summary: jack meets a little girl wandering the ED one night and falls in love with her mom. follow along as they grow closer and their relationship flourishes.
tags: single mom, classic romance, toxic ex,
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little miracle asks: askbox headcannons, and general statements
Sleepyhead: the first, second, and third meet.
Cupid's Chokehold: the breakfast date.
Blue: [coming soon]
˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆
if you would like to be tagged for future fics please let me know!! there is a tag list established for the series~! thank you for all the feedback on the first. There was so much positivity and request for more!
Eryka Caldwell is a back trans woman who was murdered by her partner in her apartment last Sunday, and the story is getting a fraction of the attention that the murder of Juniper Blessing did. The police had already been called several times about her partners violence before her murder and did nothing, and she deserves the same outrage and mourning as Juniper got, and every one of our murdered trans siblings deserves. Trans women of color are more likely to be the victims of murder than any other group of queer people, and they need our solidarity, protection and support.
Caldwell’s boyfriend, 38-year-old Jonathan Fernandez, has been charged with murder.
Summary: After your ER visit with Nova, she’s constantly asking where her “Dada” is. On the other hand, it appears that Jack is also missing Nova. A chance encounter in the grocery store continues to build your little dysfunctional family unit.
Part 1.
Lovergirlnote: lol this was supposed to be uploaded yesterday, but I had to get my hair braided for a family trip. As always, thank you so much for all the support on the first part! Im curious to hear what you all think of this chapter!
Chapter II: Maybe Child Leashes Aren’t So Bad
You’re not too prideful to admit this.
You used to judge people who put their children on child leashes. In your honest defense, the thing all seemed so mundane. Do you really need a leash for your own child? You’ll gladly admit that you’re eating your words and you owe every parent you silently judged an apology. Because at this very moment, you wish that you had a child leash to put on your daughter, who had miraculously decided that this moment in the grocery store is the perfect time to escape.
It was one of those Saturdays when you and Nova went grocery shopping together. You enjoyed going grocery shopping with your little girl. You liked watching her little eyes light up as she took in the new scenery. You’d always buy her a little sweet treat at the end if she was good.
However, it appears that today just isn’t one of those days for you guys.
You were standing in the fresh fruit and vegetable aisle as you tried to pick out the best tomatoes. You didn’t have Nova in the basket today because you wanted to try to give her some semblance of independence at this age. Turns out, you should’ve strapped her in the basket. One minute, Nova was beside you, babbling about Bluey, while you hummed in agreement to show her that you were listening.
Little did you know your daughter had stopped speaking and had her eye on a very interesting man. That interesting man, being Dr. Jack Abbot or “Dada” as Nova had christened him.
Since the Emergency Room visit, Nova had been constantly talking about Jack. She’d spent every second of the day at home asking you about “Dada.” To avoid upsetting her, you just had to play it off as “Dada’s at work right now.”
Nova clocks Jack almost immediately. However, he doesn’t see you or Nova yet. He throws a couple of packs of meat into his basket before going down the cereal aisle.
Nova’s eyes light up, “Dada.”
She panics as she sees Jack walking down the cereal aisle without her. In her mind, he’s supposed to be taking her there with him. With a frown, she toddles away from you and towards the cereal aisle where Jack is standing.
She makes it to the cereal aisle and smiles even more when she sees that Jack is still standing at the cereal boxes. Jack is still clueless about the little girl who is walking in his direction until he feels small arms wrap around his leg.
He jumps before quickly looking down to see Nova clutching his leg and looking up at him with her wide eyes and a huge smile on her face. She squeals at the notion of Jack finally noticing her, “Dada! Up!”
Nova throws her little arms up and waits for Jack to oblige her request. The moment stuns Jack as he can’t believe that the little girl is still remembering him, along with the fact that she’s still referring to him as “Dada.”
He bends down to scoop Nova up in his arms, “Hey there, sweetie. What are you doing here, huh? Where’s your mommy at?”
He looks around the aisle to see if he can spot you and figures that Nova must’ve walked off without you noticing. He figures that by now, you’re most likely panicking, so he sets out with Nova to find you.
“Come on, sweet girl, let’s go find mommy,” Jack says to Nova.
Nova claps her hands together excitedly before yelling, “Mama!” Jack chuckles at her obvious enthusiasm.
“Nova!” You call out, searching the aisles relentlessly for your daughter. One of the employees at the grocery store had offered to help you find her. Tears prickle in your eyes as the panic seems to increase. How had you managed to lose your own daughter?
“Mama!”
You whip around as you spot Nova in Jack’s arms. A deep breath leaves your chest as you rush over to Nova. You run your eyes over her to check and see if she’s been harmed, but you calm down once you notice that she’s okay. It’s only when you take another deep breath that you finally notice that Jack Abbot is the one holding Nova.
You give him a rather embarrassed smile, “Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry. I had my eye on her, and then I didn’t. Thank you.”
Jack shrugs, “Hey, it’s no problem at all. She must’ve spotted me in the cereal aisle and decided to come by to say hi.”
You look at Nova, “Nova, you scared mommy really bad. You have to stay beside me, okay?”
Nova appears to take in your distressed state and pouts a little, “Sowwy, mama.”
You smile, “It’s okay, baby. I’m not mad at you. Mommy was just a little worried. That’s all.”
You rub a soothing hand down her back as the employee who was helping you pops up. “Oh, I see you found her. I’m assuming that this is your husband!”
You and Jack both go to correct the girl before Nova yells out, “Dada.” She lays her head down on Jack’s chest as he looks down at her. The girl smiles at the three of you, “Awww, how cute! You guys make a beautiful family. I’m glad that you were able to find her.”
You give her a polite smile before thanking her for her help.
You turn back to Nova and Jack, and peek at the big lollipop in her hand, “Where’d you get the lollipop from, Nova?”
It’s now Jack’s turn to give you a sheepish look, “I gave it to her. Sorry if I overstepped.”
You shake your head, “No, it’s fine. I definitely trust you, Jack.”
He swallows at your sweet voice, saying his name. He admits to himself that he really likes the way that it sounds coming from you. He runs his eyes down your frame and swallows at the way that the sundress conforms to your body.
He plays the moment off by trying to hand Nova back to you. In response, Nova whines a little bit before Jack settles her back into his arms. You chuckle, “Nova, Jack has to do his grocery shopping. Don’t you want to help me grocery shop? We can go look at the cookies.”
Nova lights up at the mention of the cookies, but it still doesn’t seem to be enough to persuade her to leave Jack’s arms. She looks up at Jack, “Dada. Ookies.”
Jack smiles, “That’s right, pretty girl. You and mommy are going to get cookies.” He nods along with her as she laughs. Jack glances over at you, “How about I just walk with you guys? Keep you company if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind. Plus, it’d be nice having you around.”
You both smile softly at each other as you retrieve your buggy. You follow behind Jack, who is still holding Nova as he walks back to the cereal aisle to retrieve his buggy. He passes Nova over to you as you place her inside the buggy and strap her down with the seatbelt. She gives you a blank look, but checks to make sure that Jack is still following behind you.
Jack gives her a quick smile, “Still here, Nova.”
She seems content with the sentence. She looks at both you and Jack before clapping excitedly and yelling out, “Mama! Dada.”
At this point, you and Jack figure it’s a good idea to just let her have this moment. You pull out your phone as you look over to Jack, “I still have a few things on my list that I need to get. I hope that we’re not pulling you away from your list.”
He shakes his head, “Definitely not. I have a few things, but I’m not in a rush either. Take your time.”
As you and Jack walk down the aisles together, it’s not lost on either of you how much of a family that you look like. In the cart, Nova hums happily and babbles to Jack, who is listening very intently and even asking her follow-up questions.
Soon, you both go to the register to check out. You move to the register to swipe your card as the checkout girl gives you your receipt, and Jack helps to place the bags inside your cart. Without thinking, he scoops Nova up in his arms as she wraps her arms around him. He moves beside you to check out at the counter. He hands Nova’s lollipop to the checkout girl before giving it back to her.
“Tank you, Dada,” Nova said, pressing a kiss to Jack’s cheek.
Jack is practically goo on the inside. He smiles warmly at Nova, “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”
Cue your ovaries exploding. Jack shifts Nova in his arms slightly as he grabs his wallet to pay. He seems like a natural at all of this as he types his PIN in all while talking to Nova. The three of you walk out to your car, where Jack hands Nova over to you, while he puts your groceries in the back.
“Oh, you didn’t have to do that, Jack.”
He raises his eyebrows at you, “Actually, I did. What kind of man would I be if I wasn’t helping you with your groceries?”
You smile before thanking him. You’re about to turn to strap Nova in when Jack calls out your name, “I know this may be a little forward, but would you and Nova want to grab a bite with me right now?”
You look down at Nova, who’s already looking at you. “Yeah, we’d love that. Did you have anything in mind?”
“There’s this little restaurant right around the corner. They have chicken nuggets if Nova prefers those.”
Nova perks up at the mention of her favorite food, “Chikky nuggies!”
You laugh, “Yeah, that sounds good. We’ll follow you there.”
You, Jack, and Nova all sit across from each other at the table. Nova’s sitting in a high chair between you and Jack after she demanded to be sat next to “Dada.”
It’s funny that in her one-year-old mind, she’s already feeling like she runs things.
The waitress hands you all menus before sliding a coloring sheet over to Nova, along with the crayons.
“What can I get you all to drink?” The waitress asks.
Jack nods for you to go first, “Can we both get lemonades?”
The girl nods before looking to Jack, “I’ll have a lemonade as well.”
The waitress nods before asking you all what you want to eat. Naturally, Nova chooses the chicken nuggets, while you and Jack both get sandwiches.
As the waitress leaves the table, Nova is already preoccupied with her coloring sheet. She spares a glance in Jack’s direction, “Dada color.”
She leaves no room for discussion as she passes the crayon over to Jack, who happily obliges. You watch as Jack and Nova color the teddy bear together with Nova directing Jack on which spots she wants him at.
From his point of view, Jack’s just happy to be included. This is the first time in years that he’s actually felt included and wanted. Selfishly, he’s enjoying the time with you and Nova, and he thinks about what this would look like in a more permanent situation.
But the doubt creeps in, what if you’re just being polite? What if you can sense that he’s a desperate and lonely old man with no sense of work-life balance?
Frankly, he likes the attachment that Nova had seemingly grown towards him, along with the fact that he’s crushing on you so hard right now.
He can’t stop the way that his eyes keep naturally gravitating in your direction, and how much he keeps looking at your lips. Every single aspect of you, Jack can’t help but think how perfect you are.
He catches your eyes again and smiles.
“So what do you do for work?” Jack asks, multitasking between looking at you and giving Nova attention.
“I’m an art curator for the museum,” you reply before looking down at Nova’s coloring.
“That sounds like a really cool job. Do you like it?”
A wide small crosses your face, “Yeah I do. I love it actually. I grew up around a lot of art and my parents really liked for me to be exposed to different cultural perspectives, so we took a lot of trips to museums.”
Jack listens attentively. “What’s your favorite part of it all?”
“I love the process of telling the story and working with artists to craft their story to the space. I know people probably think we just hang the paintings up, but there’s so much that goes into exhibitions. Just meeting all these new people is always an amazing experience,” You said.
As if you couldn’t get cooler. Nova chooses the moment to hold her picture up to you and Jack, “Mama! Dada! Look!”
The picture is a combination of scribbles and neat coloring on Jack’s end. You smile, “That looks really good, bug! You even colored in the lines.”
Nova smiles at the praise before turning to Jack. He smiles brightly, “It looks amazing, Nova! A real piece of art, sweetheart.”
She blushes as she kicks her legs in the chair. It’s then that Jack decides to bring up the question that’s been nagging him, “I’m sorry if this is intrusive to ask, but is her father in the picture?”
You shake your head, “Nope. When he found out that I was expecting, he decided that fatherhood wasn’t something that he wanted. I respected his choice. I rather he not be here at the beginning as opposed to jumping in and out of Nova’s life. She deserves consistency, not instability.”
Jack nods at your words, but internally, he wonders how someone could ever not want you and Nova? He’s only just met you both and is craving to be around you both 24/7.
“I’m sorry to hear that. But he’s missing out. You and Nova are both amazing.”
“Thank you, Jack. Now, tell me a little bit about yourself. I assumed you’d be still working days right now. I know ER Doctors tend to work pretty crazy hours.”
“I’m actually on the night shift. I just help out on day shift when it gets pretty hectic. I don’t have much really. I’m kind of a boring guy,” Jack states with a laugh.
You chuckle before shaking your head, “That’s not true. You’ve made a big impression on me and Nova so I wouldn’t call that boring.”
A faint blush starts to creep upon Jack’s skin, “I guess you can say I work entirely too much, so I really don’t have time for hobbies.”
“Well what do you like to do?”
“Fishing. My best friend, Robby, and I go all the time,” Jack responds.
“I always wanted to take Nova fishing. She loves being outdoors. I think she’d really like it.”
The little girl perks up at the sound of her name, “Fishy, mama?”
“Yeah, baby. Jack goes fishing.”
Nova looks up at Jack with a curious expression, “Fish, Dada?”
He laughs softly, “Mhm, I can take you and your mommy fishing if you’d like that?”
He looks up at you with a questioning gaze. “We’d really like that, Jack. Wouldn’t we, Nova? You wanna go catch some fishes?”
Nova nods while clapping her hands together and saying, “fishey.” You and Jack know that she’s probably assuming that you’re meaning a pet fish, but you’ll let her have it for now.
The waitress brings your dishes to the table. You pour ketchup into Nova’s plate as she starts to eat her chicken nuggets. She holds one of the nuggets up to you which is covered in ketchup, “Nugget, mama.”
“Why thank you baby,” you answer back, taking a bite out of the nugget that she was offering you. Nova shoves the rest of the nugget into her mouth before dipping another one into her ketchup.
This time, she holds it out to Jack, “Nugget, Dada.”
Jack looks at the sweet expression on her face and turns to absolute mush inside. He takes the nugget that Nova’s offering and munches on it. He graces the sweet girl with a big smile, “Thank you so much, Nova. It was so yummy.”
Seemingly satisfied with herself, Nova goes back to munching away on her nuggets.
“You’re really good with kids. Do you have kids?” You ask.
“None. My ex-wife and I had talked about it in passing before, but we never actually settled to have any.”
You raise your eyebrows, “Oh, do you think you’ll ever want any now?”
Jack clocks that you don’t inquire about his ex-wife. “I wouldn’t mind, but I think that timeline had kind of passed for me, sweetheart.” He looks over to Nova with a soft smile before glancing back at you.
“It’s never too late for that, Jack.”
A second passes between the two of you before Nova pulls both of your attentions back to her. You all finish your meals together while making idle chat.
The waitress comes to the table with the bill and immediately slides it to Jack. Without even a second thought, he hands his card to the waitress as she leaves.
“Jack, you didn’t have to do that. I would’ve covered Nova and I.”
He shakes his head, “Sweetheart, whenever we’re out together, you don’t have to worry about things like that. You or Nova.”
Cue your ovaries exploding for the millionth time. You raise a teasing eyebrow at him, “Ah..so you’re planning for more of these to happen?” You gesture to the three of you.
“Yes. To be honest, spending time with you and Nova has been the highlight of my week. I like your company and I like hers. If you’re willing, I’d like for us to have more outings together,” Jack responds.
He recognizes how the end of the sentence must come off and quickly corrects himself, “As friends, I mean. I didn’t mean to imply anything else.”
Your heart clenches before you steel your expression, “I’d like that, Jack. I think Nova would like it too.”
As attracted as you are to Jack, you don’t want to risk blurring any unnecessary lines and confusing Nova.
You and Jack are friends.
That’s all you can be. No matter how much you imagine feeling his lips against yours or spending all your time with him.
Little do you know, Jack’s going through a similar dilemma.
After the outing with Jack, you both exchange numbers, which consists of daily communication.
Jack will ask about Nova, who in turns demands that you call “Dada.”
When Jack has a moment to spare, you’ll hand the phone over to Nova, who rambles to Jack about her day, and he listens closely because he doesn’t want to miss a thing.
You find yourself highly amused when you hand the phone over to Nova and she goes over to the other side of the room to have her conversation with Jack.
She’ll come back twenty minutes later saying, “Mama, Dada talk.” Which typically means that Jack wants to talk to you.
The whole thing is very domestic, yet you and Jack don’t label it as that. You’re just two friends who happen to enjoy talking to each other, and maybe your daughter keeps calling him “Dada,” but hey semantics, right?
