here,” Jonathan continues, stepping closer to Titus.
Titus’s eyes move from Jonathan to you, looking for something, anything, to validate what Jonathan is saying. A quiet anger simmers below the surface, ready to explode with any excuse.
With everything you have gathered about the Danforths, specifically about Titus, you know what will happen if you out Jonathan and his true motives. His fate will be sealed. And right now, you couldn’t care less about him or his life. You give a near imperceptible shake of your head that Titus understands immediately.
“Come with me,” he says to Jonathan, turning on his heels and moving quickly from your room.
Jonathan turns to you, flashing a smile as he walks away. But the smile doesn’t reach his eyes, and you know that he can feel how the air shifted.
The door closes. You hear hushed voices for just a moment, before the loud bang of a gunshot cuts through the air.
A heavy thud, then nothing.
Titus enters the room again. You see Jonathan’s legs on the ground on the other side of the door, his lifeless body already worthless, dead weight. The blood splatter blends in with the color of Titus’s vest, but you still see small specs around his collar and on his neck. The gun is still firm in his grasp.
“Blood is not easy to wash from silk,” he nods to you. “And it’s easier to clean the floors than an entire room, anyhow.” The way he says it so calmly, so rationally, shocks you more than the killing itself.
At this point, after all you’ve been through, the violence should be second nature to you. There have been many sleepless nights spent reliving the lives you’ve taken. Their faces, bloodied and screaming, calling out to you. Asking why. But it was self defence. It was all in the name of survival. That’s what you say to their decaying bodies in your nightmares, at least.
As horrifying as it is, you hope that you never one day grow numb to these careless acts of violence.
You haven’t moved away from the wall yet, but your pulse has noticeably steadied. Titus sets the gun down on the table next to the glasses of wine and makes his way to you.
“You should know,” Titus says, “I will always protect what is mine.”
You take a deep, steadying breath.
“And like it your not,” his voice drops low, “you are mine.”
Titus reaches out for you. This is the first time that you don’t flinch. The first time that Titus has reached for you, and your first thought is not of the possible and very likely damage he could inflict upon you. And has.
There is no ire in his words. You slide your hand in his.
“Are you hurt?” he asks, pulling you to the center of the room.
You don’t argue as Titus turns you away from him. His hands drag from your hips, to your waist, up to your shoulders.
“No,” you say, voice thin.
“Good,” he says.
His fingers find the top button of your dress, undoing it quickly. Your body stills.
One of his hands lingers on your waist, while the other drags the zipper down your back. Slow and controlled. Your breathing shallows.
Titus leans in, pressing a kiss to the base of your neck, then your bare shoulder. He pushes the straps of your gown down, the fabric giving way easily under his touch. The satin slips down your body, pooling at your feet.
You’re left standing in front of him in your undergarments. Compared to the fear coursing through you when Jonathan touched you, this is different. You aren’t afraid, not of Titus. Not now. This feeling is harder to name. It’s almost curiosity. Almost.
Titus’s hands grip your bare hips. The touch shoots up your spine. It’s not bruising, but firm. He’s reminding you that he can, and will, do what he pleases. His mouth moves up your neck again. You don’t realize how long it’s been since anyone has really touched you until now. Not your ex-fiance, not anyone.
Your body leans back to him without you realizing it, your back meeting his chest.
One of Titus’s hands moves slowly from your hip to the front of your panties. Just resting, not moving between your legs yet. Titus sets his chin on your shoulder, looking down at how your body reacts to him. Your breath catches in your throat.
“Feeling needy, are we?” Titus’s voice is low and gravelly right at the shell of your ear.
“N-no.” You don’t even believe yourself when you whisper it.
“Don’t lie to me, darling,” his fingers toy with the lacy seam.
As much as you can feel the heat growing between your legs, you can’t get the context of this situation out of your head. What almost happened just 10 minutes ago, the dead body outside your bedroom door. The hands on you, and what else they have done to you.
“I’m-not-” you breathe.
Suddenly, Titus pulls away. You almost fall backwards, jolting back to yourself.
You turn to him, your face burning.
He can’t meet your eye as he smooths the front of his vest. You can’t quite read his face, but he looks almost disturbed, embarrassed.
“Good night,” he gives you a curt nod.
You watch him walk out, dazed. You have no idea what just happened, and you’ve stopped breathing entirely.
As soon as the door shuts, you drop to your knees, overwhelmed with conflicting emotions. Your hand presses to your chest, heart clenching, pulse racing. Everything from this evening collides in your brain.
Jonathan’s leering, greedy gaze. The way Titus looked at you, angry, protective. How vulnerable he looked when he left. How your body eagerly accepted his touch. It’s all too much.
There’s no sleeping soundly tonight.
Hours spent tossing and turning, you finally give up. Anxiety fills you all over again. Every sound, every creak in this god forsaken house, sounds like someone entering your room. You sit up, sleep deprivation pulling at your sanity. There’s no way you’ll get any rest like this. Feeling alone and unsafe.
There is one room that you know no one will enter.
Until now, neither have you.
You pad down the dimly lit hall, a few lights guiding your way.
A large painting of the late Chester Danforth watches you walk by. His face is somber, stoic. You pause for a moment, feeling uneasy under his gaze. Titus’s eyes have the same look when he’s focused. You shake off the eerie similarities and push on.
