Sugar and Spice and not everything nice

They / them or she / her but mostly they / them. 25+ very much an 18+ blog || call me harper or something else depends what you want to call me || pretty damn right queer just be warned || multiple obsessions on this blog

[stillnotmollified]

some of you weren’t around for the fan fiction dot net purge of 2002 (when they banned explicit content and mass-deleted thousands of fics) and the livejournal purge of 2007 (when they deleted hundreds of blogs, disproportionately targeting queer & kink content) and it shows

this kind of policing is why ao3 was created

remember, kids, the three laws of fandom are:

- don’t like; don’t read

- your kink is not my kink

- ship and let ship

[rembrandtswife]

your kink is not my kink *but your kink is okay* don't forget that part

[fangirl-dot-com]

The Mating Clause

summary: as an omega and holder of one of the high seats of mr. le bail's council, you find yourself wanting a mate to grow your family and powerful status. when you invoke a special "mating clause," you pray the alpha of your dreams, Titus Danforth, will find you first.

tags: alpha!titus danforth x omega!reader, alpha/beta/omega au, slight spoilers for the ron2 movie but nothing major outside the trailer clips, possessive titus, canon typical violence, murder, mature themes that go with the alpha/beta/omega universe including: scenting, knotting, biting, mating, breeding kink (additional tags: fem!masterbation, oral!fem!receiving, hard sex, piv-unprotected sex), afab reader, 18+ NSFW MDNI

notes: another one of @oxalaia-quilombensis and i's joint fanfics! absolutely anything she touches, she brings the level of smuttiness and taste that I would be unable to do myself :) MY TAG LIST IS CLOSED BUT MY REQUESTS ARE OPEN, please enjoy!

word count: 10.8k

The swell of your estate held the powers of the world. 

Your larger-than-needed study had been transformed from your desk and small seating area to a resemblance of a half-circle, chairs all facing the small, elevated space near the back. One chair sat on the upper lip, and you were all but draped in between its two armrests. Your spine pressed straight against the chair, your leg crossed over the other, and your hands gently folded at your lap. You gazed around the room as your fellow high families mingled together, loudly discussing business as though this were an ordinary meeting.

In the past two months, the council had met only once, the result of Grace Le Domas winning her game and wiping out her entire family. Due to that, she’d invoked a difference clause than the one you were currently waiting to announce. By dawn after that particular meeting, she and her sister had been killed, and the Danforths had been reinstated as head of the high families, gaining the seat back mere hours after it had been taken away. You had not been in attendance, but you’d seen the way Titus Danforth forced Grace out of hiding only to kill her first and then her sister. His acts of dominance throughout the hunt had impressed you, another reason why you’d specifically asked for his attendance. 

When he’d walked through the door, your insides sang at the waft of his papery-money and patchouli scent that screamed alpha in a way that had your stomach flipping and core pooling. With his salt-and-pepper curls and thick stature, his presence alone seemed to command the room, even if you were technically the one with power. You watched as he tried not to smirk every time someone glanced at the Le Bail sigil ring on his finger. 

While the rest of the families, the ones lucky enough to be promoted after the demise of the Wilkinsons, the Rajans, the Wans, and the El Caidos, vied for information as to why you’d gathered them in the first place, Titus seemed to not care. He drank from a whiskey glass and failed to join any boisterous conversations. Although, he did make it a point to catch your gaze every few minutes, his hazel eyes meeting yours in a stare that only ended when you looked away each time. 

You slunked into your chair, and your fingers tapped rhythmically against the other. To get your meeting started, you only needed one more person to make it official, and you knew he was ever one for dramatics. 

A sudden three knocks on the study door had your eyes chasing the sound towards the back of the room in time to see the Lawyer walk through, only followed by a shorter woman who carried the large, ancient black book that was always present during any meeting. As he walked, he caught the eyes and flared nostrils of those in attendance. Unlike everyone who presented with a second gender, gaining a special scent unique to their person, the Lawyer held no scent nor seemed to have the specifics of a second gender. 

His burning blue eyes met yours, and the corners of his lip stretched into a smile. He did not acknowledge anyone else in the room as he walked past, a rude gesture to some, but the Lawyer was notorious for carrying out the will of Le Bail without stopping. And today, you were a part of that will. He stopped within a foot of where you sat and outstretched a hand for you to take. 

His fingers curled around yours warmly as he spoke. “Mr. Le Bail remains to be very happy with you.” 

“All thanks to his good fortune and blessing upon me,” you said, the words familiar on your tongue, your honeycomb and orange scent blooming at the praise. 

You’d been in Mr. Le Bail’s circle of high standing for years. His blessing had been bestowed after your first hunt, the one that ended with you, an omega, standing in the middle of a blood bath of alphas and betas. You’d won your hunt against the odds towering over you. And you hadn’t cowered, hadn’t rolled over and offered your body as a means of survival. You’d taken lives, and Mr. Le Bail acknowledged your commitment to his cause. 

You became untouchable. 

Suddenly, hunts weren’t an obligation to join; they were a choice, and for the most part, you chose to stay out of them. Besides, you made sure to stick to the quota of sacrifices written in your personal contract, something not available to the rest of the families. You’d been leading as head of the Du Pont family for five years after your father, mother, and older brother died, their bodies bursting into a red, gooey mess. Their sentence had been given after you’d turned them in for a break of contact. Your lack of hesitation and allegiance to your benefactor over your family made Mr. Le Bail very pleased. 

To show his gratitude, he’d given you a personal clause for when or if you ever wanted to replace your family members. 

For a few years, you waited, wanting to build something for yourself, because at the end of the day, alphas, especially males, always found ways to disappoint you. Each one you thought might be a contender turned out to be someone you’d rather ask Mr. Le Bail to wipe off the face of the earth than ever think of giving him a bond. However, the first time you had the pleasure of setting your eyes on Titus Danforth, you had the feeling that he could be yours one day. His attitude and petulance made room for him to grow, and you knew that he’d be a fine alpha once he got out from under his father’s thumb. After winning back the high seat, his twin alpha-sister, Ursula, had taken more of the business side while Titus continued to have an affinity for hunts and smaller jobs that dealt with the darker parts of his family’s contract. When you’d been introduced during a smaller gathering, you swore Mr. Le Bail gave deep approval of him with just a touch of your hands. 

Suddenly, your want to build your family and empire had Titus Danforth at its center. You wanted him in your nest; you wanted to wear his mark on your neck; you wanted to carry and give him his heirs. Upon those deep-rooted desires, you contacted the Lawyer, asking that he trigger a meeting of the high counsel as more of a complementary act. 

The Lawyer let go of your hand and turned around to face the room. “Thank you all for being here on such short notice,” his voice carried loud enough that everyone quieted down to listen. “Since we have some . . . newer families, and this is the first gathering since you all have been promoted within the circle, I will introduce myself and then the others. I am the sole attorney for Mr. Le Bail and the Le Bail organization, which is led by a council made up of the heads of six families: the Danforths, the Bellinis, the De la Vegases, the Kassels, the Frasers, and Miss Du Pont.” 

Everyone’s eyes turned towards you, and you simply smiled. 

“The reason you all are here is because Miss Du Pont has decided to invoke a clause of her own.” 

“Is she allowed to do that?” the head of the Bellini family questioned with a sneer. “I thought that contracts were only triggered by death or Mr. Le Bail himself.” His eyes trailed down your body with disgust. “Especially since she’s an omega.” 

The Lawyer stared at him boredly and clicked his tongue against his teeth. “You’d be better off knowing to hold your tongue, or, if you must, use the proper respect when addressing Miss Du Pont.” 

Near Mr. Bellini, Titus scoffed loudly before taking a sip at his glass. “Are you a fucking idiot?” 

“Excuse me?” Mr. Bellini questioned, head whipping toward the other alpha. 

Titus gestured up towards you. “Do you even know what Du Pont stands for?” He hummed contemplatively. “Probably not since you’ve already painted yourself as an imbecile, so let me spell it out for you. It’s French for of the bridge, and that omega you’re staring at happens to be part of the bridge right to Mr. Le Bail. So I’d think twice about speaking your mind around her when she’s more than capable of cutting out your tongue and feeding it to you.” 

You rolled your shoulders to ease the building tension that formed while Titus basically defended you and sang your praises. From the corner of your eye, you could see that the Lawyer was also less miffed about being interrupted than he would have been if it hadn’t been Titus who’d done it. You understood that since Titus took the high seat, he’d been in talks with the Lawyer about certain things, and maybe the two of them had grown to share a mutual respect for the other. 

The Lawyer huffed loudly, drawing attention back to him. “As I was saying, Miss Du Point asked me to call this meeting of the High Council out of courtesy to announce that she has, as is her right by Mr. Le Bail, invoked her mating clause.” 

At his word, the alphas sucked in a large breath as they now looked at you with eyes filled with hunger and want. You, on the other hand, were only concerned with one hazel set. To your liking, they were set right on you, swimming with hunger but twinged with something deeper. Your hips shifted to release any heated pressure you could find. 

“As per her clause given directly from Mr. Le Bail in an attest to his blessing upon her, Miss Du Pont has chosen seven eligible alphas between the ages of twenty-five and fifty from the higher and middle families of the inner circles.” The Lawyer snapped, and his helper brought over the book. He flipped through the pages and stopped near the back. “I will read the rules out loud before announcing the names.” 

He held the book out to read, and it seemed as though everyone was at the edge of their seats. 

“While the mating clause is active, a hunt from sundown to sunrise will be held on the Du Point estate. During this particular hunt, the alphas of Miss Du Point’s choosing will compete against each other to show their worth and status. They will be given permission to hurt, maim, or even kill the other alphas if the situation sees fit. Alphas are not permitted to use any alpha commands while hunting.” 

“And who will we be hunting?” you heard one of the sons from the De la Vegas family ask. 

The Lawyer went to reply, but you beat him to it, only offering a one-worded answer. 

“Me.” 

A pin drop would have boomed in the silence that followed. In his seat, Titus straightened slightly, and his eyes never wavered from your figure. 

“Yes,” the Lawyer confirmed, “the alphas will be hunting Miss Du Pont. But I shall add that if any harm comes to her, Mr. Le Bail will be most . . . unhappy.” He scanned the room to get his point across. “Moving on, the alpha who finds Miss Du Pont by sunrise will be chosen as the winner. However, if she is not found, she also reserves the right to pick an alpha of her choosing.” 

He glanced over at you, needing to get your approval to continue. You nodded slightly. 

“To aid in the hunt and encourage a match between Miss Du Pont and an alpha, she will take a heat-inducer before the hunt starts. And the seven chosen alphas will be given a rut-inducer as well.” 

A few rumbles began to fill the air as scents deepened with lust; Titus, however, continued to stay silent. 

“Now that the rules of the hunt have been read, I will now announce the alphas chosen to participate.” He handed the book back to his helper and took your list from her other hand. “From the lower families, who have already been sent an invitation, we have Arthur Howard, Enrico De Borja, Sima Yoa, Charles Orsini, Rhodes Ashford, and Byron Coventry.” 

“That’s six?” Mr. Bellini pointed out. 

“Glad you’re capable of fucking counting,” Titus shot back, but his grin was unmistakable behind his glass. 

The Lawyer also fought back a grin, but he hid it better than Titus. 

“And for the one alpha chosen from the high family . . .”

You watched as most of the sons and even some of the fathers sat up a bit straighter. It was almost laughable the way they believed themselves to be eligible for your hunt, especially since all of the fathers already had a mate and family. No one seemed to catch onto that there was only one alpha in their midst who held the power of the world in a single ring on his thick finger. 

“Titus Danforth.” 

Like the cocky son of a bitch he was, Titus held up his glass towards you in a grateful manner, but the way his scent overpowered the rest told you that he was more intrigued and interested than his appearance allowed. Around him, though, the rest of the families stood in an uproar; one even had the notion to start stalking towards your seat, but he stopped right at the edge the moment you felt a burst of flame from behind you, the light of his outline illuminating your skin. 

The Lawyer pocketed the list and clapped his hands, bringing the room back to order. “This is the will of Mr. Le Bail. If you have any qualms, you are always welcome to bring them directly to him.” 

A few of the alphas looked downright terrified. Titus continued to look smug. 

“This meeting is adjourned,” the Lawyer announced, holding out a hand for you to take again. 

You quietly slipped your hand in his and rose from your seat. Once the alphas looked calm enough to pass by, the Lawyer led you through their throngs. You avoided eye contact with each of them, and their gazes filled with growing resentment and lust did little to throw you off. Yet, when you dared to look in Titus’ direction, his eyes sent a shiver down your spine. You could feel his eyes on you even when you left the room. You let go of the Lawyer’s hand once the door shut behind you, leaving enough time for you to be gone once the families began to vacate the premises. 

"Would you excuse me for one moment?” you asked. 

“Of course. I’ll be in the lobby, and we can go over the final details over dinner,” he responded, already heading in the direction of the front door. He’d been over enough times to know his way around. 

You turned to the left and made your way to the small, hallway bathroom. Once the door locked with a click, you leaned your head against the grain, allowing yourself to breathe in normal air without the conflicting scents in the room. While your chest slightly heaved, you slowly dipped your fingers below the waist of your pants. Instantly, you were met with a wetness you knew you’d had since Titus entered the study. 