You go to the daycare to pick up Nova and find Ms. Berta standing there holding her hand. The older woman gives you a mischievous smile, “Well..well..Ms.Girl, you didn’t tell me that you were seeing a new man.”
You frown in confusion. You’d grown close to Ms. Berta so she was very privy to a lot of the things that went on in your personal life.
“Ms. Berta, I’m not seeing anyone.”
Ms. Berta scoffs, “Little girl, you ain’t slick. Ms. Nova here ain’t been able to stop talking about her Dada. She even made this today.”
Ms. Berta hands you a piece of paper, which is clearly from their arts and crafts period of class. In the picture, you recognize the little stick figures that represent you and Nova.
You look into the corner of the picture and see a blue stick figure that resembles a man standing next to yours and Nova’s stick figures with hearts all around.
You kneel in front of Nova, “Hey, bug, who’s this?”
Nova looks you dead in your eye with a bright smile, “Dada!” She looks utterly proud at the way that she’s drawn Jack in the picture.
You glance at Ms. Berta, who gives you a look in return. You smile sheepishly, “It’s definitely not what you think. You remember a few weeks ago when Nova was sick and I took her to the emergency room? Well there was this doctor there. His name is Jack Abbot, and he was in charge of taking care of her. I guess Nova really liked how well that he took care of her and she’s started calling him her father.”
“She also said that you ate food together.”
You spare a glance at Nova, who’s playing with Bun Bun. “Yes, we ran into him at the grocery store. He invited us to lunch and paid for it. We talk on the phone a few times, but mostly he talks to Nova.”
The older woman gives you another teasing smile, “Chile, sounds like that’s your man now. You may be denying it, but baby girl over here knows it. You and Mr. Abbot seem to be the only ones oblivious.”
She gives you one last smile before turning to leave. You pick up Nova while holding her drawing in your hand.
You strap Nova into her seat before placing her drawing in the passenger’s seat. Arriving at your apartment, you and Nova walk into the space while setting your things down.
Nova goes to the carpet to start playing with Bun Bun and her other toys.
“Come here Nova. I want to get a picture of you with your drawing,” You said, as your little girl walks over.
She holds the paper in front of her with a wide toothy grin, “Say cheese, bug.”
“Cheeseee.”
It makes your heart swoon at seeing your baby grow up. You press a quick kiss to her forehead as she goes back to her previous activity.
You open up your text thread with Jack. You send the picture to the Jack.
You
Looks like you’re haunting every part of her life now
Jack
Wow! The resemblance is uncanny. She even managed to get my hair right
I’d love to have it to hang up at home
…and it’d also be nice to see you both tonight or tomorrow. I have an hour lunch
You
We could stop by tonight and bring you lunch
Jack
I’d like that. But I’ll send the money to you. I just want to see you and Nova
A ping appears on your phone.
Jack Abbot has sent you $60.
You
Jack what exactly do you think costs $60.
Jack
I’d rather be safe than sorry.
You look over at Nova, “Hey Nova, do you want to go visit Jack?”
Nova’s eyes light up at the mention of Jack’s name. She claps excitedly, “Yay! Dada!”
You dress her in warmer clothes before you both load up in the car again. You pick up sandwiches for you and Jack with chicken nuggets for Nova. You text Jack as you pull up into the parking lot.
You and Nova walk hand-in-hand to the front desk where three people are sitting. The woman in the glasses smiles at you, “Hi, how can I help you?”
“We’re here to drop off lunch for Dr. Abbot,” you reply.
Just as Lena’s about to respond, Nova spots Jack walking down the hallway. She gasps and yells out in excitement, “Dada.”
She lets go of your hand to run to Jack. Jack sports a similar grin upon seeing Nova and scoops her up into his arms, “Hey there, Princess.”
Nova immediately jumps into telling Jack about her day as he walks to the desk with her in his arms.
When Jack makes it to the desk, he gives you a quick hug. At the desk, Ellis, Shen, and Lena all look between you, Jack, and Nova to decipher what’s going on.
Jack eyes them before introducing you, “This is Nova. Sweetest little girl on the planet. This is Lena, our charge nurse. Dr. Shen, another one of the night shift attendings, and Dr. Ellis, our senior resident.”
“It’s nice to meet you all,” you said, waving at each of them.
Nova wiggles out of Jack’s arms before walking to you. She tugs at your hoodie before you give her the drawing.
She walks over to Jack, who picks her up again. Jack analyzes the picture as she points to you and her in the picture. She points to Jack’s stick figure, “You. Dada.”
If it was possible to implode into confetti and goo from cuteness, consider Jack Abbot a deceased man. He looks down at Nova, “This is amazing, lovebug. I’m gonna hang it on my fridge so I can always see it. Thank you so much.”
He hugs Nova as she throws her arms around his shoulders. You smile at the sight of Jack and Nova bonding. You all bid the night crew a goodbye as you go to your car to have lunch.
Lena, Ellis, and Shen all watch the three of you leave. Shen looks down at his Dunkin’ coffee, “Maybe my coffee is rewiring my brain, but did Jack just debut a secret family?”
Ellis squints, “I’m not quite sure what any of that was. Jack Abbot with a secret wife and kid? It tracks.”
Later in the week when Jack’s alone in his apartment, his eyes naturally drift to Nova’s drawing on the fridge.
His heart thuds rapidly in his chest as he sees the stick figured labelled “Dada.” In the recent years, he’d grown used to the fact that maybe fatherhood was something that he’d never have the chance of experiencing.
Sure, he always wanted a family of his own. He always wanted to come home and be greeted with his children running to tell him about their day. But how could he ever be a father when he was too busy prioritizing work over his own wellbeing?
However, seeing Nova’s picture and remembering your words, Jack allows himself to think that maybe it isn’t too late to finally be a father.
For a moment, he allows himself to be selfish. He allows himself to imagine what it’d be like to be with you and Nova forever. By the end of the daydream, he finds that he really wants it be a reality.
⋆⠀author's note & warnings: heavily inspired by this cute concept. fluff (you/your), includes suggestive language. read more for #13⠀⋆⠀series masterlist.
If there was anything you might say was held in common whether dating an actress or dating a hockey player, it was that no two days ever looked the same. Your lives were marked by emergency flights, scratched plans, surprise celebrations, and unpredicted lulls. When you laid in bed thinking aloud, creating a plan for the beginning of an earlier summer than anticipated, neither of you expected that Mat would take the invitation for Worlds, make it all the way to Switzerland, and turn around to come home before the tournament even started.
You had been too nervous to ask, not wanting to press him with questions when you saw the stiffness he held in his shoulders as you packed the last of your things and headed back to New York. In a way, you could tell he was still thinking and processing even two days later. He wasn’t sulking, but he was quieter, moving slower, lingering on decisions before acting on them.
The microwave hummed behind you, the scent of reheated Indian takeout rising as you leaned against the counter, watching him. He sat on the couch, laptop balanced on his knees, fingers hovering over the trackpad. A bottle of water remained half empty on the coffee table, positioned perfectly just at the tip of his outstretched fingers when he leaned forward. With his schedule free for the foreseeable future, he was spending a large chunk of his time just like this: studying the chessboard onscreen. Though he played pretty extensively during the season he hadn’t been this immersed in months.
The microwave beeped, pulling your gaze away from Mat’s intensely focused expression. You grabbed your plate, the warmth bleeding into your fingertips immediately as you balanced the steaming Malai Kofta and the garlic naan you chose to heat up first. For a moment, you considered eating at the counter and giving him space to play in peace. But a whispered huff of frustration under his breath made you change course.
You padded across the hardwood floor, bare feet just barely whispering against the grain. The glow from the screen painted his face in soft blues and grays, sharpening the angles of his jaw, the dip of his lower lip where he was biting it absently. You crossed the living room and slid onto the couch beside him, close enough that your thigh pressed against his. Without looking up, he shifted slightly, making room for you, and you took the invitation for what it was; to scoot closer.
You settled into his lap sideways, your legs draped over his thigh, your head finding the familiar dip of his shoulder. His free arm curled around your waist automatically, turning his head in your direction just long enough to press his lips against your temple before he returned his attention to the game. You balanced your plate on your knee, tearing off a piece of naan with your fingers before dragging it through the creamy sauce.
“Did I forget something?” His voice was low, distracted, the question half-formed as his thumb tapped against the trackpad.
You laughed, the sound muffled against his shoulder as you chewed. “No. Why are you asking me that?”
“You were staring at me pretty hard over there,” he murmured, his eyes still locked on the screen as he moved a knight. The click of the trackpad underscoring his words. “Thought I was in trouble.”
You leaned back just enough to catch his profile, the faint furrow between his brows, the small quirk of a smile as he decided his next move. “No,” you said, dragging another piece of naan through the sauce. “I just think you’re pretty. I love looking at you.”
You offered him a piece of naan, holding it just beneath his nose until he relented and took it with his teeth, his lips brushing your fingertips in a fleeting warmth that sent a tingle up your wrist. He chewed slowly, eyes still trained on the chessboard, but the tension in his jaw softened just enough for you to notice.
“Stop that,” he muttered, his voice grainy as he finally glanced at you, his hazel eyes catching the glow of the screen. “I’ll get hard.”
You froze, blinking at him for a second before letting out a sharp, startled laugh. “You—what?” The words tumbled out before you could stop them, your face warming as you watched his smile develop.
Mat sighed dramatically, tilting his head back against the couch cushions like he was martyring himself. “You heard me,” he grumbled, using his free hand to push his hair back from his face. “Sitting in my lap, feeding me, telling me I’m pretty. What else am I supposed to do with that?” His fingers tightened around your waist, pressing into the soft curve of your hip.
You rolled your eyes, but your lips pulled into a smile anyway. “You’re so badly behaved,” you said, shaking your head as you tore off another piece of naan. “Like a bad little kid.”
Mat scoffed. “You knew that when you signed up,” he said, nudging his nose against your temple before stealing another bite of naan straight from your fingers. You let out a breathy laugh, shifting in his lap. He groaned. “Dude. See? You’re doing it on purpose now.”
“Doing what?” you teased, dragging another piece of the flatbread through the sauce. “Eating? Existing?” You tilted your head, watching the slight shake of his head, immediately regretting a move he’d just made onscreen.
“You know what you’re doing,” he muttered, turning his face into your hair as if to hide the flush creeping up his neck.
“Can I eat in peace without being accused of seduction?” you asked, popping the last bite of naan into your mouth with a light groan. You could feel the rumble of his laugh against your back and heard him click away from the game, closing the laptop lid, and setting it aside.
Mat leaned in, his breath warm against the shell of your ear. “No,” he said, making your stomach flip when he settled further into the couch and wrapped both arms around you. “You lost peace privileges when you sat in my lap.” His lips brushed a path over the line of your jaw, humming softly between kisses.
You managed to free yourself long enough to set your plate down on the coffee table and rub a paper napkin between your fingers before falling back into Mat’s arms. His satisfied sigh vibrated against your shoulder blades as he caught you, sealing you tightly against his chest. You didn’t bother resisting when he tugged you closer, just sighed, tipping your head back to rest against his chest, your hair spilling over his shoulder.
“You’ve been quiet,” you murmured, turning your face toward his neck. His pulse was steady beneath your lips, a slow thud that matched the lazy rhythm of his fingers brushing up and down your ribs. “Not in a bad way. Just different for you.”
Mat hummed, a noncommittal sound that resonated through your back. His thumb traced the hem of your shirt, catching on the loose threads where you absentmindedly picked at it last week. “Different how?” he asked, his voice soft.
You pressed your lips to the hollow of his throat, exhaling against his skin before answering. “Different energy,” you said, using the side of your thumb to draw loose shapes on his forearm where it curved around your waist. “Usually you’re singing dumb songs right in my ear, telling me about weird hockey stuff I don't understand.” You began to play with his fingers.
Mat’s took in a shallow breath when you laced your hands together, his grip tightening reflexively before relaxing again. He turned his face into your hair, his nose brushing the crown of your head as he inhaled deeply. “Yeah, well,” he muttered, his voice muffled against your coils, “just haven’t been in a singing mood.” The words were half-hearted, his sarcasm muted beneath something heavier.
You traced the calluses on his knuckles before pressing your palm flat against his. “You don’t have to be,” you said quietly, feeling the way his fingers felt against yours. “But you don’t have to brood either. I know it was tough to walk away.”
“Couldn’t risk making it worse,” he admitted, his thumb pressing into the soft flesh at the base of your palm. “It was the right decision. But it still feels like shit.”
“I know it does. I’m sorry,” you said, your voice steady.
Mat sighed through his nose, the warmth of it ghosting over your temple. His fingers flexed around yours, squeezing once before loosening again. “Yeah,” he said. “But it’s whatever. Gotta rehab it properly now.”
You nodded, lifting his knuckles to your lips and pressing a kiss to each ridge of bone. “When was the last time we were both unemployed for more than a week?” you murmured against his skin.
Mat laughed softly. “Never. We can do cheesy couple shit now,” he mused, shifting beneath you, his hands sliding up to frame your waist. “Picnics in Central Park. Pretending to be tourists at the Met. Buying weird-ass overpriced groceries just because we can.”
“Sitting in your lap while you lose at chess,” you teased, curling your fingers around his wrist, feeling the faint thrum of his pulse beneath your fingertips. You turned your face toward his, catching the way his lashes fanned against his cheeks as he blinked down at you, his hazel eyes softened by the dim glow of the surrounding mid-afternoon light.
“Okay… well... I wasn’t losing until you knocked me off my game,” he corrected, his voice lilted with mock offense. You rolled your eyes but said nothing. “Can I at least get a kiss to make up for it?” he murmured, nudging your chin upward with his knuckle. The moment you lifted your gaze, he dipped down, his lips brushing yours.
You chased him instinctively, smiling into the kiss when he deepened it.
“Yeesh,” Mat murmured against your lips, pulling back just enough to wrinkle his nose. “Let me grab you a mint before you breathe on me again.”
You scoffed, pressing a hand to his chest to push him back into the couch cushions. “You literally just ate half my food,” you pointed out, twisting to grab your plate from the coffee table and holding it up as evidence. The remnants of garlic-laced sauce clung to the porcelain. “You don’t get to complain.”
Mat grinned, unrepentant, and caught your wrist before you could pull away and stand on your feet, dragging you back against his chest with a playful growl. “Someone told me there’s mints in your bedroom,” he murmured, nosing along your jawline, his breath warm and teasing. “Maybe we should go get one. Share it.”
You snorted, shaking your head as you let him reel your in, his hands sliding up your sides to settle at your ribs. “I need to train you better. This is a lot even for you,” you muttered, though the warmth in your voice betrayed your amusement. His grin widened, all teeth, boyish and unapologetic as he pressed his forehead against your shoulder blade. The weight of the afternoon pressed against you, a sort of drowsy, unhurried silence you weren’t blessed to indulge with often.
WARNINGS: Dub-Con/Non-Con, blood, murder, power imbalance, exhibitionism
➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies
summary: You expected to sign away a piece of your soul when you were hired on to serve the Danforth family, but Titus Danforth wouldn't be satisfied until he owned you in mind, body, and spirit.
⛧⃝
When you were hired on to serve the Danforth family—or the Danforth Clan as many liked to call them—you knew that you were stepping foot into the devil’s lair the moment a huge stack of papers were placed before you to read and sign. You knew there’d no doubt be things you’d witness and be privy to that you’d be legally barred from ever speaking about. You hadn’t known then just how depraved and differently the top 1% of the world behaved, but you’d known that you were signing a piece of your soul away in a sense.
…but when you impressively scrawled your name in cursive on that dotted line, you hadn't known you’d be signing your body away too.
Titus Danforth was a gentle brute, if such a thing ever existed. He was one half of the Danforth legacy, a title and inheritance he shared with his twin sister Ursula. He was gruff and crass and possessed a child’s demanding nature despite not having been one for decades. With all of the money in the world in his pocket—and an army of people ready to answer his every beck and call and request at the drop of a hat—he could behave however he pleased without fear of consequence.
An unfortunate fact he took great advantage of.
“This one’s new.”
That was how you were formally introduced, the older man eyeing you in a way that felt extremely distrusting. It didn’t necessarily offend you, understanding the protective nature of some rich asshole to guard his assets and livelihood. Still, the screening process to get hired onto the Danforth estate was a tedious and rigorous one, hardly a walk in the park, so he should’ve known that no one passed through these doors without the utmost confidence they could be trusted.