You hold your palms to the heavy wood of Titus’s bedroom door, pressing your ear to try to hear any movement inside. All you hear is the racing pulse in your ears.
Trying to be as quiet as possible, you push the door open, just enough for you to slip through.
You see Titus’s sleeping figure illuminated by the moonlight. He’s on his back, one arm resting on his chest, and one arm splayed out next to him. You approach slowly and quietly, just in case he’s a light sleeper.
It’s almost strange, seeing him like this. Completely disarmed. There’s a softness in his features that you haven’t been able to appreciate, what with his personality ruining it. You want to lean in and memorize him like this. The sharpness of his jaw, the slight curve of his nose, his long lashes.
Titus’s chest rises and falls steadily, clearly in deep sleep. You move quietly to the other side of the bed and slip under the covers, head resting over his outstretched arm.
For a few moments, you just watch Titus sleep. Like this, you can pretend. You can pretend that he’s not who he is, and that you married into a normal life. That Titus is a loving husband. That you are not constantly unnerved by him and confused by his motivations.
It lulls you to sleep.
Morning light streaming through the gap in the curtains wakes you softly. It takes you a moment for you to remember yourself and your surroundings. Everything comes back to you when you see Titus’s arm wrapped around your waist, holding you flush to his chest. His face is pressed against your hair.
Annoyingly, this was probably the best night’s sleep you’ve had these last few weeks, which pains you to admit.
One minute. You allow yourself one minute like this. To feel Titus’s arm around you and again, pretend this is normal. You want to melt into his embrace, and forget what he’s done.
But you don’t want to risk him waking up like this, with his arms wrapped around you. There’s no way you would willingly give him that satisfaction.
You hold your breath and try to slip out from his grasp without waking him, almost tripping trying to contort yourself in such a way that makes as little noise as possible. When you straighten yourself out, Titus appears to still be sleeping. Thankfully.
You quietly sneak to his door and pull it open without another glance.
“Sleep well?” his groggy, deep voice calls out to you.
You press your forehead to the door and curse quietly to yourself. When you turn around, Titus has one arm tucked behind his head, eyes on you. His mouth curves into a smug grin.
“Don’t.” The word is a curt warning.
“Come back to bed, darling,” his voice is dripping with condescension.
You remember why all of that softness from last night was not real. The fact that you were able to pretend this was remotely normal was not real. It was all in your head. You will never have a normal life with Titus, not as long as he is who he is.
Face hot, you leave without another word.
-
“Pernilla,” you look up from your book, “where is Titus?”
“The guest room in the west wing,” she nods. Her eyes shift back and forth, and she looks uncharacteristically nervous.
“Okay,” you say, dragging out the end of the word. “Why is he in there?”
She doesn’t answer right away.
“You know what,” you hold a hand up. “Don’t worry about it.”
It takes you a second to even figure out where the west wing is- this house is far too big for normal people- and find the guest room.
You lean your head to the door and are immediately confused. All you hear is the sounds of sex. Whines, moans, and the animalistic grunts that can only come from your dear husband.
The door creaks when you open it, and falls heavily shut behind you.
“Darling!” Titus smiles when he sees you.
The girl, whoever she is, is bent over in front of him. Her hands are tied behind her back with thick satin bindings, face twisted in pain or pleasure, you're not sure. Then again, the line between them is thin, anyway.
Titus is thrusting into her at a dizzying pace, surely chasing his own release, not worried about the girl in front of him. His bare chest is glistening with sweat, biceps pronounced as he grabs the bindings of the girl in front of him, hauling her up and pressing her back to his chest.
“She’s pretty, isn’t she?” Titus asks, looking at you with amusement. He drags his tongue up her neck, gathering the sweat. She whimpers, leaning her head back to his shoulder.
Titus forces her face forward towards you. “Meet my wife,” he says into her ear.
“Are you trying to make me jealous?” You ask, crossing your arms. “That would suggest I want you in the first place.”
You can’t help your gaze from falling down to the girl’s poor pussy, where Titus moves in and out. It’s the first time you’ve seen him. All of him. You swallow hard, trying to keep your face flat.
“You expect all of us to take a vow of celibacy, just because you have?” he smirks. “Sit down,” Titus nods to the chaise across the room, “if you want to watch.”
The girl in front of him starts whining again. Titus covers her mouth with a firm grip. “Shut your fucking mouth,” he growls.
You narrow your eyes. This was a no-win scenario. Leaving would imply that he got to you somehow. He could stay in here, fucking this girl in peace. Staying and watching would mean he could put on a show, and you would be subjected to whatever happened next. Or, worse, let him think you were turned on by this display. You wish you never walked in.
Arms still crossed, you walk towards the bed. Titus’s hips stutter slightly, clearly confused by this course of action. You grab the girl’s face with one hand, bringing her gaze to you.
“Does that feel good?” you ask.
“Mhmm,” she whimpers.
“Did he let you come?” you push the hair out of her face.
“N-no,” she whines.
Titus looks down at you, smile faltering.
With your eyes locked on Titus, you drag two fingers into your mouth, and press them against her exposed clit. She lets out a loud yelp.
“Wha-what are you doing?” Titus groans, feeling the effects of your actions on his cock.
“Come on, come for me, let go,” you coo at the girl, caressing her clit as Titus continues to move inside.
His pace has slowed, too busy watching you.