Before your father was sent to hell, you would have been disgusted to have such a reaction to an alpha, let alone just his scent. That was something your father had instilled in you, a reflection of his resentment in having an omega offspring. Your first heat had been spent alone and in pain, and your father only said that it would build character to show that you could never be weak. 

But oh, did Titus Danforth make you pathetic. 

Your bottom lip crushed between your teeth as you gently circled your enlarged clit, the swipes gliding easily with your slick. You didn’t know if the alphas had left, but the need to relieve pressure had you not caring. A small moan-turned-whine ripped through your vocal cords, and your unoccupied hand slapped across your mouth to muffle the sounds. Your thighs tightened around your hand, and you bent over when you dipped a finger into your core. The added digit had your stomach tightening and your fingers speeding up. You tried your best to stay quiet, but as you reached your climax, a true whine slipped through the slots of your fingers, inner muscles contracting steadily around your finger.  

You were left panting against the door, knowing you’d taken far too long for a normal bathroom break. Quickly, you tried to compose yourself, patting down your shirt and wiping some of the dripping slick on a random towel you tossed to the floor. The only evidence were your pruned fingers and slightly sickeningly sweet scent. 

With a shaky breath, you unlocked the door and stepped back out into the hall. However, you didn’t even make it two steps before you ran into something solid enough that you jolted off balance. Twin hands clamped down on your upper arms and held you steady, and one small sniff told you exactly which alpha had caught you after a moment of self-pleasure. 

“Titus,” you breathed as you looked up into his hazel hues. 

If he hadn’t smelled you through the door, you were sure he had now by the way his nostrils flared with each breath he took. 

Instead of answering, Titus continued to stare down at you until his gaze caught onto your raised hands that hand planted firmly on his chest after he caught you. His right hand released your arm in favor of grabbing the hand that, moments ago, had been stuck down your pants. He brought it up to his face before leaning in, nose trailing up each finger, chest puffing out in deep inhales of your scent. 

If he were any other alpha, you would have wrenched out of his grasp and slapped him across the face. But this was Titus, the alpha you’d been dreaming of only to wake up in a puddle and heat at your core, the alpha you wanted to build something with. 

Titus surprised you even further when his tongue darted out and kitten-licked at your fingerprints, the hot muscle contracting around your skin in languid motions. He never broke eye contact through his ministrations of cleaning you up. Once you were sure all remnants of slick had been lapped up by his tongue, he pulled away. By now, his scent was overpowering, but all it did was send another rush of need and want for him through your body. 

You thought he might kiss you with the way his face suddenly leaned in towards yours, but he stopped inches away from your lips, hot breath fanning over the tip of your nose. His hazel eyes were blown, and you were sure yours reflected his as well. If Mr. Le Bail hadn’t graciously given you the contract, you would have offered for him to take you there and then against the walls of your home.

But you had to follow the rules, play the game. And Titus knew too.

His mouth parted slightly. “I just want you to know,” he whispered, tone promise-filled, “it’s going to be me, omega, . . . who gets you.” 

Your jaw tipped up to the point your lips could have almost touched, and you smiled. “I look forward to it, alpha.” 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Titus felt insatiable. 

It had only been a week since he’d had a taste of you, and the memory of your slick burned at the back of his throat every time he recounted the scene with a hand wrapped around his cock under the cover of night. 

He never knew how addicting an omega could be. All the women he’s ever been with were betas; he didn’t possess the patience to deal with the neediness of the fairer secondary sex or even with alphas for that matter—his own need for control made bedding the latter an exhausting affair. But now he was different, now he craved to have you again, drinking your scent and slick straight from the source. 

That specific brand-new craving washed over his body in waves as he stood with the rest of the lower families. The simmering heat of an upcoming rut due to the pill he’d swallowed almost thirty minutes ago, per the hunt’s rules, made his desires for you almost uncontainable, especially with how it warred with his disgust for the rest of the half-paked alpha pups that littered your study. But he knew he’d be able to act on both feelings as soon as they were all set free into your land. Then, he’d be able to make his disdain for these boys known in a much more visceral way.   

But he couldn’t help but think you’d done this on purpose, choosing to put him, an experienced alpha well in his prime, right in the middle of six alphas who probably didn’t know where to stick their knots. Easily, he’d be able to take each and every one of them down if the situation called for it, and he prayed that it would. His teeth itched with the want to sink them into deep jugulars and feel the slick of blood along his gums. His eyes grazed across the small crowd, and an unpleasant feeling crept up his throat when he couldn’t find you. Obviously, he knew you were probably preparing and wouldn’t even put yourself in the middle of this flock while pre-heat settled into your body. 

Smart girl.

He took another sip from his drink, the alcohol giving him a pleasant buzz to wash out the growing scent of pre-rut stink from the others. One in particular, however, had him almost gagging from it: Byron Coventry and his scent of wet leaves and sour apple. He was one of the most pathetic excuses an alpha Titus had ever come across. He wanted to break his little neck every time Byron opened his mouth, vulgar fantasies about you spewing from his teeth. But Titus kept himself in check; he was better than the rest, and he had nothing to prove. He knew he was the perfect mate for you, would even bet that Mr. Le Bail was also in contempt.  

He blessed whoever was listening when he spotted the Lawyer slowly making his way to the front of the study, the same place he’d been a week ago as he announced your clause to the rest of the high families. 

“Attention please,” he announced, effectively quieting the room once again. “The sun will dip below the horizon in approximately ten minutes. Miss Du Pont has been given those moments as a head start. Please take this time to prepare yourselves and whatever you have brought.” He steeled his blue eyes. “And just remember, if Miss Du Pont is harmed in any way . . . well . . . let’s just say you won’t see tomorrow. I know you all are very familiar with how Mr. Le Bail punishes those who break his rules.” 

The small crowd of seven scattered soon after, Titus going directly for his war hammer he stowed in the corner upon his arrival. Its heavy metal was a comforting weight in his palm. With it, he had never lost a hunt. He twirled it once before resting it over his shoulder. 

“What are you going to do with that old man? Knock her unconscious?” Bryon called out while shoving his guns into their holsters at his waist. “I’ll tell you that omegas are much sweeter when they’re awake to squirm a bit, especially when they get to fight back. Makes it all worth it when you get to just take them.” 

Titus rolled his eyes and scoffed. “This is going to go right through your skull.” His voice carried an assuredness that sent a visible shock and shiver through Byron. He stepped away and placed his glass back down onto the bar. 

The next seven minutes were tortuous, By now, every breath Titus took singed his nose as the overwhelming reek of rut permeated the air. Every so often, small growls would slip through clenched teeth, and Titus wondered if someone would explode into a violent frenzy before the hunt could even begin until the Lawyer reappeared at the entrance to the study this time. “The alphas will be let out one at a time, starting with the youngest and so on.” 

“The old man is going to fall behind,” Byron jeered with a snort. 

The Lawyer squared his shoulders. “Mr. Coventry, I can assure you that Mr. Danforth is more than capable. Do note that he also has never lost a hunt in the thirty plus years that he’s been a part of Mr. Le Bail’s circle. Not only that, but he also holds the highest seat of the council.” 

Titus stood a bit straighter, and the rest went silent as they lined up. Titus stood directly behind Byron, even though there was a twenty-year gap between them. He lowered his head toward the younger alpha’s ear. 

“If you even think of taking her by force, I will hunt you down well after all of this is over and personally escort you to the gates of hell myself.” 

He straightened as though nothing had happened, but the tell-tale whiff of fear further curdling Byron’s repulsive, aroused rotten scenet had Titus smirking. 

Just as Titus was the last to be left in the study, the Lawyer held out an outstretched hand, stopping him mid-step, to which Titus cocked a questioning eyebrow. Without saying anything, the Lawyer withdrew something tightly wound from his pocket and gave it to Titus. 

“A small gift, if you will,” the Lawyer stated with a wink. “Miss Du Pont sends her regards.” He stepped aside from the door and let Titus through. 

The handful of fabric Titus kept in his palm taunted him to unravel it as he walked. Before he could venture too far into the open grassy field that led to the forest licking the edge of your estate (much like his own), he paused, set down his war hammer, and brushed his thumbs over the fabric to straighten it out. His mouth went dry when he realized what he was holding. Another brush of his thumb came back wet, and Titus brought the digit to his mouth and sucked, the sweetness of your slick latching onto his tastebuds. 

He’d already been half-hard before under the effects of the inducer, but the smallest taste of you had his cock fully swelling and throbbing in his pants. 

You’d given him your underwear, and the thought of you running around with your cunt bare under whatever you were wearing had him pushing the fabric into his back pants pocket and stalking through the field with a fire under his steps. Tall grass flattened underneath his black hunting boots. Once the softer ground turned into hard dirt covered in leaves and twigs, he slowed his steps, taking deep breaths as he walked further. At the entrance, an onslaught of honeycomb and orange made him dizzy but also impressed. In attempts to throw the alphas off, you’d wiped slick across the bark of random trees in different directions. 

His chest finally rumbled at the thought of such a skilled omega, one that would be on par with his alpha. 

Not knowing where to start, he continued to step into the trees, their crowns shadowing him from the moonlight. He could smell a few alphas on his path, but they either dimmed or stopped abruptly. A few sticks snapped, and his head would whip in that direction, nose flaring to pick up any scents, but he knew you were too smart to be wandering around. By now, you probably had already found a place to hide, somewhere only you knew since this was your land. Instead of having the upper hand, the ball was in your court. 

Titus set out to find running water, a stream perhaps. Fresh water meant you could cross and mask your scent in the ever-changing bank, the mud helping to mask footprints. His ears picked up the sound of a trickle to the right, and he turned in the opposite direction. You would have also known that alphas would first go for the water, the oldest trick in the hunting book. If you were any normal prey, he would have had you in minutes. But you were practically his equal, the two of you holding some type of the highest blessings from Mr. Le Bail. 

By three hours in, Titus hadn’t found so much a trace of you, and he was starting to believe that you would be the one to last the entire twelve hours until sunrise. However, a small chirp from a couple yards in front of him had him pausing, war hammer poised in his hands. Another twig snapped, and he caught his first voice of the night. 

Only, instead of belonging to you, it belonged to someone entirely different, someone Titus had been keeping in mind to silence his bloodlust. 

“Come out, come out, omega,” Byron sang too loudly into the quiet atmosphere. “I know you’re close. That cute little noise you gave out—” He chuckled deeply. “Means your body is just begging for me.” 

Titus ground his teeth, and his jaw clenched tightly. His fingers gripped around the war hammer’s shaft to the point of white knuckles. He kept his steps soft, eyeing where sticks lay in his path, careful to step over them. 

“You smell so fucking sweet; I bet you’re just waiting to roll over and present. You’re going to feel so good around my dick. My knot’s been begging for sweet pussy for so long, and to think, the next one is going to belong to Mr. Le Bail’s pet.” 

Much to Titus’ horror, another soft chirp sounded at the same audible tone as Byron’s voice, meaning you and he were too close for Titus to be comfortable with. In any other circumstance, Titus would leave you to it; he’d seen the way you took down each and every alpha and beta in your hunt while barely looking like you’d broken a sweat. But this was entirely different. You were under the effects of a deepening preheat, something you’d gone into willing to find out which alpha would fight to keep you safe. And Titus would rather cut off his hands than let an alpha like Byron Coventry lay his eyes on you like this, let alone a singular finger. 

Thankfully, the man seemed to enjoy hearing himself rather than looking out for his safety, giving Titus the perfect cover to get in closer. Your thick scent grew sweeter the more he walked, and he wondered how long Byron would be able to control himself with the heavy pheromones of a fertile omega swimming in the air. Even Titus could feel his own self control waning. 

Byron gave off a low growl, and he continued stalking through the forest like a child having a tantrum. “Fucking show yourself. If you’re waiting for that old man, I’ll tell you now that you’ll be so disappointed with an alpha like him. I bet he couldn’t even get it up, much less pop a knot.” His torso twisted desperately. “I bet Mr. Le Bail is disappointed with you. He took pity on a sad, family-less omega. It’s a shame really that you’ll lose his favor the moment you mate with someone. You can’t be his if you belong to someone else, and baby, you’ll belong to me.” 

Like a whistle, a whine cut through the air like a knife, and Titus knew he had to act now. He threw caution to the wind and leaped out into the small clearing where the moonlight reached through the leaves. He’d been successful in getting an ambush on Byron, the younger alpha’s knees crumpling as Titus’ greater weight tackled him to the ground. 

Titus was met with a hard hand against his jaw, but he was faster. He wrenched the hand off and pinned the wrist down into the dirt. While Byron desperately tried to claw for his guns, the ones currently in the holster Titus ripped away from his belt and threw it behind him. Without looking away from Byron’s now terrified face, Titus leaned over and grabbed his war hammer, the sharp, pointed end facing the side of the younger alpha’s head, right above his ear near his temple. By the time Titus pinned him fully, his scent had deepened from papery-money and patchouli to a full forest singeing with fire. He leaned over and straddled Byron’s chest, knees digging into his arms to keep him still while holding Byron’s face toward the side, cheek down into the forest floor.  

“I did warn you,” Titus whispered, “that I’d put this right through your skull.” 