Your superior, Pernilla, had taken on the task of showing you the ropes, and she’d stopped any and all focus on anything else to give the grey-haired man her undivided attention. It was your first example as to how to act around the immediate family members, and you’d followed her lead, straightening and focusing on nothing else but him.
Such a small act had his full attention.
“Yes, Mr. Danforth,” the other woman confirmed despite the fact that it wasn’t a question. “She’s one of two new editions to the staff, fully screened and hired on only a week ago.”
You hadn’t moved a muscle as he eyed you, looking down his nose at you in a way that had you reminding yourself what you’d signed up for. The money you were getting just to wait on some privileged jerks had you ignoring the glint that passed through his gaze as he ran his eyes over you, slowly as if not to miss a thing.
Mr. Danforth only hummed, a low and deep sound from within his chest.
“Let’s hope you last.”
He was gone without another word, completely dismissive of your presence, and that was the last time you saw him for a while. Two months, in fact. The job didn’t require much more out of you than you expected, and that wasn’t to say that it was easy, but you’d been prepared for the demanding nature of your new employers. Two months. That's how long the wool stayed over your eyes, how long you’d been under the impression you were working for normal rich assholes.
…but then Ursula announced her engagement and then the wedding seemed to happen only a month later and then the wedding night changed everything.
The screams that rang throughout the estate gave you nightmares for months, assaulted by the visions and memories of mopping up fresh blood off of the hard wood floors. You hadn’t been able to stop shaking, a heavy weight settling in your chest as the reality of your new employer crept in. The mountain of papers you’d been forced to sign made more sense than ever in that moment, and you’d only been able to ask yourself one question.
What had you gotten yourself into?
You’d had no way to guess that cleaning up crime scenes would be the least of your problems. Your bloodstained hands took up all of your attention as you slowly and dazedly walked back to the servants’ quarters, cheeks damp from your tears and wondering if there was any way to get out of this. The contract was legally binding, legally preventing you from saying a thing, so surely you could just…leave, right?
So distracted by the physical evidence of your part in all this, you almost ran into one of the few people who could decide your fate in this household. You hadn’t been able to stop yourself from gasping in shock, stopping in your tracks and lifting your gaze to his face. The first time you ever met him felt like a whole other life ago, the events of Ursula’s wedding night serving as some paradigm shift.
There was only before and after, now.
Titus Danforth stood before you in all of his intimidating glory, made doubly so by the bloodstained shirt he was still wearing, and you forced yourself not to linger your gaze on it. He seemed to notice your discomfort—your fear—and if you hadn’t known better, you’d say he relished in it. When he took a step towards you, it took everything in you not to take one back.
“What’s your name?”
You forced your mind to work, blinking as you started to mumble the throw away name you’d been told to choose. However, before you could fully get it out, the older man was interrupting you with a bark of a tone. He sounded upset.
“Your real name.”
At that, you frowned, uncertainty tainting your chest. You furiously wracked your brain, accepting that you had never been trained on such a situation before. No one in the family was supposed to even care to know your real name and anything pertaining to your personhood outside of your role as their staff, let alone go out of their way to ask for it.
You nervously swallowed.
“Pernilla said…”
Your quiet words died in the air as Titus Danforth slowly shook his head, stepping towards you with an unyieldingly stern look on his features. You tried and failed to ignore the way your heart raced, keenly aware of the blood on his person and the confirmation of a violent disposition. The terrifying man before you clasped his hands behind his back, and you were forced to stare into his eyes as he held you hostage in this dimly lit corridor.
“What’s my name?” he asked you, that gruff tone of his making the question sound like a growl.
“Titus Danforth,” you answered without hesitation.
“Exactly, and that means this is my estate you’re working on, my money that employs you, and my person that your boss answers to. Do you know what that makes me?”
He didn’t give you a chance to answer.
“That makes me your boss. That means that anything Pernilla or any one of these other disposable staff members ask of you is irrelevant as far as I’m concerned. If she tells you to go left and I tell you to go right, you fucking go right,” he said to you, and you nodded. “Do you understand? Say you understand.”
“I understand,” you forced out, finding it hard to breathe.
Your shaky breath was noticed, and you didn’t like the way he straightened, eyeing you differently now. There was the faintest twitch to his pink lips, and something resembling a faint yet cruel smile lingered.
“Now…what’s your name?” he repeated, his voice softer now.
You quietly told him without hesitation, and he mimicked it.
“Y/N,” he said again with a nod, voice louder now. “Go get yourself cleaned up, and bring a bottle of brandy and a fresh set of towels to my room.”
“Yes, Mr. Danforth.”
At that, he finally moved again, hand coming up between you and you weren’t able to stop yourself from flinching. He only held it there, and when he stepped towards you again, this was the closest he’d ever been. The silence was suffocating as he merely looked at you, a thoughtful look behind those hazel eyes.
“Sir. I want you to call me sir, Y/N.”
You really hated the way he said your name, and you regretted ever telling it to him.
“Yes, sir,” you whispered, and he slowly nodded, a satisfied look washing over his features.
With a simple nod, he dismissed you, and in a short time, you found yourself increasingly more worried about Titus Danforth than the bodies piling up on this estate.
“What about this one?”
You hesitated for only a moment before answering.
“That one’s nice.”
Mr. Danforth threw you a look at that to which you glanced away, and his deep laugh had a shiver crawling up your back.
“You said that two shirts ago,” he distractedly replied, reaching behind his head to slide it off.
“They’re all very nice, sir,” you told him, an honest response.
You avoided looking at him as he searched for another expensive shirt that looked like any other regular shirt, wondering if you would ever stop feeling so…afraid around him.
You didn’t know how nor why, but some kind of way, Titus Danforth decided that it would be you who would see to his every beck and call no matter how small it seemed. It felt like so long since you were even able to fulfill any other kind of household duty, recalling that every time you had a broom or a duster or a load of laundry in your hand, you were being summoned by the older man.
He needed a drink or he wanted a caddie as he golfed or he needed someone to lay out an outfit for him while he showered. You were hired on to answer to the every whim and need of the Danforths, but somehow it was only Titus who consumed most of your time. It was a strange position to be in, having to constantly be around this man who frightened you, but in a way…sometimes you felt like his friend. Or something like it.
The man grew up with the shiniest of silver spoons in his mouth sure, but all of the money and expensive education and best nannies the world had to offer just couldn’t refine the man. They couldn’t make him…fit. The expensive clothes and the handsome face could not hide how rough he was around the edges, how much he seemed to struggle with…behaving.
You, a seemingly nameless staff member, barely counted as a person in their eyes, and so…Mr. Danforth talked. He talked about any and everything to you, some of it interesting and some of it disturbing, but forced to be his confidant regardless. You were a nobody with no one of consequence to repeat it to, and he treated you like your sole purpose was to amuse and humor him.
When you heard him approaching you again, his voice pulled you from your thoughts.
“...and this one?”
He was just barely pulling it on when you looked up, and you ignored his watchful gaze as he moved closer. Sometimes Mr. Danforth watched you like he was looking for something from you—expecting something—and you really wish you knew what it was at times so that you could give it to him and end that observant little stare he liked to fix you with.
“That one’s my favorite,” you honestly told him, and he liked that.
You could tell by the way he tilted his head at you, a secretive smirk on his pink lips.
“Then I’ll wear this one.”
You nodded at that, just wanting this to be over.
You were sure the other staff members thought you got it so easy being forced to spend so much of your time sucking up to and answering to Titus Danforth, but it was worse than scrubbing the kitchen floors to you. The man terrified you beyond belief, even more than Chester Danforth who you’d met only on occasion, the elderly man confined to a bed most days.
Mr. Danforth was quick to react—quick to anger—and in the time you were forced to spend with him, it became clear that the man couldn’t be controlled. Ursula tried, oh she tried, but even you knew that she only had as much control over her brother as he allowed her to. Her hold over him wasn’t real, very easily broken, and you tried not to linger on the things you’d seen in your time here.
“What will you do while I’m gone?”
His gravelly voice had you giving him your attention, and you wracked your brain.
“Your father wants the main garden replanted, and it’s something I’ve been assisting with in between other duties.”
Mr. Danforth had a look on his features like he didn’t like that, lips turned up ever so slightly as he turned his back to you, arms spread out. You rushed to grab his suit jacket from a nearby chair, helping him slide his arms through the sleeves. You didn’t like the low hum that reached your ears, and when he abruptly turned around to face you, you flinched. He was so close, and his gaze slowly dropped, and you took the silent hint.
It was scary how much you grew to know him.
“I want you to wait here…until I get back,” he slowly said as you buttoned the piece of clothing.
His words gave you pause, and he noticed.
“I don’t like these stupid gatherings, and I don’t want to have to hunt you down when I finally return.”
When his jacket was buttoned properly, you took a few steps back, forcing yourself to nod. You regretted it almost immediately, briefly squeezing your eyes shut.
“You know I hate that…”
“Sorry, sir.”
“I want to hear you say it.”
“I understand,” you said to him. “I’ll be here.”
He fixed you with a look that you couldn't name, and then he was gone, and you let out the breath you’d been holding.
It wasn’t the first time Mr. Danforth demanded you basically die of boredom in his bedroom while you waited for him to come back. Sometimes you had to when he was meeting with his father or having a drink with a friend in one of the studies or even when he went out for the night and brought some strange woman back to one of the many guest rooms. He’d offhandedly mentioned once that he didn’t like bringing women back to his bedroom.
You only guessed why when you had the unfortunate task of cleaning that previously occupied guest bedroom one day, disturbed by the alarming amount of blood on the sheets.
Too many times did you find yourself fetching him a fresh towel or something to drink or even eat in the middle of the night, doing your best to ignore his state of undress while some other staffer handled the task of escorting his woman of the night off the property. You felt like a mere object with the sole purpose of serving him in some way, like a letter opener patiently waiting in his desk drawer until it needed to be used.
You told yourself that you could be spending this time doing worse things, acknowledging that at least his bedroom was five times the size of every apartment you’d ever had. During moments like this you mostly sat around in a chair, occasionally poking around in something innocent. Even rarer, you sometimes nodded off, hard to fight sleep when Mr. Danforth had you waiting around like some dog.
…and it didn’t help that he required so much of you.
You sometimes thought that it was fortunate you didn’t get to accomplish many other household tasks because waiting after the older gentleman took so much out of you itself. It never sank in just how much you’d been running around until it was time for bed and your body felt weighed down by sand. This being one of those times.
Approaching his bookshelf, you pulled one at random and plopped yourself into a chair.
You were at the estate for a year when Mr. Danforth made you cry for the first time.
It was a miracle really that you lasted a year before he ‘broke’ you, but the circumstances didn’t call for any other reaction. A year of doting on him and validating his every choice and fetching him his every desire no matter how ridiculous ultimately amounted to nothing. Well…it wasn’t nothing, but more so the complete opposite of anything you’d ever expected.
Titus Danforth was a protective and selfish bastard when it came to anything he deemed as his. His fortune, his house, his car. Resource guarding is the term you often heard used for animals, and Mr. Danforth—not all that removed from an animal—was very guilty of such. You were a frequent witness to the way he snapped and growled and protectively curled over anything he thought someone was trying to take from him. That description didn’t seem like an exaggeration in your mind, thinking to yourself that that’s exactly how he came off.
It didn’t scare you until the thing he was viciously guarding was you.
A year of answering his every beck and call had certainly garnered you the unofficial title of Titus Danforth’s servant amongst your coworkers. His food was always handed to you, his rooms were left alone by anyone but you, and it was only you who handled his every need and request. So much so that when he needed to travel, he wouldn’t hear of taking anyone but you to accompany him.
You’d gotten sick once, and hearing that it wouldn’t be you fetching his towels, he hadn’t wanted assistance from anyone else. Of course, he’d made that known at the time in a way that was less than polite, but the message had gotten across loud and clear. You thought he just saw your labor and your time on the clock as his—his right, you supposed—but you hadn’t realized that he saw you the person, not the employee, the same way.
You made a mistake by getting distracted.
Mr. Danforth’s food wasn’t quite ready when you went to retrieve it, and so you’d occupied the wait time by exchanging silly bullshit with one of the cooks you saw often. He was younger than you, but still handsome nonetheless in that boyish charm sort of way. You two weren’t best friends or anything, but you were no strangers to each other. A soft laugh had been on your lips when the kitchen grew so silent so quickly, it couldn’t help but to be noticed. The young man in front of you had swallowed the rest of what he was saying, looking over your shoulder now with a back so straight that you knew who was back there before you even turned around.
Titus Danforth wasn’t looking at anyone but you when you faced him, and you swallowed at a look in his eyes you weren’t used to being on the receiving end of. His hands were behind his back and his legs were spread just enough to firmly plant his feet, looking more like a strict military man than some spoiled heir. The relaxed slouch of your frame dissipated, and the older man before you took notice.
You could hear a pin drop.
“Is this how you choose to spend your time when you’re supposed to be waiting on me?” he slowly asked, a sarcastic lilt to his tone.
“No, sir,” you hurried to answer. “Your food isn’t ready yet–.”
“So you come back to me and tell me that,” he sternly interrupted with a nod. “...and then you come back down here and get it when it is ready.”
You swallowed, starting to nod before thinking better of it.
“Yes, sir.”
Those hazel eyes of his eyed you for what felt like a long time, and you’d gotten better at not squirming beneath his gaze. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking at this moment, but you knew that you didn’t like it, and you didn’t relax at all when he turned his attention to the man behind you instead.
“What’s your name?”
He accepted your friend’s response, slowly nodding.
“When my food is ready, you bring it to me,” Mr. Danforth pointed at him, and you fought to keep the frown off of your face.
The grey-haired man sharply cut his gaze back to you, jerking his head, and you moved quickly, not wanting to upset him further.
His footsteps were heavy behind you as you exited the kitchen, and the walk back to his room was silent. For the most part. You could hear his breathing, that's how close he was, and you could feel the heavy and heated weight of his gaze on you. You mentally scolded yourself, torn between wanting to call yourself all kinds of idiotic names and giving yourself grace for arguably the smallest fuck up you could make.
…and it was your first offense too.
“I want to apologize again, sir,” you said to him once the door was closed behind you both. “I didn’t think it would take more than a few minutes.”
He didn’t respond right away, merely looking at you as he moved about his room.
“Ursula has taken it upon herself to be a gracious host to some friends tomorrow night,” he finally said, completely ignoring your apology. “Find me something…nice to wear.”
You felt somewhat relieved at the direction of the conversation, a soft ‘of course’ leaving you as you made your way to his closet. You knew what he liked and what colors suited him best, so you were completely immersed in your thoughts when he followed you. You hadn't even heard him approach, normally so careless about the sound of his footfalls.
“Do you like him?”
His voice surprised you, and you jumped slightly before turning to face him.
Mr. Danforth was staring at you with an expectant look on his face, brows furrowed just the slightest. He was closer than he normally stood, head tilting just a tad as you processed his words.
“I’m sorry?”
“Do you like him?” he repeated, saying your friend’s name.
Understanding washed over you, and you blinked.
“He’s my friend,” you answered with a shrug. “I see him a lot whenever I have to go down to the kitchen.”
Mr. Danforth’s only response was a low hum, seemingly satisfied with that answer, and he took a step back just as a knock sounded on his door. You had no doubt that was the food that he’d just made such a fuss over, proven right moments later, and as you tilted your head to gaze into the bedroom, you watched the way the older man eyed the younger one. Mr. Danforth stood close to him as he watched him set down his food, thick arms crossed over his chest, and when those hazel eyes rose to meet yours, you quickly looked away.
You found it odd that he both asked for your friend’s name and asked him to bring him his food. It was unlike him, and while Mr. Danforth could be unpredictable on occasion, he was a pretty consistent man who liked his routine. That’s why no one was more surprised than you to be woken out of your sleep by Pernilla, the other woman telling you that Mr. Danforth—your Mr. Danforth—was requesting the presence of you both.
“It’s probably some poor woman he’s brought back to the estate,” she’d mumbled as you both hurried through the corridors. “He must need a clean up.”
Her wording gave you pause, and you recalled the blood you saw on occasion after he spent a night in a guest room. You had naively assumed things got a little rough, perhaps a nose bleed or some kink gone wrong, but it hadn’t occurred to you that anyone in this family could be killing people outside of a wedding night gone wrong. Your stomach churned at the thought, but you frowned as you thought to yourself that you never knew Mr. Danforth to bring women back to his room.