You’re not sure how long he has been using this poor girl’s cunt, but it doesn’t take long for her to reach her peak.
“I’m coming,” she whimpers. “Oh my god.”
You help her ride through it, watching Titus’s face as she squeezes him. He drops her down onto the bed face first, his face twisted.
“What’s the matter?” you smirk. “You gonna come now, too?”
He looks at you, breathless, as it dawns on him. He can stop now, stave off the climax he’s right on the edge of, or find his release, and end this charade.
“Bitch,” he mutters, moving inside the girl again.
“Your bitch,” you spit.
Titus is so sensitive at this point, that it takes three more thrusts for him to finish off inside the poor girl.
“Show’s over,” you shrug, turning to leave. “And make sure you clean her up before you send her away. Please.”
-
Two can play at this game.
Not that you want to hire an escort to fuck. Titus would clearly enjoy that.
In true Titus fashion, you saunter into the study, unannounced. In your clothes. Not the ones Titus bought for you. The ones he turned his nose down at when they were delivered in boxes.
Soft, dainty panties and a flowy nightgown that is far too short to be considered PG. It was your go-to sleeping outfit when you were trying to seduce your now dead ex-husband. Worked every time.
Titus's eyes rake over you, not even trying to hide his leering.
"Comfortable?" he asks, taking a sip of his whiskey.
"Very," you smile. You lie on the couch on your stomach, your ass almost completely out, and feet waving lazily in the air. You flip open a magazine, and try to pretend like it’s the most interesting thing you’ve read in the last two months.
Titus clears his throat and moves the paperwork in front of him to the side of the desk. He leans back in his chair and just…watches you.
You continue leafing through the pages, feigning ignorance. The quiet is unsettling, though. Every so often, you steal a glance at Titus, to find that sure enough, he’s still just watching.
Deciding to take it up a notch, you roll over onto your back. Your legs drape over the backrest of the couch, and the soft satin falls even further, exposing the entirety of your legs. Very little skin is left covered.
Titus clears his throat.
“You have something to say to me?” you ask, not looking up from the page.
“Just that you are incredibly predictable,” Titus drawls.
One of your legs falls to the edge of the couch, completely exposing your panties. “What’s the matter, dear? Can’t stand to look at what you can’t have?”
Titus rises from his desk and moves towards you. The magazine falls from your grip. He just stares down at you at first, almost appraising you. When he reaches down, you think he may break his word, you think he may have snapped. He may take you right here on the couch.
But he grips the front of your panties, dragging the fabric firmly between the folds of your pussy, rubbing right against your clit.
Your jaw drops in a surprised, silent moan, eyes wide.
“You think you can tempt me?” he says, his voice low and gravelly. His eyes aren’t crazed. Intense, yes, but otherwise Titus is surprisingly calm. His grip on your panties tightens, increasing the friction on your clit.
A low whimper escapes you before you can stop it.
“That’s not-”
“You’ll have to try harder, my dear,” he says, finally letting go. The fabric hits your skin with a sharp snap.
You yelp. Against your better judgement, and the soul still thriving in your heart, you are ashamed to admit how wet you are.
“Satan knows I want you,” he caresses the side of your face.
You have to will your eyelashes not to flutter, and your heart to stop beating so fast.
“But like I said,” Titus’s gaze is heavy, eyes boring into yours, “when I have you, you’ll be begging for me.”
You swallow hard, trying to get a fucking grip. This should not be turning you on, and yet.
And yet.
-
“What the fuck is going on in here?” Titus storms into the kitchen. The arguing, he ignored. It was when he heard your voice cut through the hall that Titus knew he needed to see what the hell was the matter.
He finds you standing there, thoroughly chastised by his tone.
“They won’t let me cook,” you cross your arms.
The cooks look at Titus, eyes wide, not knowing what to do.
Titus takes a beat, closing his eyes for a moment, like he’s trying to calm himself.
“Leave,” his voice booms through the kitchen.
They vacate without another word. The entire kitchen leaves, a fury of kitchen clogs scurrying out of the room.
“Of course they listen to you,” you mutter.
“They would listen to you,” Titus says, moving closer to you, “if you didn’t ask them for things that directly contradict me. Now, what is this about?”
“I wanted to make dinner,” you shrug. “They wouldn’t let me, kept offering to do it for me.”
“Really?” Titus’s eyebrows raise. “An entire team of expertly trained chefs, and you think you can cook better than them?”
“It’s not about better,” you snap.
“Fucking ridiculous,” he scoffs.
“Like you would even understand,” your voice rises.
“I don’t!” his matches.
“I need some agency, Titus!” You’re yelling now. The only person (alive) to dare raise their voice at Titus Danforth. “I don’t understand how you live like this. I need to know that I can still do something for myself. That I can still take care of myself.”
“You don’t need to take care of yourself,” he hisses.
“It’s not a matter of need, darling,” you spit out the pet name. “You obviously don’t get it. I’m sure Titus Danforth can’t even make a fucking grilled cheese!”
He narrows his eyes at that. You think you may have angered him, struck a nerve, but you don’t care. At this point, more than two months in, Titus has proven that he won’t lift a finger to you with the intent of causing pain. At least, not anymore.
“Sit,” he points to the stool in the corner.
“Titus, I’m not-”
“Sit. Down.” He hisses. “I won’t say it again.”
You settle down on the stool, arms still crossed.