He didn’t even wait for a reply before brutally shoving the sharp end straight through Byron’s head, the tip cracking bone and giving way through brain matter like a hot knife through butter. Titus didn’t relent until the point came out the other side. Blood instantly spurted, thick drops hitting Titus’ chin and cheeks and neck. He closed his eyes and listened fully to the way Byron squirmed in the last attempts of his body fighting back, his soul not knowing that his brain had just been decimated. His huffs of anguish and small jolts were a full symphony to Titus’ ears. He kept a firm grip until Byron’s life force oozed out completely just like his blood and brain had. Once he was sure the alpha would never rise again, Titus pushed up from the ground, spine straightening as he went quiet, only his panting remained the only sound in the air. He grabbed onto the war hammer shaft and yanked the pointed end out, Byron’s body following before slipping back down to the earth. 

Titus knew he was dead, but that didn’t stop him from swinging his weapon over his shoulder and bringing the mallet end back down. Byron’s face gave way under the force, the rest of his skull and skin splattering across the ground. Titus straightened as he stood to his full height, ears alert to catch the smallest noise from where you hid. 

“Come on, omega,” he whispered. “Tell me where you are.” 

He was gifted with another chirp directly in front of him. When he looked over, he met your wide but pleased gaze, the bottom of your face hidden by a tree that gave way into a divot in the earth. He wouldn’t be surprised if you had a nest of some sort, but his curiosity would need to be pushed aside for now. Even from where he stood, he could tell that you were beginning to fade into the beginning stages of your heat. 

Without waiting, Titus rushed over, and you gave him yet another chirp in return at his eagerness. His senses swam when he finally halted in front of you, dropping down to his knees to be at your eye level. 

You whimpered loudly when his scent finally hit your nose, finding key hints of a metallic twang you knew well to be blood. You’d heard the short-lived dual between him and Byron, and Titus would personally be rewarded for taking him out. And now that you had him on his knees in front of you, you weren’t going to let him go like you had to last week after he’d found you in the hall. 

“Titus,” you whimpered. 

He shuffled on his knees until he slightly hovered over you but still kept his distance. Unlike most, Titus had read the clause and understood that even if he had found you, you still held the ability to refuse his advances. It would hurt him, yes, and he’d have to lock himself away to ride out his rut, but if you did, he’d stay to make sure no other alpha found you before dawn. 

He waited for you to say something, but all you did was chuff and hook your ankles into his strong forearms, thighs contracting as you began to pull him inward. 

“If you don’t do something,” you hissed, “I will get myself off and make you watch.” 

Titus responded with a warning growl that had your head tilting back to bare your neck once the sound met your ears. He took a hold of your ankles and secured them around his hips. 

“No need to get so nippy,” he scoffed. “I’ll give you what you want, but you need to say please. Manners are important after all.” 

You echoed his scoff, making sure to push it to a louder degree. “I bet you’ve never said fucking please once in your life.” 

He tsked while his hands busied at the dirtied hem of the dress you wore. “You’ll be surprised to know that I have, in fact, said please on multiple occasions.” He looked up into your eyes. “Let me hear you say it.” He paused with a deadly smirk. “Please.”

Saliva pooled around your tongue, and you quickly swallowed it down. “Please.” 

“Good girl,” he muttered before fully lifting your dress to display your bare lower half. He didn’t even attempt to hold back the groan building in his throat at the sight of your moonlit, glistening heat. 

Without the added layer, your scent was so thick Titus could taste it on his tongue. 

“You’ve been like this since your headstart.” He didn’t pose it as a question since your slick-soaked underwear were still stuffed in his back pocket. “Just sitting here, waiting for an alpha to come find you and—” 

“Waiting for you,” you interrupted, not once flushing in embarrassment at your confession. “There was never going to be a different alpha, Titus. It was always going to be you no matter what.”

Titus set the hem of your dress to drape across your lap, and in the next breath, he leaned forward until his mouth met yours in a searing kiss. There was no time for lazy motions since your heat was building with every moment, so Titus impatiently mouthed wetly at your lips. Your hands planted themselves on both of his cheeks while he bent so low you didn’t have any other choice but to slowly lean back against the earth. His size towered over you, and he could easily kill you right then and here; the thought had your hips bucking wildly into his, and you moaned loudly against his teeth. He ripped back at the feeling, saliva dripping from his mouth. 

“Fuck,” he hissed, “I need to taste you.” 

A high-pitched whine flew from your lips as he leaned back in to mouth and suck at your scent gland. He didn’t dare break the skin, knowing your bed lay waiting back at the estate to grow a bond, but he did allow himself to lick hotly across it. 

“T-Titus—fuck—please, I-I need—” 

He nipped carefully at the skin next to the gland. “I know what you need.” 

His right hand glided across your hip and over your thigh to dip near your core. The first brush of his fingertips against your outer folds had you keening. In return, Titus rumbled, the two of you communicating at the deepest instinct possible. He slowly dragged his fingers through your slick until they pressed into the hardened bud of nerves that sent lightning ripping up your spine. In a gentle yet firm circular motion, he fiddled with your clit, drawing out more moans from the depths of your lungs. 

“Titus!” you screamed out into the forest. 

“There she is,” he muttered, lips moving downwards, hips folding to allow him to get his face near your core. Before going any further, he took the largest inhale possible and moaned deeply. He had half a mind to run his chin and cheek through your slick, wanting to get your scent embedded into his pores. 

But that was something for a different time. 

Now, he needed to finally taste you right from the source. 

His tongue peaked out from his lips and dragged upward from your fluttering hole to your clit, the pressure making your back arch beautifully. He drank and drank and drank your slick like a dehydrated man in a never-ending desert. Each swipe had his mouth full of the scented and sweetened lubrication that your body pumped out in preparation for you to take a knot—his knot. 

Just the thought had him groaning, and the vibrations almost sent you over the edge. You needed to hold onto something, and your fingers quickly found his curls and yanked at his roots. The sting seemed to spur him on, so you pulled harder, keeping his face buried between your thighs. 

“Titus,” you panted heavily. “I need—fingers—oh, fuck, finger, please!” 

“So polite,” he spoke into you with a smirk and raised eyebrow. “I knew you could do it.” 

He gave you exactly what you wanted in the form of his thick pointer finger slipping into your innermost parts. If he were an inexperienced alpha, he probably would have cum from imagining your oh-so tight muscles contracting around his cock. 

The additional pressure and finger thicker and longer than your own had you catapulting towards your climax. 

“So fucking tight,” he grated, finger thrusting in and out in wet squelches. “How am I even going to fit my knot into here?” 

“Titus, I’m close; I’m—” you squealed. “Alpha!” 

Without warning, Titus thrust in and curled both his pointer and middle fingers against that soft spot deep inside and sucked hard on your clit simultaneously. You had no warning. You howled with a dropped jaw as you came, eyes rolling back deeply into your skull. Your back arched completely off the ground, but Titus pressed you back down with a large hand splayed across your lower belly. He kept up his thrusting but softened his licks into savored movements as you came down from the high. He only stopped when you pushed a hand against his forehead, a silent signal that you needed a minute. With a wet pop, he pulled his fingers out of you and brought them to his lips. He shoved both of them in his mouth while maintaining eye contact with you, your slick permanently etching into his tongue. 

Once done, he leaned back over you for another wet, opened-mouthed kiss. Shoving his tongue into your mouth, he fed you the lingering taste of your sweet, honey-like arousal. His other hand cupped your cheek, holding you in place against him. Your skin felt scorching and feverish against his fingertips, and it dawned on him that the orgasm he just gave you hadn’t been enough to hold off your heat. No, instead, it’d been the spark to light the inferno within your belly. 

And now he was here, cock straining against his pants and body being consumed by a rapidly approaching rut with an unmated omega seconds away from a full blown heat beneath him. He swiftly yanked the hem of your dress back down before gathering you into his arms. With cracking knees, he staggered off the ground into a standing position. 

You whined confusingly at the sudden change in position, completely out of it due to your overtaking heat, and he gently hushed you with a soft rumble of his chest. 

“I need to get you back,” he growled, taking a large step in the direction of your estate. His hands held you tightly against him. “Need to fuck you; need to knot you; need to have you baring my mark by sunrise.” 

His words added fuel to the already burning fire in your core, and you couldn’t help the anticipating whimper that followed. Because the moment Titus got you back to your room, to your nest, all cards were off the table and he was free to take you as he pleased, to take you as his mate. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

You curled further into Titus as he practically kicked down the door to your master bedroom. 

Getting back to the estate had been thankfully uneventful. Either the Lawyer knew enough to send the rest of the alphas packing, or the utter stench of Titus’ possessiveness that infected your scent had them backing away without a second thought. 

Whatever it was though gave you and him a clear path with Titus stopping at nothing until he got you where he wanted. He had carried you the entire way, but after he closed the door behind him with his foot, he set you down. 

“Strip and get in your nest,” he uttered, making sure no trace of alpha command seeped his timber. 

You obeyed without thinking, instincts taking completely over the longer you drank in his scent. The dress ripped off in one try, leaving you completely bare. Goosebumps raised across your flushed skin. Your bedroom had been prepared, much cooler than normal, to combat your elevated temperature while you went through the highs and lows of your heat. The cooled air pebbled your nipples into stiff peaks as you walked over to your nest, knees hitting the soft blankets while you crawled into the middle. 

Behind you, Titus locked the door and double checked for any weaknesses, instincts roaring at him to keep you protected, keep you all to himself. Under no circumstance would he allow anyone—alpha, beta, or even omega—to interrupt the two of you. After making sure the lock would hold, he turned back around to the sight of you outstretched across the sheets looking straight out of his most dirty dreams, right hand already swirling around your clit, fingers barely dipping into your hole with legs spread wide while your left hand pinched and grabbed at your breasts. 

Titus began peeling off his muddy and bloodied clothes as he walked closer. He kept his boxers on even if he knew they’d be off in moments because he needed you to want this, to want him, and more importantly, to beg for it. Even if his alpha screamed at him to take, take, take, he wouldn’t dare enter your nest without permission. He stood next to the bed near your torso, watching and waiting for you to let him in. 

Through lidded eyes, you looked over and mewled, “Alpha, please. Need you in here with me.” 

That’s all he needed to scramble through the blankets of your nest. 

Titus immediately took his place over you, slotting his hips between your legs and beginning to grind against you. Your thighs parted wide for him automatically and wrapped around his waist.

While Titus focused on covering your neck in as many marks as he could at the moment, your fumbling hands reached for his length, eager to get what you’d been truly craving. A whine, high pitched and pathetic, left your lips when your way was blocked by his underwear. The material was already soaked through, covered in the tantalizing scent of your slick mixing with his precum. 

“C’mon, darling,” Titus’s low voice rumbled through you where his lips were pressed to your neck, right over your scent gland. You longed for his teeth to sink in, and your incisors itched to leave your own mark on his neck. You wanted to be his and you wanted him to be yours. “Tell me what you want.”

“Titus!” 

“Mmm,” he hummed, his cock throbbing at how you so deliciously said his name. He was still mouthing over your scent gland but being careful to keep his teeth to himself. “Use your words.”

Your mind was growing fuzzy, the burning heat that left you aching for him was starting to hurt. You were so empty. If he didn’t hurry this up, you’d have to take matters into your own hands, and you knew in your frenzied state, you’d be unable to satisfy either of you.

“You, need you,” you were pawing at the fabric that kept you from what you really wanted.

“And what do you need from me?” 

“For you,” the frustration and neediness you were feeling sharpened your senses for just a moment. Your hand squeezed around his length through his briefs.  “To claim me.”

Titus groaned at the pressure and the aggression sharpening your scent. He loved to see you deadly and dangerous, a beautiful juxtaposition to your omegan sweetness.

“I will claim you-”

“Now,” you squeezed harder, your voice dropping into a growl. “Don’t be a fucking pussy. I thought you were a big, strong alpha. Maybe I should have found someone else to get the job done.”

“Shut up,” Titus’s hand closed over your neck, fingers digging into the sides. 

Your lips opened, dying to egg him on, but no words came out. The sheer force of his command had rendered you speechless. Your eyes rolled back in pleasure. Yes. This was what you needed. You wanted your alpha – and he was yours, there was no doubt about it – to take what he needed from you. He was the most powerful man in the world, an alpha who made other men tremble in their boots, and you wanted to see him become a slave to his baser instincts, with no choice but to indulge in everything you had to offer him. You wanted him to take it, to make you his.

“Oh, so that’s what you wanted, huh?” Titus laughed as your clarity faded away, your eyes glazing over and your chest heaving with every gasping breath. “You want me to command you? To take control? To make every decision since your empty little brain is too dumb to do anything except beg for my knot?”

Though your paralyzed vocal chords wouldn’t let you make a sound beyond a pathetic whine, your lips moved, pleading inaudibly.

Yes, yes Titus, please.

His hips jerked forward, rutting into your hand. “You want me to fuck you until you cry while you just take it like the good omega you are?”

Titus’s order was wearing off, allowing a squeak that vaguely resembled a ‘yes’ to fill the minimal space between your bodies. His chest rumbled as he hummed in delight. The fingers wrapped around your neck loosened and lifted as Titus backed away from you. He settled on his knees between your spread thighs, knocking your hand away from where you were halfheartedly trying to stroke his cock. Under normal circumstances, Titus would have scoffed and berated you for such a pisspoor attempt at pleasing him, but with his rut looming on the horizon, the clumsy squeezing was working him up much more than he’d like to admit.