Your uneasy feeling only increased when you made it through his threshold.
The older man stood there in a bloodstained shirt, reminiscent of that night of Ursula’s wedding, and his hands weren’t too much cleaner. He looked so calm, like he wasn’t standing before you as some bloody mess, and you found yourself shaking much like you had that night. As you moved closer, your vision was drawn to shiny black work shoes just barely peeking out past the foot of the bed.
“Pernilla, give that to Y/N so she can start wiping this up. Go bring us a mop too.”
He said the words so nonchalantly as you slowly moved further into the room, the frown on your face dropping completely.
The scream that left you sounded like something out of a horror movie, and you couldn't stop yourself from stumbling back against a nearby chair. Your hysteric reaction had Pernilla following you before listening to him, and you even heard her gasp. If she was just as shocked and horrified as you, she didn’t show it, and you could feel her eyes on you as you stared at the body—the familiar body—through tearful wide eyes.
“Pernilla,” Mr. Danforth snapped, and she didn’t hesitate any longer…leaving you alone with him.
He tossed the towel at you, and it bounced off of your chest and onto the floor.
“Clean this up,” he spat, but you couldn’t move.
The body of your friend was facing away from you, facedown but the way his head was turned on his cheek allowed your eyes to connect with his empty lifeless ones. There wasn’t much blood beneath him, most of it on Mr. Danforth’s shirt, and you couldn’t stop yourself from shaking. You could hear him speaking, but barely so, the sound muffled to your ears.
When he was in your line of sight again, you just stared at him in a mixture of horror and disbelief. Your body kept going back and forth from hot to cold, growing more lightheaded by the minute as the room started to sway. You hadn’t even realized that your legs had begun to shake until you reached out for the chair to steady yourself.
“Y/N,” he finally said your name, voice gruff and bordering on angry. “Clean. This. Up.”
You just stared at him, unable to move and asking yourself why, using your eyes to ask him why.
Pernilla returned before you could move, and you could feel her looking between you both. Logically you knew that you needed to listen to him unless you wanted to lose your job or worse, but you physically couldn’t move. He was giving you a demand, and you couldn’t bring yourself to obey. A sob climbed out of your throat, and you tried to blink the tears away.
“Mr. Danforth, I’d be more than happy to–.”
“No, Pernilla,” he barked, keeping his eyes on you. “She will clean this up.”
Your gaze turned pleading as you looked at him, slowly shaking your head.
“No?” Mr. Danforth wondered, leaning in. “Are you telling me no?”
Your breath was coming out in chops, now, and you were finding it so hard to breathe.
“Please…please,” you softly said. “I…”
You felt like you were going to be sick, but before you could be, Mr. Danforth lunged for you. The shriek you let out was loud, a pained whine escaping you at the harsh grip he had on your arms. He was sadly just as strong as he looked, and you couldn’t swallow down your cries as he all but threw you to the ground…right next to his body.
You were an inconsolable mess as you attempted to stand, but the older man was right there, harsh hands on your shoulders as he forced you back down to your knees. He forced the towel into your hands, his own hands wrapping around your wrists as he physically made you move yours back and forth along the bloody floor.
“Pernilla, get it out of here,” he told her, and your sobs grew louder as she did just that, dragging the body of your friend towards the door. “Y/N will clean up this mess.”
You could barely see through your tears, crying out every time more blood got on your hands. Mr. Danforth knelt over you the whole time, fingers harshly pressing into your skin and nose gently at your ear as he forced you to do what he demanded. When the towel had served its purpose, he repeated the actions with the mop, harshly yanking you to your feet.
Mopping up the rest of the blood felt like an out of body experience, his hands over yours and his chest at your back as he forced you to participate in the disposal of your friend. When the floor was spotless, Pernilla returned to retrieve the cleaning supplies, and again you could feel her eyes on you.
You knew what she was thinking.
What did you do? How had you offended Titus Danforth to deserve this? And how had you dragged your coworker into it? The man had so much as never laid a finger on you, and in one hour he’d yanked you around and threw you to the floor into a pool of blood. You were covered in it.
With her gone, and with the floor clean, Mr. Danforth kept a firm hold on you as he forced you into the bathroom. The bright lights had you blinking and squinting, looking down as you stumbled forward. His firm chest was still at your back, and you couldn’t even linger on the oddness of that, too distracted by the blood on your hands.
When he turned on the sink, it felt almost…romantic as he put both of your hands under the water. The hot liquid and soap broke up the bodily fluid, and you could only tearfully watch the pink water swirl down the drain. Mr. Danforth meticulously washed both of your hands together, his even breathing in your ear such a contrast from your own. You absentmindedly noted how warm he felt against you, the smell of cigar smoke and cologne filling your nose.
When he was satisfied, he turned off the water, and he took half a second to grab a towel and push it into your hands. He held it there, and you slowly lifted your tearful gaze to meet his evenly cold one, pink lips pressed together. The grey stubble around them moved slightly as they twitched, and he eyed you with a look that made your blood run cold.
“I hope that now nothing else will distract you from me.”
An unintelligible sound left your throat at his words, and for the first time ever, you shrank away from him in unbridled fear.
Mr. Danforth watched you keenly as you wiped down his desk, and you pretended not to notice.
You’d always been a little terrified of him, but it was different now. Seeing the aftermath of his brutality or watching him manhandle some other staffer hadn’t prepared you for being on the receiving end of it yourself. Especially not in the manner you had that night, and you swallowed at the thought.
The memory of blood and a body haunted you for months, plaguing your mind with nightmares night after night. It made it hard to find sleep, and many days you might as well have been dead on your feet. Your friend had been killed because of you, that much you knew whether Mr. Danforth came outright and said it or not. He never did even try to give some half assed excuse that explained how an employee ended up dead in his bedroom, but this was the Danforth Clan—a family that practically controlled the world—and what was one body of some insignificant employee?
Your friend’s fate often brought tears to your eyes.
Sometimes you wondered if you’d be next should you piss him off enough, but there was a part of you that vehemently denied that. Mr. Danforth seemed very…intent on you—intent to watch you, intent to have you near him, intent to keep you. Funnily enough, that knowledge scared you more than anything, keenly aware of the way he studied you any time he so much as told you to get him a drink.
Tonight, it was several drinks.
“I’ll be back late, but I want two glasses brought to my room,” he said to you.
“Yes, sir.”
The greying man simply eyed you at that, so close and so silent as he ran his hazel eyes over your face, drinking you in. That air of distrust he’d first expressed when you first met was long gone, the older man more than sure that he’d scared you into submission, scared you so much that you would never even dream of crossing him.
You hated that he was right.
When he was around, the hours seemed to drag on for ages, but when he was gone, time seemed to fly by. Between cleaning duties and fetching a thing or two for Ursula, the hours passed swiftly, and you were informed when he was back at the estate well into the night. You were alone as you fixed the drinks—always alone these days—and you tried not to linger on the aftermath of that night.
None of your coworkers wanted to get too close to you, the rumors spreading amongst the staff, a mix of speculation and the truth swirling around you. Pernilla often sent you a sympathetic look when no one was looking, she being the only other witness to that horrible night and Mr. Danforth’s treatment of you. Only she had witnessed the second defining night of your time here, and as you made your way upstairs, you were unaware that a third was in the making.
So focused on pleasing him and not wanting to be on the receiving end of some other traumatic treatment, you hadn’t realized what you’d walked into until you were right in front of it. You almost dropped the tray of drinks, a full bottle of some expensive Cognac in the other hand. You were quick to steady your grip, squeezing your eyes shut and turning your head away.
“I apologize, sir Danforth, I had not realized…”
Your words died in the air as you completely turned away from the scene before you.
You weren’t currently looking at them, but the sight of his taught form brutally pushing into the woman beneath him was at the forefront of your mind. You could still hear her soft moans and his heavy breathing, and you briefly looked towards the ceiling, wondering if this could get any worse.
“Set it down,” you heard him say, voice strained and tone thick with an unsatisfied appetite.
You did as he said, placing everything just as he liked it, fully prepared to leave.
“Did I say you could go?”
His question had you halting your steps, and your lips parted as you stared at the wall in front of you. The woman he was with made a slight noise filled with frustration and confusion, and you noted that you didn’t hear the soft movement of the bed anymore. A chill passed through you as you internally wondered if this was actually happening, and you felt you should’ve known this night was going to be off when he brought a woman back to his bedroom.
You knew Mr. Danforth was entirely serious, and your shoulders sank.
“Turn around.”
The huskiness of his tone has you shuddering, and you hesitated for half a second before doing just that.
You stared at the wall behind them, forcing yourself not to cry at the trajectory of your night. The room was filled with silence, and you could feel his gaze on you, watching you and watching your reaction. You didn’t understand why he was doing this, but then he told you to look at him, and your frown deepened.
When you did, he held your gaze for a few seconds before he started moving again. Your brows twitched as he fucked some woman you’d never seen before, her tan skin contrasting against his pale hue. She didn’t seem to mind, at all that you were an unwilling voyeur to this, and when the older man looked down at the woman beneath him, you looked away.
That lasted for all of four seconds.
You heard her gasp in shock and when you looked over he was up and coming towards you. You couldn’t stop your eyes from widening, keeping your gaze on his face as Mr. Danforth approached you in all of his naked glory. The muscles in his arms and chest moved with every step, and your employer didn’t stop until he was right in front of you.
His bare chest heaved as he stared you down, nostrils flaring.
“What did I say?”
Your face was on fire, but your eyes were anything but, looking at him pleadingly.
“Sir–.”
Your words were cut off as he roughly grabbed your chin, holding it in his hand as his gaze passed between your own. You glanced behind him briefly, noting the way the woman was propped on the bed, an impatient look resting on her face. When you looked at him again, his thumb brushed along your skin, and you were sickenly aware of his state of undress and his close proximity.
“You will look at me, and if I catch you looking away, I’m going to be very unhappy,” he gruffly told you.
When you gave him the response you wanted, a tear skipping down your cheek, he turned his back on you.
Forced to watch this, you couldn’t do anything but wring your hands together, flinching every time his palm sharply came down against her skin. She seemed to like it, and you wished you could disassociate on command, but alas you were acutely aware of everything. Every groan he made, every curse that fell from his lips, and every animalistic noise that climbed out of this throat. You were even aware of the way his tongue touched his lip as he watched himself disappear into her and the way his stomach tightened with every push of his hips.
You felt yourself shudder every time his gaze lifted to you, and you knew that Mr. Danforth had no doubt you wouldn’t disobey him. He just wanted to watch you watch him fuck this woman. Those hazel eyes of his wanted to watch you squirm with discomfort, wanted to look at you as you observed him in his most bestial—yet vulnerable—moments.
Your skin was warm and your head was spinning and to your great dismay, there was tightening that had begun in your lower stomach. You hated this, and you’d only been more miserable one other time in your life, but even still the sight before you had you squeezing your thighs together, wholly ashamed of what was happening.
…and when he came inside of her with a brutish grunt, pinning her beneath him and a thin layer of sweat coating his frame, you couldn't have run away faster, consequences be damned.
The trajectory of your relationship with Mr. Danforth—with Titus—shouldn’t have surprised you.
…and yet it did.
It seemed that he didn't want to deal with the hassle of a body every time he wanted to break you a little more, so his new favorite pastime was getting his rocks off with you as a witness. Nameless woman after nameless woman was brought onto the estate, and night after night, you were forced to stand there and watch as he fucked every single one. You wondered if this was your punishment after running out that first night, or if this was inevitable and staying put wouldn’t have changed a thing.
Every time he finished inside of them, he crudely sent them on their way, promising that someone would see to it that they get home. They would leave while still struggling to get their dress zipped up or their underwear completely on, and Mr. Danforth would stride around you as naked as the day he was born, telling you to turn his shower on while he nursed his drink.
This psychosexual torture he liked to engage in was messing with your head, and he knew it, and you often wondered what the end goal was. Maybe he took pleasure in just messing with the staff, with you, or maybe this was all part of some drawn out punishment for offending him months ago. You often wondered when it would end, when he would grow bored of tormenting you or bored of even just having you around.
It had never occurred to you that he was purposely fighting against something that was inevitable.
Titus Danforth wanted you, and not just in the way that a spoiled child wants his favorite toy all to himself. He wanted every part of you in his hands and beneath his lips. He wanted all of you in every way he could get you, and the countless women he fucked underneath your terrified gaze served a purpose of satisfying the twisted sexual craving he had for the very same woman he was forcing to be a witness to his depravity.
You didn’t know any of that though.
Not until he was gruffly telling you to sit on his bed one day.
You’d hesitated, glancing at the untouched dinner you brought him, and you could tell by the darkening look in his eye that he didn’t want to have to tell you twice. Your heart was in your stomach as you slowly walked towards the impressive piece of furniture, legs shaking with every step. You didn’t want to believe what your mind was lingering on, but something in the back of your mind scolded you, calling you a fool for never considering this is where you’d end up.
Any man that could kill without so much as a blink or ounce of remorse was a deviant, and any man that could force you to watch him have sex with countless women with no care to how uncomfortable it made you was a sexual deviant. It made sense in the moment that he wouldn’t just stop there, and still you hoped. His eyes never strayed from you once, and giving him one last glance—looking for anything that might ease your worries—you leaned your hands and backside against the mattress.
You didn’t miss his slow exhale as you pressed down, sliding back.
“Right there is just fine,” he said, forcing you to stop, just seated on the edge.
The silence surrounding you was deafening, and Mr. Danforth only stared at you for a moment or two before slowly walking towards you. You couldn’t stop yourself from swallowing at his approach, and you had no doubt that he noticed. You didn’t take your eyes off of him as he stood this close to you—too afraid to—and you only had a few seconds to mentally prepare yourself for whatever was about to happen.
He was slow to kneel in front of you, and your fearful confusion morphed into just plain old fear when his hands found a home on your knees, slowly pushing. You couldn’t stop your lips from trembling as he parted them slightly, hands sliding up your thighs to meet at the button in the center.
“I don’t want you wearing these pants anymore,” he quietly said to you from in between your legs as he unbuttoned them. “A skirt. You’ll look nice in a skirt.”
Your gaze slowly lifted to the ceiling as he curled his fingers over the top of your slacks, yanking and jerking them until he was sliding them off of your legs. If he noticed the tears in your eyes, tears that eventually fell, he didn’t say anything. He likely didn’t care.
When he leaned in, you could feel his breath on your clothed skin, your legs trembling when he slowly parted your thighs further. His rough fingers gently brushed along your flesh, and you heard him deeply inhale the closer he got. His fingers were getting dangerously close to your underwear, and you could only close your eyes as he hooked a finger into them.
The tip of his tongue touched you as he held the fabric to the side, stretching it to give him access. It was a featherlight touch, and yet you jerked all the same. Your nails dug into his bed as a means to cope, wishing that you could just push him away and run off of this estate without fear of consequence, never looking back. As it were though, all you could think about was bloodstained shirts and dead bodies and a family with enough money to make you disappear a thousand times over.
Mr. Danforth gently touched you with his tongue again…and again, and when he did something unexpected, pressing an open mouthed kiss to your mound, you couldn’t hold in your gasp. It seemed to trigger something in him, a switch turning on as he practically growled against you before leaning back and roughly ripping the thin scrap of fabric past your thighs and off your ankles.
When the older man fully pressed his mouth to your cunt, you tried to control yourself. One of your hands slid to behind your back, struggling to remain sitting up as his stubble scratched against your thighs in a way that had you squirming. His hold was tight on you as he ate at you, tongue sliding between your folds so slowly and in a gentle way you didn’t expect. When he yanked you just a little more towards the edge, your arms faltered, and you desperately wanted to remain as unfazed as you could.
…but Titus Danforth was good at what he was doing.
When he sucked at your flesh in time with pressing his tongue to your walls, you let out a shuddering breath against your will. The longer he moved his tongue inside of you, the harder it was to remain sitting up, lashes fluttering as you desperately pressed a hand to his head. He didn’t budge, and you sank your teeth into your lip.
You wanted him off of you.
No such thing was going to happen though, you knew that, and you whined in frustration. When he spread your thighs further, your arms finally caved, failing you and you stared at the intricate designs on the ceiling when you fell back. Your thighs were trembling, and steady moans started to crawl out of your throat, each one louder than the last.