Titus takes a moment to orient himself before searching around the kitchen. He opens and closes multiple cabinets, not finding what he’s looking for.
“This is painful,” you groan.
“Shut up.”
“You don’t even know where anything is in here,” you roll your eyes.
He finally finds a skillet, and glares at you pointedly.
“Congrats,” you scoff.
He sets the pan on the burner and pilfers for everything else. Butter, sliced bread, cheese.
“Cheddar, gouda, or havarti?” he asks over his shoulder, looking at the offerings in the fridge.
“Cheddar and gouda,” you reply.
“Of course,” he mutters.
You watch as he builds the sandwich, the actions clearly foreign to him. Nearly tearing a hole in the bread as he spreads the butter, and cursing to himself when he realizes that he let the pan get too hot. You watch as the man who walks with his head high, all the confidence in the world, stumbles through the kitchen. For you.
“My mother was a lot like you,” he says without removing his attention from the skillet. “She married into the family. What she wanted was security, what she got was my father.”
He flips the sandwich, wincing slightly when he sees how dark this side is. You listen to him silently. “In the end, she wouldn’t let this life consume her. Until it ended her. And my father saw her as weak for it.”
When Titus turns the sandwich out onto a plate, the second side is much lighter than the first. He seems pleased with himself, sliding the plate down the counter to you.
“It’s a little well done,” you grumble.
“Satan help me,” he sighs, eyes cast towards the ceiling, flexing his hands at his sides.
You take the plate in your hands, looking down at it, and back up to Titus. “So what you’re telling me is that your humanity died with your mother? That’s it? You are the way you are because she was the light? And then your daddy put it out?”
“What I’m saying,” he grits his teeth. “Is that the world is not black and white. We are all good. We are all evil. You have to be the strongest in the room. You have know how to play the game.”
“I’m tired of your fucking games,” you take the plate and storm out of the kitchen.
“And by the way,” you pivot back for the last word. Apparently, you can’t help yourself. You raise the plate. “This is still not what I wanted. The grilled cheese was a joke. I was going to make myself a chicken quesadilla. So. Thanks for that. You proved that you can burn bread and that you don’t listen.”
Titus just blinks at you. “Incredible.”
-
This cat and mouse is exhausting. You don’t know how much longer you can do this, how much longer you can keep being the petulant, defiant bride.
One day, Titus is surely going to snap. He seems on edge as it is. When he gave you his word, he probably didn’t think you’d last as long as you have- three months now. The teasing and taunting from both of you has gotten to be pathetic and draining.
Some days, you can almost feel your humanity eroding. Being locked away in the gilded cage, seeing no one, caring for nothing. It has a way of steeling you to the outside world and its problems in a way you swore wouldn’t happen.
But then, you’ll catch a glimpse of a story on the news. Or Titus will take you with him to the resort for a day of meetings. Being around people again, it reinvigorates you, grounds you, reminds you that there is something outside of the Newport walls.
“We should come out here more often,” you look at him over your sunglasses.
“Why, are you bored at the house?” he drawls.
You just stare at him.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
You sit out by the pool of the penthouse suite at the Danforth Casino and Resort, while Titus paces back and forth on the phone. Every so often, his voice raises at whoever is on the other line. Eventually, you try to tune him out and lean your head back on the lounge chair.
“You have a short temper,” you say when you feel his shadow cast over you, eyes still closed. “You should consider therapy.”
“I’m in therapy. It’s called a cigar club, very effective,” he responds. “I need to take care of some business down at the casino.”
You wave him off. “Okay,” you say, uncaring.
You expect him to stalk off, like he always does. But instead, he bends down and presses a rough kiss to your head. You wave him off.
“I’ll be back shortly.”
You mumble a response.
As the time passes, you get bored fast. After an hour, you decide you’ve had enough. With the entirety of this resort at your fingertips, Titus thinks you’re going to stay locked up in this room?
Laughable.
You pull a sundress over your swimsuit, slide into some sandals, and take the elevator down.
There’s people everywhere. You wander the lobby, watching the uber wealthy fret over luggage and take pictures by the front entrance. You wonder, if they knew of the blood spilled in order to keep this thing afloat, would they still come? Still make their reservations, host their bachelorette parties? Or would they turn their heads, somber for a while, mumbling about thoughts and prayers, and still come back for more?
You move on, knowing the answer.
You see the cinnamon sugar curls of your dear husband, his back to you, talking to someone you’ve never met. They’re standing in the doorway of the casino, having a heated discussion. You try to stay on the fridges, watching without looming, but it doesn’t last long.
The man sees you, and immediately his demeanor changes, lightening up to something worthy of a show.
“Ah, the wife,” his face lights up dramatically at the sight of you. You try not to roll your eyes at the address.
Titus’s head snaps in your direction. The heat behind his eyes fades, brows knitting together into something akin to concern. You step closer, plastering on a smile of your own.
“Mrs. Danforth, lovely to make your acquaintance.” The man bows his head and kisses the back of your hand. It’s not exactly inappropriate, but it still confuses the hell out of you.
“Likewise,” you reply, still unsure of what to make of him.
“I’m Jones, your husband’s favorite business partner.” Jones flashes a mouth full of tacky veneers.
“Remains up for debate,” Titus deadpans.
“I hear you hold the humanity of our man Titus, here,” he grabs Titus by the shoulders, shaking him a little.