He carefully pried your hands away from him, holding them tight. Head tilting, he took a moment to look over your body. You were flushed and panting, staring up at him with desperate eyes and a hungry expression. Your nipples were hard and your breasts heaved with every breath. His eyes trailed down, taking in the softness of your abdomen, the flare of your hips, and the perfectly soft, bare skin between your legs, baring your cunt to his hungry eyes. He’d have to hide your razors in the future, but for now he was grateful to see every inch of you. You made the perfect picture of a needy omega in the throws of heat.

Letting go of your hands, he slid his own over your thighs. His mouth watered at the silky smoothness of your skin beneath his palms. He wanted to trace every inch of you with his tongue, but right now there were more pressing matters.

“Get on your hands and knees,” he patted the outside of your thigh.

“No,” your ability to speak was returning. “Titus, like this-”

“Get on your hands and knees,” he let the power seep into his words as he shuffled back on his knees. “And I will give you everything you desire.”

You were unable to resist the order, and your body was turning over before you could protest. Even though you’d chosen the blankets specifically for their softness and comfort, the fabric grated against your skin, shooting unpleasant sparks through each of your nerves. Nothing felt as good as his skin on yours.

“Please,” you whimpered. You settled into position, shaking arms struggling to hold up your body. The emptiness in your cunt was terribly painful now at this point.

“Present.”

You let out a loud and obscene moan as Titus forced you into position without lifting a finger. The arch in your back deepened, hips tilting and thighs spreading wide to give Titus the perfect view of where you needed him the most. Your arms gave out, your face pressing into the blankets against your will, but god did it feel good. Despite the contortion and the strain it should have caused your muscles, it felt so good, like this was how you should always be. Like any other placement of your limbs was unnatural and wrong.

He knew that the combination of your heat, his commands, and the eroticism of the situation the two of you found yourselves in were the driving forces behind your obedience, but it still stroked his ego. A beautiful omega, a powerful woman in your own right, bending over for him and begging for his touch. It was addictive. Titus knew he’d crave this everyday for the rest of his life and, after he claimed you, he’d be able to have it.

“So good for me, omega,” his hands cradled your ass. You whined at the touch, trying to push back into his touch, but he tutted at you. “Stay still, darling.”

“Titus,” you turned your head so your cheek pressed against the mattress. Titus’s command to present meant that you were unable to lift your head up, but you still tried your best to look over your shoulder at him. “Please, it hurts!”

“Shh, ok,” his knees nudged your thighs open wider as he took his position behind you. The throbbing tip of his cock parted your folds, stroking through them from top to bottom. You mewled, but the hand on your ass kept you from trying to push back. “You want me to claim you as mine?”

“Yes!” Your fingers tangled in the sheets.

“You want to wear my mark?” Titus’s hand moved, tracing your spine to curl around the back of your neck. His thumb swiped over the swollen gland there. “Right here?”

“Yes!” Every point of contact between your bodies burned.

“And you want me to put my heir right here?” His hand glided down over your back and around to your stomach until it stopped just over your mound, pressing into the skin.

“Yes, Alpha, please!”

His words were whipping you up into a frenzy, your muscles twitching as you held your position. You needed him more than you needed air.

“You want me to mount you and fuck you and fill you up until you can’t think about anything but my cock?”

“Yes, yes, Titus-”

“Then take it.”

Titus thrust forward, sinking in until his hips met your ass. The entire length of his cock buried inside your cunt, barely inflated knot included. 

Your eyes rolled back into your head, mouth falling open as your legs shook. Finally having that empty ache soothed was enough to push you over the edge. You came, your shaking legs spreading even wider to accommodate his body pressed behind yours. You were too far gone for words now, mewling and drooling as your eyelids fluttered. A pleasant buzzing filled your ears, almost drowning out Titus’s groans at your tightening and spasming walls.

“God, fuck,” he panted. His hips jerked forward involuntarily, pressing against your cervix and forcing a sob of pleasure from your throat.

He had taken the edge off, but it wasn’t enough. It wouldn’t be enough until the entire world could see his mark on your neck and his child growing in your stomach.

Titus had the presence of mind to give you a moment to adjust. He thought he was showing you some kindness before he lost all of his self control as his rut took over, but that was the last thing you needed. His hands had found their place on your hips, holding you steady, but he could feel you trying to push back against him.

“Greedy little thing,” Titus withdrew, slowly dragging his hard length along your walls until only his head remained tucked within your core. He slammed back in, your body jolting forward from the force of his thrust. “I tried to be nice, but you just want it so bad, huh?”

Titus’s body folded over yours. His chest slotted against your back, pressing you further into the sheets and pinning you down. The change in angle had you gasping. He was rutting deep into you as he growled and groaned. It felt blissful to have him piston in and out of you while his body covered yours. 

“S’this what you want?” One of his hands tangled in your hair, pulling your head back and to the side to bare your neck to him. He nosed over the skin, his warm breath ghosting over your scent gland sent shivers down your spine. 

You let out a garbled moan that might have been a yes. His teeth scraped over the gland and you tightened around him again, walls trying to suck him deeper.

Titus chuckled, his other hand moved up to slide two of his fingers between your lips. They closed around them immediately, your tongue sliding between them, stroking along them like you longed to do with his cock.

“Silly little baby,” Titus’s tone was mocking, but he was breathing nearly as hard as you were. “Just needed something in your mouth.”

His teeth clamped down on your shoulder, inches away from where you longed to feel his fangs pierce your skin. Even if it wasn’t a true claiming bite, the pain was still blissful, mingling with the extreme pleasure of his unceasing thrusting into your cunt to throw you over the edge once again.

“Yes,” he didn’t slow down, even as you cried out around his fingers and your nails ripped through the sheets as you scrambled for something to tether you to reality. You held on, the sound of the fabric tearing joining your desperate noises and the obscene, wet pops of his rapidly swelling knot being forced in and out of your entrance. Through your rhythmic clenching, it was almost painful to be stretched so wide, but you needed to feel it grow even bigger. “Cum on my cock. Just like that.”

Despite his hard and fast thrusts taking the edge off your heat, the emptiness within you was growing more and more demanding. You needed his knot so badly.

“Knot!” The plea clawed its way out of your throat, muffled and barely coherent around his fingers. “Knot, please Alpha!”

“Don’t you know better than to speak with your mouth full?” Titus growled into your ear. The low vibrations of his cruel words rumbled through his body into yours.

“Please, please, please,” you were crying, fat tears rolling down your cheeks to mix with the drool leaking out around his fingers, until he pulled them out. You were finally able to speak, but the only words you could force out were some jumbled variations of please and Alpha! 

“Yeah?” He was getting close. The knot at his base growing more and more every second as he worked himself up to the edge. “You need your alpha’s knot?”

“Yes!” You tried to reach back to grab at him, but Titus’s hands caught yours, holding them together in between your bodies. He was bigger and stronger than you and you were unable to free yourself. “Please! Please, please, please, please.”

“I’ll give you what you need,” he was breathing hard, thrusting even harder into you as his knot grew. “Be a good omega and cum on my knot. C’mon, you can do it.”

With one final thrust, he bottomed out. His knot swelled to its maximum size, locking him deep inside you. Titus’s teeth sank into your scent gland. His canines broke the skin, a swell of your sweet blood coating his tongue and gums, and both of you came together instantly. You could feel the bond snapping into place while his cock twitched and emptied deep into your cunt.

Titus’s groans were muffled into your flesh, but your moans flowed freely, intertwined with pleasured purrs that rumbled through your chest. Your body jerked and thrashed beneath his as the sheer amount of ecstasy blazing through your bloodstream rendered you nearly mindless. Through the bond, you could feel his pleasure, too, as it solidified, your minds and souls linking. It only worked to drive your own orgasm into overdrive. 

You sobbed his name, squeezing hard around his knot. Every throb of his cock spilled more and more of his release into you, until you felt too full. Titus’s cock was big on its own, but with his knot the size of your fist filling you up as well, all of the cum he was still pouring into was stretching your body beyond the limits you’d thought possible. 

He still hadn’t let go of your neck, but he’d released your hands, and they flopped to the mattress. Your strength was sapped, all of your energy going to the involuntary milking of your inner walls clenching tightly around his knot.

“A-alpha,” you whimpered. “Too–too full!”

“Oh, fuck,” Titus’s teeth finally withdrew from your gland when his hand traveled down to settle over your stomach. The skin of your normally flat stomach was slightly distended, a combination of his cock, his knot, and the obscene amount of cum he’d pumped into you. He groaned, and you whimpered in response when his cock jerked and another, new wave of his spend spurted out. “Fuck, omega, you’re so full of me. Such a good omega for taking it all. You’re going to give me a pup in no time.”

A wave of tremors washed over you. Your knees slipped against the blankets that were slick with sweat.

“Let’s get comfortable,” Titus gently maneuvered your locked together bodies until the two of you were laying back to chest. He curled around you, making sure to avoid tugging on his knot. “We’ll be here for a while longer, darling.”

Lying down took the pressure off your muscles, allowing you to fully relax and enjoy the comfort of your new mate’s embrace. Despite the discomfort you still felt—especially as his release still trickled into you—you couldn’t help the contented purrs that continued to rumble through your chest.

“Oh, my sweet girl,” the sound reverberated through your body into his, echoing through your bones and lighting up the most base instincts in Titus. He longed to make you purr like this for him every day for the rest of his life. “My pretty little mate.” 

He leaned back enough to eye his mark. It was red and angry and the perfect shape of his teeth, but it was his—you were his. After a lifetime of waiting for a mate, and after a week of waiting to claim you, there was no doubt that he’d be yours for life. His tongue darted out and lapped hotly across your raised skin, drawing a pleased hiss from behind your teeth. 

“Mine,” you happily sighed. “My alpha.” 

The two of you lied there, basking in the warmth of your shared bodies, hands wrapped around each other and clinging to wherever you could reach. However, it didn’t take long for the quelled, white-hot neediness to grow and simmer back under your skin. Even before Titus’s knot had gone down, your hips began rocking against him, shooting a fresh wave of pleasure through you both, the feeling much more intense than it had at the beginning. The bond was to thank for that. 

“Easy,” Titus grumbled. “Knot’s not gone yet.” 

“Don’t care,” you gasped when it notched firmly at your hole, allowing a small glop of his and your mixed essence to spill, aiding in the short back and forth thrusts you were trying to pull out of him. “Need you again; need it to take.” 

Titus laughed lowly, already in the process of rolling you back over to hover over your spine. “Oh, it’ll take, omega. By dawn, you will be carrying our heir.” His hips jerked, and he pushed his cock back in, his knot disappearing from view into your cunt. “I’ll make sure of it.” 

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[yournamesnob]

accidental catch

Pairing: dom!Brendon Park x best friend's sister!reader

Word count: 5.5k

CW: MDNI, 18+

Tags/warnings: D/s dynamics, f!reader, age gap (reader is 26, Brendon is mid 30s), minor injury, little angst from brendon, tinge ooc but like is it really if that man was only on screen for like 3 seconds?, yearning, kinky relationships, kinky dating sites, sub drop

Summary: Something's been missing in Brendon's life ever since his last relationship ended, and you might just be exactly what he needs…if he lets himself have you

a/n: okay, here’s the much awaited set up for this series!! lmk what we think

Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND, USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI OR USE AI TO TRANSLATE MY WORK. FUCK AI.

Something gnaws at the back of Brendon’s skull, like a metaphorical breeze that he can’t quite seem to shake, irking him into a constant state of annoyance.

He’s getting irritable again, that much is clear from all the whispers and glances his interns, residents and nurses have been giving him all week. Hell, even Robinavitch has been more curt than usual, not lingering to engage with him outside of the strictly medical. It’s not like they were buddies to begin with, but the two extra words they give each other at consults are definitely missing.

Brendon knows what it is, that itching under his skin, that weight to his heartbeat, that cold deep within his bones.

He has tried to ignore it before and it had worked for the majority of his life. Contact sports, exercise, hell, even the rigorousness of med school had done wonders to dull the ache into a barely there whisper in the back of his mind. The need had just become a want, a little tingle that he could pretend didn’t exist.

But he can’t ignore it anymore, not since his last partner.

The breakup had been mutual, her moving away to another city and him letting her go because what kind of selfish monster would be he if he didn’t. But ever since then, the gust had turned into a storm, roaring and unashamed to freeze everything in its path.

Brendon threw his entire focus on work, on the medicine, on routine, structure but none of it has been enough to fix the heaviness of his heart.

He groans as he finally settles into the plush cushion of his office chair, the leather just the right amount of cool after being left alone in the air conditioned room all morning.

Six hour surgery, practically in and out, right when he clocked in and just a little after lunch. He should be proud, should be feeling the weight of hunger and exhaustion and accomplishment. But instead all he can feel is the weight of…emptiness.

He knows it’ll end in heartache once more, just pure dissatisfaction, but he can’t seem to stop himself as he pulls out his phone and opens that stupid private app that Robinavitch had so kindly recommended.

No new matches.

Great.

He’s not looking for much, nothing that he would consider unreasonable. Sure, he’s probably gone through every single profile on it in the few months since his separation, meeting a few of the ones who matched for initial compatibility assessment coffees, but none of them had stuck. They all felt like a chore, like he was adding more to their lives than they were to his. He felt awful about it for a while, tried to rationalize it, convince himself that it’s his role to provide for them so what he wants doesn’t matter as much. But that only made the times they’d made it into the bedroom that much more exhausting. It felt like a performance, detached and devoid of all emotional connection.