You could hear yourself pleading, sometimes pleading for more, sometimes pleading for him to stop. His fingers dug into your thighs painfully as he held you open for him, and your head slowly moved from side to side in time with the heaving of your chest. When you dared to look down, all you saw was a vision of silver in between your thighs, and you threw your head back once again.
When you came, it was with an embarrassing whimper, eyes squeezed shut and thighs pressing against his head. You came so hard it almost hurt, and Mr. Danforth didn’t pull away until he felt like it, mouth completely pressed to you as you fell apart onto his tongue. When you tried to crawl away, he just held you in place, lazily curling his tongue into you and making your toes flex.
When he finally pulled away, letting you go and allowing your legs to drop, the tears finally spilled over. You laid there on his bed with tears running past your ears as he stood over you, and you didn’t know where to go from here. You didn’t want to look at him, just waiting for him to dismiss you so you could be free to lose your mind in peace.
When he eventually did, you couldn’t get away from him fast enough, grabbing your underwear and your pants with a quickness that surprised you. Your speedy exit however was stopped by a harsh grip on your arm, and when that harsh grip became outright painful, you were forced to meet his gaze, shrinking away at his close proximity.
You didn’t know what he was thinking as he intensely eyed you, and you flinched when he jerked his head.
“My food is cold,” was all he said, making you deflate.
When he let you go, you took a few shaky steps away from him, struggling to organize your thoughts.
“Yes, sir,” you forced out with a nod. “I’ll get you a new plate, right away.”
You felt nauseous as you grabbed the tray, legs unsteady as you walked towards the door. He didn’t stop looking at you once, and you felt deeply uncomfortable with every step you took, cringing at the wet feeling between your thighs as you made your way back down to the kitchen.
Titus Danforth was an insatiable man.
That one evening in his bedroom triggered a chain reaction of events that weren’t surprising to you, just disappointing and terrifying. The number of women he brought back to the estate decreased until he eventually brought none back at all. Why would he now? That was what you were for—a ‘willing’ and bought body that couldn’t fight back or refuse him.
You didn’t know if you’d ever get used to the sound of his heavy breathing washing over you, a rough and tight grip in your hair as your lips covered his cock. That was mostly what you did at first, suck him off during just about every visit, and that seemed to be all he wanted for a time. That and spending the occasional afternoon with his face between your legs, making you fall apart again and again when you were supposed to be steaming his clothes or dusting his furniture.
It almost seemed like he was holding himself back from crossing another line—the final line—but you knew that it would be crossed eventually. He was never going to be satisfied with just the feel of his cock in your mouth, inevitably giving into that hunger for more. It was an every day thing, his hands on or in you, curling his fingers into you and massaging your walls, whatever task you’d been in the middle of long forgotten.
It went unnoticed. After all, it wasn’t unusual for Titus Danforth to take up so much of your time, and it’s not like the sexual abuse was taking place anywhere outside of his bedroom. For the time being anyway. The toll it was taking on you, however, did go noticed, and Ursula merely pursed her lips at the third piece of china you broke this week.
“I’m so sorry, Ms. Danforth,” you hurried to say, looking for something to clean it up with.
You didn’t even bother giving some excuse, only struggling to avoid her thoughtful gaze as she looked down at you. A soft hum left her throat, and her heels slowly clicked against the floor as she circled you.
“My brother isn’t working you too hard, is he?”
You almost laughed at the loaded question, schooling your features and looking up at her with a tight smile.
“No, Ms. Danfoth,” you lied. “I just haven’t been sleeping very well.”
That part wasn’t a lie, and the half truth seemed to satisfy her although it did nothing to lessen the frown on her face. Ursula was by no means a good woman, but you knew that she didn’t appreciate her brother’s brutal nature. Especially when it came to women, and she only watched you for a moment more before telling you to be swift in cleaning up the mess.
Ursula was smart, and you knew that she didn’t fully believe you, but clearly she didn’t feel unnerved or worried enough to press it further. Her brother’s attachment to you was no secret, and truthfully, she’d probably long seen where this would inevitably lead before you had. Even if you did tell her the truth, you knew that she couldn't stop him, Ursula having no real control over Titus.
She wouldn't have been able to stop him from killing your friend just to scare you into submission nor stop him from forcing you to be a witness to whatever depravity he was up to at night nor keep his hands off of you. She especially wouldn’t have been able to stop him from fucking you.
There was nothing special about the day he first pushed his cock into you.
The sun was shining and the food you brought him was only half eaten and he’d only taken a few sips of the brown drink you brought him before he was roughly reaching for your face. He’d never kissed you before, and the action took you by surprise, a noise of shock escaping you. His hands were tight on your face, holding you so fiercely that you couldn’t even think about getting away.
Your hands against his chest meant nothing as they became pinned between you, and as he pressed himself against you, you could feel him. You could feel his arousal, feel how hard he was, and you knew then that he had no intention of stopping. He had no intention of letting you walk out of that door without knowing what it felt like to be stretched around him—to be dominated in the way that mattered most.
You hadn’t been prepared for all the biting.
Titus liked to leave little nips along your neck and shoulder and even breasts, hands painfully tight on your skin as he drove himself into you again and again. The bands of muscle that were his arms rippled with every movement, and you hadn't been able to swallow down a single noise as he fucked you into his bed, his bare skin slapping against yours.
However brutish you thought he was during the day was nothing compared to what he was like when he had you wrapped around his cock. He was borderline feral, noises leaving his lips that sounded a lot like the growl of some predatory animal enjoying the taste of its prey. Every movement from you resulted in him tightening his hold on you like some constrictor, satisfied at the way you could barely move beneath him, serving your only purpose of taking the length of him with ease.
Titus fucked you well into the evening, coming into you with loud groans before catching his breath in the crook of your neck. You laid beneath him shaking like a leaf, chest heaving and skin glistening with sweat. When he eventually pulled out of you, any thoughts you had of leaving were shut down as he gruffly told you to get his shower going for him.
You hadn’t expected him to pull you inside with him, feeling wholly out of place as he showered with his back to you. You’d glanced at the exit through the glass shower door, turning back only to find his intense gaze on you. He said nothing—his eyes saying it all—and you’d swallowed as he moved closer, handing you a bar of soap and turning back around.
“My back,” was all he mumbled, and you listened to the unsaid request.
When you were done in the shower, you hadn’t been prepared for him to force you to your knees, a harsh grip in your hair as he pulled you closer.
Titus loved the sight of your lips wrapped around him, sometimes more than satisfied with just that, sending you on your way for the time being with the taste of him lingering on your tongue. But he didn’t love it more than being inside of you, looking the most at peace you’d ever seen him when he was watching his cock disappear into you.
Every chance he was presented with, he was fucking you with a vigor that always left you so worn out. When he summoned you to his room at night or when he bent you over his desk and even when he had you on his bathroom counter, your lips parted and head forced back as he yanked on the hair at the nape of your neck.
“Look at me, Y/N,” he breathed, thighs pressing against yours. “Look at me.”
There was an edge creeping into his voice when he repeated himself, and you obeyed him, tearful eyes on him as he pounded into you. Your uniform was haphazardly thrown somewhere, and one of your hands was pressed against the hard wood of his desk, the other pressing into his defined chest. Your breathing was choppy and your eyes were fluttering, the weight of unfinished tasks and all that came with Titus’ demanding appetite catching up to you.
“Keep them on me,” he told you. “I want you to look at me when I fuck you.”
The desk shook beneath the force of his thrusts.
“I want those pretty eyes on me when I take you apart.”
His nose brushed against yours with every movement, and you fought to hold his gaze, recalling the last time you disobeyed him. Your backside had been sore for days, shuddering at the memory of his hand coming down again and again onto the sensitive skin of your ass cheeks.
Titus always talked to you during like a normal couple—telling you what felt good, telling you what he wanted you to do, praising you. It was an interesting position to be in because hours later, he’d be treating you like the servant you were, but somewhere in his twisted mind, this whole arrangement was…nice. To him, this was wholesome.
So much so…that when Chester Danforth demanded a marriage and an heir under threat of revoking the fortune, Titus Danforth would not consider anyone but you.
…what…?” you breathed, frowning at Ursula, tears collecting in your eyes.
She looked just as distraught as you though she did a much better job of hiding it.
When she requested your presence in her study one morning, you’d had no way of guessing what this could possibly be about. All sorts of possibilities ran through your mind, your unconventional dynamic with her brother being at the top of the list. You’d been wracked with nerves the whole way there, and the words she said to you were the absolute last thing you'd ever expected.
“It’s…not going to happen,” she slowly told you, leaning against her desk and gazing down at you. “Titus is no better than a child with his favorite toy of the week.”
You took no offense to her analogy, often repeating something similar yourself.
“Although I shouldn’t be surprised at the true nature of your…rapport.”
She made a slight face at her choice of word, and you swallowed. The blonde woman didn't miss that, and she pursed her lips, something akin to a look of sympathy on her beautiful features.
“My brother has never had any qualms about getting what he wants, no matter how frowned upon or uncouth it may be. I can’t imagine what you’ve endured.”
You blinked back tears, looking away and shaking your head in disbelief.
“Father’s putting his foot down and giving us an ultimatum and Titus is lashing out,” she assured you. “That’s all this is.”
That's what she said, but somehow you still found yourself standing before Chester Danforth in all of his sickly glory, having a discussion with him you never thought you’d have.
“What is the nature of your relationship with my son?”
You said nothing to the ailing man, pressing your lips together as you fought the urge to tell him that his son was a depraved rapist, fully aware that the man in question was just outside of that door. When your lips quivered and you looked away, the older man made a noise.
“Ah.” he quietly said. “I feared that was the truth of it.”
You weren’t some gold digging whore after the Danforth fortune, and you weren’t some wanton maneater looking to get your claws into Titus Danforth. You were a woman who realized too late that she signed every single part of her away on that fateful day, and that was the gist of what you said to him.
“I’m sure you can find some other woman—any woman—willing to be his bride who he will be satisfied with.”
The other man coughed, an awful hacking sound, and you flinched.
“He demands no one but you,” he finally breathed. “He is entirely willing not to fight me on this…so long as it is you.”
You looked down at that.
“That is the only satisfaction he seeks.”
You wracked your brain, fully prepared to come up with some other argument when he spoke again, completely quieting your fears.
“It will not happen,” he said with so much conviction that it should’ve offended you, but you were only glad to be in agreement with the dying oligarch. “I will not give into his childish whims.”
The old man told you that, and you certainly believed it, but even he hadn’t been able to predict the ruthlessness Titus could possess when he felt like he was being controlled.
Chester Danforth died peacefully in his sleep, and for a long time, that's what mostly everyone believed, but only you and a few others had been privy to the screams that night. Only an unlucky few heard the sound of Ursula’s panicked voice bouncing throughout the corridor walls, asking Titus what he’d done. Only you had the luxury of stripping the old man’s former bed, shaky gaze locked onto the small spots of blood on his pillowcase.
It wasn’t long before Ursula was singing a different tune, and you didn’t know what Titus said to her, but she’d only watched in perfect silence and an unspoken disapproval as her brother presented you with a ring. You’d stared at it in horror, stomach churning to a painful degree, and you made the mistake of looking to the blonde woman for help.
“Don’t fucking look at her,” Titus snapped, and he forced your gaze back to him. “What are you looking at her for?”
He tilted his head at you, that hazel stare of his so intense, and you could feel your legs shaking.
“Titus,” you breathed, a few tears finally spilling over.
You could tell he was getting angry, his chest starting to heave, and when he pressed his chest to yours, all you could do was squeeze your eyes shut. The ring carried the weight of the world as he slid it onto your trembling finger.
The wedding was a small intimate affair, only close family in attendance, many of whom you’d met before but under completely different circumstances. On one hand, you felt like you should’ve counted yourself lucky to be marrying into the Danforth family, but you knew you held absolutely no power even though you carried the name.
The ring, the dress, the ceremony…none of it was proof of your transition from a nobody to someone with a hand in the biggest influence over the world. It was not a ceremony that propped you up as an equal, worthy of walking side by side with Titus Danforth as he controlled the seat in tandem with his sister.
You were official property now.
The ring may as well have been a collar, the dress a noose, and the name a brand placed upon your skin. You were not Titus Danforth’s wife now, but his property with nothing to your name that wasn’t acquired through him. He owned you with pride, and as you said ‘I do’ and allowed him to fiercely press his lips to yours, there was no escaping him.
Your only hope was the wedding night.
The fucked up tradition was no secret to you, and as the defining moment drew closer, you could only hope that you’d pull the one bad card. You practically prayed for it, knowing that you’d only escape your new husband through death, and some part of you wondered if he would have what it took to do it should fate have other plans for you that didn’t involve a married life with Titus.
You begged and begged and begged for it, desiring death over this.
You considered it an act of mercy, one you hoped you were granted, and as you all sat around the table, no one was more nervous than you as that old intricate card dispenser was passed from hand to hand and then finally you. Your left hand felt weighed down by the ring you didn’t want, and as you turned the box in your grasp, you briefly glanced up at Ursula.
You knew if it came down to it, she’d have no trouble killing you.
The thought almost made you smile, but you didn’t, glancing over at Titus as he leaned back in his chair…waiting. You looked around at your other new in-laws too, your veil grazing your cheek as your heart raced. You could tell by the sound of him shifting that Titus was growing impatient—anxious to see how this night would progress—and you flinched a bit when the box clicked, the sound of your fate ringing in the quiet room.
You felt yourself go stiff when the card was finally in your hand.
You could hear a pin drop, that’s how quiet it was, and the longer you stared at the card, the more your heart started to race. Your lips trembled, and you couldn’t stop yourself from collecting tears in your eyes, wanting a hole to swallow you up.
“What does it say?” Titus impatiently asked, and when you didn’t answer he took it from you.
The tears finally spilled over just as you looked up at Ursula, a familiar deep laugh reaching your ears.
“She got Old Maid,” he huskily said, flipping the card around to show everybody
Light laughs reached your ears, and you tried to hide just how upset you were, but when your gaze met that of your husband’s…he saw. He saw the sadness and fear and even disappointment, disappointment that you wouldn’t be killed tonight, and his jaw clenched.
You paid for it later when it was just the two of you, consummating your marriage in true traditional fashion. Your dress was a bundle of white on the floor, and Titus had your legs wrapped around his waist. His strokes were slow and torturous, his heavy breathing mixing in with yours—his excited and yours pained.
His hand was tightly curled around your throat, thick fingers harshly pressing into your skin as he leisurely fucked you. He didn’t take his eyes off of you once, wanting to witness every part of you tonight, basking in the spoils of his victory.
Titus had you, officially and legally and bloodbound and all. The heaviness of your vows still rang throughout your mind, and you’d wanted to faint as you agreed to ‘the possession of each other’. Maybe in some sick twisted way you’d never understand, Titus did belong to you, but all that mattered was that you belonged to him. The ring on your hand was proof of such.
His other hand pressed into the mattress as he curled his hips unto yours, basking in the feel of you clenching around the length of him, moving inside of you with ease. It still embarrassed you how wet you could get when he was fucking you, desperately wishing that your body could be as repulsed by him as your mind.
His facial hair gently grazed your skin, almost like a kiss, when he leaned closer. He didn’t look away from you once, and you winced when he tightened his hold on your neck.
“I know you wanted to die tonight,” he whispered to you, and you bit your lip. “I know you wanted to pull that card and just wait for one of us to kill you…to take you away from me.”
A particularly hard thrust had you gasping, and Titus hummed.
“...but Mr. Le Bail wouldn’t do that to me. I’ve always followed the rules, always played the game well, and you’re my reward.”
You sniffed at that, struggling to breathe under his grip.
“You are my pretty little prize, Mrs. Danforth, and you are never getting away from me.”
Ugh, I love reading this so much!!!! Like this sexy sliver lunatic is deliciously evil and I must have him!
I just imagine him smoking his fresh Cuban cigar right after taking out his own father just for attempting to take away his maid so to be bride. One aspect I love is that we kinda see Titus torture himself as well by toying with the reader before fully sinking his teeth into her like a cat would a mouse. And that’s what makes it so tantalizing for all parties involved, the erotic delay of the inevitable.
Also Titus is so real for saying “but Mr. Le Bail wouldn’t do that to me. I’ve always followed the rules, always played the game well, and you’re my reward” because it was to least the ghost demon could do for his number 1 disciple 😂
Omg yes very much a cat playing with a mouse although I'll give him credit and say he was trying to behave in the best way he knew how 😭 like no I'll be good and not fuck the maid but I will make her watch me fuck other women and kill any man she smiles at!
