Dear Reader

If it feels like a trap, you're already in one 26 she/her

[dear-2-readers]

Masterlist

The Pitt

Dr. Michael Robinavitch

Series:

HR nightmare family:

Jealousy

Mama, Nana, Dada

Valentine's babysitter

Emotional support baby

Surrogate

Hasta la vista, vatos

Banned from the night shift

Jack's Wedding Gift

Famous reader:

Knock on Wood

Breeding

One-Shots:

The boner

Two parts:

Fool around...

... And find out

Dr. Jack Abbot

Mistaken Secret Admirer part 2

No

Jack "the Assman" Abbot

Halloween costume

[mourningstareyes]

ring me up - jack abbot x reader

summary - jack abbot fucking loves his wedding ring, and hasn't parted with it since the day the two of you wed. after damaging it while helping robby fix his bike, it is back at the jeweller to get re-plated, and he has to endure a shift without both you and his beloved band of metal. without his ring, it becomes apparent that doctor abbot is a hot item. all he wants is to be back in your arms.

warnings/themes - married couple/established relationship, attending!reader, jealousy, poorly written dialogue, fluff, suuuuper mild angst/displeasure, awkward scenarios, reader is the kind of person to laugh at everything, cattiness, corny as fuck

notes - I got myself lost in some other written bits and got so tangled up that I'm sick of them and never want to release them hahahaha - this is the result of me wanting to just create SOMETHING ELSE. I hope you enjoy.

-

Jack Abbot, to his credit, absolutely adored wearing his wedding ring.

When the conversation regarding marriage had first come up between you, now a good few years ago, you had approached the topic of rings with gentle palms. 

He had stopped wearing his first ring a few months into your time at PTMC, a decision which was made after many late nights of him pacing around his apartment, whiskey in hand and ring clinking against the glass. When he put the golden band down for the last time, his heart exhaled a breath he hadn’t realised it was holding. Three months later, Jack gave into the butterflies in his stomach - ones he thought would never come around again - and asked you out.

When he proposed you had insisted, a beautiful, sizable diamond on your ring finger, that when the pair of you tied the knot, he didn’t have to wear a ring again regularly, or at all, if he didn’t want to. 

But damn, did this man ever want to. The smooth gunmetal band which sat on his ring finger was his pride and joy from the moment you slipped it on at the altar. He loved the subtle weight of it grounding him under his blue gloves. And the way it looked against your smooth skin as his hands found your body. Most of all, he loved the way it linked him to you, showing the world that he was a more than happily taken man. There was very, very little which would make Jack part with his ring, even for a short time.

One of the things which did force him to take his ring off was the scratches and grease which came with fixing Robby’s motorbike. Between reinstalling a chain and shoving his hands between tight metal components, the black rhodium plating on the platinum had been scratched away in several places. 

“For fuck’s sake.” The man groaned when he looked down at his hand. Robby looked over at what had caused his best friend so much displeasure. 

“Looks like it’s time to make a trip back to the jeweller, brother.” The older man grinned, clapping Jack on the shoulder.

When your husband had come home to you, he looked like a school boy who had just shattered a window with a stray baseball, a shy shame present on his face at damaging something so precious. After he confessed his so-called crime, you had laughed, grabbed his hand and kissed his knuckles, an act so warm it sunk into his bones in a way only your love could. Then you pointed out a cut along the back of his hand, patched it up and booked an appointment at your jeweller to have it polished and re-plated.

And that was how, on a cool Monday evening, Jack Abbot had rolled up to the Pitt without his wedding ring. You were off that night, set to instead take over Collins’ attending shift the next morning, and had bid your husband goodbye with a soft ice-cream flavoured kiss from where you sat curled up on the couch.

The kiss lingered as he walked through the ER doors, bag slung over his shoulder. He had been running his thumb over the empty space on his ring finger, half still thinking about the taste of sweet dairy on your lips as Lena and Dana waved him over. Dana was clearly on her way out, her civilian jacket already over her scrubs. Two unfamiliar women stood beside the charge nurses, each with MEDICAL STUDENT emblazoned on their plastic nametags. 

“Amber, Amy, this is Doctor Jack Abbot, our nighttime attending and ER cowboy.” Dana nodded in Jack’s direction as he strode over to the desk. She gave him a knowing, teasing look as the two newcomers took him in. Judging by the way the ginger - Amber - straightened her back and licked her lips, and the way Amy lit up in a shy blush, twirling a strand of platinum blonde hair around her finger, the sight of the older attending had made an impression on them. 

“These ladies are our newest medical students and are currently on their emergency department rotation.” Lena continued, glancing over her red reading glasses at Dana. They had seen those looks on more than a few newbies over the years. Jack Abbot just had that effect on people.

“Doctor Abbot, it’s such a pleasure.” Amber smiled, wide and cat-like, extending a thin hand to him. “I have heard such good things about PTMC’s emergency department, and I’m sure you’re the reason for that.”

“We have a good team of nightcrawlers here, I’m just a cog in the machine.” He shook her hand, and then Amy’s, his standard dry, polite smile gracing his face.

Before either medical student could gush further, McKay walked up to Jack, tablet in hand. Judging by the dark circles under her eyes, she was more than ready to begin hand-over. He greeted her with a smile, eyes crinkling.

“What have you got for me?”

-

The last of the day shift filtered out an hour later, surprisingly on time compared to the usual timeline the liminal space of the ER followed. 

“Trouble in paradise, eh boss?” Shen needled with a grin as he came through the ambulance bay door, gesturing at his ring finger, which was just as bare as Jack’s in that moment. As one of your closest friends, you had texted him about the situation the night before, but that wasn’t about to stop him teasing the older man. Jack rolled his eyes.

The night progressed with the same erratic heartbeat it always did. A deeply displeased man came in with a mild GSW to his foot, his friend trailing behind the gurney with a guilty look on his face as he attempted to explain the bizarre, convoluted game they had been playing which had somehow involved a shotgun. Jack oversaw Ellis teaching Amy how to remove buckshot from the wound, the blonde turning to him for approval at every step. She flushed bright pink under the fluorescent hospital lights when the attending gave her a ‘looks good’ and a thumbs up, before leaving the room. Ellis shared a look with Shen as he walked past, poorly hiding the amusement on both of their faces. 

An hour later a trio of twenty-something year old women drunkenly stumbled through the door of the ER in a mess of flakey mascara and hair extensions, following their friend who sat crying her eyes out in a wheelchair. It had turned out to be a wrist fracture, likely thanks to the broken bright red heel which now sat in her lap. When Jack strolled in, x-ray results in hand, the tears instantly stopped, replaced by a watery smile. Amber trailed in a moment later.

The group giggled quietly, and not so quietly, among themselves as the attending calmly walked the patient through the fix for her wrist. She nodded along, carefully not making eye contact.

“We’re so glad she’s in such good hands, and biceps!” One of the group sputtered out, being cut off by an elbow to the ribs from the friend sitting next to her, who was a tad more sober - that being a very low bar. 

“Amber here is one of our med students and great learner and will be putting the cast on for you today.” Jack offered one of his professionally charming smiles, much to the delight of the tipsy gaggle. Amber’s scrowl at the unabashed flirtation from the party-goer melted away at the praise. 

Half an hour and one fairly well completed cast later, the med student was pulled from the treatment room to accompany Ellis for a new case assessment.

“So…could I get your number…just in case I need any further…checkups?” The mixture of painkillers, her girls behind her and the late hour made the dark-haired patient unusually bold, even through the now-dried mascara lines on her cheeks. 

“Our charge nurse can find you some urgent care contact numbers,” Jack bit back a smile as she flexed her fingers and checked her range of motion. “You can always come back tomorrow if there ‘s any rubbing or discomfort with the cast - might even meet my wife if you do.” The smile pushed its way through at the mention of you.

At the mention of a wife and the genuine, boyish smile which had appeared on the doctor’s face, the group cooed in unison, a new kind of delight making its way into the room with the information that their handsome doctor had deservedly found his other half.

“Oh my gosh I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to-” The patient hid her face in her unimpeded hand. 

“Photos! Show us photos!” She was cut off by one of her friends. “Is she a doctor here too?”

“Sure is. Damn good doctor, better than me.” The man chuckled, pulling out his phone. Outside of what was required by the ER, he wasn’t the most tech-savvy, but the first thing he had done upon getting his new phone was to change his lock screen to a photo of you on your last holiday together - far too long ago now - a large sunhat perched on your head and bright smile on your face.

The girls squealed in collective approval, even the patient forgetting her embarrassment to join in on the comments of ‘power couple’ and ‘oh she’s gorgeous!’.  

Half an hour later, discharge documents in hand marked 1.17am, the group made their way out, waving their farewells and chirping their sweet ‘goodbye Doctor Abbot’s. Jack good-heartedly returned their waves, an action which brought a sour expression to Amber’s face.

-    

Jack Abbot was typically one of the most business-minded, compartmentalised doctors that the PTMC had to offer. On an ordinary day he left the outside world on the other side of the ER doors and focused his whole self on whatever came his way. Yet, that evening, as the night waned he found his mind floating back to you. You’d be asleep right now, tucked under the small mountain of blankets and sheets which you insisted on when sleeping alone. Somehow, without the band of metal sitting against his skin, he felt lonelier than he had in a long while. He should have just called in sick, he thought with a sigh. He could be enjoying the way you curled up into him in your sleep right now, instead of doing whatever this was.

“You alright darl’?” Lena raised an eyebrow at the man and his left hand. He had been standing at the PC for a moment too long, staring blankly at a chart which didn’t need half the attention he was giving it. Shen had shooed the med students away to eat ‘lunch’ - at 2am - and the ER hit the strange, slow, half-awake lull that the nightcrawlers had come to expect on Monday nights. Jack's left thumb ran over where his ring usually sat, again and again. “You’re not wearing your usual hardware, you piss off our girl?”

“Fuck I hope not.” He snapped out of his train of thought, looked up from the screen and smiling wryly with a shake of his head. “Can thank Robby and his death machine for this.” He held up his hand. 

Lena scoffed, stapling the stack of paper before her.

“So the only person beating you up right now is you, I take it?” 

He grumbled out an agreement, finally closing the patient file before him and beginning charting another.

“She’s so calm about it. She laughed when I showed her.” He murmured. “It’s just…’s unnatural. Being without it.”

Lena let out a chortle at the attending’s unusually soft confession, patting him on the back as she walked past.

“You’ll be okay, hon’.”

-

The worst of the shift came in the form of a middle-aged driver who had been at an intersection at the wrong time. After an hour of stabilising procedures and near-misses, he lay unconscious on the table in the middle of Trauma 1 in the early hours of the morning, a large gaping wound along the side of his abdomen the last remaining obstacle between him and finally heading up to the ICU. Amber had been pulled in alongside Jack and Jesse, the three of them appropriately gowned and geared up. Jack was already covered in blood, largely thanks to the punctured artery which had been addressed, but this was finally a task which he could take the time to walk the med student through.

“Okay - this is a simple closure, what nylon are we using for this?” 

“Uhh…standard 4/0 should do the trick?” She looked up at him through her thick lashes.

“Correct, good.” The attending nodded as Jesse handed her the correct equipment. Amber smiled under her mask.

She began the procedure, Jack correcting her tension on occasion, but otherwise remaining silent, looming over her with a watchful eye.

“Y’know…” the student continued sewing, “it’s unusual to have an attending who isn’t…intimidating.”

“Hm?” Jack didn’t look at her, eyes still on the procedure. Her knots and lines were straight enough for a med student, but that didn’t stop his mind from drifting to the, frankly, picturesque closure jobs you performed. His lip twitched upward beneath his mask - you’d laugh at him describing your work as ‘picturesque’.

“You’re just so…warm and supportive,” Amber continued, Jesse cringing from the corner of the trauma room. “So…available.” 

The male nurse made a mental note to be moved back to the day shift.

“I mean - uh…” she caught herself and the lack of filter between her brain and mouth. “You’re very, uh- easy to talk to.”

Jack blinked. He was a good attending, he thought, but you handled med students far better than he typically did. Again he smiled under his mask, eyes crinkling at the thought of you. Fuck he missed his ring.

“Thanks. I think it’s important that we operate as a unit to get the job done.” He looked up at the clock on the wall. Another hour to go before you would finally show up, but this task was finally complete. 

“Good job today, kid.” He shed his gown and glasses. “Jesse, make sure that the ICU knows there’s one coming up.” 

Jesse half breathed a sigh of relief as the attending left the room, and then half rolled his eyes at the look of smug delight on Amber’s face. 

-

In actuality it took less than an hour for you to show up, emerging through the ER doors with your messenger bag slung over one shoulder and cherry-coloured scarf thrown around your neck. In typical fashion you beat the rest of the day shift to being on site, something which you made a mental note to hang over Robby’s head later. Your winter coat sat over your dark scrubs, a paper bag hanging off one hand, and four hot coffees in a cardboard tray in the other. You strolled up to the hub, which was empty save for Amber at a PC, placing the tray on the desk. The chief attending wasn’t around yet to complain about food and drink being outside the breakroom.

“Morning,” you gave Amber a smile. After a beat she looked up from her charting. “You know where Abbot is?” 

“Oh, you’re Doordash.” She looked at you and then the tray before her, expression flat. “You can just leave that there, I’ll find Doctor Abbot shortly.”

“No need, thanks Amber.” The man in question appeared behind her, face lit up despite the dark circles now under his eyes. “This is one of our normal night attending,” he introduced you with your full doctorly title, grinning at the way you rolled your eyes at the formality. “She’s filling in for one of the day shift staff today.”

At this point your husband was standing at your side, eyeing the tray before you. He gratefully accepted the cup marked with a ‘J’, taking a sip with a satisfied hum. It was black, medium roast, a drip of cream. Perfect. Jack wanted to kiss you so badly in that moment that it hurt, partially because of the coffee but mainly because of the ache in his heart that the absence of his ring had brought about in your 13 hours apart. But no, in accordance with HR’s conditions on you working together, PDA was to be kept to a minimum while at work. 

“I’m glad you’re in early - got something that I need an extra set of eyes on.” His lips curved up in a way that only ever meant trouble. “Would you be able to join me for a moment before we begin handover, doctor?” 

Amber had been watching this exchange with a sour look of uncertainty. She knew something was afoot here, but was unable to put her finger on it.

“Can I come?” She blurted out, reminding you both of her presence. “To learn, of course. Doctor Abbot has been so informative today and I am always eager to get ahead.” 

“No need, Amber. You finish up and clock out. Help yourself to a pastry if you want.” Jack took the paper bag from your hand and offered it to her. She took it silently, watching on as you followed after the man, throwing your coat over the back of a computer chair as you went. 

-

“So what do you have to show me in this empty, ordinary treatment room which just so happens to be at the very end of the south wing, Doctor Abbot?” You grinned as your husband pulled the curtain shut, before stepping into your space.

His hands, calloused, skilled, found your scrub-clad waist, pulling you close and kissing you deeply. He tasted like the sip of coffee he had enjoyed a moment earlier, and a tad more of desperation than he normally did. You melted into it, fingers finding his thick curls. 

You finally pulled back to look at your beautiful man, running your ER-short nails down the back of his neck. 

“Missed you,” he murmured, voice rough as he buried his face in the dip between your neck and shoulder. Jack inhaled deeply, humming softly as he savoured the scent of you and the comically expensive lotion which you lathered yourself in before slipping into your scrubs. It was to stop your skin from drying out under PTMC’s constant air conditioning, you had explained the first time he watched you get ready for work. And he was never one to complain about something which somehow made you even more edible than you were naturally. 

“We’ve been apart what, 12 hours? What happened to my strong, independent man?” He could feel you smile through your faux-protest.

“13, actually.” Jack pulled himself away from your neck to graze his lips over the crown of your head.

“Oh of course you’re missing me then. So many millennia have passed, lover mine.” You teased, throwing your arms around his neck to pull him for another kiss. He could taste the sugar of the danish you had had for breakfast that morning.

“How about…” he mumbled against your lips, his fingers finding their way under the very hem of your scrub top. Your skin was warm and familiar under his touch. “...you call out today-”

“What the fuck!” 

A feminine screech split the moment. Amber stood before the two of you, having pulled back the curtain just a smidge. She looked mortified, pulling the privacy screen back once more and booking it for the central hub. Jack groaned, resting his forehead against your shoulder. You laughed.

-

The two of you made your way back to the hub a few minutes later. You had slung your stethoscope around your neck, looking every bit the professional you were. Likewise, Jack didn’t have a hair out of place, looking down at a tablet as he calmly explained what cases were being carried over by you into the day shift. You had shared a giggling, conspiratorial look in the hallway a moment earlier - you were nothing if not experts at this.

Amber stood at one of the desks, her back to you. She was whispering loudly to Ellis, her voice sharp and irritated. You caught Ellis’ eye as you walked over, and she threw up a peace sign in your direction, one of the brown paper coffee cups being cradled in her other hand.

“-and they were all over each other! It was shocking!” The med student hissed. Ellis nodded slowly, taking a sip from her cup. 

“So you saw Doctor Abbot…involved…with another member of the staff?” The senior resident queried, voice dry.

“Yes! It was absurd.” 

“Was it that member of the staff?” Ellis gestured to where you stood, looking down at a patient’s chart as you listened in on the conversation, unable to fully hide your smile.

Amber nodded emphatically. 

“So you…saw Doctor Abbot…kissing his wife?” 

“His wife!?” The ginger looked incredulous, spinning around to take in where you and Jack stood. “He has a wife? Her!?”

Jack sighed where he stood, leaning in as he handed you the tablet, his shift now over. You smothered a giggle with a faux yawn, hand over your mouth. Your husband pressed a kiss to your forehead, eyes flicking up to meet Amber’s in a very deliberate, very rare, work treat. She shrunk back at the look.

“I can’t fucking wait to get my damn ring back.”

[hotdocsandcowboys]

Ultimate Revenge

Titus Danforth X Le Domas Bride!Reader

Follow Up to: The Loophole: Dark Wedding A Solstice Sacrifice The Debut Little Bite One: Spend. His. Money. Mating Rituals Little Bite Two: The Nightmare A Danforth Wedding Tradition Little Bite Three: The Twins, 2000 Little Bite Four: White Feather Hawk Tail Deer Hunter

Summary: Titus takes you on a private Babymoon to his family's England estate, the place where the Danforth's first met Mr. Le Bail. But in the dark corners awaits an old foe ready to get what they think they're owed.

Tags: age gap, pregnancy talk (not explicit but i know not everyone is into that), graphic violence, attempted murder/threats on reader's life, Priscilla gets her own warning lol, murder!, so much blood!, stabbing!, sex in the woods!, choking!, sex covered in blood (again lol), slapping, rough sex, daddy kink!, subby titus, and then kinda dommy titus lol, mommy stuff mentioned but explicit, mentions of other sexual situations, non-con voyerism idk how to describe it but priscilla is a creep who watches...., so i guess also stalking, idk!, fluff!!!!, HAPPY ENDING!!!

A/N: guys this is the FINAL PART!!!!!!! :((((((( but it's been such a fun journey, i love all of y'all for coming with me!!!!! Now let's kill Priscilla lol that's not really a spoiler y'all know it needed to happen ;) almost 19K words...

AO3 Link if that's your preference.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Priscilla Cavendish is not used to being rejected. 

Her family, though not members of the High Council, has been given a relatively privileged life thanks to the gifts of Mr. Le Bail, and she has spent her whole existence reaping those benefits.  

She got every car, horse, designer dress, and vacation her heart desired. She wanted to go to a prestigious school? Her parents bought a library and she never had to fill out application. She wanted to be head Cheerleader? No other girl would dare challenge her anyway. Boys and Men? She’s tall and gorgeous and thin and rich, why would anyone ever say no to her? 

They didn’t. That’s the thing. She got everything and everyone she ever wanted. 

Titus Danforth was not an exception. For many years, he was not an exception. Sure, there were times where even she got tired and bored of his bratty behavior, times where they’d break up and she’d find some other toy to play with, but she was always able to grab his attention again. 

This last break up was a little more...definitive than others, sure. Annoyed at his lack of commitment, as she usually was, Priscilla decided to try her luck with Ignacio El Caido instead.  

He was a widower who lived the fast life, and was on the High Council as well, so she figured he’d be an easy mark. They hooked up a few times, he bragged to Titus about it, but instead of awakening any sort of jealousy in the man, Titus Danforth simply laughed and wished them both good luck. 

Needless to say Priscilla was livid. He didn’t care at all. She’d spent so much time trying to get her hand on the Danforth name, and he only ever saw her as a hobby. The things she did for him too, sexually. She lived up to almost every weird appetite of his, in ways she knows his other flings would never dare to, and still he threw her out. 

And then came you. 

First, you encroach on Francensca’s territory by stealing Alex Le Domas, and you don’t even have the decency to die during Hide and Seek. Then, you fucking steal Titus Danforth right out of bachelor life because? What? You’re young and pretty and in a desperate spot? 

Priscilla will never understand what he sees in you. Sure, you suffer from some similar mental psychopathy that he does, but you’re...you’re an outsider. Mr. Le Bail tried to kill you twice. 

Maybe you’re some sort of witch and you’ve cast a spell over Titus. Whatever you are, she will never accept that you’ve won. In her mind, you haven’t.  

This is just a pause. Time to recover after hours of plastic surgery to prevent scarring from where you’d smashed her face with glass, like some deranged gremlin. She’s waited patiently, face bandaged until her beauty returned, holed up in her family’s old country estate in England. 

She read that article about Felicity and Fitz’s deaths, anger rippling through her chest. A drunk driving accident? Sure. She knows what happens after a Danforth wedding. Priscilla just knows you’re the reason she’s lost another ally in that family. 

And now you’re with child. A halfway unworthy spawn of a girl with no important name, no important family, will one day rule this world?  

No. Not if she can help it. 

Not when she finds out the two of you will be coming right to her. 

+ 

+ 

+ 

They call it a Babymoon. 

From what you’ve read, most people save it for a month before the baby is due, but of course Titus Danforth has to go above and beyond for you. 

After all, you are carrying the next set of Danforth Twins. 

So, at only just under four months along, he whisks you away on the private jet to the family’s oldest home in the countryside of England. The little castle where everything began.  

You told him he didn’t need to take you on any trips yet, he’d already given you enough gifts to celebrate your pregnancy. From an entire new yet-to-be-released designer maternity wardrobe, to an in-house personal chef to specially make all of your meals, to a revamped 1960 pink Cadillac, Titus has not been stingy on spoiling you. 

Your morning sickness has mostly subsided, so the travel wasn’t so bad. You have a little soreness, but so far everything is going easy. Titus doted on you the whole ride over, giving you orgasms and kisses to your little bump. 

“Sorry to interrupt, sir, but we will be making our descent in just under an hour,” the captain’s voice said over the intercom. 

You sat up from where you’d been laying on Titus’s lap, a pout graces your face as you look at the door, like you’d be able to frown at the pilot through it. At least this jet had a private bedroom for you to enjoy your flight at all. 

“Darn, it was just about to get good,” you sigh, “Well, good again.” 

Titus looks up at you with a smirk. “He said an hour, Baby, that’s plenty of time to go one more round.” 

“Hmmm, I guess we should enjoy our free time while we can,” you purred, laying your body back down over his, grinding your hips down into his lap. Titus’s hands fly to your ass, grabing you hard and moving you at a slow pace. “Once they arrive, we might be too busy for each other for a while.” 

“I’ll never be too busy for you, Little Lamb,” Titus grunts, breath coming out in short huffs, cock already stirring again. “We’ll hire a nanny just to look after them whenever I need to fuck the shit out of you. You know, so we’re not disturbed.” 

You snort. “That’s ridiculous,” you say as you giggle into your next kiss. 

“You’re right, we’ll make Ursula do it,” Titus says, flipping you over onto your back. His hand slides down to your tummy, then past your bump to pull at the bottom of your dress. 

You shiver as his thick fingers press to the skin on your inner thigh, and you grab onto his shoulders to steady yourself, eyes closing and mouth dropping open. Your voice is breathless and higher when you continue teasing him. “You wouldn’t let them be left with some stranger, anyway.” 

“Fuck no,” Titus grunts, teeth grazing your neck. 

He wasn’t raised by nannies, not really. Violet and Chester paid for the best tutors and coaches that money could buy, but the Danforth children were never left to learn their important life lessons from random European women. 

Not until Violet died, but by ten years old they didn’t need to be watched all the time, and were old enough for boarding school. So that’s what Chester did. He sent them off to school, and when they were home he made sure to be the one instilling his believes and life lessons in them, no matter how cold those lessons were. 

“Of course not,” your voice breaks into a whine when you feel his fingers at your folds, and your legs spread for him. “They’re going to be all yours,” your voice is light, “just like me,” and you nudge him into a kiss.  

His breath is swallowed into your moans, as his fingers enter you slowly, thumb rubbing circles on your clit. Titus’s warm body ruts against yours, cock rubbing deliciously against your thigh. “Yeah, Baby, ‘d do anything for you, for all of you.” 

“Hmm, I know,” you sigh, rolling your hips down onto his fingers, the wet squelch sending a rush of pleasure up your spine. “You’ll be such a good Daddy.” 

Suddenly, Titus lets out a low, stuttered groan, and his movements stop as his eyes roll back. “Shit, Baby.” 

You feel a patch of wetness against your thigh and your eyes go wide with a shocked smile. “Did you just...” 

Titus doesn’t even have it in him to be embarrassed. “Okay, you can’t ever call me that in front of other people.” His fingers are still inside you, and he flexes them in that way that drives you crazy. “Gimmie a minute, Baby.” 

You start to giggle, laying kisses to his cheek. “Or what, Daddy?” 

“Fuck,” Titus groans, dick twitching slowly back to life in his pants. “Keep going like that and I’ll be able to fuck you again real soon...” 

When he’s finally able to get it up again, he lasts all of two minutes inside you. After the first “Fuck me so good, Daddy,” he’s a goner. 

+ 

The Danforth Castle, which has been in Titus’s family for centuries, sits along a river, hidden away in a vast wood, in Suffolk England. The area is remote and quiet, but almost never empty, various members of the Danforth family staying in its expansive halls throughout the year. There’s also live-in staff, of course, some grounds keepers, and minor security. 

None of the family are going to be staying there right now, however, and the staff has been briefed already on staying hidden. Titus wants you to have your privacy, with absolutely no stress from nosy family. 

The halls of the castle are made of old dark grey stone, which have been finished and refinished over the decades to accommodate updating technology, electricity, and all that. They’re lined with old paintings, family portraits, weapons, taxidermy animal heads, and statues of armor. You feel like you’re on some movie set about Tudor era England. 

There’s a cold air that passes around you, not eerie but rather an echo of how old the building is. Your feet make a clacking sound that bounces off the stone as you’re led into a great foyer, brightly lit by tall stained-glass windows that arch all the way up to the ceiling. 

You’re not looking at Titus as he watches with a proud smirk the way your eyes go wide and your mouth drops open. A row of butlers whisk passed you with your bags, and three maids wait at the bottom of a winding staircase with warm smiles. 

They’re the ones who’ve been here the longest, the ones who have watched Titus grow up, the ones who have been at the mercy of his brutish ways and attitude many times, and the ones who were relieved when they heard he fell in love with someone who apparently tamed him. Of course, you haven’t really tamed anything, just given him something to channel all obsession into, a reason to be just a little nicer. 

“Master Titus, it’s so lovely to have you back here,” one of the maids, and older woman with short white hair greets. She smiles at you, bowing her head just slightly. “And you must be Mrs. Danforth, it’s wonderful to finally meet the new Mistress, I’m Winnie, the head of the house.” Her eyes fall to your belly, where your bump is a just barely visible swell under your dress. “You are simply glowing.” 

“Thank you, Winnie, it’s so nice to meet you,” you say, shaking her hand. 

She introduces you to the other maids, and then leads you two up the stairs to the Master Suite. It hasn’t been stayed in by any other members of the family since Chester’s last visit, but now it is rightfully yours. 

Again, a movie set comes to mind. Where your old fashioned Estate in Rhode Island looks like a classic americana turn of the century mansion, the Master Suite of this Castle looks like something Queen Elizabeth would live in. 

Winnie and the other maids roll in a cart and pour you some fresh tea, something to settle your stomach and calm the babies after the flight, and then leave the two of you to decompress. 

Titus helps you out of your coat, and you let out a relieved groan as you flop down on your back on the bed. You stare up at the ceiling, arms outstretched on the satin sheets, as you breathe in the scent of old wood. 

“So...” you say, propping yourself up on your elbows to look at your husband. “Just how haunted is this place?” 

Titus snorts, shrugging off his own jacket to leave himself in just a white button up, and he starts to roll up the sleeves as he approaches the bed. “Pretty fucking haunted, but I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen any ghosts.” 

“But you’ve heard them?” you ask, scooting over to make room for him to lay at your side.  

His hand goes to your stomach, fingers softly spreading out. “Oh sure, all kinds of creaks in the floorboards and wind moaning through the walls. Winnie used to bust me sneaking around at night trying to catch a specter.” 

You let out a small giggle. “I can picture it. Little baby Titus with crooked teeth and mischievous eyes, hiding in all the dark corners...you probably just scared the staff half to death.” 

“Hmm, well, I was just practicing,” he says. “You know for later when I’d have to hunt down and kill all these people who try to get into our family.” 

Or, even better, the ones he now hunts down to sacrifice for each season. The Spring Equinox hunt had been especially riveting, since the chosen sacrifice was the Priest who’d told Felicity your business about the mating ritual. Titus had taken immense pleasure from breaking each bone in his body before bringing him to the Black Temple for the sacrifice. He even cut out the man’s tongue and burned it in the fire. 

Titus shifts down the bed, lowering himself so he can kiss your stomach. One of your hands immediately goes to his hair, twisting your fingers into his soft, silver curls. “You know,” he starts, “This is where it all began for my family. It wasn’t always a castle, though, it started as a small cottage. It’s said Mr. Le Bail walked out of the darkness of the woods, while our ancestor was hunting down a bear or a wolf or something, and he asked if he could join in on the fun.” 

You haven’t actually heard this story before, even though you assumed Mr. Le Bail had been a patron of the family for a very long time. 

“They caught the creature together, killed it, slit its throat and all that, and Mr. Le Bail had such a fun time, that he offered The Deal. Our family would sell their souls to him, play his games when needed, and he would give them all the riches and the power in the world. They didn’t have much, so they agreed. Built this up, expanded into High Society and all that, and here we are. 

The part of the woods they met in is still marked off, my great grandfather or whatever had some stone memorial made for it.” 

“I want to see,” you say. 

Titus smirks as he presses his lips to your belly again. “Of course you do, and you should. Mr. Le Bail’s favorite should get to see where it all began.” 

You squirm a little at the comment. There had been a short time where you didn’t think Mr. Le Bail cared anymore about the one person who outsmarted his games twice. But then you remember how his hands had been on you, how his eyes had seared into yours from where they appeared in flames, how soft his lips were when he kissed your face...Titus has no idea just how favored you are. 

“Tomorrow, will you take me on a tour of the grounds then?” 

“I don’t want to tire you out, you shouldn’t be on your feet for too lo—” 

“Titus,” you whine. “I’m not that far along, I’m still perfectly mobile. At least take me to the memorial, or I’ll just run out there and take myself.” 

His body freezes up, hand tensing where it lays on your stomach. “Little Lamb...I’ll take you, but you need to promise me you’ll be good, don’t exert yourself.” 

“Oh, okay,” you say, rolling your eyes. “So it’s okay to exert myself on the jet while you make me come like, ten times in a row, but I can’t just go on a nice walk in the woods anymore? How does that make sense?” 

“Are you saying you didn’t like that?” He asks slyly, shifting his touch down your belly, to the hem of your dress. 

Your breath catches and your eyes widen just slightly, legs subtly spreading on instinct. “N-no...” 

“No? You didn’t like it?” he asks, as his body moves again, settling comfortably between your legs, hands more boldly pushing at your dress. “So, I should stop?” 

“I-I,” you stutter, sucking in a deep breath when you feel him grab your thighs hard, and pull them apart even more. You can barely make a sound as he lowers himself down, nosing along the hem of your panties, humming into the fabric. “No, no don’t stop, please—ahh!” 

A high-pitched whine cracks through your words as he kisses along your already soaked panties, licking his tongue over them to suck up what juices he can. “That’s what I thought.” 

Titus pushes your dress up passed your stomach, pulls your panties down over your legs, and goes to town. He licks and kisses and moans into your dripping pussy like a man starved. You try to hold in your sounds, not wanting to scare this household staff on your first day, but it’s hard when he knows just what you need, knows how to make you feel so good your brain goes fuzzy. 

You’re late for dinner. 

+ 

You can’t sleep. 

All that jetlag and Titus keeping you up for the flight has your mind completely alive in the middle of the night.  

So naturally you beg Titus to take you on that tour of the grounds right now under the stars. You’re both so used to being out in the dark anyway. 

The forests of the English countryside are so much different than back home. Maybe it’s because the spirits that fill them are so much more ancient, the trees have witnessed the violent actions of man for so much longer. You feel like they all have eyes watching you as Titus leads you through the dark path, his hand laced in yours. They loom over you, blocking out most of the stars in the sky, the light of the moon cascading down in clear rays through their deep branches. 

The path he takes you down is written with old cobble stone, lined with a stone wall about three feet tall. It twists and turns deep into the wood, the same path Titus’s ancestor had taken the day he met Mr. Le Bail. Every turn is a surprise, winding deeper and deeper, until the orange light of the Danforth castle is just a small fleck when you turn back to it. For the first time in a long time, you feel unsettled in the wilderness. 

But still... 

A familiar chill runs through your bones. Shadows dance in the corners of your mind that you feel like you’ve seen before. Even the sounds of animals, from owls to distant howls of wolves, sound like you’ve met them at some point already. 

The path ends, and Titus walks behind you, a hand on your lower back to lead you into the trees, and he takes you a few feet into a clearing.  

Your heart nearly stops as you take it in. There’s a circle of trees around a small boulder and a tree stump. You know you’ve been here before, and yet it’s impossible to be true. 

“That is where they met,” your husband’s gravelly voice rumbles close to your ear, lips caressing your skin.  

He points to the boulder, where a small message has been etched onto a gold plate. There’s a small goat carved into the metal, at the center of a pentagram. A Latin phrase lines the top, one that translates to Loyalty Through the Fires, and below that a message in English: 

THE MEETING PLACE OF A TRUE GOD TO MEN, THE BEGINNING OF A BEAUTIFUL FRIENDSHIP. SWORN THROUGH BLOOD. FOR ALL BRANCHES OF THE TREE. 

You don’t remember this being here last time. You don’t know why you should remember it at all. 

“This is where it all began,” Titus continues. His head rests on your shoulder, unaware of the nerves that have overtaken your body. “Two men meet in the woods, and now I stand here with you, someone I wished for, my perfect equal...” his hands slide over your sides until they rest on your belly. “Mother of my children, the next leaders of our family line.” 

You hum softly, eyes closing as you let your body fall into his, the cold of the night can’t reach you here in his arms. You’re about to say something about the weird feeling, but Titus continues speaking. 

“I’m so glad I could take you here while it’s just us,” he mumbles, kissing the low end of your neck. “It’s so isolated out here, nobody to bother us, nobody to stick their nose in our business.” 

A soft laugh escapes your lips. Anyone else, any other circumstance, and it would sound like he’s brought you here to kill you. 

“How far is the closest neighbor, anyway?” you ask, eyes open again and scanning what you can through the dark tree line. 

Titus shrugs. “About five miles up north are the Whitmore’s, they’ve got a nice little hunting ground and cabin. East is the water, when you finally hit that there is a small fishing village. Ten miles west is the Pembroke Mansion, they’ve been here almost as long as we have, but they’re not in the organization. And then south is—" 

Titus stops suddenly, body tensing as he backs up from you, and you hear him swear under his breath. Your arms cross over your torso as you turn around, suspicious frown on your face. “What’s wrong?” 

“Shit,” Titus lets out a long sigh, running a nervous hand through his hair. He looks up at you with uncharacteristically worried eyes, lip bit between his teeth. “Okay, don’t be mad at me.” 

“Why would I be mad?” You ask slowly, keeping your voice even. 

“Well...” Titus groans. “Listen, Baby, it’s no big deal, their property is miles away and the woods are very dense here...” 

“But...?” 

“But...” he exhales, grabbing your hands and squeezing them tightly. “Well, six miles south of here is the old Cavendish estate. That family acquired it in the mid-nineteen hundreds from some down on his luck lord or whatever. I’ve probably only been there a handful of times, years ago.” 

“Okay?” You say, pursing your lips. “Cavendish?” 

“As in...Priscilla Cavendish.” 

You immediately drop his hands with an angry gasp, backing up a foot as you laugh incredulously. Your hands come to your face, ignoring Titus’s repeats of your name as you continue to back away from him. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me.” 

Titus’s voice is tight and desperate as he approaches you, “Baby, it’s not a big deal—" 

“Not a big deal?” You spit. “Your ex, who hates me, who tried to hook up with you and steal you back in our house, who was friends with your piece of garbage cousin, lives right next to your family estate, and you think that’s not a big deal?” 

“She doesn’t live there, her family owns it. She may not even be at the estate,” Titus says.  

“The last we heard, she was in Europe! I doubt her family owns as many houses as yours does!” You groan and look up from your hands, hormones causing a well of tears to bubble behind your eyes. A chill surges through you as you finally realize why this place looks familiar, and you cover your mouth as your gaze darts around the trees. “Oh my god, this is just like my dream, my nightmare. Th-this is where she...where you.” 

Titus quickly gathers you into his arms at the look of fear on your face, “No, no that wasn’t real, Little Lamb, nothing is going to happen to us.” 

One of your hands flies down to your stomach, and you think if it weren’t for the twins you’d already be sprinting the six miles to the Cavendish estate to finish this once and for all. “Y-you don’t know that. If she’s there, and she finds out we’re here...she’s going to do something, I just know it. W-we can’t stay! We have to go home, we—" 

“Stop, stop it!” Titus hushes, placing his hands on your cheeks and forcing you to look up at him. “We are not going anywhere. I am not going to let anything happen to you.” His hand joins yours on your tummy, pressing down comfortingly. “None of you. I’ll call in extra security, and we’ll send someone to the estate in the morning to see if she’s there.” 

“And if she is?” 

Titus lets out a long, frustrated sigh. “Then...then we’ll go to London instead, to the Townhome in Westminster. I’m not letting her ruin our trip.” 

“Titus, I don’t know if I can stand being in the same country as her.” 

He chuckles, kissing your hair. “Well, I can call Ursula and see what we can do about getting her kicked out, but that still might take a day.” 

“Titus, that’s not funny.” 

“Yes, I wasn’t joking.” 

Of course he wasn’t joking, you should have known they’d have influence in all world governments. “Let’s just...let’s just wait until we know if she’s there.” 

“Alright,” Titus says, tightening his grip around you. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I wasn’t thinking...I was too excited to bring you here.” 

“I know,” you sigh. You stand up on your tip toes to kiss his cheek, and you let him capture your lips instead.  

There’s no way your jetlag is going to be solved now, and as you make it back to your room and lay down in the bed, Titus’s arms are wrapped around you as your eyes stay wide open, staring at the wood ceiling. 

+ 

Outside the Cavendish Estate is a gravel horseshoe-shaped drive, surrounded by a line of prickly pink rose bushes. A black sedan drives up to the house, observed by the doorman, who is smoking a cigarette. 

He’s completely unmoved by the large security agent who exits the passenger side sporting a very large machine gun strapped to his chest.  

The doorman throws his cigarette to the ground, stomping it out under his boot. “Can I help you, sir?” 

The security agent looks past the doorman and up to the windows of the estate instead, surveilling what he can through the dark glass. There’s no movement inside, from what he can see. “Are there any members of the Cavendish family staying at the estate currently?” 

“I don’t think I have to answer that,” the doorman snorts. “Who’s asking?” 

“Titus Danforth.” 

The doorman’s eyes go a little wide, but he keeps his same dry tone. “No. We are not expecting any family until after the summer season is over. I believe most of them are at the Hamptons.” 

“Is Priscilla Cavendish currently staying at the estate?” The security agent asks. 