Needless to say, Brendon Park remains alone and the ache is slowly eating away at him.

His pager goes off as he stares into the distance, his brain giving him whiplash as he snaps back into the unfortunate reality of where he is, who he is and just all he isn’t. He groans, audibly, taking advantage of the empty room, the silence, the lack of prying eyes, and eventually pushes himself back on his already aching feet.

The walk down to the ED is quick and sharp, all business and forward momentum. People part like water as he swims through the hustle and bustle of the hospital, only slowing down in the elevator before resuming his swiftness the second the stainless steel doors open.

He catches the tired eyes of the head nurse above her glasses, giving her a subdued and respectful nod of his head as she intercepts him. His eyebrow twitches in confusion as she falls into step beside him, practically herding him into central eight.

"What've you got?"

Dana sighs, seemingly over whatever drama this patient has put her through.

"Just a really bad sprain from what I can tell but she insisted."

That makes Park stop cold. Her lip quirks into a soft smirk, somehow understanding something before he could even catch up to it, a hint of mischief breaking through her exhaustion.

"Oh yeah," she grins. "Asked for you by name too."

He pushes past her then, curiosity killing the big mean shark or however the saying goes.

And to say that he's surprised would be an understatement, his predatory gaze going from cold and calculating to one of shock, wiped swiftly by a softness that no one has ever seen from him.

"Sugar plum?"

"Nutcracker man!" your voice is like a shot of whiskey in a cold winter's night. 

"What are you doing here?" Here at the hospital, here in Pittsburg, here, right in front of him, close enough to reach out and—

"Steven insisted I come over and ask for you by name," you huff, ever the indignant child. "I told him it was just a sprain but he got mad at me."

His lips instantly quirk into a full smile, completely ignoring the nurse in the room and Santos's bulging eyes.

"Cut your brother some slack, some habits die hard."

You roll your eyes. "Easy for you to say, your sisters are lovely."

That gets a chuckle out of him, easy and hearty, and he can practically see Santos almost falling out of her chair in shock.

"They're just as bad as you and you know it."

You smile brightly at that, innocent eyes with a devilish smirk that almost stops his heart.

“I don’t actually, I’m an angel.”

His lips instantly quirk into a full smile. Yeah right.

You chuckle softly at his reaction as he moves from the front of the bed towards you. Strong, confident hands hover over your elevated leg, as if trying to hold himself back from the temptation that is finally laying his hands on you, of confirming that you are real and not just another figment of his imagination.

He gets over himself quickly as Santos finally clears her throat, presenting the case before the room drowns in the downpour of your familiarity. He swallows thickly, willing his hands to just do their damn job, urging muscle memory to carry him through.

As Santos drones on, he can feel the searing fire of your stare, the way your breathing hitches ever so slightly as he picks up the ice pack over your purpling ankle, the way goosebumps emerge as he picks up your leg and gently conducts the same mobility, tenderness and pain examination that the intern in triage must’ve.

“…and that’s why I don’t babysit for anyone. Kids are a safety hazard.”

You chuckle lightheartedly. “It’s my own fault, I shouldn’t have trusted a three year old to tidy up. I should’ve looked where I was going.”

“You’re looking after Tyler?” The words escape him before he can think twice about it.

“Yeah, I’m living with them actually,” you murmur, shifting as he sets your foot back down on the pillow. “While I…” you trail off, a little embarrassed as you look around the room at the three other pairs of eyes still glued to your interaction with Park like he’s grown an extra head.

He stiffens, his light hand over your calf tightening ever so slightly as he clears his throat. “Well you’re right, it’s just a sprain but I’d still like to be sure so I’m going to order x-rays and we’ll go from there.”

You nod, watching him intently as he icily glares around the room, snapping everyone back into action. When the fishes have scattered and it's only the two of you in the room, he pulls back his teeth and settles on the stool Santos was just occupying.

“It’s really good to see you again,” you tell him, shyly playing with your necklace.

He’s smitten by the habit, one he knows well.

“Me too,” he keeps his voice steady and even. “Whatever happened to…”

He doesn’t mean to pry, but he simply can’t help it. He needs to know, his heart practically doing somersaults in his chest.

You sigh, ripping your gaze from his haunting blue eyes and making yourself as little as you can before speaking. “Broke up.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

“And your masters program?”

That gets you to look back at him, a tame yet excited smile curling your lips, causing a prideful shiver to course through Brendon’s body.

“Graduated with honors last year,” you beam.

“Atta girl, I’m proud of you,” he pats your thigh without thinking about it, the contact comfortable and familiar. He catches the way your breathing hitches, doesn’t mention it, sliding his touch to rest on the bed instead.

“What about you?” You recover quickly. “Whatever happened with that woman from Steven’s birthday party?”

Oh right, you'd met her. He visibly cringes and you instantly feel bad.

“I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be, it’s okay,” the panic in your voice makes him violently ill, quickly returning his touch to your thigh to soothe you. “Didn’t work out.”

“Oh…I’m sorry Brendon, she doesn’t know what she missed out on.”

Your compliment is genuine, he knows it, he feels it, and it instantly puts him at ease. He gives you a soft, sorrowful smile. 

“So what’s next?” He changes the subject, deflection always being easier to handle than truth.

You shrug. “Get x-rays done, prove to my brother that I’m fine and I shouldn’t have had to deal with medical bills, probably order takeout when I get discharged—”

Brendon chuckles, cutting off your rambling even if he doesn’t want to. “I meant with life, sugar plum.”

Your eyes widen in embarrassment, the panic that he’d seen in them earlier when he mentioned your ex returning tenfold.

It’s his turn to apologize, mouth instantly opening to try and fix it, when his pager goes off, cutting through the comfort you’d created for him instantly. Suddenly, the cold returns, the bright lights remind him of the headache, the loudness of the ED seep into his bones.

“Go,” you tell him. “Go be a hot, competent surgeon doctor man.”

He rolls his eyes, his eyes lingering on the sincerity of your voice. There had been a time when those words would’ve ended with your brother teasing the two of you relentlessly. But you never take it back. Even if the words don't mean anything more than the truth, Brendon could always count on you to remind him of the simple facts of life.

He is competent. He is a surgeon doctor man. He is hot. 

Wait—

Before he can wrap his head around the word, around the meaning behind it, he’s being pulled away, this time by a 911. He gives your thigh one last squeeze, not really aware he’s doing but the warmth of your skin lingers against his palm all the way back upstairs into OR 3 and it relaxes him.

Complications with one of Garcia’s surgeries keep him distracted for the next four hours, the comforting practice of being just another set of hands that has no thoughts or feelings or yearnings aside from the medicine in front of him doing wonders to clench his thirst.

It’s late when he finally settles back into his body. The ache, the hunger, the exhaustion hits him like a tidal wave. He knows it was coming but actually realizing just how much he’s neglected himself in the hustle of the day always leaves him feeling worse about himself.

He cleans up as much as he can, changing into civilian clothes before he returns to his office to gather his things and get the fuck out of the sterile building.

His phone glares at him from where it’s been left, neglected and alone, for the majority of the day. He doesn’t panic, though. There’s no one waiting for him on the other end of the annoying device anyway. He taps the screen, however, a stupid habit that he too has fallen victim to like the entire human population.

One text from his sister in their family group chat. One weather notification. Two missed calls and a few texts from your brother.

The short interaction rushes back to him instantly, his body blossoming with the promise of something warm once more. He picks up the small device, returning your brother’s call instantly.

“Hey brother,” Steven’s voice is cheerful, even if Brendon knows better.

“Hey, long time no call.”

Steven chuckles at that, the lingering guilt from both parties only partially alleviated.

“Yeah, who’s fault is that?”

“Definitely mine,” Brendon concedes with a chuckle. “To what do I owe all this attention then?”

“Just wanted to thank you for taking care of my sister today.”

Brendon can’t help the smile that spreads at the mention of you, at the reminder that you’re actually real to other people too.

“Of course, man, she’s family,” he lets the feelings settle deep in his chest, resting against his desk before continuing. “How’s she doing?”

“I was hoping you’d tell me, she’s still at the hospital.”

The feeling expands, twisting into one of rage and shame.

“It’s been hours.”

“I know…but she just told me they’re discharging her.”

Brendon sighs, silently damning the entire healthcare system.

“I’ll take care of her, don’t worry.”

“Thanks man,” Steven sighs in gratefulness. “Oh and bring a pizza over please.”

Brendon rolls his eyes at his friend’s lack of shame. “Of course. Still just cheese for Tyler?”

“You know it.”

With that, Brendon practically rushes back down to the ED, his hair fluffy from the sweat breaking apart his gel cast, the casual henley and dark wash denim combo making him unrecognizable to the staff as he walks through, giving Abbot a curt nod in acknowledgement before he enters the room you’d been in earlier.

Your eyes light up as you see him. “Hey stranger.”

“That’s doctor stranger to you.”

It makes you giggle and he’s certain his cheeks bloom pink at that.

“You taking me home?”

He nods once, walking over to the computer and scanning his ID so that he can take a final look at your chart. You gather your things slowly, watching how the man you’d seen a few hours ago has drastically transformed into the man you’ve known for the past seven years. 

You’d met Brendon at your high school graduation, your brother having come back home from college with his roommate for the summer. You’d spent the entire two months before you left for college yourself convinced that the two of them were together together, the way they brought out the best in each other endearing.

It was when you’d caught them both at the same house party your friends had dragged you to, his tongue practically down the girl that had been a bitch to you all throughout high school’s throat that you realized that you had been deadly wrong. Jealousy bubbled in your stomach, ugly and upsetting, so much so that you had given him the silent treatment for a whole day before he finally had enough of it.

Brendon Park wasn’t yours, not even platonically, and yet, he couldn’t help but become one of the closest people to you that summer. You told him, the truth somehow spilling out of you in a way that had never happened before. And he’d apologized. The fucker said sorry and promised to never do it again. Needless to say, you’d ignored your feelings until college flings and serious boyfriends buried them deep within you.

Seeing him now is…a lot. You’ve always cared for him, always respected his opinion, his council, his everything. He’s Brendon for fuck’s sake. Accomplished, loyal, respectful, chivalrous, perfect golden boy Brendon. Your bother’s best friend. And the secret subject of your unbridled desires.

“Anything interesting?” You ask, desperate to break yourself from your thoughts.

“No break, healthy fibula…” he drones on, clinical and sterile, his deep knowledge of bones endearing at this point. He turns to catch your teasing smile and his cheeks blush the most adorable red as he realizes he’s been info dumping on you. “Everything looks good.”

“Thank you Brendon.”

He turns back to the computer, logging on his final notes for your medical history in an attempt to stop looking like a damn fool in front of you. Your smiles mean nothing more than what they are—comfort and familiarity. You’re a ray of sunshine to everyone that happens to be standing in your direction. He’s not the exception, he’s simply a part of the rule.

His phone vibrates from the depth of his pocket. Probably another text from your brother asking him to hurry the fuck up, impatience a running trait in your family. He pulls out his phone, his eyes slowly drifting to the notification. A flurry of emotions run through him as the next few moments play out. 

At first, embarrassment when he notices it’s a notification from the app, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up as he hides it from view, who knows what you’d think about him if you only knew what it was.

Next, hope, dizzying and contagious as he reads the notification. One new profile found. The match strikes, an ember sparks. He’s almost giddy now, eager to get the evening over with so he can give the notification all of his attention.

And finally, he’s certain he’s going into cardiac arrest as he, because he’s a man and has the self-restraint of one, even if he prides himself on being everything but an eager motherfucker, taps on the notification and he’s instantly met with your beautiful face as the profile opens up.

Brendon can’t breathe anymore.

He manages a strangled excuse and darts into the private bathroom, his entire world both crumbling all around him with each exhale and being rebuilt into a utopia with every inhale. But it’s not enough, air is not enough anymore and he knows it. No, not when he knows.

There’s too much running through him that the only thing he can think of is how if he got this notification then you definitely did too. Panic and shame and every ugly emotion that reminds him just how wrong this is beats him up. Through trembling fingers he turns off the discoverability of his profile, praying to every god he’s ever learned about that you’ll never, ever get the full knowledge of just how deranged Brendon’s fears have convinced him he is.

Then comes the guilt. He should not know this about you. This is such a precious thing, vulnerable and honest, too honest, and he cannot help but feel like he’s betrayed your trust in some way. You’re Steven’s sister, curious and unapologetic, the girl who picked daisies and made flower crowns, the girl who spiked their ice tea with your dad’s whiskey, the girl who teased him relentlessly when he showed up with his first serious girlfriend to Christmas the first time your families met, the girl who baked him his favorite cake when he graduated from med school, the girl that tells him the truth and isn’t afraid to hurt him because you both have a mutual understanding that goes beyond acquaintances.

It’s because of this that the little ember nudges, whispering something much deadlier in his ear. Knowledge is power, so much so that the pull towards it becomes dizzying. What if you could be—

No.

Nope.

Absolutely not.

That is never going to happen.

No.

Nuh-uh.