And I liked the idea of Mr. Le Bail doing just that bc one thing about Titus he does follow the rules and he lives and breathes the satanic worship
Summary: You bring your daughter into the ER with an increased fever, and she manages to convince herself that Dr. Jack Abbot is her dada.
Lovergirlnote: I had this idea on my mind for a while, and I had to get it out! Let me know what we're thinking. Are we feeling this?
Chapter I: A Case of the Mistaken Daddy
You walk into the daycare and greet the receptionist, Connie, at the front desk.
“How’s she doing?” You ask, concern lacing your voice.
“She’s a little down. She’s been throwing up and mostly lying around,” Connie explains, sympathy coloring her tone. This was one of the things that you enjoyed most about this daycare. They actually cared about the kids and valued them like they were their own. It wasn’t easy for you when you had to go back to work and put Nova into daycare. It’d been just the two of you for the first year of her life.
Your parents and friends were great at helping you take care of her, especially since she was your first child. But you didn’t want to burden them with the responsibility of taking care of Nova when she was your daughter. Plus, it’d be pretty demanding trying to drive Nova out to your parents’ house early in the morning and then picking her up after work.
No, you were an adult now, which meant you had to make adult decisions. You were thorough with your search for a daycare for your little girl. You’d seen enough horror stories to know that you needed to be careful about where you sent your baby.
You landed on Miss Sunshine’s.
A daycare run by a woman named Ms. Berta Jones. The woman is the literal embodiment of sunshine and safety. You’d brought Nova along with you to meet the woman and her staff. Within five minutes of meeting Ms. Jones, Nova was sitting in the woman’s lap like she’d known her for ages.
It also helped that Miss Sunshine’s would be teaching Nova things like her ABCs, numbers, and other things all before she reached Pre-K. It was a done deal for you, and the price wasn’t bad either.
You had left work early to pick up Nova after you got a call that she was throwing up. You follow behind Connie as you spot Nova lying on her little cot. It breaks your heart to see your baby so down.
You walk over and kneel in front of her, “Hi, Nova baby. I heard you aren’t feeling so good.”
Nova pouts at you, big tears filling her small eyes, “Mama.”
She reaches up for you, and you immediately take her into your arms. In return, she wraps her limbs around you and stuffs her face into your neck. You run a soothing hand up and down her back while whispering gentle words to her. Connie walks up and hands you Nova’s bag before smiling softly at the little girl, “I hope you feel better, Nova. We’ll be right here when you get back, okay?”
Nova gives her a weak smile in return, along with a small ‘mhm.”
Outside, you strap Nova inside her booster seat before starting the drive to her pediatrician. You spare fleeting glances back to her in the mirror to continue to monitor her condition. The anxiety inside you spikes up more at the helpless look on her face. Pulling into the parking lot, you carry Nova inside the doctor’s office before walking up to the front desk.
Amanda, the receptionist, whom you’d grown fond of, smiles softly at you and Nova. “Oh dear, I was so worried when you called to make an appointment for Nova. Dr. Ashmore is just wrapping up with a client. She’ll be ready for you two soon.”
“Thanks, Amanda,” you reply before going to take a seat.
You look down at Nova as she plays with the necklace around your neck. “Hey lovebug, you wanna play games on my phone while we wait?”
Nova shakes her head. You know that she has to be feeling awful if she declines to see your phone. The fact only makes the nerves in your stomach worse. It’s only a few moments later that you’re called back by one of the nurses. You clutch Nova tighter to yourself as you walk to the back. The nurse gets all of Nova’s vitals.
She places the thermostat in Nova’s mouth before waiting to hear the beep. You watch intensely as she holds the numbers up to her face and frowns.
“What? Is there something wrong?” You ask.
The nurse gives you a tense smile, “It appears that Nova’s temperature is at 108. That’s a very concerning temperature. I know that this is going to sound scary, but I need you to take Nova to the Emergency Room right now, okay? I know someone there, and I’ll call to let them know that you’re on your way and you need to be seen immediately.”
You feel lightheaded for a second. The words ‘108’ and ‘Emergency Room’ all send your blood pressure skyrocketing, but you know that you can’t panic in front of Nova. She’s probably scared enough as it is.
You nod at the nurse, and you know that she can blatantly tell how scared you are.
She grabs your hand, “It’s going to be okay. They have some of the best doctors on staff there. When you make it to the front desk, ask for Dana Evans. She’s going to get you seen quickly, okay?”
“Okay, thank you.”
You carry Nova to the car and strap her in again. You drive a bit quicker than when you initially came to the doctor’s office, but still at an appropriate speed to not get pulled over. You try to keep things as calm as possible for Nova by talking with her.
You watch as her face crumples and tears fill her eyes, “Mama..”
“It’s okay, baby. We’re almost there. Just one second.”
You recognize the distinct sound of Nova throwing up before she fully starts to cry. Luckily for you, you pull into the PTMC parking lot before moving to the back to grab Nova. Fortunately, she managed to throw up mostly on the floor and less on her clothes. You take a wipe and run it across her chubby face before wrapping her in your arms.
When you walk through the doors, it’s clear that you’re a very concerned mother in need of help. You spot a blonde lady standing at the desk, “Excuse me, I’m looking for Dana Evans. My daughter is sick, and her nurse said she had a temp of 108 and she just threw up.”
You ramble through the words, light tears pricking at your eyes, before the woman places her hand over yours.
“Hey, breathe with me, honey. You’re okay. I’m Dana. Nancy called and said you’d be on your way. I have the room open for you already. Let’s get you and little Miss all settled.” You walk behind Dana while continuing to soothe Nova, who’s looking around the hospital in curiosity.
Dana is thorough in making sure that you and Nova are comfortable. She’s checking Nova’s vitals all while talking sweetly to her. “What’s your name, Princess?”
Nova smiles shyly, “Nova.”
“Nova. That’s a really pretty name. How old are you?”
Nova holds up one finger, to which Dana smiles, “One year old. Wow, you’re a big girl!”
The door opens, and possibly the most attractive man that you’ve ever seen in your life walks into the room. A girl in similar scrubs walks in behind him.
Dana looks at you, “This is Dr. Abbot. He’s one of our best. This is Dr. Samira Mohan. They’re both going to make sure that you’re taken care of today.” She gives Jack and Samira your name before handing them the chart. She gives you and Nova one last smile before exiting the room.
Jack looks at the chart before looking back at you, “Can you walk me through what’s going on?”
You take a deep breath, “Her daycare called me today and said that she’d been throwing up. I picked her up and took her to her pediatrician, and they said she was running a fever of 108, and we needed to get Nova here immediately. She also threw up on the way here.”
Jack nods before looking over at Nova, “Hi there, sweetie. I’m Dr. Abbot, can I take a look to see what’s wrong?”
Nova looks at the man in awe, but doesn’t appear to be put off by him at all. Jack takes this as a sign and starts to listen to her heartbeat. Nova watches him the whole time in pure curiosity. Jack catches her inquisitive stare before smiling at her. In response, Nova turns her head shyly.
He checks her temperature again before frowning, “We need to get her temperature down. Dr. Mohan, can you get me an IV-pack set up? She’s a bit dehydrated, and I want to get fluids in her. Also, bring me some Tylenol.”
Dr. Mohan nods before leaving the room.
Jack spares a glance over in your direction and can sense the worry oozing from you.
“First one?” He questions.
You lift your eyebrows in surprise, “Is it that obvious?”
He nods before chuckling softly, “I’ve been a doctor for a long time, and I can spot the difference at this point, but I can assure you, I’ll do my best to take care of her.”
“Thank you, Dr. Abbot.” You respond, sparing a soft smile at the man. There’s a quick moment of fluttering in Jack’s chest as you smile at him. He admits to himself that you’re really pretty.
He shakes his head before looking back in Nova’s direction, “What’s your favorite color, sweetie?”
“Ink,” Nova responds. Jack knows that she means ‘pink.’ He’d always found that the beginning stage, when kids were still learning to pronounce words very enduring. He asks her a few more simple questions as she answers shyly. He can tell that she still doesn’t feel well, and it makes his heart clench in ways that he’s not comfortable acknowledging right now.
Soon, Samira arrives back in the room with the IV pack. You pale at the sight of the needle before looking back down at Nova. You grab her stuffed bunny, Bun Bun, from her bag before handing it to her. “Hey, Nova, look, here’s Bun Bun. He’s going to sit right here with you and be so strong for you, okay?”
Nova looks at you with wide eyes before hugging Bun Bun to her chest. Jack grabs the needle from Samira before scooting closer to Nova. He and Nova both make eye contact as his gaze softens, “Okay, sweet girl, just a slight pinch and you’ll feel better.”
Nova looks at Jack like she understands what he’s saying. It makes his heart clench even more to know that the needle will be pricking her skin. Much to yours and Samira’s amusement, Jack starts to make a funny face at Nova before sliding the IV in her arm.
She flinches at the quick stab before the fat tears start welling in her eyes. Her bottom lip starts to jut out before she lets out a sob. Jack rationalizes that he’d do anything in his power to never see the little girl cry again.
You rub your hand along Nova’s curls while pressing gentle kisses to her forehead and whispering in her ear. Jack looks down at the little girl, “I’m really sorry about that, Nova. How about I bring you a special treat later for being such a big girl?”
The tears in Nova’s eyes slow down, and she nods her head at Jack. Soon, her little eyes get droopy as the medicine begins to take effect. Her long lashes droop over her chubby cheeks as she lets out small breaths. In that moment, Jack believes that she looks like the cutest kid in the world.
He looks back at you, “We’ll be back to check on her later. I’d be comfortable with keeping her here for a few hours, just till we’re sure that her fever has broken.”
“Okay, thank you so much, Dr. Abbot,” you respond, before looking over in Samira’s direction, “Thank you as well, Dr. Mohan.”
Jack and Samira both nod and give you a smile before exiting the room to take on other cases and check on their patients. Samira turns to Jack, “You were really good in there with her. She was totally comfortable with you.”
Jack shrugs, “Years of experience, kid. You pick up a few things along the way.”
Samira smiles before walking off in the other direction. Jack saddles up to the front desk next to Dana, who shoots him a glance, “How’s our little lady doing in there?”
“She’s good. She went to sleep. I’m gonna keep her and her mom here for a few hours to monitor her fever.”
Dana nods while typing on the computer, “Sounds good. I’ll have Emma check in on them.”
Jack turns his head sharply, “No, that’s fine. I got it.”
Dana eyes him suspiciously, “Okay then. I didn’t realize you had such a strong attachment to children.” Jack clocks the teasing tone in her voice and rolls his eyes before leaving the desk.
Dana chuckles under her breath as she watches Jack leave.
As suspected, Jack gets caught up in numerous cases, but he gets Emma to give him updates on you and Nova when he has a free second. When he finally has a second, he immediately darts in the direction of the room where you and Nova are.
You have Bun Bun in your hands, and you’re doing a deep voice while moving the stuffed animal around. Nova is laughing and squealing in delight as you make the stuffed rabbit give her kisses.
“I see someone’s feeling a lot better,” Jack comments, stepping into the room.
Nova lights up at seeing Jack walk into the room, a wide grin overtaking her chubby face.
“Dada!”
You and Jack both pause in surprise. You’re holding Bun Bun in the air with your eyes widened. Jack closes and opens his mouth a few times before looking at you.
You give him a sheepish look before turning to Nova, “Hey..Dr. Abbot isn’t Dada. He’s just the nice doctor who’s helping you.”
You try to get your little girl to nod along with you in agreement, but she frowns at you before looking back at Jack. Nova smiles once again, “Dada.”
You sigh before looking at Jack, “I’m so sorry. She doesn’t typically even say that.”
Jack recollects himself before smiling at you, “It’s fine. Happens all the time.”
Which is definitely a big fat lie. There are definitely no kids in the ER who are calling him Dada. In fact, Jack has to admit that in all of his twenty-something years of being a doctor, this is a new experience for him. He walks closer to the bed and sits down to check over Nova.
She looks a lot better than when she was first admitted. Jack notes the color that’s come back into her brown skin, along with how much more lively that she is now. He also clocks the look of admiration that she’s shooting him.
He smiles down at her, “You feeling all better, Nova? Let’s check your temperature. Say aahh..”
Nova lets out a loud ‘aahh’ before clasping her lips around the thermometer. Jack waits for the sound of the beep before turning it in his direction. He smiles at the results before looking at you, “Her temp’s dropped down significantly. It seems like she’s taking the meds really well. I’m going ot get you two discharged, and I recommend switching between giving her Tylenol and Tamiflu. I’ll put in a prescription for you to pick up. What pharmacy do you use?”
“CVS,” you reply.
Jack nods, “Okay, I’d also recommend keeping her at home for a few days and keeping her hydrated. Start her off with small meals like soups and crackers before upgrading to bigger meals. If any other symptoms persist, bring her back here immediately, okay? You can even ask for me.”
Your surprised eyes meet Jack’s again, “That’s a really generous offer. Thank you so much for everything, Dr. Abbot.”
You hold his gaze for a couple of seconds before Nova starts making small sounds as she plays with Bun Bun. Jack smiles at Nova, who holds the stuffed rabbit up to Jack, “Bun Bun.”
Jack nods, “Yeah, I can see that. He’s really cute.”
Nova smiles at the praise before holding Bun Bun out to Jack, “Dada.”
It’s only when she looks between Jack and Bun Bun that you both recognize that she’s introducing Jack as “Dada” to Bun Bun. Good lord.
Jack plays it cool. He gently removes the needle from Nova’s arm as he places a pink Band-Aid over the sore. She doesn’t even seem to mind it all. She takes it all like a big girl and smiles at Jack or “Dada” as she has so intensely insisted upon.
You’re about to pick Nova up from the bed when she turns away from you. She turns to Jack as she looks up at him with wide, expectant eyes and pouty lips. You try again to pick the little girl up, but she begins to whine and reaches for Jack again.
The tears are back again, “Dada..”
Jack looks over at you, to which you give him a rather helpless look. He scratches the back of his neck, “I’m fine with holding her until we get to the front desk. Plus, it’ll make it easier while you fill out the discharge papers.”
Truthfully, he doesn’t fully come out and say that Nova’s pulling at his heartstrings.
You nod, biting your lip softly, “Okay, I’m really sorry again, Dr. Abbot. I don’t know what’s gotten into her, but she seems to like you a lot.”
Jack waves you off, even though he’s dying to hold Nova and he’s literally bursting at the seams at her cuteness. Nova lifts her arms, and Jack gladly scoops her up. He takes Bun Bun in his hand and lowers his voice, “Hi, Nova, you were such a brave girl today.”
Nova laughs and curls her small body into Jack’s once more. He can’t deny that he likes how natural it all feels, especially with how you’re smiling at him and Nova. He gently bounces the little girl in his arms as she wraps her own arms around his neck. He can even hear her softly whispering “Dada” into his shoulder, and she holds Bun Bun.
Jack hopes not to draw too much attention to the three of you, but as usual, luck’s not on his side. It appears that everybody and they mama decided that this exact moment was the moment that they all needed to be at the desk.
Simultaneously, everyone turns their heads to look at the three of you. Jack has to admit, you all do look like a cohesive family unit. He doesn’t even want to begin to acknowledge what he feels when he thinks about it.
Robby eyes the little girl in Jack’s arms before shooting him a questioning look. Jack shakes his head in response.
Dana’s obviously amused by the situation as she smirks at Jack, “Well, it seems like our little lady has taken a liking to you. You feeling better, sweetie?”
Nova lifts her head and catches all of the adults staring up at her. She curls herself into Jack’s arms and looks up at him, “Dada.”
A wave of silence overtakes the group as they all hear Nova calling Jack “Dada.” Jack doesn’t move to correct Nova, but in his honest defense, how would he?
Was he just supposed to chastise the little girl and break her heart?
Nope, he’ll be Dada for the time being. He’s sure that she’ll forget all about Jack once she leaves the ER. A bitter nagging settles in his stomach at the thought of her forgetting him.
Mel, never one to read the room, looks between you, Jack, and Nova. “I didn’t know you had a kid, Dr. Abbot.”
“He doesn’t,” You chime in, signing the discharge papers and glancing at Jack and Nova.
You smile softly at him, “Nova’s just taken a liking to him, hence the nickname.”
Jack takes the opportunity to sit Nova on the counter and holds her steady. She kicks her chubby legs back and forth as she babbles and waves Bun Bun around. Jack listens intently, even though he doesn’t have a clue what she’s talking bout.