Titus clearly does not like that.
“Wha- what do you mean?” you ask, your gaze flickering between them.
“Enough-” Titus starts.
“Apparently,” Jones continues, “Titus has been making all kinds of changes with his new seat. And people seem to credit all of it to his marriage to you.”
In an instant, his smile is no longer joyful. Jones drags his gaze down your body, sizing you up, deciding what to make of you.
Titus’s jaw clenches. He opens his mouth to say something, but stops when you drape your arms over his shoulder. He brings a hand to your waist as you press your body to his side.
“Well, if you know anything about my husband,” you say, “you know that he doesn’t do anything on anyone’s behalf. Afterall-”
You look Titus dead in the eye, your noses almost touching.
“He’s not a man that can be controlled.”
Titus’s jaw works again, eyes refusing to lift from yours.
“Right,” Jones nods. “Of course.”
“Go away, Jones,” Titus grits, still not looking away from you.
Jones lingers for a moment longer.
“Now,” Titus raises his eyebrows and flicks his wrist in annoyance.
As soon as Jones is gone, you remove your hands from Titus. But he keeps his grip securely around your waist.
“I thought I told you to stay upstairs,” he mutters.
“You didn’t, darling,” you smile.
“It should go without saying at this point.”
A hand firmly at the small of your back, he leads you back to the elevator. You grumble under your breath the entire way.
“What was that about, anyway?” You ask as soon as the elevator doors close.
“Don’t speak to me right now,” he says without looking at you, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose.
“It’s a long ride to the top,” you say, “plenty of time.”
“Do you ever stop talking?” Titus snaps.
You narrow your eyes at him. “No.”
Titus moves quickly. His hand wrapped around your jaw, not hard but forceful, pushing you against the shiny, opulent wall of the elevator. Your eyes widen.
“I have been very patient with you,” he spits. “Any other slut would have been bent over my knee a hundred times already. And still, you push me.”
“Titus,” your voice is thin. It’s the only word you can get out.
He’s completely pressed against you, and you feel every muscle and hard outline of his body.
“You think you’re better than me, don’t you? Higher, holier, cleaner” he continues, “but I’ve seen what those pretty hands are capable of. The violence, the destruction. You were one of us before I put the ring on your finger. Before our blood mingled on the page.”
You want to argue, but Titus is right. Whether or not it was self defense, you still did those things. You still hurt people. And lived to not regret it at all.
“You want me to tell you that I want you? Huh?” Titus’s pupils are completely blown, voice harried. “You want me to tell you that when I fucked that girl, I pretended she was you? What difference would it make?”
“Titus,” you croak again. You bring your hands up around his biceps. The action is small, but it does something to him. At the very least, it snaps him out of it. He presses his lips together, and with a frustrated growl, Titus releases you from his grip.
Your breath comes back to you all at once.
“Do not mistake my restraint for anything other than that,” he spits.
The elevator dings, and the doors slide open to the penthouse. Titus storms out without another glance at you.
You’ve completely lost it. There’s no other explanation for what you are feeling. This man has chased you, threatened you, and tried to kill you- multiple times. He’s made you fear for your life.
But now, when you watch him pace the length of the patio from the other side of the sliding glass door, you twist the ring around your finger. You think about the serenity of his sleeping form. The way he protected you from his own family. The lengths he went to for the one thing in your life you held dear. Even that stupid, nearly burned grilled cheese.
Ursula was wrong when she said there was no goodness in him. She just wasn’t looking in the right places.
Titus has won. Again. It doesn't bring you any joy. But what's worse is knowing you are trapped either way. And you are so tired of fighting, of pushing, of making your life harder. Wouldn’t it just be easier to acquiesce? To give in to the part of yourself that isn’t repulsed by any of this?
And really, how bad can selling your soul really be? In the grand scheme of things?
The sun dips down below the horizon. Room service has brought up your meal, and you sit in silence with Titus.
The sound of cutlery hitting against the plates is interrupted by Titus’s deep breath. Your attention snaps to him immediately.
“I…” he starts
You look up at him from behind your glass. The sip of wine turns into a full gulp.
“I dismantled a terrorist organization in the Middle East.”
You set your glass down, nodding, trying to absorb this information.
“That’s what Jones was referring to. He had an arms deal with them that is now…void.”
Titus does not look proud or pleased. You try to catch his gaze, but he won’t look at you directly.
“Why are you telling me this?” you ask carefully.
“You asked,” he says.
After a beat of silence, you continue. “You don’t have to do anything on my behalf.”
“I don’t.” Titus finally looks at you, his words heavy. “It’s hard to invigorate economic growth when those people are being slaughtered, so.”
Titus shrugs. He isn’t eating anymore, silverware set down on his plate.
“Of course,” you nod.
You don’t know what to make of this information. Would Titus have always made that decision? Was Jones right, are you somehow swaying him? It’s something you’ll probably never know.
Titus still won’t sleep in the same room as you. Now you realize, it’s not disdain, it’s temptation. The best way for him to ensure that he keeps his hands to himself is to make sure there is a physical wall between you.
It’s late, but you can’t stop thinking. The time you spend undressing, your thoughts are with Titus. Trying to figure out how you feel, how to move forward. What the right choice is in this impossible situation. Sleep isn’t even an option right now.