The doorman sighs. “No. Like I said, no members of the family are expected until after summer. You are welcome to come check the home and the grounds, if you feel the need.” 

“We do, actually.” The agent looks over at his shoulder and nods to the other guys in the sedan. Three more men and big guns join him at the door. “Lead the way.” 

The doorman takes them inside, leading them men all through the house, stopping at every corner for them to point their guns around in case of an ambush. He takes them upstairs, opens the doors to every bedroom, bathroom, closet. Takes them to the lower level where the wine cellar is, into the food storage, the regular storage. Takes them through the kitchen and out the backdoor, where the small garden waits. He waits while they follow the treeline and check in the small shed. Nothing. 

He shoos away any maids, cooks, groundskeepers (of which there are very few) that comes across them. Every single one of them is ID checked, in case Priscilla is trying to get away with a disguise. But they’re all just the servants. 

When every single inch of the estate has been checked over, the security agents join the doorman at the front of the house once again. 

“Like I said, the Cavendish family is in the Hamptons,” the doorman says, pulling out another cigarette. “Can I do anything else for you boys?” 

The head agent gives the doorman a stern look, before shaking his head and leading the group back to the sedan. 

The doorman watches, craning his neck to make sure the car gets all the way up past the gate, before putting out this cigarette and running back into the estate. He heads to the small library, and pulls out one of the sconces from the wall, releasing a secret opening behind a set of bookshelves. 

“Miss Cavendish, they’re gone,” he calls into the dark room. 

Priscilla emerges with a wicked smile on her face. She pets at the man’s cheek, long perfectly manicured nails scratch softly at his skin. “Thank you, my darling. You’ve done a very good job for me.” 

+ 

“So, she’s not here?” you ask.  

You’re sitting at the end of a long dining table, poking at your breakfast and morning tea, as Titus receives the report from your security.  

“Correct, we searched the whole grounds, and then had our guys in the states follow up in the Hamptons. It appears her whole family is at their beach house. There is no photo evidence of her being there, but that is on parr with her behavior since, um, well last year.” 

Titus and you share a smirk. Yes, she’s been in hiding from the public for several months, ever since you busted her face up. 

“We have no reason to believe she is in this country.” 

“Thank you,” you say quietly, sipping from your tea with a little more energy. 

“Get me pictures, however you can, just in case,” Titus instructs, before waving them out so you can have your privacy again. “See, Little Lamb, I told you there is nothing to worry about.” 

“Fine, but you still should have told me about her house before bringing me all the way to a foreign country. You’re gonna have to do something big to make it up to me.” 

Titus licks his lips, hand reaching for your thigh under the table. “Think I can come up with some equitable solutions.” 

Before you can respond, your phone goes off from where it sits on the table. You hold up a finger to silence him when your husband’s mouth drops open to protest, as you pick it up to check the text. 

“Do not answer a text from my sister while I’m trying to fuck you,” Titus says, staring at you with bewildered, annoyed blinks. 

“It’s Ursula updating me on the babies’ suite. She said the painting should be done by the time we get home, so we won’t have to worry about fumes or anything. Isn’t that nice?” 

“I guess,” Titus mumbles. 

You shoot him a stern look before sending a thank you in reply. As a gift to you and Titus, Ursula is having an entire portion of your wing of the house torn out and rebuilt to the ultimate nursery for the twins.  You told her what you wanted theming and coloring wise, but you’re letting the end result be a complete surprise from her. 

“Maybe we should go down to London to do some shopping for the suite ourselves, you know? Ursula is going to have most of it covered but we could find some little stuffed animals or decorations we like,” you say, putting your phone down and running a hand into Titus’s hair, soothing the annoyance out of him. 

His lips twitch and he smiles, gently grabbing your hand to kiss your palm. “How about this weekend? We’ll look for gifts for the babies...go to the designers’ show rooms and get something nice for yourself...but just one night, okay? The point of this trip is to keep you to myself.” 

“You always keep me to yourself,” you joke. It’s not that true, anymore. You’ve made a couple friends in the organization, you’re much more social than you used to be, but also you’d be the last to complain about being tucked away in the giant Danforth Estate with only Titus’s attention. “What plans did you have for us here, anyway?” 

“Well, we have horse stables, you can still ride if we take it slow,” he licks his lips and you roll your eyes at the double entendre. He wraps his foot around the leg of your chair and jerks it towards him, pulling you closer. “We can get in the pool, send the staff away to do some skinny dipping...or I can just take you skeet shooting or something boring like that.” 

You burst into a fit of giggles. “Skeet shooting? Seriously? I thought that was something rich people only did on like TV shows.” 

“Yes well, I think you know real rich people do all that kind of shit. Father used to make us do it as part of training.” 

“Of course he did,” you say with a frown. 

Titus stares at you, lips pressed together in a stressed line. “What?” 

He’s told you about his father. Emotionally distant for most of his life, raised him and Ursula to be ruthless killers, everything you know about Chester Danforth makes him sound like a monster. “Your father...I don’t understand him. I don’t understand how you can...” 

“Love him?” Titus asks, voice quiet. His expression is pulled in, brow furrowed and eyes worried, looking so young like he always does when he’s stressed. “It’s complicated, but he wasn’t so bad. We aren’t like normal families, we couldn’t be. He needed me and Ursula to be ready for this part of our life. The part where he’d be gone and we would take over the High Seat. And I wish he...” Titus’s voice trails off, eyes growing distant. He wishes his father would have seen him more, would have treated him equally to Ursula, prepared him and trusted him in the same way. “He was my father and I loved him. It’s too late to care about everything else.” 

You crinkle your nose, running a hand softly over your husband’s cheek. “I’m sure it must have been terrible, having to kill him.” 

“It had to be done,” Titus says. “He was old and weak. And if we’d let him fight for the High Seat, he would have just died anyway. And you...fuck, Little Lamb, who knows what would have happened to you, to me?” Titus reaches a hand onto your belly. “Everything happened the way it was supposed to.” 

You give him a small smile, placing your hand over his. “Still, I don’t want to raise them like how you were. I don’t mind the training and all that, I want them to be fighters, I want them to know how to survive. But I’m going to love them for whoever they turn out to be.” 

“We will,” Titus insists. “I want to be a better father than mine. I want our children to know for sure that they’re loved, just as much as I love you.” 

Your smile grows brighter as you bring his hand to your lips and kiss his palm, before sliding out of your seat to stand above him. “So, skeet shooting?” 

“You really want to try it?” Titus asks with a smirk. 

You shrug, “Sure, it always looked fun in the movies. Besides, I think I’m a pretty good shot already, you’re going to have very stiff competition.” 

+ 

The day passes slowly, sun bright in the sky, birds singing, creatures running through the trees around the two of you. Titus showed you how to shoot, but his teaching was wasted considering you’d been forced to have plenty of practice in your past hunts. He did his best to hide his frustration at losing to you. 

After the skeet shooting, the two of you relaxed poolside, enjoying tea under the sun and just sitting in each other’s company. Ursula called to video chat before dinner, taking the two of you on a virtual tour of the work in progress on the nursery suite. You sat by and giggled as Titus and Ursula argued over one of the babies being named after her. 

“Should we just name them Titus and Ursula two? Both of them? That’s incredibly stupid.” 

“No, just name the girl Ursula, the boy doesn’t need to be named after you.” 

“They’re my children! Not yours! Your name shouldn’t come in at all!” 

“I’m going to be their favorite aunt—" 

“You will be their only aunt!” 

This went on for some time, and you giggled at them the whole time, until finally you broke it up by reminding them that you actually get the biggest say, and you haven’t even begun narrowing name options down.  

Dinner was held in the dining room, just like at home the two of you sat together at the end of the table, catching each other up on gossip, making plans for the next couple days. Instead of an after dinner cigar, Titus has done what he’s had to do the last couple months and have an after dinner glass of whiskey, while he waits for you to finish your night time routine. 

But also like he has the last couple months, he gets impatient and lures you out of the bathroom with sweet words from his smooth voice, gets you on the bed so he can worship you the way he knows you deserve. 

And after a couple of orgasms, you’d fallen asleep almost instantly, left Titus with the task of carefully cleaning you up, dressing you, and tucking you into bed. He fell asleep not long after with you in his arms, the smell of your freshly cleaned hair seeping into his nose.  

Which is why his heart nearly stopped when he woke up at about 3 AM, cold and arms empty, you nowhere in sight. “Baby? Where did you go?” 

His calls cannot reach you as your feet carry you away. In your mind, you’re wandering into the woods, sun shining above you, morning doves cooing in your ears.  

Your dream has you following Titus’s voice in the opposite direction, down the hill, across a stream, and slowly in and out of a winding path. You think he’s just up ahead, but every time you make a turn, it’s like you’ve just barely missed him. His teasing laughter comes from the trees, and you just sigh as you call back to him. 

“Titus! You’re not being fair!” You say as your feet start to hurt. You’re wearing your flowy white nightgown, which is now stained green at the bottom from the grass. 

Beams of sunlight part through the trees, guiding your way as you continue to chase your husband’s voice. You stumble down a hill, just barely keeping your balance once you reach the end, and you spot another clearing just up ahead. The sound of his laughter is closer now, as the trees seem to part for you to enter. 

You hear Titus call your name, over and over, both in the distance and right in your ears. Your face scrunches in confusion at the different levels, but as you enter the clearing, you see him only feet away. Your hands reach up as though to embrace him... 

When suddenly he’s right in front of you, yelling your name right in your face, and your whole body jolts. In an instant, light changes to dark, the smile on your husband’s face turns to a concerned frown, the beautiful trees morph into dark, painted walls, and the warmth of the sun dulls into the chill of night. 

Your head hurts and your eyes feel strained as you blink them, Titus’s hands gripping hard at your arms as he shakes you awake. 

“Little Lamb? What are you doing?” He asks, voice filled to the brim with worry, eyes darting all around your body. 

Your mouth drops open and you shiver, vision adjusting to the dark as your head shakes. You look down at your bare feet, your completely clean white nightgown. “I-I don’t...where am I?” 

“You’re downstairs, my love, almost out the back door,” Titus says slowly, looking over his shoulder at the grand wood door that leads to the back garden. 

“H-How did I get here?” You ask, voice shaking as you begin to hyperventilate.  

“You were sleepwalking,” Titus concludes. He doesn’t miss the stress and worry on your face, and pulls you into his chest, arms wrapping tight around you as you press your face into his warmth. “You’ve never done that before, have you?” 

“I-I don’t think so...” you whisper, eyes wide as you look at the back door. Something inside tells you that your real destination lies far beyond it. “I was dreaming that I was following you into the woods.” 

“Like your nightmare?” 

“No...no it wasn’t like that at all,” you say, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “It was day time, and you were laughing, and nothing bad happened, but you were leading me somewhere...I think.” 

You watch as his face twists through confusion and worry, studying your face and your words. He’s never encountered anything like this, not from you anyway. Maybe mother experienced something like it when she was pregnant with him and Ursula? Did she ever tell him a story like this? Did Ursula? He can’t think of anything. He can’t remember reading anything about it either, not in any book about any ritual or family member. 

“M-maybe...maybe because we’re far from home. We’re in a sacred place for the family and Mr. Le Bail...” his voice trails off. Why would Mr. Le Bail try to trick you into going anywhere with Titus, especially when you carry the heirs to the High Seat? 

“Yeah...maybe...” you say, though you sound just as unsure. “It wasn’t a bad dream. I-It must be some weird side effect or something.” 

“Right,” Titus sighs. Neither of you are confident in your conclusions. But he kisses your cheek and scoops you up into his arms to carry you back up the stairs, your own wrap around his neck tightly. “Let’s just get back to bed, Little Lamb. I’ll lock the door in case it happens again.” 

“Okay,” you respond, voice small, as you keep your eyes on that back door the whole trip up the stairs. 

Titus tucks you back in bed, arms tighter around you this time. He stays awake to listen to your breaths even out until he knows you’re back asleep, and then he remains awake for the rest of the night. 

+ 

Mere meters into the woods, far enough that she won’t be seen from the home or security, but not so far that she cannot cast her control, Priscilla huffs out her frustration through gritted teeth. 

The white smoke of the totem she lit fades away, as the time limit for the hex runs out. You were so close to the door. She almost had you.  

Her jaw clicks as she throws the totem to the ground and stomps it under her foot, before burying it under a large stone. 

She knows there are no protections over the home, but Titus being able to wake you from the Hex Sleep was an unforeseen obstacle. He must really love you after all. 

No matter, she thinks to herself, I’ll just have to try a stronger spell next time. 

+ 

After another nervous and quiet morning breakfast, Titus and you try to shake out of the looming dark thoughts from your sleep walking by taking the horses out. 

The Danforth’s have a long history of breeding horses in England, and have even worked with the former Queen on creating prize winning racers. There is a branch of cousins who specialize in it, and spend the most time at this family home out of the year to take care of the horses, but of course a few are especially raised for Titus and Ursula to ride. 

The twins’ horses are, naturally, two twin black stallions, with white hair on their ankles and tails, named Azazel and Nyx. The only difference between them is the little white star shaped spot in the middle of Azazel’s forehead, which is why Titus had chosen him. 

Now, Azazel comes with a mate. For some time, the trainers say about a year, he has refused to breed with any other horse but a beautiful grey and red mare named Lilith. 

And Lilith took to you so quickly. 

You’d taken one look into her eyes and you could have sworn there was understanding looking back. She’d let you pet a hand down her hair without any hesitation, and when you climbed onto her saddle, she stood extra still to give you no trouble. 

“Do they have any foals yet?” You ask the trainer on hand. 

“Not yet, but she’s in month eight right now, so you’ll both have to treat each other gently.” 

You give Titus a bright smile as he mounts Azazel, and leans over to give your cheek a kiss. At the same time, you watch as the horses lean their own faces towards each other, nuzzling at each other’s necks. 

“They’re precious,” you coo, patting Lilith’s side. 

“She’s perfect for you,” Titus says. “When the babies are here, we’ll come back so you can really ride her around the land. I hear she’s a real spitfire.” 

“Is that horse trainer code for pain in the ass?” You ask with a smirk. 

Titus winks, then snaps his reins to direct his horse out of the stable. He keeps the pace slow as he leads you and Lilith through the forest path, until you hit a clearing to a long field over some hills. It’s a bright day, warm but not too hot, clouds covering most of the sun, and the grounds look extra green. Titus’s silver hair shines as the sun reflects in it, and you can’t stop thinking about how beautiful he truly is. 

You two ride all the way into the small town, where Titus pays for you to have full privacy in a little pub for lunch. It’s dark and old and the food is amazing, and the owners leave you two in a corner to your own devices until you decide you’re ready to go. 

This happens all the time, Titus and you renting out an entire space for just the two of you, part of the perks of being the richest and most powerful family. The magazines and tabloids have tried to follow you, tried to get some sort of scoop on the most elusive Blue Blooded, Old Money family in America, but Titus buys his way into full privacy. 

Times like now it feels more romantic and overprotective. 

You ride the horses back the same way, as the sun begins to set in the sky, turning everything orange and pink and picturesque. Any worries you have about ex-girlfriends and sleepwalking completely leave your minds. 

Before dinner, you video chat with Penelope, who has been going a little overboard with buying baby presents. She shows you every single designer outfit she’s already collected, from newborn to toddler. 

That night when it’s finally time to sleep, Titus locks the door again, and holds you tight again, but he falls asleep a few hours later when it’s clear you won’t be trying to go anywhere again. 

The sleepwalking doesn’t come back for the next couple days, actually. And Titus accepts that maybe it was just a weird one-time thing. He has the security around the estate reduced so your privacy can return...mostly so he can go back to fucking you by the pool or in the woods without having to worry about the security agents as an unwanted audience. 

+ 

The trip goes by without any other weird incidences for you.  

A doctor comes by to check in before your weekend excursion to London, and everything with the babies is perfectly healthy. Titus makes him do extra tests on you, but everything appears to be normal, so his anxieties finally settle. 

The flat in London is just as beautiful as the country home, if less private, but you imagine none of the neighbors are going to argue with Titus Danforth of all people over his wife being too loud in the throws of wild sex at midnight. 

He takes you to designers’ show rooms during the day, and you buy a whole wardrobe for the babies, as well as maternity clothes for yourself. You even make Titus pick out things for himself, and he’s so adorably annoyed when it’s you who treats him like a doll to dress up for once. 

But secretly you know he loves to be doted on. He loves that he has your attention constantly, loves when you go to fix his hair or his suit jacket, in ways that when Ursula used to do it made him feel like a child, from you it makes him feel loved. From you it’s not about having to put on a show or not embarrass the family, but rather because you want him to look his best for you.  

The same way you love to look your best for him. The same way you love to sneak into a high-end lingerie store while he’s finalizing a new car purchase, just so you can pick out some sets to show off to him later that night. 

And oh boy, he loves the surprise from you after your shower, when you come into the bedroom in nothing but a silk robe, which is promptly dropped to the floor to reveal a gorgeous red lacy set. Titus’s mouth waters at the sight of heart-shaped cut outs around your breasts, and a matching heart over your already dripping pussy. 

His heart feels like it’s beating out of his chest when you climb onto his lap, rounded tummy pressed to his, and you push him down roughly on his back. 

Your voice is low and sultry when you start to whisper about how protective he is, how safe he makes you feel, how he takes such good care of you, and you bite the shell of his ear. Your hand reaches between your bodies to rub at his bulge, and he moans as he kisses your neck, grabs your jaw to keep you still to look right into your eyes. But you slap his hand away before slapping his cheek, and you grab his jaw instead. 

Your fingers carefully free his cock from his boxers, as your wet tongue licks up the side of his face, and you moan in his ear, “Lay back, Daddy.” 

A full body shiver climbs through Titus as he moans and his eyes roll back, cock twitching fully to life in your hand. He does what he’s told, laying back on the bed, eyes still intensely on yours the whole time. Your start to inch of his body, and his eyes widen with sheer excitement as he realizes your destination. 

“Fuck, yeah baby, gonna sit on my face?” Titus says, hands flying up to your thighs. He licks his lips, tilting his chin. “C’mon, Little Lamb, use me.” 

You whimper at the first feeling of his tongue on you, at the hungry groan your husband lets out as you ride his face.  

By the time you’ve come twice on him, and Titus is able to take back control to bring your cunt down on his cock instead, you’re pretty sure the neighbors had to have put noise canceling headphones on. There’s no way they’d be able to sleep through all the cries of pleasure he brings out of you. 

+ 

Getting back from London, in a different car than what you’d left in, feels like coming back home for you. Already your mind and body have adapted to ownership of places you’re barely familiar with that hold the name of your husband’s family.  

It’s nice coming back to the quiet, and for the next week, things continue on peacefully. Titus teaches you how to use every old weapon in the family’s arsenal, you take the horses out a few more times, you spend peaceful afternoons around the pool to escape the hot sun, and you indulge on everything you could possibly want from food to jewels to insatiable sex with your incredibly hot husband. 

It’s just the break from everything you’d needed. Back home, you’re still working with Ursula, still tending to Violet’s garden, still keeping up with responsibilities. But here on this quiet hideaway, Titus treats you like the princess he always refers to you as. 

The fact that the staff of this house are good about actually leaving you two alone, and there is no chance of interruption from Ursula has been incredibly freeing for both of you. 

Back at home, Titus never lets you skinny dip. His whole hang up about people seeing his wife’s naked body gets in the way. 

But here...there really are no prying eyes, so he doesn’t put up a fight when you throw your bikini top at him. He’s trying to read the paper poolside, and it gets completely ruined by your wet suit. Titus isn’t exactly mad though, when he sees your tits, already growing from the babies, wet and welcoming, nipples peaked, as you wade towards him in the water. 

“Come on, Ti, get in here with me,” you call with a pout. “It’s too hot to stay out there all by yourself.” 

He looks like a giddy teenager as he tosses his paper aside and climbs down into the water with a toothy smile. “Aww, my baby, you don’t have to beg.” 

You watch him closely as he climbs in, sun shining on his freckled body. You bite your lip and you feel a warm tightening between your legs, as your eyes follow a line of scars down Titus’s torso. He’s so...thick. Everywhere. All that muscle. You’ve seen his body a million times by now, but something about having him in the sunlight just accentuates every piece of it.  

His body is strong, hard, a wall of warmth when he’s got you under him, or up against a wall, or a tree...wherever he can get you. His body is littered with grey scars from hunts and fights over the years, and fresher ones from you, especially your nails and teeth. His body is...decorated with sprinklings of grey hairs, but that’s the only indication of his age, with the way he takes care of himself he manages to have the body of a much younger man. 

You float up on your back and swim backwards away from him, and Titus follows you through the cooling water, all the way until he has you backed into a corner. The water splashes around you when he grabs you hard by the hips and pulls you into him, and you giggle into the kiss he lays on you. 

Your hands reach between your bodies and under the water, where you make quick work of undoing the tie on his swim trunks, swallowing the vibrations of his moan into your mouth. 

“So fuckin’ needy, Little Lamb,” Titus chuckles, lips tracing down from your mouth to your neck.  

“We gotta enjoy it while we can,” you whine, tossing his trunks out of the pool. You feel his cock under the water, already half hard, and you wrap your hand around him, giving it a few tugs. “You just look so good, want you all the time, Daddy.” 

“You got me whenever you want, Baby,” Titus groans, tongue licking into your mouth as his hips buck into your hand.  

He reaches down and rips your bottoms off, letting them float away as he hoists you onto his lap. Your legs wrap around him as your kiss deepens. Titus’s fingers dip between your folds, and you whimper as he starts to rub circles on your clit. Titus wraps an arm around your back, using it to cushion your body against the side of the pool, as your hips start to roll down against his fingers. 

You pull back from the kiss with a gasp, mouth dropped open as stuttered breaths escape your lips. You look into Titus’s eyes, met with his usual determined hunger, the look at sends excited shivers surging up your spine. Water circles around you from the movement of Titus’s arm, and your eyes fall to the rippling muscle of his bicep, before rolling back in your head. 

“Ti, oh god, Titus I’m—” you gasp, heat pooling in your belly. 

“Yeah, yeah, Baby, come on,” Titus goads you on, leaning down to bite at your neck, heat of his body encasing you. 

Your legs shake and your hips buck as white sears your vision and you cry out his name, splashing water around as you come on his fingers. “Titus! Fuck, oh god, thank you, oh fuck—" pleasure ripples through you, but you’re not done yet, your legs tighten around Titus’s waist. “Fuck me, fuck me, please, Titus!” 

“Fuck, gonna fuck you hard, Baby, don’t know how long I’m gonna last,” Titus grunts, jerking his cock under the water, rubbing the tip up and down your folds. 

“Don’t care, want you inside me now,” you plead, eyes opening wide, wet at the corners with tears. “Just fuck me, Daddy.” 

“Christ,” Titus swears, shoving his cock in you in one go, before grabbing onto the edge of the pool for leverage. “Definitely not gonna last, so fuckin’ tight, baby, so perfect for me, always.” 

Water splashes all around you and out of the pool as Titus fucks you, no thought and all haste. Neither of you are interested in this moment in dragging this out, lost in the spontaneity and heat of the afternoon. No matter how long, every time you and Titus fuck it reassures and reinstates the love and connection between you. It’s spiritual, and beautiful, and fills your heart with pure love. 

You can’t stop the rambling of Titus’s name over and over through your whines and whimpers, which grow louder and louder with each thrust of Titus’s hips. He moves fast but deep, fucking into you hard, cock kissing your cervix. He lifts you more against the side of the pool, just enough to get his mouth on your tits, and he whines from somewhere deep in his throat as his lips wrap around one of your nipples.  

Your head is thrown back and you wrap and hand into his damp hair, breathy moans escaping your lips as he fucks you. The sunlight glistens on your wet skin, birds fly overhead, but the only thing you can feel is your husband all over you. 

And you feel so free. 

You’re distracted enough, isolated enough, that neither you nor Titus notice the pair of dark, rageful eyes staring at you from beyond the trees. 

She’s getting sick of catching you two like this. Her stomach is in envious knots at the sight of his hands on you, his lips and tongue leaving marks on your body, your cries of pleasure from his touch. If there was one thing she could always count on with Titus Danforth, it was to be the best fuck of her life. 

The fact that she’s been out here long enough to watch this little tryst from the start, from the moment your slutty, pathetic, attention seeking, gold digging hands threw your top at him, to now as you scream like some overzealous porn star, only tells Priscilla one thing; 

Titus sent away the security, and you two are finally vulnerable enough.  

Enjoy that sense of security while you can, she thinks with a terrible smirk on her face, as she slips into the darkness of the forest. 

+ 

The moon is full, big and orange in the sky. The stars twinkle around it like little fairy lights. There’s barely a cloud in sight. 

You and Titus are sleeping soundly in bed after a romantic, candlelit dinner and then about an hour of fucking on the dining table and the floor and the stairs on your way back up. 

You only have two more days on this babymoon before it’s time to go home, and Titus doesn’t plan on wasting any second of them. As soon as you’re home it’s back to working and running the world, and Ursula pushing her way into baby prep, and you won’t be only his anymore.  

These couple weeks of just the two of you have been paradise. 

The door to the bedroom has been unlocked for the last couple nights. Titus believed the sleepwalking really wasn’t going to happen again. There was no reason for it to happen in the first place. 

You have been sleeping soundly, especially tonight, tiny breaths on Titus’s neck lulling him into his own peaceful slumber.  

In your dreams, you’re tending to the garden at home, watering the flowers and digging up weeds, rearranging the pots in the greenhouse so your carnivorous babies can get equal sunlight. You’re wearing a red sundress, that rides up to the top of your thighs, and gives a peek of your cheeks when you bend down or reach up high.  

There’s a cool breeze around you as you carry supplies from one end of the garden to the other, and you smile as you spot Titus waiting for you up ahead. 

“Going to actually help me, or just enjoy the view?” You playfully ask. 

Titus answers with a smirk, but there’s something...uncanny in his smile. From far away, it almost looks too wide, too toothy, and you can’t see his eyes behind the shades on his face, but you can tell that the smile isn’t reaching them from the lack of crinkles. 

“How about you take a break a join me over here? Got a surprise for you, Little Lamb.” 

You’re pretty sure you answer verbally but your mouth feels like it’s full of marbles, and the words come out in a gurgle. The smile on Titus’s face doesn’t fade at all, hands reaching out to beckon you to him. 

“Come on, my Baby, this way.”  

Your feet carry you before your mind catches up to the action, and before you know it, you’re placing your hands in his. With a gentle tug, Titus guides you down the path and into the woods. You try to pull him closer, to take his sunglasses off and look in his eyes, to kiss him, but he moves like smoke wisping out of your grasp. 

“Where are we going?” Your voice comes back again, but it sounds distant even from your own lips. 

“Somewhere special,” is his only response, voice warped.  

It causes your smile to fall just slightly, and you hesitate before stepping into the woods. There’s a darkness just beyond the first line of greenery, shadows fading to black nothingness, and all your movement stops. 

Your head starts to hurt, and your neck twitches, as a buzz starts to form in your ears. “W-wait.” 

“Come on, no need to be afraid, Little Lamb. You don’t ever need to be afraid again.” 

His voice is syrupy, low and gravely like usual, but something is just off about it. You try to back up, the tiniest bit of motion away from him, but he yanks you forward.  

With a gasp, you shove Titus away, and you stumble back as he disappears into the darkness of the trees. “N-no, this isn’t right. Y-you're not—” 

“Not what?” Titus’s voice appears right in your ear, breath hot on your skin and it sends a shiver up your spine. You feel hands wrap around your waist, strong, tight, but still wrong in some way. Where Titus normally grabs you tight to connect to you, to make you feel him and his weight, these hands are trapping you, caging you. “It’s alright, Little Lamb, I’m right here.” 

But something in the way his voice warps sets off all alarms in your brain, and you turn with a fist raised, but as you take a swing your hand meets nothing but air. Your feet catch on the ground and you trip in your effort to run away, landing hard on the ground. 

The impact jolts you, and suddenly you’re surrounded by darkness and cold. The light daytime breeze replaced by the wind chill of night, owls hooting and crickets chirping in the sky. 

Your home garden path is replaced by the forest path Titus had led you down the other day, the one that leads to the place his ancestor first met Mr. Le Bail. Your eyes adjust to the lack of light as your chest heaves, breaths coming out hard, sweat forming on your brow in your panic.  

“Wh-what the fuck?” you gasp, head darting around in every direction to try to figure out how you got here. 

It must be the sleepwalking. 

But the doctor said it wouldn’t come up again...Titus said you hadn’t even tried to leave the bed since that night. 

Titus had left the door unlocked. 

You look down at your body, white nightgown glowing under the moonlight, feet bare and already a little cut up from rocks and sticks that you’d stepped on during your journey. Your hand instinctively flies to your stomach at the sound of a twig snapping behind you, and you whip your head around in its direction. 

“Who’s there? What the fuck is going on?” You shout, voice cracking frantically, disoriented. 

Another crack echoes from your side, and you turn to it, breathing deep to stop yourself from hyperventilating. Then another from the right, from behind you, all around, and you turn to each of them, twisting your body around, biting your lip to keep in any panicked sound you might make, heart racing so fast you think it might burst right from your chest. 

“Show yourself!” You scream into the void of trees.  

Everything goes silent for a few moments, until the sudden sound of cold, hollow laughter emerges from behind you. 

You feel the blood drain from your face as a sick knot twists from your stomach and painfully up through your throat. You know that laughter. 

“Good god, little girl, enough of the fuss,” Priscilla’s icy, reedy voice says through her laughter. 

You quickly turn around, backing up as you swallow that knot and replace any hint of fear with anger. “You have got to be kidding me. You’re not supposed to be here!” 

She’s wearing a white gown similar to yours, her long black hair slightly disheveled, black rings under her eyes. There is just the slightest hint of scarring on her cheek from your last encounter. Her smile is crooked and wild, the loss of her sanity shining through it. 

“Hmm, no?” Priscilla mocks. “Why? Because the servants who have loyally worked for my family for decades said I wasn’t? Because they showed your idiotic security an empty house? I mean, they certainly showed them most of the house, but these old mansions have so many hidden passageways, it’s very easy to get confused and miss things.” 

You suck in a breath, eyes widening just slightly. When you get back to Titus, you’ll have to tell him to add that head of security to the list of future sacrifices.  

“Doesn’t matter, I was being nice before when I fucked up just your face last time,” you spit, fist clenching at your side. “Come any closer and I’ll make good on my promise to fucking kill you, I swear—" 

A flicker of light at Priscilla’s side catches your eye, derailing your train of thought. Her smile only widens, sharp teeth glowing pearly white, as she lifts a long knife with a bejeweled handle up.  

In an instant, Priscilla catches up to you, pressing the sharp point of the blade into your chest. “Did you think I’d lure you out here without being prepared for you? You’re a fucking savage monster who caught me off guard last time, but you’re not the only one who can fight.” 

“L-lure me?”  

Priscilla laughs again, loud and maniacal, shooting dread up your spine. 

“Darling, you live in a world of Satan worshipping and rituals, and you never considered other dark magic might be out there? Sleepwalking hexes are so easy to put together.” 

She twists the knife as she steps closer, not pressing hard enough to break your skin, but it doesn’t stop the bile from forming in your throat. You know the Danforth’s have all kinds of ritual books and grimoires in their collections, and you curse yourself for not looking further into them before.  

She’s got you cornered, but you’ll be further damned if you let Priscilla sense your fear.  

“Doesn’t matter, Titus will notice I’m gone any minute, and he’ll—” 

“Come save you?” Priscilla says, cutting you off. She grabs you by the shoulder, dipping the knife down to your stomach as her boney hand digs into your skin. The knife is pressed right to the middle of your bump, and you flash back to that nightmare, to Priscilla plunging it into your womb, and you freeze. “That’s what I’m counting on, little girl.” 

+ 

The sudden sound of his phone ringing lurches Titus out of his slumber and the very first thing he notices is that you are missing. 

His arm reaches out to your side of the bed, frantically feeling around but coming up with nothing, and his body sits upright in an instant. 

He shakes himself out of his confusion, rubbing sleep from his eyes as his phone continues to ring from the bedside table. 

Unknown number. 

“Hello?” Titus grumbles, voice raw from waking up. 

“Ti?” 

“Baby?” All feelings of sleep drain completely from him, and the hot, liquid feeling of dread seeping up his throat replaces it. “Baby, what’s going on? Where are you?” 

“I-I’m at the place... Le Bail’s clearing.” 

He’s already on his feet, throwing on his sweatpants and white undershirt, “What are you doing out there, sweet girl?” 

His voice is far too gentle, far too even, but the hair standing up on the back of his neck, and the bumps overtaking his body tell him something is deeply, terribly wrong, and he has to remain calm. 

Titus rushes to the duffle bag he’s kept on the other end of the room, one hand pressing the phone to his ear, while the other rummages through. He grabs his gun, shoving it in the back of his pants, and a long, serrated hunting knife. 

“S-sleepwalking again—”  

“Fuck’s sake, you’re taking forever! Tell him to get his sorry ass out here!” 

Titus freezes, face going pale. He’d know that frigid voice anywhere, been on the receiving end of that ire many times. “Is that?” 

“Yes,” you cut off quickly, a shake in your voice.  

He swallows. She must be threatening you for you to sound so scared. His girl doesn’t scare easy, not at all actually. “Did she hurt you? The babies?” 

“We’re okay for now. But you need to meet us here—" 

“Fucking hell, give me that,” there’s a rustling on the other end of the phone, and Titus winces when he hears the sound of something thudding against skin, and your soft groan of pain. “Titus, Darling, we need to talk, now, or I’m going to carve your little bastard spawn from your whore’s belly and feed them all to the wolves.” 

“Priscilla if you lay a hand on her—" 

“Already have, idiot. Her pretty face just took a nice hit, not nearly close to what the little monster did to me, of course.” 

“Priscilla, I swear on all the fires of hell, if anything else happens to her, I’m going to make you regret it.” 

“Promise?” She mocks. “Don’t take too long, I’ve got a newly sharpened blade just begging to rip into Mrs. Danforth’s skin. Ta ta!” 

Titus yells through the clicking of the phone. He grips the knife tight in his hand as he darts down the stairs, not bothering with socks or shoes.  

His heart pounds as he runs into the dark of the night, the black void of the trees. He hasn’t felt this helpless since the night of your hunt, when he desperately chased after your path of carnage throughout the resort grounds. Just like then, all his thoughts are consumed by his need to get to you, to protect you. 

+ 

Your hand cradles your cheek, a slight bruise already forming from where Priscilla had punched you when she snatched the phone. You still look at her with a dark scowl. “He’s not coming unarmed, you know.” 

Priscilla clicks her tongue and traces the knife up and down your belly. “I don’t care. I’ve got the advantage no matter what, little girl,” she says as she slinks around your body, keeping the blade pressed against you. Her cold hand wraps around the back of your neck, as she secures her position behind you, and she yanks your neck back. “Just feel lucky I’d rather he watch while I gut you, or you and those things growing inside you would already be food for rats.” 

Your breath hitches, but it’s not panic that runs through your veins. No, the adrenaline of a fight is surging through you, fusing with your blood cells as your mind races for a way out of her grip. You’re not some helpless thing, and you will not let this pathetic hag outsmart you.  

If it weren’t for the babies, you’d already be risking a piece of your body against her blade. It wouldn’t be the first time you endured the highest pain, and you doubt she’d be anywhere worse than the Le Domas’s. But your hand stays firmly on your belly, where you can feel the softest fluttering under your skin. 

You take in a deep breath, anything to keep your heartbeat even, so they don’t feel the danger you’ve walked them into. You can only hope Titus gets here soon to give Priscilla a good distraction. 

+ 

Titus’s heart is racing, hot and big, thumping so hard in his chest it feels like it’s going to burst right out. His feet sting from the cuts he gets running over rocks and sticks, but he stamps down the feeling, not allowing himself to register it. The only pain that matters is the sting in his heart, the sick bile that burns his throat, as he runs to you. 

His vision is in a tunnel, zeroed in on the path he’s walked hundreds of times in his life, the one that goes to where all of this began for his family. The place that used to bring him so much proud and truly connect him to his family’s power, now feels like a distant grave, haunting and heavy as he gets closer. 

A beam of light shines down from where it reflects off the moon, and just ahead Titus can see the clearing, like a twisted version of his recurring childhood dream. Your laughter isn’t waiting for him beyond the trees, just dead silence. 

He slows down his steps and raises his gun, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He takes smooth, methodical steps as he approaches, readying himself for anything he could find. 

The first thing he sees is you, beautiful in your white gown under the moonlight, fingers tapping your tummy, almost angelic in the way you glow. The light catches through the fabric, and he can see your bare body underneath, wishing more than anything this was just a romantic moment for the two of you. But there is a fire in your eyes, a caged smolder as your lip is bitten between your teeth, face scrunched in anger and frustration.  

You’re holding back, Titus knows, because his girl would never back down from a fight so easily. 

Priscilla is behind you, hand around your neck and knife firmly pressed to your stomach, using your body as a human shield. Titus swallows a lump as the two of you make eye contact, your brows raising just slightly in relief that he’s here. 

“Oh, Titus, so nice of you to join us,” Priscilla says, licking her lips. “I was beginning to think you finally came to your senses and realized the little thing was too much trouble.” 

You scoff. “You haven’t begun to see trouble—" 

“Shut it!” Priscilla hisses, squeezing down on your neck. “You stupid—" 

“Hey!” Titus barks, clicking the safety off his gun. “Enough! Priscilla you’ve gone too fucking far, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” 

Something in her face cracks, every muscle twitching at once, and Titus has never seen her like this. She’s completely deranged, gone completely mad, and when she speaks it's with an uneasy whine. “I’m taking what should be mine! You were supposed to be mine!” 

Titus keeps his gun up, and his eyes quickly dart to you as you both share a look of understanding. There isn’t going to be any reasoning with her. Your body starts to buzz, the need inside to tear apart begins to wake up, that gnawing voice in your mind that wants to kill starts to sing. But the knife is still at your belly, and even though you can’t actually read his mind, you know Titus wants you to wait until he can open an opportunity for you to attack. 

“You’re doing all this for my attention? To get me back?” Titus asks, voice softer than he’d ever thought possible. At least, he’s never spoken this softly for anyone but you. 

“Yes,” she whines again, nails digging into your throat, but she’s not blocking your airway. “I-I’m sorry, Titus, I should have never let you go. Nobody is more perfect for me than you, and I was made for you. I always did everything you wanted, Ti, you remember? The amount of times I let you mutilate and defile my body, and I always wanted more, always gave in to your appetites.” 

You watch as your husband’s jaw clicks, and your lips quiver into a frown. You know those appetites well, you’ve fed into them so many times, and craved them for your own body. You know he’d certainly tried to unleash his most sadistic fantasies completely on her, but he’d told you he could tell she wasn’t as into it. Not the way you are, his perfect, sick match. 

“I can do all of that again, whatever you want. You want to tie me up in the ropes? You want to hit me with a paddle until I bleed? Choke me?” her voice drops in a tone more desperately seductive with each suggestion. “I’ll pet your hair while you suck on my tits and call me mommy. Or I’ll let you fuck me in the ass and call you Daddy, whatever. I just want you back. I want that life back!” 

“And you thought this was the way?” Titus asks, doing his best to put on an air of pity to disguise the disgust he feels at her words. Sure, there was a time where her promising all of those things would have made him putty in her hands, but not anymore. Not when he has you. 

You wish you could laugh at how easily she’s falling for his act.  

“O-of course,” Priscilla sniffs, hands starting to shake. Her grip on you loosens subtly, and you know your chance to break away is coming soon. “I-I know you, Titus. I know your soul. I know what you need. You want someone who could be worthy of Mr. Le Bail? Someone who would do what needs to be done? That was always me.” 

“Cill,” Titus coos, taking a step toward her. He pauses, then continues when she doesn’t try to back away this time. He looks to you for a moment, a pain flashing in his eyes at what he has to do, and your chest burns seeing him be gentle with someone else, especially her. “I know that. I know all of that.” 

Priscilla gasps, lip wobbling as she pouts, “Th-then why...why are you bothering with her?” 

Titus clicks his tongue, stepping into both your spaces. The hand that’s not on his gun subtly brushes your stomach, a movement so small Priscilla doesn’t catch it. She stands up straighter, looking up at Titus with wide eyes as he stands right in front of you. 