“Hey sweetie, you want a sticker?” Dana asks, pulling out the sticker sheet.
Nova smiles and claps in excitement as Dana places a big pink smiley face on her t-shirt. She looks at you and Jack in excitement, “Mama! Dada! Look!”
You gasp in surprise and smile, “Oh my Nova girl, look at that. You were such a big girl today. That means we can go and watch all the Bluey that you want!”
Nova gasps and looks at Jack, “Dada! Bluey!”
Jack smiles, even though he has no clue who Bluey is. “That’s great, kiddo! You be good for mommy, okay?” Nova nods with a wide smile. Jack’s heart melts even more at the little girl.
You hand the discharge papers to Dana before scooping Nova up in your arms. You press a kiss against her chubby cheek, which causes her to giggle. You glance at Jack, “Thank you again for everything, Dr. Abbot. We really appreciate it.” You glance down at Nova, “Nova, tell Dr. Abbot bye-bye.”
Nova looks at you like you’re speaking Spanish before turning her gaze back to Jack. It seems like it only takes her brain about two seconds to comprehend that she’s leaving “Dada” behind.
Almost instantly, the tears start welling up in her eyes as her pout increases. Everyone at the desk watches with bated breath until the little girl begins sobbing hysterically and reaching out for Jack.
“Dadaa..” Nova cries, big tears rolling down her cheeks.
You try your best to soothe Nova by presenting Bun Bun to her. It only seems to make her cry harder for Jack. You give everyone a sheepish smile before turning to leave the ED. You always knew that your baby would be dramatic, and if there’s an award for Best Child Actress in Motion Picture Drama, your daughter was hands down sweeping that award.
It breaks Jack’s heart to see Nova crying out so helplessly for him, so he takes a step in your direction.
“Hey, what if I carry her out to the car for you? I mean, you’ve had a long day, and maybe this’ll make the transition easier for her,” He suggests.
You give him a tired nod before passing Nova off to him. Almost immediately, Nova’s tears dry up, and she smiles at Jack while draping her arms around his shoulder, “Hi, Dada.”
“Hi, Nova,” He says with a chuckle.
He rocks her in his arms as you both walk out of the ED towards your car.
At the front desk, everyone turns to look at each other.
“That was weird, right? We can all agree that the whole scenario was weird,” Trinity comments, to which everyone hums in agreement. But it’s the Pitt, everything’s always weird there.
Outside, Nova has managed to fall asleep once again on Jack’s shoulder. Her tiny breaths tickle Jack’s neck, but he doesn’t mind. He’s holding Bun Bun in his hand after he started to droop from Nova’s. You open your car door before reaching for Nova. Jack passes her and watches carefully as you strap her in.
To any outsider, it would truly just look like you and Jack were a married couple with your daughter. They’d never be able to guess that Jack had just met you and Nova only hours before.
You close the door gently and turn back to face Jack, “Thank you. I know that I’ve said it like a million times, but I really do appreciate all of your help tonight. I was really nervous about Nova.”
“It’s no problem at all. Nova seems like a really great kid, and I can tell that you’re an amazing mom,” Jack comments.
You smile and rock on your heels nervously. It’s not every day that a super sexy silver fox doctor is complimenting your parenting skills. You realize that you’re staring and snap out of the daze, “It was really nice meeting you, Dr. Abbot. The world needs more compassionate doctors like you.”
“Jack..” He corrects softly.
You give him a look of confusion, to which he clarifies, “You can call me Jack.”
“Okay, see you around, Jack.”
He smiles at you one last time before watching you and Nova drive off.
Yep, he needs the day off after this. Secretly, his heart yearns to see you and Nova again.
author's note⠀⁎⠀mainly fluff, but includes brief smut [you/your], i found a draft and actually finished writing it, everyone clap.
read more⠀⁎⠀luke kuechly masterlist.
Every third week from January to May, you blocked off Thursday afternoon to Sunday night in thick red Sharpie on your planner. For those four days, you lived in a world of rhinestone-studded chaos, Celsius 6-packs, and girls ages 5 to 19 crying in dressing rooms and putting their all on stage.
Forum Dance Complex, and its associated competition team, had been your lifeblood for six years now. The studio started out with just 50 dancers; now, they boasted nearly three times as many. The competition team, Forum Dance Company, had grown exponentially too. You were proud of what you had built, the studio environment you wished you had growing up that was inclusive, encouraging, while still pushing for excellence.
Sunday was usually the second-longest day of any competition weekend. At most competitions, Sundays were reserved for the largest dances. The large groups, lines, and productions that usually meant you would see every single one of your Company girls dance at some point during the day. This Sunday you arrived at the competition venue around 7 AM, prepared for a long day concluding with final awards scheduled for 10:15 PM—if they ran on time.
As is typical for most weekends, awards didn’t begin until 35 minutes past its scheduled time. But your girls had done well, scoring highly and even securing the highest scoring routine across all entries with a piece that had experienced a breakthrough in the studio the previous week.
“Alana, please smile for your mother so we can all get out of here,” you laughed with a hint of exhaustion in your tone. Alana, one of your teens who managed to place her jazz solo highly, had been pouting for fifteen minutes about the snap closure on her costume coming undone during a tumbling pass.
After getting the thumbs up from Eleanor, one of the moms who helped to capture the moment, you released a long breath through your nose. You thanked the parents for their help and patience, congratulated the girls, and popped the ‘p’ of your ‘nope’ when one of your graduating seniors asked if they would be skipping conditioning this week as a reward for their wins.
Luke’s hands found your waist from behind, fingers warm even through your sculpted white tee as he pulled you back against his chest. He didn’t need to say anything, just chuckled when the girls groaned and complained; their objection reaching deaf ears.
“I love you all. But absolutely not considering how questionable some of those turns looked this weekend,” you shook your head. “Please get home safe, say thank you to your parents—especially the ‘Georgia’ girls with all the low vibrational energy a few of you had in the dressing room, yes? I’ll see you Tuesday to work on corrections, get some rest, girls.”
You accepted hugs, dished out specific compliments, and finally waved off the last stragglers as Luke shook hands with a few of the fathers who he’d gotten to know through creating and helping transport the large props.
Finally you deflated with a long sigh, turning to face Luke who quietly smiled down at you. “That’s competition number three in the books,” he murmured. “Halfway for the season.”
“Number three…” you echoed, rolling your shoulders back. “You finished loading everything?”
He nodded, reaching for your hand as you turned towards the exit. The convention center’s fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting long shadows of your intertwined forms against the freshly mopped floors. Your fingers laced instinctively between Luke’s, your thumb tracing the ridge of his knuckles; a habit you developed during your first year together, when the sheer size of his hands still made your heart stutter.
“Thank you, bear,” you murmured, leaning into him as you stepped into the parking lot. The night air was crisp, carrying the scent of distant rain and asphalt still warm from the day’s sun. Luke’s arm slid around your waist, pulling you closer as the two of you navigated the maze of cars, his fingers pressing gently into the dip of your hip. You could feel the exhaustion settling into your bones, but his presence kept you upright.
“The girls killed it tonight,” Luke murmured into the night as he unlocked the car with a beep that echoed across the nearly empty lot.
You quietly thanked him when he opened the passenger door for you, his hand lingering at the small of your back as you slid inside. “I know. I’m so happy that we’re hitting this stride earlier than we did last season.”
Luke rounded the car, settling into the driver’s seat, and bringing the engine to rumbling life. “You were so stressed over ‘Georgia on My Mind’,” he said, placing his keys and the plastic water bottle in his hand in the cupholder, “but they looked great.”
You shrugged, tilting your head against the seat. “Because I know what they’re capable of,” you said, turning to look at him. His profile was sharp in the dim glow of the dashboard lights, the shadow of his stubble accentuating the line of his jaw. “And they proved me right. There’s no reason why they shouldn’t dance like that every time.”
Luke chuckled. Then, he turned, cupping your cheek and softly, sweetly hummed, “Just need to kiss you right now,” before closing the distance between you in a slow, deep kiss that made you sigh against his lips.
You pulled back first. “Mm, what was that for?” you murmured, your lashes fluttering open to meet his gaze.
Luke’s thumb brushed the apple of your cheek. “Just because,” he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Like he didn’t need a reason to kiss you. And maybe he really didn’t. “It was a great weekend. You were great.”
You laughed softly, brushing away the remnants of your faded lip combo where it rubbed off on his lighter skin. “They did what they were supposed to, for the most part, and it worked out for them.”
Luke shifted gears, one hand resting warm over your thigh. Your hand slid up to his hair, mindlessly twisting and twirling the dark strands of hair between your fingers. Leaving the convention center was never any easier after the long competition days. After two years of attending these competitions, Luke learned not to hold out any hope for an easy exit. There was always a long line of red tail lights and a few aggressive, exhausted parents attempting to cut in where there was no space.
“‘For the most part’?” Luke questioned, turning his head toward you when the car slowed to a stop after joining the end of the line.
You exhaled through your nose, fingers still playing with his hair as you watched the line of brake lights stretch endlessly toward the main road leading out to the strip of hotels. “We’re forgetting basic technique again. The newest epidemic that I can see spreading right now is refusing to connect our passé during fouettés turns.” You mimicked the motion in the air with your free hand, the sharp flick of your wrist illustrating the missed movement. “It started with some of the high school girls and now it’s spreading into the younger ones.”
He caught the soft roll of your eyes before turning his attention back to the line pulling forward at a glacial pace. “That’s the foot tucking into the knee?” he asked, trying to clarify.
“Mmm, more connecting the foot to the knee,” you corrected, still wanting to be precise. “It’s probably such a small detail to someone who isn’t trained, but it makes the turn so much cleaner, and they know it’s good technique. When one girl does it half-assed but still gets through the turn, the rest think they can too.” You sighed, tilting your head back against the headrest. “But that’s a Tuesday problem.”
“How much torture is on the table?” Luke asked, fingers turning the steering wheel as the car finally crept closer to the stoplight.
“Nothing they can’t handle,” you said with a shrug, reaching forward to adjust the air conditioner.
He shot you a look.
“What?” you laughed, gently pinching the tip of his ear between your fingers when his expression didn’t change. “They’ll be fine. It’s just conditioning. They’ll whine about it for twenty minutes and then forget by the morning.”
“Forget by the morning,” Luke repeated, shaking his head as he rounded the small loop bringing you closer to the parking garage connected to the hotel.
“Don’t act like you and Greg didn’t have the boys running suicides for missing tackles during a perfect season,” you teased, your eyes tracing over the side of his face, taking in the sharp angle of his jaw as you pulled into the dim garage.
Luke’s deep chuckle rumbled in his chest as he parked, taking his time to make sure the car was straight before he responded to your accusation. “That was different,” he said, shutting off the engine and turning to you, his green eyes warm in the soft light.
You hummed, interested, tilting your head. “Oh? Do tell.”
Luke unbuckled his seatbelt with a click, his large frame shifting in the driver’s seat as he turned fully toward you. The change in his angle allowed what little light there was to scatter differently over his face, illuminating the high points of his cheeks. He opened his mouth, then closed it, a small smile breaking over his expression.
Luke’s smile deepened. “They were messing around out there. It was ridiculous.” He shook his head, eyes rolling at the memory.
You laughed. “So you admit it,” you teased, reaching for the door handle.
You settled into a hushed, playful bickering about the special nuances of your respective disciplines as you walked through the hotel lobby, Luke carrying both overnight bags effortlessly in one hand while the other remained firmly pressed against the small of your back. The elevator doors slid open with a quiet chime, and you turned to face him, quietly requesting a peck or two before the chime sounded once more, signaling the arrival on your floor.
The elevator doors opened, revealing the plush carpet. You stepped out first, the exhaustion of the weekend suddenly hitting you all at once as your sneakers sank into the thick fibers. Luke followed close behind, his free hand drifted down to pat your backside. “Y’okay?” he murmured, pulling you closer to his side to press a kiss into your temple.
“Mhmm. Just tired,” you admitted, your voice trailing off as you watched him fish the keycard from his pocket. The lock clicked green, and Luke shouldered the door open with practiced ease, stepping aside to let you enter first.
You stepped into the hotel room, your tired exhale lost in the soft hum of the air conditioning. Luke’s hands found your waist again after closing the door behind you, his lips brushing the curve of your neck as he nudged you forward. “Go start the bath,” he murmured, his voice rumbling lowly against your skin. “I’ll order food.”
The bathroom tiles were cool beneath your bare feet as you twisted the faucet, steam rising in lazy curls. You poured in a capful of the floral-scented bath oil you packed and watched as the water swirled into a milky haze. Behind you, the door creaked open, and Luke’s reflection appeared in the fogging mirror, his broad shoulders filling the frame.
“Room service says forty minutes,” he said, setting his phone on the counter before stepping closer, pulling your back against his front. His hands slid from your hips and up to your shoulders, his fingers pressing into the knots clustered underneath your skin. You leaned back into him with a sigh, your head tipping against his chest as his lips grazed the outer edge of your ear.
The bathwater lapped at the edges of the tub as you peeled off your navy blue track pants, your muscles beginning to relax in anticipation of the heat. Luke’s fingers worked at the clothing on your upper body, pulling your t-shirt over your head and letting his fingertips brush the skin of your ribs. You shivered despite the warmth creeping into the room, goosebumps rising along your arms as his hands trailed down your sides.
You eased into the bathtub first, making room for him to follow, steam curling around your bare shoulders as you leaned back against his chest. His thighs bracketed yours beneath the water, his hands smoothing up your arms in slow strokes. After three long competition days and weeks of preparation leading up to it, the comedown from the constant push of adrenaline and dopamine supplemented with a level of caffeine that Luke always frowned at was finally catching up to you.
This part of the weekend was always your favorite: being surrounded by Luke, his warmth, his scent, his hand, and the quiet. The slow intimacy of the soft whispers and laughter between tangled limbs and wandering fingers, knowing you had nowhere else to be and nothing else to worry about. At least until Tuesday.
The two of you only slipped out when your fingertips began to prune, timing that proved perfect when a knock to the hotel door signaled your food had arrived. You wrapped yourself in one of the thick hotel robes, your feet already shifting toward the door. Luke intercepted your departure, softly instructing you to stay put while he retrieved your meal. He found you perched on the bed, cellphone in hand, scrolling through pictures from the weekend, your hair pulled back from your face with a silk scarf. Luke set the tray between you, peeling back the silver domes to reveal steaming plates of comfort food: your favorite pasta dish, his usual steak, and shared sides of roasted vegetables and crispy fries.
Setting the plates away after eating and falling into bed should have been the end of the night, but you couldn’t quite settle. Your hand lifted to turn his face toward his, his hand reached to pull your thigh over his hip, and suddenly the robe you lazily retied was slipping open under his palms.
You sighed as you sank down on his length, your hands pressing flat against his chest for leverage. Luke exhaled softly beneath you through swollen, parted lips, his fingers digging into the softness of your thighs before sliding up to squeeze your plump behind. Your robes lay forgotten on the edge of the bed, just skin pressed flush again skin as you rocked forward, testing the sweet pressure between your legs before settling into a slow rhythm that made Luke groan. His head tipped back against the pillows, the sharp line of his throat taut with restraint as you leaned down, allowing your teeth to scrape along the skin there.
“Mmm, all good? You feel fucking perfect like this,” you whispered, your pussy clenching as his hips rolled upward to meet yours.
Luke’s hands slid up your back, fingers tracing the ridges of your spine as you arched into him. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, voice weighed down with want, “you’re gonna kill me moving like that.”
You laughed low in your throat, lowering your chest to grind your hips deeper against his. The friction sent what felt like electricity skittering along your nerves as you dragged your nails lightly down his sternum. “Don’t be dramatic,” you teased, humming sweetly when his fingers tightened possessively on your waist. “You’ve survived worse.”
Luke’s responding growl and sudden flip pinned you beneath him, the mattress dipping under his weight as he pressed you into the sheets. His lips found yours again, swallowing your surprised gasp. His breath fanned hot over you, tasting faintly of the peppermint toothpaste you used to brush your teeth after dinner. You arched into him, your thighs bracketing his hips, heels digging into the backs of his thighs to urge him deeper. Every drag of his cock inside you drew a breathy whimper from your lips, your fingers twisting in the damp curls at his nape.