You tighten the robe around your waist, wringing the straps in your hands. Your body and mind are at war with each other, fighting over control. But really, the choice is simple. Keep fighting, keep resisting, or take your place. Accept your fate. Make this system work in your favor.
And you’ve come too far to remain a prisoner.
Your knuckles hit the door lightly, almost sheepishly. It’s like you’re giving yourself an out if he doesn’t hear.
“Come in,” Titus’s voice calls from the other side.
You slip in quietly, shutting the door behind you.
Titus’s hungry eyes watch as you cross the room. He’s standing by the fireplace, stance wide, top buttons of his shirt open. The dim lighting of the room and low fire highlight his features, the ones you came to appreciate in the moonlight.
You twist the tie of your robe again, trying to steady your heartbeat.
“What is it?” TItus asks, crossing his arms.
You don’t say anything for a moment, just looking around the room. The entire Newport house, and even the lodge, have Danforth written all over them. Old, ancient money, collections that would put a museum to shame. But this is the first time you are surrounded by Titus’s things. What he holds with value.
“I thought maybe we could sleep in the same bed tonight,” you say, meandering towards his desk. Titus’s eyes track your movements, but he doesn’t stop you.
“You thought?” Titus narrows his eyes at you.
You gently push a stack of books aside, fanning them out to read the covers. Most of them are ancient-looking notebooks, or books on finance. But one catches your eye.
The Portrait of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde. The same edition as your very well-loved copy. He’s been reading it, you can see the tabs and dog ears as evidence.
“Yes,” you whisper, gaze meeting his.
When you finally approach Titus, he drops his arms to his sides. You reach for his shirt, carefully undoing the rest of the buttons. The fabric falls open, exposing the lightly freckled skin that you’ve only seen once before. Titus watches your face as your eyes drop to his chest.
You raise your hands towards him.
Titus grabs your wrists. Your breath catches in surprise, but not fear.
“Don’t toy with me.” His voice is a low warning.
“I’m not,” you reply. You are not trembling, you are not confused. There is not an ounce of mischief in your actions. Not this time.
He releases his grip, and you bring your hands to his shoulders, gently pushing his shirt down over his shoulders to the ground. You don’t hide your appraising stare. His broad chest, his strong arms. Every move is slow and deliberate. You’re taking your time, and Titus is taking you in.
"Say it," he says, still not raising his voice.
You chew on your bottom lip.
“I need to hear you say it,” his voice is still strong, but laced with less venom. Almost desperate. Almost.
"Titus," you look him in the eye, "I want you. Please.”
Titus’s eyes- though already dark- cloud over with something forceful. He clamps his hands around your waist, pulling you closer to him. His eyes move between yours and your lips, like he’s trying to make his mind up. Decide if you mean it, or if this is just a trick.
He takes you for your word.
His mouth presses against yours. Just like on your wedding night. Forceful, eager. Only this time, you kiss him back. Your mouth opens for him, taking his tongue against yours. This is the first time he’s kissed you since the wedding night. And that was completely one sided.
This time, you whimper into his mouth, and it spurs him forward.
It’s not sloppy. Titus is many things, but not sloppy. He’s eager, ready to take what he believes is his.
And as of now, you are. Completely.
He grabs at the tie of your robe, undoing it and letting the soft fabric fall, leaving you in your delicate lingerie. Your exposed skin prickles in the cold air. It’s not the first time Titus has seen you like this. But it’s the first time he’s been able to drink you in, knowing that it’s all for him.
“On your knees,” his voice is gruff, catching his breath.
The command runs through you.
You lower yourself to the floor, looking up at him through your lashes. Titus’s breath comes out heavy as he loosens the buttons at his waist. His eyes don’t leave yours as he pushes the waistbands down, discarding both his pants and underwear at the same time.
Your eyes widen slightly at the sight of him, hard and ready. You think back to when you saw him fucking the escort. That was different. Now, you’re seeing him fully, right in front of you. Embarrassingly, your mouth waters a little.
When you think he’s going to come closer, Titus actually steps away from you. He looks smug as he settles back into an arm chair by the fireplace.
He watches you, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.
“Come here,” he waves.
Heat rises in your cheeks. You know what he wants. After a deep breath, you move to your hands and knees, and slowly crawl to him. He watches you cross the room, hungry and waiting. You push your face against his knee, resting your head on his leg.
“Good girl,” he smiles. The praise courses through you. You should be embarrassed. This should be upsetting to you. But for some reason, your panties are completely soaked.
Titus looks down. “You know what to do.”
You swallow once, bracing yourself. When you reach for him, and wrap your fingers around his length, Titus’s inhale sharpens. His smile falls fast. It makes you remember that he had been waiting for this, too. Even if he wasn’t completely without sex in the meantime.
With your mouth wide, you look up at Titus and drag your tongue up his length, gathering the salty precum at the tip, watching for his reaction.
Titus’s mouth opens slightly, feeling your tongue against him. He reaches one hand behind your head, threading his fingers through your hair, and holds you steady.
“Come on,” he says, “take it.”
You open your mouth as wide as you can, and he pushes your head down. One of your hands rests on his thigh, and when you take him as far back as your throat will allow, you squeeze gently. It’s involuntary, like a muscle reaction.
And he stops.
Titus’s eyes close for a moment, feeling your wet mouth tight around him. “That’s it,” he groans.