“You know how I like to play my games, Cill,” Titus says. “Are you going to tell me you really forgot how I love to torture the mind just as much as the body? Look at you, look at how badly you want me, what lows you’ve stooped to, to get me.” 

His face is so close, but his attention is all on her behind you, as he raises his gun and holds the barrel of it right to your head. A tear runs down her cheek as she sobs, “You’re so cruel to let it go on this long.” 

“I know, Sweetheart, but it’s time to finish this, don‘t you think?” Titus whispers, and for just a split second, you can see a flash of revulsion in his eyes, before he dips his face down and presses a kiss to her lips.  

She finally drops her hold on your neck. 

At the same time, he carefully brings your hand to his pocket, where you feel the hard metal handle of his knife. That’s your signal. 

You scream as you swing at her, and Titus drops his gun to back away with his hands up, smirking as he watches you nail her right in the face. Priscilla cries out in pain and lifts her knife to try to cut you in any way that she can, but you manage to dodge it in time, kicking the knife from her hand.  

The force of it knocks her further to the ground, and you jam the heel of your foot onto her hand for good measure, crushing the bones with a delicious crunch. 

“Ahh! You fucking bitch!” Priscilla screams in agony, broken hand clutched close to her chest.  

She tries to go for the knife again, but you kick it away from her, turning to grab Titus’s from his pocket instead. She tries to get up in the one moment you take your eyes off her, but you’re back in time to hit the hilt of the knife onto her forehead, jamming it onto her skull several times while she falls to the ground, moaning and crying. 

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” You spit down at her, grabbing her by the shoulders to yank her body off the ground.  

“I deserve the life you’re living! I put all that fucking time in! You just walk in some broke, no-name, no-life, pathetic loser orphan, and think you get to be handed it?” Priscilla cries, the tears mixing with blood as they trail down her cheeks, and a huge gash oozes from her forehead. “Titus, baby, please, look at what she’s doing. She’s a fucking animal. You can’t bring children into the world with someone like—" 

“SHUT UP!” You scream at her, punching her in the face, breaking her nose. The metallic smell of the blood has you licking your lips. “Do you know what I’ve done to earn my place? How many people I’ve killed?” 

She tries to look behind you, to plead with Titus again, but he only stares hungrily at you. She knows that look, the ravenous, desperate starvation he would get when he had her tied up and seconds away from defiling her body in ways she’d only let someone of Titus Danforth’s status perform. 

The things she let him do, only to lose out on all the power in the world to you. 

And now he looks at you like that, the hunger coming from anticipation of violent acts you’re going to perform.  

Still, she tries. “Titus!” 

Desperation drips from her cries, but when he finally looks at her again, it’s with an emptiness of feeling. His eyes are indifferent to her, like she’s some object in the way of his goal. Like she’s a rotten fruit he has to waste time throwing in the trash. He wipes the taste of her from his lips with the back of his hand. 

You’re tired of her looking at him like she has any entitlement to his soul. You own that soul, signed in blood. 

You grab her by the jaw and force her to look at you, nails digging into her skin until it breaks, and the blood stains under your nails. “I told you, if you ever tried to destroy my family again, I would fucking kill you.” 

Her eyes go wide, and she opens her mouth like she’s about to say something, as if there were any more arguments she could make that would actually convince you to spare her life. 

All the wind is knocked out of her when you plunge Titus’s knife into her chest. A bright splatter of red flies through the air as you rip it from her, and her mouth drops open in a shocked, silent scream. 

Time freezes, for just a moment. You stare into her terrified eyes, your heart beating so loud it’s the only sound in your ears, and you feel your body fill with a sick sense of strength. That fiery need to act, to attack until your limbs give out takes over. You felt it the first time you’d smashed Mrs. Le Domas’s head in with that stupid game box. 

Senses flood back into real time, and you enter a trance as you raise the knife and lower it into her again. 

You stab her over and over, eyes never leaving hers, blood flying all over your white nightgown, your face. You can feel the muscles of your cheeks twist and contort into a smile, and you hear yourself start to laugh, as the light fades from Priscilla. 

Her body falls to the ground, lifeless and pale from loss of blood, the sound it makes it heavy as it lands. There’s probably about a hundred stab wounds from her chest to her lower belly, and this time you didn’t black out. You felt and saw every single one of them.  

Behind you, Titus is absolutely rocked. His mouth is dropped open from heaving breaths, eyes blacked out, hands sweaty and twitching from the need to touch, to grab.  

His eyes trail down from you to Priscilla’s body. Her eyes are blank, mouth opened in a scream, but completely baren. Her soul has already been ripped to hell, and he wonders if Mr. Le Bail smiled when he took it. 

Titus remembers a moment they had very early in their...entanglement. He wasn’t sure at the time what they were, nor what he truly wanted from her, and he’d asked if she could love someone like him. 

Priscilla had laughed. 

“People like us don’t have any use for love.” 

That was when he’d cut off any chance of trying to feel something for her. Their time became transactional almost, because she was one of the very few who could scratch an itch with him and come back for more. He knew why she would, he knew it was because she thought one day she’d sit next to him at the top of the world. 

How wrong she was. 

He looks back at you, the woman who loves him. The woman who is bringing his children into the world. 

The woman who gives it to him just as good as he gives it to her. 

Yes, Titus has great use for love. 

You’re covered in blood, drenched in it so much that most of your white gown is stained pink. And you’re fuming, chest rising and falling quickly with deep, loud breaths, eyes looking wide and angry and wild. 

Without a second thought, Titus practically floats over to you, caught in your trance as he takes you in his arms and kisses you. 

You drop the knife and wrap yourself around him, whining into the kiss, eyes closed desperately tight. Priscilla’s blood coats Titus’s skin as you run your hands all around him, clawing your way to ripping his shirt off, so you can scratch down his chest.  

He tastes that same blood on your lips in your kiss, and he resists the urge to lick up your face, clean you with his tongue. His lips trace down your neck, biting and moaning, reclaiming your skin, as you push your body flush up against his warmth, as though you could fuse to him. His cock is hard against your tummy and it sends an aroused thrill right to your core. 

“Oh, my terrible little Lamb, my baby,” Titus whimpers pitifully, as he yanks down the straps of your nightgown, freeing your blood covered breasts. Your nipples are peaked from the cold air, and he looks at you with wide eyes, mouth dropped open and drooling from his need to latch onto them. “Such a fucking monster, so strong and so fucking sexy. Need you so bad, wanna fuck you hard.” 

He tears down the dress the rest of the way, and it pools at your feet to reveal the rest of your naked body into the moonlight. Titus licks his lips at the sight of the glistening between your legs, the act of the kill has you dripping.  

Before he can get his mouth where he really wants it, you grab onto his jaw hard, enough that your fingernails leave crescent shaped indents in his freckled skin. You force his face back, make him look at you, and he yields his control as you slap him on the cheek, the crack echoes loud through the night. 

“You want to fuck me, Daddy?” You sneer at him meanly, grabbing his face again.  

He nods his head and whimpers again, dick twitching in his pants. “Yes, baby, want to so bad.” 

“Show me,” you say, voice low, seductive, pulling him closer to you. Your hands snakes around to the back of his neck, and you bring him in for another violent, biting kiss. It’s messy and wet and you don’t know who’s more desperately needy in their moans, but Titus dips his tongue into your mouth and you suck the mixture of blood from it willingly. Your grip moves to his shoulders and you push him back with both hands, eyes blown dark and wild. “Get on your knees.” 

Titus smiles wide, white teeth shining like blood covered fangs as he drops to the ground, arms out and ready for your instruction. You think about the things Priscilla had offered to him, the ways she’d let him use her. All you think about is how you’ve done each of those, not just for his pleasure to appease him, but because they are all things that make you feel worshipped. 

That’s all you want right now, a reminder that he is obsessed with you above all else, even the devil himself. 

“I hated seeing you kiss her,” you say, pouting as your hand grazes down his cheek. “I know you had to, but you need to show me how you love me. Show me how you worship me.” 

Titus already knows the way to show you, as he grabs you by the back of your legs and brings your body to him, kissing along the small swell of your belly. His fingers dip between your legs, and he moans at feeling of your slick seeping around his fingers. He takes a moment to rub the tips of those fingers along seam of your pussy, before dipping them between to slide into your entrance. 

You moan, high and sudden at the way the fill you, so thick, and your mouth drops open. He’s looking up at you, eyes sparkling from the stars in them, lips pressed to your belly, fucking you slowly.  

“I’ll worship you, my love,” Titus whispers, nuzzling his cheek to your skin. He lifts one of your thighs over his shoulder, and you grip into his silver curls for balance. “As long as I get to fuck you, but I already worship you for all time.” 

"Make me come on your tongue the way I like,” you whine, “and you can fuck me as hard as you wish, any way you want. Be good for me, Daddy.” 

And with a hungry grunt he’s on you. His fingers start to fuck into you hard and fast, curling up to that spot that drives you crazy, as his tongue dips between your lips to lick circles around your clit. 

His moans are ravenous and low, vibrating into your pussy as he eats like a man starved. Eyes closed and lost in it, drowning in your juices as he works little whines and mewls from your lips. He uses all his strength to hold you up, as your balance starts to falter, while your head falls back and you roll your hips into his mouth, chasing that growing feeling of pleasure that pools in your belly. 

“Fuck, oh fuck, that’s it Titus,” you moan, mouth dropped open, breath coming out in little catches. “Yeah, Daddy, just like that.” 

Your legs start to wobble and your moans quickly shift into high pitched whines, chest rising and falling. Your fingers press harder into his hair, keeping him against you as he alternates between sucking on your clit, and rubbing with his thumb so his tongue can dip inside your pussy to drink you up like nectar.  

His hand that grips your thigh is already leaving bruises, stained from Priscilla’s blood that covers both your bodies. He holds you tight to keep you up when there’s a turn in your breathing, and you let out a loud cry of his name into the night.  

“Fuck, fuck, just like that, good boy,” you moan, as your pussy clenches around his fingers, and gush down his hand. 

You quickly lose your balance, and collapse down onto his lap, legs on either side of him, where he easily catches you into another kiss. Your heart races, hands grabbing his cheeks, and you lick your slick from his mouth, the mixture with blood sweet on your tongue. 

Below, you can feel Titus’s cock hard, twitching and aching to be buried inside your tight cunt. He’s holding you so hard by the hips, subtly moving you back and forth on his lap as the two of you make out on the cold ground.  

“Baby, little lamb, so fucking good for me, all fucking mine,” he grunts into your mouth, voice cracking on almost every word from how desperate he’s grown. “Lemme fuck you, please.” 

“Yeah, Ti, were so good for me, fuck me like you want.” 

His muscles ripple as he quickly maneuvers you onto your back in the dirt, while he holds your wrists down with one hand. He doesn’t bother taking his pants off all the way, just shoves them down enough to get his cock out. 

You scream out as he guides himself into your warm cunt into one hard thrust, smiling as he starts to fuck you roughly, no frills. He throws one of your legs over his shoulder as the other wraps around his waist, thrusting his hips in and out of you at a brutal pace.  

He’s holding your wrists down above your head with both hands now, looking down at you with a dark, voracious intensity. “Look how deep you take me, Little Lamb. Pretty pussy just made to be ruined by me.” 

“Yeah, Daddy,” you moan, fingers clawing at the ground below where they’re trapped. Your back arches up to him, and you can feel where the nature has scratched you up. 

Titus lets out a long groan, eyes shutting as he tries to hold back from coming too soon, “Fuck, baby, c-can’t call me that, want this to last, shit. Doin’ so good for me.”  

You smirk, but you hold to his request, also not wanting the moment to end too soon. It’s been so long since you’ve really been able to unleash on each other, and even now you can feel him holding back for the sake of the babies.  

Still, the snarling and the growling and the moaning the mixes with the slap of his skin against you, the screams you release, and you know you must sound like animals. 

Titus finally lets go of your wrists and you tug him down into a kiss, tugging hard at his curls as your pussy clenches around him. His hands are everywhere now, painting even more of your body in blood and bruises, covering you in his touch, erasing any sense of someone else on your skin.  

"All mine, all fucking mine,” Titus repeats, whining frantically like he’s trying to remind himself more than you. He can’t shake the feeling of almost losing you again. His need to claim and to feel you, to keep you close and tangible, to make sure you both know that you’re still here, you’re always his. 

His head dips down to your chest and he bites at your tits, sucking on your pert nipples, moaning and whimpering around them, while you beg him to fuck you harder.  

“Say it, Little Lamb, say you’re mine,” Titus begs pathetically, sitting up to look at you. 

You whine at the loss of his heat, and you bite your lip as your eyes go wide, nails scratching hard down his chest. You cover the angry marks from earlier with fresh lines, and roll your hips down into him, pussy pulsing from need. 

Titus grabs you by the neck, stilling your movements in an instant as his own slow down. He fucks into you with slower, harder thrusts, cock hitting deep, and forcing the air from your lungs. “Tell me, Little Lamb. You already know I worship you. You know my soul is owned by you, nobody else, my sweet girl.” 

His hand squeezes down for a second, and your head goes a little hazy as you smile. You hope his handprint is able to stay till the morning.  

When he releases, you gasp for breath and choke, but your eyes are filled with a wild joy as you whimper, “’m all yours, Titus. My soul is yours, my body is yours, it’s all for you. Please, come inside me, fill this pussy, it’s all for you.” 

“Shit,” his eyes roll back and he goes back to his rough pace, body collapsing on yours again. He can feel it building, that ball of pleasure that starts in his heart and climbs down, and he kisses you through it. “That’s it, Little Lamb, that’s right. My girl, come for me, my good girl.” 

He brings a hand between your legs and rubs your clit, cock twitching inside you, body begging for release. 

An entire night’s worth of adrenaline hits you all at once, white hot pleasure sparks through every nerve ending, and you let out a scream of his name again, back arching up into him, so you can feel his entire being consume you all over.  

“Titus! Fuck!” your pussy clenches down hard, gushing around him as you come again.  

You’re alive, truly alive, no matter what anyone has tried to do to you, tonight or all the nights before, and you feel it all the most right now, with your husband’s cock deep inside.  

And Titus feels it too, biting down on your neck and crying, tears falling as his cock releases inside you. “Shit, baby, god you feel so fucking good.” 

Both of you shake through it, coming down slowly as pleasure runs through both of your veins, energy passing between each other. Titus’s hand wanders down from your breast to your stomach, where his fingers spread possessively on the bump. You both take in deep breaths, as your hand joins on top of his, thumb running circles on his skin.  

You kiss his cheek, drinking up the tears that fall. “Oh, my love, I’m still here.” 

“Could have lost you, I’m a fucking idiot,” Titus mumbles, voice shaking like he’s a second away from sobbing. “Don’t know what I’d do with out you in this world. Can hardly remember who I was before.” 

“I know,” you say, because you understand. Too often you have felt exactly the same. “But you haven’t lost me. You came for me, for us.” 

You press down on his hand to make your point, and you feel his gasp on your neck when your tummy flutters under his touch. His babies, all three of you, are right where they are meant to be, here with him. 

You lay together quietly for a few more minutes, your hands petting through his hair to calm him, his fingers tracing shapes on your tummy, until the bodily fluids that have covered both of you finally start to feel foul. Titus pulls out slowly, licking his lips at the sight of him leaking out of your cunt, one of his favorites to watch for as long as he can. 

But quickly you tell him to get you into a bath, and who is he to argue with you after all he’s put you through? 

He doesn’t bother to try to redress you, the dress will have to be burned anywhere, so he just stands up and scoops you up into his arms. He holds you like a new bride as you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss his cheek, before he begins to make the trek back through the woods toward the estate.  

For just a moment, you turn back, looking at the place where his family’s legacy began, and where yours could have ended. Well, if that bitch had been just a little smarter. 

Priscilla’s body lies cold, vacant eyes staring off into space in your direction, and you scrunch your nose in disgust at the sight of her.  

“What do we do with that?” You ask, tapping on Titus’s shoulder. 

You feel him shrug as he carries you up the path. “Leave it. The wolves will consume her, and our people will clean up what’s left in the morning.” 

You plant a satisfied kiss to his cheek, finally relaxing in his arms. “So, do you think there will be any other family members or ex-girlfriends that will try to kill me, or are we finally done with all that shit?” 

Titus snorts. “Baby, you know there’s always going to be family to contend with, but I promise she’s the only psycho ex I have. Not that you couldn’t handle them anyway.” 

“You’re hiding them so you get to watch me kill them again, aren’t you?” you ask with a suspicious frown, eyes squinted.” 

“Ha!” Titus laughs, shaking his head. “Little Lamb, I promise I would not let you get into the this situation again, no matter how fucking hot it is when you kill someone for me.” 

You roll your eyes, but nuzzle closer to his neck anyway. “Seriously Ti, I thought I was done fighting. We’re about to have children, I can’t go through this again.” 

And a sick, guilty coil forms in Titus’s stomach. “I know, and I know I promised you wouldn’t have to fight again, but I mean it this time. You’ve really proven yourself enough. No more games to play.” 

There’s an air on hurt and pain in his voice that makes you believe him. You know he doesn’t actually want to see you in danger, no matter how much you can handle it. You’re the gift brought to Titus Danforth by Mr. Le Bail, the Devil himself. You’re something just as precious as you are dangerous. 

A monster whose heart was designed to match his. 

+ 

+ 

+ 

Four Years Later. 

The sun is shining down on the garden, warm and orange from the afternoon, while butterflies flutter around the new blooms. A soft breeze whisps through the grass, creating a gentle shaking sound from the blades. It’s a perfectly peaceful, quiet day. 

At least, it would be quiet if it weren’t for the pair of screaming, laughing toddlers running through the grounds while their father chases them. 

“Ahhhh! Daddy no!” a little voice screeches happily into the air, as she attempts to escape the strong arms of Titus scooping her up and tossing her into the air.  

“Gotcha!” Titus shouts back, cackling wildly. 

It’s quickly followed by the sound of high-pitched laughter, and you lower the book you’ve been reading to find your husband twirling your daughter around in the air, as she giggles so hard her face turns pink. Her red hair, pulled into pigtail braids that curl at the end, is starting to come undone, and you’re pretty sure you can see little twigs and leaves stuck in the strands. 

“What are you doing?” You ask with an amused shake of your head.  

“Daddy chased us through the bushes!” Your boy piped up as he runs up to Titus with a big smile, tugging on his pants leg. 

“Mhm, even though we have a very important and fancy lunch to go to in an hour?” You ask, but it's more of a very stern reminder statement.  

Titus cringes, looking at the mess he made of his daughter’s hair, and he carefully puts her back on the ground. He kneels down with her to straighten out her little navy dress, gives her a kiss on the cheek, then sends her over to you to get fixed up. 

She walks over with her head hung low, arms behind her back, and apologetic pout as she climbs into your lap. “Sorry, Mommy, but It's all Daddy’s fault.” 

Titus makes a soft, offended sound that you ignore, and you give her a soft smile as you start to pick the nature out of her hair. “Oh, I don’t doubt that, Daddy is very naughty.” 

“Hm,” Titus scoffs again, but when you make eye contact he simply smirks, as though to point out you’ve never complained about his naughtiness before. “Yes, because you’re always on your best behavior. Should I remind you about two weeks ago when you got them to play that prank on me during a work call?” 

You smirk at the memory of dressing the twins up in creepy masks you found in the attack, and having them run at Titus with fake knives. In your defense, he’d been working nonstop, and nothing you were doing could distract him from it, so sadly, yes, you did have to use the kids. Ultimately, he found it to be completely hilarious, even if he spanked your ass raw that night in revenge. 

Dahlia Violet and Prescott Chester Danforth were born just after midnight, the morning of Halloween. It was dark and stormy, lightning striking through the sky when you gave birth in one of the lavish baths of the Danforth Estate. Absolutely the perfectly way to bring your twins into the world.  

They both came out crying, with striking red hair and big eyes, and both instantly calmed as soon as they were passed into their father’s arms. You’ll never forget the look on Titus’s face, the awe and wonder that someone like him could make two tiny things so beautiful. He’d been filled with the instant love he hadn’t felt since the first moment he saw you. 

Even with time passing, his love for them hasn’t changed. Many a critic in your lives, the people who always misunderstand Titus, have said that his interest in all of this would pass. Titus Danforth can never be held down by a family, he’s too wild. 

They simply don’t get it. They may know he has a monstrous side, but they do not know his heart. 

You see his heart as Prescot reaches his hands up with a small, face-scrunching frown, and Titus pulls him up into his arms. Your boy has always been the more quiet one, not sensitive, but smart and inquisitive, always watching and studying any situation. He knows how to express anything he feels, very directly, and Titus has joked that he’s just like you and Ursula. 

“You shouldn’t make Mommy mad,” Prescott says, pressing his little face into Titus’ cheek. 

“Yeah?” Titus asks with a soft laugh. “Why’s that?” 

Prescot shrugs. “Because she’s in charge.” 

You snort at the same time that Titus lets out a raucous laugh and kisses his son’s cheek. “Smart boy, but what about me? You want to make me mad?” 

“Daddy, you’re never mad!” Prescott proclaims. 

Again, you can’t stop the snort that comes out, and you bite your lip to not laugh any louder. 

Titus shakes his head at you as he walks over to the little patio area, and he sets Prescott down carefully in one of the seats. He straightens out the boy’s blazer jacket, and tips his face up to look at him. “I’m never mad at Mommy, or Dolly, and I am never mad at you, sweet boy. No matter what. Unless we get so messy we’re late to Mommy’s lunch.” 

“You’re also going to make us late to stay with Auntie Ursula!” Dahlia whines.  

Where Prescott stops at being calm and collected, Dahlia takes after her father, a little girl of action. She’s always buzzing to do things, to find new adventures, and to get into trouble. Spending a long weekend away in the city with just Ursula is exactly the kind of adventure she’s been needing. 

“That excited to get away from us, Dolly?” Titus asks with a faux pout. “My little princess trying to escape the castle.” 

“Auntie Ursula said her house is on top of the world!” Dahlia exclaims, clapping her little hands together. “But I’ll still miss you, Daddy!” 

As soon as you release her hair, she hops off the seat and runs over to snatch her brother away from Titus, and you both smile as you watch them run, shouting something about racing to the town car. 

Your heart has never been so full. 

Titus comes over to help you up, and you pull him in for a quick kiss, enjoying the brief moment where the twins won’t interrupt you. You pull away to rub the lipstick from him, and his crinkly eyes never leave yours. He’s only gotten more handsome with age, still in that same shape you met him, still covered in freckles, with the same silver hair, only a hint of age from the last few years you’ve known him. 

“Excited for a weekend all to ourselves?” he asks, wrapping your arm around his to walk you to the car. “Not that I won’t miss them.” 

“No of course, I’m going to miss them every second,” you say. Still out of earshot of the twins, you stand up on your tip toes to whisper into Titus’s ear, licking the shell and tugging on the lobe, “You'll have to come up with some pretty big distractions for me.” 

He cocks his brow at you and smirks. “Little Lamb, you have no idea what you’re in for.” 

Before you can tease each other more over the promise of your first child free weekend in so long, the anticipation of being able to dabble in your old ways of running through the woods like animals heat, Titus is off to scoop the twins up again. 

He gives you a sly wink over his shoulder, shouting, “Love you, my baby!” 

“Yeah, yeah, love you too,” you say with an amused shake of your head. And you can’t help but smile as you watch the three of them together, still a little in disbelief that this is your life. 

Off in the distance, in the shadows of the tree line, your eyes catch sight of the shadow of a man. He smiles at you and gives you a nod, before disappearing with a whisp of leaves in the breeze. 

For a moment you pause, then still looking at where you could have sworn he just stood, you smile, and nod back. 

FIN. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A/N 2: again, thank you to everyone who has been reading this series!!! i have had sooooo much fun with Titus, and I'm glad you all have too ! PLEASE comment and REBLOG!!! reblogs do more than likes!!!

[thatfanficstuff]

Finally had the time to sit and give this one the attention it deserves.

I have adored this series from beginning to end. A fantastic titus fic.

Definitely read it if you haven't yet.

[cafe-velour]

Retail Therapy (Courtesy of Jack Abbot)

summary: Jack Abbot has one very expensive habit: Spoiling his girlfriend.

𝒘 — Jack Abbot & Fem! Reader ⟢ ( 1k-ish ) proofread. age gap. (not mentioned, but r is like 25-30.) established relationship. fluff.

Dior, Miu Miu, Tom Ford, Chanel, and Prada are all brands that have somehow invaded your bedroom. Perfumes stacked neatly on a sterling silver stand on your dresser. Charlotte Tilbury palettes on your vanity, and Tiffany diamonds sparkling on your jewelry tray.

Despite your best efforts to tell him you really don’t need any of it, Jack Abbot buys you quite literally everything you show the tiniest amount of interest in.

It isn’t that you can’t afford it, you absolutely can. Years of medical school and brutal residency shifts had earned you a salary you were more than proud of, which made Jack’s habit of paying for everything simultaneously frustrating and endearing.

It started small. You’d pause a second too long in front of a perfume display, eyes widening at the price tag as you muttered something about how insane it was. The bottle would appear on your bathroom counter the next morning.

You’d complain that your work tote was falling apart. Three days later, a brand new leather one arrived at your apartment with your initials hand-stitched on the side in dainty gold thread.

You’d compliment a necklace in passing, and somehow Cartier already knew your address.

At first it was sweet. Then it became excessive. Which is why you now have enough designer items in your home to pay off someone’s mortgage.

And somehow… that still wasn’t enough for him.

・・・۶ৎ・・・

You’re standing in the Sephora checkout line, fully intent on spoiling yourself for once. Jack stands close by your side, seemingly distracted by his phone, squinting down at a text from Robby. You make a mental note to increase the font size later when he isn’t looking.

As the person in front of you finishes, you see his hand slip into his pocket out of the corner of your eye, reaching for his wallet.

“Jack,” you huff quietly, no real heat behind it.

“Hm?”

“Put your wallet away. I told you, I’m paying.”

He glances up from the screen, expression perfectly innocent. “Why?”

You turn to face him fully, arms crossed. “Because these are my things. I can buy my own makeup, Jack. You’ve already bought me three things today.”

His eyebrow lifts just slightly, that calm, steady doctor look settling over his features. He steps closer until his chest brushes your shoulder, voice low and warm against your ear.

“I like taking care of my girl. Why wouldn’t I?”

The cashier is smiling politely, pretending not to listen. Your cheeks are hot, fairly certain that they’re tinted a faint shade of red.

“Jack,” you warn, softer this time.

“You gonna stand here and argue with me, baby?” His hand settles lightly at the small of your back, thumb stroking once, slow and deliberate. “Or are you gonna let me pay?”

You exhale a defeated laugh, cheeks burning.

A small, satisfied smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth. “That’s what I thought.”

He slides his card into the reader before you can make any move to protest again. While the cashier rings everything up, his arm stays looped around your waist, holding you close like it’s his favorite thing in the world.

・・・۶ৎ・・・

The drive home is quiet at first, city lights sliding across the windshield. You keep glancing down at the heavy Sephora bag in your lap, then over at him.

“You promised you’d let me pay today” you say, gently poking his arm.

Jack’s hand leaves the gear shift to rest on your thigh instead, squeezing gently.

“I said I’d try,” he corrects, voice low with amusement. “There’s a difference.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “You’re ridiculous. We’re both doctors, y’know? I don’t need you dropping half your salary on me every time we leave the house.”

He’s quiet for a moment, thumb brushing back and forth over your leg as he drives.

“You work harder than anyone I know,” he says finally. “Longer hours than me sometimes. You come home exhausted and still make time for us. Let me take care of you, sweetheart. It makes me feel good. Like I’m doing something right.”

Your chest flickers with undeniable warmth. You reach down and lace your fingers with his. “You do plenty right, Jack. You don’t have to buy me half of Sephora to prove it.”

“I know.” He lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles without taking his eyes off the road. “But I want to. And I like seeing my baby have pretty things.”

The words settle warm and heavy in your stomach. Your eyes are soft as you study the side of his face.

・・・۶ৎ・・・

Back at your apartment, Jack carries the bags inside like they weigh nothing. You kick off your shoes and start unpacking the new products on your vanity, admiring the sleek packaging.

He leans in the doorway, arms crossed, watching you with that soft, focused look that always makes your heart feel 10 pounds heavier.

“You’re staring,” you tease, fighting off a genuine smile.

“Can’t help it.” He pushes off the doorframe and comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. His chin rests on your shoulder. “You happy?”

You lean back into his chest. “Yes. Thank you… even though you have no self-control.”

He chuckles, the sound vibrates low and warm against your neck. “Good.”

You turn in his arms, looping yours around his neck. “But next time, I’m paying. I will hear no arguments.”

Jack hums, pretending to consider it. “We’ll see.”

“Jack.”

“Alright, alright,” he says, lips brushing your forehead. “I’ll behave.”

You narrow your eyes. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

・・・۶ৎ・・・

Forty minutes later you’re curled up on the couch together when your phone buzzes. A notification from the jewelry store you’d walked past earlier on the way to Sephora.

Order confirmed. Your custom initial pendant will be ready for pickup tomorrow.

You sit up slowly, staring at the screen, then turn to look at him.

Jack doesn’t even have the decency to look guilty. He just pulls you back against his chest with a lazy grin, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your neck.

“You said you’d behave,” you whisper, half-laughing, half-exasperated.

“I did behave,” he murmurs, pressing a slow kiss to your temple. “For a whole forty minutes. That’s gotta count for something, right?”

[dear-2-readers]

I need this Jack in my life 😭😭😭

[fangirl-dot-com]

Lacy, oh, Lacy

summary: the three times jack abbot compared you to someone else vs. the one time you were exactly who he wanted but couldn't have anymore.

tags: jack abbot x reader, angst, deep insecurities, jack compares you to samira, robby, and his late-wife (I named her alice), a few scene changes but it's for the plot, trying out [name] but if I don't like it, it's back to y/n for all of you, jack is lowkey an asshole on accident (thinks he's meaning well by complimenting others, but tears you apart in the process), medical inaccuracies, hurt/no comfort (at least for jack), eventual breakup, special end scene guest star, age gape (28-32/50), heavily inspired by lacy by olivia rodrigo (which I suggest listening to while you read) and all the feels that come with that, 18+ MDNI

notes: this hurt to write, and this better hurt y'all in the best angsty way possible! just a reminder that my requests for the hatosyverse are open, and that I'm doing smutty blurbs to build my writing abilities, enjoy!

word count: 7.4k

You didn't understand how you'd been able to score Jack Abbot.

Somehow, the universe decided that you'd be his match, the one he chose to go home to at the end of a bad shift, the one who'd been able to give him the most comfort during his darkest days. You knew what you'd be getting into: the PTSD, the depression, shifts where he felt more like your boss than your partner. But you believed you could get through it; Jack was older, and you liked to think you were mature enough to handle anything thrown your way.

For almost a year, your relationship bloomed in stolen glances across the Pitt, hidden moments in supply closets, and late-night baths spent at his house trying to bury yourself next to his heart. Jack was it for you, and you let yourself dream about a future, ring on your finger, possible children running around the house you shared. The two of you rarely fought, often choosing to apologize for anything under the sun before arguments grew too large for your feelings.

Never once did Jack make you feel inadequate, even if you had voiced early on that you truly didn't understand why he picked you. Compared to his gorgeous salt-and-pepper curls and freckled skin and large stature, you felt plain. Your hair was always pulled into a slick ponytail, makeup caused acne breakouts after 12-hour shifts, and what little time you had to yourself, you spent it at home, reading a book, instead of going out with friends and colleagues. People looked at you without so much as a second glance. Jack, on the other hand, made heads turn and nurses blush if they somehow caught his attention long enough for him to send a look their way. You couldn't remember the last time you went through a shift where a female (or sometimes male) patient failed to make a comment about the sexy, silver fox doctor.

You never made it more than it was: harmless flirting from people Jack would never think about again once they got discharged.

After, you and he had gone through the HR meetings, the contract signings, and the swearing that your relationship wouldn't get in the way of saving lives or have Jack start playing favorites. To further this, around the 9-month mark of being Jack's, they plucked you from the safety of the nightshift and dropped you right into Robby's hands. But this was how it was going to be from now on; there was no point in arguing as long as you got to keep Jack.

For three months, you persevered. Finding a groove with an already well-oiled shift proved to be harder than it looked. People talked. Nurses gossiped. Doctors speculated. You, through it all, kept your chin high. Their words didn't get to dictate your relationship. During handoffs, Jack still swept you into his arms and kissed you like a man coming back from war. He still told you that dinner was in the fridge once you got home and napped. He still continued to send updates during his shift, text messages from the separate night-shift group chat made after your departure chiming loudly while you ate. And most important of all, he still loved you.

However, nothing could have prepared you for the three times you felt the most unloved. I care, I care, I care, like perfume that you wear, I linger all the time, watchin', hidden in plain sight, ooh, I try, I try, I try, but it takes over my life, I see you everywhere, the sweetest torture one could bear "Hey, Dana," you called out while swimming through the chaos only brought on by a 4th of July shift.

At her name, Dana looked up over the thin frames of her glasses, pausing momentarily to look your way before going back to her board. "Please don't tell me that the 36 hot dog guy is back."

You shook your head, hands coming to rest on top of the vinyl counter. "Not that I'm aware of."

"Thank heavens. What can I do for ya, hun?"

Leaning in, you did a quick glance around the department. "I heard Jack was here early?"

Her eyebrows almost rose to her hairline. "Yeah; he came in with one of his SWAT buddies. GSW to the man's neck, but it looks like he's going to be okay." She reached over and grabbed a tablet. "Actually, can you find Jack for me? He wanted an update ASAP."

Your fingers drummed against the counter anxiously before you took the tablet from her. "I was just about to ask if you'd seen him."

Dana glanced over your shoulder and stuck out her chin in the same direction. "Saw him duck into Room 15. Might be taking a breather; Lord knows he needs one after that raid." She gave you a knowing look, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Maybe you're exactly what he needs."

A rush of heat flooded your face, eyes darting away from hers. "I'll see if I can find him."

You turned away before she could say anything more, hands desperately holding the tablet to your chest. Your shoes squeaked against the tile floor, steps bringing you closer to the room Jack was supposedly in. Once at the door, you raised a hand to draw the curtain away, but the sound of voices—plural—had you stopping. Saliva pooled between your teeth as you listened closely.

"—is the hospital going to pay for it?"

There was a pause before Jack clearly grumbled, "I'll pay for it."

You slowly moved to the side next to the wall where the curtain didn't completely cut the room off. Through the slot, your eyes widened at the sight of a Jack, shirt off, pale chest, wound-care swab twirling in his fingers with Samira sitting in one of the chairs. In the next beat, she stood and walked right past the curtain slot, completely oblivious that you were right behind it. She stopped near the wall and grabbed a pair of gloves before snapping them on.

His brows furrowed. "What are you doing?"

She smiled before rounding to stand behind him. "What you clearly can't."

Begrudgingly, he handed over the swab.

"Did you make a chart?" she asked while dipping the cotton end into a wound cream.

Jack crossed his arms, and his shoulders rolled and dipped. "No. This can stay off the books. Don't need the paperwork from the hospital or police department."

Samira paused. "Would you rather me go get Dr. [Name]? I'm sure she could do this much better than I could."

"No," Jack responded, shaking his head. "She'd just panic about this. There's no need to throw her off her game."

Your stomach flipped. He thought you'd panic? Sure, you'd be worried, but it wasn't like you hadn't seem him hurt before. Whatever wound he had on his back wouldn't be the worst thing he'd come home with after a SWAT shift.

"Isn't she your girlfriend?" She began dabbing at his back, the swab coming back bloodied.

"Yeah, but it's different with you. I don't have to worry about you taking your time or being indifferent about this." He winced at a deeper brush into the graze. "She's not like you, Dr. Mohan. She wears everything on her sleeve. Really, she could learn how to be more level headed like you, Dr. Mohan. I've seen the way you handle traumas. We wouldn't be so in the low if we had about 10 more of you."

He ended with a chuckle like what he just said didn't feel like a knives to your stomach.

Is that what he really thought about you? That you should be more like Samira and her ability to stay cool through anything thrown at her? With a blink, your eyes glossed over.

Jack turned his head, neck twisting to he could meet Samira's eyes. "You won't tell her about this, right? Our little secret?"

You didn't stay to hear what she said, choosing to turn around before you could watch any longer. It was incredible that you were able to stay for so long, submitting yourself to a new kind of torture. Walking back to the nurses station, your steps slowed as if molasses coated the floor, its stickiness clinging to your shoes.

At your oncoming presence, Dana looked over. "Did you find him, hun?"

You forced yourself to not look back at the closed curtain. "Yeah, but he's in the middle of something right now. I'll just catch up with him later."

The tablet gave a small thud as you placed it back into the holder, and you desperately tried to find another patient to busy yourself with, specifically one furthest from Room 15. However, before you could grab one, a hand wrapped around your elbow and tugged.

"Hey, I need you for the incoming trauma," Langdon said as he dragged you with him. "Twenty-year-old female, unconscious for an unknown matter of time."

You nodded silently, allowing him to keep walking you like a dog on a leash until he stopped in front of the ambulance bay sliding doors. Your lungs expanded in a deep, wavering breath.

Now was not the time to panic. You could do this. You could be like Samira. You could show Jack that you could handle a trauma.

During your internal pep talk, the doors slid open, giving way for the gurney and two paramedics.

"BP is 140-over-92 and climbing. No relevant medical history. She woke up once on the way over and vomited before passing out again."

You quickly followed Langdon into the first trauma room and helped transfer her over onto the bed. Immediately, numbers started being shouted while you started your initial exam.

When nothing seemed to blare any red flags, Langdon started impatient as the woman kept deteriorating. Through it all, you willed your hands to stay steady, your mind calm while you mentally went through what could be the matter. You took a step forward, body positioning near her head so you could look at her pupils one more time, and that's when you smelled it: the acrid, fruity smell puffing out of her mouth as she struggled to breath.

You jerked back quickly. "Dr. Langdon, is there a history of diabetes or hyperglycemia? Her breath smells like rotting fruit."

Langdon looked over at you before leaning toward her face. He hissed a curse before barking for a blood sugar test. Your eyes widened when the screen flashed a 450 mg/dL.

"She's experiencing diabetic ketoacidosis," you breathed.

"Let's get her on an insulin drip, now," Langdon hissed, face pinched until he looked over at you with a softer expression. "Great job catching that and staying calm." He chuckled slightly. "Never seen you like this but keep it up."

You knew his words were meant to be encouraging, but all they did was send bile up your throat. Without saying anything more, you tore off the gloves and shoved them deep into a biohazard bin. You wanted to cry, wanted to find the nearest restroom and tug at your hair.

But that's not what Samira would do your mind provided; the thought ugly and green. She'd shrug it all off and keep working like nothing was the matter.

Your teeth ground together, shoulders squaring in tandem. If everyone would rather have you calm, you'd be calm. You'd tuck your heart away rather than show it to the patients who needed someone that wore it on their sleeve. You picked up another tablet at the nurses station and got back to work.

The rest of the fourth went by in a tornado. Systems went down after a cyberattack; fireworks boomed off in the distance; you stayed busy. Each of your patients were in and out at a lightning speed, and by the start of the night shift, you were ready to go home and cry your heart out into a pillow.

You'd seen Samira every so often in between patients and a small lunch break. Like always, she smiled at you and waved and chatted when she could, but her actions made you want to wither up like a dead flower. You couldn't help but stare at her, thinking that you should be more like the woman in front of you, mind comparing your features to hers at a rapid speed you couldn't stop. She somehow looked like an angel in the middle of a place jokingly nicknamed one of the seven layers of hell, skin clear and hair somehow perfectly put in a bun. You tried your best to match her enthusiasm, but the poison had already been drank.

On the contrary, the only time you really saw Jack was at the start of handoffs. He had helped with one trauma before going to the on-call room for a needed nap, and you hadn't wanted to talk to him then, scared of how he'd act around you.

"There you are, sweetheart," you heard him say as you finished up converting with Lena about the man in Room 5. "I've been looking for you. Thought you might have left without saying goodbye."