You brought him down to you with a sharp tug of your fingers in his hair, sealing your mouths together in a kiss that practically burned. Luke groaned into you, his hips snapping forward in a rhythm that made the headboard tap a staccato beat against the wall.
“Stay in,” you affirmed ever so slightly against his lips, your thighs squeezing around him, giving him encourage he really didn’t need. His breath hitched as he buried himself deeper, his forehead pressing against yours when you tightened around him. Your hands cradled either side of his face, thumbs brushing the faint sweat forming at his temples as you rocked up to meet him. The slick slide was agonizing but Luke’s patience was rewarded when your breathing stuttered, your nails digging into the sides of his ribs as your climax began to roll through you like a slow low tide.
Luke watched you climb closer to orgasm beneath him. He didn’t slow, didn’t pull away, just kept moving inside you with deep, measured strokes that dragged another soft whine from your throat. Your fingers trailed down his sides, nails catching lightly on sweat-damp skin before settling on his hips, urging him closer still.
Your breath stalled as Luke’s hips stuttered against yours, his rhythm faltering for just a moment before he buried himself deep with a long, drawn out sound between a groan and a grunt. His teeth grazed your skin as his release flooded you in hot pulses. You curled beneath him, savoring the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress and his breath fanning unevenly against your throat. His lips moved against your damp skin, murmuring something too low to decipher before he shifted just enough to capture your lips with his own with kisses that carried no urgency.
“Fuck,” Luke exhaled against your lips. You hummed in agreement, your fingers lightly brushing up and down his sweaty back. “That was quick,” he murmured, settling against your chest.
You giggled, the sound vibrating against Luke’s chest where he’d collapsed onto you. “Point A to Point B, we’re getting efficient,” you said, running your nails lightly up the length of his spine.
author's note⠀⁎⠀mainly fluff, but includes brief smut [you/your], i found a draft and actually finished writing it, everyone clap.
read more⠀⁎⠀luke kuechly masterlist.
Every third week from January to May, you blocked off Thursday afternoon to Sunday night in thick red Sharpie on your planner. For those four days, you lived in a world of rhinestone-studded chaos, Celsius 6-packs, and girls ages 5 to 19 crying in dressing rooms and putting their all on stage.
Forum Dance Complex, and its associated competition team, had been your lifeblood for six years now. The studio started out with just 50 dancers; now, they boasted nearly three times as many. The competition team, Forum Dance Company, had grown exponentially too. You were proud of what you had built, the studio environment you wished you had growing up that was inclusive, encouraging, while still pushing for excellence.
Sunday was usually the second-longest day of any competition weekend. At most competitions, Sundays were reserved for the largest dances. The large groups, lines, and productions that usually meant you would see every single one of your Company girls dance at some point during the day. This Sunday you arrived at the competition venue around 7 AM, prepared for a long day concluding with final awards scheduled for 10:15 PM—if they ran on time.
As is typical for most weekends, awards didn’t begin until 35 minutes past its scheduled time. But your girls had done well, scoring highly and even securing the highest scoring routine across all entries with a piece that had experienced a breakthrough in the studio the previous week.
“Alana, please smile for your mother so we can all get out of here,” you laughed with a hint of exhaustion in your tone. Alana, one of your teens who managed to place her jazz solo highly, had been pouting for fifteen minutes about the snap closure on her costume coming undone during a tumbling pass.
After getting the thumbs up from Eleanor, one of the moms who helped to capture the moment, you released a long breath through your nose. You thanked the parents for their help and patience, congratulated the girls, and popped the ‘p’ of your ‘nope’ when one of your graduating seniors asked if they would be skipping conditioning this week as a reward for their wins.
Luke’s hands found your waist from behind, fingers warm even through your sculpted white tee as he pulled you back against his chest. He didn’t need to say anything, just chuckled when the girls groaned and complained; their objection reaching deaf ears.
“I love you all. But absolutely not considering how questionable some of those turns looked this weekend,” you shook your head. “Please get home safe, say thank you to your parents—especially the ‘Georgia’ girls with all the low vibrational energy a few of you had in the dressing room, yes? I’ll see you Tuesday to work on corrections, get some rest, girls.”
You accepted hugs, dished out specific compliments, and finally waved off the last stragglers as Luke shook hands with a few of the fathers who he’d gotten to know through creating and helping transport the large props.
Finally you deflated with a long sigh, turning to face Luke who quietly smiled down at you. “That’s competition number three in the books,” he murmured. “Halfway for the season.”
“Number three…” you echoed, rolling your shoulders back. “You finished loading everything?”
He nodded, reaching for your hand as you turned towards the exit. The convention center’s fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting long shadows of your intertwined forms against the freshly mopped floors. Your fingers laced instinctively between Luke’s, your thumb tracing the ridge of his knuckles; a habit you developed during your first year together, when the sheer size of his hands still made your heart stutter.
“Thank you, bear,” you murmured, leaning into him as you stepped into the parking lot. The night air was crisp, carrying the scent of distant rain and asphalt still warm from the day’s sun. Luke’s arm slid around your waist, pulling you closer as the two of you navigated the maze of cars, his fingers pressing gently into the dip of your hip. You could feel the exhaustion settling into your bones, but his presence kept you upright.
“The girls killed it tonight,” Luke murmured into the night as he unlocked the car with a beep that echoed across the nearly empty lot.
You quietly thanked him when he opened the passenger door for you, his hand lingering at the small of your back as you slid inside. “I know. I’m so happy that we’re hitting this stride earlier than we did last season.”
Luke rounded the car, settling into the driver’s seat, and bringing the engine to rumbling life. “You were so stressed over ‘Georgia on My Mind’,” he said, placing his keys and the plastic water bottle in his hand in the cupholder, “but they looked great.”
You shrugged, tilting your head against the seat. “Because I know what they’re capable of,” you said, turning to look at him. His profile was sharp in the dim glow of the dashboard lights, the shadow of his stubble accentuating the line of his jaw. “And they proved me right. There’s no reason why they shouldn’t dance like that every time.”
Luke chuckled. Then, he turned, cupping your cheek and softly, sweetly hummed, “Just need to kiss you right now,” before closing the distance between you in a slow, deep kiss that made you sigh against his lips.
You pulled back first. “Mm, what was that for?” you murmured, your lashes fluttering open to meet his gaze.
Luke’s thumb brushed the apple of your cheek. “Just because,” he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Like he didn’t need a reason to kiss you. And maybe he really didn’t. “It was a great weekend. You were great.”
You laughed softly, brushing away the remnants of your faded lip combo where it rubbed off on his lighter skin. “They did what they were supposed to, for the most part, and it worked out for them.”
Luke shifted gears, one hand resting warm over your thigh. Your hand slid up to his hair, mindlessly twisting and twirling the dark strands of hair between your fingers. Leaving the convention center was never any easier after the long competition days. After two years of attending these competitions, Luke learned not to hold out any hope for an easy exit. There was always a long line of red tail lights and a few aggressive, exhausted parents attempting to cut in where there was no space.
“‘For the most part’?” Luke questioned, turning his head toward you when the car slowed to a stop after joining the end of the line.
You exhaled through your nose, fingers still playing with his hair as you watched the line of brake lights stretch endlessly toward the main road leading out to the strip of hotels. “We’re forgetting basic technique again. The newest epidemic that I can see spreading right now is refusing to connect our passé during fouettés turns.” You mimicked the motion in the air with your free hand, the sharp flick of your wrist illustrating the missed movement. “It started with some of the high school girls and now it’s spreading into the younger ones.”
He caught the soft roll of your eyes before turning his attention back to the line pulling forward at a glacial pace. “That’s the foot tucking into the knee?” he asked, trying to clarify.
“Mmm, more connecting the foot to the knee,” you corrected, still wanting to be precise. “It’s probably such a small detail to someone who isn’t trained, but it makes the turn so much cleaner, and they know it’s good technique. When one girl does it half-assed but still gets through the turn, the rest think they can too.” You sighed, tilting your head back against the headrest. “But that’s a Tuesday problem.”
“How much torture is on the table?” Luke asked, fingers turning the steering wheel as the car finally crept closer to the stoplight.
“Nothing they can’t handle,” you said with a shrug, reaching forward to adjust the air conditioner.
He shot you a look.
“What?” you laughed, gently pinching the tip of his ear between your fingers when his expression didn’t change. “They’ll be fine. It’s just conditioning. They’ll whine about it for twenty minutes and then forget by the morning.”
“Forget by the morning,” Luke repeated, shaking his head as he rounded the small loop bringing you closer to the parking garage connected to the hotel.
“Don’t act like you and Greg didn’t have the boys running suicides for missing tackles during a perfect season,” you teased, your eyes tracing over the side of his face, taking in the sharp angle of his jaw as you pulled into the dim garage.
Luke’s deep chuckle rumbled in his chest as he parked, taking his time to make sure the car was straight before he responded to your accusation. “That was different,” he said, shutting off the engine and turning to you, his green eyes warm in the soft light.
You hummed, interested, tilting your head. “Oh? Do tell.”
Luke unbuckled his seatbelt with a click, his large frame shifting in the driver’s seat as he turned fully toward you. The change in his angle allowed what little light there was to scatter differently over his face, illuminating the high points of his cheeks. He opened his mouth, then closed it, a small smile breaking over his expression.
Luke’s smile deepened. “They were messing around out there. It was ridiculous.” He shook his head, eyes rolling at the memory.
You laughed. “So you admit it,” you teased, reaching for the door handle.
You settled into a hushed, playful bickering about the special nuances of your respective disciplines as you walked through the hotel lobby, Luke carrying both overnight bags effortlessly in one hand while the other remained firmly pressed against the small of your back. The elevator doors slid open with a quiet chime, and you turned to face him, quietly requesting a peck or two before the chime sounded once more, signaling the arrival on your floor.
The elevator doors opened, revealing the plush carpet. You stepped out first, the exhaustion of the weekend suddenly hitting you all at once as your sneakers sank into the thick fibers. Luke followed close behind, his free hand drifted down to pat your backside. “Y’okay?” he murmured, pulling you closer to his side to press a kiss into your temple.
“Mhmm. Just tired,” you admitted, your voice trailing off as you watched him fish the keycard from his pocket. The lock clicked green, and Luke shouldered the door open with practiced ease, stepping aside to let you enter first.
You stepped into the hotel room, your tired exhale lost in the soft hum of the air conditioning. Luke’s hands found your waist again after closing the door behind you, his lips brushing the curve of your neck as he nudged you forward. “Go start the bath,” he murmured, his voice rumbling lowly against your skin. “I’ll order food.”
The bathroom tiles were cool beneath your bare feet as you twisted the faucet, steam rising in lazy curls. You poured in a capful of the floral-scented bath oil you packed and watched as the water swirled into a milky haze. Behind you, the door creaked open, and Luke’s reflection appeared in the fogging mirror, his broad shoulders filling the frame.
“Room service says forty minutes,” he said, setting his phone on the counter before stepping closer, pulling your back against his front. His hands slid from your hips and up to your shoulders, his fingers pressing into the knots clustered underneath your skin. You leaned back into him with a sigh, your head tipping against his chest as his lips grazed the outer edge of your ear.
The bathwater lapped at the edges of the tub as you peeled off your navy blue track pants, your muscles beginning to relax in anticipation of the heat. Luke’s fingers worked at the clothing on your upper body, pulling your t-shirt over your head and letting his fingertips brush the skin of your ribs. You shivered despite the warmth creeping into the room, goosebumps rising along your arms as his hands trailed down your sides.
You eased into the bathtub first, making room for him to follow, steam curling around your bare shoulders as you leaned back against his chest. His thighs bracketed yours beneath the water, his hands smoothing up your arms in slow strokes. After three long competition days and weeks of preparation leading up to it, the comedown from the constant push of adrenaline and dopamine supplemented with a level of caffeine that Luke always frowned at was finally catching up to you.
This part of the weekend was always your favorite: being surrounded by Luke, his warmth, his scent, his hand, and the quiet. The slow intimacy of the soft whispers and laughter between tangled limbs and wandering fingers, knowing you had nowhere else to be and nothing else to worry about. At least until Tuesday.
The two of you only slipped out when your fingertips began to prune, timing that proved perfect when a knock to the hotel door signaled your food had arrived. You wrapped yourself in one of the thick hotel robes, your feet already shifting toward the door. Luke intercepted your departure, softly instructing you to stay put while he retrieved your meal. He found you perched on the bed, cellphone in hand, scrolling through pictures from the weekend, your hair pulled back from your face with a silk scarf. Luke set the tray between you, peeling back the silver domes to reveal steaming plates of comfort food: your favorite pasta dish, his usual steak, and shared sides of roasted vegetables and crispy fries.
Setting the plates away after eating and falling into bed should have been the end of the night, but you couldn’t quite settle. Your hand lifted to turn his face toward his, his hand reached to pull your thigh over his hip, and suddenly the robe you lazily retied was slipping open under his palms.
You sighed as you sank down on his length, your hands pressing flat against his chest for leverage. Luke exhaled softly beneath you through swollen, parted lips, his fingers digging into the softness of your thighs before sliding up to squeeze your plump behind. Your robes lay forgotten on the edge of the bed, just skin pressed flush again skin as you rocked forward, testing the sweet pressure between your legs before settling into a slow rhythm that made Luke groan. His head tipped back against the pillows, the sharp line of his throat taut with restraint as you leaned down, allowing your teeth to scrape along the skin there.
“Mmm, all good? You feel fucking perfect like this,” you whispered, your pussy clenching as his hips rolled upward to meet yours.
Luke’s hands slid up your back, fingers tracing the ridges of your spine as you arched into him. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, voice weighed down with want, “you’re gonna kill me moving like that.”
You laughed low in your throat, lowering your chest to grind your hips deeper against his. The friction sent what felt like electricity skittering along your nerves as you dragged your nails lightly down his sternum. “Don’t be dramatic,” you teased, humming sweetly when his fingers tightened possessively on your waist. “You’ve survived worse.”
Luke’s responding growl and sudden flip pinned you beneath him, the mattress dipping under his weight as he pressed you into the sheets. His lips found yours again, swallowing your surprised gasp. His breath fanned hot over you, tasting faintly of the peppermint toothpaste you used to brush your teeth after dinner. You arched into him, your thighs bracketing his hips, heels digging into the backs of his thighs to urge him deeper. Every drag of his cock inside you drew a breathy whimper from your lips, your fingers twisting in the damp curls at his nape.
You brought him down to you with a sharp tug of your fingers in his hair, sealing your mouths together in a kiss that practically burned. Luke groaned into you, his hips snapping forward in a rhythm that made the headboard tap a staccato beat against the wall.
“Stay in,” you affirmed ever so slightly against his lips, your thighs squeezing around him, giving him encourage he really didn’t need. His breath hitched as he buried himself deeper, his forehead pressing against yours when you tightened around him. Your hands cradled either side of his face, thumbs brushing the faint sweat forming at his temples as you rocked up to meet him. The slick slide was agonizing but Luke’s patience was rewarded when your breathing stuttered, your nails digging into the sides of his ribs as your climax began to roll through you like a slow low tide.
Luke watched you climb closer to orgasm beneath him. He didn’t slow, didn’t pull away, just kept moving inside you with deep, measured strokes that dragged another soft whine from your throat. Your fingers trailed down his sides, nails catching lightly on sweat-damp skin before settling on his hips, urging him closer still.
Your breath stalled as Luke’s hips stuttered against yours, his rhythm faltering for just a moment before he buried himself deep with a long, drawn out sound between a groan and a grunt. His teeth grazed your skin as his release flooded you in hot pulses. You curled beneath him, savoring the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress and his breath fanning unevenly against your throat. His lips moved against your damp skin, murmuring something too low to decipher before he shifted just enough to capture your lips with his own with kisses that carried no urgency.
“Fuck,” Luke exhaled against your lips. You hummed in agreement, your fingers lightly brushing up and down his sweaty back. “That was quick,” he murmured, settling against your chest.
You giggled, the sound vibrating against Luke’s chest where he’d collapsed onto you. “Point A to Point B, we’re getting efficient,” you said, running your nails lightly up the length of his spine.
This the main reason I spent two nights in torturous pain before having an organ hastily removed at the hospital. A low fiber, high fat diet does not just mean flab and embarrassing bathroom problems. It means your insides start breaking down. And I've barely started my thirties. For my bestie, her health degraded in her twenties (moving to the US did not help).
Put the convenience food down permanently, do not let "treats" become everyday or every meal indulgences. I deeply regret not adhering to this myself...
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