He has half a mind to throw his phone in the trash and himself along with it. He can never allow himself to think of you that way, not again. He’s a heartbreaker, it’s what he’s always done. Overprotective, overbearing, possessive and cruel. He could never tie you down, could never ask you to fulfill those sick and twisted fantasies that he so desperately needs in order to feel whole.

No, he’ll damn himself to an eternity of solitude before he puts you in a position where you could actually be exactly what he’s looking for, because he knows that what he wants is not something that either of you can come back from, and he respects you too much to put you in a position where the relationship that you’re looking for can jeopardize the one you’ve got with your brother, with your family, with your friends and loved ones.

He will not do that to you. He will get his shit together, pretend he never saw what he saw, help you to his car, drive to Tony’s Pizzeria and get a half cheese, half pepperoni pizza, a huge homemade orange soda bottle for the four of you to share, spend an hour with your brother and nephew and then disappear from your life forever. It doesn’t matter that you’re here, it doesn't matter that you’re just as perfect as ever, treating him as if no time has passed, as if nothing has happened, as if his absence never happened.

He takes one last steadying breath, locking his phone, and stepping out onto the floor.

But then his eyes lock with yours and whatever plan he so masterfully concocted throws itself away in favor of this, that all encompassing feeling that blooms behind his heart and spreads all over his chest the second he comes into your spotlight.

It’s weirdly comfortable to be in Brendon’s car, the radio turned low yet steady, the confidence of his movements as he navigates night life traffic a little too sexy. The silence that lingers between the two of you isn’t uncomfortable, it’s simply…air.

You wince lightly as you settle further into the expensive leather, reveling in the comfort that is Brendon Park now being a big shot surgeon with doctor money. You chuckle at the thought, effectively breaking his constant stare forward, as if his only task right now is to drive as though he’s carrying precious cargo in his car.

He can’t help himself when he asks, “what’s so funny?”

You catch his softened gaze, a dopey smile still lingering. “You.”

The single word does something to him, constricting his heart until he forces himself to tear his eyes from yours as if they’ve hurt him.

“I knew you’d make it, you’ve always been determined,” you sigh. “I guess it’s just nice to see it for real now.”

He chuckles right back at you. “I could say the same thing to you.”

You scoff, self-deprecating. “Yeah right, I’m unemployed, living with my brother and his son because I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing with my life and person I thought I was going to spend it with broke up with me cause I was ‘too much work’.”

The car screeches to a halt in the middle of the road, causing you to jolt against the seatbelt across your chest.

“Absolutely not, sweetheart,” his voice cuts through the adrenaline pumping through your heart. “You will never speak about yourself in that way, do I make myself clear?”

It’s only after he says it that realization dawns on him like a bucket of ice water being poured over his body. He watches the way your body reacts to the authority in his voice, the way you shiver slightly, the way your expression drops into submission, pupils dilating, your legs rubbing together instinctively.

“I’m sorry Bren,” your voice is barely a whisper but he hears it nonetheless.

“It’s okay,” he settles back against his seat, hands gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white. “I’m sorry you’re going through so much, but that’s no excuse to talk down on yourself. You’d rip me a new one if I did the same thing, wouldn’t you?”

That pulls a smile back on your face. “Oh I’d do much, much worse.”

“See? So why would I allow the same?”

You nod, biting down on your lower lip ever so slightly as he starts the car again, both your hearts beating a million times a minute. You liked that, his rough voice, the way he instantly cut through all the noise in your head, reminding you that you’re more than all the self-destructive thoughts.

Your brain turns off so slowly you’re unable to spot it. You can hear him call your name, ask you a question, but all you register is that delicious baritone to his voice, how it reverberates against your ribs and makes you feel safe. As if understanding exactly what’s going on, he sighs deeply, wrapping his big, surgeon hand over your thigh. You barely register as he starts the car again, the comforting rumbling of the vehicle beneath you slowly lulling you to sleep as your body comes down from that adrenaline spike. You stare at him through hooded eyes, the warmth from his hand as the only anchor keeping you tethered in the ocean of your feelings.

A twisted thought turns in your heart, making you sick. Panic bubbles. You jolt into awareness, abrasive and shocking, and you’re certain he can feel the spike in your pulse from the death grip he’s got on your leg. You did not just drop in front of Brendon Park.

“You okay?” He asks, because of course he does, he’s always been attentive and kind and respectful.

You nod, far too quickly, but you pretend like nothing’s wrong, retreating so far into yourself until you can believe like it isn’t. You feel like a stranger in your own body as he parks the car, comes around to get your crutches and open your door, as the two of you go inside and greet every single person working tonight, as you busy yourself helping to marry the ketchups while your order gets made.

You can feel him watching you intensely, even if the kid working the register is still talking his ear off about last night’s hockey game. He replies half-heartedly, pays with his black amex which you only slightly tease him about, and let him carry everything back to the car while you settle back in the front seat.

You don’t say another word to him, not as he drives up your brother’s driveway, as he stands beside you while you unlock the door, as Steven brings him into a warm hug and Tyler runs up to uncle Brendon like a rocket ship.

No, you’re cold and distant, detached from everything going on around it and it breaks Brendon’s heart a little. He can’t stop chastising himself, over and over again, watching as you nibble at your food, as your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes, as you avoid eye contact with him profusely throughout his stay.

Eventually, it’s time for Tyler’s nighttime routine and since you’re currently incapacitated, doctor’s orders, Steven wrangles the three year old by himself, making Brendon promise to wait for him so they can drink a few beers and catch up after.

The second that Steven leaves the room, Brendon decides he’s had enough.

He finds you aggressively washing the dishes you used for dinner by hand, mind off somewhere far away from him, from this, from now.

“Sugar plum?” He sees your body tense instantly, a shiver running through it that makes him cringe internally. 

He takes a deep breath. You need him right now and he’s gotta be the bigger man and actually right his wrongs.

“Turn it off.”

You shiver again, legs rubbing together again, this time definitely intentional. You don’t dare face him, don’t dare breathe because if you do, you’re afraid it’ll choke out of you like a broken moan.

“Be a good girl and do as you’re told.”

That does you in. A clear command, fully open and honest, cutting through the noise in your head and letting you know you’re not crazy. Your shaky hand turns off the tab, the room falling back into an uneasy silence.

“I’m sorry if I startled you in the car,” he starts, voice even and apologetic. “It wasn’t my intention, I should’ve known better.”

Your brow scrunches in confusion but you don’t think much of it. Maybe you truly are that easy to read and your ex had been right, your disinterest in your “vanilla” relationship so evident in every action you took over the past three months that the only course of action was for him to cheat on you.

I can't give you what you need.

His words echo in your mind as a shaky sigh escapes your lips, your soapy hand coming up to slam over your mouth before he can hear the truth behind it, the rawness that he’s awakened. You’re not his responsibility, he should not have to deal with—

You don’t even know when it happens, all you do is feel his strong arms wrapping around you, turning your body so that you can hide your face against his chest as you can’t hold back the sobs anymore.

He shushes you gently, never crossing the platonic boundary your relationship has already established, and that only makes you that much more emotional. You don’t really remember how long you cry, all you know is that by the time the tears subside, there’s a wet patch right below his heart and his mouth flutters gentle praises in your ear, so close that his breathing makes you tickle.

You push him back slightly, getting your bearings straight enough to start feeling embarrassed that he just witnessed that.

“Hey, none of that,” he says, certain. “You’re okay, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

You avoid his piercing gaze as you wipe your face clean, one of the hands around your waist grabbing the hem of his shirt and wiping after your fingers.

You can’t help the giggle that escapes you then, the absurdity of the moment not lost on you as a singular thought persists—Brendon Park would make an amazing dom.

“Thank you Bren.”

“Don’t mention it, kiddo.”

“Ew, rude,” you scrunch your nose in mock offense, finally looking up at him.

He almost folds, your puffy eyes, slightly red nose, the way you hold onto him like you trust him, like he’s safe…any weaker man would’ve folded instantly. And fuck it if he doesn’t want to be weak.

“What? City girl suddenly too good for a silly nickname?”

You roll your eyes, trying to pull back from his embrace fully now but he doesn’t let you.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me—”

Your breathing hitches, something shifts, your pupils dilate slightly.

Brendon clears his throat, letting you go then, aggressively shoving his hands inside his jean pockets. You blink up at him, the cloud slowly dissipating as you come back into your body. 

It’s beautiful. So raw and vulnerable he doesn’t even think about his movements, he only does them, holding out his arms so that you can hold yourself up on them, something steady and grounding. And to his pure delight, you do, your grip not tentative or shy but fully trusting in him.

After a long, drawn out minute, the house returns with full force, Steven joking after a giggling Tyler down the hall, the hum of the fridge behind him, the clock ticking in the other room. You hum, shifting your weight around uncomfortably.

“You should go to bed,” he tells you, a gentle command that has you instantly nodding, as if only because he’s said it you’re now aware of just how tired you are.

You nod, brain so fuzzy you don’t think it’ll be able to handle words right about now.

Brendon can’t help but smile, a barely there smirk that desperately wants to turn into more but he fears if it does then you’ll know everything.

“Want you to take a shower, elevate your foot and text me if you need anything else, alright?”

“Yes sir.”

His heart lurches. He knows you’re only saying it teasingly but still, the ache almost topples him over, throws him off balance. You pull away slowly, taking your warmth with you, returning his soul to the ice age it has cultivated. He stares at you go, body turned to stone until he hears Steven coming back down the hall towards him.

He snaps out of it then, putting on his best Brendon Park, college friend mask on and indulging the single parent in a much needed hour of beers and ranting. By the time he’s sat back in his car, he can’t seem to push himself to leave. He sits there, staring out into the dark street before him, head buzzing with thoughts and feelings that threaten to consume him.

And somehow, through all the noise, his phone dings.

You: In bed now. Feet elevated. Thank you so much for today, you didn’t have to be so kind but I’m glad that you were.

You: And also…thank you for…that too.

You added a picture, your foot, wrapped like the nurses had taught you, propped up on a mountain of pillows. The ember expands in his heart, ignites that desperate yearning again, and he’s finally able to get himself to drive away, but not before replying—

Brendon: My pleasure, sweetheart.

dividers by @/enchanthings

[harpers-ramblings]

Oh hiiiii *sits down to much popcorn and read* yes I very much appprove of this

[siratonin]

Lou Ferrigno Jr. as Dr. Brendon Park aka "Park the Shark" The Pitt 2.10 - 4:00 P.M.

[earthquakebi]

me 5 seconds after meeting Dr. Brendon Park:

[siratonin]

yo

[snoozingsnoopy]

Lou Ferrigno Jr. as Dr. Brendon Park for @huckleabbot - 3/3

THE PITT 2.10 - 4:00 P.M.

[shivanessadraws]

Dr. Brendon Shark Park (Lou Ferrigno jr.) 👀 🦈

[hannaakaisa]

Read a fic named doctor shark & baby deer from thefudge and I liked it so much for this part 😂 I like to think that Dr Brendon Park doesn’t like to be called shark but doesn’t let it get to him. But like always nicknames creep in and sometimes without you noticing you accidentally call yourself by that 😆

Also Dana is having a great time and wont let this be forgotten for a while and I believe she is one of those rare people who can tease dr Park about this 🤣👌

[siratonin]

literally the same guy

[ho-ii]

Lou Ferrigno Jr. as Brendon "The Shark" Park | The Pitt S2 E10

[kingdonfangirl]

a/n: totally self indulgent but i dissociated on my run yesterday and this was born. bby’s first smut yay

***FUK SUMN***—

pairing: brat! gym rat! reader x Brendon Park  synopsis: you try to humble Brendon’s ego by flirting with Mateo at the gym but the act backfires. tags: 18+; smut; PWP; brat x brat tamer dynamic; established situationship w/ Brendon; Brendon is a cocky asshole; Brendon is a condescending ass; jealous! Brendon; bad bdsm conduct; dom/sub; dirty talk; degradation; praise kink; spanking; rough sex; oral sex; anal play; anal fingering; use of daddy; unprotected p in v; public sex/sex in a semi-public place (locker room); slight dub-con; surprise cum facial; dead dove: do not eat 

──

The worst time of day to go to the gym was 6 p.m.

The entire place became a malodorous, crowded mess. Testosterone reeking above all of it.

Everyone clocked out of their shifts, and went straight in, leading to the same rotation of faces who worked nearby and chose to blow off some steam with a workout. 

You amongst them. You'd tried the whole get-up-at-5-a.m. thing, but there was no way. If you wanted sex, you had to date, and dates were late, and sex was later. So 5 a.m. gym sessions were off the table. 

A lot of the regulars worked at the hospital nearby, the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. They often came in still in their scrubs, and when somebody came up to talk to you, they'd mention they worked at the "PTMC" or "The Pitt", as if that alone should interest you.

The sad part was that you went for the same reason. It was conveniently close to your own workplace.

If not for that, you wouldn't set foot in the place. It was your typical “bro” gym, and sadly, that attracted gym bros… the worst kind who felt the need to give unsolicited advice when you were trying to get through a workout. You really wished the pilates studio was closer.

You'd made the mistake of being receptive to advice at first. But one guy turned to two, and suddenly your limited gym time would turn into entertaining whichever guy walked up to you that day, either to comment on your form or try to flirt. 

You quickly learned the only way to deter them was to keep your best resting bitch face on at all times.

It’s been a year since you started going, and had earned quite the reputation for being unattainable. Not that you knew about it. It’s just what others thought of you. 