You winced slightly. "No; I've just been busy."

Jack hummed and smiled warmly at you, but the expression was tainted by his words earlier. "I heard. Langdon's been nothing but praising you for earlier. I'm proud of you."

"Sure you are," you muttered too lowly for him to catch. Your lips thinly stretched into a smile that didn't meet your tired eyes. "Thank you, Jack," you settled on instead.

His hazel eyes scanned over your face, and his smile slightly dropped. "Are you okay, though? You look a little down."

"I'm fine," you shot out. "Today's just been long, and I'm ready to get home."

Jack nodded. "I left food in the fridge for you, so make sure you eat it after you sleep for a bit."

"Got it."

He looked at you expectantly before rolling his eyes. "Come here."

Like it had been etched into your DNA, you listened and fell into his open arms, face tucking into his chest. He squeezed you tightly before placing a kiss to your temple.

"Proud of you," he said. "You do such a good job. We need so many doctors like you, my perfect girl."

Perfect felt like a twist of the knife, because if you were so perfect, why had he told Samira that he wished you were more like her? I feel your compliments like bullets on skin. Dazzling starlet, Bardot reincarnate, well, aren't you the greatest thing to ever exist? As the weeks went on, Jack's words never left your soul, the damage irreparable in everything that you did.

Second guessing yourself had been a struggle you'd dealt with since an earlier age. Normally, Jack would be able to quiet all those thoughts; he had chosen you; he loved you. But now, as you second guessed everything you did, you also second guessed everything Jack said. You picked apart every encouragement, every compliment, every sweet promise he whispered in your ear.

What he said now couldn't be taken at face value, and you wondered if that feeling would ever go away. You'd asked him about the bullet graze a few days after the 4th, acting completely oblivious to what you knew. Like you thought, Jack assured you that he got it handled and for you to not worry about it, like that did anything to settle the rolling feelings in your stomach.

You tried your best to move on, knowing you'd only bring yourself down more if you dwelled too long about really how much Jack's words had affected you while he never said anything directly to your face. The idea that he wanted you to be like someone else made your heart clench tightly to the point you often wanted to call off work, hoping that you could just wallow in self pity for hours and hours.

But the Pitt did not care for you like that; it demanded twelve hour shifts and grueling doubles. So every day, you rolled out of bed before Jack got home and pulled up your big girl pants.

You worked through it. You'd learned how to stay calm, how to not panic under duress, and it killed you to admit that you'd become a better doctor because of it. You hardly ever hiccuped during a trauma, gaining compliments from the surgeons and Robby for your techniques that were close to flawless. For the smallest second, you would preen under their words before the ugly, repulsive reminder that they might not be real swallowed you down in a nasty gulp.

"Dr. [Name] follow me please," Robby called as he brushed past the nurses station where you were currently typing away at a chart, hands clutching a chart out in front of him to read. "Quickly."

You pushed up from the desk, chair rolling far behind you from the force of your legs. Not wanting to lose him, you rounded the counter and jumped into his long stride.

"Yes, Dr. Robby?" you asked.

As far as you knew, there weren't any incoming traumas and it was too late in the day for him to have questions about your patients that were currently waiting for a room.

Robby paused in front of an empty trauma room. "Jack just let me know that he found a man in need of medical attention and is bringing him in before handoffs, and I thought you could help him out." He handed you the tablet, already ready to go with updated information.

You took a quick glance over this. "Um, Dr. Robby, it looks like he'll need a pericardiocentesis."

"It's good that you know exactly what he'll need. What's the issue?"

Your eyes looked from the screen to his brown eyes. "I've never done one before."

He simply smiled at you and patted your shoulder. "That's why Jack's going to lead you through it. I would stay, but since he's coming in early, I'm going to head out."

You tried to quirk a smile. "Got a hot date waiting for you?"

A low chuckle shook his shoulders. "You got jokes. My bike needs some repairs, and today's the only day I can get it into the shop. But I know you'll be just fine. Your improvement in traumas will only grow if you step out of your comfort zone."

The automatic sliding doors slid open, and Jack plus a nurse wheeled a man through on a gurney. Jack's eyes lit up at the sight of you, but his brows pinched when he noticed Robby's bag slung over the taller man's shoulder.

"You leaving early, brother?" Jack questioned as he stepped past the two of you.

Robby's hand gently rested on your shoulder. "Yeah, but you two will have this handled."

You inhaled deeply, the weight of his hand and words pushing down on your chest.

Robby was counting on you. Don't fuck this up. Don't panic.

With the tablet tucked under your arm, you walked into the trauma room before pulling on a pair of gloves. Jack had already cut through the man's shirt.

"I need two 18-gage needles, one 9cm and one 15cm, a guidewire, dilator, and 8Fr pigtail catheter." He looked up toward Jesse. "Let's give him 10ml lignocaine 1%."

You quickly gather what he needed and placed him on the dressing that covered the side tray.

"Okay, Dr. [Name]," Jack said, lips twitching upwards at using your official name, "I need you to place an ECG electrode on the pericardiocentesis needle with a crocodile clip and insert. Once the tip touches the myocardium, the trace should show immediate ST elevation. Once that comes up, insert the wire to aspirate the fluid."

His words tumbled through your mind much too fast to the point that you wondered if he didn't know you'd never done this before. You pursed your lips as you tried to remember everything. In the grand scheme of things, your training provided everything that needed to be done.

Yet, there was a big difference between studying and actually doing the procedure.

You kept your breath steady as you readied the needle, clamping on a clip before turning the pointed end toward the man's chest. The first part went smoothly, and the needle went right through. However, instead of the consistent beeping that should have followed if the needle was in properly, an onslaught of alarms sounded through your ears.

You had missed something.

Jack whipped his head toward you and sneered. "You went too deep. I told you that the needle needed to touch the myocardium not go all the way through. Give it here."

He didn't even wait for you to transfer the needle over, hands already grabbing at it. His head bent down so he could see what was happening. With a practiced ease, he maneuvered the needle exactly where it should have been.

"Fuck," he whispered, "Robby wouldn't have done that. I don't know why he handed this off to you if he knew the patient would need a pericardiocentesis for tamponade."

You thickly swallowed pooling saliva to clear your throat. "Sorry."

"Just—" He closed his eyes and sucked in a breath. "I'll finish up here. You go home."

You jolted just a bit. Go home?

"Jack, I can still assist. You're going to need—"

"We have it covered. Catheter is in place, and you'd just be standing around. You're good."

Suddenly, a wave of anguish flowed through your body. It was happening again. Jack had just added fuel to the ever growing fire of jealousy and self-loathing. The feeling sized your chest, and you stepped back from the bed, shaky hands ripping off the nitrile gloves.

You couldn't help the stressed wheeze that pushed from your lungs.

Don't panic. Don't panic. He didn't mean it. He was just stressed. He didn't know that you'd never done that before.

Numbly, you walked back to the nurses station and sat back down in front of the computer, but your hands didn't raise to the keyboard. Your mind had already taken over, spewing rotten things about yourself that you could fix.

Be like Samira. Be like Robby. Jack won't keep wanting you if you aren't like them.

Your tongue ran across your dry lips in an attempt to wet them, but even your mouth had gone parched.

"Is charting really that bad?" you heard Dennis ask you as she sat down at a computer to your left. "You look like someone just told you they flushed your fish down the drain."

In a jerky motion, you turned towards him and did your best to compose yourself. "Oh no. I, uh, I didn't do well on a procedure with Dr. Abbot, and he asked me to leave."

Dennis at least had the decency to look sorry for you. "I bet you didn't do too bad. What was the procedure?"

"A pericardiocentesis," you said shyly.

He nodded slowly. " Shit, that's like one of the first things Robby let us do." He turned towards his own chart. "I could probably do them in my sleep by now."

Because he wasn't looking at you, Dennis missed the way your shoulders dropped and tears welled in your lash line. Jack's comment had been bad, but he just completely shattered any confidence you had left for the day.

"Right," you muttered. "Of course it'd be that easy if Robby taught you."

And you'd be right. On the night shift, patients like that rarely if not ever needed such a complex procedure. You could only think to one time that a woman came through almost needing one before they were able to use a different method to get her stable enough to be transferred to the OR.

With keys clacking loudly, you quickly finished up the chart before turning the whole thing off. You didn't even try to find Jack before you left, choosing to slip out before he even noticed you'd left without saying goodbye.

Once you were home, you stormed past the fridge and went straight to yours and Jack's shared room. Your scrubs hit the floor, and you didn't even bother to put on pajamas. The bed dipped under your weight as you pulled the duvet up over your body in a sad attempt at being comforted by its weight.

Sleep came quickly, only being interrupted by the door opening, a signal that Jack had gotten home. Blearily, you listened to him walk around the room before his edge of the bed sunk after he sat. The familiar hiss and pop of his prosthesis preceded him turning to lie down. You kept still as he scooted closer before wrapping an arm around your middle and molding your back to his chest.

"Sorry if I woke you up," he muttered sleepily. "Tried to find you before you left, but I guess I missed you. Wanted to say good job for that trauma. You helped so much."

You clamped your eyes shut, squeezing a fresh round of tears that dripped down your cheeks to puddle on your pillowcase.

After Samira, you had done your best to convince yourself it had been a slip of his tongue. But now after Robby, you weren't too sure that Jack would keep you around for much longer before finding someone better. Because there was no way you could ever amount to someone like Robby.

It was impossible. I care, I care, I care, like ribbons in your hair, my stomach's all in knots, you got the one thing that I want. Ooh, I try, I try, I try, try to rationalize people are people, but it's like you're made of angel dust. You were trying but failing to pretend Jack's words and comparisons hadn't left a giant, bleeding gap in your heart. Before everything happened, you never ever wondered if Jack loved you. Except now, you waited with bated breath for him to just drop the bucket and break up with you. You walked on eggshells around him.

Don't panic. Be put together. Keep your heart to yourself. Be calm like Samira. Don't fuck up. Know how to do your job. Be confident like Robby.

Those thought became your mantra and lifeline. No one seemed to think twice about your recent personality change. They loved the way they could count on you, the way you had an answer ready for everything. To the day and night shift, you were the epitome of composure. But behind closed doors, you were falling apart and into a pit you didn't think you'd be able to climb out of.

Jack didn't help with that either. You guessed he didn't even know what he had done to you, going on with his life like he hadn't given yours so many potholes that you couldn't continue on without falling behind. Everything you did was carefully thought out, every patient you talked to met a version of you that didn't reflect what you felt inside or outside.

You avoided mirrors the most, their reflections showing you exactly what you weren't. You weren't Samira with her lovely thick hair and clear skin. And you weren't Robby who carried years of trauma like it was apart of his body.

You were you, and you loathed it entirely.

You hated the glances you caught between Jack and Samira across the department. You hated the way they looked like they knew what the other was thinking before they spoke. You hated how you felt like on onlooker to a relationship that wasn't even happening.

You also hated the way Robby changed from a mentor to an idol. He had soon morphed into someone you wanted to so desperately be to the point you lost yourself in ambition.

And the worst part? You held nothing against them personally.

They didn't know what Jack had said. They didn't know that you were dying on the inside every time they raised you up during shifts. Bits of you crumbled away while they continued to glow.

Every morning you woke up, you wondered if the day would provide the straw that broke the camel's back with the way you felt like a stretched out rubber band waiting to fly.

A soft, savory aroma wafted through your kitchen. You absentmindedly stirred the spatula through the sauce, eyes glancing back and forth from the pan to the recipe. The instructions were written in beautiful, slanted cursive with curled letters that danced together. You'd found the card mixed in with a bunch of recipes Jack kept in his drawer. With a quick read told you that the owner of this one was his late wife, and the heart next to the title had you guessing if this was a favorite for the two of them.

Without thinking, you plucked it from the drawer and started working. After a week of back to back cases that ended in more loss than wins, a homemade meal was exactly what you and Jack needed after a day off. He was currently out getting his truck washed, and you wanted to be finished by the time he came home.

Quickly, the separate parts of the recipe—the chicken and veggies basting in the oven, the sauce on the stove top, and the wine chilling in the fridge—all came together right as Jack walked through the door.

"Hi, baby!" you called out as you pulled the pan from the oven. "Dinner's almost ready!"

You picked up on Jack's slightly clompy gate as he got farther into the house.

"Smells good," he said, walking over to stand behind you. "What did you make?"

Suddenly, you got nervous. What if it didn't taste correct? What if Jack didn't want you to make something so special between him and his wife. What if you ruined everything.

You didn't meet his eyes and poured the sauce over the top of the chicken. "Uh, a recipe from the drawer. It looked good, and we already had the ingredients."

He grabbed the card and held it up to his face, and you held your breath. When he didn't seem to get angry or sad, you counted it at a win.

"There's a bottle of white in the fridge if you want to get it out," you offered.

Jack stayed quiet. You didn't dare look even as the sound of a cork popping echoed in the room. While his immediate lack of response didn't cause concern to rise, your stomach still churned. To mirror him, you also didn't speak while you set the table.

He sat down, and so did you, your chairs facing the other like you'd done so many times in the past. Your heart pounded against your sternum as he took the first bite.

Loudly, he smacked his lips, setting his fork down at he chewed. The noise felt like nails on a chalkboard in the silence.

After a minute, he finally spoke. "Did you change anything in this?"

Your racing heart plummeted to your feet. "No. I kept it just like the card had it."

His brows furrowed. "Really? It tastes different than how I remembered it last."

You dug your nails into the fabric of the table running. "Does it not taste good?"

Jack looked up from his plate with wide, hazel eyes. "No, no, it's just different."

"But not good," you scoffed.

"I'm just trying to say that maybe you missed something. I know Alice's handwriting isn't the easiest to read."

"I know how to read cursive, Jack," you spat lowly. "I followed every single instruction on the card. It's the exact same recipe."

"It's not that big of a deal, sweetheart," he tried. "Maybe if you had a bit more practice like her, it might have come out the same. You're a good cook, don't get me wrong, but—"

Your hands slammed on the table in frustration, causing Jack's eyebrows to pinch as his words died in his mouth. He went to keep talking but stopped when he noticed the frustrated tears fall from your eyes.

"I'm done," you breathed, eyes darting around the room.

"Done?" Jack echoed. "What are you done with?"

"Everything," you hissed. "I'm done with this—" You gestured to the food with a wave of your hand. "I'm done with-with you. I'm done with it all."

You pushed up from the table and walked away, leaving Jack to scramble out of his chair and follow you.

"Sweetheart, what's going on?" he loudly asked, but you ignored him.

By the time he made it into the bedroom, you had already ripped out a suitcase from the closet and were pushing clothes into it without making them neat.

"Hey," Jack said gently. "Look, I'm sorry for saying that. I didn't think it'd upset you this much, but you don't have to leave."

You paused in a mid-throw of your shirts and spun to face him. A disbelieving laugh bubbled wetly through your throat. "That's the problem," you muttered, "you don't think."

He crossed his arms, biceps resting against his chest. A need to defend himself bloomed in his stomach. "What's that supposed to fucking mean."

You threw your arms up with an exasperated scoff. "Oh, so now you're concerned for what I'm saying. Maybe you should be concerned more with your words." You sucked in a deep breath. "Just go on and say it."

Jack took a step forward. "Say what?"

"That you'd rather me be someone else!" you screamed. "That-that I'm not enough by myself for you anymore." Pants heaved in your chest. "I'm sick and tired of standing here stuck listening to you compare me and wish that I'd be like or act like someone else."

Your words stole the breath from Jack's lungs as confusion and dread washed over him. "What?"

You closed your eyes and dropped your shoulders. "I heard you; I keep hearing you."

In another step forward, Jack was within two feet of you. He swallowed thickly, but you beat him to more words.

"On the fourth," you began to explain through tears, "I saw Samira patch you up, and I heard the way you told her that I could learn how to be more level headed like her."

A chill crept up Jack's spine. "Sweetheart—"

"Don't," you ordered. "Don't do that where you try to make it all better. I heard you loud and clear, Jack. And that's fine. I knew I could be more calm during traumas, so that's exactly what I did, but apparently—" You chocked out a laugh. "That wasn't enough for you."

He shook his head, hazel eyes swimming with guilt already.

"And I really thought that if I could be anything like Samira, your words wouldn't hurt as much. But then you had to go and tell me that you wished Robby had been there instead of me to do a pericardiocentesis." Your breath shuddered in the next exhale. "Did you even know that was the first time I'd ever been asked to do one? And instead of teaching at a teaching hospital, you threw me to the side saying Robby—the fucking chief attending—could have done the job. No fucking duh, Jack."

You threw a hand in the direction of the kitchen. "And now this? I thought that maybe I could be like Samira or study enough to be like Robby, but h-how am I supposed to compare to the woman who had your love first." You turned back toward the bed and haphazardly packed suitcase. "That's unfair to me. So, like I said, I'm done."

A pleading sound ripped from Jack's throat at the sound of your suitcase zipper closing.

"No, sweetheart, please. Let me fix this; tell me how to fix this," he begged.

"That's just it, Jack. I don't think this can be fixed. I've spent weeks with your words in my head wondering how I can be the perfect person for you. And I don't know if I can keep going on pretending."

Jack's body shook under a small sob as everything came crashing down. He absolutely had no clue what he had done to you, but thinking back, he understood that his careless words wracked irreparable damage to you and your personality.

"I'm sorry," he managed, voice breaking in a whisper.

"I know you are,' you responded, "and somehow that makes it hurt worse. Because while you were trying to compliment everyone else, you made me feel inadequate in every aspect of my life." Your fingers wrapped around the suitcase handle and tugged it off the bed. "I can't stay with someone who keeps hoping I'll be a conglomeration of all the best parts of others; that's not me. And I'll be honest, I don't even really know who me is anymore."

He inhaled sharply, eyes tearing from your face to look down at the floor. "So this is it? You're leaving?"

Another round of tears spilled down your cheeks as you choked on a sob of your own. "I don't want to, but I need to."

"But I love you," he croaked, eyes coming back up to meet yours.

"You love the best parts of me, Jack," you said, already moving to walk past him. "And that's never going to be enough to make me stay."

Your shoulder lightly brushed by his as you walked out of the room and all the way out the front door, leaving Jack behind in a house he realized he didn't want empty. You poison every little thing that I do, Lacy, oh, Lacy, I just loathe you lately, and I despise my jealous eyes and how hard they fell for you, yeah, I despise my rotten mind and how much it worships you Jack didn't truly realize what he'd done until almost six months after you left him crying in his bedroom.

Your absence in his life gave him a lot to think about, and the only conclusion he could come up with was that you were absolutely right. It didn't matter if he'd compared you to others unconsciously; he made you feel like that: worthless, in need of self change, inadequate; the list went on.

He'd seen the small changes too late.

The next shift he worked with you, Jack tracked every minuscule thing you did, and it felt like one big punch to the gut. He saw the way you constantly checked your hair, ponytail pulled tight enough to give you a headache, skin, and scrubs and the way you straightened your stethoscope so it rested perfectly across your collarbones.

His stomach dropped when he watched you pause before a trauma and gulp down air before heading inside like someone who needed to take control before it could get out of hand. Before him, you weren't like that. Yes, you could be nervous to mess up, but you didn't act like you had to be the smartest person in the room.

He did that to you. He made you feel the need to change. And it killed him. It killed him once he learned you transferred over to a specialty in orthopedics, and his mind made him think you did it just to get away from him.

He was slightly correct, but not entirely.

You needed a fresh start, somewhere where you knew no on had any high expectation of you. And somehow, orthopedics gave you just that. And you thrived in the environment, only coming down to the Pitt when they needed a transfer or second opinion. Sure, you had to accompany Park the Shark more than you'd liked to, but through your time there, the old you was coming back, the one who worked through her panic instead of shutting it down, the one who only got frazzled when she cared about patients and their needs.

It was never weakness you showed, and you had to learn that all over again.

Someone helped you see that along the way as well.

"What do got here?" Park asked while snapping on a pair of gloves, eyes predatory as he walked into Trauma Room 1.

Jack looked up with pinched brows when he realized that you didn't walk in behind the larger man. "Where's Dr. [Name]?"

Park didn't even acknowledge his question. "For fucks sake man, you didn't even pack this right."

"You should know how to put a detached leg together even if I missed the pressure of the wrapping by an inch," Jack shot back.

"Abbot, you should know that I can't fucking put your patient back together after you decided to play Barbies. It's not as easy as popping a joint back in place."

"Dr. [Name] could do it."

Except for the monitors, everyone went quiet. Jack tore his eyes away from Park and looked back down at his blood soaked gloves. Reality crashed down on him as he realized he just did to Park what he'd done to you. Even if he knew he probably didn't hurt Park's feelings at all, it sucked to know that he was still so quit to throw out words like that.

Park's shoulders rose in a shrug. "She could, but she isn't here right now. She switched shifts and won't be in until 7." He smirked. "Think she said she had plans with someone."

An ugly roar of jealousy clawed at Jack's insides, nails sinking deep in his gut.

You were with someone?

He went through the motions of his shift, mind still on the fact that you weren't on call because someone had taken your time and attention away from the hospital. His knuckles turned white around the tablet he held while going through handoffs. He didn't know if his body was still trained to look for you, forever waiting for your soft lips against his, but Jack couldn't help but keep his head on a swivel and ears open to catch the sound of your voice.

Like a laugh in his face from the universe, your laugh fluttered through the ER, and his head whipped hard enough that his neck hurt in order to find you. When he finally saw you walking in, his heart dropped to his feet, because there you were, smiling brighter than he'd seen in a long while, hand enclasped with a man's.

Jack swallowed thickly. He instantly hated the way his blood boiled at the sight. He looked back down at the tablet after your voice seemed to draw closer to where he was standing.

"Andy," you sighed wistfully, "you didn't have to walk me all the way in here. I know you're weary of the germs."

"I know," the man—Andy (you gave him a fucking nickname?)—muttered back, wide, hazel eyes looking down at you like you hung the moon. "But I wanted to."

You pouted playfully. "You're so sweet. Am I going to see you tomorrow morning, or are you working again?"

He hummed. "My morning's yours if you want it."

"You know I always do."

Jack watched the corner of the man's mouth twitch into an almost-there smile, and he had to look away when his head started leaning in toward yours.

The small smack of your lips on his made bile gurgle in Jack's stomach.

"Okay, you gotta go save lives."

You giggled again. "I just put people back together, and technically, Park's the one doing all the procedures. You know my hands start shaking."

From the corner of his eye, Jack watched him lift your hands to his lips and kiss the tops of your knuckles.

"Just breathe and know that you alone can do this. You were the one to get into the program, so they want you, shaky hands and all."

Jack's heart clenched to the point of a physical reaction to the pain. He should have been the one saying that to you, standing in your corner and building you up one compliment at a time.

But now, he had to stand on the sideline and watch a man (someone who scarily looked a bit like him) give you all the praise and love you deserved. And while Jack could do everything in his power to let people know how good of a doctor you were, it wouldn't ever be the same, forever stuck loathing the moment he lost you without knowing.

🏷️ permanent tags: @dumb-fawkin-bitch @nofinnn2 @books-thingys-andstuff @nyxmoretti @glitterquadricorn @itzpixiebabe @xoxoloverb @macbaetwo @cerberus101 @thorfemmes @goddess-of-spring @staygoldsquatchling02 @obi-wansgirl @phantom-101 @fly-me-away @xblackcatx @dedicateeverythingtomilkshake @aoi-warrior @keepingitundercover @sofianotvergara @shawnhatosysrightbicep @straykids1011 @vicky066 @67-angelofthelordme-67 @sepidehmoafiglazer @multiversalfandomwriter222 @bellamys-girl1 @violet1661 @damoclesdarling @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @fancyvoidtragedy @hoffmanfan13 @lostfallenangelsblog @teenwolfbitches28 @isuckcigbuds @kaorisakamotofan @alexaplayldr @mszeitxt @darknessofhell666-blog-blog @yapeez @riseabovethorns-blog @thedivinegirlyp0p @valentine1047 @sl33ping-sir3n @toxicwasteee @chanelwidag @cloudrisens @ravenwtfbro @ra-ven-124 @rainaris-ac @glamorizethechaos @queen-of-disasterrrrr @toxicwasteee

[fangirl-dot-com]

Words Can Hurt . . .

summary: victoria javadi is a lot of things, and being mindful of what she says is not one of them. when her voice carries a little too far, and you hear exactly what she thinks of you and your coworkers, jack is left to pick up your shattered pieces and try to put you back together.

tags: jack abbot x reader, angst, sooo much angst, I'd say this is ooc, but if I heard someone calling me a time bomb or the angriest person she's ever met, I'd call her them for it too, hurt/lots of comfort, medical/medschool inaccuracies, reader struggles with depression and self worth, suicidal ideations (nothing ever comes of these), mentions of jack's ptsd, age gap (non specific), apologizing but sorry really is a bandaid over a gaping wound, 18+ MDNI

notes: after the success of my last angst-filled fic, I decided I wanted to write another. I will be making a smut-filled part two, so just heads up for that one! I am currently in the process of moving, so forgive me for my absence! my requests are open, and my tag list is sadly closed! please enjoy!

word count: 4.5k

You thought that you were one of the easier residents to work with. 

Each harder case to come through the front doors went right over to your eager hands without any arguments, you taking the tablet with a nod and steeled nerves. Robby knew you could handle anything that got thrown at you, and his trust meant a lot, his nods and compliments healing something deep in your chest. 

With you, patient satisfaction scores came up, much to the appeal of your seniors. And again, that little twanging flutter made you push to feel it more often. It made you want to be someone that everyone could count on to be there. 

In the Pitt, friendships and comradery were two things that got everyone through shifts; whether they were easy going ones where the worst case through the doors happened to be a broken leg, or they ended with death and loss over and over in a seemingly never-ending cycle. Everyone needed someone, and you always wanted to be the person that others could come to when they needed a hug or a shoulder to cry on. A smile always seemed to be on your face, and even through the worst traumas, you rarely cried, needing to at least be one strong person in a room full of broken souls. 

However, that meant that sometimes, people forgot that you were able to break too. 

You hadn’t meant to eavesdrop after what seemed like the longest 4th of July shift you’ve ever experienced while working at PTMC. The hours were filled with an abandoned baby, two new med students, obnoxious assholes, your boyfriend coming in with a bullet wound to the back, a brand-new attending and her AI charting system, the cyber-attack taking away said AI charting system, and probably most draining, Robby acting like he wasn’t going to come back after his three-month sabbatical, putting everyone on edge and making it seem like they had to walk on egg shells. Even you, after many suggestions of trying to talk him into staying local from multiple different people, weren’t able to get a clear answer from him, and that made it all worse somehow. 

Since dating Jack, you’d weirdly been able to form a closer friendship with the older chief attending that ran farther than a normal boss-coworker relationship. Trying to count the times he came over to Jack’s for dinner or a late-night Steeler’s game would be impossible. You got to see another friendlier and more open version of the man that had only ever been reserved for his closest confidant. So, to not be able to know if he’d come back safely, had your heart racing the entire day. 

Add on everything else (still backtracking to Jack getting shot at—he made sure to tell you that there was indeed a difference), you were closer to a breaking point than you’d been in a long while. 

“Here you go, hun. I think this is the last one before you can get outta here,” Dana sighed as she handed over a paper chart. “To think that we started out the day with robots taking over the chart, and we end it with writing each one individually.”

Your hand cramped at the thought of writing another chart, but you took it from her anyway. “Remind me to keep a hand brace in my locker at all times,” you groaned. “I think my fingers are withering away.” 

“Shocking Abbot doesn’t have on in that go-bag of his.” 

“He has an emergency trach kit but not a measly brace.” You rolled your shoulders, the muscles tight and thickened with nerves and tension. “I’m taking his card after this and booking us both massages.” 

“Amen, sista,” Dana muttered, eyes transfixed on her hand-written nurses board. “At least he’s good for something.” 

You snorted, the sound unfamiliar for the day. “Don’t tell him that, or he’ll want to come with us. I made a monster the last time I brought him with me for a facial, and now he insists to join me every single time.” 

“Uh, Dr. (L/n)?” Dennis asked, his voice carrying over your shoulder in a nervous tone. 

Your neck twisted, and you winced slightly at the pop it gave. “Yes, Whitaker? Still haven’t found your badge?” 

His lips pursed. “No; still haven’t found it, but I actually had a question for you.” 

“Shoot.” 

“Not to throw her under the bus, but Trinity might have mentioned you had an extra energy drink?” he said as more of a question than a statement, and it made your lips curve at his nervous nature. “A-and I was maybe wondering if—” 

“If you could have it?” you finished. “Sure. It’s in the fridge with my name on a sticky note.” 

Dennis smiled largely, and his chest fell with a big exhale. “Thank you so much. I swear I’ll pay you back.” 

“Don’t worry about it.” You waved a hand through the air. “Can’t have you falling asleep here during the last leg.” 

When you turned back to Dana after Dennis left in the direction of the breakroom, she already had a knowing look on her face, eyebrows cocked and grey eyes trained on you over her glasses. Heat rushed to your cheeks. 

“What?” you asked, doing your best not to meet her gaze. “I wasn’t going to drink it anyway.” 

“Sure you weren’t. It’s not like I heard you tell Abbot earlier about how much you were looking forward to drinking it.” 

You glanced over your shoulder. “He obviously needs it more than I do. Plus, he has other things like his bills to worry about. If a can of Monster gets him through the evening, then I’ll let him take mine.” 

Because your eyes had gone back down to the chart midway, you missed the downcast of Dana’s expression. “You still have to worry about bills too, hun. Until you’re Jack’s age, they’re going to forever be a pain in your ass.” 

You huffed. “One Monster isn’t going to make me go broke.” You paused. “Plus, Jack bought it, so his loss really.” 

She tapped her pen on the counter twice. “Then you can take it up with him after you finish that chart. But don’t go too hard, Lord knows you’re one of the hardest working ones here. Abbot better get you the nicest Uber home.” 

A warmth bloomed in your chest, matching the heat rising in your cheeks, always one to get a reaction out of the simplest of words. Dana could tell you that you did a good job tying your shoelaces, and her praise would mean more than anything else. 

In response, you only shook your head before clicking a pen open to start writing in the chart. The words came easily enough, your fingers actually cooperating with you to make the lettering legible enough that someone could easily transfer your notes once the systems were fully back on. To your right, you heard a crisp crack and chuckled. 

Dennis certainly wasn’t one to wait when a cold Monster dropped right into his hands. 

Almost to the halfway point in the chart was when you heard both Dennis’s and Victoria’s voices carry over the loud ED. You tried your best to concentrate; once you were finished, you got to kiss Jack goodbye and then go back to your shared home where you knew your bed and dinner were waiting for you. You could almost imagine it: the post-work bath, the warmed up left overs, then drifting right off to sleep only to wake up twelve hours later in Jack’s arms, something that only happened when you both had the day off, and July 5th happened to be just that. 

“Did you ever find your ID badge?” Victoria asked Dennis, and you couldn’t help but frown; the poor kid had been looking for it all day. 

“Uh, no,” Dennis answered after taking a sip from the can. “So, you any closer to deciding what’s next for you?” 

“Uh, yeah. I’m seriously considering law school.” 

Your brow quirked. Law school? Well, she was young enough to switch everything if she wanted to. 

Dennis choked on a swallow. “What? What are you talking about? You’re going to be a great doctor.” 

She scoffed lowly. “I mean, no offense, but look what this place does to you.” 

Your pen stopped against the page, and your stomach tightened. By now, you were listening with purpose, unable to quit even if you knew better than to eavesdrop in on their conversation. Yet, they were talking rather loudly in the middle of the hub, so you probably weren’t the only one who caught their words. 

Victoria continued. “Langdon’s an addict.” 

You blanched. What? 

Dennis was quick to correct her. “Is a person with substance use disorder.” 

“McKay was on house arrest,” she continued, not heading his words at all. “Dana’s a time bomb.” 

A frown took over your mouth, and an ugly feeling roared its head in your center. If there was one person who wasn’t a time bomb, they’d be Dana, the charge nurse who had seemingly never-ending patience, a caregiver who rushed into danger moments after hearing Hula Hoop!, a woman who pushed herself up and worked through a mass casualty after a man abused her in the ambulance bay. Through it all, Dana had persevered, and Victoria had the audacity to call her a time bomb. Your fingers curled white-knuckled around the pen, and you had half a mind to turn around and speak up, but you stayed silent, wanting to hear what she had to say about your coworkers. 

“Santos is one of the angriest people you are ever going to meet.” 

“Woah. Sarcastic, yes. Cynical, definitely. I don’t know if she’s, you know—” 

“Mel?” she interrupted before pausing like she couldn’t come up with something vicious for a the most innocent of your colleges. “Samira has no life. Abbot’s an adrenaline junkie who gets shot at for fun.” 

Now, anger roared its head and bubbled under your skin. What does she fucking know about Jack’s need to keep going because he feels like if he stops, he’ll quit living. You’d been there to hold him through the bad days, through all of his deepest darkest fears and doubts that if he didn’t have a purpose, no one would want him. You swallowed thickly, and when you blinked, the chart suddenly became blurry through glossy eyes. 

“Robby’s got, like PTSD or something way fucking worse.” 

Your breath hitched high in your throat. For more years than Victoria had even been alive, Robby had seen the worst of the world. You knew he’d been abandoned at a young age, but everyone else knew he had to make the decision to take his mentor off life support in hopes to give a younger life a fighting chance, only for them both to end up six feet under. He carried the responsibility of every single employee on his shoulders even if they didn’t want him to. He was tired, he was scared, he was angry, and all she could say was that he is basically fucked mentally. You shifted your weight, ready to turn around and speak your mind, but like self-torture, your name was next on her list, and this time, the ER went silent to hear it all.  

“And don’t get me started on Dr. (L/n). The poor girl has an obvious case of validation addiction and depression, plus, dating a senior attending? Talk about daddy issues.” 

It was as if all the breath was stolen from your lungs, and inhaling became immensely difficult. You tried your best to take in deep inhales, but your chest refused to cooperate with your brain’s need for oxygen. A high-pitched ringing overtook your hearing, fogging up and overpowering anything that followed. Slowly, you looked up from where your eyes had stayed glued to the chart, and your stomach dropped even further when you met not only Dana’s eyes, but what felt like the whole departments’ including Jack’s, who had just managed to make it in before Victoria had even said your name. 

He had been there for all of it. He'd heard her.

Your jaw dropped, and your shoulders hunched in jerky motions as you tried to say something—anything, but she had managed to rendered you speechless in three measly sentences and make you feel the most vulnerable you’d ever been. Everyone who was looking at you now knew something you’d tried to hide through consistent smiles and a small dosage of Lexapro to get you through the day. But now, with your soul bared wide open by someone who didn’t understand what loving an ER did to a person, nothing seemed to make it all feel better. 

You shakily looked around the room, pen dropping from your hand as you began to back up from the counter. For a split second, you met Victoria’s dark eyes and guilt-ridden expression, but it was too late for her to take anything back. In a shuddering breath, you turned and hastily walked in the direction of the stairwell, failing to meet Jack’s eyes after brushing right past him and Robby, taking two steps at a time to get somewhere with air once you got to the stairs. 

And you had only one place in mind with enough air to last a lifetime: the roof. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Jack’s jaw clenched to the point his teeth hurt as the med student’s words rang through his head. 

He could probably piece together that you weren’t the only one she talked loudly about, but in that moment, you were the only one that mattered. His hand tightened around the strap of his bag. He left Robby standing there with his arms crossed against his chest and walked over to where she and Whitaker were standing. 

By the time he reached her, the Pitt had delved back into quiet motion, however, that didn't mean a few had stuck around to possibly hear what Jack was about to say or see what he was about to do.

Loudly placing his bag down in a thunk that echoed through the hub, the room still reeling with the too-loud ill-thought words thrown at you, one of their most trustworthy residents they’d ever had. Jack made sure to square his shoulders to be as intimidating as he hoped he could come across. His hazel eyes burned with an unfiltered rage as he looked down.

“I don’t know what led you to this little . . . gossip name-calling session at the end of your shift, but what you have just said is completely inappropriate and absolutely disrespectful to one of your superiors,” he stated lowly, voice close to a growl. “And frankly, I don’t care if you’re tired, or if this is a slip up of not thinking straight. You have just made a very strong accusation about my partner. And once her name came out of your mouth, all bets of me reprimanding you as an attending flew off the table.”

Javadi felt the blood drain from her face. “Dr. Abbot, I didn’t mean—” 

“But you did,” he cut her off. “You’re only backtracking now because we all heard you—she heard you. Do you know exactly what you’ve done?”

When she failed to answer, Jack scoffed. 

“Fine, I will tell you what you’ve done so that it can sit with you for the rest of your weekend. Dr. (L/n) works her ass off to be approachable. She never complains, never staggers under pressure, and is one of the best fucking people within these walls, and you have just belittled everything she does for this damn hospital. She gets praised because she’s great, not because she’s a little attention seeking med student,” he cracked, not holding back at all. “You should know a bit about that. You graduated and went to college at what? Sixteen?” 

Jack knew he lowballed it just for her to quietly correct him with a meek thirteen. He clicked his tongue loudly against his cheek. 

“What do they call you kids these days too? Nepo-babies? Your mom works upstairs, and you’re down here desperately trying to hide away from her and make a name for yourself. Well, let me tell you something, kid, this—” He gestured to her and then around the hub with a flick of his wrist. “—this is not the way to go about things. You don’t get to loudly judge others and expect there to not be reprimand and get away with it.” 

He leaned against the counter and tilted his chin back. “You’re studying to be a doctor, for fucks sake. What if you’d been saying this shit about a patient, and their family overheard you? Your scores would tank, and then you might have to repeat a whole year because you couldn’t find the dignity to keep your thoughts to yourself. This is not the standard of care we’d give to patients and certainly not one we give to coworkers who have never given us, and especially you, grief for anything.” 

Taking a deep breath, Jack tried to relax, but just remembering the devastation on your face kept the fire rolling. 

“My relationship with Dr. (L/n) is and will always be no one’s business. If she wants to date an older guy, one who happens to be me, it doesn’t automatically mean someone has daddy issues,” he spat, the words curdling in his mouth. “It means that she was comfortable enough to go for someone who knows the right way to treat a woman, and I will not stand here and let you think for one more second that she is not capable of carrying for herself.”

Jack pushed off the counter and really looked into her eyes one more time, making sure everything really stuck. “Most of the superiors in here have been working in medicine longer than you’ve been alive. I’ve had to live with the repercussions of war far longer than you’ve been alive. Once you’ve gotten a true taste of what this world can do to a person, come find me, and we’ll have a real discussion about how adults find ways to cope with it all without killing ourselves every night.” 

He turned around without a second thought, leaving behind a more than embarrassed med student and a hub full of coworkers who understood every word he had said deeper than they’d like to admit. But he couldn’t think of any of them now, not with you and the roof on his mind. He hated the way his stomach flipped and twisted as he rode the elevator upwards, leg not able to handle the stairs so early into putting his prosthesis back on after working the few hours after the SWAT raid he manage to do plus little sleep in time to kiss you goodbye after your shift. 

Jack was never one for religion, but he prayed that he’d find you behind the railing instead of in front of it. Hell, he’d rather you be on the other side than not even on the roof anymore. His fingers curled into fists at his sides as he willed the machine to go faster. He didn’t dare breathe even when it finally dinged open, body rushing forward through the familiar motion of the journey to the roof, one he’d taken way too many times to count. 

When he pushed open the heavy door to reveal the roof being swallowed in the setting sun, the tension in his body bled out only slightly at the sight of you standing there, closer to the edge than he first hoped. His steps crunched into the gravel, and he guessed that you knew he was there even if you refused to turn around. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said carefully but not like talking to a spooked animal. Jack knew better than to treat you like that, or he’d be going against everything he just said downstairs. “Mind if I stand here with you?” 

You sniffed loudly, and Jack watched the way your one hand rose to rub a hand at your face, indicating that you were crying. Your neck bent as you looked down at the road below and all the glowing ant-sized cars and people, mind running with the thought of how long it’d take to get down to the bottom. 

“I don’t know exactly what you’re thinking,” Jack started again, taking a full step forward to be closer to you. “But I know you, and I can take big guess that you’re telling yourself that she’s right.” 