You gag slightly, and after a moment, Titus lets you up for air. Saliva drips from your lips onto his lap. He lets you take a moment before pushing your mouth back around him.
It’s equal parts strength and trust. Titus pushes you down further and further each time, only stopping when your fingers curl gently at his thigh.
Eventually, Titus releases his grip, giving you autonomy. You don’t relent, bobbing your head up and down, hand stroking the length your mouth doesn’t reach. Titus’s fingers grip the arm of the chair, growing more and more restless the longer you work him.
“Enough,” he says. His voice is strong, but he’s slightly breathless. You try not to get too smug, knowing that you can elicit this reaction from him.
“Enough?” you ask, resting your cheek on his thigh again.
He motions for you to stand, and you slowly rise to your feet.
He rises along with you, capturing your mouth with his again. His hands grasp as much of you as possible. It’s a frenzied kind of contact. After months of depriving him, Titus finally has you. And he can’t stop touching you.
“You drive me fucking crazy, you know that?” he mutters into your mouth.
You reach behind you for the clasps at your bra.
“No,” he grips your arms and pulls away, “I want to do it.”
“Okay,” you roll your eyes, just a little, and drop your hands, letting Titus reach behind you.
His eyes don’t move from yours until the fabric falls away, exposing more of you. He takes you in, and can’t help himself from reaching up and palming your breast, catching a hard nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
You hiss, the sensation shooting through you.
“Sensitive?” he asks, dipping his mouth down to your chest.
You gasp and thread your fingers in his hair, holding him close. Titus holds you, hands splayed out on your waist and ass.
“Please,” you whimper, running your hands down his arms.
“Please what?” he mutters, standing over you again.
“Please,” you breathe, “I need you inside me.”
Titus smiles, the tone of your voice clearly exciting him.
He kisses you, pushing you towards the bed. When the backs of your legs hit the mattress, you collapse onto your back.
“Let me see her,” he mutters, pushing your legs open. He presses his mouth to your panties, dragging his tongue over the wet spot that’s formed.
“Don’t make it weird,” you writhe under him.
“What’s the matter?” Titus looks at you from between your thighs. “Embarassed?”
“No,” bite back, but you feel heat rush your cheeks.
Titus pulls at the straps of your underwear, tugging the fabric down your legs.
He starts on your thighs, biting down on your skin, soothing the marks with his tongue. He pushes your legs up, knees towards your stomach to get a better angle. You are completely open and exposed to him, everything on display.
“Fuck,” he hisses, licking his lips before kissing the skin just around your cunt.
“Titus,” you whine.
“Look at how wet you are,” he mutters against you. “Who is all this for?”
You whimper, desire clouding your thought processing power. His tongue slides quickly over your folds, just tasting you for now.
“Say it,” he grunts.
“For you,” you gasp, back arching off the mattress. “It’s for you, Titus.”
“That’s right,” he growls. Two fingers slide over your pussy, teasing, before slipping in easily. “Mine.”
Your jaw drops at the sudden thrust.
“Oh shit,” you hiss.
“I can’t believe this is what you’ve been hiding,” TItus says, slipping a third finger into you.
You can’t think of anything remotely intelligent to say. The combination of Titus’s mouth on your clit, drinking you in, and his fingers sliding in and out, brings you to the edge faster than you wanted. It has been months, after all.
“Titus, I’m so close,” you bring your hand down into his hair, pushing your hips closer to his mouth, chasing the release.
“No,” he pulls away. “Not yet.”
You let out a frustrated groan. “What the fuck?”
“The only way you get to come,” he stands upright, looking down at your desperate form, “is wrapped around my cock.”
You stare daggers, but open your legs for him anyway, as he slowly fists himself, moving closer.
Titus bends over you, a glint in his eye. He presses a firm kiss to your lips again, tongue sliding against yours. He swallows your gasp when you feel his tip graze over your pussy, teasing you.
“Titus,” you moan.
“What, darling?” he drops his mouth to your jaw, trailing wet kisses to your neck.
You buck your hips slightly, seeking out any kind of friction you can get.
“Words,” Titus growls, nose brushing yours. “Tell me what you want.”
You kiss him, taking his bottom lip in your teeth as you pull away. “Enough with the teasing. Fuck. Me,” your eyes narrow.
“That’s more like it,” Titus smiles.
“I told you,” he says, lining himself up with your entrance, “when I take you, you would beg for it.”
Any smart quips die in your throat when he suddenly thrusts inside of you. You take him all the way in all at once, pushing you to your limit.
“Fuck,” Titus grunts. “Look at that. You take me so well.”
“Titus,” you breathe, voice wavering. “It’s too much. I can’t.”
“Yes, you can,” he says, holding your legs up over his shoulders. “You’re going to be a good girl and take it.”
He starts moving, and your vision immediately starts fading at the edges. You’re completely overwhelmed, voice already ragged.
“You feel so good,” Titus says, pressing his face to your leg. He kisses your calf as he slowly pulls out before pushing all the way back in.
Titus watches your face, watches for the moment that your whines change from pain to pleasure. Only then does he start to pick up the pace.
“Talk to me, darling,” he pants. “I want to hear you.”
“You’re splitting me apart,” you moan.
“You want me to stop?” his mouth curls up into a sly grin.
“No.” The word slips out quickly. Too quickly.
Titus presses a smug smile to your leg.