Mateo, Paolo, Antoine, and Donnie amongst them. They often went as a group, shooting looks at each other whenever you passed by. You were fit as fuck, and although guys tried, no one could capture your attention.

More of the PTMC staff also went to that gym, but they kept to their own groups. Despite going to the same gym, hierarchies were still a thing out of the hospital.

The nurses, paramedics, and med-techs usually hung around each other. The doctors who went stuck together, surgeons as well.

The only loner was Brendon Park.

But people avoided him even at the hospital. Disliked his pompous attitude. The way he walked in like he was superior and owned the place. So no one minded that he kept to himself.

── 

You were deadlifting when a guy in a fitted blue shirt appeared in your peripheral vision. You saw the way his mouth moved, before you heard nothing at all. Your music was too loud. Blessedly loud. He pointed vaguely toward your hips, then your back, then made a motion with his hands.

You stayed exactly where you were.

You didn’t take your airpods out. 

You didn’t smile.

You just stared.

The man kept talking for another few seconds, then slowly seemed to realization his attempt was futile. His hand dropped. He muttered one last thing that looked remarkably similar to bitch, and retreated back to whatever station he'd come from. 

From the free weights, Brendon watched the whole thing. He shook his head, personally offended that the dumbass represented their gender.

── 

“C’mon baby jump on my cock.” Brendon ordered, as he grabbed your ass, forcing you to go faster and deeper, watching the way you sunk into it repeatedly.  

You were riding him on his couch, whining your hips against him, and tugging at his hair as he filled you up. His teeth grazed your nipples, titillating them and bringing moans to spill from your lips. His movements grew rougher, and you knew it wouldn't be long before bruises bloomed where his thumbs pressed into your hips.

You came, and he followed.

You fell beside him, catching your breath. 

“And the bastard at the gym thought he could handle you." 

You shot him a sideways look, “You saw that?” 

You didn't really interact at the gym, or outside of it. Your relationship—if you could call it that—was purely sexual, confined to his apartment. You hadn't thought he bothered to notice you beyond it.

He slapped your ass. "He wouldn't know where to start.” 

── 

On another day, Mateo had finally worked up the courage to come talk to you. You were doing your cooldown after a quick two-miler.

When he caught you slowing down, he said, "All right guys, I'm going in," and climbed onto the treadmill next to you as you turned the machine off and took your airpods out. 

"Hey."

You turned to look at the guy. Normally you wouldn't pay attention, but you decided he was cute enough. And Brendon's cockiness the day before pissed you off… You knew he was around. Maybe you'd flirt a bit to spite him.

Speaking of the devil, Brendon was walking onto the treadmill on your other side. He wanted to see this one play out up close.

It was unmistakable that Mateo was flirting, mentioned that he'd "seen you around" and had been "wanting to approach you."

Brendon snorted behind you.

Noticing him, Mateo tipped his chin toward him in acknowledgement, "Hey man, I'm Mateo. I work at the PTMC too." 

Brendon didn't even look his way. "The nurse, right?"

Your head snapped toward him.

Mateo's expression tightened. "Yeah," he said, then looked back at you, his smile thinner now. "I'll catch you later."

You turned on Brendon the moment Mateo was out of earshot. "You can be such a dick," you muttered, grabbing your phone and storming off to the locker room. 

He'd make you pay for that.

── 

Later, you found yourself in the shower at Brendon’s apartment. Steam clouded the glass around you both, as you finished washing yourself after the double-workout you had, because sex with him always felt like another hour of cardio.

You hadn’t really been able to put the events from earlier out of your mind, so you decided to bring it up.

“Hey,” you called out, “how come you treated Mateo like that?"

Brendon frowned. "Who?"

"The nurse who introduced himself to me today."

"Curly hair?"

"You know exactly who I mean."

He leaned against the tile, shameless and irritatingly relaxed. "What about him?"

"You looked down on him because he's a nurse." You turned the shower off. 

Brendon smirked. "Problem?"

Your eyebrows raised. "Whoever isn't a doctor isn’t worthy of your respect?"

"No." He tilted his head.

You narrowed your eyes, as his mouth curved. "Whoever isn't a surgeon."

You grabbed your towel and stepped out, muttering "You're a fucking ass," as you left him alone in the shower. 

Your hookups with Brendon were born purely out of physical need and convenience. You just wanted a body, and so did he. The fact that you liked the same things in bed was an added bonus. You’d had enough vanilla sex in your life to make you realize it was worth to put up with a bit of arrogance, if he kept making you come the way he did.

It mostly worked well, but he was a cocky son of a bitch and thought he was God's gift to Earth. You tolerated it because he fucked well, but sometimes his ego overpowered his cock. Like today.

So you iced him out.

You doubted he gave a fuck. He didn't care about anyone but himself.

He texted you twice over the weekend to come over. You ignored him both times.

You couldn't act unbothered by the way he acted towards Mateo. Your sexual dynamic with him was already laced with power imbalance. It was never a problem until the possibility of him actually seeing you as someone beneath him came up.

You could put aside the arrogance during sex. But sometimes it felt like he was capable of being that cruel outside of the fantasy.

── 

The next time Brendon caught sight of you, he was doing bicep curls, sixty-pound dumbbells curling at each side. He knew you had something up your sleeve. He could tell by the forced indifference you were putting on toward him. But your attitude was a challenge to him, not a rejection.

So he watched the little scene you put on from across the floor.

You unzipped your Lululemon jacket— the one you'd paid for with his card, because he really liked it when you wore the sets he bought you— walked straight past him, and batted your lashes at Mateo.

"You left so quickly that day that I didn't get your number." He overheard you say, and watched the way your lips– his lips– stuck out in a pout.

Mateo's eyes widened, as if he couldn’t believe his luck.

Brendon's face didn't change as he looked straight into the mirror, getting started on chest flies.

──

You stayed later than usual that night. Partly because you needed to blow off steam, partly because you were petty. You knew Brendon was still around, and a part of you wanted to see if he would come up to you. 

By the time the gym emptied out, you were aware there was a shark lurking in the murky water.

Your locker was thrown shut. "Why are you being such a brat?"

You moved past Brendon, unintimidated. "You making a gender change, big guy? Men's room is that way."

He caught your ponytail in his hand and jerked it back, your hands went to your head where he still gripped it. "Come on, baby. You know you wouldn't be able to resist me for long."

You grit your teeth. "Scared I'm getting my fill somewhere else?"

"What, the nurse?" He laughed, releasing you with a shove. "Be my guest. I'll be waiting when you get tired."

You grabbed your bag and walked out of the room.

── 

The next time you saw him, Brendon looked like a beast at the gym. He was rarely without his shirt as he was today. His muscles on full display, glistening with sweat. His grunts sounded annoyingly throughout the gym. He was also the type to throw his weights whenever he finished with them. You wished you could say he was overcompensating, but you’d seen his dick, and there wasn’t anything to compensate for. 

You tried your best to ignore him, but your phone had died, and you didn't have any music to listen to but the gym's. So you were subjected to the gym's outdated house playlist and your (ex?) situationship's animalistic grunts.

You were on the treadmill when he climbed onto the one next to yours. 

"No Taylor Swift today?" he mocked, noticing you didn't have your airpods in. He knew you hated working out without them.

You were already breathing heavily from the workout, as you muttered, "No charge."

You watched as he plucked your airpods case from the treadmill’s cupholder, and opened the settings on his own phone. He connected them to his phone and passed them back. You planted your feet on the treadmill's edges, letting the belt keep running beneath you, and put them in your ears. 

Both your airpods were connected to his spotify. He had the worst taste in music.

It was all trap: Kanye, Playboi Carti, Travis Scott, 21 Savage...

"Neanderthal," you muttered, and went back to your run.

He caught that. "Maybe now you'll run a decent pace." He reached over and pushed your speed up to a ten-minute mile.

You were supposed to be on an easy run... but this man pushed your buttons.

You shot him a side-eye. "You're talking real cocky for a guy on a zero percent incline." You steadied yourself again, reached over, and pushed his incline up to 3.0 to match yours.

You didn't even recognize the song that played. The beat was heavy, the bass relentless, every track some filthy brag about sex and money. You zoned in and out with it, the lyrics blurring into the pounding of your feet. 

The dick had a smirk plastered on his face, and looked as if he weren't breaking a sweat. You were nearing the two-mile mark when he raised your pace to an eight-minute mile. Your lungs were burning, but your ego refused to let you give up.

You were struggling halfway through the final mile.

You pushed yourself, sweat running down your body, but your heavy breathing made it evident that you couldn’t go on for longer. He noticed. In between a song change, you heard his goading, "Don't stop. See it through."

He raised the volume. You matched the beat to keep the pace.

When you reached mile three, he ordered, "Finish the 5k." And you did. 

When it ended, you were about to all but collapse, and noticed you'd caught the attention of a few other gym-goers. Mateo amongst them. He was looking your way curiously, shooting glances between you and Park. You couldn’t give it much thought, as you rested your hands on your knees, and focused on not fainting.

Brendon hopped off his treadmill, and walked toward the showers as if nothing had happened.

You struggled to catch your breath. Staring after him, as he walked away.

He didn’t go to the men's showers. He'd slipped into the women's room, which was empty, you were the only woman there. 

You followed behind him.

── 

He was sitting on the bench when you walked in. He looked smug and relaxed, cocking his head to the side as he asked, “You done being a brat?”

A dark chuckle left his lips when you locked the door behind you. 

You still felt lightheaded as you crossed to him and stepped between his legs. You were giving in exactly the way you'd sworn you wouldn't. But that was just a given in your dynamic by now.

You were about to lower yourself onto his lap when he raised his hand. “You were a fucking brat this week. Make it up to me.” He pointed to the ground.

You rolled your eyes, but you were already sinking down, the cold floor biting into your knees. His hand gripped your chin at the eye roll. “Don’t make this harder on yourself.”

He leaned back and watched, gaze heavy, as you hooked your fingers into his waistband and pulled his shorts down. When your hand wrapped around his cock, he stopped you. 

He shook his head, “You know what I want.”

“We just ran three miles, Brendon. It must taste like shit.”

“You should've thought of that before you decided to act up.”

You would've stood up and left if it had really bothered you. But he knew the arrangement, knew what you liked by now. Knew it got you off when he tamed you.

You were about to put his cock into your mouth when he paused. “Actually you know what I want? I want you to kiss my balls.”

“Oh, go to hell, Parker.”

He sighed, then reached over, and slapped your ass the hardest he ever had. 

“Fuck!” you cried from the pain. 

He smirked, looking through the mirror positioned directly behind you, at the red handprint blooming where he'd struck you. “Let me know when you want to start acting right. In the meantime, I'll enjoy myself.”

You gritted your teeth, letting out a deep breath through your nostrils. Then you leaned in, holding his gaze until the last second, and pressed your lips to his balls.

He smirked down on you. “Oh yeah baby, tell daddy how sorry you are.”

And because, in the end, the point of this was to get off, and he really got you off when he was in this mood, you pouted, your cheek caressing his thigh as you looked up at him, “I'm so sorry daddy.”

“Yeah, baby? Show me how sorry you are.”

You dragged your tongue from his balls, flattening across the underside, and dragged it all the way down his shaft, until his cock moved past your lips, and it was all the way into your mouth. You hummed around it.

He didn’t give you much time to adjust before he quickened his thrusts, your moans vibrating around it. 

It wasn’t long before you became a mess of spit, as he used your mouth to jerk his cock. 

He took his time fucking your face, and watched as a mix of your saliva and his precum dripped from your lips, down your chin, and onto your chest, some onto the floor. 

“Take off your clothes and come up here.”

You complied, stripping off your sports bra and shorts. He lifted you onto the bench, positioning you on your hands and knees so you were on all fours, and settled behind you.

He grunted as he wet the head of his cock by rubbing it against your folds. “You’ve been such a brat, I should teach you a lesson and put it in your ass.”

You tensed up for a moment, actually scared he might, but then his cock slammed into your pussy with full force, a cry leaving your lips from the sudden intrusion. 

“But I missed this cunt too much.” He exhaled, starting to quicken his pace. 

The slap of his body against yours echoed off the walls, tangled with your moans and his grunts. 

His hand reached around to muffle you, but it caught your nose along with your mouth, and you could barely breathe.

“So fucking good.” He said. “Such an easy slut.”

You bit his hand. “Fuck you.”

The same hand drew back and came down again, landing on the spot still raw and tender from before, the sting flaring hot all over again. A whimper escaped your lips. 

“I think you need something more to calm you down.”

You were about to ask what he meant when he spat, the warmth of it landing just above your cunt. Your heart quickened when his thumb pressed to your asshole.

“Oh don’t act scared now.” He cooed, as his finger ran over the tensed area. “It’s what you asked for.”

Your back arched further as he kept teasing, slicking you wetter, until he slowly worked one finger in. “Oh, now she’s a good girl.”

You mumbled an incoherent noise, because you hadn’t expected it to feel so good. He hadn’t ventured there before, although he’d used it as a threat dozens of times. 

He stretched you out slowly, getting you used to the feeling. And when you did, he quickened his thrusts again.

 It wasn’t long before your orgasm arrived, and you were coming undone.  

“C’mon baby, give it to me, you know it's mine.” He murmured, loving the way your pussy clenched around his cock. 