The smallest nod of your head sent Jack’s heart down to his toes. 

“Cause she is,” you warbled, voice thick with emotions too big to keep inside. “She is right. I-I thought I did a better job at hiding, but she read me like a damn book.” 

“No,” he responded. “No, she didn’t. She’s far from right, and I hate that you think she is, because how she described you is nothing like how I or anyone else sees you, baby. You’re strong; you don’t have a validation addiction. Fucking everyone loves a compliment, and in our line of work those are few and far between. So, when you get one, it’s special.” 

You sobbed a bit harder at his attempt to make you seem normal . . . at least what normal meant in your mind. 

“And who gives a shit if you do like them more than others; just means you’re more in-tuned with what you know you like. I, for one, am grateful for that because instead of telling me to fuck off, old man—” He spoke in a higher pitch that wasn’t anywhere near your voice to speak. 

You gave him a small giggle as a reward, and Jack smiled. 

“You let me take you to dinner; you let me, a tired, grumpy old man who’s still wears his wedding ring because he’s scared of forgetting and being forgotten, love you.” 

That finally got you to turn around, and the glare you tried to send his way was a bit more pitiful than you were probably trying for, but his heart fluttered as your personality slowly peaked through the sadness. 

“You’re not that old . . . or grumpy,” you muttered before holding your hand out. 

Jack took it without hesitation, fingers curling around yours, arm holding up your weight while you stepped over the railing. He wasted no time in tugging your hand once your two feet were planted to wrap you in a hug. He felt you sigh heavily against him, body dropping into his chest as everything drained out of you. Jack pressed a small kiss to your temple. 

“Baby, I’m fifty. If that’s not old, I’m scared of what old feels like in twenty years.” 

You laughed softly before going quiet. “I don’t know why I came up here. I shouldn’t have run away like that.” 

Jack huffed. “You needed to get out and get some air; that’s not running away. I’m actually proud that you came up here.” 

"I'll make sure not to take your spot." Your cheek shifted until the top of your head tucked beneath his chin. “I want to go home, but I don’t want to face any of them.” 

“Can always sneak you down the outside stairs.” 

“But then I won’t get to say goodbye to Robby.” You inhaled sharply. “God, I hope he didn’t hear what she said about him,” you whimpered, suddenly overwhelmed with the weight of Victoria’s words. 

"Mike's a big boy. If he couldn't take a few harsh words, he would have quit a long time ago." Jack squeezed you a bit tighter. “But, I talked to him, and he’s going to stay in the area for a bit longer. Still needs that vacation, but he owes us at least one more movie night. We’ll walk down together and get you home.” 

You pulled back enough to look him in the face. “Your shift?” 

“I don’t care about my shift right now. Plus, with the fireworks, I don’t think I’ll be able to concentrate as well as I could. John’ll cover if I bribe him with free Dunkin' for a month.”  

"Maybe I'll add in to make it two," you muttered, sighing at the end. "Let's go back down the normal way." 

Jack's brows pinched tightly together. "Sweetheart, we don't have to—" 

"It'll be better for me to rip the Band-Aid off than worry about this for the rest of the weekend." Your eyes cast downward to your feet. "It's not like she can say anything worse." 

"If she even tries—" 

"Which she probably won't," you gently said in attempts to placate him, hand rubbing gently rubbing at his chest. "I just want to go home . . . please." 

His heart melted just at bit, the please resonating in his soul, quenching the fire to replace it with the need to provide for you. So, instead of fighting, he nodded. 

"We'll get you home, sweetheart." 

Without waiting, you pulled on his hand, leading him back toward the door. Unlike the first elevator ride up, Jack was less anxious, however, he disliked the way you seemed to be moving with nerves, hand shaking, body swaying. Confrontation had never been your strong suit, and he never hesitated to step in if you needed. 

He heard the shaky breath you sucked in right as the elevator doors opened. His hand kept a tight hold on yours while he led you back through to the lockers, keeping a watchful eye out for anyone. Thankfully though, the hallway was empty, and it took you no time to put your code in, grab your stuff, and slide your hand back into his. 

You were almost home free, the side door in sight that led to the employee parking, when a shout of your name behind had you freezing, eyes widened as the voice computed in your brain, the one that would now be etched forever with venom dripping from her lips. 

"You don't have to turn around," Jack muttered, but you had already started twisting. 

"Yes, Javadi?" you asked softly, not being able to ignore her even if you tried. 

Her hands wrung together as she looked at you with big eyes. She looked like she was about to say something before she halted. 

"I just . . ." she trailed, obviously not ready to say what she wanted. "I want to apologize for what I said in there. I have no excuse, and I wanted to say sorry before you left. So, I'm sorry." 

Your tongue ran across your lips, but your mouth was left dry. Your mind ran with so many things to respond with, but nothing would form enough for you to actually speak them. 

"It's fine," you settled on the familiar excuse. 

Jack tensed at your side. "It's not fine—" He stopped when your hand squeezed his a bit tighter, silently telling him to drop it. 

You pursed your lips. "Have a nice rest of your weekend." 

Jack finally took that moment to turn you back around and lead you out the door, leaving Victoria in the empty hallway. The sight of Jack's truck felt like heaven opening up with an angel chorus. 

One small trip, and then you'd be home, and Jack had a whole evening to prove that you were more than demeaning gossip. And he'd make sure by the end of the night, you'd be nothing but mindless enough to agree with everything he told you.

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[dear-2-readers]

Please, someone print this Jack Abbot 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

[lunarayletters]

Not as sweet as you think

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Female Reader

Summary: based on this request to write about DV between siblings. It was later changed from FL to JA here.

‼️ TW ABUSE ‼️ You, grew up in an abusive household, under the hands of your brothers. As you got older, you kept in touch until one night, the same brother who hit you dedicated his speech to you, all in the name of raising money for a charity that helped kids who had gone through abuse. That was the night you decided you wanted nothing to do with them. It was also the night you met Jack Abbot, who helped calm you down after your panic attack.

Two years later, a text message from one of your brothers sends your world crashing down, secrets unravelling, as you go through a traumatic flashback in front of yours and Jack's PTMC friends.

Revenge is sweet, and no one loves revenge more than your darling boyfriend.

Word count: 6.6k

TW/TAGs: abuse, anger, yelling, blood, panic attacks, vomiting, use of nickname: dolcezza, as per anon request, swear words,

Notes: sending you my love, my darling anon <3

ngl not very well proofread. i wrote from the heart, and whatever came out i wrote it down. i dont feel like polishing this story, i want it to be as real as possible

@lacy1986

⋆ ──── ♡ ──── ⋆

‼️ TW ABUSE ‼️

If your life were to be a book, the first line would be: fuck my family.

You can only imagine the shocked and surprised faces of people who worship their families as they read your book. 

How dare you say such a thing about your family?

Because we have to respect our families, regardless, correct?

Fuck no. 

Using DNA just so it's a lame excuse for abusive behaviour?

Another fuck no.

Your older brothers were not kind people — they were messed up in the head, to no fault of anyone but themselves. And the reason for it? There simply isn’t one. 

It wasn’t until you grew older that you realised that what you had gone through was indeed abuse. Because a twelve-year-old getting hit by her brother was not ‘playing’ or ‘teasing’. An eight-year-old getting dragged by the hair across the floor was not because ‘your brother cannot control his anger’. It was simply abuse. 

And to make matters worse? They all work in health care. Care. They care for people when they cannot care for their own sibling. One of your brothers went through med school, pretending to care about patients when his own sister had a purple bruise around her beautiful, small eye.

You hid it well, the bruises and the burns, the heartache and the anxiety. You did so well. And you kept in touch with them, even after you all went your separate ways for a while, because you are their dolcezza, their sweetheart, the one that can never say no to them.

Until one day… you realised how fucked up they truly are. 

You sat at the table, surrounded by doctors, surgeons, nurses, pharmacists and hospital administrators. Today is a fundraising event, with hospitals from all over Pittsburgh attending to raise money for all sorts of charities. You wore a beautiful, sleeveless black satin dress, showing your beautiful skin. 

Now that you no longer have bruises to hide, you show as much skin as you want. 

Your brothers sat on the table, along with their dates. You came along as one of their plus ones — because, being the kind-hearted person you are, you wanted to support them.

Until your older brother took the stage and started his speech, talking about the charity he and his team will be fundraising for. 

It was for a charity, supporting children who had gone through abuse and neglect. 

Was this some sort of sick joke? Your stomach twists into a painful knot. 

And to make matters worse, he dedicated his speech to his dolcezza.

You.

The sweetheart of the family. 

Bile rises in your throat, and you can no longer hear the speech or see clearly. You lose all your senses, and you are convinced this is what death feels like. 

Slow. Painful. Nauseating. 

You kick your heels off, push off the chair and run out right in front of the entire hall that was now staring at the damsel in distress. 

Your brother, however, continues with his speech. Your other brothers, who sat at the table, are now planning revenge for why you did such an embarrassing thing. Their little perfect girl, running away like this?

You sprint down the empty hallway, looking for the bathroom. You needed to be sick. Needed to breathe. Wanted to die.

In a panic and a rush, you run straight into a man and knock him clean off his feet, and fall right on top of him. “I’m sorry” you cry out as you try to move off him, but the panic in your chest is making it impossible for you to stand straight “I’m so sorry!” You are convinced this man was going to drag you by your hair, slap you, even.

But instead he softly says, “Hey, that’s okay. It was an accident.”

You eventually manage to stand up, stumbling as if you are drunk. But you had nothing to drink. You don’t even offer to help him stand, but the man manages to get up on his own. “Do you need a hand?” He asks you.

You try and breathe but your lungs seem to have stopped working “Bathroom- I need - bathroom - i’ m gonna-“ you let out a gag and press a hand to your stomach. The man instantly grabs your arm gently to steady you and leads the way to the accessible bathroom.

Your mind convinces you that he is about to hurt you, hell even take advantage of you in the bathroom but he doesn’t do any of the sort. He pulls your hair back as you hug the toilet seat and vomit. One hand stays on your back, gently moving up and down your bare back, making soothing motions. “I’ll go get you some water, do you think you will be okay on your own for a while?”

“You don’t have to stay with me..” you say weakly, as you feel your the post adrenaline crash, “i’m really sorry about this.”

“You’re ill, there’s nothing to be sorry about.”

“I’m drunk and a mess.” You lie. It was much better to say, instead of having to explain why you’re in this bathroom, with a strange man, vomiting your guts out over your brother’s speech. But the man doesn’t think you are drunk. He’s well aware you’re having a panic attack. He leaves the bathroom for a few minutes and returns to find you sitting against the wall, with tears streaming down your face. Your mascara had run down your face, leaving long black streaks. You looked broken, and he wonders who broke you. “Here’s some water” he says gently as he lowers himself to the floor, “Would you like me to take you home?”

You look up at the man and instantly recognise him — it was Dr Abbot, the one who was speaking with your brothers at the welcome drinks. “I can manage.”

“No worries, I won’t push it.” He says softly, offering you a hand to help you stand. “Do you have your purse and phone?”

“No… no it’s back at the table. I uh…” You simply cannot go back into that room without having another panic attack. You need to be away from them, as far as possible. 

“I’ll grab it for you. Is it the gold purse you were carrying? You are sitting at table five?” Jack recognised who you are, the moment he saw you running down the hallway. Because when someone as beautiful and elegant as you are is in the same room as him, he remembers. “I’ll grab your heels too.”

“Mr Abbot? Sorry Dr-“

“It’s Jack.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“It’s what people do for each other, isn’t it?”

Kindness, such as this, was a stranger to you. 

He leaves you in the bathroom once again, and you manage to collect yourself, wash some of your makeup away and look somewhat presentable. He returns a few minutes later, helps you slip your heels back on, and hands you your things. “Are you sure you’re gonna be okay getting home safely?”

“Actaully, can I take you up on that offer? If it’s not too much to ask?”

Jack instantly smiles, warm and kind. Growing up in an abusive household, you quickly learn people’s smiles, speech and body language. Because at any given moment, a punch can be thrown and you need to duck down. Some smiles can be deceptive and evil — but his smile isn’t. “Sure, but first, how do you feel about grabbing dinner with me? Pancake House is still open.”

“I would love that, Jack.”

Your quick dinner turned into a three-hour conversation with Jack. You learnt that he is an ER doctor who had met some of your brothers in passing, but was not close with them. “I’m not close with them, actually.” You lie, “We don’t speak. Tonight was a one-off.” 

Jack doesn’t question it further because families fall out and argue. Right?

He asks you some more questions about what you do and what you're interested in. He didn't want this to end; it was only when you rested your head on the booth and started to fall asleep that he suggested going home.

He wrapped his jacket around your bare shoulders and supported your sleepy body as he walked you out to his car. You fought sleep, not wanting to let go of this moment just yet.

“I really enjoyed tonight” You say quietly just as Jack pulls up outside your apartment. “Thank you for making me feel special.”

You don’t want this night to end, and neither does Jack. He hasn’t had this much fun in years, and the unfamiliar feeling of butterflies in his chest was a stranger. Until they appeared tonight, he was reminded of how much he missed this rush and excitement. “I would love to do it again sometime.” He murmurs softly, and you admire how good-looking he looks, sitting in the leather seat... his tux shirt is unbuttoned slightly... his curls slightly messy. 

“Do you have any plans tomorrow?” You ask hesitatingly, leaning toward him slightly. 

“I do…” Jack murmurs, leaning toward you too, “I have a date with a hot girl.”

“Oh yeah? Where are you taking her?”

“Somewhere beautiful, but not as beautiful as her.” He leans in, hand gently tracing up your neck as he pulls you toward his lips. “I hope she says yes.”

You kiss him softly and slowly, and you feel safe and content. A feeling you never thought you’d ever, ever feel. “She says yes.”

“Good, that’s very good.” You feel him smile as he continues kissing you. “I can’t wait.”

The next morning, you woke up to hundreds of messages from your brothers asking where you were. They knew where you lived, and you feared that they would come knocking on your door. You texted back, apologising for your behaviour, and acted like the good girl they expect you to be. But little did they know that you handed in your tenancy notice that morning, asking to move out as soon as possible. 

That same day, Jack came over and took you on your first date. And since that day, you became inseparable and Jack never left your side.

It was like the universe had sent him your way.

You kept the peace with your brothers and came up with excuses for why you couldn’t see them.... until the day of your move-out. The day you collected keys to your brand new apartment, which is in Jack’s building, because he was the one who helped you find it and move. You changed your number, and so to them, you disappeared overnight without a trace.

That was the proudest moment of your life. 

Cutting off your fucked up family for good. 

They don’t deserve your love or attention. 

They don’t deserve to call you dolcezza. 

They deserve hell, today and every day for the rest of their earthly life and wherever they go after.

Jack on the other hand, was the only family you needed. It didn’t take long for the two of you to make your relationship official. His kindness and generosity were something you did not know existed. But every day, he surprised you further. You couldn’t help but fall in love with him, and he was the only one you saw in your future.

However… you were carrying a heavy secret that you didn’t know if you could ever share with him. You buried this secret 10 feet underground and never imagined it would ever resurface within seconds. 

All it took is a simple text message to send your world spiralling. 

A simple message, asking how you were, and inviting you over for a family dinner. 

Two years of no contact. Where the hell did they find your number?

Two years of disappearance. Do they know where you live?

Two years of peace and love. From Jack and only Jack. You live with Jack now, so surely they can’t hurt you?

It took two seconds for them to ruin the peaceful life you have carefully created for yourself. 

⋆ ──── ♡ ──── ⋆

It was evening time, and Jack was expected to come back anytime. The text message had sent you spiralling all day, choking you slowly and painfully. You broke one wine glass and two dishes as you attempted to make dinner, and you cleaned up any evidence of what you had done.

Because the mindset you have worked so hard to forget and overcome has now taken over your mind overnight.

Broken dishes often meant broken fingers. Or broken noses. Or broken hearts. 

You don’t hear the door open or close as you stare at the water that is boiling and splattering all over the hob. You can hear yelling and awful cries — but was it coming from your apartment?

It was the gentle touch on your back that sent you into a panic. You spun around quickly, arms coming up instinctively to cover your face, anticipating five fingers. But your heart stopped your arms from shielding your face, because it was Jack who was standing in front of you. And there was no yelling or crying. 

“Baby, are you okay?” Jack frowns at your reaction; you are never this jumpy. There is a look of fear in your eyes that he has never seen before. 

“Yes sorry, all good!” you force a smile and hug him tightly, “it’s been a bad day.”

He embraces yor hug, pulling you against him tightly, “wanna talk about it?”

“Oh no it’s fine, it’s just one of them days.” You say quietly, feeling the panic ease, knowing that you are safe in his arms, “was work okay?”

“It was bad; all I wanted was to come home to you. So I’m better now.” He murmurs in your ear, “How about I continue dinner?”

“You’ve had a long shift — go freshen up i’ll do it.”

“If you’re sure baby” he pulls back, arms gently trace up your body, cupping your face, “I want to quit my job… and do nothing but be here with you… kiss you and love you all day. I hate work.”

“That would be the dream” you tilt your head playfully, “but you have an expensive lifestyle that you need to maintain”

He tips his head back and laughs, and you join him too. But you’re quickly reminded that this lifestyle you’ve curated might not be this peaceful forever. 

Every morning since you received the text message, you woke up after not having much sleep and you checked your phone, clicking on your brother’s number and text messages. It wasn’t the oldest brother who had messaged — it was actually another brother who ‘was not that bad’, when it came to abusing you. You haven’t replied and haven’t blocked his number either. You had so much you wanted to say to him, so much anger that needed to be let out.

But for now, you clicked the phone shut and turned over to Jack, who was still fast asleep. A few minutes later, his alarm goes off, and you quickly jump over him in an attempt to turn it off so he can have a lie-in. It was his day off, so why the hell does he need to be up at 7 a.m.?

As you move over, you knock his phone over along with a glass of water that tips over, splashing all over his phone, which now sits on the bedroom floor. Tangled in the sheets and full of panic, you try and move over but you end up falling to the floor too. You try not to let out a sound, but Jack hears a loud thud and jolts wide awake.

You broke your brother’s phone once when you were seventeen. No amount of ice packs brought down the swelling on your cheeks and you never made it to school that day. 

Your mind reminded you that you don’t have ice packs in this apartment.

“I’m sorry!” you cry out once you see Jack awake. “I’m so sorry; I’ll fix it!”

“Sweeth-“ Jack stops himself. You had asked him once not to call you sweetheart or honey, because the nickname made you cringe. Dolcezza meant sweetness, and you hated the nickname. But Jack didn’t know why you hated it. 

You pick up his phone and walk away from the bed, “i’m so sorry Jack I promise it was an aciddent and-“

“Baby, can you calm down, what even happened!” Jack flicks the sheets off him, but he can’t reach his crutches and can’t get to you. 

“It was an accident I knocked it over and then it fell and I fell and-“

“Baby slow down and come back here, you’re not making sense” he says softly. “Please, just- can you grab me my crutches?”

You shake your head, standing in the corner of the room, hot tears running down your cheeks, “Please don’t be angry”

“I would never be angry with you! Can you just tell me what happened?”

“I broke your phone, and then water fell on it.” 

“And you fell? Did you hurt yourself?”

A little voice in your head whispers, “Dolcezza, did you hurt yourself? The answer is always yes. You tell them you’re clumsy and the bruise is from playing football with your brothers.”

You shake your head, trying to shake the voice out, “i’m good! i’m good!”

“Okay, that’s good.” Jack forces a small nervous smile, “Can you come back to me…yeah? just a few steps toward me. I’m not gonna hurt you I promise.”

Liars. They’re all liars. The voice whispers again.

You take small steps toward him, and with shaky hands, you hand him his phone. “I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted my love. Now, can you sit next to me?”

You nod and hesitantly sit on the edge of the bed. He shifts over next to you, reaching out for your hand, “I don’t know what’s changed… but I will never be angry with you. Never. Okay?” Jack doesn’t want to question your behaviour any further. Not yet. He wants to study more of your behaviour and reactions before he starts questioning it. Because this… This isn’t a behaviour that’s been brought on overnight. “We’ll soak it in some rice — worst case I’ll buy a new one. It’s nothing really..”

“Mhmm”

“Now shall we go back to bed?”

“Yes, please.”

“It’s my day off today, so I’m getting all the cuddles, if that’s okay?”

“I’d love nothing more.” This definitely wasn’t a lie. You wanted to feel safe again, and his arms were your only safe space. 

“You sleeping okay?” He asks as he shifts on the bed, lying down next to you. He felt you in the night, tossing and turning, and waking up at the early hours of the day. But you always came up with an excuse that he believed. Until now.

“I am, of course I am.” You lie as you turn over to face him, forcing yet another smile. Jack starts talking to you, but your mind shuts off, taking you back to when you were a teenager, reminding you of all the ugly things they did to you as you fall back to sleep. 

⋆ ──── ♡ ──── ⋆

The invitation for Dana’s housewarming party has been sat on your fridge for weeks, but now that it’s actually time to get ready and leave, your body refuses to move. Your mind’s been foggy since the text message came through, and your anxiety has been slowly brewing, and you knew that the comedown will be ugly. You still haven’t replied, and you've decided that you won’t be replying. They don’t deserve you, so why the hell should you put yourself through this for them?

You have no excuse on why you won’t be able to attend Dana’s party, so you brave yourself and head out of the door, over to the cafe to pick up some pastries. Jack insisted he’d come over and meet you but you told him to meet you there. The last thing you truly wanted is for Jack to start questioning on why you’ve not slept, eaten, and cannot form a full sentence without slurring your words. 

“Order sixteen?” The waitress calls out. 

“That’s me! Thank you.” You approach the counter and pull your purse out to pay, “How much do I owe-“ 

Ugly eyes were staring back at you. 

You’d recognise these demonic eyes anywhere. 

The same eyes that stared into your soul when you got beaten up.

That malicious smile..

It stabbed you right in the chest. Suddenly your chest was starting to hurt, your body reminding you the many times your older brother punched you. 

“-ready when you are” the waitress says.

“Hmm?” You finally break away from his gaze and look back at the waitress, “uh… oh.. I uh..”

How long has he been sat there for?

Does he know where you live? 

Is he going to hurt you?

“I’m sorry I uh-“ you turn your back to him, abandoning your order on counter and sprint out of the cafe. You haven’t had a panic attack this bad since the dinner — the same night you met Jack. Except this time Jack isn’t here to calm you down. You’re alone and in danger.

“Well if it isn’t the favourite child” the ugly voice says. 

Your legs can’t move quick enough before he caught up with you. He always caught you, regardless of where you hid. 

“Let’s talk, sis” he smiles as he grabs hold of your arm and pulls you down a quiet alleyway. 

Your body wants to move, fight, scream but his evil stare paralyses you on the spot.

“I’m so happy I bumped into you…” he says slowly, grinning as he leans in. “It’s been a long two years, sis”

“What do you want?”

“The whole family’s upset with you… running away like this?” He clicks his teeth, then slowly pushes you against the wall. “I missed you.”

“Let me go”

“Oh you can run if you want to… but I know that you don’t. Because you miss me. Dolcezza.” His wink sends a wave of nausea through you. 

He is right — you do want to run but your legs stop moving. They’re a heavy and dead weight, and suddenly you’re sixteen again, cornered in your bedroom, while he yells at you, throwing punches around you until one lands on your body. 

“So are you coming to the family dinner? We miss our girl.”

“Fuck you” you spit out, knowing it will get you in a lot of trouble, but you’re done being sweet. You’re not as sweet as they think. “Fuck you!” You yell again and push him off, making a run for it, but you don’t make it very far as he holds onto your hair and pulls you back toward him . “Can’t leave now without saying goodbye? Hmm? I also have your pastries… they’re as sweet as you.”

He shoves you against the wall awfully hard, and your mind convinces you this is the moment you’re going to die. And Jack… oh Jack you never got to say goodbye. If only you told him the truth. 

“Give me a fucking hug, dolcezza. Don’t be a bitch and make me kill you.” He stands there with his arms wide open, with the same malicious grin on his face. 

It’s either this or dying. But you can’t die yet, not until you say goodbye to Jack. You step forward, embracing his hug, smelling his cologne. The same cologne he sprayed every morning, the same one that lingered in the air after he beat you up. 

“Good to see you sis, enjoy the pastries.” He pulls back slowly, leans in and giving your forehead a kiss before turning on his heels. 

The kiss burns your skin, and you instantly wipe it off, rubbing the back of your hand across your forehead. Over and over and over again. 

“Okay, okay” you gasp for a breath, “I’m okay, I’m okay.. okay.” You look at the box of pastries that is now crumpled, and you hold it tight against your chest so your shaky hands don’t drop it to the ground. Luckily you had some wipes on you, so you clean off the blood that now trickled down your face from your scalp. “It’s only a cut..” you whisper to yourself, “just a small cut. It’s just a cut…” 

You don’t remember making it over to Dana’s house, because that fog that took over your mind these last couple of weeks? Was now much much worse. Your legs were like jelly, and with every step you took approaching the door, you felt yourself get more dizzier and dizzier.

“Hi Dana!” Years of faking excitement so you’ve mastered the perfect reaction, “it’s so good to see you!”

“Hello Doll don’t you look lovely!” She embraces your hug, and your body reminds you that’s not ready to be hugged yet. 

“These are for you, I’m sorry the box is.. damaged. Someone bumped into me.”

“No stress sweet” she chuckles, and your stomach twists at the way she said sweet. “Come on in, Jack’s been antsy waiting for you.” 

She leads the way to the lounge where everyone is now gathered, and Jack’s face lights up the moment you approach him.

“Hi baby” he pulls you down toward him, sitting you closely next to him, “missed you.” He coos in your ear; you wish you could feel something, anything happy, but instead your stomach twists in anxiety again.

“Me too Jacky. Sorry I’m late.”

“You okay bub?” Maybe you could fool everyone, but not your boyfriend. Jack’s been monitoring your behaviour the last couple of days, and he’s convinced something has changed but he’s not too sure why. Little does he know, it started when you were just a kid. His hand wraps around you, strong fingers gripping into your forearm to ground you. But again, little does he know, his touch was making you feel sick and panicky. 

“All good.” You force another smile, turning your attention to Santos and Whitaker who sat next to you. 

You try your hardest to keep up with conversations, but ugly images of your brothers from over the years, including today, keep flashing in your vision. It became incredibly difficult to distinguish between reality and the past. Your throat has gone dry, and your lips now felt like sand paper. Reaching over for a glass of water, someone coughs and your shaky hands knock it over and it shatters; glass and water splattering at Whitaker and Robby’s feet.

“Dolcezza, what the fuck did you do that for?” Someone says.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to!” You cry out. 

“Pick it, bitch” 

You do as they say and lean forward to pick up the glass, trying your best to ignore the yelling. But a hand out of nowhere comes too close to your face, and it’s got to be one of your brothers who was about to hit you? Right? No. It was only Robby trying to help you clean up the glass, but you yelped in fear, falling off the sofa straight onto the glass. 

“I’m sorry” you spit out, looking around the room and your bothers are staring back at you. 

“Pick it up Dolcezza. Get on your fucking knees and pick up the mess you are.” 

“Okay, okay I will!” You scoop up the mess you made with bare hands, shrugging off the hands that now sat on your shoulder pulling you back. 

Someone was yelling at you, but you don’t recognise the voice. It wasn’t any of your brothers’ voices?

“I’m cleaning it up! Please don’t touch me!” You shrug the hands off again as you scoop up the glass into your hands.

You’re no familiar to the smell of blood, but this time there was ao much of it, now tricking down on the carpet. Tears, mixed with blood and glass sat on the floor in front of you. 

“C’mon pick it up quicker!” 

“I’m trying” you cry out, “I’m really really trying!” They were going to punish you, you are certain of it. 

The same hands wrap around your waist, pulling you back away from the mess. The glass you’ve now collected has fallen back to the floor and you cry out again. The voice behinds you calls you baby, but none of your family or friends ever called you that.

No one except one.

“I’m here, it’s okay, I’m here” the voice coos in your ear, “baby just breathe with me, hmm?”

“No, no- I’m sorry let me clean it up.”

“You’re here with me, with Jack. It’s just me bub and our friends” he manages to drag you away from the glass, taking you straight outside into the garden, “you’re with me and safe”

“I’m sorry I broke it! I- didn’t mean to- I promise I didn’t” you wipe the tears away, spreading glass shards and blood over your face. 

“I’ll get the med kit” Robby tells Jack as he runs back inside.

“Jack do you want us to do anything?”

“Bowl of warm water please so I can clean her up,” he rasps out, not taking his eyes form you for one second, “she’s having some sort of flashback, I’ve never see her like this.”

“I’ll get the water” Santos runs in, and Dana adds, “I’ll get everyone to move away, the last thing she wants are prying eyes.”

“I’m really sorry Dana” you have snapped out of your flashback, all thanks to Jack’s touch grounding you, “I really didn’t mean to”

“No stress sweet. It’s just an accident.”

“I’m sorry I know but-“

“Hey how about we buy Dana a new glass? Hmm?” Jack says softly as he holds onto your wrists so you don’t hurt yourself, “sound like a plan?”

“Okay”

“Okay baby, now can you sit down on the chair for me? So I can clean you up?”

“I-I can do it? It’s fine really you don’t have to” 

“But I want to, if you let me. After all I’m the doctor?” Jack forces a soft smile, because he has no other option but to smile. “Shall we go home after this? Yeah?”

“Yeah okay” you nod shakily.

“Wanna tell me what happened there?” He says taking the med kit from Robby, and starts cleaning up your hands gently. Robby pulls a chair next to you, and he notices the dried up blood that’s wrapped around your hair. 

“It was nothing, I’m sorry if I acted weird, I really didn’t meant to ruin anyone’s day! Please don’t be upset-“

“No one’s upset baby, I promise you that. Right Robby?”

“It was only a bit of water and some glass. It’s nothing really.” Robby forces a small smile, but it’s clear that you’ve been assaulted because why else would you have dried up blood in your hair? “Hey Jack how about I clean her up and you can sit next to her?”

Jack frowns but Robby subtly points at your hair, so they swap. Jack puts one arm around your shoulder, leaning in toward you. He sees the dried blood and his heart sinks. But he can’t risk asking you question, not wanting to send you into yet another flashback. 

He waits until Robby cleans you up and stitches your hands to take you home. Jack never letting go of you, murmuring supporting and loving words to help ground you, all the way home, until you’re back safe and sound in your apartment. 

“Do you feel like having a shower? “Clean off the blood?”

You answer him but Jack tilts his head and frowns, “say that again?”

“I said I’ll shower in the kitchen”

“Baby what are you trying to say?”

“I said-“ the nausea stops you from saying anything further, you gesture of him to wait, until the twisting and sickly feeling settles. You take a deep breath, and quickly mutter, “I’ll go shower”

“Can we talk? About what happened today?”

“There’s nnnnothing to say?” You shake your head in attempt to focus, “I um my head hurts I think from the blood?”

“Let’s sit you down, I’ll take off your jacket to cool you down” he helps you over to the couch, sitting you down slowly, slipping your jacket off, revealing your bare arms that had a bruise on it. A finger print bruise.

“What’s… this?” With shaky hands he grabs hold of your arm, examining the bruise, “baby who did this?”  

“It’s a longggg story…”

“I have time; I need to know what else they did?”

You shake your head and the movement sends stabbing pains down to your ears and neck, “no no no I promise I’m fine!”

“Okay you have a concussion, baby you gotta tell me everything. Please.” Jack can now see how obvious it is that you’ve got a concussion: the blood on your hair from blunt trauma, the slurring of speech and dizziness. Panic sets in and he can no longer act like he’s fine with whatever this is.

You shake your head again and burst into tears. 

“Okay, please don’t cry hmm? Let’s get you to bed. We can sit in bed and I promise we don’t have to talk. Not yet.” It kills him that you’re not saying what has happened to you.

You nod and do as he says, your brain far too foggy to make any decisions or argue.

Jack sticks to his promise, stays in bed with you, but he can’t look away from the bruise. How is it he can approach a conversation without sending you into a crash down?

“Where do you want to go for our next vacation?” Jack asks softly, his fingers gently trailing up and down your bruised up arm. 

“Anywhere you want”

“You don’t want to go anywhere specific? Anywhere in Europe?”

“I’ll go anywhere you go”

“Anywhere, anywhere?”

“You’re the only one I ever need Jack.”

“Same goes for you baby” he murmurs, “I’ll follow you to end of the earth if I have to.”

“Why would you do that for me?”

“Because I love you”

“I don’t know if I deserve that”

“Deserve my love? What makes you say that?”

“I’m scared Jack”

“Of me?”

“Of them.”

So you tell him. You tell him everything. From the moment they laid hands on, to the night at the gala where you first met Jack, and until today’s events. 

You don’t lie about a single thing. 

Because love is strong, love is honesty, and love wins above all.

⋆ ──── ♡ ──── ⋆

Do you know what’s more powerful than love? Revenge. 

And that’s what Jack Abbot set his mind to, the moment you told him everything your family has put you through. 

He woke up every morning, and planned his revenge. 

He went to sleep every night, and planned his revenge. 

He pulled up outside your brother’s house, and has already planned his revenge. 

Jack Abbot was never an angry man.

But now that’s in love, with someone as kind as you, he’d sell his soul to the devil if that means keeping you safe.

He gets out of the car first, then comes over to your side, slowly helping you get out of the car. 

“You can do this.” His voice is gentle but firm, grounding you to the ground that seems to shake underneath you with every step you take. “Say the word and we will leave. Okay?”

“Okay, yeah okay.”

Jack walks into the house and is greeted but what looks like a normal family. Everyone’s so happy and smiley, but also so fucking fake. He doesn’t let go of your waist once. Not even when your brothers take you in for a hug, one by one. 

Jack carries out with conversation as normal, but his revenge plan was calculated to perfection.

He may or may not have dropped a couple of hints about what they've done to you, but only when you weren’t around. Only when he was with the brothers.

He may or may not have said that you shared too much of your sweet…. Sweet childhood.

Was it dangerous to interrupt wasps while you’re in the middle of their hive? 

Yeah it was so fucking dangerous. But Jack would die for you, if he had to.

He mentions how highly you speak of them. How touchy feely they were growing up. How hands-on they were.

He gives them credit in his mind — for being such good actors. 

He waits until it was almost dinner time, when everyone has had a bit too much to drink. 

“Hey baby, shall we go home?”

“What? Why? Did they say something did they hurt-“

“No it’s just my leg. It’s aching. I think it’s best if we call it a night.”

“Okay sure, I’d love nothing more than to leave.” Jack watched you the entire evening — the person he fell in love with was completely different to the woman in front of him. You’re quiet, nervous, anxious, shaky and jumpy. Oh he could not wait any long for his plan to fall into place.

“Wait in the car, I’ll say my goodbyes.”

But Jack doesn’t say his goodbyes, no. 

Jack hangs around the kitchen, looking at all the pictures that hung on the fridge. Pictures of all of your brothers, and their kids, but none of you.

“Beautiful photos” Jack murmurs. “Shame she’s not in any of them.”

“She was never a fan of taking photos.”

“Huh I wonder why…”

He scoffs, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh it’s nothing” Jack waves his hand casually, “I’m just being silly.”

“Huh”

“Speaking of silly… how are your kids? Are they silly?”

“Kids are kids you know..”

Jack clicks his teeth, “wouldn’t know, don’t have them, don’t want them. They’re dirty and messy.. and they break things and then you have to resist the urge to smack them. Gotta learn their lesson.” He lies.

“Huh” 

“So anyway, we’re gonna be heading out. Sorry we’re not staying for dinner, but I got you this bottle of wine as an apology.” Jack hands him the bottle of wine, with a photo stuck on the front of it. A photo of your brother’s handprint on you. But just before Jack hands it over, he deliberately drops it to the floor. Red wine splashes against the white kitchen cabinets, along with shards of glass.

“Ooops” Jack says slowly, with a smirk on his face, “you better clean that up.”

“I don’t know what you’re playing at.”

“Me? Literally nothing. It’s just a little birdie told me you sometimes get rough when kids break things. Right?”

“You’re lying”

“And you’re not denying it” Jack shrugs, “or are you? Because the CCTV footage of you shoving her against the wall in that alleyway is more than proof.”

“Get out of my house.” 

“Or what? You’re gonna hit me like you hit her?”  

Jack sees your brother’s nostril as they start to flare — his face is angry and red, his eyes — this stare is a devil’s stare. It cannot be described any other way. 

Bingo. The wasp is finally angry and about to sting.

“Don’t worry she told me everything. Like literally everything.”

Your brother takes a step forward toward Jack, stepping on the broken glass like it was nothing, “she’s a little bitch”

Jack clicks his teeth and shakes his head, “now that’s not very nice of you. Is it?”

“Dolcezza needs to learn how to keep her mouth shut.”

“Why? Is it like a family secret… like a secret tomato recipe like they do in Italy?”

“Get out of my house!” He yells, “before I-“

“Before… what?”

The wasp is angry. Very angry.

“I should’ve cut off her tongue when I had the chance. Maybe the bitch wouldn’t have over spoken.”

“That’s a bit harsh don’t you think? Cutting off her tongue? Maybe a little slap or a punch…” Jack teases, angering the wasp just a tiny bit more.

“The bitch had enough of those. She never learns.”

"Enough of your fingerprints on her? Enough punches?"

"I wish I hit her harder", he spits out.

“Perrrrfect.” Jack purrs. He puts his hand out, gesturing for your brother to stand still. He sticks out five fingers.

He lowers one. 

And another.

And another.

And one last one.

“Boom.” The entrance door swings wide open, and police swarm the house, coming straight into the kitchen.

That sweet look of betrayal on your brother’s face, and the sweet look of revenge on Jack’s face. 

Jack takes a step forward, careful of the glass, smiling from ear to ear, “the beauty of hidden cameras. Say hello” he points at his chest. “See… unlike you I’m a nice guy. And when you’re this nice, and have connections… then well, people start owing you favours. But… you don’t have to say anything because you’ve confessed to more than enough. Anyway…” Jack clicks his teeth, letting the officers handcuff him. “I heard that they’ll reduce your sentence if you tell them what your brothers did too.” 

Jack looks back at the family that is now watching a horror scene unfold. All of their secrets are now out in the open. Someone's crying, others are yelling, and one of his kids... is smiling.

“I’ll make sure you never practice medicine again. Enjoy prison; I’ll ask for all of you to be put together.”

And with that he leaves the house, closing a chapter of your life for good. 

“Shall we go home?” Jack asks calmly as he gets in his car.

“Uhhhhh Jack?” You look in disbelief over at him, “What happened…?”

“Nothing you need to worry yourself about.”

“Is that my brother in handcuffs?”

“Oh yeah” Jack chuckles as he watches him getting dragged outside, “he’s going to prison, by the way. Hope that’s okay with you?”

You burst into hysterical laughter, tears streaming down your face as the absurdity of it all finally catches up with you. As Jack pulls away, you roll down the window and stick your head out, shouting complete gibberish into the air.

Not as sweet as you think. 

That’s what you’d title your book.

⋆ ──── ♡ ──── ⋆

A/n

I'd like to imagine that Jack proposed to her one day while they were in bed. It was simple, quiet, and just the two of them. I imagine that, straight after proposing, he takes her out on a car ride and drives over to a small cottage. Like the one Miss Honey lived in (from Matilda). They get married there too.

I also imagine that when the topic of kids was brought up, she said she doesn't want biological children. So when they start their adoption process, they are matched with a little boy who's four years old. The agency informs them that he has a sister who is also in foster care, who's no older than seven.

I imagine Jack comes home from work, she's outside in the garden, playing with her two beautiful children, surrounded by far too many animals that she's rescued.

Life does get better, you just have to wait.