“Don’t,” you snap, but the word is not as threatening as you want it to be.
Titus moves his hand down between your legs, pressing gentle circles over your sensitive clit.
Your hands find purchase on the sheets, gripping them so tightly you almost cramp. It’s impossible to keep your body still, arching and writhing under him.
The climax you were so cruelly denied just moments ago builds back up in your belly.
“Please,” you look up at Titus. This is as close as you will let yourself get to literally begging him.
“How could I deny that face,” Titus smiles down at you. The mischievous glint is gone, his eyes only focused on your and your breath.
Broken, desperate sounds claw their way from your throat as you finally feel the euphoric release you were chasing. The orgasm washes over your entire body, all the way down to your toes.
Titus feels it, too. His jaw goes slack and his hips stutter, feeling your walls squeeze around him.
“Fuck, sweetheart,” he moans, fucking you through it.
“You need- ugh- Titus please,” you press your hands on his hips, completely over-stimulated and overwhelmed.
He pulls out of you, but not without a sly grin plastered over his face.
“Too much for you?” Titus bends over you and kisses your neck.
“Don’t,” you groan. But your legs wrap around his hips, holding him close.
“I think I’ll say whatever I please,” he kisses you hungrily. “After all this time, I’m going to enjoy this.”
You drag your nails down his freckled back, pulling small noises from Titus.
“We need to set some rules,” you whisper into his ear.
Titus pulls away, propping himself up over you.
“Excuse me?” He raises an eyebrow.
You grip Titus’s shoulders and push him, rolling the both of you over until you’re straddling him. Based on his expression, Titus is surprised, but not upset.
With the new position, and your senses finally coming back to you, you smile down to Titus.
“I want to sit in on council meetings,” you say, rubbing your cunt over Titus’s dick.
“That’s not-”
“I will.” You cut him off, leaving no room for an argument. “You don’t have to include me in every discussion, but I will be there.”
Titus rests his hands on your hips, helping you hold yourself up on shaky legs.
With Titus’s dick in your grip, you try to sink down on him, only able to take a few inches at first.
“That’s it,” Titus mutters, squeezing your leg reassuringly.
Unable to control your whimpers, you lower yourself further and further.
With one final push, you arch your back over Titus, taking him all inside of you. He brings a hand up to your breast bone, dragging all the way down your stomach before gripping your hips.
You move above him, slowly and intentionally. The fervor of moments ago has melted into something almost religious. Two bodies becoming one, meeting each other where they are.
“I will not be your pet.”
Titus just moans, looking up at you with those pathetic eyes. For a split second, you see his bravado drop. He looks completely at your mercy as you ride him. Your hips move back and forth, grinding against him.
“I will not be your trophy. I will not be your silent arm candy. I am your wife, and you will treat me as such.” You lean forward, gripping his shoulders for stability.
“Yes,” is all Titus manages. His voice is beginning to thin, the same pleasure in you finding its hold on him.
“And in return,” you bite your lip, letting yourself feel this without shame or embarrassment. “I will truly be your partner. Completely. Body and mind.”
Titus’s eyes flash dark, the aggression taking hold again. “Yes.”
He looks up at you, licking his lips, moving his hands to grip your ass. His hips buck upwards, picking up your slow, deliberate pace. It catches you off guard, your grip tightening on his shoulders and leaving small half moons under your nails.
You lean forward over him even more, allowing him to control the pace. You are almost completely overwhelmed by pleasure, feeling him hit that spot deep inside you that makes you squirm.
“Titus,” you moan right into his ear. “I’m gonna come again.”
Titus brings a heavy hand down onto your ass, pulling a yelp from you.
“Yeah?” Titus grunts. “Greedy, greedy girl. Gonna come on my cock again?”
“Mhmm,” you nod your head, eyes closed.
“Go ahead,” Titus brings his hand down again, squeezing your ass roughly. “I’m going to fill that greedy cunt. Claim you once and for all as mine. Forever.”
When you fully collapse on top of him, face buried in the crook of his neck, Titus presses a kiss to your shoulder before sucking a bruise to your skin. The feeling of his teeth grazing you, leaving little marks, pushes you over the edge.
You come again, hard, with his name on your lips.
The second you clench around him, crying out for him, Titus loses himself inside you. He buries himself deep, not letting up until he’s sure he’s completely spent.
Your body is almost completely useless, just dead weight on top of Titus. He presses another kiss to your shoulder before carefully rolling you off him, pulling out of you slowly.
You lay on your back, trying to regain control of your breath, watching Titus sit up against the headboard. You reach your hand out, gently dragging your fingertips against his leg. He takes your hand in his, interlocking your fingers and pressing a kiss to your knuckles.
“Is this what love is supposed to feel like?” he asks.
The question catches you completely off guard. You blink, trying to understand.
“This is the closest we are going to get,” you say, curling your body around him.
“I love you,” Titus says, pressing a kiss to your lips.
Something foreign blooms inside of you. It can’t be love. You have felt love before. For your mother, your friends, and your ex-fiance- before he tried to kill you, obviously.
This thing with Titus is different. Everything that has led up to this moment compiles together into something like attachment. Your souls are linked forever. When you look at him, you just feel like he’s a part of you.
The woman you were a few months ago is no more. She’s had to adapt to her surroundings.
“I-” you start, resting your head on his shoulder. “I love you, too.”
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