His words had you throwing your hips back to meet him, greedy for it now, wanting to milk him for all he had. 

“Turn around,” he commanded, “I want to come in your mouth.”

You complied, feeling the absence of him immediately when he pulled out both holes.

You sank to your knees in front of him, hurried, as he kept jerking himself with his hand. He had one foot planted on the floor, the other leg bent up on the bench. “Come here.”

You took him into your mouth again, lips parted, ready to work to suck the cum from him.

Right as he was about to come, he shoved your shoulder back, hard enough that your mouth popped off in surprise. He finished with a grunt, ropes of cum striping across your face.

You whined, and he looked down at you with a self-satisfied smirk. Staring as you kneeled in front of him, his ejaculation dripping down your pretty face. 

The door jiggled. “Hey,” It was Mateo. “Just wanted to check in on you, you've been in there for a while.” 

Brendon smirked at Mateo’s voice. “The nurse is looking for you.”

[harpers-ramblings]

oh my god ..... imma dead

[thats-the-biz-babe]

The Pitt // S02E10 - 4:00 pm

[alexplainlaterrrr]

“oh the horrors” it’s me im the horrors

[yournamesnob]

Ok so thought park the shark would never ghost either …. A thought of the mind

oh he would never. that man only dates to marry. sure, anything can happen in a relationship, but his goal is always something long term and built on mutual respect, understanding and honesty. would not surprise me if he does those relationship performance reviews every month/three months to talk about what is and isn't working with their partner

[harpers-ramblings]

This has absolutely told me that the man is honest as heck granted occasionally a jerk to colleagues but tbh I can’t blame him …

[cryingondowntime]

[jadeittic]

Affair?

summary: the ER knows you're married, pregnant, and hopelessly in love with your husband. so when brendon keeps hovering around you, everyone's convinced you're having an affair.

pairing: brendon park + attending!pregnant!reader

word count: 2.4k

warnings/tags: mentions of pregnancy, workplace misunderstanding

notes: based on this ask from anon, tysm for requesting!

reblogs, likes, and comments are so so appreciated! if you want to read more from me, kindly submit in my inbox !!! xoxo

The first rumor started because of a protein bar.

Not because of anything dramatic. Not because someone saw you sneaking around hospital corridors or caught you pressed against a wall with Brendon Park's hand around your waist.

No.

It started because at two in the afternoon, during a brutally understaffed Friday day shift in the ER, you looked up from charting and said with exhausted fondness:

"My husband is going to kill me if he finds out I skipped lunch again."

And Dana, who had worked enough years in emergency medicine to survive on caffeine and spite alone, snorted.

"Husbands," she said. "They worry too much."

You smiled to yourself while typing. "Mine's worse now that I'm pregnant. Yesterday he tried to meal prep for me."

"Oh?" Santos asked from the next computer. "How'd that go?"

"He labeled every container by protein count."

"Sounds intense," Santos muttered.

"He is intense," you agreed easily. "But he means well."

Nobody thought much about it then. Because everybody in the ER about your husband.

Well, sort of. They knew he existed. They knew he packed your lunches sometimes. That he texted reminders for vitamins. That he apparently folded laundry with terrifying precision. That he hated when you worked overtime but still stayed awake until you got home anyway.

They knew he rubbed your swollen feet after shifts. They knew he was "ridiculously overprotective." They knew he called you "doctor" sarcastically whenever you forgot to take care of yourself.

They knew you adored him, but they didn't know his name.

And somehow, over months of working together, nobody ever asked. Or maybe they had once and gotten distracted by a trauma alert halfway through.

That was the thing about the ER. Conversations happened infragments.

So your husbands became this faceless mythical man everyone pieced together from tiny details.

And because you were basically sunshine in human form (You were the warmest, most patient, endlessly kind person), everyone imagined your husband accordingly.

Probably some sweet elementary school teacher. Or a soft-spoken accountant. Or maybe a stay-at-home husband who baked sourdough and wore cardigans.

Definitely not Brendon Park. Absolutely not him.

The first time most of the ER really met Brendon was during a motorcycle trauma.

The ortho pager had gone off twenty minutes earlier and everyone was already stressed. The patient had multiple fractures, a discolated shoulder, and enough road rash to make the interns pale.

Then he walked in. Tall, broad-shouldered. No greeting, no wasted movement, just immediate assessment,

"X-rays," his voice cut through the chaos.

Someone handed them over. Brendon studied them for maybe three seconds.

"We'll prep OR two. I want vascular on standby."

Ogilvie beside him started talking. "So we were thinking—"

"No," Brendon interrupted without even looking at him. "You were guessing."

Silence. Ogilvie visibly shrank.

"Comminuted tib-fib fracture with displacement. If you'd waited another hour, he'd lose perfusion."

The room went still. Not because he was wrong, but because he was terrifying.

Then his eyes shifted toward you. And the entire atmosphere changed so subtly that nobody noticed it except maybe Santos.

Your shoulders relaxed just slightly. Brendon's expression remained unreadable, but his gaze lingered on you for half a second too long.

"You've been here since morning," he said flatly.

"Hello to you too."

"Did you eat?"

The room paused.

You looked midly defensive. "Yes."

"You're lying."

"I had crackers."

"That's not food."

Ogilvie who'd just been verbally executed stared between you both in confusion. The Shark did not do conversation, yet here he was arguing with you about crackers.

You rolled your eyes. "I'm busy."

"You're pregnant."

"And?"

"And you require actual nutrition."

Santos coughed to hide a laugh. Brendon ignored everybody. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and placed a protein bar beside your keyboard without saying anything else.

Then he turned and walked away. No goodbye or no explaination. He just left.

The ER collectively stared at the protein bar. Then at you. Then back at the protein bar.

Santos finally broke the silence. "...What the hell was that?"

You unwrapped the bar casually. "He gets grumpy when I forget to eat."

"You know Park the Shark?" Santos asked slowly.

You looked confused. "Brendon?"

The entire station froze at the first-name basis.

"What do you mean, Brendon?" Santos asked.

"That's his name."

"No one calls him Brendon."

"Oh," you took a bite of the protein bar. "I do."

After that, people started noticing things. Little things.

Like how Brendon only ever lingered in the ER when you were there. How he answered everyone else with clipped professionalism but always gave you full sentences.

How you somehow never seemed intimidated by him. Everyone else treated Brendon like a shark circling bloody water, you treated him like an annoyed housecat.

One afternoon, during a particularly miserable shift, you were sitting at the station rubbing your lower back.

"God," you muttered. "My husband bought six different pregnancy pillows."

Dana laughed. "Six?"

"He said the first five didn't have the right feeling."

"What does that even mean?"

"I don't even want to know."

Then Santos frowned. "Wait. Wasn't Park carrying a giant package into the parking lot yesterday?"

You didn't look up from your charting. "Probably."

"And didn't he get irritated at at someone who bumped into him because it caused him to drop it all?"

"Oh, that was ours."

Silence.

You blinked up. "What?"

Santos stared at you carefully. "You and Park live in the same building?"

"Oh." You smiled absentmindedly. "Yeah."

Another silence. Santos looked deeply concerned now.

"You're... close with him?"

You laughed. "I mean, I would hope so."

Nobody knew what to say to that. Because there was no way. No way.

You were married, pregnant even. Completely in love with your husband, whoever he was.

And Brendon Park looked at most human interaction like it personally offended him.

Yet somehow he kept appearing around you like a shadow, like it was gravity.

The rumors exploded after an incident at the cafeteria. You had been off your shift for exactly eleven minutes when Brendon walked into the cafeteria still in his scrubs.

And everyone noticed that. Because Brendon never went to the cafeteria (He barely seemed to consume food). He scanned the room once and found you immediately. THen walked over carrying a tray.

Without asking, he switched your coffee with a different one.

"You can't have that much caffeine."

You looked offended. "It was half-caf."

"It was basically battery acid."

"You tasted it?"

"You left it on the counter this morning."

Brendon sat across from you naturally, like this happened every day.

You pointed at his tray. "You got fries?"

"You wanted fries."

"I mentioned fries once."

"You cried about it."

"I was emotional that time."

"You threatened divorce."

The tables surrounding you stared. The conversation sounded disgustingly domestic.

Brendon pushed the fries toward you first before touching his own food. You stole half of them and he didn't complain.

Actually, he watched you eat with this faintly distracted expression that nobody had ever seen on his face before. Like he was making sure you were really eating.

Then your phone buzzed. You checked it and groaned.

"The husband says I forgot my appointment tomorrow."

Brendon immediately said, "Ten-thirty."

You looked at him. "I know."

"You forgot."

"I remembered eventually."

"You remembered because I reminded you."

The silence at the table became defeaning, like somehow everyone was staring at you. Brendon glanced around once, clearly unimpressed by the collective lack of intelligence.

Then his pager went off. And before leaving, he reached down and adjusted you chair closer to the table because you'd been sitting awkwardly with your belly.

The movement was instinctive, like he'd done this a million times. And it was weirdly intimate.

The second he disappeared, Langdon sat on the seat that Brendon just occupied.

"Oh my God."

You frowned. "What?"

He leaned forward carefully. "Are you having an affair with Brendon Park?"

You nearly choked on a fry. "What?"

"That man practically tucked you in!"

"He's just—"

"You literally just talked about threatening him with divorce!"

"My husband!"

"Exactly!"

You stared at him in disbelief before realization dawned.

"Oh my god."

"So, you are!"

"No I'm not, Frank."

"Then why does The Shark know your OB schedule?"

"Because he made it."

Silence. "...Made it?" Langdon repeated weakly."

"He color-coded the whole calendar."

He didn't speak. Then you laughed, actually laughed. Because suddenly the misunderstanding was hysterical. But before you could explain, a trauma alert blared overhead and the conversation died instantly.

Unfortunately for you, the rumor did not.

Within a week, the entire ER thought you were secretly involved with Brendon.

Not openly. Nobody confronted you directly again because you seemed so genuinely confused by the accusation.

But people whispered. The evidence kept piling up. Brendon carrying your bag without asking, appearing whenever you mentioned cravings, glaring at anyone who stressed you out, standing suspiciously close during procedures if you looked tired.

And worst of all? The way he looked at you when you weren't paying attention.

That's what really convinced people. Because Brendon looked at everyone else like they personally wronged him. He looekd at you like you were something precious.

Then one night, the ER was hell. Every bed was full, three ambulanced inbound, a drunk patient screaming in triage.

You were exhausted, hormonal, and dangerously close to crying. Then one of the newer interns snapped at you.

"Can we get another attending to handle this? Dr. L/N clearly isn't keeping up."

The station went silent. Your exhaustion sharpened into humiliation. And before you could answer, a voice cut through the room.

"No."

Everyone turned. Brendon stood near the doors, having apparently arrived seconds earlier. The intern straighted nervously.

"Repeat what you said."

The poor intern paled. "I didn't mean—"

"You questioned an attending physician with ten years of emergency medicine experience while you can barely place an IV."

The room became deathly still. Brendon's voice never rose which somehow made it scarier.

"You will either assist competently or get out of her department."

Her department. The possessiveness in those words hit everybody like a truck.

The intern muttered an apology. Brendon didn't even look at him again. Instead, he turned to you.

"You're shaking."

"I'm fine."

Brendon's hand briefly touched the underside of your belly as he adjusted your position from the station edge.

It was gentle. So different from the cold surgeon everyone knew.

And suddenly Santos understood. Not the affair, but something else. Something much bigger.

"Oh my god," she whispered.

Dennis looked at her. "What?"

But she was staring at Brendon. At the wedding band hidden beneath his gloves as he reached for the chart. At the identical band you wore on a chain around your neck because pregnancy swelling made your fingers ache.

At the way you entire body relaxed when he was near. At the way he knew every tiny thing about you.

Not like a lover, like a husband.

"Oh my god," Santos repeated louder.

You looked up. Brendon looked annoyed already, like he sensed where this was going.

Santos pointed between the two of you. "You're married."

You blinked. "Yeah?"

Brendon closed his eyes briefly like this was exhausting.

You looked genuinely baffled. "Who else would we be married to?"

Chaos. Absolute chaos.

"You let us think she was cheating on her husband?!" Santos yelled at Brendon.

Brendon looked unimpressed. "That sounds like a you problem."

"You never said—"

"Well, nobody asked."

"You literally acted like you hated each other!"

You burst out laughing. "What? No we don't."

Brendon looked down at you. And for the first time ever, in front of the entire ER, his expression softened completely.

Not subtly or barely there, but fully. Warm eyes. Affection. Something that was gentle.

Park the Shark was apparently somebody's husband. Somebody's incredibly devoted husband. And somehow that was more shocking than if he'd announced he killed people.

And somehow, from that day on, things became infinitely worse. Because now everyone noticed everything.

The quiet touches. The instinctive teamwork. The fact that Brendon always knew where you were in the hospital. The way he softened only for you.

The way you could make the scariest surgeon in the building carry your snacks and hold your coffee and rub circles into your back between traumas.

And worst of all?

Now the ER knew that every horrifyingly domestic story you told about your husband had been all about Brendon Park all along.

Which completely destroyed their ability to fear him properly anymore. Especially after they heard him answer your phone one day with:

"Baby, why are you calling me from upstairs?"

thank you for reaching until the end! i'd love to know what you thought about this story anddddd if you'd like to see more ;)