[snortingpebbles]

The Other Woman

Pairings: Jack Abbot x Wife!Reader

Summary: You thought you were being a good wife, bringing food for your husband since he was working a double. What you didn't expect was seeing him all over his young resident in the break room once you got there. Warnings: SHORT ONESHOT, insecure!reader, Injury, smut implied if you squint, HEAVY Angst (no happy ending), reader throws up, infidelity/cheating (CHEATING IS NOT OKAY), OOC Jack, OOC Samira Mohan (shes my bby but shes evil here), pathetic!jack, second wife!Reader, SAHW!reader, petnames, AGE GAP (reader is in late 20’s and Jack is in late 40’s), PTMC crew kinda shows up WC:1k a/n:first of all FUCK AI, but yall idk what came over me, bby i was feeling emotional last night and was feeling lana so i decided to write this based off her song “The other woman”. I had just published my first fic and immediately started on this. IDK i love my angst but was this too much? lmk how yall feel about it tho hope you enjoy :D

You knew everyone that Jack was close with at the hospital, inviting them over for holidays, parties, and any special occasions. You took care of them because it was the least you could do, especially when they were out saving lives while you stayed at home waiting for your husband to come back.

You didn't think your life would end up this way, not that you hated it, it was amazing compared to how you lived before. You were pampered, and Jack made sure of it, but it did eat away at you a little bit when you saw the women he worked with.

They were all absolute powerhouses, and you looked up to them. It's not that you wanted to become a doctor or a nurse, but it's the independence and power you craved. You wanted to be able to walk into a room and command, but you were here instead, lounging on a pool chair, relaxing while your husband worked a double, saving lives.

These thoughts would run through your head a lot, making you question yourself, but today was the day you wanted to do something about it. So you got up, changed out of your bikini, and started preparing a meal to feed most of the PTMC workers. You had done it plenty of times before for the parties you and Jack threw, so this was honestly no trouble for you. You wanted to help and do something good.

That's how you got here, standing in the break room with your heart broken in two. You had walked in from the waiting room and immediately got bombarded by Dana and Dr.Langdon, they were calling you their lifeline and reaching for the heavy bags you carried, leaving you with empty hands, and letting you lead the way to the break room.

You'd been in the hospital once before when Jack had forgotten his lunch, so you knew where to go. You were the first one there, barging in so you could hold the door for them.

What you didn't expect was being met with the sight of Samira Mohan on the lap of your husband, lips connected, with his hand down her hospital scrubs, and the other in her hair.

As soon as you open the door, they're scurrying, trying to act normal, not realizing who it was that walked in. You hear Dana gasp and a barely audible “Jesus” behind you.

You stand there frozen, tears welling up until you see Jack turn to look at you. A look of surprise on his face quickly turns into guilt and pain. He’s immediately moving towards you, reaching for you, but you stumble back into Dana.

Instead of looking at him, you look at the disheveled woman behind him, heavily breathing with both hands on her mouth, and redness climbing her neck.

You'd invited her into your home, took care of her when her mother was too overbearing, and shared everything you could without a second thought. She was your closest friend since you moved to Pittsburgh to be with Jack.

Everybody in your vicinity was now frozen, waiting for your next move, you cant help but roll your eyes. “How long have you been fucking him?” you manage to spit out, your voice cracking. You see her look over at Jack with pleading eyes, but he does nothing but stand there in shame, now looking down at his shoes. Asshole can’t even look at me.

“How long have you been fucking him!?” you scream, not caring if the entire hospital hears, and that makes them both flinch in return. She finally gathers the courage to speak and opens her mouth to speak. “Since the Pitt Fest shooting…” she squeaks out quietly, and you finally let your tears fall, loud sobs coming out of your mouth as you turn to leave.

Pushing past Langdon and Dana, you ignore their calls as you notice all the eyes on you. Not being able to take it, you sprint out, your thoughts moving at 100mph.

Pitt fest? He came home to you that night, sobbing in your chest as you comforted him. Rocking him back and forth on the floor by the front door, whispering reassurances and your love for him in his ear. Now you know why he was crying, and fuck does it have you bending over a bush by the parking lot, your lunch from earlier coming back up.

You feel a hand rubbing your back, and it sends chills up your back when you recognize whose hand it is. “Get away from me, Jack.” Your voice is unrecognizable.

You wipe your face and turn to look at him. “Baby, I’m so sorry, I promise it meant nothing. S-She was just there after Pitt Fest and-” You slap him, cutting him off. “And I wasn't? God, you're so pathetic, Jack. I wonder, how many times d’you fuck her when she was over? I’d wake up to an empty bed sometimes but never thought anything of it, but now, now I understand.”

You start walking away not wanting to hear anything else from him, when he stops you by grabbing onto your thighs, and dropping to his knees. “Please, I'm begging you, you're it for me, sweetheart.” You scoff, what a piece of shit.

You feel your insecurities eat at you. “Is it because I'm at home all day? Am I not smart enough for you? Or am I not pretty enough? Why wasn’t i enough, Jack.” Your tears are now falling again, hiccuping while you speak, and you watch his heart shatter. It's a little too late for that.

You don't know why you were asking, because you wouldn't believe a single thing he said, so as he's blabbering about how wrong you are, and how much he loves you, you pry him off and get into your car, locking all the doors instantly.

Jack starts banging on your window as you turn your engine on. You roll your window down, and the begging continues. You yell his name to shut him up, looking directly into his eyes. “I hate you, Jack, I never want to see you again.”

You pull out of the parking lot so fast that you don't notice the ambulance coming in with the sirens on at full speed. The last thing you hear before everything goes black is Jack crying out your name, and you almost laugh at the irony of the situation.

sidenote: honestly i was debating on this or a best friends brother!jack fic so i might do that next. i was also debating a part two to this but im not sure if thats what the people want this shit was so sad😭

[dear-2-readers]

Not the cliffhanger 😭😭😭😭😭

[dear-2-readers]

Love the idea of a Noah Wyle x reader fic! Or even a Shawn Hatosy x reader

I'm already working on a Shawn Hatosy x reader, I'll post it soon.

I would like to continue my Noah Wyle x reader fic, but apparently he's been hated now and I'm afraid my fic wouldn't be well received. I was thinking of turning it into a series.

[angrythingstarlight]

Me before watching Sheep Detectives

Me after watching Sheep Detectives

[fangirl-dot-com]

My One Wish

summary: tired of reading fanfics based on your newest obsession, you give in to peer pressure and use a seemingly harmless gimmick from a metaphysical shop. you quickly find out that you should have been careful what you wished for.

tags: dark!jack abbot x irl!reader, fiction breaks the fourth wall, based on the movie obsession, USE OF Y/N CAUSE NO ONE CAN STOP ME, vivid descriptions of violence, mentally unstable!jack, blood, murder, self!harm/mutilation, dd:dne, smut (non-con, oral-fem!receiving, piv-unprotected sex), afab reader, no happy ending, 18+ NSFW and ABSOLUTELY MDNI

notes: this fic is based on this TikTok by @m1yuk1washere, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE know that this is a very dark fic and please be aware of the tags before reading below the cut. I am in NO WAY romanticizing this movie at all. this is not a reflection of Jack Abbot's actual character, but he needed to be ooc for this to work. again, there is no happy ending and nothing is romanticized about this fic or the movie. I highly suggest watching the film once it releases on streaming services.

author's note: 82 of you asked to be tagged, but due to tumblr's 50 limit and me not wanting to get nerfed, half will be tagged in this post, and the other half will be tagged in my co-author's reblog!

word count: 11.5k

And Jack couldn’t stop staring at you like he’d found the love of his life. His hazel eyes trailed along your body, and a deep blush painted across your face. You’d caught him staring across the ER, but instead of looking away, he kept eye contact while his hands moved across a tablet. In one blink, he was moving toward you like a man on a mission. You couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe under the weight of his gaze. 

In fewer than five steps, Jack closed in on you, and his hands lifted just to grip your hips and pull you into his orbit. Your breath hitched high in your throat at his closeness. Around you, the Pitt melted away, and all you could feel was Jack, Jack, Jack—

“Earth to Y/n!” 

A snap near your face had you leaning back away from your phone. Your eyes widened as you stared at your small friend group. Suddenly, the entire world around you came crashing down in overlapping voices and the distinct smell of mall food, an odd combination of Japanese, Pizza, and sub sandwiches. Your phone stayed open to the latest chapter of your favorite Jack Abbot fanfic, and now looking at your friends, you knew you’d been caught. You quickly shut off your phone and placed it face down on the sticky table. 

“Sorry,” you muttered. “What were you saying?” 

Your best friend, Sarah, rolled her eyes. “You’d know what we were saying if you weren’t nose first in your phone. What was it this time? One of those smutty fanfics you’re so into these days?” 

“It’s definitely one about that silver-haired doctor,” your other friend, Haley, chimed in. “What’s his name again? Jake?” 

“Jack,” you shot out before realizing your mistake. You’d come off too strong, and your friends ate it up like vultures. “I-I mean—” 

“You really need to get laid,” Sarah told you, voice dipping into a border-line condescending tone. “Your daddy issues are showing, babes.” 

“I don’t have daddy issues.” You rolled your eyes before taking a bite of your now-cooling food, slimy noodles sliding down your throat in one swallow. “And I don’t want to get laid. I’m perfectly content where I’m at; thank you very little.” 

Haley hummed. “You’re telling me that you’re happy reading hours and hours of fictional worlds while you could be out and about meeting new people. What if your future husband looks like this Jett?” 

“Jack,” you corrected—again. “And I don’t want a future husband unless he looks like Shawn Hatosy dressed in a SWAT uniform.” 

“You are so down bad for a fictional man. When was the last time you had an interest in someone who was actually . . . real?” 

You pursed your lips when no names came to mind. To get them off your back you could have mentioned the two-second crush you had on Luke Davis way back in ninth grade. But he had been eliminated from the list the moment you got back home and pulled out a Bucky Barnes fanfic where you found out you wouldn’t mind an older man calling you doll. And plus, ninth grade was almost fifteen years ago. Confessing that while currently being in grad school at the ripe age of 24 would have been more embarrassing than saying nothing at all. 

“A while,” you spat after settling on a response. “But the modern online dating field is not for me. Every time I try one of the apps, I either get insulted or an unsolicited 3-inch-dick pic like it’s supposed to impress me. Unless you two have a magical solution to find me the picture-perfect man, I’m perfectly okay spending my time reading fanfiction.” 

You went to spoon in another bite, but you noticed the way they glanced at each other. The corner of your lips tugged downward. “What? Why are you two looking at each other like that?” 

Sarah sucked in a breath. “We weren’t going to say anything but—” 

“But you look like you need it,” Haley finished the sentence before turning, hands already deep in her purse on the chair next to her. 

You tried to not be offended by her words, but an ugly feeling bloomed in your chest. You hated the way they judged you. Fanfiction had quickly become a paradise away from the ugly world you lived in. If a few chapters and one shots here and there helped your mental health stay regulated, you saw no harm in divulging into the world of fiction. It also helped that most of the fics you read were tagged with “x-reader;” the idea of getting to put your name mixed in with iconic characters kept you feeling alive. Authors let you live lives you could never do in the real world. How could you give up that kind of mental freedom? 

“Here,” Haley finally said as she pushed something towards you. 

You eyed the red and white packaging with the words One Wish Willow written in fun lettering along with two cartoon drawn people. Hesitantly, you grabbed it and brought it closer to read. 

“The guy at the store said they actually work,” Sarah explained. “You state a wish and break it, then tadaaaa your wish comes true.” 

Looking at it while spinning it in your hands, your nose crinkled. What Sarah just said sounded way too good to be true. 

“There’s no way,” you said, a bit awestruck. Your thumb ran across the words on the back of the package: Spark the middle and break in half. “I think you both got scammed.” You placed it back down on the table, but one look at the two of them gave you a sinking feeling in your stomach. “You two actually believe this shit?”   

“Look, Y/n, we just want to look out for you,” Sarah said slowly as if she were talking to a child. “And if it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work, but there’s no harm in trying. But we can’t sit here and let you go on like this. Before you know it, you’re going to be fifty, living alone, and still reading stories about fictional characters. I mean, look at yourself.” 

To your surprise, Haley nodded along. “Grad school is killing you. And you can’t say that you’ll find a man once you graduate. Because by then, you’re going to find another excuse.”

You eyed the thing as their words sank thorns into your soul, and for some odd reason, you felt compelled to pick it back up again. You don’t know if it was the idea that any wish you made would come true or the desire to prove them both wrong, but instead of leaving it there for them to take back, you grabbed it and pushed it deep in your purse. 

“Whatever. But when it doesn’t work, I’m totally rubbing it in both your faces,” you said. 

Finally, you shoved the last bite of your food into your mouth, but your mind was racing with the possibilities of what you could use the one wish willow for. Sure, Sarah and Haley wanted you to use it to get a boyfriend, but honestly, that seemed boring. The world, hypothetically, could be at your fingertips. What was stopping you from using it to become a millionaire, change everything you hated about yourself, stop world hunger. 

The possibilities seemed to endlessly swim around your brain while you drove back home from the mall, the sky already dimming the closer you got to your destination. You sighed in relief once you pulled into your driveway and leaned your head against the steering wheel, eyes flitting towards your bag. Your fingers itched to pull the One Wish Willow out, and you, against everything, obeyed them. You picked at the heavy paper packaging, and the branch slid out right into your palm. 

It was dark and hole-filled, and it barely weighed anything. You guessed that was necessary for easy breakage when you used it. You read over the instructions one more time before taking each end, holding it a few inches from your face. 

Outside, the night was quiet. There were no joggers, no late-night walkers, no one to witness what you were about to do. You inhaled sharply and lowered the branch. 

“This is stupid,” you mumbled to yourself. 

You almost put the branch back in the packaging, but your phone screen lighting up stopped you. You glanced over and caught the notification. A quick read told you that another author had updated a Jack Abbot series. Your heart panged. 

Were you truly going to be alone forever, stuck reading fanfiction well into your fifties while pretending you lived in a different universe?  

Before you could second guess yourself again, you took a hold of the branch. 

“I wish Jack Abbot was real and would love me and do anything for me like he does in fanfiction.”

The branch snapped in two. 

You squeezed your eyes shut, and your body tensed as you waited for something like a huge explosion to happen and for Jack to appear like some mythical genie. But when everything stayed quiet, you slowly opened your eyes. Frustrated tears welled in your lash line, and you threw the two pieces of the branch somewhere deep in your car. You jerked the door open and all but slammed it closed. Each step you took to your house reverberated into the concrete walkway. The automatic lights turned on while you unlocked the door with shaking hands, and the key missed twice before finally going in. With a harsh shove, the front door gave way into a dark home. By the looks of it, your mom probably wasn’t home, or every light inside would have been on. 

An eeriness crept over you, but through your glossy eyes and overwhelming feelings of loneliness, you brushed it off. The One Wish Willow was an absolute joke, and you knew you should have texted Sarah and Haley that it hadn’t worked. Your chest tightened once you realized exactly why you didn’t want to rub it in their faces right away. In the car, you’d given yourself the smallest morsel of hope that it would actually work. The idea of having your own Jack Abbot had taken over quicker than you would have liked. Even with all your constant reassurances to Sarah and Haley that you didn’t want a man, that you were happy with being alone, you were beginning to feel the crux of being the last single person in your friend group.  

Even the promise of a new chapter once you shuffled into bed wasn’t enough to lift your mood. But as you tossed and turned, unable to fall asleep, you reached for your phone in need of familiar comfort. Your thumb pressed on the white T icon, and you scrolled until one caught your eye. The tags used xreader, but as you scrolled, you couldn’t help but notice something peculiar. 

Instead of the normal “Y/n” whenever Jack would “say” the reader’s name, your actual name stared back at you in every paragraph. 

You blinked a few times, wondering if you’d gotten to the point where “Y/n” automatically became your given name. But when the words didn’t change, your brows pinched. You didn’t have any added mods, and the author stated that they hadn’t given the reader a special nickname or anything of the sorts. You scrolled up until the page refreshed. 

Surely there was a glitch you thought. 

However, after the loading symbol went away, your name continued to be written in the fic. On one hand, you knew you should have put the phone down; obviously you were tired and sad and currently hallucinating. Yet, you continued reading on, already sucked deep into the story. 

Jack didn’t know what to do; you’d disappeared on him after an argument. His calls went unanswered, his messages left unread. His heart raced below his sternum in a panicked rhythm. He couldn’t lose you, not after he already lost his wife. He refused to lose you. With a sharp inhale, he turned and faced an empty space to his right, hazel eyes boring into the reader’s—wait. 

You pulled your phone away from your face as you sat up. Had you read that correctly? 

—hazel eyes boring into the reader’s. He stood still, seemingly knowing that there was a presence he couldn’t see but could always feel. 

“I’ll be there soon, sweetheart,” Jack spoke to no one. “And when I find you, I’m going to make you so, so, so, so happy. I’m exactly what you need and want. I—”

Your phone screen went black after you pushed in the power button. The eerie feeling from earlier grew at the base of your skull, and your skin pricked with the sensation that someone was watching you. Your face whipped to the far corner of your room, the one that was always half-cast with a shadow after the sun went down. Logically, you knew no one was standing there, but you turned your flashlight on anyway. A quick scan around the room settled you some but not entirely. 

You slowly lowered back down into your bed and pulled the covers up to your chin. Thankfully, sleep was already licking at the edges of your mind. But as you lolled into its grasp, you couldn’t rid yourself of what the author made Jack say at the end. 

—I won’t hesitate to do anything to make you mine. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Two loud knocks at the front door followed by your mom screaming Y/n! Get your ass down here and answer the fucking door! had you shooting up from your bed. 

Without even looking at yourself, you scampered down the stairs in just a pair of sweatpants and a tank top. You had no time to even think about what the person on the other side could even want before you wrenched the door open, and all reminders to look through the peep hole first failed entirely. Sun spots swirled in your vision, but once they settled enough for you to see who had been knocking, you froze entirely. 

“There you are, sweetheart.”  

You knew that voice. You’d heard that voice clearly through your TV speakers. 

Your eyes widened, and a breath hitched high in your throat. You gripped the sides of the threshold with white knuckles. For a split-second, you wondered if you were still dreaming before wondering if you’d died in your sleep, because there was absolutely no fucking way the man standing on your doorstep was actually who you thought it would be. 

Your body jolted under a firm hand, and you whirled around to see your mother’s figure standing behind you. She eyed you carefully before putting on a smile that only you knew to be very fake. 

“Hi there,” she said loudly, voice too chipper for 8:15 am. “How can we help you?” 

The salt-and-pepper-curly-haired man smiled warmly, and his hazel eyes never left yours. “Baby, you didn’t tell your mom about me?” he chuckled like this was all some inside joke. 

Your mom glared at you from the side of her eye. “Baby?” 

“I really should have called beforehand that I was on my way over,” he explained before thrusting out his large hand. “Jack Abbot. It’s nice to meet my girl’s mom.” 

The way he said my girl had your heart racing for more than one reason. The main one being you’d never met this man in your entire life, unless you counted the multitude of fics you consumed to the point you felt like you did know him—Jack. But that was all fiction uploaded to multiple websites, yet the man standing less than a foot away from you looked real and not a figment of your wild imagination. Hell, even your mom saw him, so to some degree you knew you were hallucinating or weren’t dead upstairs.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Jack. I’m sorry you’ve seemed to slip my daughter’s mind,” she hissed the last bit out. “Come inside please.” She yanked you away from the door and whispered harshly in your ear, “You could have told me about this.” 

Your jaw dropped before snapping back shut when your mind refused to catch up to the situation. Jack—if you could even think of him as your beloved fictional character—stepped forward and placed a hand to the small of your back. His touch felt like electricity, white hot and zipping up your spine. He softly pushed you along until he fully got inside your hours. 

“Jack, let’s get you into the kitchen! I’m sure I can make a quick breakfast for us while Y/n changes upstairs,” your mom stated, but the suggestiveness in her gaze wasn’t as subtle as she thought it was. 

Jack clicked his tongue against his cheek. “That sounds lovely, but I’m afraid I already made plans with Y/n to go out for breakfast.” He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you in like a rag doll. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart,” he cooed. 

As if a spell had been cast over you, you nodded numbly. “Yeah,” you managed to croak. “We’re going out for breakfast.” 

“Let’s get you changed, baby, and then we’ll get heading out,” he said. “It was nice meeting you.” With not another glance toward you mom, he walked you over to the staircase and motioned for you to go first. 

Once the two of you made it into your room, you closed the door before pushing your back against the grain to put some space between you and supposedly Jack Abbot.  

“Okay, what the fuck man,” you sneered. “Is this some stupid cosplay? Did Sarah and Haley put you up to this? Because coming to my house and pretending we know each other let alone dating is downright creepy and stalker behavior.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said while cocking his head to the side. “Did you hit your head? Should I look at it for you?” He stepped forward and raised his hands, but you were quick to shake your head. 

“No; I’m fine,” you said. “I’m just . . .” You closed your eyes. “I don’t know why you’re here. You don’t exist here.” 

Jack paused for a minute before laughing loudly. “Baby, are you taking the piss? Of course I exist here; you know I exist only for you.” This time, he walked until your fronts were almost pressing. The warm, spicy scent of his cologne hit your nose. His hands did not touch you, but the twitches in his fingers told you he wanted to. “I told you last night that I’d come find you, baby.” 

“Huh?” 

Jack’s eyebrows furrowed. “Are you sure you didn’t hit your head? You asked for me last night after the mall. I know I’m old, but how could you forget so soon, baby?” 

His words hit you like an 18-wheeler to the stomach. 

The broken-in-two One Wish Willow that remained in your car filled your thoughts. You swore it hadn’t worked, because last night nothing had happened. And then you remembered one of the fine print warnings. 

*Wait up to 24 hours for your wish to come true.

It was as if it all made sense now. The fucking gimmick worked; you couldn’t rub it’s failure in Sarah and Haley’s faces anymore. Jack fucking Abbot was in your bedroom acting like the two of you were romantically together. 

Your wish—against all odds—had come true. 

Happiness washed over you like a tidal wave, and you stepped right into Jack’s orbit, arms coming up to wrap around his middle. You couldn’t believe the way you fit right into his chest, and you were elated to hear his heart beat so fast at your closeness. 

“There you go, pretty girl,” Jack whispered against your temple. His hand gently rested against the back of your head. “I’ve missed you so, so, so, so much. I’m yours forever; I’ll do anything for you.” 

In the throes of his whispered promises, you forgot about the smallest warning buried within the fine print of the One Wish Willow Packaging. 

*Side effects of a wish may include violent tendencies, self-mutilation, and unexpected behavior. Please wish responsibly. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Life with Jack was infinite bliss, and you’d be a fool to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

He was the perfect man and exactly the type of person you’d been secretly wishing for the entire time. If you were truly honest with yourself, all the times you said you were happy were lies upon lies upon lies. You hated how Sarah and Haley went on double dates with their boyfriends all the time while leaving you behind. Their happiness just showed that if you didn’t have them, you had no one. 

No one to laugh with; no one to be around; no one to love. Jack filled in those spaces like glue holding your life together. Suddenly, you didn’t have to wonder who you’d take to the movies to see the latest film. You didn’t have to sit alone in your bed while hoping for someone to come along and sweep you off your feet like men did in stories. You didn’t even have to worry about feeling scared when you slept. Jack apparently had an affinity for watching you rest. 

When Jack was around—which was pretty much all the time—you were never alone. 

A few weeks after he showed up on your doorstep, you made plans to introduce him to Sarah and Haley at the local bar the three of you frequented. You’d been excited for them to see what had happened, to see how Jack made you happy. Jack seemed to be passive about it, but one smile his way had him melting to your every whim. 

“What makes you happy makes me happy,” he had told you before pressing his lips deeply against yours. “Do I make you happy, sweetheart?” 

“So much,” you had whispered back against his lips. 

However, now that you were seated next to Jack and their eyes were filled with skepticism and doubt, an ugly feeling settled inside your chest. You tried to focus on the game of Jenga, but the weight of their gaze pressed heavy on your mood that continued to sour the longer the night progressed. 

As you tried your best to shuffle another block out, Sarah leaned forward. 

“So . . . Jack . . . where do you work?” she asked. 

Jack rubbed at his jaw while he thought, and your focus shifted to the way his bicep bulged in the short-sleeved shirt he wore out. 

“I’m a senior attending at an ER up in Pittsburgh,” he stated.

Haley raised an eyebrow. “Then why are you here? Surely your hospital keeps your leash a bit tight.” 

You pulled the block out successfully and held it up for Jack to see. He mouthed a good girl and winked, sending you into a blushy mess before answering. 

“I’m on a well-needed sabbatical right now. My girl needed me here, and I couldn’t think of being anywhere else.” His hand came to rest at your nape, and his fingers squeezed. 

“What happens when your sabbatical is up? Y/n’s in grad school right now, and I doubt she can do the long distance,” Sarah explained, and that ugly feeling roared inside your chest.  

Jack pursed his lips and sat back against the couch. “I’m sure that we’ll work something out when we cross that bridge. I’m not opposed to long distance, but I’m also not opposed to her moving close to me either.” 

Haley let out a soft scoff to which you looked at her strangely. 

“Do you have something to say, Haley?” you questioned. 

She looked like a deer caught in headlights. “I-I just think that moving in with someone you’ve been with for a few weeks is a bit fast.” 

“I’m not getting any younger,” you tried to joke, but the tone of your voice said that you were anything but joking. “And it wouldn’t be too terrible. After this semester I’m changing to online classes anyway.” 

Sarah’s face pinched tightly. “What happened to moving onto campus with us next semester?” 

You shrugged lazily. “The thought about moving was getting to be too stressful.” You linked your arm into Jack’s. “Jack suggested online classes, and it was like a weight lifted off my chest.” 

Your friends stared widely with their jaws unhinged. 

Sarah waved a hand around. “Hold on. Just because he told you to do something, you just did it without discussing it with anyone else? Y/n, we won’t be able to afford the deposit for the apartment if you pull out.”  

“Plus, what if he dumps you halfway through the year?” Haley suddenly asked in a stage whisper, not caring if Jack heard the question.  

Next to you, Jack’s entire body tensed. “I’m sorry—what?”

She at least had some decency to understand that her question was invasive. “Ya know . . . what if y’all have, like, a really bad argument or something? Some relationships don’t end up lasting long enough for a couple to live together. Plus, with your age gap it’s inevitable that—” 

Jack suddenly stood from the couch, and his towering body cast a shadow across the Jenga tower. He frowned deeply, and his darkening eyes narrowed down at your friends. His fists curled at his sides while his head tilted very slowly. 

“You don’t know anything about our relationship,” he hissed. “So I wouldn’t be so presumptuous if I were you.” 

Sarah leaned back enough to look him in the eye at an angle. “Dude, we’re just looking out for our friend.” 

“Yeah,” Haley said lightly. “No need to get so upset about it.” 

He ran his tongue along his teeth. “I’m upset because you had the gall to even think I’d break up with her.” He bent in slightly at the waist. “I’m in love with her; she is my everything. Whatever she asks me to do, I will do it without hesitation.” 

His voice rose with anger on every word, and soon, the entire bar was looking towards your small group. You nervously shifted on the couch, but the annoyance of their questions kept you seated and stopped you from pulling Jack back. 

Jack turned his head and spotted an empty beer bottle. He turned back to look at your friends, and without breaking eye contact, he grabbed the bottle. In one fluid motion, he swung it down, and the glass shattered against the side of the table. At the sound, you, Sarah, and Haley stood up. They backed away slightly while you stepped forward to be at Jack’s side. Yet, he paid no attention to you. 

“No one on this earth will ever comprehend what it feels like to love someone as much as I love her,” he said, timber dark and serious. It sent shockwaves through your soul. “I’d rather kill myself than ever hurt her or be without her. Every ounce of my blood that keeps my beating heart alive belongs to her and her alone.” 

Before you could do or say anything, Jack dragged the jagged edge of the broken bottle from his wrist and towards the inside of his elbow, and dark blood welled and dripped from the long gash. Sharp, surprised and horrified gasps rang through the air. 

When your eyes caught the red thick smear, you reached forward and yanked the bottle out of his hand. “Jack!” 

At the sound of your voice, Jack’s eyes softened instantly, and all tension in his body melted away. Any glimpse of the Jack moments ago was gone, but the damage had already been done. Everyone, including Sarah and Haley, watched on with scared eyes as you gently set the bottle down. You said nothing and grabbed your (Jack’s) jacket and purse. Your hand found Jack’s quickly, and without saying anything to your friends, you tugged him out of the bar and towards his car. Thankfully, he didn’t fight for the keys, and you took off, leaving the bar to turn into a speck in your rearview mirror. 

The ride back to your house was oddly quiet. Jack stared out the window the entire time, never once looking over at you. When you parked the car in the driveway, you shifted in your seat and turned to face him. 

“Jack,” you said softly. “Why’d you do that?” 

Not being on to deprive himself of your face, Jack turned too with hunched shoulders. “I’m sorry.” 

You rested a hand on his cheek. “I know you’re sorry, but you scared everyone. And you hurt yourself.” 

“I know. I don’t know why I did that, but I couldn’t let them keep talking about us—about you like that. I love you so much; that’s why I did it.” 

“Jack, I don’t need you to cut yourself because you love me, I—” 

“Do you love me?” he interrupted. 

You paused. “I do.” 

Jack leaned back into his seat. “You never say it like I do.” He sat up straight again in a jerky motion, and he placed his hands on your cheeks and held your face there. You watched his hazel hues melt into something darker. “Do you love me? Say you love me. I need to hear you say you love me, sweetheart.” 

Your throat bobbed in a thick swallow. “I love you, Jack.” 

Like at the bar, he all but melted back into his seat before leaning forward to kiss you. You let his lips languidly move against yours in sloppy motions. His hands tightened around your face, and with a small gasp, your mouth opened just enough for him to shove his hot tongue between your teeth. You moaned at the taste of him.

Before you could go any farther, he pulled back and licked his lips. “Are you going to listen to them?” 

Your head reeled at the sudden change of events. “Who?” 

“Your friends,” he spat bitterly. “They won’t change your mind about moving with me once I need to go back to work?” 

You hummed and tried to lean back in for another kiss, but Jack stopped your motion. His eyes bore into yours deeply in almost a pleading manner. 

“Tell me you want to move with me. I can’t be without you, baby. I wasn’t lying when I said I’d rather kill myself than not be with you. Do you want me to kill myself? I’ll tell you how I’d do it. Instead of my wrists, I’d take one of my scalpels and drag it along my throat.” 

Your heart beat wildly at his words, and concern corroded any love you felt for Jack in that moment. 

He looked at you through lidded eyes. “Is that what you want? You want me to die? Want me to commit suicide just to show you how much I’m obsessed with you?” 

You shook your head between his hands. 

He grinned stretched impossibly wide, but his eyes stayed dead and unmoving. “Then say what I want to hear, sweetheart. It’ll all be so, so, so much better when you say it.” 

“I want to move with you Jack. I want to follow you to Pittsburgh or wherever you go after this.” 

You were rewarded with another deep, invasive kiss that left you gasping for air. Instead of fully pulling back, Jack breathed heavily while his nose nuzzled into your face. 

“Maybe it’ll be good when I don’t have to listen to Sarah and Haley anymore,” you softly mentioned. 

Jack froze near your hairline but didn’t say anything. 

“They were kind of rude at the bar. To think they were the ones who wanted to push me to get a boyfriend in the first place. Like, imagine if you hadn’t shown up.” 

“You’re no one else’s but mine,” he growled, chest beginning to heave at the thought of you with someone who wasn’t him, kissing someone who wasn’t him, fucking someone who wasn’t him. “I’m never going to leave you.” His eyes fluttered closed. “I’m going to make sure your friends have no impact on your life again. I promise.” 

You giggled, not fully knowing the meaning of his words. “We’ll be in Pittsburgh. I’m sure they won’t want to make the drive. Don’t worry about them putting any more unsolicited input into our relationship.” 

Soon after Jack gave you one more kiss, you slipped into your house knowing Jack would be back in the morning to pick you up for another breakfast date. You paid no mind to the sound of Jack pulling away from your house or the way his car suddenly passed by in the opposite direction moments later. 

Because if you had, you would have realized he wasn’t driving to his house, oh no, he was driving back in the direction of the bar to make sure he kept his promise. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Waking up during the night wasn’t uncommon. 

Most times, you never fully managed to sleep deep enough to stay asleep for more than four hours, always having to get up for a drink of water or a bathroom break. But tonight, you woke up for a completely different reason. From the corner of your room, a noise reached you through a deep dream in a wet, continual plat, plat, plat, plat. 

With bleary eyes, you looked around the room through barely slotted eyelids. Nothing seemed to jump out at you until you glanced at the shadowed corner. There, someone stood, their outline barely visible against the black background. You blinked rapidly in a desperate attempt to get your eyes focused. 

A sigh of relief wheezed through your chest when you realized that the person was just Jack; although you were confused as to why he picked the corner when you had already set up a chair near your bed the first time you found him watching you sleep. You knew he liked to take his prosthesis off after dark to give his limb a break. The least you could do was make sure he was comfortable. 

“Jack?” you called out, voice scratchy and slurry with sleep. “What’re you doin’ in the corner?” 

When he failed to answer, you pushed yourself up halfway with your arm. You reached for the lamp on your bedside table, but the floor creaking beneath his weight made you stop. 

Plat, plat, plat, plat, plat. 

“Don’t turn on the light,” he whispered. 

You slung your legs over the side of the bed and reached out a hand. “Could you at least come and sit down? Your leg must be killing you.” By now, your eyes had adjusted to the dark atmosphere, and you peered over at him when you noticed something splashed on his face. “Did you get mud on you?” 

Jack took a step forward, and his shoes squished against your hardwood floors. He stopped a few feet away from you, and that’s when a thick, metallic waft hit your senses. You urgently rubbed at the skin between your lip and the bottom of your nose in an attempt to disrupt the onslaught of iron. Your brows pinched as you looked up at him with utter confusion. 

Plat, plat, plat, plat, plat. 

“What are you covered in, baby?” You reached out to touch a large stain on the hem of his shirt. Your fingers game back slick. “What the fuck,” you whispered. Jack’s words be damned; you reached over and turned on the lamp.

As the light drenched the room, horror seized your chest with large hands at the sight in front of you. The noise that had awakened you from your sleep was the steady drip of blood that trickled from Jack’s pant leg. The stain you’d touched was larger under the light, and the lower half of his shirt was drenched in the bodily fluid. His arms that were normally tanned and freckled were covered in blood like cleaning gloves, a harsh line of red cutting around his bicep. 

Bile rose from deep in your stomach, and the acrid taste coated your tongue. 

“Jack,” you whispered in terror. Sleep’s effect had been ripped from you the moment you realized what he was covered in. “W-why are you . . . covered in blood?” 

Jack’s mouth twisted in an elated smile as he looked down at his lower half. “Do you not like it, sweetheart?” Despite his leg, he kneeled between your legs, and his dripping hands rested against your thighs. He looked up at your face with a pinched expression, similar to one you’d see on a sad puppy. “Do you not like it?” 

“It’s blood, Jack. Why are you covered in blood?” 

“Not like I don’t deal with blood on the daily.” He licked his lips. “You should be asking whose blood it is I’m covered in, baby.” He leaned in closer to your face, and your eyes burned with the smell. “C’mon; ask me.” 

You swallowed a frustrated groan before whispering, “Whose blood are you covered in?” 

His head lolled to the side. “Remember when I promised you that no one would ever speak out against us again?” Jack moved in closer and pressed his cheek against yours so that his lips were right near your ear. “Let’s just say I made sure that wouldn’t ever happen again . . . permanently.” 

It felt like all the blood drained from your face in an icy instant; a complete contrast from the way Jack licked a hot strip up from your pressure point to your ear. Your mouth dried up completely. 

“Don’t worry, baby. Those girls are never going to bother us ever again.” 

“Jack,” you whimpered, suddenly scared of the man between your legs. 

He hushed you softly. “And I made sure that your mother was also removed from the picture. I couldn’t have her waking up to find me like this.” 

Your shoulders caved in, and the smallest whimper pressed through your lips. At the sound, Jack lurched back to look at your face. Within three breaths, all emotions washed from his face as he realized that you were scared—scared of him. 

Now, he couldn’t have that, could he? 

His hand rushed up to your face, and his fingers crushed your cheeks together. He stood to his feet, but his face stayed close to yours, his warm breath fanning across your nose and lips. 

“There’s nothing for you to be afraid of,” he said calmly as if he hadn’t just implied that he’d killed your best friends and your mother. “Besides, isn’t this what you wished for?” 

Even with his strength, you managed a small shake of your head. 

He pouted. “No? But I could have sworn you said I wish Jack Abbot would love me and do anything for me.” 

“I d-didn’t ask for you to kill my friends and mom,” you cried through smushed lips. 

Jack nodded along like he agreed with you before barking out a laugh. “But you said it’d be good when you wouldn’t have to listen to them anymore. That’s what you said!” his voice thundered in your face. “I did exactly what you told me to, so why don’t you FUCKING LOVE ME?” 

You tried to jerk your face out his hand, but his hold tightened, fingers digging into your teeth through your cheeks. Your eyes shut closed, but that did little to appease Jack’s anger. This wasn’t what you wanted; you never wanted your wish to turn into him harming people for you. 

“I-I do-do love you, Jack,” you cried while tears traced down your cheeks. 

He frowned intensely, lips forming an upside-down u. “I don’t believe you.” His unoccupied left hand gripped onto the pudge at your hipbone. “I can feel you shaking like a leaf. It’s okay, baby. I would never hurt you.” 

Somehow, you knew he was telling the truth, though it didn’t help you feel less scared. Your thighs rubbed against each other in a nervous manner, and Jack’s eyes tracked the movement. However, he thought it was for a different reason. 

“Oh,” he breathed, eyes widening at the idea formulating in his sick, twisted head. “You want to show me that you love me? Is that it, sweetness?” 

His left hand released your hip and trailed lower and toward the right, and you inhaled sharply when he pressed his fingers to your core. You reached out and gripped his wrist, halting any other movement from his appendage.  

“No,” you stated. “Jack, this isn’t-this isn’t normal.” 

He pressed his hard chest forward, and the cooled blood began soaking through your sleep shirt. You cringed and shuddered when the wet fabric clung to your skin. 

“Your heart is racing,” he whispered in awe. “For me? Is your heart racing for me, sweetheart?” He dropped to his knees this time and pressed his ear right to your heart. He exhaled breathily at the sound. “Yeah; that’s for me.” His next inhale was sharp. “I can smell you. You’re utterly dripping.”

“I’m not,” you argued. “I’m—” A wince turned whine cut you off after Jack squeezed your sides painfully. 

“You know better than to lie to me.” His matted curls pushed against his forehead as he twisted his face to look downward. “Remember,” he muttered, “you wished for this.” 

His hand planted itself in the middle of your chest and pushed you down to your bed, your spine hitting your mattress so hard it pushed out a small oomph.  

“Wait- stop-”

Jack shushed you, his hands, still covered in blood, yanked the sleep shorts you’d been wearing down your legs. Your legs kicked and twisted, trying in vain to stop him, but he had them down and hanging off one ankle despite your efforts.

“You just need to remember why you love me,” those big, calloused hands pushed your thighs apart, keeping them pinned open despite your efforts to close them. His hot breath against your core shocked you, your wiggling and writhing halting for a moment. He licked a stripe through your folds, humming in satisfaction. “No one can make you feel as good as I can. No one.”

“Jack please!” Your hands were pushing at his head, trying to get him away from you, but he barely budged, not even acknowledging your efforts.

“Already begging for me and I’ve barely touched you,” his chuckle vibrated through your traitorous body as he laid kisses over your mound. “I told you, you love me.”

“You have to stop! I don’t want this!”

“Yes you do,” Jack wrapped both of your wrists in one of his hands, holding them down against your stomach to keep you pinned. “You want this. I don’t know why you’re trying to lie to me when your cunt is being so honest, sweetheart.”

Humiliatingly, he was right. You could feel how wet you were, practically dripping down onto the bedsheets below you, your hole clenching and begging for something deep inside it. But you didn’t want this. Right? No, of course you didn’t. This was the man who had just admitted to killing your mother and best friends. Their blood was still on the hands that held you open and in place as his mouth descended on you.

But it was hard to stop the whine you let out when his tongue began tracing around your clit. The pressure was firm and insistent, sending bursts of pleasure coursing through you against your will.

You fought through the sensations, trying to focus on wiggling out of his grip, but inevitably your focus was drawn back between your legs. Jack was unrelenting, repeating the motions and keeping a steady pace, like he knew exactly how to push your buttons. You supposed he did, having been created by some sick force of nature just for you.

Belatedly, you realised exactly what his tongue was spelling out against you:

J-A-C-K A-B-B-O-T

His own name, again and again, all at the same speed and intensity. 

Gradually, your desperate attempts to flee were being tempered by the pleasure rocketing up your spine. Your twisting and writhing to get away had turned into rocking and grinding against his face, using his bruising grip on your wrists as leverage. But while your body betrayed you, your mind didn’t.

Through the gasps and whines and moans he was yanking out of you, you tried your best to keep up the protests. Your increasingly weak protests of “No!” and “Please stop!” fell on deaf ears, until, right as you neared your peak and, fearing what the impending orgasm might do to your psyche, you got through to him. But not in the way that you’d hoped.

“Stop! Stop, Jack, or I’ll never love you!”

He froze, pulling his face away from your folds but keeping his hold on you firm. You were gasping for air, eyes firmly shut. You were afraid to look at him, afraid he’d see just how close he was to breaking you.

“You want me to kill myself?” His grip around your wrists tightened even more and his fingers holding your thigh open tensed, nails digging into your skin. He didn’t let up, despite the yelp that left your lips. “Is that what you want? You want to watch me slit my fucking wrists right now? Wanna watch me bleed out all over you? Because I will. I love you more than anything - more than life itself - and you are breaking my heart.”

“Jack, I-”

“Do you want that?” His voice raised, eyes wide and manic. “I’m all you need, baby. If I die, you have nothing. You made me kill your mom, your friends, and if I’m gone, what do you have left? You need me just like I need you.”

“No, no I didn’t make you-”

“You said you didn’t want to have to listen to them anymore,” Jack stood from the floor, his blood stained figure looming over you as you cowered back against the mattress. “I did exactly what you asked for, and now you don’t have to listen to them anymore.”

You were shaking, trying to look away, trying not to think about how everyone you loved had died because of a poor choice of words and Jack’s instability.

Jack’s hand grabbed your chin, forcing your eyes on his. His expression had softened, the lines on his face deepening as he stared down at you.

“Don’t make me kill myself because I did what you wanted,” he was begging, the whiplash from his rapid change in demeanor taking a moment to register in your mind. “Don’t make me, please.”

“I-I won’t,” you swallowed around the lump forming in your throat. “I won’t make you kill yourself, Jack. Please don’t do that.”

“Then tell me you love me,” his eyes darkened again and the frown fell from his face. 

“Jack-”

“Tell me,” the tone of his voice dropped, practically growling at you as his fingers tightened against your jaw. “You love me.”

“I…”

The words stuck in your throat. The love you’d felt for him from before was still there, but your terror and grief was overshadowing it, making it impossible to verbalize.

Jack sighed, his expression once again changing, this time to disappointment. He tutted at you, like you were a small child failing to follow directions.

“I guess I just have to remind you how much you love me.”

There was no time for you to question what that meant, but you found out quickly. Jack’s hands wrapped around your waist. Before you could even gasp at the rapid change, his thighs were straddling yours, his palm planted between your shoulder blades to hold you down.

“I’m going to make you tell me you love me,” you could hear clinking and shuffling behind you, but it took a moment for it to connect that he was undoing his belt.

“Wait, Jack!” Bucking your hips and trying to push yourself up was futile, his weight and the strength of the muscles cording his arm simply too much for you to fight back against. This wasn’t what you wanted for your first time. You’d been hoping for a romantic dinner with him, followed by sweet, slow sex, not him covered in your loved ones blood as he took you by force. “Jack please, I’m a virgin!”

“Oh, sweetheart,” the heat of his chest, pressing against your back as he leaned down, was scalding. His fingers gently tucked your hair behind your ear, his lips pressing a kiss against your cheek. You didn’t realize you’d been crying until his tongue darted out to lick up the droplet. “Don’t worry. I’m all you need. I’ll be the only man to ever have you like this. I’ll take such good care of you.”

And then he was sliding in, stretching your traitorously wet walls around his length. Fuck, he was thick. You felt every ridge and vein as he sunk into you as deep as he could, until the tip was pressing against your cervix. It was impossible to stop the moan you let out, the noise mixing with his grunt as he ground against your ass.

“Jack, please…”

“You feel so good around me, baby,” He let more of his weight fall against you, pushing you even further into the crumpled sheets. One of his big arms slid around your neck, pressing your throat into the crook of his elbow. 

“You need to sto-”

You choked on your words when Jack’s arm tightened, his bicep and forearm cutting off  your air supply.

“The only thing I need,” his voice was low and gravely, his lips pressed against the shell of your ear. “Is for you to stop pretending this doesn’t feel good, and let me make love to the love of my life.”

Your whole body tensed, walls trying to push him out, as he began to withdraw slowly.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he was panting against your ear now. His little groans and sighs rattled around in your head, clouding your already conflicted senses. “Squeeze me just like that.”

You felt yourself flutter involuntarily around him as his thick cock bullied its way back inside of you. Fighting against his hold to get air into your lungs, your own breathing picked up in pace, each exhale forcibly pushed out when he sunk in. 

Jack’s pace was slow. Each thrust was long, pausing to grind against you when he bottomed out, his head pushing hard into the deepest parts of you. You’d never considered yourself a masochist before, but the little jolts of pain mingled with the pleasure, pushing you even higher. The confusing signals sent to your brain were sapping your willpower. You needed to fight him off, needed him to get away from you, but your body was tightening around him, pulling him in.

God, it felt good, but you had to hold out. You still needed to find a way to break free and to get rid of him.

But it was growing increasingly hard to focus on anything other than the sensations between your legs when your head grew fuzzy from the lack of air and your clit was dragging against the sheets as every move he made rocked your body. He’d gotten you close before with his mouth, but now the dizzying pleasure of his cock had your eyes crossing.

“You’re doing so good, my sweet girl,” his words were whispered into your hair as his pace gradually increased. He never fully withdrew, but his hips were bouncing against your ass as his slow, grinding rhythm transitioned into hard and fast thrusts. “Doing so good for me. I can feel how close you are, I want you to tell me you love me when you cum, ok?”

You tried to shake your head no, trying your hardest to beat back the ever rising pressure of your impending orgasm, but Jack’s hold around your neck stopped you from moving. The only noises you could squeeze out through his hold were little whines and whimpers.

“You’re going to say it,” he pulled you in tighter, leaning all of his weight onto you. His hand not around your neck slipped between you and the sheet. “Say it, say it, say it.”

The first brush of his fingers against your clit was all it took for you to shatter in his arms. You spasmed and clenched around him, your eyes rolling back into your head. Your trembling hands scrambled for a hold on the sheets when he pinched the little bundle of nerves between his fingers. It was overwhelming, the intensity of your orgasm squeezing you so tightly around him that you nearly pushed him out.

Jack responded by thrusting even harder inside of you, all the while mumbling, “say it, say it, say it.”

But you didn’t. You weren’t sure if it was your willpower that kept the words from falling from your lips, or the debilitating pleasure that was rendering your mind nearly blank, but you didn’t say it.

Jack roared in frustration as the last waves of your orgasm faded, leaving you shaking beneath him. You were unprepared for him to rip himself away from you, leaving you completely free of him for just a moment. Your brain cleared slightly without his skin on yours. There was only about a second for you to try to will your still trembling body to get up and run, but you ran out of time. 

He flipped you over onto your back, spreading your legs wide and forcing himself between them before you could snap them shut. His eyes were wild, his chest heaving with every breath.

And, for the first time, you saw his cock, pointing up and out of where his jeans were just barely pulled down. He was big, even bigger than you’d pictured when he’d first slid inside you. Long and thick, flushed red and dripping with your juices. In any other situation, you’d be reaching for him, eager to get your hands on him. Even despite the position you found yourself in, against your will, you felt your mouth water and hands itching to reach out and touch him. 

But you managed to hold back, trying to squirm away from him up the bed. He stopped you before you could put any meaningful distance between you, though, his hands found the back of your thighs, pushing them up and pressing them down, folding you in half.

“I gave you everything,” Jack looked close to tears, but you couldn’t tell if it was from anger or sadness. “I would do anything for you. Why don’t you love me?”

You didn’t have an answer for him. How do you answer when the man confessing his undying love to you killed your family and then took your virginity against your will? What do you say to the man taking off his shirt, revealing the bloody mess of his chest, slashes covering the skin on his left pec?

There were certainly no words to be found when it clicked that those lines were your initials, carved into the skin over his heart. They weren’t bleeding anymore, but the skin was red and angry, blood still smeared over his skin. The more you looked, the more you realized the incisions were much more precise than you’d realized. Jack specialized in trauma procedures, of course the self inflicted modification he’d given himself would be perfect.

Your first instinct was awe, quickly followed by disgust at yourself and fear at the sight of his dedication to you. But you couldn’t help tracing your eyes over the split skin, admiring the clean lines. It sparked something deep inside you, to see him declare your ownership over him so blatantly on his skin, despite the fact that you still told yourself that you didn’t want to hold his leash.

“All I want is to be yours, sweetheart,” Jack’s intensity hadn’t dimmed, but his anger seemed to be gone for the moment. He sounded miserable, literally begging on his knees before you “Please let me be yours.”

“Jack . . ..”

“Please,” he still had your knees pressed to your chest, his fingers flexing and digging into your flesh.

You didn’t know if  it was the pathetic way he was begging for your love or the devotion in his eyes that broke you. You could tell yourself that you were playing along, trying to go along with it to get away from him, but you didn’t know if that was true. 

“Ok.”

Jack lit up immediately, all traces of his despair disappearing in an instant. The wide and handsome smile that split his face was at odds with the blood still smeared across his body. The juxtaposition was jarring, adding to the warring feelings rising in you.

“Can you say it for me?”

“I love you,” your voice was barely above a whisper. You didn’t know if you meant it - you weren’t sure you wanted to know, either - but Jack took you at your word.

“I love you, too.”

And then he was sliding back in, pushing through your folds and sinking into you up to the hilt. With your legs still folded up and resting over your shoulders as he bent forward, he felt even bigger than he had before, filling you completely to the brim. You swore you could feel him in your throat.

When he pressed fully into you, he leant down, his lips connecting to yours. You didn’t bother to fight him, returning the kiss as he fell into a rhythm. His tongue pushed between your lips as his hips pulled back from yours.

Jack sheathed himself back inside you, thrusting hard and punching a broken sound out of your mouth. He swallowed the noise, continuing to devour you as he continued. Every slow withdrawal was followed by a brutal thrust in.

“I love you,” Jack broke the kiss. His lips traveled down over your cheek until they reached your neck. His teeth scraped over a spot just below your jaw that had you keening, arching up into him.

He continued to work the spot, kissing and sucking and biting until he was satisfied with the blooming bruise before he was moving onto another, unblemished section of skin. It hurt, your skin burning from the contact of his lips, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do anything besides cry and moan. 

“Fuck!”

You couldn’t help the expletive when his hips shifted, his thrust pushing directly against a spot inside you that had your back arching into him. It shot sparks through you, the sensation tightening into a knot in your stomach. Jack adjusted his angle to hit that spot head on again and again. A strangled groan vibrated through Jack when you clenched around him as a result.

“Take me so well,” Jack disconnected from your neck. His forehead rested against your shoulder, looking down to where you were connected, but the bulk of his body blocked your view. 

Jack pushed back, sitting up to kneel between your legs. His large hands kept your legs over his shoulders, holding you in place, even though you weren’t sure you’d be strong enough to get away from him, even if you wanted to. He felt too good buried deep inside you.

Your brain felt foggy, the combination of sensations washing away your self preservation and critical thinking. When Jack had you on your stomach, you were being taken, but here, you felt like you were being worshipped. There was still fear simmering under your skin, but it was taking a backseat to the orgasm rising in your gut.

“God, look at you,” Jack was panting, his pace increasing and his eyes focused down between your legs. You didn’t realize what he was looking at until one of his hands let go of your thigh to press down on your stomach against the visible outline of his cock. “Can see how much I'm stretching you out.”

Your body seized, the breath flying out of your lungs. That added pressure made him feel even bigger. It triggered your orgasm, pleasure crashing through you unexpectedly. It caught you off guard and unprepared. Your head lolled back, eyes fluttering as your mind went blank. Jack kept his hand there, pinning you down as he kept thrusting into you, his rhythm faltering slightly as he battled his way through the continued clenching of your walls. He wasn’t letting you come down, giving you no reprieve from the waves of pleasure wracking your shaking body beneath his.

“Oh, fuck,” Jack finally took his hand away from your lower stomach, but you still didn’t get a moment to breath. His fingers found your clit again, rapidly circling the small bud. “One more, baby, one more.”

“No, Jack, no,” you started to try to wiggle away. Through your addled brain, deja vu struck you. It made you almost want to laugh. You didn’t want to get away from him out of fear - although fear was certainly still there - no, instead you were trying to get away from the rapidly building overstimulation. “I can’t, not again!”

“Yes you can,” his rhythm picked up, hips moving even faster against you. The squelching and slapping sounds filling the room were obscene. “I know what’s best for you. Trust me.”

You were chanting; “No, no, no!” even as your core tightened, the rapid build up of your third orgasm contradicting with your words. You were sure Jack could feel it, too. The way your walls clenched and fluttered around him was telling.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” sweat was beading on his chest, mixing with the blood on his skin and dripping onto you, leaving small splatters on your stomach. “Cum for me and I’ll cum for you.”

“Jack!”

You broke. This orgasm hit you like a truck. You felt it physically snap inside of you, the tension releasing a flood of endorphins into your blood. Through the haze wiping your mind blank, you heard Jack cry out, hips stuttering and pushing into the hilt. You could feel the heat as he spilled deep inside of you. It felt like a brand, burning you from the inside out and soaking your depths in him.

The waves of pleasure mounted, consuming you until you couldn’t take it anymore. Your eyes rolled back into your head and everything went black.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Jack had fallen asleep, and you were far from turning over and snuggling into his side after you'd been ripped from the consuming darkness. 

You ached in ways you didn’t know were possible. Every limb felt heavy like you’d been shacked to a ball and chain, and you knew every step would be agony. The bruises he’d left behind would mottle your skin for weeks as reminders of what he did to you, to your friends, to your mom. Staying next to him in bed would ease the pain, but you needed to get up. The thought of waking Jack sent your heart into a panicked rhythm, and you were sure the sound alone would wake him up. Soft snores and grunts sounded from his lips every few seconds. 

Centimeter by centimeter, you pushed up from your lying position. You thanked anyone who was listening for the fact that he hadn’t slung an arm around your waist to hold you down further. Instead of your normal wake-up routine, ten minutes must have passed by the time you stood from your bed. You could not let Jack wake up under any circumstances. You took another glance back at Jack. 

Still asleep. 

Gingerly, you grabbed your phone off the side table and began to shuffle towards your bathroom. You held back the urge to throw up when your foot slid through a puddle of thickened, coagulated blood. With trembling hands, you closed the bathroom door, mentally cursing yourself when it gave off the tiniest click. You held your breath and listened and listened and listened for any sign that Jack had woken up. When you caught another puff of steady air, you pushed in the small lock carefully. Not daring to turn on the light, you powered on your phone and Googled “One Wish Willow Customer Service” and clicked the first number that showed up. 

Your phone rang quietly three times before a bored voice filled your ear. “Hello.” 

“I need to cancel a wish . . . please,” you pleaded in a whisper. 

“I’m sorry, we don’t really do that.” 

Your stomach dropped, and the room tilted. “Please; you have to do something. I need my wish to go away.” Your mouth pooled with bile-tasting saliva. 

“If you had read the back of the box, you would see that wishes can’t be canceled or altered. It’s all in the fine print.” 

A whimper slipped through your lips. “He killed people, don’t you understand? And I’m scared he’ll kill me eventually.” 

Static crackled from the speaker before the guy on the other line sighed heavily. “The only way a wish can go away is if the wisher or the wished-upon passes. Sorry, but I can’t do anything else for you.” 

The call ended, and all you were left to do was stare at your phone. 

A flash of pills or your razor against your wrists crossed your mind briefly, but that meant Jack would still be in your world. And there was no telling what he’d do if you died. You could practically envision the city drenched in red and violence. But not doing something wasn’t an option. You couldn’t force yourself to go back into the room, get back into bed, and sleep like your world was perfect. 

Your guilt wouldn’t silence enough for that. 

With a tight chest, you called a second number and waited. 

It wasn’t long before you heard the sirens wail down your street, and you pressed your back against the door. By now, you were certain Jack was either close to waking up or he was now fully awake. You didn’t know which terrified you more. 

“Sweetheart?” Jack called out, and your lungs seized. “Where’d you go, baby?” His tone was soft and gentle for now. 

You wondered if the blue and red flashing lights poured through your blinds and illuminated his enraged face. Besides the sirens, your bedroom and bathroom were silent. On the other side of the door, Jack made no movements that caused any sound. It was as if he had disappeared, giving you an opportunity to think about opening the door. The golden knob felt cool against your palm and– 

BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! 

You squealed loudly in terror and backed away immediately from the door only stopping when the backs of your legs hit the side of the tub. 

“What did you do, sweetheart?” Jack’s loud voice carried through the door in a hollow manner. “Y/nnnnnn,” he drew out your name. “WHAT DID YOU FUCKING DO?” 

Downstairs, another blam! sounded and was followed by many footsteps and cries of Police! and We’re coming up! 

A glimmer of hope raced through your chest, however panic engulfed it when Jack began rattling the door so hard you feared he’d take it off its hinges. 

“You think you’re so smart? You think the boys in blue will keep me away from you?” Jack screamed through a raw throat. “You’re so dead wrong, baby. I’ll never be apart from you. You’re mine for the rest of your life. I—” 

His voice cut off from the slam of your bedroom door. Following, grunts, the Miranda rights, and the sound of struggle echoed into the bathroom. You attempted to block it out with both hands on your ears, but Jack was too loud, too impossible to suppress. All went quiet a few moments later until his empty laugh began to stutter out in broken barks. 

You were going to be sick. 

“We aren’t over, sweetheart!” he continued, though his voice was waning. “I’ll find you again soon enough! We’re going to be together until the end of time! We—” 

“Ma’am, it’s safe to come out,” another male’s voice covered the rest of Jack’s taunts. 

You ripped the door open and a sob of relief sputtered from your lips. You stepped back through the smeared blood–a result of Jack’s struggle–and sat back down on your bed. Your spine bent as you hunched forward in an attempt of self-comfort. You gripped your arms with white knuckles, and the bruises Jack left behind didn’t even compute through your twisted emotions. 

One of the officers stepped close to your knees. “I know this has been very traumatic for you, but when you’re ready, we’ll need to take you down to the station to get your statement.” 

You nodded wordlessly. 

Two officers stood in the corner where Jack dripped the most blood while he stood watching you. 

“What the fuck happened in here,” one of them whispered, but without much other conversation, you heard him clear as day. 

“I wish I knew, man,” the other responded. 

Your soul tensed at his wording and the way he tossed it out so casually. Because you’d wished for something you thought to be so trivial, and now look at where it got you. 

Alone and traumatized where you’ll be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life. 

Be careful what you wish for. 

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[dilaurentisprincess]

⟡ THE HEARTBREAK ASSIGNMENT

DEAN M.LIST 𖤓 MAIN M.LIST 𖤓 SEND A REQUEST !

requested

⌯⌲ SYNOPSIS: When you find yourself in Dean Di Laurentis’ bed, you’re over the moon about it. You’d liked him for so long, it felt like a dream when he’d asked if you wanted to spend a night with him… But that dream is quickly crushed, along with your heart, when you overhear a conversation Dean and Allie Hayes have.

⌯⌲ CONTENT: 18+ — mentions of sexual situations, not in detail. angst. dean uses reader. strong language.

“So you slept with the Dean Di Laurentis? Don’t just leave me hanging girl, how was it?!” your best friend squeals, making you laugh while also shushing her.

“Calm down, I’ll give you the details,” you pause, looking up to see Dean entering the library, a small smile tilting your lips as memories from the night before flash through your mind. “Tomorrow though, I gotta go, love you!”

Gathering your books, papers and pens, you shove everything into your bag, quickly standing from your chair. Your best friend looks in the direction your attention is glued to, a mischievous smile tilting her lips now.

“Oh, I see you, girl. Dirty details later, don’t think you’re getting out of this one Y/L/N!”

You narrow your eyes, playfully giving her the middle finger before you turn and head straight towards Dean.

He’s standing at the very back of the library now, tucked away behind large, wooden bookshelves filled to the brim with books ranging from old as dirt to brand new. You inch closer to Dean, ready to talk to him about last night, but the conversation he’s already having with none other than Allie Hayes, stops you dead in your tracks.

“I completed the assignment, Allie-Cat, and I have to be completely honest, I didn’t really feel good doing it.”

Allie scoffs, her brown eyes shining with amusement as she looks back at Dean. “Oh, come on, Dean. You were this campuses biggest playboy when I first met you, I don’t believe for a second you didn’t enjoy whoever you slept with last night.”

Her words are like a knife to your heart. They’re discussing you. They’re discussing what you and Dean did last night, and Dean called it an “assignment”, what the fuck does that even mean?

Dean steps closer to Allie, his hand reaching out and tucking a strand of her wild, curly hair behind her ear. The way she looks at him… eyes full of adoration. How could you have been so blind? So stupid?

You’ve liked Dean for as long as you can remember, so when he came up to you at Malone’s last night, bought you a drink and charmed the pants off of you — literally — you thought it meant he liked you.

Not that you were some fucking assignment, which you’re still unsure what the hell that even means.

“I like you, Al, I told you this. I completed the stupid assignment because you did. You said if I completed it, we’d be even, and then we could move forward, so why are you-”

You can’t listen to anymore, you make your presence known, stepping into view of both Allie and Dean.

Clearing your throat, you lock eyes with a very stunned Dean.

“What the hell is the assignment you completed, and why am I somehow part of this?”

Dean stutters, his blue eyes wide as they volley back and forth between you and Allie.

You raise a single brow, placing one hand on your hip, waiting on him to explain.

“Any fucking day now would be great, Dean. Why the hell are you telling Allie you ‘completed the assignment’ and she’s saying you enjoyed whoever you slept with. You slept with me last night, so please, explain any fucking time.”

“Okay, listen..” Dean begins, but Allie quickly cuts him off.

“I’m sorry, you didn’t tell her that it wasn’t going to be more than sex, Dean?”

Dean’s pretty eyes find Allie, looking shameful as he says, “It didn’t really come up, no, but I also didn’t even want to complete your stupid assignment and didn’t think about saying anything because I knew what it was for me.”

Allie blinks, her eyes wide with bewilderment at what Dean just said.

“Dean, girls have bigger feelings than… boys.” she points at him, her hand waving up and down while she does. “You needed to be transparent with her, now you’ve probably hurt this poor girls feelings.”

Your narrowed eyes slide to Allie, not necessarily angry at her, but not liking being considered a “poor girl”, that just makes it seem like you’re someone who needs to be pitied, and you don’t want that.

“Okay, listen, yeah it sucks, but I don’t want or need your pity, I’m just waiting on Dean here to explain himself.”

Dean sighs, running a hand through his messy blond hair. His blue eyes lock on yours, finally giving you the explanation you’ve been waiting on.

“I didn’t mean to use you, my intentions weren’t to hurt you either, I just…” he runs his hand through his hair again. “Allie and I started a no-strings attached type of relationship a few months back, we both started catching feelings, but she wasn’t ready for that, so we made a pact, kind of, we called it the assignment.” Dean pauses to take a breath, his eyes squeezing shut as he gathers his thoughts.

“The assignment was basically for each of us to sleep with someone else to prove the feelings weren’t that strong, that we could remain no-strings. You were the girl I was drawn to last night, so, while yes you were my way of completing the assignment, I really was into you… I know that probably doesn’t make anything better, but, you weren’t just a girl I used, I mean.. not really at least.”

You scoff. His explanation makes sense in a way, but it doesn’t change the fact that he did use you. He may not have intended to use you, or hurt your feelings, but the bottom line is, he wasn’t upfront and honest with you. He didn’t tell you what last night was, and that is just plain unacceptable.

“So I was just, what? A game basically? You sleep with me, prove to Allie you don’t have strong feelings for her and the two of you can continue your friends with benefits relationship? I mean seriously, Dean, did you just not think I’d ever find out? That I wouldn’t want to talk to you today?”

Dean lets out another sigh, a look of defeat on his face. “I’m sorry, I truly wasn’t thinking. I never meant for this to happen.”

Rolling your eyes, you grip the strap of your bag tighter. “Fuck you, Dean. I truly didn’t ever want to believe the shit that’s said about you around this campus, but of course, that was just plain stupid of me. You are the fuckboy everyone says you are.”

Dean cringes, a flash of hurt crossing his face before he quickly schools it. “I understand.”

You let out an incredulous laugh. “Yeah, I’m sure you do.”

Turning on your heel, you rush out of the row of bookshelves the three of you were in. Rushing past the table you and your best friend were occupying, you see she’s now gone. You keep your head down, hiding the tears that are already threatening to fall. Fuck Dean. Fuck him and his little “assignment” that he and Allie had going on. He used you. The fact that he used you hurts so much more than the feeling of being invisible to him.

You rush out of the library doors and into the crisp fall air, letting the first tear fall. You rush all the way back to your dorm room, letting the tears flow as you try and clear your mind of Dean and his stupid assignment.

[imagines-all-day-everyday]

seeing double

summary: when your ex-boyfriend makes a surprise visit to ptmc, your boyfriend and the rest of your co-workers realise you might have a type…

pairing: jack abbot x fem!reader & ex bf!mark sloan x fem!reader

warnings/tags: established relationship, implied age gap between abbot & reader and mark & reader, flirting, fluff, swearing, mark don’t give a fuck that the reader is in a relationship, but reader is respectful of boundaries, defs a bit of jealous and insecure Jack if you squint

notes: hot hot hot hot hot give them both to me now thanks!! also massive shoutout to the anon that requested this 🙂‍↕️

likes, reblogs, comments are very much appreciated!

Enjoy my work? Tip me! 🤍

masterlist

“Ew.”

The word left you before you could stop it as you sunk your teeth into a granola bar.

You grimaced as you turned over the wrapper, examining it like it might explain why you felt like you were currently eating a stick of glue.

“Are these expired?” You asked through the mouthful.

McKay barely glanced up from where she had half her body buried in the fridge, rummaging past several abandoned containers and a suspiciously wet paper bag.

“Nope, they’re just a by product of the drywall factory down the road.” She answered.

You stared at the bar for another second, trying to muster up enough willpower to finish it given you hadn’t eaten lunch.

After abandoning that mission in under 10 seconds, you leant over the bin and spat out the mouthful with as much decorum as you could before unceremoniously dumping the rest of the bar after it.

“Those things aren’t that bad.” Whitaker mused as he wandered into the breakroom with Santos hot on his heels.

“That’s because you were raised on hay.” Santos remarked dryly.

“They’re raspberry flavoured.”

“That’s not helping you Huckleberry.”

You huffed a laugh as the two of them started bickering just as your phone buzzed in your pocket. You leant against the wall, only half listening as you pulled it out of your scrubs and saw a notification from Jack.

He must have just woken up from his pre-shift nap. The corner of your mouth lifted as you read his reply.

You: Are you coming in early today?

JA ❤️: Always.

You quickly typed out another message.

You: any chance u could bring in a protein bar for me? the ones at work are inedible

The reply came almost instantly.

JA ❤️: I know. I’ve told Robby they are a serious health hazard.

You smiled at that as you watched the three dots blink back at you.

JA ❤️: I’ll be in soon. I already have some in my bag for you.

You: are you psychic?

JA ❤️: Just good at pattern recognition.

Your smile widened as his reply came through.

You: thank u 🩷

JA ❤️: 👍

“What are you smiling at?”

You looked up to find McKay watching you over the fridge door.

“What?”

“That.” She pointed vaguely at your face. “Whatever that was.”

“Nothing.”

Santos and Whitaker paused their arguing to focus on you.

Santos studied you, her face contorting into a grimace. “Gross.”

“What?”

“I just can’t get over the fact that Abott reduces you to…” She trailed off, waving vaguely at you.

“That?” Whitaker supplied.

“Yeah.” Santos nodded gravely. “That.”

You rolled your eyes, sliding your phone back into your scrub pocket.

“I think the two of you are starting to fuse into one brain cell.”

Santos’ expression went still. “….that was genuinely hurtful.”

You turned to Whitaker. “There’s your new button to press.”

Whitaker’s grin widened as he crossed his arms over his chest and turned to Santos. “Oh I cannot wait to bring this up multiple times a day.”

Santos glared at you. "You're a traitor."

You pushed off the wall, shaking your head as you made your way towards the door.

“Never give your triggers away Santos.”

“You’re still a traitor!” She called out.

You waved her off without looking back, escaping before she could start another argument.

You barely made it two steps before nearly colliding with Samira.

“Oh sorry.” She came to an abrupt halt, the usual frazzled expression etched onto her features as she looked up at you.

“You all good?”

“Yeah um- have you seen Joy?”

“Not for a little while.”

“No worries, if you see her can you tell her I need her in Room 3?”

“Sure.” You nodded, tilting your head slightly as you studied her. “Are you sure you’re ok?”

“Yeah fine.” She brushed you off as she tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “Haven’t had lunch so I’m a bit cranky.”

You nodded in understanding. “Word of warning, don’t eat the protein bars.”

Samira’s nose wrinkled as she stepped around you. “Why on earth would I do that?”

You threw your arms up dramatically. “Am I the only one who didn’t know they were inedible?”

“Apparently so.”

You huffed, pulling your hair out from under your collar as you made your way over to the status board which was currently glowing above the chaos that was the ED like a cruel little scoreboard.

Your hands settled on your stethoscope as you scanned the board. Less than an hour till your shift was over, at least officially. Which given your track record of overtime, meant close to nothing.

“Hey.”

You glanced over to see Perlah leaning against one of the desks.

“What?” You asked warily.

Her smirk widened. “Have you seen the hot visitor?”

“The what?”

Princess appeared beside her, equally delighted.

“Absolute smoke show.”

Princess nodded towards the far end of the station. “Follow the sounds of Joy giggling.”

Your brows knitted together.

“Joy? As in our intern, Joy? As in the complete antithesis of her name, Joy?” You queried.

“See for yourself.” Perlah grinned.

You followed their line of sight to the other end of the nurses station where a tall figure stood, leaning an arm on one of the benches.

At first, all you saw was the back of a leather jacket, familiar in a way that made your stomach drop before your brain had fully caught up. The man shifted slightly, turning just enough for a familiar profile to come into view. The same hair coifed to perfection, the same self-satisfied slant of his mouth.

And sure enough standing beside him, blushing furiously as she giggled, actually giggled, at whatever he had just said, was Joy.

“I didn’t even know she was capable of laughter.” Princess remarked.

You closed your eyes for one brief, pained second. “You have got to be kidding me.” You grumbled.

Before either Princess or Perlah could ask what was wrong, you were already moving, making a beeline towards them.

Princess and Perlah exchanged a look behind your back. “What just happened?” Princess asked in Tagalog.

“I don’t know." Perlah muttered. "But I think it’s going to be good.”

By the time you were close enough to hear the familiar deep drawl of his voice, Mark Sloan had inched in just enough to make Joy look like she might pass out.

“So, is that the only piercing you have or...?”

You rolled your eyes.

“Still shamelessly hitting on interns I see.”

Mark turned at the sound of your voice. For half a second, there was nothing but surprise. And then his eyes lit up in recognition.

“Well I’ll be.”

That familiar grin spread slowly across his face as his eyes travelled down your body with the same shameless appreciation he’d had years ago, like he was undressing you from memory.

“Cupid.” He said the nickname lowly, like he’d never stopped saying it. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

You shot him a fake smile. “Wish I could say the same.”

Joy looked between the two of you, blinking rapidly, as if she was trying to decipher a complex math problem. You turned your attention to her, offering her a polite smile.

“Dr Mohan's looking for you, something to do with your patient in room 3.”

“Oh right.” Joy nodded, adjusting her glasses as she glanced at Mark. “On it.”

“Bye Joy.” Mark called out lazily, watching her blush as she scurried away, nearly walking into a wall in the process.

He turned to you, looking pleased with himself as he leant forward. “Why do you always have to ruin my fun?” He pouted once she was out of earshot.

"Someone has to."

Meanwhile, McKay, Whitaker and Santos had exited the breakroom, not even bothering to conceal their ogling as they clustered around a monitor.

“Ok who on earth is that?” Santos queried.

"And why does he look like he just walked off a photoshoot?" McKay muttered.

“And how do they know eachother?” Whitaker added.

“He called her Cupid.” Joy casually commented as she walked past them.

Whitaker’s brow furrowed. "....Cupid?"

Santos froze. The faint amusement dropped away, replaced by the sharp, dawning horror of someone remembering a detail they were never supposed to need.

“Oh my god.”

“What?” McKay and Whitaker asked simultaneously.

"Do you guys remember that time at karaoke?"

"....the one where she sang No Scrubs at Abbot?"

"No. The one when she accidentally admitted she had an ex at Seattle Grace that used to call her Cupid."

McKay and Whitaker both slowly turned to stare at Mark, then at you, then back at Mark.

"No." McKay shook her head.

"Yes."

“You don’t seriously think….” Whitaker trailed off.

“Oh I do” Santos nodded. “I really do.”

Back at the nurses’ station, you folded your arms, ignoring Mark's attempts at getting under your skin.

“What are you doing here?”

“Oh some conference.” He waived his hand dismissively. “Thought I’d take the opportunity to come see Robinavitch.”

You blinked. “You know Dr Robby.” You said slowly.

“Since med school.” He answered smoothly. “Why? Hoping I was here to see you?”

You snorted. “Please.”

“Oh c’mon Cupid don’t act like you don’t miss me.” He smirked as he stepped closer. “You wouldn’t have moved across the other side of the country to forget about me if you didn’t.”

You leant in slightly, shooting him a dry smile. “I wouldn’t touch you again even if my life depended on it Sloan.”

He let out a genuine chuckle. “I’ve missed this.” He gestured between the two of you. “Us."

He placed his chin in the palm of his hand, leaning even closer. "Why did it ever end?”

You pretended to think for a moment. "Maybe because you’re physiologically incapable of staying monogamous?”

“Oh yeah right that.” He nodded. “Speaking of monogamous..."

"No."

"... I’ve heard you’ve got a new boy toy right here at PTMC.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Jesus Christ Meredith needs to learn to keep her mouth shut.”

“Well in her defence she told Derek who then told me so….” Mark trailed off, turning his body around to survey the room. “Which one is he?”

"I'm not playing this game." You answered, folding your arms over your chest.

“Wait let me guess.”

Before you could stop him, Mark placed both hands on your shoulders and gently turned you so you were both facing the floor of the pitt.

His eyes landed on Frank first. “Too pretty boy.”

He guided your shoulders slightly towards Whitaker. “Too scrawny.”

From across the room, Whitaker stiffened. “…Why is he looking at me?”

Santos didn’t look away. “Don’t wave.” She murmured.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“You were thinking about it.”

Then the ambulance bay doors opened. Jack walked in with a thermos in one hand, his bicep bulging as he shifted the backpack slung over his other shoulder on full display under his dark fitted shirt.

Your stomach dropped as his eyes scanned the room, no doubt looking for you. It didn't take long for his eyes to find yours. You watched as they shifted to Mark, then dropped to Mark's hands resting on your shoulders.

For a moment, his expression barely changed, only the faintest tightening around his jaw gave him away. Then he kept walking.

Mark smiled slowly. “….bingo.”

Your body stiffened as Mark glanced sideways at you.

“I’m right."

You didn't answer.

"I am."

“I’m not talking about my love life with you of all people.”

“Cupid, don’t be like that.” He nudged your shoulder. "Come on, what’s he like?”

“Well for starters, he volunteers as a medic for the SWAT team.” You said sweetly. “So he’s got at least one gun on him at all times.”

Mark nodded slowly, dropping his hands from your shoulders. "Noted."

"He also has excellent aim."

"Message received." Mark held his hands up. "I'll behave."

And then, for the first time since he had appeared, the teasing faded.

"But seriously..." His face softened slightly as his eyes settled on your face properly, no longer performing for the room.

“You’re happy?”

You exhaled slowly, your defences lowering slightly by the unexpected tone of his voice.

“I am.”

“He good to you?"

You smiled softly despite yourself. “He is.”

Something flickered across Mark’s face then, softening the usual sharp lines of his smirk, scarily close to being something sincere. “Good.”

For a moment, the years between you settled there. It didn’t feel painful or bitter or even sad. In fact, it seemed absurd to think that you'd cried over him once upon a time. Now he was just a story you told after one too many drinks, something you reflected on and shook your head, chalking it up to the foolishness of youth.

You cleared your throat, looking away first. “How’s work?”

“Busy, chaotic, dramatic.” Mark shrugged.

"So the usual then?"

“The usual.”

He glanced around the emergency department, frowing slightly as he took in the noise, the movement, the organised disaster of it all. “How’s the ED?”

“Busy, chaotic.” You echoed. “Somehow still much less dramatic than Seattle Grace."

Mark barked out a laugh. “Yeah that checks out.”

“Sloan.”

The two of you turned to see Robby making his way towards you, Jack beside him.

Mark's grin returned instantly.

“Robinavitch.” He broke away from you and pulled Robby into a hug with the force of someone who had never respected personal space in his life.

"A lot less hair since I last saw you."

Robby snorted, clapping him on the back. "The Pitt will do that to you.”

Jack caught your eye over Robby’s shoulder, his expression running a fine line between faint amusement and annoyance.

Robby stepped back, shaking his head before gesturing to Jack.

“This is Jack Abbot, night attending.”

“Nice to meet you. Mark Sloan.” Mark stuck his hand out. “Head of Plastic Surgery at Seattle Grace.”

“Plastic surgery?” Jack's brow lifted slightly as he shook Mark’s hand. “Explains the soft hands.”

Mark laughed loudly enough that several people looked over.

“Oh my god.” Whitaker mumbled as he watched Jack and Mark shake hands. “It’s like I’m seeing double.”

Santos shook her head. “She’s got some serious issues.”

McKay folded her arms over her chest as she studied the two men. “Or just good taste.”

“I second the good taste thing.” Princess murmured as she appeared beside McKay.

Perlah took a sip of her drink and nodded. “I third that.”

The handshake lasted just a fraction longer than necessary as Mark glanced over at you. “I get it."

Robby’s eyes narrowed as he gestured between you and Mark.

“You two know eachother?”

“I was an intern at Seattle Grace." You supplied quickly.

“Oh yes, Cupid and I go wayyy back.” Mark smirked.

Robby's confusion only deepened. “Cupid…?”

You shot Mark a warning glare, which he very intentionally ignored.

“Yeah Cupid.” He answered smoothly. “'cause you know she’s got these little angel wings tattooed right above her-“

“Okayyy you know what.” Robby clapped his hands letting out a bark of awkward laughter. “I think a hospital tour sounds like a great idea right about now."

Mark's eyes gleamed as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "I was going to say shoulder blade."

“You are going to walk with me." Robby said, already steering him away, “And tell me absolutely none of the rest of that story.”

Mark let himself be guided down the hall, still grinning smugly as he glanced back over his shoulder at you and winked, making you roll your eyes once more.

You dragged your eyes away from him to look at Jack who was yet to move. He watched Mark disappear down the corridor, then looked back at you.

He slowly stepped forward, eyes scanning your figure as he placed his hands casually behind his back.

"Ex?"

You sighed. "...Ex."

Jack nodded curtly. “Got it.”

“Abbot.” You looked over to see Dana studying both of you. “Dr King needs an attending in Room 8.”

Jack's eyes never left you. You watched him intently, waiting to see if he would say anything further. Instead he simply reached into his pocket and produced a protein bar.

You swallowed as he slid it into the front pocket of your scrub top, his fingers lightly against your side subtly.

“Eat.” Was all he said, unable to hide the affection in his voice.

Your throat tightened around a smile as you nodded. He held your gaze for one more second, then turned and headed in the direction of Room 8.

You watched him go, your hand subconsciously brushing over the side that he’d just touched.

When you looked back, Dana was still standing there, one hand on her hip as she watched you over her glasses with an expression far too knowing for your liking.

“Don’t you dare say a word.”

She raised her hands up in mock surrender. “Wasn’t gonna.”

You huffed as you turned, suddenly desperate to busy yourself in order to keep your mind off the cluster fuck that was your two worlds colliding.

For the next twenty minutes, you threw yourself back into work. Every few minutes though, your gaze betrayed you, either drifting towards the corridor where Robby had taken Mark or towards Room 8, where Jack had disappeared. The protein bar sat heavily in your pocket, your appetite now completely non-existent.

By the time you ended up at a computer to finish off your charting, your shift was close enough to ending that you had started to believe you might actually survive it.

“Oh damn, the patient in room 7 died.”

You glanced up to see Whitaker staring at a chart from the workstation beside you.

“The old lady with the chest pain?”

“Yeah.” Whitaker sighed.

You frowned. "That sucks."

“She had a husband right?” Santos chimed in from across from you, not bothering to look up from her own computer.

“Yeah she did, married nearly fifty years."

Without missing a beat, Santos glanced up at you. “Abbot better watch out.”

Your eyes narrowed.

"Nice. Very respectful." Whitaker shook his head, although you could see he was trying not to laugh.

"What?" Santos shrugged. "Our girl clearly has a type."

"Silver foxes?" McKay suggested as she walked past grinning like a cheshire cat.

"I hate all of you."

Whitaker looked over at you like he was genuinely offended. "What did I do?!"

Across the hallway, Jack had just emerged from Room 8. Your eyes met his. He didn’t react beyond the faintest lift of one eyebrow, but you could tell he'd heard every word.

You tipped your head slightly towards the supply closet. Jack looked at you for half a beat, then gave the smallest nod.

You waited a couple minutes before moving.

The supply closet was narrow, overstocked, and smelled faintly of antiseptic and cardboard. You shut the door behind you and leaned against a shelf, exhaling slowly for what felt like the first time in an hour.

A few minutes later, the handle turned. Jack stepped inside and closed the door quietly behind him. He leaned back against the opposite shelf, folding his arms loosely across his chest as the two of you studied eachother.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“So… that’s your ex.”

“That’s my ex.”

He nodded. "You left out a few details."

"Such as?"

His gaze dropped briefly, then returned to your face.

“Well first of all I wasn’t expecting Mark Sloan.”

Your brows lifted in surprise. “You know who he is?”

“I’ve heard of him.”

“Of course you have.” You paused for a moment before your voice dropped slightly, unable to hide the insecurity in your tone. "Do you think less of me because I dated someone like him?"

Jack's brows knitted together. "Absolutely not." He said immediately. "It's just that I wasn't expecting your ex to be..."

Your brow furrowed. “Be what?”

“…old.” Was what Jack settled on.

You let out a disbelieving laugh. “He’s not old, he’s like your age.”

“Exactly.” Jack nodded. “I'm practically from the stone age compared to you.”

“You’re not.” You insisted.

Jack’s mouth twitched, but the smile didn’t quite hold as he looked down at the floor.

You studied him for a moment, admiring the lines etched deep into his face that you’d had memorised for as long as you’d known him. “Does it bother you that he’s older?”

“No it doesn’t bother me it’s just...” He sighed. “I thought I was the exception.” He confessed.

Your face softened instantly as you pushed off the wall and took a step towards him.

"Jack."

"I know it’s irrational.” He said, giving a small, self-deprecating shrug. “I just thought I was the first older doctor you’d made questionable life choices over.”

You huffed a small laugh as you closed the gap between the two of you, reaching up to cradle his jaw.

“Hey.” You said gently, guiding his eyes up to meet yours.

“When I met Mark I was young and overwhelmed and had just moved to a new city and he was…” You trailed off, glancing at the door like Mark might somehow materialise on cue.

“…well you’ve seen what he’s like.”

You brushed a thumb over his stubble that lined his jaw. “It barely even qualified as a relationship. And then it ended and we worked together for months. And then I moved.”

Jack leant into your touch slightly, his eyes never leaving your face as you spoke, attentive in the way that always made your heart ache a little.

“And then on my first day here I met a grumpy doctor up on the roof while I was mid meltdown.”

His brows drew together in feigned disbelief. “I don’t think he was grumpy.”

“He told me if I was thinking of jumping I shouldn’t because it’d be a shame to ruin a face like mine.”

The frown that had a hold on his face loosened just a fraction. “Why on earth would he think that line would work.”

“In his defence, I think he was a little out of practice.”

His hands settled at your waist, warm and steady through the thin fabric of your scrubs. “Or his brain short circuited when he saw you.”

Your smile widened as you slid your arms around the back of his neck, entwining your fingers absentmindedly around the silver curls at the nape of his neck.

“Well, lucky for him it worked.”

The reluctant smile finally reached his eyes. “Very lucky.” He corrected.

He glanced down, playing with the tie of your scrub pants.

“I just can’t believe you dated a plastic surgeon.”

You snorted softly. “Is that seriously what’s bothering you the most?”

“Yes.” He answered plainly.

You shook your head, a wry smile on your lips. “Not the stupid nickname?”

Jack glanced down at you, his grip on your hips tightening ever so slightly.

“If he calls you that again I may have no choice but to punch him.” He conceded casually as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

His head tilted slightly as he studied you for a moment. “But at least he can fix his own nose up after.”

You let out a laugh, running a hand over his chest. “Don’t worry.” You soothed. “I already told him you volunteer with the SWAT team.”

Jack smirked down at you proudly. “Atta girl.”

Then he leant down and finally pressed his lips to yours in a slow, reverent kiss. When he pulled back, his eyes narrowed immediately.

“Did you eat?”

You winced slightly. “Not yet.” You patted the pocket that contained the protein bar. “I’ll eat this and then go.”

Jack frowned, clearly unsatisfied with your solution. “Go home and eat something more substantial.”

“I will.”

“There’s pasta in the fridge for you, all you have to do is chuck it in the microwave.”

Your interest piqued immediately. “The pesto one I love?”

“Of course.”

You grinned, pressing your forehead against his. “You’re very good to me Dr Abbot.”

His smile softened into something private, something reserved just for you. “Anything for my girl.”

You kissed him again, deeper this time, enjoying the feeling of his warmth seeping into you.

“Alright.” He muttered reluctantly against your lips as he pulled away. “Get going before I end up locking you in here.”

You smirked. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He shot you a warning glare with absolutely no bite to it.

You huffed dramatically, “alright alright.”

You reached for the door, then paused, glancing back at him.

“And for the record, if you’re worried about feeling old…”

Jack raised a brow.

“You should meet my other ex, he checked into the nursing home down the road last week.”

“Very funny.” He muttered, trying but failing to look unamused.

“I know I am.”

“Go.” He urged as he tapped your backside affectionately.

You raised your hands in mock defeat, slipping back into the pitt without another word.

Jack shook his head as the door shut softly behind you, a lovesick smile spreading across his face.

As always always always, feedback is always appreciated because I thrive off praise. Please give it back here and consider tipping me! 🤍

[dear-2-readers]

I didn't know I needed Grey's anatomy/The Pitt cross over. Now I want more

[tsaheylutales]

anything

Pairing: Clark Kent (Unrequited) x Reader

Warnings: angst!! reader is very clearly depressed, insecure, lonely, lmk if i've missed any <3

a/n: this i just wrote on a limb it's kinda just a stream of consciousness because i was in an angsty mood. I need some angsty requests i fear...also, I've been in a really writey mood but it's kinda been quantity over quality at the moment so i apologise, i might take a little break.

Word count: 539

You know you're not special. Your average. You’re not noticeable, not interesting, not good at writing, not pretty in a way that grabs the attention of everyone in the room. 

You…Try. You try your best. You try to be interesting, you try telling funny stories, which you realise halfway through that no one finds funny. You try to do nice makeup, try to look pretty in long skirts and dainty blouses and soft cardigans that sometimes look like something an old librarian would wear. 

You try to get his attention. Clark Kent. But he’s never looking at you. 

He’s looking at Lois Lane. Pulitzer Prize winner, devastatingly gorgeous show stopper, Lois Lane.

Of course he is. Beautiful black curly hair, deep dimples on his cheek, broad shoulders he tries to cover with his oversized suits. He’s painfully handsome, and awfully kind, of course he’s looking at Lois Lane.

You’re nothing. He doesn’t even know your name, no one does. 

You’ve worked at the Daily Planet for 4 years, 5 months, and 26 days, and no one knows your name. 

You’re either ‘kid’, or ‘sweetheart’, or ‘honey’, or ‘hey, you.’ Sometimes it’s some random name someone clearly tried to guess and missed, sometimes it’s ’intern’, even though you’re not an intern. 

You’ve been working with these people for years, desk adjacent to theirs, sat next to them in meetings, planned surprise birthday parties, covered for them, and they're still introducing themselves like it’s your first day.

And you take it.

Every morning, you come in early, you bring people their coffee, even though that’s not your job, you sit at your desk, write an article that’ll ultimately get sent back or given to someone else, be pulled into some job that’s not yours to do under the guise of a favour, eat your lunch at your desk, watch Clark talk to Lois, try to finish another article, phone around for interviews, get nowhere, pack up late, walk home because you can’t afford the bus, greet your cat at the door, cook something simple like mac and cheese with slices of cucumber, shower, watch tv, and go to bed. All to repeat it the next day.

You don’t complain, but you’re exhausted. Every day is the same, wake up, work, sleep, repeat, and you don’t know how much longer you can take it.

Clark doesn’t care, no one does. They wouldn’t even notice if you’d disappeared for a week. You wouldn’t be missed, the office would just keep moving without you.

And you know that. You know that in your heart maybe you’re not cut out for this. But you still try.

You still put your best foot forward, and try to be the best person you can be, because maybe one day he will notice.

Maybe one day, he’ll notice your smile, or your little plant on your desk desperately leaning towards the window, the framed picture of your cat leaning against your monitor, your mismatched socks or your broken tote bag covered in pins. 

Maybe one day, he’ll ask you out on a date, and you’ll say yes, and everything will all be worth it. But for now, you’re a shadow in your own life, neglected, ignored, and forgotten…

[starlithatosy]

Out of Touch

clayton emerson x younger female reader

Summary: Clayton Emerson is in need of a house sitter while he's off on business on one of the other islands. Who better for the job than his much younger situationship?

Word Count: 7k

Warnings: Age gap (mid 20s x 50s), implied power imbalance, yearning, angst, unrequited love, spanking, oral sex (performed on reader), fingering (performed on reader), penetrative sex (piv), unprotected sex, cream pie, mention of death, mention of divorce.

Author's Note: This is my first (published) fanfic since 2020 so please be kind to me. I'm a little rusty. I obviously don't know much about living in Hawaii or being a life guard so take all of that with a grain of salt. This is mostly just for funsies anyway! I also plan on writing a part two so don't hate me too much with that ending. Enjoy!

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You didn't know exactly what you were expecting to come out of Clayton Emerson's mouth as the two of you were laid up in a tangle of limbs and bare flesh in your bed but it definitely wasn't "Will you house sit for me while I'm in Hilo?" 

Never once in the two years since you started whatever this thing was between you, had he ever personally invited you into his home. 

It was always hotel rooms outside of town or in the back of his Jeep in some remote location out in the forest where no one would walk by and see the Mayor of Honolulu fucking someone over twenty years younger than he was and definitely shouldn't be with in that regard. 

You had even started having him at your place when your roommate went on her monthly "work trips" with her boss. It made you feel guilty to keep her in the dark given that she and her boss were having a full blown affair and probably wouldn't judge you in the slightest. 

But you just couldn't bring yourself to tell her that you let the man who runs this town come inside you several times a week. And that maybe you were starting to develop feelings you shouldn't be.

You found out quickly that you loved him there, in your bedroom, best. Under the dull glow of your fairy lights, amongst the things that showcased who you were to your core. 

He'd taken his time his first visit studying all the photos scattered in various surfaces of your room. The life you lived outside of your little bubble, family photos from a childhood that felt so far away now. Posters from bands you no longer listened to but still kept up for nostalgia mingled with ones of artists that now frequented your music apps and of movies you loved. 

You watched him make his way through the museum of your life, his face softening on a picture of you as a child with your siblings, your front teeth missing but that hadn't stopped you from smiling so hard your face might split. 

Clayton had always been attractive to you. It drove you mad most days. You knew from the moment you saw him that you had to have him in some way. Any way he was willing to give himself. But he'd never been more mesmerizing than here in this room. 

It wasn't lost on you how out of place he was amongst your things. Realistically he shouldn't be there at all, the definition of taboo and crossing lines, but you couldn't help the warm feeling that came over you. Especially when he looked at you with so much adoration and heat.

You'd rode him to madness that night, letting whatever animal dwelled inside you free. You couldn't get enough, each wave of pleasure he'd pounded into your body making you crave more. 

And he always matched your energy, always knew what your body needed before you even knew yourself. The two of you just fit so perfectly and you figured it was why you could never really put an end to things. 

You both had tried on a few occasions, knowing deep down things could never really work long term but it only took a couple weeks of being away from each other for one of you to cave and end up back here. 

But never had he extended things to his personal home. Not even his office in town. It was a line he had drawn firmly when you two started seeing each other. At the time you had no problem with it, perfectly content to be his dirty little secret and meeting up at whatever address he'd text you to be at. 

This was doomed from the start. But you never once hesitated when he called and definitely never let yourself believe that just because he had grown softer in the last two years that it changed anything.

You'd been in his home exactly one time, a few months into your rendezvous, for an appreciation dinner he hosted for the North Shore rescue unit. It had been an eventful but over all successful summer. The death count that year had been the lowest it had been in the last fifteen years and the Mayor thought it was worth the recognition. 

You thought about not going, remembering the hard boundary he had made a few months prior. Technically you were invited, the whole unit had been and it might raise more questions if you bailed on an event hosted by the most important man in town. Deciding to just go in the end, you tried your best to keep scarce and out of his way, not wanting to draw too much attention to yourself. 

He had been cold with you that night, his usually softened demeanor around you was replaced with a stoic and guarded one, eyes like ice and face like stone. Only directed at you and you couldn't help the pinch in your chest being on the receiving end of it. 

When he wasn't shooting daggers at you, he was pretending that you didn't exist. Like the two of you didn't know each other's bodies inside and out by then. You reminded yourself that you knew what this was from the beginning, that he wasn't the gentle, romantic relationship type. That the two of you were merely using each other as a way to find release. 

It was all you'd ever be to each other and you had half a thought that this was him reminding you of that fact. 

You had cut out early, having made your appearance and just wanted to get out of those clothes and hunker down in the comfort of your home. Your shower was extra long that night, taking your time to scrub away the day so you could start anew, refreshed and clean. 

What you weren't expecting was the five texts and three missed phone calls from Clayton Emerson when you got out. 

C.E.: Did you leave already? 

C.E.: You didn't even say goodbye. 

C.E.: Are you ignoring me now? 

C.E.: If you're upset I would much rather you tell me instead of whatever this silent treatment is. 

C.E.: Listen, I'm sorry. Please come over and let me make it up to you. I'm at our usual spot. Please don't keep me waiting. 

You did in fact, keep him waiting. Not having the mental strength to face him. Exhaustion was gnawing at your bones and you decided that you'd face him when you were better rested and prepared for whatever he would throw your way. 

Plus, you couldn't really have that much of an affect on him, could you? He was the fucking mayor, a good looking one at that. He probably had a line of willing potential partners he could fill his time with. Your stomach turned to acid at the thought and you banished it as quickly as it came. 

You learned the next day how wrong you were when he had shown up at your work under the guise of checking in and making sure any comments or concerns could be addressed. 

He couldn't keep his eyes off you, ones that you noticed were a little wild and out of control. His usually perfectly kept hair was disheveled, like he'd tossed and turned all night and hadn't bothered to tame it before he left the house. Even his navy blue Hawaiian shirt was wrinkled and the buttons weren't perfectly lined up. 

Something was wrong and you cursed whatever it was for pulling at your heart strings. 

You were loading up your car to head out for the day when suddenly he was there, standing so close you could make out every color that was encased in his eyes. Butterflies started doing laps in your stomach and just being this close to him always made heat pool deep within you. 

"You never showed up. Never answered my texts or calls." His voice was shaking, like he was trying with all his power not to completely lose it. 

"I was tired and didn't feel like talking. Sorry." You shrugged, stowing away a pair of life jackets in the back seat. 

"Then be tired and quiet where I can at least see you." You paused at the words, not used to the man being vulnerable. His eyes took on that puppy dog look and you felt your walls slowly chipping away. 

"You getting soft on me, Emerson?" Your heart clenched at the idea of him caring more about you than he'd always led on. 

"I just…..don't like the idea of you being upset. Especially not with me. I know I'm an asshole, my son tells me any chance he can. His mother too. And I know I was coming on strong last night but…." He stopped, his features twisting in a battle of emotions. 

This was hard for him, being so exposed emotionally. You wondered how many people got to see this side of him. 

"But what?" You prodded, looking at him with encouragement. 

"But I have a hard time controlling myself when you're around. You looked so beautiful and all I wanted to do was throw you over my shoulder, take you to my room and fuck you until the sun came up. Not sit around and talk about the same old issues I hear about twenty times a day. Or about the weather or sports or any of that mundane nonsense. And having you there, looking like absolute sin and not being able to do anything about it made me wanna rip my hair out." 

You were embarrassed by how quickly you'd caved. Telling him to come over later that night so you could really talk it out. Except there was nothing to talk about, you'd already decided to forgive him. 

The sex that night had been unreal. Something had shifted with his confession. His body moved differently, the aching sweetness of his aftercare and the way he held onto you like you might disappear as you slept. And that had been the norm for you from then on. 

"You want me to house sit?" You repeated, shifting your head so you could look him in the eyes. 

"Yes." He stated simply, like this wasn't a huge deal. 

"You want me in your house?" You had a hard time convincing yourself you'd indeed heard him correctly.

"You've been in my house before." He frowned, running his fingertips up and down your spine. 

"Once. And you weren't exactly warm and welcoming then." His frown deepened, his hand pausing for a moment before continuing. 

"A fact that I feel I've more than made up for." He had, he really fucking had. 

"Don't you have people already who can watch your house while you're gone?" 

"I do, but I've been meaning to give them some time off. And I already asked Kainalu and that was a flat out no. You're the only other person I trust." 

"My plan to steal all your belongings and sell them on Facebook Marketplace and Criagslist is all coming together." You rubbed your palms together and let out mock maniacal laughter. He chuckled in return, placing a kiss on the crown of your head. 

"Take it all, my ex wife picked out most of that stuff anyway." You kept your body from reacting. The subject of his ex had been a sore one, something he didn't really like getting into but had let slip from time to time. 

You respected that, honestly not in any mood to hear about the woman he'd once promised forever to, had a child with. It made your chest ache in ways you had never experienced before for reasons you'd likely never admit to him. 

"You really trust me with this?" You peered up at him and he peered back at you for a moment before a soft smile stretched on his face.

"I do." 

And that's where you now found yourself, alone in that big house of his. He'd shown you around briefly, giving you a set of rules and expectations and numbers to the front gate where his security would be. He'd had the fridge and pantry fully stocked for you to use, every streaming service under the sun at your disposal. All he asked was that you water the plants and keep things tidy. 

The seriousness of his face and the professional air of his tone was deeply amusing to you. You found yourself swallowing back laughter and grinning as soon as his back was turned. 

You couldn't shake the look of tenderness on his face or the intensity of the way he'd kissed you goodbye before he'd left. Or the way he said he'd selfishly wanted you here so he knew where you'd be and he didn't have to worry so much while he was miles away and couldn't reach you as easily. You thought it was silly since you risked your life daily for a living but you let him have it. 

It wasn't the first time he'd shown that side of himself to you but it always caught you off guard. Made you believe that maybe he did have feelings for you, wanted something more than just sex. You never let yourself fall too deeply into that train of thought. You knew better than to actually think that would be true. 

When you weren't out on the beach pulling people out of near death experiences, patching up wounds and filling out paperwork, you were basking in the comfortable silence of Clayton's home. 

You had to travel about two miles through his farm land to reach the house, nestled away near the tree line of the forest. The closest neighbor was about four miles away and with the temporary dismissal of his staff, aside from a few security guards, you were completely alone. 

You utilized the massive kitchen, one you'd dreamed of having one day when you saved up enough money to set down roots somewhere. You loved to cook and bake just as much as you loved being out in those waters and helping people. It was in your blood, a perfect mix of both of your parents. 

Your father was a chef, owned his own restaurant on the other side of the island and taught you his craft from the time you could hold a spatula firmly in your little hand. Your mother had been a Life Guard, spent time up here in her youth doing the same line of work before heading down south to settle down and raise a family. She had been your inspiration to follow the same path. 

You'd been meaning to try out a few recipes you'd seen online but didn't have the patience or time to do in your little apartment kitchen. But with all this space, you figured why not? You quickly wondered why you'd deprived yourself of this joy. It made you miss your father and you made a mental note to give him a call the following day. 

When you were done, you'd nuzzle up on the couch and watched movies you'd been meaning to watch but again, never found the time to settle in. 

I could get used to this. The thought was there before you could stop it, your chest tightening and your face heating. You shook your head in hopes it would magically make the thought disappear. Stupid, there's nothing to get used to. He'll be rushing you out of here the second he gets back. 

You were careful not to get too comfortable after that. 

You had opted for the guest bedroom, even though he said you could take his bed. You didn't want to be amongst his things, his scent surely lingering on those sheets. It would make you miss him more than you already did, a feeling you should not be having. Best to keep some level of separation. 

Clayton would check in twice a day. Once in the morning before you headed out to work, you wondered how he knew to time it so perfectly, and once after dinner. 

The conversations never lasted long and he didn't bother with small talk. Just wanted to know if there was any concerns or things he should know about before wishing you a good day or night and hanging up. You tried not to let it affect you, you were used to his frigidness by now. 

About two weeks into your house sitting gig, you'd had a particularly bad day. It started with a stubbed toe on your way out the door, after you were late getting up and it had spiraled out of control from there. 

The waves were violent that day. People were stupid enough to think they could handle them when in reality, they couldn't. You and your team had pulled out a dozen people that day, one of them hadn't made it. 

You took a bath that night. Bubbles, Epsom salt, the works. The water so hot even the Devil would be concerned. You stayed in there so long your body was practically a raisin, scrubbed red and raw. 

When you got out, you decided to do something you hadn't dared to once during your time here. But the events of the day had worn down your mental walls and you just wanted to be close to him. 

You slowly opened his bedroom door, peaking your head around to peer into the dark space, like you were expecting him to be there and catch you in the act. It was empty, obviously, the bed made up and untouched. The glow of the moon bathed the room in silver, coming in through the row of windows above his bed. 

You didn't let your eyes linger on it for too long, you had a mission. 

Opening the door all the way and flicking on the light, you slowly entered. Your eyes landed on a set of double doors and you made your way over to them, opening them to see your intuition had been correct. 

There hung a neat row of Hawaiian shirts, all the same color pallette of blue but each with their own unique patterns. Your heart melted at the sight of them, you hadn't realized how much you had missed them. You picked a random one from the middle, unbuttoning it and slipping it on. 

You didn't bother buttoning it up again nor did you put anything else on. You brought the fabric up to your nose, inhaling deeply and you swore you could weep as his scent hit you. 

You quietly exited, not wanting to linger any longer in the room and padded down the hall to the living room. The air against your practically bare flesh felt good after your bath, your nipples starting to harden beneath the fabric of Clayton's shirt. 

Without even thinking, you found yourself in front of his shelves full of records. Your fingers ran along the spines, eyes moving slowly along with them until you found something that piqued your interest. 

It was on the third shelf that you found exactly what would do the trick. You carefully pulled it out of its spot, not wanting anything to damage it. Slipping it out of its casing, you placed it into the record player, adjusted the needle to where you wanted it and turned it on. 

The intro beats to Hall & Oat's Out of Touch began to sound through the speakers and it was like the music possessed you. It started in your hips, swinging and circling back and fourth to the sound. Then your body began to roll, arms stretched up into the air. You spun around the room, letting the music move through you. 

You threw your head back and began to belt out the words, moving into the kitchen to make yourself a before bed treat. You began taking out the necessary ingredients and setting off to work. 

You were so in your element, on a whole other planet, that you didn't hear the sound of tires coming up the drive, the slam of a driver's side door nor the opening and closing of the front entrance. Not even the stomping of boots coming down the corridor. 

What broke your spell had been the feeling on the back of your neck that you were being watched. Not necessarily in a concerning way but you knew that you weren't alone. 

You looked around, your eyes catching on a figure lounging with a shoulder against the doorframe, arms crossed and a smirk on it's face. It took you a moment to register what, or rather who, you were looking at. 

You stopped abruptly, your breath hitching and heart began to thump against your ribcage. 

You had forgotten in the last several days exactly what he had looked like. It was like the image in your mind didn't perfectly describe the different shades of gray that made up that head of thick curls, how deep the lines on his face were or the exact pattern of freckles that splattered across his skin. 

Devastatingly handsome and here. There was no stopping the storm of butterflies raging through your stomach or the fact that being so exposed and perceived had made you wet in an instant. 

"You're home. I thought you'd be gone for another week at least." You barely made out, not able to take your eyes off of the man. 

"Luckily we got what we needed and were able to wrap things up early." He replied, pushing off the doorframe and coming closer, eyes like a predator that had locked in on it's prey. 

"That's g-good!" You stammered, busying yourself with cleaning up the mess you'd made of the kitchen, trying to settle your heart as he stepped closer and closer. "I'll just tidy up and be out of your hair. I'm sure you're exhausted and want some quiet." 

You yelped when you felt a set of rough palms against the flesh of your hips. Suddenly pressed firmly against his front, his breath so close you could smell the saltiness of the ocean, mint and a hint of bourbon. It made your head swim and you found yourself once again locked by his gaze. 

"Surely you're not trying to leave. Not after that show you just put on." His octave had lowered into something sensual and raspy and his eyes had gone completely black. His right hand had moved from your hip, fingers running over the material of his shirt that didn't do a very good job at covering your body. "This looks good on you." 

"It's very comfortable. I get why you own a million of them." Clayton chucked, both hands now moving their way up your torso, past your stomach and ribcage, parting the fabric more so your nipples were exposed to him. Involuntarily your chest pressed forward, a silent plea for him to wrap those pretty lips around the sensitive flesh. 

His smile widened at the action, his eyes flicking up to yours for a brief moment before dipping back down to your breasts. But his lips didn't go where you so badly wanted them to, instead you jolted in shock when his mouth was suddenly against yours. His tongue caressed your bottom lip and you didn't hesitate to part them to let him in. 

He groaned like a man starved, hands coming around to smooth down the column of your back until they gripped firmly on your ass. Your answering moan set him to action and suddenly you were airborne, legs wrapped around his waist as he moved in a direction you couldn't be bothered to figure out. 

You heard the opening of a door and then your back against something soft and padded. He broke the kiss then to admire you laid out on what you now realized was his bed. He studied you for a moment, eyes roaming over every inch. 

"You drive me insane, you know that?" He said after a beat of silence. 

"Is that so?" You blushed, not bothering to fight the grin on your face. 

"You know you do. I can't get you out of my head. Took everything in me not to race back here every time I heard your voice on the damn phone." He had his palms on your feet now, massaging all the way up to your calves. 

"That explains the formality of those calls then." You rested the bottoms of your feet against his chest as he worked the knots out of your muscles. 

"If I'd let myself stay on the phone longer than that, I never would've gotten anything done." He'd continued his journey north, reaching the spot where your knees bent and slowly spreading your legs. That wild look in his eyes he'd get when he had you like this was present, though there was a hint of something else there that you couldn't pin point. 

"Do I really affect you that much?" It took everything in you to keep your voice level while he dropped to his knees before you, hands gripping under your hips and sliding your ass to the edge of the bed. Your core clenched at the anticipation and the way he starting planting lazy kisses on the insides of your thighs. 

He didn't answer, too lost in his mission now. He slowly drew closer to that spot between your thighs that now ached with need. You tried to suppress your huffs of impatience, your hips tilting up in hopes it would speed things along. 

It did the opposite, he took even longer. Switching to your other thigh and repeating the action seemingly even slower this time. His eyes were on you, a small tug at the corner of his mouth told you he was thoroughly enjoying torturing you. 

"Did you miss me?" He drawled between kisses, sucking on your skin in a way that you knew would leave behind a trail of marks. 

"Not at all." Your voice was thick, weak with lust. 

"Fucking. Liar." He growled, biting down lightly on your flesh but hard enough to make you squeak with surprise. "Let's try that again. Did. You. Miss. Me?" 

His movements paused just over your slick center, you could feel the hotness of his breath there as he exhaled. He rose a brow in challenge, daring you to lie again. In no mood to be a brat tonight, you nodded your head. 

"Uh, uh. I need to hear you say it, sweetheart." 

"I missed you." The words had barely left your lips when he descended on you. Tongue sweeping out to lick from your asshole, up your folds to your clit and back down. He repeated the action a few times, warming you up. 

You threw your head back when he took your clit into his mouth and started sucking, a palm spread out over the expanse of your stomach holding you in place. His other hand gripped onto your thigh and keeping you from trying to close your legs. 

You let out a guttural whine, his thumb replacing his tongue so it could plunge itself inside you and lap at your entrance like it was water and he'd walked through a desert to find it. You laced your fingers through his silver curls, massaging your finger tips against his scalp. You felt his groan of approval vibrate through you. 

Soon his thick fingers took place of his tongue, pushing into you and hooking one at a time. He stroked slowly at that spot inside of you, his lips once again sucking at your clit, before gradually increasing in pace. 

It took no time at all to draw out your first orgasm and you didn't brother keeping quiet. You'd still been coming down from your high and hadn't processed that he'd moved away and started his ascent upwards. You whimpered as his mouth found the hard peaks of your breasts, finally giving them the attention they'd been craving. 

Your hands gripped onto his shoulders, digging into the fabric there and it dawned on you then that he was still fully dressed, shoes and all. This simply won't do. 

"Clayton." You practically whispered, your voice already starting to grow horse. All he'd responded with was a hmm? against your nipple. 

"I'm feeling a bit over dressed right now." He lifted his head to look at you, confusion on his face until it dawn on him too. He pulled away from you, getting up off the bed with a grumble. Old man, you chuckled in your head. 

He started pealing out of his layers in that same leisurely manner he'd been using all night. You propped up on your elbows, your legs still spread and ready to welcome back, and enjoyed the view. 

You bit your lip once the solid plains of his chest came into view and the path of thick muscle leading in an arrow down to the band of his dress pants. He dropped down in a squat, started untying his laces and tugging of his shoes, never once breaking eye contact. 

Your cheeks began to heat at the way he watched you, drifting back and fourth between your face and cunt, still so fucking wet and ready for him. You clenched around air, that ache pounding like a heartbeat at your core. 

His grin grew, he'd seen it happened and was totally storing it wherever his ego was kept. He started to make work of his pants, still not in any hurry. He loved watching you squirm. Growing annoyed and desperate and ready to beg for him. 

He stepped out of his pants, leaving him in nothing but a pair of tight navy boxer briefs. You could see the hard line of his length, already swollen and leaking. He hooked his thumbs in the elastic but didn't move to tug them off. 

Your awaiting gaze lifted and you found him staring at you, eyes impossibly darker. You began fidgeting under his heated stare, breathing heavily. You knew what he wanted and you were so god damn prepared to give it to him. 

"Please give me your cock, Sir." You pouted, legs parting wider for him. 

"Good girl." He drew his boxers down, exposing the patch of trimmed salt and pepper hair there, your mouth beginning to water. You let out a soft gasp as his cock sprang free, your walls squeezing together like your pussy was greeting him like an old friend. 

He threw the fabric somewhere out of your line of vision, and prowled back to where you laid on the bed. Then he was over you, his head coming down to claim your lips again, your tongues twisting in tandem. He pressed his body against yours and the friction against your nipples made your eyes roll. 

You felt the hot weight of his length laying on your stomach, slowly sliding down as he began to shift his hips. You lifted yours slightly, positioning your core so it was in the direct path of his tip. He slid up the length of you, nudging against your clit. You whimpered as he repeated the action until you had to reiterate your earlier request. 

"Please give me your cock, Sir." You panted into his mouth, palms gliding down the expanse of his back. 

"I haven't forgotten, sweetheart." And there he was, pressing his tip against your entrance but not moving forward. He lifted his head away from your kiss, watching your face intently. You watched him back, reveling in the way the moonlight brightened the color of his hazel eyes. He was breathtaking and devastating all at once and- 

Your train of though was cut short by the cry of pleasure that ripped out of your chest as he fully sheathed himself inside of you. His slow tempo gone with the wind, he pulled back and rolled his hips forward and he was off. 

The only sound in the room was the wetness of his cock plunging in and out of you, the smack of bare skin on bare skin and heavy breathing. 

You weren't entirely sure where to put your hands, gripping onto anything you could as that familiar wave of pleasure crashed over you. You'd missed this, swore you could spend a life time getting lost in it. 

He threw your legs over his shoulders, pulling back so he could watch your face screwed up in euphoria as he fucked you deeper. "That good, baby? You like that?" 

"Fuck yes." You weren't even sure if you were speaking clearly but you knew he was hitting that spot inside of you dead on and it wouldn't be long before you were clenching around his girth. 

"Oh yes, baby. There it is." He didn't stop pounding into you as you came undone. He dipped his head to plant chaste kisses on your cheeks, nose and lastly your lips. "Such a good girl, aren't you?" 

You nodded your head in a drunken daze, his voice sounded distant but you knew he was right there with you, ready to catch you if you fell into madness. He slowed his pace, kissing his way down your throat to your collarbones and back again. 

"I want to ride you. Please let me ride you." You begged, kissing his shoulder. You squeaked as he flipped the two of you over, his cock staying buried inside you. You adjusted yourself on top of him and his hands were firmly back on your ass, slowly massaging his finger tips into the skin there. 

Once you felt you'd gotten yourself into a comfortable position, you steadied your hands on his chest and slowly rolled your hips forward, then off to the left, down, right and back forward again. 

Clayton's hands slid up to rest on your hips, helping to guide yourself against his cock. "C'mon, baby. I know you can do better than that." 

You looked down at him with a shit eating grin. "I don't know. You should probably take it easy, Old Man. I think I noticed a new wrinkle on your face and your hair is looking more white than gray these days." 

He bucked his hips up in a solid swift motion, his thighs smacking hard against your ass. The sound reverberated through the room followed by your surprised gasp. You grumbled, pressing down on his chest and shooting him a glare. 

"I think you're forgetting this isn't exactly our first rodeo." He shot back, his hips thrusting again, gentler this time. 

"Hmmm, I don't think I can recall. But if you're sure you can handle me," You shrugged, positioning yourself forward and lifted yourself off of him until all that was left inside you was the tip of his cock. "So be it." 

You slammed down on his length hard and fast, lifting your self back up and doing it again. You'd messed around with different speeds until you found one you could keep up with. 

Clayton's hold on you was so strong you wouldn't be surprised if his hand prints were visible there in the morning. You came at the sound of him whimpering uncontrollably, unable to form words. You threw your head back, grind yourself down on him as you came back down. 

"Turn around. Get on your hands and knees." It was an order and you could feel your heart beat in your ears. He was about the thoroughly ruin you. 

You wasted no time getting into position, your spine curving inward so your ass was perked up perfectly for him. You could feel him shifting behind you, positioning himself back at your entrance. 

He spread his hand out at the small of your back, the other coming around to draw slow circles against your clit. You hummed contently, nudging your ass back a fraction. There was a sharp slap against your ass cheek that made your pussy clench at the sting. 

"So fucking impatient." He said it so tenderly, like it was a praise instead of the scold you knew it was.

You kept yourself still despite wanting nothing more than to press back and onto his cock. He didn't make you wait long before he bent over you, planting soft kisses down your spine and slowly pressed himself between your folds. 

You both let out a sigh in unison as he sank back into your wet heat. He rested his forehead against your shoulder, cursing and mumbling as he fucked you into near delirium. 

He used his knee to spread your legs father apart and forced your head down into the mattress. The position and the speed in which he was pounding into you made his balls swing and slap perfectly against your clit. 

Another orgasm ripped out of you but you barely had enough time to stew in it before he had you on your back again. 

You could tell he was close, his thrusts growing sloppy and less calculated. He was also getting louder, your name like a prayer or an answer so some unknown question on his lips. 

Watching him come undone like this was your favorite sight in the whole world. You could get drunk off if it, spend the rest of your days just like this. You didn't want anything, anyone more than you wanted him. 

It scared you, overwhelmed you so deeply that you could feel tears pool at your eyes and slide down your cheeks. He leaned forward, licking your tears away before resting his forehead against yours. 

The eye contact. The thoughts racing through your head. The death you'd encountered earlier that day making you realize just how short life was. The fact that he was finally taking you in the one place he swore he never would. The wave of another orgasm. The feeling of him spilling inside of you. It all became too much. 

You couldn't stop the words that shot out of you if you tried. 

"I love you." 

It was like someone hit pause on the world, this moment. Everything stilled and quieted and you swore the violent beat of your heart could be heard through the entire island. 

You dared a look at his face and froze. A mask void of emotion, glacial and removed and looking somewhere past you. 

"C-Clayton?" Your voice shook, the rest of your body following suit and it had nothing to do with your climax. 

His eyes slowly focused on you again, but there was no change in his face. He slowly pealed himself off of you, the loss of him leaving you raw and empty. 

He put distance between himself and the bed where you laid still as a rock. "You need to leave." 

"Clayton." You whispered, sitting up and trying to cover yourself with his shirt that was now hanging off your shoulders. 

"Now." You realized then you'd never actually seen him be cold and distant. All those other times you could still feel some sort of ardency underneath the surface. 

But this, it was like he'd completely switched himself off. 

"Please. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I just got caught up in the moment." You tried to plead but it fell on deaf ears. 

"I'll get one of the security guards to drive you home. You have ten minutes." He turned and left the room without another word. 

Violent sobs wracked through you, vision going blurry from tears. You adjusted his shirt so you were as covered as possible, his scent stinging your nose and making you nauseous as you made a beeline for the guest room. 

It was like you blacked out. Suddenly fully dressed, your duffel bag packed and swinging over your shoulder. You barreled out of the bedroom and didn't stop until you felt the cool air of the outdoors fan over you. 

You gasped for breath, struggling to get air into your lungs. You heard the opening of the front door and a distant voice which sent you bolting away to escape from this hell you'd put yourself in. 

You heard a car door, moving gravel and the sound of an engine coming up behind you. Lights stretched out around you and you wanted to scream until your head exploded. 

"Where the fuck are you going?" Clayton demanded from somewhere next to you. 

"You t-told me to leave so I'm l-leaving." You muttered between sobs. 

"I told you I'd have security take you back." 

"I don't want your fucking security. I don't want anything from you." It was a lie and you both knew it and you wanted so badly to hit something. Anything that would release the fire building inside you.

"You're not walking home. It'll take you hours to get to your place." You stopped abruptly, swinging to face him. He made quick time in hitting the breaks and halting the car. 

You stepped up to his window, leaning forward and got in his face. 

"I never want to see you again, do you understand me? Don't fucking follow me or I swear to God I will ruin you." You'd never spoken to anyone with so much venom and distaste in your life. 

He had the audacity to look wounded and regretful, his mouth opening to say something but closed again at the silent warning on your face. 

You turned away, continuing your walk of shame. You heard the car rolling backwards and turn around back up the drive to the house.

Your heart ripped apart in your chest as he once again disappointed you. 

He truly didn't love you, wasn't ever going to fight for you and that reality drove a knife into your heart and stayed with you long after you crawled into bed and everything went dark. 

You wouldn't realize until you'd awoken after almost a full day of sleep that you were still wearing that stupid Hawaiian shirt. 

[dear-2-readers]

I love love LOVE fic where reader calls Robby or Pope by their proper name and not their nicknames/last name.

I mean, most of them are about a long time gf/wife and most of those reader still call Michael Robinavitch "Robby" outside the hospital and Andrew Cody "Pope" even when they are not with his family.

When I write about Michael, I always make sure to keep Michael and Robby separated. For me, Michael will always be the boyfriend/husband/friend and Robby the doctor.

[diekaiserin5]

welcome back